by A. J. Cross
They were now in a coffee shop, Watts bringing drinks to the table. He sat heavily. ‘We’re risking pneumonia in this bloody weather. One caramel latte with marshmallows.’
He passed it to Judd, sat, took a quick gulp of his black Americano and glanced at the steamed-up windows, thinking that England was a great place between July and September. He looked back to Judd who was attacking the marshmallows and whipped cream.
‘Remind me what we’ve got.’
‘Hang on …’ Licking her spoon, she tracked her notes. ‘Simon Williams knew Mike Lawrence for several years, got on fine with him. Hardly knows Molly Lawrence. Doesn’t know current whereabouts of Benedict Sill. Mike was a valued employee of his boss, this Engar bloke. Bit of a “blue-eyes” by the sound of it, Sarge.’ She turned a page. ‘Matthew Barnes confirmed he dated Molly Lawrence before she married Mike. No surprise he didn’t get far with her, on account of his being a tosser.’
‘Judd—’
‘Trust me. According to Barnes, Sill is backpacking in Thailand.’ She let the pages fall back. ‘Both Williams and Barnes mentioned Damien Alphon, this work colleague of Lawrence’s. According to Barnes, there was friction between Lawrence and Alphon but he wasn’t specific.’
They sat in silence. Watts glanced at windows running with condensation as Judd finished the last of her drink.
‘Mmmm …’ She licked her lips. ‘What’s up, Sarge?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You’ve been a bit narky since yesterday. If it’s Reynolds that’s still annoying you—’
‘Forget Reynolds.’ He sipped his coffee, gazed out of the window. ‘I hate winter.’
‘Right. You’re not that keen on summer, either, nor spr—’
‘Ever heard of SAD, Judd?’
‘No. What is it? A club for miserable gits?’
He got to his feet. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Where?’
‘To Mike Lawrence’s design company to see his boss, Sebastian Engar.’
‘I thought that was tomorrow?’
‘We’re going there now. I’m not warming to Engar and his “providing the police with all relevant information in due course”, or whatever he said.’
Watts brought the BMW to a halt. They looked across at the large, turn-of-the-century house now converted into business premises. They got out into icy bluster and headed across the parking area to the building. Watts spoke into the grille next to the front door and they were buzzed inside. He held up identification to the woman who approached them. ‘Detective Inspector Watts, PC Judd, police headquarters. We’re here to see Sebastian Engar.’
The woman gave him an all-business smile. ‘About?’
‘Tell Mr Engar we’re here, please.’
The woman’s face changed. ‘Mr Engar is just back from leave. He isn’t officially here—’
‘But we are. Tell Mr Engar we’d like a chat with him.’ They watched her hesitate, walk away. After several seconds, she reappeared, hand raised.
‘This way, please.’
She showed them into an ultra-modern office. A man who looked to be in his mid-fifties, silver-haired, with a neat grey beard was standing behind the glass and metal desk. He came to Watts, hand extended. Watts noted the subtle tan.
‘Detective Inspector.’ He did the same to Judd, his blue eyes crinkling. ‘What a charming hairstyle. Please, have seats.’
Watts gave him another once-over. No glasses. Contacts, probably. ‘Mr Engar, we appreciate your time. Tell us all you know about Michael Lawrence.’
Engar’s face became suitably downbeat. ‘I understand why you’re here. This whole company is bereft at what has happened. Michael was a very highly valued member of our staff.’
‘So highly valued that you were considering handing over your company to him?’
If Engar was surprised, he wasn’t showing it. ‘Not quite accurate, Detective Inspector.’ He glanced down at his hands. Watts eyed them, seeing glossy, manicured nails. ‘Michael was excellent at his job. Extremely talented. He also had an easy manner with clients. He listened to their needs. Gave them what they wanted’ – he looked up, smiled – ‘or subtly persuaded them to accept what he judged to be a more suitable alternative. So subtle that they hardly noticed. That’s a great skill, you know.’ He gave Watts a direct look.
‘I was not handing over this company to Michael on my retirement, just the day-to-day running of it. I would, of course, have retained control.’
Watts nodded, thinking that whatever else Engar was, he was no pushover.
‘Mr Lawrence was pleased about your plan?’
‘He was giving it consideration.’
Aware of Judd’s interest spiking along with his own, Watts said, ‘That doesn’t sound like the keenness I was anticipating.’
Engar gazed out of the window at greyness. ‘Michael loved his work. The design aspect. He knew that if he accepted my offer, he would be much more involved with the daily aspects of the business, although he would continue to do some design.’
‘And that wasn’t to his liking?’
Engar looked back at him. ‘Michael wasn’t a particularly ambitious person. As I said, he loved the work he did and he was finding it difficult to contemplate the change involved in what I was suggesting.’
‘Given what you’ve said about Mr Lawrence’s strengths, I’m struggling to see why you’d want him to change to what sounds like a management role.’
‘One offers one’s employees opportunities for personal growth, Detective Inspector.’
‘Did Mrs Lawrence have a view on it?’ asked Judd.
‘That, I don’t know.’
‘Do you know her well?’
‘I wouldn’t say well, but on the odd occasions when we met, I found her to be very pleasant.’
‘We’d like to talk to your staff about Mike Lawrence, Mr Engar,’ said Watts. ‘They may have information about him which could help our inquiries.’
‘Of course. We’re a relatively small set up. Five design staff. Four admin workers.’
‘Was Mike Lawrence particularly friendly with any of them?’
‘I don’t believe so, although Michael was a very sociable kind of person. He got on well with all of his colleagues, but his focus was the work.’ He reached for the phone. ‘I’ll inform my PA that you need to see each of them.’
‘Before you do, is Damien Alphon available?’
‘He’s not here right now, but he will be this afternoon.’
‘What can you tell us about Mr Lawrence and Mr Alphon as colleagues?’
Engar studied him. ‘You’ve made some inquiries already, Detective Inspector.’
‘It tends to save time.’
‘When Michael joined the company, Damien was already here. He’s good at his job but he doesn’t have the flair that Michael had. Fortunately for the firm, they were able to put their differences to one side and work cooperatively.’
‘What differences?’
Engar gave a cool smile. ‘I’m assuming all police officers have a forensic style of conversation. Is it innate, or the result of training?’
Watts waited.
‘The differences to which I referred were around one issue to which I’ve already alluded. Damien had anticipated that when I retired, he would take over the running of the company. He was disappointed at my plan to ask Michael.’ He stood. ‘I’ll show you to my PA’s office. She can introduce you to the staff you wish to speak to.’
An hour later they were alone inside a formal meeting room dominated by a large table. ‘Want a rundown of what we got, Sarge?’
‘Is it worth it?’
She shrugged. ‘Probably not. James Tanner, accountant, said he liked Mike Lawrence but they didn’t socialize outside of work. Described him as always prompt with his expenses, very organized. The other three admin staff have worked here for less than two years and, according to each of them, they didn’t know Lawrence that well but found him likeable and helpful. The gist of w
hat we got from the other designers, Dominic Ames, Charlotte Benner and Ross Davies was that they didn’t socialize with Mike Lawrence either but regarded him as excellent at his job and a good colleague. Hard working but good for a laugh.’ Watts looked up at her. ‘I’m paraphrasing, using my own words, Sarge.’
‘Don’t.’
The door swung open. Engar’s PA came into the room carrying a large tray. Watts stood.
‘Sit down, Detective Inspector. Mr Engar thought you might like some lunch. We’re expecting Mr Alphon in about forty-five minutes.’
She put down the tray and left the room, quietly closing the door. Their eyes moved over the sandwiches, crusty bread, olives and the cups of coffee she had delivered.
‘Look at this!’ said Judd. ‘I wish this happened every day, and I’ve still got my lunch back at headquarters.’ She reached for a hefty slice of bread, a sandwich, some olives.
Watts selected a sandwich, opened it, peered inside. ‘Knowing you, you’ll eat it when we get back.’
‘I might leave it in the fridge for tomorrow.’
One of the things he knew about Judd was that she watched her finances like a hawk with a rabbit. Small wonder she was upset when her car disappeared. Chong was right. He wouldn’t get on to her about what had happened, nor push her to officially report the thefts, although it went right against all he stood for. Nor would he get on Julian’s case for not keeping an eye on Judd. She wasn’t his responsibility. What he’d learned in the last few days was that she was resilient. She had to make her own decisions. Hopefully, learn from them. He looked up to find her studying him.
‘What’s up?’
‘None of my business, Sarge, but if I were you, I’d give up on that SAD group you were on about earlier.’
‘When I was twenty, Judd, everything looked simple—’
‘I’m twenty-one.’
He looked at her. ‘You never said.’
‘Like, I’d come into headquarters, going, “Hi, guys, it’s my birthday!” You’re unreal sometimes, Sarge.’
‘When was it?’
She shrugged. ‘Last week some time.’ They ate in silence for several minutes. ‘Got any more ideas on the Lawrence case?’
Watts swallowed, took a gulp of coffee, shook his head. ‘Nothing that explains how he came to be gunned down and his pregnant wife half-killed, but I’m definitely considering moving the focus of the investigation from stranger-attack to it being the work of somebody who knew one or other of the Lawrences.’ He glanced at Judd. ‘And, no, I don’t have an idea who that might be.’
‘But, like me, you’re interested in this Alphon—?’
The door swung open. It was Engar’s PA again. ‘More coffee?’
‘We’re fine, thanks.’
‘In that case, Mr Alphon has arrived and he’ll see you now.’
Watts gave Alphon an evaluative look as they were shown inside the office, picking up on the confidence, the smile, plus something else: an air of entitlement. Alphon extended his hand and waved them to chairs. ‘Apologies for the wait. You want to talk to me about Mike Lawrence.’
‘Yes, Mr Alphon.’
‘All I can say is that it’s tragic. If it hasn’t already prompted West Midlands police to commit more officers to the inner city as a matter of routine, it needs to give the idea some serious consideration.’
‘Know it well, do you, Mr Alphon?’
Alphon gave him a small smile. ‘Hardly.’
‘We’re following up all possible leads and your name has come up.’
‘Oh?’ He looked from Watts to Judd. ‘In what context, exactly?’
‘In the context of there being some sort of friction between you and Mike Lawrence.’
Alphon stared at him. His head fell back and he laughed. Watts and Judd glanced at each other.
‘You think what I just said is amusing, Mr Alphon?’
‘Yes. It is. Who’s been talking to you?’
‘That’s irrelevant. The point is your boss here was planning to let this company pass into Mike Lawrence’s hands after his retirement, but Lawrence was murdered before it could happen. Got any observations on that, Mr Alphon?’
Alphon sighed, then smoothed back his hair. ‘What Seb has told you isn’t entirely accurate. Yes, he had been considering Mike running the practice but he changed his mind some weeks ago. Mike was good at the design work, but from a business point of view he was a plodder and Seb knew it. Under Mike’s management, this company would have ground to a halt. To run a company such as this requires other skills which Mike sorely lacked. I’m referring to the nurturing of existing clients, finding new ones, active promotion.’ He fixed his eyes on Watts. ‘Here’s an example of Mike’s commitment to promoting this business. Last year, Seb wanted him to go to a business fair in London. Mike’s response? He refused, saying his wife needed him at home, that they were working on their house.’
‘Which tells you what?’
Alphon adopted a patient air. ‘Detective Inspector, as a public servant, you’re probably unaware of it, but if you run a business, personal issues come second.’
Watts gazed at him, Judd’s word ‘tosser’ coming into his head. ‘When, exactly, did Mr Engar have this change of mind about Mike Lawrence?’
‘I don’t exactly recall.’
‘Try this: when did you know that Mr Engar would pass the running of this company to you?’
Alphon grinned. ‘Oh, I’d say around twenty or so years ago.’
‘How’s that?’
‘Seb is my godfather.’
Leaving the building in heavy rain, they got into the BMW. Watts was seething. Any time you thought things were different, that times had changed, you got a smack around the face with the ripe kipper of class. Privilege. What they’d learned was a clear indication of Engar’s manipulation of his employees, although where that took this investigation, he wasn’t sure.
‘That Alphon’s a real piece of work, Sarge. Smooth as sno—’
‘So is Engar. He uses employees, sets them in competition with each other as it suits him.’
Judd yanked at her seatbelt. ‘I wouldn’t trust him if he told me it was raining, unless I was outside.’
‘That was a reality check. The old “who-you-know” ways are still alive and well. I’ll ring Engar to check what Alphon just told us.’
4.15 p.m.
Traynor was in Watts’ office when they returned. Watts went to the phone, his face set. Traynor raised his eyebrows at Judd.
She kept her voice low. ‘We’ve been to the company Mike Lawrence worked for. His boss is a right git. He’d got Lawrence and another employee named Damien Alphon who, by the way, is his godson and also a git, each expecting to take over the running of the company when he retired. That’s why Sarge is on the phone. He’s checking it out.’
‘Mike Lawrence’s boss sounds like a cynic with control issues.’
‘Bang on. People have probably resorted to violence on finding out they were being used like that.’ She started as phone met table.
‘Afternoon, Traynor,’ said Watts. He looked across to Judd. ‘He’s confirmed what Alphon told us. Alphon is taking over the running of the company on Engar’s retirement, whenever that is. According to Engar, Mike Lawrence was aware of it and wasn’t upset about it. My opinion? Engar and Alphon deserve each other.’
Judd was on her way to the door. ‘That Alphon needs checking out—’
‘Throttle it back while I tell you and Traynor the rest. It wasn’t Alphon who was making that company toxic.’
‘Engar?’ said Judd.
‘Exactly. He’s your Machiavellian type. He as good as admitted it just now. He knew he had a couple of talents in the shape of Lawrence and Alphon. One creative, the other a main chancer and related. What better way from his point of view to keep both keen and productive than to create a bit of a competitive spirit between them, pit one against the other, keep both as keen as mustard.’
‘The b—’
‘As you almost said, Judd. I’ll request checks on both but I can’t see either of them shooting Mike and Molly Lawrence.’
‘How about one of them paid somebody to do it?’ asked Judd.
‘Why? It was already resolved way before the Lawrences were shot. Mike Lawrence would stick to what he did best; in time Alphon would take over the daily running of the company and Engar the manipulator would have things exactly how he wanted them.’ He looked at Traynor. ‘When you talked to Molly, did either of their names come up?’
‘Never.’
Watts shook his head. ‘You don’t shoot two people so you can run a design company. Engar wasn’t offering either of them anything that was worth that.’
The room darkened on a distant rumble of thunder as Judd left the room. They sat in silence, Traynor looking lost in thought, Watts staring ahead at nothing. Judd was back.
‘Nothing on Engar or Alphon. This investigation is well and truly stuffed, if you want my opinion—’
‘I don’t,’ said Watts. ‘Let me have a copy of that list of Molly Lawrence’s friends and co-workers. We’ll start seeing them tomorrow—’
‘I have a way to move this investigation forward,’ said Traynor.
TWENTY-FIVE
Thursday 20 December. 5.30 p.m.
Traynor was laying out his idea. ‘We’ve got a lot of information already but it’s not getting us anywhere. We need what only Molly Lawrence knows but it’s not going to happen in the way we hoped.’
Judd looked at Watts, then back to Traynor. ‘If we’re talking reconstruction, that could have legs. Get it on to primetime news, say, and we’ll get loads of leads.’ To Watts, she added, ‘Why didn’t we think of that?’
‘Because of the geography of Forge Street and the surrounding area. Scarcely any through-traffic, next to no footfall, so where exactly would these “loads of leads” come from? Brophy would demand justification for the cost, given this force, like most others, is close to a tipping point through cuts and more cuts. Before I even ask, I can tell you what his response would be.’
‘A reconstruction is not what I’m suggesting,’ said Traynor. ‘What’s needed is a re-enactment. A video-recorded account of the shootings with Molly Lawrence directing it.’
