by Rebecca Heap
He was stunned when, after only superficial enquiries, he discovered that Charles Hughes had been a very popular, well liked person and openly gay. Maybe it was still plausible for him to have targeted and killed her. But was it really possible that such a man could sexually assault her in such a brutal fashion? When he’d gone back to the police with his concerns, they’d been curt and even a little impatient with him. For them there was little need to establish the man’s motives or to deduce how Brenna had met him. They appreciated he wanted answers but he had to accept these might never come. The perpetrator and his victim were dead. Charles had even left a letter of confession but no-one would ever know quite why he’d done what he did or what had transpired. If the police would do nothing, it was left to him to work alone. This raison d’etre at least helped to blunt the claws of his own raging guilt.
CHAPTER 23
Not at all certain of what kind of reception he’d receive, Sean stood at Rupert Hamilton’s front door. Having tracked down his address through careful enquiries, he was now a little unsure about this. After all, he’d all but assaulted the guy at the funeral. He was unlikely to be very co-operative. But Rupert was his best chance of finding out more about the man called Charles Hughes and his final movements. He’d just have to do his utmost to persuade him to talk to him.
Rupert opened the door and took a step back, in obvious surprise, when he saw Sean. “Can I come in?”
Rupert’s frown gave a clear message of aversion to this idea. He began to stutter out an objection.
“I promise I’m not here to cause you trouble. I know I’m probably the last person you want to see but…”
Interrupting him, Rupert shook his head, saying, “No..no. Actually, far from it. It’s not that. The place is just such a mess and I’m normally so particular.” He hesitated a moment but then flung the door wider, conceding, “Never mind. Come in. Please.”
Sean followed him into a hallway that led on to a spacious living area, its monochrome white and black character, punctuated by vivid and colourful pieces of art. As he went before him, Rupert tucked his long, unkempt hair into a band and made a hasty effort to collect various items of clutter that lay around the place.
“Take a seat,” invited Rupert, once he’d removed a scattering of clothes and take-away boxes from the white sofa. Sean sat down, catching his feet on something. Rupert was there like a flash, visibly embarrassed, as he lifted away an empty vodka bottle. Sean averted his eyes, not wanting to add to his discomfort, and Rupert asked quickly, “Can I get you something? I could probably do with a coffee myself.”
Sean nodded, “That’d be great. Coffee’s fine. Black, two sugars.”
As Rupert disposed of the rubbish and busied himself in the kitchen area, Sean studied the room. He noticed a very fine die-cast model of a blue Shelby Cobra sitting, rather conspicuously on the otherwise empty mantelpiece. He stood up to take a look at it. It was a very skilled piece of craftsmanship and he picked it up in order to examine it more closely.
Rupert, on re-entering the room and noticing his interest, placed the mugs on the coffee table and approached him. “That was Charlie’s,” he explained, plucking it carefully from his grasp.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sean said, not having realised its significance.
Rupert stared at it and began to stroke its outline. “It’s OK. It’s just it’s the only thing I have left of his. The only thing they didn’t trash.”
“He loved his cars, then?” queried Sean, delicately.
“Oh yes,” said Rupert. He was passionate about them.”
They stood there for a moment in something of a respectful silence. Sean respecting this man’s grief, if not the man he grieved. He was about to sit back down when he realised Rupert was stone still and there were tears slowly tracking down his face. Uncomfortable that he’d unintentionally introduced a clearly very sensitive subject, he tried to undo this by saying, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
This broke Rupert from his pre-occupation and he turned to him. “Don’t worry. Everything seems to upset me at the moment. Look at me, standing her blubbing like a baby!” He dragged his hands down his face. “How selfish of me. You must have suffered so much more than I. Your sister…what was done to her..” he broke off, as Sean stiffened beside him.
Rupert hurriedly apologised. “I am sorry. It was presumptuous of me to imagine you even want to talk about it, especially with me. But please, sit and tell me why you’re here.” Rupert took up his own invitation, sitting down on the sofa and waiting expectantly for Sean to join him.
“Look,” Sean began. “I’m still not convinced that Charles had nothing to do with the terrible things that happened to my sister. That isn’t why I’m here. But I do have questions. Questions I think you may be able to answer.”
“Of course,” responded Rupert. “Anything I can do.”
“Charles was obviously interested in cars. Did he know of a company called Bespoke Cars? Perhaps he’d worked for them?” suggested Sean.
Without hesitation, Rupert replied, “Of course he knew of Bespoke Cars. Charlie was crazy about that company and hugely admired the owner, Harry Pearson, but he never worked for them. He applied for a job with them but got turned down and had to settle for something in the same building instead.”
Extremely interested by this piece of news, Sean muttered to himself, “Finally, a connection.”
“Does that mean anything? Does that help you?” queried Rupert.
Sean looked back at him grimly, “Well, it doesn’t make things look any better for Charles. In fact, it makes them look worse. He seemed to implicate Bespoke Cars in a message he left on my phone but, from what you’re saying, he probably held a grudge against them. That’s the likely reason.”
“No, you’re wrong,” interjected Rupert, immediately. “He was not the type to hold a grudge. He was perfectly happy to pursue his interest in cars as a hobby only. ”
“Are you sure? Are you sure he didn’t resent being turned down?”
Rupert crossly retorted, “He loved that company, like I said. If Charlie thought Bespoke Cars was connected then it must be true.” He frowned in thought, reflecting on the startling news that Charlie had incriminated the company he so admired. “Can I listen to the call you received from him?”
Sean retrieved the message and passed Rupert his phone. As Rupert listened, his face contracted in pain, the sound of Charlie’s voice clearly strongly affecting him. When the message came to an end, Rupert lowered it and stared at it for a long time. Sean allowed him time to recover his composure and didn’t insist on immediately taking the phone back.
Finally Rupert remarked in shocked amazement, “He said they were “selling girls”. Charlie would not make such an accusation without good reason. Perhaps he stumbled across something at the office? That’s why they killed him. Have you taken this to the police?” he demanded.
“Yes, I have. They’re not interested,”
Rupert nodded in disgust.
Sean shrugged. “It does sound a bit preposterous, you have to admit. They’re a reputable company and even if Bespoke Cars was involved, how did Charlie get hold of Brenna? Perhaps he really did work for them and kept it from you?”
Rupert vehemently rejected this suggestion. “We didn’t keep secrets from each other. He would have told me about it. He wouldn’t lie. Charlie was the most moral man I know.”
“Did you also know he left a signed confession?” said Sean, rather scathingly.
The shake of his head did not denote ignorance of this, but rather disavowal. “I know about that!” he acknowledged. “But did they tell you that he signed it ‘Peter’?”
Unimpressed, Sean shrugged.
“Don’t you find that suspicious?” he pressed.
“The police showed me the note. Peter was his first name. What’s suspicious about it?”
“He never used it. Never. Don’t you see? The name was painful to him. It denoted an identity he had le
ft behind. A person who had lived a lie. Peter was someone who’d strived to hide his sexuality because his parents would simply not accept it. He was only able to move forward by shedding it and adopting his second name. Signing his name as Peter was a clue. It meant his suicide was a lie. I’m sure of it.”
“But couldn’t it also mean that Charlie was the lie?” speculated Sean. “That he was in actual fact really Peter, and he’d hidden his true desire for young girls behind his Charlie identity?”
Rupert looked utterly floored by this suggestion, but complete astonishment was soon replaced by grim defiance. “You didn’t know him as I did. There is simply no way Charlie was faking his feelings or our relationship, no way.”
He stood to his feet, clearly affronted by Sean’s suggestions. Renewed tears lining his face, he said, “I think you’d better leave. I won’t have you coming here and sullying his name. I’ve had a bellyful of it.”
Sean swallowed, he’d obtained more information than he’d anticipated. Perhaps he should just leave as Rupert had asked? But something in Rupert’s face. Something of the outrage he’d gone through himself, gave him pause. He remembered the police’s suggestion that his sister may have had loose morals and that this may have had something to do with the way she ended up. He’d nearly been arrested for assaulting the police officer who’d made this remark. So, instead of just walking out, he apologised.
“I’m sorry. I’m just trying to get to the bottom of what happened to my sister.” He touched one of Rupert’s arms that now lay across his face, but he made no move to come out from behind his barricade. Sean decided he’d better leave after all. He’d clearly outstayed his welcome and wasn’t going to get any further with this man.
He was at the front door, when Rupert came up behind him. “I’m just as determined as you to find out the truth.” he said. “I know Charlie was the last person with her. I know that there’s no getting past that. But if he was, he was trying to help her. He must have found her somewhere. I know it.”
“Where would that be then? At the office?” Sean scoffed. Unconvinced, he turned away and made to open the door. Rupert couldn’t bear his disbelief. Gripping his arm he said resolutely, “I’ll prove it to you, Sean. I’ll prove Charlie wasn’t involved.”
Sean was intrigued and turned back towards him, but was not happy at being held. Rupert, noticing the displeasure in his face, swiftly released his arm but continued to plead his case. “I haven’t been brave enough to face Charlie’s work colleagues as yet. But some of his things are still at the office. I’ll go. I’ll go and collect them. Perhaps there’ll be something that’ll help…. there may even be something that explains how he got mixed up in this and why he said what he did.”
His interest caught by this proposal, Sean played along with it, knowing he might turn up some useful information. “Will his computer still be there?”
Rupert nodded, “The police only confiscated his home computer. But I can’t exactly walk out with that. It’s a desktop that belongs to his employer.”
“No, said Sean. “But you can download the hard drive.” Rupert pondered on this a minute and then his eyes widened in understanding. “You mean like in the movies? Using a thingymajig?”
“It’s called a USB flash drive, but yes.”
“But someone might spot me.”
“Then do it discreetly,” advised Sean. Taking Rupert’s hand, he placed his business card in it and, looking him hard in the eyes, said “I expect to hear from you.” With that, he left.
Back at his hotel, Sean googled this Harry Pearson Rupert had mentioned, the owner of Bespoke Cars. He was fascinated to find that he was a very affluent and prominent man in his sphere of influence, with several stock holdings to his name. He could find no evidence of even the slightest shadow or slur against Harry Pearson or Bespoke Cars. All Harry’s operations and concerns appeared completely legitimate. He was even an ambassador for a number of good causes and gave regularly and generously to charity. However, ironically, the more he read the more suspicious he became, simply because Harry’s wealth was enormous but his reputation and that of his company remained spotless, a rare combination in his experience. Harry had one child, a nineteen year old daughter. He had been married but his wife had died in a tragic car accident and there was nothing to suggest there was anything untoward about this. He had never remarried.
Would there be something on Charles’ work computer to back up what he’d suspected about Bespoke Cars? Unfortunately, that avenue of enquiry seemed to hit a brick wall, almost immediately. Sean received a hysterical phone call from Rupert the very next evening. Apparently he’d been denied access to Charles effects. He wasn’t listed as next of kin and had no right to them, he’d been told. Not that Charles parents would show any interest in collecting his belongings, he complained. The opposition to him even taking a look at Charles work station was so marked, that Rupert suspected that the company had purposely destroyed his things. Perhaps in retaliation for slurring the reputation of the company and in an effort to wipe away evidence of his embarrassing existence, following news of his crime. He’d been treated like a criminal himself and frogmarched from the building.
Sean tried to calm him down and assured him he would see what he could uncover using other lines of enquiry. He wasn’t about to give up. He’d wished he could tell Rupert he no longer thought Charles was responsible, but this was a step too far. All he’d been able to say was that he was keeping an open mind.
Sean remained determined to interrogate Charles computer. He considered how to gain entry to the premises. He could try and pose as a legitimate client or customer who had business there. However, considering the reception Rupert had received, it was unlikely he’d get anywhere near to Charles work area, whatever his excuses, and any interest in Charles might raise suspicion or concern. Even if he masqueraded as a police officer, he couldn’t be sure his ruse wouldn’t be uncovered. Another danger was that if, as he now suspected, there were other people behind Brenna’s fate, he could risk arousing the wrong kind of attention. He was starting to wonder if this was indeed what Charles had done. Had he discovered something that had resulted in his death? After all, a man like Harry Pearson would want to cover up any potential scandal connected to him and would likely have the means to do so. Could it be that Charles was the scapegoat? Was he being vilified when he had actually been, as his lover insisted, a good and innocent man? A man who’d actually been trying to help Brenna, had even rescued her?
Sean’s current job in America involved computers and security systems. It would be easy enough for him to slip in the offices after hours, disarm any alarms, identify the desktop and download the entire hard drive. Though risky, if he pulled this off he could have the evidence he needed and some of the answers to those unresolved questions.
CHAPTER 24
Sean meticulously planned his approach. Observations on the building and the comings and goings persuaded him the best night to enter the premises was after seven on a Saturday when no-one was around, as even the cleaners didn’t come in until the Sunday, yet it wasn’t too late at night to arouse suspicion if he was observed. He calculated he could be in an out within minutes, with relatively little fuss and having left no sign of his presence. The security system was a top class American one but, as luck would have it, one that he had helped to design. This had firmed his resolve, reassuring him luck was on his side. How wrong could he have been?
He was surprised, but not overly perturbed, when he realised that he was no longer alone in the building. At least the noise of the lift starting up kindly alerted him to his visitor. He warily watched the lift rise to the top floor. He was on the one below. He heard the person walking around and opening doors above him. He then saw the lift descend but, instead of going back down to ground level, it stopped at his floor and the doors opened. Sean quickly dropped out of sight.
Having declined to turn on the lights on his floor, everything, including himself, was safely obs
cured in darkness. Still, a little light had been shed by the computer screen, which was still in the process of transferring the data. Sean was unable to interrupt its progress by shutting it down, without compromising the download. The lift doors opened to reveal a man in a tux, carrying a file (likely what he’d come back for). The man queried, “Anybody here?” and then started to reach for the lights. Unfortunately, before turning on the switch, he’d obviously noticed the glow from Charlie’s console. He left the lights and approached the workstation instead, cautiously, calling out “Hello?”
Not wanting him to interfere with the computer’s operation, Sean had no choice. He sneaked up behind him and clobbered him.
Seconds after the man had fallen to the floor, the computer bleeped, indicating the download was complete. What a shame the blighter hadn’t been a little slower or the download a little faster, Sean thought. He could have avoided this scenario altogether. Recovering the USB stick, he shut the computer off. What now? He frowned down at the man’s insensate form.
Checking his pulse, he was relieved when he found a faint heartbeat. He’d given him a fair clout. Glancing at his ID, he noticed that he was a senior sales executive for Bespoke Cars. He even had a cotag for accessing the Bespoke Cars offices. Was it worth exploring up there or even rousing him in order to interrogate him about Harry Pearson? He jumped guiltily as his deliberations were interrupted by the strident tones of a mobile phone, emanating from the man’s unconscious form. This interruption prompted him to dismiss his speculations. He was not sure how much further his luck could be tested.
