by Roberta Kray
‘They questioned me about Harry’s past relationships and whether he made a habit of obsessing over clients.’ Mac made a sound halfway between a sigh and a grunt. ‘They’re also going to go through the business diaries, check when and where Harry was working over the past few weeks. They’re trying to compare the times and places with the photographs that were taken of Aimee Locke.’
‘Well, whoever set this up would have made damn sure that Harry didn’t have an alibi for any of those times.’
‘Exactly,’ Mac said. ‘And with the security system turned off after the shooting, the killer was able to walk out of the Locke house without being caught on camera.’
‘Although it begs the question how he got in there in the first place.’
‘Which is another problem,’ Mac said. ‘So far as the police are concerned, the security footage proves that no one other than Aimee Locke went in or out of the house all day. Well, not until Harry arrived. Which makes his story about a mystery killer hiding behind the curtains sound somewhat less than convincing.’
‘Jesus,’ Jess murmured. ‘So what now?’
‘Now we try and find out who the fake Martin Locke is. Got any ideas on how we might do that?’
Jess took a final drag on the cigarette, gazed at it regretfully and then dropped the butt out of the window. It was hardly admirable to add to the litter already on the streets, but the ashtray in the Freelander was clearly out of bounds. As it happens,’ she said. ‘I have. But it rather depends on where Ray Stagg is at the moment.’
Mac gave a nod towards the station. ‘He’s in there. I saw him arrive about ten minutes ago.’
‘So he should be a while yet.’
‘What are you thinking?’ Mac said.
‘Ray Stagg’s business partner is called James Harley-Cunningham. Do you reckon you can find out what kind of car he drives?’
Half an hour later they pulled into the small parking area to the side of Selene’s. A prominent sign declared For Staff Only, along with a threat to clamp any trespassing vehicles. The only other car there was James Harley-Cunningham’s racing-green Morgan. It was a beautiful motor, of which its owner, no doubt, was extremely proud.
With what had happened to Aimee last night – or rather to her husband – Jess knew that all the staff would have been told to be alert to any visits from the press. Reporters had probably been sniffing around already, hoping for a juicy titbit on the glamorous grieving widow and the horrors that had befallen her. There wasn’t a chance of getting through the front door and seeing Harley-Cunningham face to face, and so they would, metaphorically speaking, have to get in through the back.
‘You think this’ll work?’ Mac said dubiously.
Jess took out her mobile. ‘Only one way to find out.’ She dialled the number and lifted the phone to her ear.
Her call was answered by a woman with a cut-glass accent. ‘Good afternoon. This is Selene’s. How may I help you?’
‘Oh,’ Jess said, acting flustered. ‘I’m just outside the club. I’m dreadfully sorry, I really am, but I appear to have reversed into someone’s car. It’s a Morgan. Does it belong to anyone you know?’
There was a brief intake of breath. ‘Hold on a moment.’ Jess could hear a light muttering in the background as the information was passed on. Then the woman came back on the line. ‘Wait there,’ she ordered. ‘He’ll be right with you.’
Jess got out of the Freelander and waited.
Thirty seconds later, James Harley-Cunningham came hurtling out of the building. He was in his late twenties, a tall, slim, slightly effeminate-looking guy with tousled brown hair and wide brown eyes. From the look of sheer horror on his face, anyone would have thought that it was a loved one that had been hit rather than his car.
He glared at Jess as he approached the Morgan. ‘What the …’ he began. His gaze fell on the rear of the car and his expression gradually changed to one of confusion. Quickly he walked around the vehicle, closely examining first one side and then the other.
‘Sorry about that,’ Jess said. ‘I just needed a chance to talk to you in private.’
‘What?’
‘My name’s Jessica Vaughan. I’m a friend of Harry Lind’s.’
He gave a shrug, the name obviously not meaning anything to him.
Jess gave him a thin smile. ‘He’s the poor sap who’s currently being held for the murder of Martin Locke.’
‘And what’s that got to do with me?’
‘Well, you’re Ray Stagg’s business partner, aren’t you? Surely you realise that he’s involved with Aimee Locke. The two of them planned the killing together and put Harry in the frame.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Harley-Cunningham said, placing his hands on his hips. ‘I’ve got nothing to say, okay? Just bugger off and find someone else to harass.’
Jess smiled sweetly back at him. ‘So how does it feel to be an accessory to murder?’
He had turned, intending to head back towards the entrance, but stopped dead at her words and whirled around again. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘It’s only a matter of time before the police work out what really happened. Withholding evidence is a serious offence.’
‘I’m not withholding anything.’
Jess slowly shook her head. ‘Are you trying to tell me there’s nothing going on between Ray Stagg and Aimee Locke? Because we both know that’s not true. Still, maybe you don’t care if he takes you down with him. You’re still young. A few years in the slammer shouldn’t entirely ruin your life.’
Harley-Cunningham scowled at her. ‘Are you threatening me?’
‘I’m just telling you how it is. Ray Stagg’s a villain through and through. He made his money through drugs and prostitution and God knows what other sordid enterprises. But maybe you don’t care about that either.’ She paused, aware that she was sailing close to the wind, but carried on regardless. ‘The cops are going to care, though. And when they pull this club apart – which they will – you’d better hope that Stagg hasn’t been stashing anything he shouldn’t on the premises.’
It had been a shot in the dark, but it definitely hit home. Harley-Cunningham visibly paled. He shifted from one foot to the other and refused to meet her gaze.
Jess realised she was on to something and quickly pressed home her advantage. ‘Maybe you’re in on the drug pushing too. It must be a profitable sideline.’
‘There’s no dealing in this club!’ he snapped.
‘Are you sure of that? Only rumour has it that the place is swimming in the stuff.’ She left a short pause and then added, ‘Or is Stagg taking all the profits for himself?’
‘There’s no dealing here,’ he said again, but this time without much conviction.
Jess could sense that his resolve was weakening. She also had the distinct feeling that the honeymoon period between the two business partners – had there ever been one – had long since expired. There was no love lost between Harley-Cunningham and Stagg. ‘The sooner he goes down for what he’s done, the sooner you’ll be free of him. Make the right choice, James. Don’t let him walk all over you.’
Harley-Cunningham thought about this for a while, but he didn’t reply.
‘You see that guy over there,’ Jess said, gesturing towards the Freelander. Mac had shifted the car close to the gates and was currently enjoying his second cigarette. ‘He’s a retired cop. Harry Lind used to be a cop too. The police don’t like people screwing over their own. They tend to take it personally.’
‘What is it you want from me? I’ve already told you I don’t know anything. Aimee Locke’s an employee, that’s all.’
‘So maybe there’s something else you can help us with. We’re trying to track down a man in his early fifties: tall, short grey hair, suntan, smartly dressed. He’s probably Irish. Could be ex-army. Does that ring any bells? Have you seen anyone like that with Ray Stagg?’
Harley-Cunningham opened his mouth, then closed it again and glanced arou
nd warily as though someone might be watching.
‘James?’
‘I’m not sure,’ he said.
‘Not sure if you’ve seen someone like that, or not sure if you want to tell me?’ Jess took a step closer to him and lowered her voice. ‘Look, no one’s going to find out that you talked to me. I give you my word. Just give me a name and I’m out of here. You’ll never see me again.’
While he weighed up his options, Harley-Cunningham scratched nervously at his chin. The seconds ticked by. ‘There may have been a man like that,’ he said eventually. ‘He used to come into the casino. He gambled pretty heavily, usually lost more than he won.’
‘And you definitely saw him with Stagg?’
He nodded. ‘A few times, but not recently, not for … I don’t know, three or four weeks.’
‘And his name?’
Harley-Cunningham pushed his hands into his jacket pocket, stared briefly down at the ground and then raised his eyes again. ‘Raffles,’ he said.
‘Raffles?’
‘That’s what Ray called him.’
‘Is that some kind of nickname?’
‘I’ve got no idea.’
Jess didn’t think he was lying. It was a shame he couldn’t give her more, but it was better than nothing. ‘Okay, thanks for that. I’ll leave you in peace.’ She started heading back towards Mac, but had barely gone a couple of yards when he called out to her.
‘Wait! There’s something else.’
Jess felt her heart miss a beat. She turned and walked back to him. ‘What is it?’
Harley-Cunningham’s pale face was now flushed with pink. Having dipped his toe in the water of betrayal and found it not entirely disagreeable, he’d obviously decided to take the plunge. ‘I don’t know if this is important, but a while back I overheard Ray and Aimee arguing in his office. It was something to do with her father.’
‘What about him?’
‘I’m not sure. I was passing by the door and only caught a snatch, but it was pretty heated. The two of them were going at it hammer and tongs.’
‘Has he ever been here, her father I mean?’
Harley-Cunningham shook his head. ‘I always thought her parents were dead. That’s what she told people. That’s why I thought it was odd. Maybe it’s nothing.’
‘Maybe,’ Jess said. She waited, but it soon became clear that he had nothing more to say. ‘Okay. Thanks again.’
It was then that Harley-Cunningham’s courage deserted him. He raked his fingers through his hair and screwed up his eyes. ‘Christ, if Ray ever finds out that I—’
‘He won’t,’ she said firmly. ‘You’ve done the right thing. Don’t worry about it.’
By the time Jess reached the car, Harley-Cunningham had already scuttled back inside the club. Climbing into the Freelander, she sat back and smiled. ‘I don’t think James is altogether enamoured of his business partner.’
‘Hard to believe,’ Mac said drily.
She gave him a quick summary of the conversation and the information she’d managed to extract. By the time she’d finished, Mac was looking at her with a new-found respect.
‘I’m not even going to ask how you got him to talk,’ he said.
‘Best not,’ she agreed. ‘So have you ever heard of this Raffles bloke?’
‘No, but I’ll call Swann and get him to do a PNC check. Something might come up on the computer.’
‘Who’s Swann?’
‘DS Kieran Swann. He works alongside Valerie at Cowan Road. He rang me earlier, suggested we pool our resources.’
‘I didn’t think Valerie would be allowed to get involved.’
‘She isn’t – at least not officially. But what the powers-that-be don’t know, the powers-that-be won’t grieve over.’
Jess raised her eyebrows but kept quiet while Mac made the call. It was short, only lasting a minute or two. When he’d finished she said, ‘So what next?’
‘Now we chase up that other lead.’ Mac quickly punched in another number on his phone. ‘Lorna?’ he said. ‘It’s me. Yeah, I’m still over at Selene’s. We’re just leaving now. Can you do me a favour and get Warren to dig out a birth certificate for Aimee Locke?’ He paused and nodded. ‘Yeah, the file’s in my top drawer. We need to find out who her father is.’
As they set off back through the West End, Jess wondered if they’d finally turned a corner. But she couldn’t allow herself to hope too much. They could be on the right road, or they might be heading straight down a long blind alley.
56
DI Middleton and DS Swann were huddled in a corner of the incident room. Valerie had a poky office of her own, but when there was a major investigation on the go she preferred to be in the thick of things. To date there hadn’t been much progress on the Becky Hibbert case. Livesey was still on the run and they weren’t any closer to finding him. Although Valerie knew that she should be putting all her energies into finding Becky’s killer, her mind was preoccupied by an entirely different murder.
‘So what do we know about Aimee Locke?’ she said softly to Swann.
‘Sod all, basically, other than that she’s been working at the casino for the past three years. And she hasn’t got a record, not so much as a parking fine.’
‘And Martin Locke?’
‘Yeah, he’s kind of interesting … or should I say was. Stinking rich, of course, and thirty years her senior. Made most of his money from insurance. He also gave a lot of it away to charity, and we’re talking hundreds of thousands.’
‘Maybe she decided to bump him off before his bank account got too depleted.’
‘Or just grew tired of sharing an old man’s bed.’
Valerie wondered at Swann’s ability to bring everything down to sex. ‘Do we know how much she stands to inherit?’
He shook his head. ‘Not yet, but I’m sure it’s more than adequate to keep her in mink bikinis for the rest of her life. That house must be worth half a million for starters.’
‘I saw Vita Howard in the foyer earlier.’
‘The solicitor?’
‘Yes, and she’s backing up Aimee’s story. Well, part of it. Apparently Aimee’s been to see her several times over the last month concerned about the text messages she was receiving. Vita advised her to report it.’
Swann stared at her. ‘She told you that? For God’s sake, guv, you shouldn’t even have been talking to her. If Redding finds out, you’ll—’
‘Of course I didn’t talk to her. Jerry Cooke told me. He got it from a PC who overheard Vita Howard mention it to Wall.’
‘Right,’ he said, looking relieved. Then his face dropped as he realised how fast the evidence was stacking up against Harry. ‘So Locke’s got a solicitor to back up that part of her story.’
‘It doesn’t prove anything. Only that Aimee exploited her friendship with Howard to make it seem like she was being stalked. There has to be a way of proving she’s a liar. What about this Raffles bloke that Mac called you about?’
Swann glanced down at his notebook. ‘Yeah, I ran a check on him. His real name’s Paul Rafferty. He’s a known con artist, been at it for years. Tends to target rich older widows and try to charm them with his tales of heroic army exploits. Truth is, of course, that he’s never been out of civvies in his life. He’s a bit of a gambler too, which would fit in with him hanging round Selene’s.’
‘But no address, I suppose.’
‘No, nothing current. He tends to move around. He could be anywhere. But Mac’s put the word out. He’s been in touch with all his contacts, offering a generous reward to anyone who can find him. With five grand up for grabs, I shouldn’t think it’ll be too long before he gets a bite.’
‘Let’s hope so.’ She glanced at her watch and groaned. ‘God, if we don’t get a break soon, Harry’s going to end up in the dock.’
‘It won’t come to that.’
But Valerie didn’t share his confidence. Wall and Henson were gunning for a result and the evidence had been laid ou
t on a plate. It was only a matter of time before they decided to go ahead and charge him. She was still stressing over this when she became aware of someone hovering. She looked up to see Simon Wetherby standing beside her. ‘Hi, what are you doing here?’
‘Sorry to interrupt. I heard about Harry Lind. I’m really sorry. Are you okay?’
She smiled, pleased to see him. At times like this, every friendly face was welcome. ‘Okay might not be quite the word.’
‘No, I don’t suppose it is. But I was wondering if I could help, if you needed a hand with anything.’
Before Valerie could reply, Swann leaned across and said, ‘You solved all the crimes on your patch, then?’
Simon laughed. ‘Not quite.’
Swann’s voice took on a nastier edge. ‘Well you don’t need to worry about us. Best get back to sorting your own problems.’
Valerie glared at her sergeant before looking back at Simon. ‘Don’t mind him,’ she said. ‘He was born without the politeness gene. It’s good of you to offer. I appreciate it. I’ll let you know if anything comes up.’
Wetherby gave her a nod. ‘I know you might not be in the mood, but if you fancy a chat later, give me a call. We could grab a drink at the Fox.’
‘Thanks. I may well do that. I’ll see how it goes.’
She watched as he walked away and then turned to Swann. ‘Jesus, what’s with the attitude? He was only offering to help.’
‘Yeah, well, we don’t need his help.’
‘Maybe you don’t, but I’m not sure if Harry would agree.’
Swann gave a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘I don’t trust him. And the fewer people know about what we’re doing, the better.’
‘He’s not going to go blabbing to Redding.’ She suspected that Swann’s antagonism towards Simon Wetherby was down to a misplaced sense of loyalty to Harry rather than any real worries about the superintendent. So far as Swann was concerned, she and Harry were still an item and no other man had the right to try and muscle in. Annoyed, she found herself thinking about Jessica Vaughan again. It was okay, apparently, for Harry to move Vaughan into his flat without so much as a word to her about it, but far from okay for her to go for a drink with Wetherby. She was still dwelling on the unreasonableness of this when Swann’s phone started ringing.
