by J M Gregson
Nayland glared at him for a moment, then waved his PA away. ‘Make sure we’re not disturbed, please. This shouldn’t take very long.’ He waited until the door was securely closed behind her. Then he looked at Rushton with considerable distaste before transferring his gaze to DS David.
With her ash-blonde hair, green eyes and tall, willowy figure, David complemented the dark-haired Rushton, with his handsome but intense features and his determination to have what he needed from this meeting. Ruth was that object of CID suspicion, a graduate being fast-tracked through the police ranks. But she had proved herself now, and won further credit by electing to stay with John Lambert’s team because she felt she was learning fast there. Peter Nayland ran his eyes over her attractive contours and afforded her a broad smile; she reacted with a neutral one of her own which was the product of much practice.
Nayland seated them in the chairs on the opposite side of his desk, sensing that it would be better for him to keep the meeting formal rather than attempt a phoney conviviality. ‘I’m always anxious to help the police, but I can’t think that I have anything useful to offer here. Cooper, I think that was the name you mentioned. Isn’t he the chap who was murdered at the weekend at Westbourne Park?’
Rushton nodded, like a terrier anxious to get at his food. ‘Cooper died on Sunday night. And you shouldn’t try to distance yourself from a death which is eminently convenient for you.’
Nayland looked hard at his adversary, then down at the decorative silver desk-set in front of him, as if he needed some neutral object to control his anger. ‘That phrase “eminently convenient” sounds almost like an accusation, Detective Inspector Rushton. I think you had better explain yourself.’
‘Very well. We have reason to think that you have a close relationship with the wife of the murder victim, Mrs Alison Cooper. Perhaps a close enough relationship for you to wish her husband off the scene.’
Nayland leant forward and fingered the silver top of the inkwell in the desk-set, raising it and letting it drop back with a tiny click. ‘You don’t mince matters. But I suppose as a man with a busy day ahead of him I should welcome that. May I ask how you came by this information?’
‘We don’t reveal our sources. You must know enough about police procedures by now to be aware of that.’
It was a scarcely veiled insult, but Nayland didn’t rise to the bait. ‘My relationship with Alison is a private matter.’
‘Not any more it isn’t.’ Rushton spoke with some relish. ‘Once you become involved in a murder investigation, very few things remain private.’
‘I’m not involved in this murder.’
‘You are involved in its investigation, I’m afraid. And you will remain so until we are able to eliminate you from all suspicion of either committing the crime or being in any other way involved in it.’
Nayland looked hard at him, then stroked his neatly trimmed moustache. It was a gesture which had become an aid to thought for him, as well as a help in formulating the words he wished to use. He was more and more irritated by this erect, dark-haired young DI, but he knew well that he mustn’t descend into anger. There was too much at stake here for that. ‘I can eliminate myself from your enquiries very quickly. I believe this death took place on Sunday evening last. I was in Selly Oak on Sunday evening. Four of us enjoy a poker game once a month. I can give you the address where we met and the names of the people concerned.’
‘We shall take those details in due course. They will not eliminate you from our investigation.’
Peter Nayland raised his well-groomed eyebrows and accorded his adversary a disdainful smile. ‘Really? This begins to sound very like police harassment.’
‘You’ve been a centre of interest for Birmingham CID officers for several years, as I’m sure you are well aware. You’ve perpetrated a series of dodgy business deals. You’ve been involved in drugs, prostitution and wholesale VAT evasions. You use your betting shops and gambling clubs as a means of money laundering. You are suspected of using hit men to eliminate your underworld rivals.’
‘And have I been convicted even once of any of these things? In your own interest, you should be aware of the laws of slander, Detective Inspector Rushton.’
The two were bristling with hostility now, making even formal phrases into instruments of attack. Rushton said evenly, ‘People who behave as if they are above the law sometimes get away with it, for a time. If they are clever, that time may extend to several years. But eventually they overreach themselves and end up with lengthy custodial sentences. Perhaps this crime will prove to be the point where that happens to you.’
‘I’ve told you where I was on Sunday night. I’d like you to leave now.’
‘And I’ve no doubt you can produce men to swear you were in Selly Oak at the time Dennis Cooper died. Probably people whom you employ.’ The briefest flash of irritation on Nayland’s face showed that he had scored a hit. ‘You may even have been exactly where you say you were, ensuring your alibi for the time when you knew this killing was to take place. When you employ a contract killer to eliminate your enemies, that is a prudent thing to do.’
Peter Nayland’s smile of contempt was comprehensive. It widened to embrace the man in front of him, the woman at his side, the whole of the police service, the world of law and order beyond it. ‘You’re adding the employment of a contract killer to the other crimes you’ve thrown at me. It’s building up into an impressive catalogue. I’m sure some of your superiors would be interested to read the list.’
‘You employed the known hit man George French to kill not one but two men last year. We know that, but the necessary witnesses are much too frightened to come into court and speak against you. You have form, Mr Nayland. It may not yet be official form. It will become that once you overstep the mark and come to court on even one charge. We find rats desert the sinking ship very rapidly in those circumstances.’
DS Ruth David had watched these stags locking horns with interest. Chris Rushton was a quiet man, who sometimes seemed more interested in the efficient documentation of information on his computer than in feeling collars. It was fascinating to see now his real passion in the face of villainy, just as it was to see the veneer of respectable businessman cracking away from Peter Nayland as he was attacked. DS David now said, ‘Mr Nayland, you’d better let me have the details of where you were on Sunday night and the people who were with you.’
‘Certainly, my dear. I’m a cooperative member of the public anxious to give every help to the enforcers of our laws.’
‘And I’m not your dear, but one of those enforcers, Mr Nayland.’
She recorded the names coolly, listening to the heavy breathing of the rival stags in the resulting silence. Then she said, ‘As you would expect, our officers will be speaking to Mrs Cooper about her relationship with you, probably at this very moment. We should like to have your description of that relationship.’
His first impulse was to deny them, to tell them to piss off and keep out of his affairs. But he felt no shame about what he proposed for him and Ally – rather the reverse, indeed. In the shady world in which he operated, this was one of the few things unsullied, one of the brighter and better areas of his future. Even to these enemies, he wanted to declare the simple integrity of his feelings for Ally. Love can make people vulnerable, even people like Peter Nayland.
He spoke steadily, even proudly. ‘I intend to marry Alison Cooper. That was our intention before the death of her husband. There will now be no need for the delays of divorce. I anticipate that we shall be united in the near future.’
There was something ridiculous but also slightly touching in this avowal from a soiled man like Nayland, thought Ruth David. Perhaps she was a romantic, but after four years of continual involvement with criminals and life’s seamier side, she didn’t think so.
It was only on the forty-mile drive back to the murder room at Westbourne that DI Rushton pointed out thoughtfully, ‘If Nayland was being honest in what he said
about Alison Cooper, that gives both of them a stronger motive than ever for this killing.’
‘We’ll have this out now. Whilst the kids are at school.’ Jim Hartley’s suntanned face was pale and set. He was determined but very unhappy.
Julie Hartley set a cup of coffee on the low table at his elbow. She had known it would come to this. Sooner or later, they had to have this out. She should have welcomed it, really, but she felt only dread. She said dully, ‘You’re right. We can’t talk about this in front of the children.’
‘There shouldn’t really be anything to talk about.’
‘But there is, Jim. It’s a fact of life, and you’re right to say that we can’t just ignore it.’ She was sitting opposite him and she now leaned forward and placed her hand on top of his. ‘Jim, none of this is down to you. I know I’ve hurt you, but I never meant to do that.’
He pulled his hand roughly away from hers. ‘It’s time you finished with this nonsense. We’ve got two fine boys and we’re a lovely family. Everyone says so.’
‘What everyone says and sees isn’t always the truth. We seem a lovely family from the outside, Jim. We’re the only ones who know that it isn’t so. And it’s not your fault. In so far as it’s anyone’s, it’s mine. The reality is that it’s just an unfortunate fact of life. I discovered my real sexual orientation much too late in life. This is a mess, but a mess we can sort out.’
‘We can if you come to your senses and realize your responsibilities. And if we’re allotting blame, a lot of it must go down to that damned woman who’s turned your head!’
‘It’s not Sarah’s fault! You can leave her out of this!’
She had flown instantly to the defence of her lover. Jim realized that he had made a mistake in mentioning Sarah Goodwin, but her reaction had wounded him anew. He was so sick with emotion that he had no idea what to do, what were the best tactics for him in this situation. He had never imagined anything like this could happen to him.
All the arguments he’d meant to present coolly came tumbling out as he clawed at his distress. ‘I’ll fight you for the boys! You won’t take them away from me! Maybe I’ll still have you back, when you come to your senses. The lads need a mother.’
Julie felt acutely sorry for him. But she couldn’t help him, could she? Not without compromising the thing which mattered most of all to her. She wanted to throw herself across the small space between them, to kneel at his feet, to put her arms round his knees, hug him and mutter consoling words, as one would do to a suffering child.
But she did none of these things. Jim would misinterpret them wouldn’t he? He’d think she was ‘coming to her senses’. And then she’d have to tell him that it wasn’t so and hurt him all over again. She said miserably, ‘I agree it’s a mess. I agree none of it is your fault. But I love Sarah, and I can’t alter that. I love you too, but in a different sort of way. Sarah and I will make a home together and we’ll look after Sam and Oliver. They’ll always be your boys. You’ll be able to see them whenever you want to.’
‘The boys are happy here. They love it here. They’ll stay with me.’
His face set, immovable as granite. Julie said gently, ‘Children are best with their mother, Jim. The courts will take that line, if it comes to it. But I hope we can agree something sensible between ourselves.’
‘Between the three of us, you mean? You’ll bring that woman into it, won’t you? She’s good with words, so you’ll throw her in against me when it comes to the arguments. She’s cleverer with books and plays and music than a simple sod like me. That’s what’s turned your head. That’s why you won’t listen to reason.’
‘That isn’t true, Jim. And I won’t bring Sarah into any of the arguments. She wouldn’t want that and neither do I.’ She felt wretched, felt weighed down with guilt at what she was doing, but she knew that she mustn’t back off, mustn’t leave him with any illusion that there might yet be room for compromise.
He had no arguments left, or none that he could think of. The reasoned approaches he had been planning for weeks had flown from him, once he was sitting opposite the face and the body he loved and hearing that Julie was determined to take them from him. He looked hopelessly into the brown eyes and white face in their frame of long black hair, then threw in the only line he could think of. ‘I’ll lose my job here.’
‘Why should you do that?’
‘You’ll make a laughing stock of me if you leave me like this. They’ll say I’m not up to the job.’
‘Your private life has nothing to do with being a head gardener.’
‘But it has, when you’re the head gardener and in charge of a lot of young people. Dennis Cooper thought that. He said the National Trust was a very conservative association and would want a resident family here. He said I should sort out this situation and restore you to sanity.’
‘That’s ridiculous!’ But as she sent him miserably back into his gardens, Julie Hartley thought that those phrases weren’t Jim’s. They sounded very much as if they might have come from Dennis Cooper.
‘I did warn you that we would need to speak to you again when we knew more about the people involved in this crime. We are now three days into the investigation and we have reached that stage. We have studied your husband’s files and also some of the private thoughts recorded in a small notebook he kept.’
Alison Cooper heard the challenge in Lambert’s voice and she was acutely aware of his watching her every reaction. Her own voice seemed to come from some distance away as she said, ‘I understand that. I am of course willing to give you all the help I can, but I don’t anticipate that I shall be able to advance your progress.’
She had planned these words earlier, but they emerged as over-elaborate and evasive. She waited for a reaction, but the two grave-faced men gave her nothing. She said nervously, ‘Are you near to making an arrest?’
Lambert smiled. ‘We should be much nearer if people like you chose to be honest, Mrs Cooper.’ He watched her for a couple of seconds as she struggled for a denial, then said quietly, ‘Perhaps you should know that officers in the murder team are at this moment speaking to Mr Peter Nayland.’
Her head reeled. Peter had said that it might come to this and he had advised her what she should do if it did. But in her shock she could not remember his instructions. She said stupidly, ‘You know about us?’
‘We do. And we shall shortly know much more.’
He made that sound very ominous. Perhaps it was his words, combined with the look of challenge on the long, lined face, that brought her back to her senses. They knew that she had been conducting an extramarital affair, but nothing more than that, did they? They couldn’t arrest you for something which was going on all over the country. She said carefully, ‘I didn’t tell you about Peter when we spoke on Monday because our relationship had nothing to do with Dennis’s murder.’
‘You must be aware that your concealment of it now shows you in a very bad light. You lied to us about where you were and asked your friend Carrie North to support your story. You could have landed her with very serious charges. Do you believe your affair with Mr Nayland will involve a long-term commitment?’
What a roundabout phrase for something very simple! Peter was going to be the love of her life, all the sweeter for being discovered so unexpectedly when she had reached the age of forty-nine. She wasn’t going to deny what was a source of pride to her. She said quietly, ‘Peter and I are serious. I don’t think either of us expected that when we first slept together, so it has come as a very welcome surprise. After a decent interval, we shall get married and spend the rest of our lives together.’
Lambert nodded, then said calmly, ‘Unless of course one or both of you were involved in the despatch of your husband. The mandatory sentence for murder is life imprisonment.’
Alison knew she couldn’t be as dispassionate as he was, but she could try to match his steely hostility. ‘We needn’t fear that. Neither of us had anything to do with Dennis’s death.’
<
br /> Lambert did not offer her even an assenting nod. Instead, he said almost eagerly, ‘Mr Cooper’s death was a highly convenient occurrence for you.’
‘I don’t dispute that. But it has merely made things more straightforward for us. It has avoided the necessity of a messy divorce.’
‘Your husband was a Catholic. He would no doubt have opposed divorce.’
She was shocked anew. It was a small fact, but one she did not think they would have known. But they’d talked to a lot of people since Monday, as they’d told her they would do, and they’d had access to Dennis’s private papers. Plus that damned black notebook. She said evenly, ‘Dennis was a practising Catholic. I am not. He would have opposed divorce, thrown in all sorts of arguments about his work here and the National Trust frowning upon a publicized divorce. But he wouldn’t have won.’
‘Things are much more straightforward with him out of the way.’
‘Much more.’ She spoke with a satisfaction which was almost truculent, then hastened to be more humble. ‘But it wasn’t a reason to kill Dennis. The idea that we would do that is preposterous.’
‘And murder is a preposterous crime. People often ignore much simpler solutions. They feel frustrated and do things they wouldn’t do if they were acting coolly and sensibly. How much do you know about this man you are planning to marry?’
The suddenness of the switch unnerved her. It was a new front in his attack and it was one she had not anticipated. And they had discovered a weakness. It set starkly before her what she had thrust to the back of her mind. She had been excited by this man who had declared his serious love for her, but she knew very little about him. She said grimly, ‘I know quite enough for my purposes. I know that Peter Nayland loves me and that he will treat me well.’
‘Perhaps.’
