The Ballad Of Sean And Wilko (The Christy Kennedy Mysteries Book 4)

by Paul Charles

  ‘He said that under no circumstances was he to be disturbed again, I’m sorry, mister, but he’ll shout at me if I go back in again and tell him you’re still here.’

  ‘Okay, let’s make this a lot easier for you, young lady. Sorry, what’s your name?’

  ‘Jane,’ she replied politely, betraying her Yorkshire roots for the first time.

  ‘Jane, could you please tell Dr Shareef that if he refuses to see me then I’ll summon reinforcements in the shape of several officers in several marked cars. Tell him we’ll then remove him physically from his grand house here to the police station for questioning,’ Kennedy was trying hard not to boil over.

  Jane from Yorkshire seemed to take joy in the detective’s attitude.

  ‘Why don’t you come and wait in the front room, mister? I’ll take great pleasure in delivering your message.’

  Kennedy was expecting an ugly piece of work, and Ranjesus didn’t disappoint. Two and one half minutes later, the front room door crashed open and a tubby little man stormed in. He had a large pot belly, and wore pinstriped flannel trousers which were supported by the large belly and a pair of red braces. He had an expensive pink shirt and a blue polka dot tie. The sleeves of the shirt were gathered up above his elbows by two elasticated gold bands. He had a matching gold bar fastening the tie to the shirt, about three inches above the point where the polka dots disappeared into the trousers. He had a full head of black hair and Kennedy pegged him at being in his mid-forties. The thing which puzzled the detective was what could make a beautiful young Irish nurse fall for such a toad.

  ‘How dare you? How dare you barge into my house uninvited? Who on earth do you think you are?’

  ‘Good morning to you, Dr Shareef,’ Kennedy replied.

  ‘Don’t… Don’t you good morning me,’ and he spat the “me” for extra emphasis, if indeed extra emphasis was required.

  ‘Well, in view of your position Dr Shareef, I thought you’d prefer to answer questions here rather than up at North Bridge House,’ Kennedy began. ‘But please believe me, sir. You will answer my questions. It’s entirely up to you where you answer them.’

  The toad of Ulster Terrace was pacing up and down in front of his fireplace using his hand to rest on the mantelpiece giving himself some support.

  ‘You are in trouble,’ Shareef spat violently. ‘You mark my words, sir. You are in trouble. The shit is going to hit the fan when I get on to your superiors, and I mean big lumps of shit.’

  ‘Be that as it may,’ Kennedy replied, ‘in the meantime perhaps we could get to the questions?’

  Shareef merely grunted.

  ‘I believe you knew a nurse, a Miss Sinead Sullivan?’

  ‘Nurse O’Sullivan? No, can’t say that I do. So, could you please leave my house immediately.’

  ‘No sir, not Nurse O’Sullivan…’

  ‘But you just said Nurse O’Sullivan!’

  ‘No sir, not correct. I said Nurse Sinead Sullivan.’

  Shareef looked at him.

  ‘What does it matter? Sullivan or O’Sullivan, I know neither of them. Now, will you please leave my house.’

  ‘You see, sir, I’m having difficulty here because I know for a fact that you and Miss Sullivan were acquainted. I have people who will swear in a court of law that you and she were seen going to a room together in the White House Hotel,’ Kennedy lied.

  Shareef lost a bit of his bravado at that point. Kennedy was totally mystified as to why a young nurse from Ireland, or anyone else come to that, would have anything to do with Shareef, let alone kiss him, let alone sleep with him, let alone become pregnant with a child of his, twice. He must be a brilliant doctor, Kennedy thought. There must be magic in those hands.

  ‘Last week, Nurse Sullivan died as a result of a complication related to her pregnancy. We have reason to believe that you were the father of her unborn child. We also have reason to believe that this was the second time she was pregnant by you. The pregnancy was terminated the first time,’ Kennedy noted that, although Shareef had stopped blowing hot air, he was showing absolutely no outward signs of agreement or disagreement with what Kennedy was saying.

  ‘We know you’d been seeing her for quite some time, doctor,’ Kennedy continued. ‘And had become quite close. All her friends knew she was pregnant and they knew who the father was. They also knew that when she refused treatment and monitoring from the hospital, that you must have been attending her. We believe when she developed a complication in her pregnancy, a complication called placenta praevia, where—’

  ‘I know what placenta praevia is,’ Shareef cut in.

  Kennedy was silently relieved. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d mastered Rose Butler’s theory himself. So, the complicated bit over, he continued.

  ‘You would have been aware of her condition. Then you know that a person with this complication will haemorrhage and die.’

  Shareef sat in silence. When he assumed that Kennedy had finished, he rose from his seat, stood in front of his fireplace and dug his hands deep into his pockets.

  ‘Okay, detective inspector, you have barged into my house. You have had your say, now I will have mine. Perhaps I had an affair with this nurse. That is my business and my business alone. This girl may or may not have been pregnant with my child. But that’s not the issue here. That, detective inspector, is where your hypothetical case runs out. She definitely was not being treated by me. A fact which can easily be proven by the hospital records. I was certainly unaware of any and all complications, including this placenta praevia. If she chose not to be monitored by the hospital then she and she alone made that decision. If she died because she neglected her own well-being then, I’m afraid that’s very sad, but it has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with me.’

  Having regained his composure, and his ground, Shareef concluded with, ‘And now detective inspector, if that is all you have to discuss with me, I’m afraid I must ready myself for the hospital. Were I to be late, I’m sure you’d agree, it is quite possible that some patient might just not receive the attention they require. I believe you’d be as annoyed as myself were such a thing to happen.’

  Kennedy was about to say something, but anything he had said would have meant nothing. The doctor was clever. Following his initial claim of ignorance of Sinead Sullivan and her sad situation, he had accepted that he did have a relationship with the nurse. He also acknowledged that there was a chance he could be the father of the child. But he would accept no blame beyond that. And Kennedy had no proof of anything beyond that. Should the doctor have denied that he’d fathered the child, then Kennedy was sure he could have forced him to give a blood sample and he was sure that such a sample would have proved Rose Butler’s words to be true. But there was no need for such a sample. Dr Ranjesus had not denied the possibility that the child could have been his.

  Kennedy didn’t want to let it go there. But the “big lumps” would certainly be flying in his direction if he overstepped the mark with the doctor. Kennedy crossed the room to the closed door.

  ‘As I said, we are currently investigating this case and I may need to ask you further questions.’ And with that, Kennedy departed Ulster Terrace, fuming. He knew from the doctor’s attitude that even if Rose Butler’s accusation was correct, and Kennedy believed it was, there was no proof with which to continue the investigation.

  Or did he? By the time he reached the Cumberland Gate exit to Regent’s Park, he was forming a plan which just might work. By the time he reached the Fountain of Sorrow, the plan was in place. He resolved to contact Rose Butler as soon as possible and see whether she would be prepared to play a part, a vital part, in Kennedy’s plan.

  Three minutes later, he walked up the steps to North Bridge House, the deaths of Wilko Robertson and Kevin Paul were back on the front burner.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Kennedy felt a lot happier back on the friendly grounds of his office, surrounded by his team. Even his super, Thomas Castle, had joined in. Ke
nnedy rearranged his noticeboard, moving KP’s name from the suspect list to the victim list.

  KP got too close to the killer and lost his life as a result. Why hadn’t Kennedy forced him to give him more information on the phone yesterday? In reality, he hadn’t had much of an opportunity. KP had been cut short in his conversation with Kennedy and had to disconnect. Could that have meant that the person KP was bluffing, or setting the trap for, was walking into the trap? The timing seemed to work. Kennedy had spoken to KP on the phone around six o’clock. Smiley Polger advised Kennedy that KP’s visitor to the white room, the lady with the walking stick, had arrived around that time.

  Another point worth noting, Kennedy thought, and mentioned to the team as he was bringing everyone up to date, was that when Kennedy turned up at Sean Green’s, shortly thereafter, to interview both Green and his wife, Green was out. Kennedy had also asked Sean Green if he’d been to see KP. Sean replied that it wasn’t KP he’d been to see but another friend called Kevin, perhaps the Undertones cousin?

  ‘So,’ Kennedy began, ‘we have to go back to our original inquiries. People who would have had a reason for getting rid of Wilko.’

  ‘And they are?’ Castle enquired.

  ‘Well…’ Kennedy opened the floor.

  ‘Susan Robertson, Wilko’s wife,’ Irvine called out.

  ‘Motive? WPC Coles?’ Kennedy asked.

  ‘Uh… She found out that Wilko was sleeping with her sister?’ Coles offered.

  ‘Good. Who else? Allaway?’

  ‘Tracey McGee, Susan’s sister,’ Allaway answered.

  ‘The motive, constable?’

  The constable shook his head. Kennedy answered his own question.

  ‘Either Wilko wasn’t prepared to dump his wife or he was threatening to split up with Tracey herself. At any rate, we still have to find a way of putting our killer both at the scene of the crime, and also in and out of a locked room.’

  ‘Oh,’ Castle piped up with a smile on his face, ‘from what I’ve heard about yesterday evening you’re becoming a bit of an expert at solving the old locked-room murder mysteries.’

  There were a few mutterings of approval around the room, all of which made Kennedy a little embarrassed. Compliments were not something he was good at dealing with, a point ann rea was constantly drawing attention to.

  ‘You’re too kind, sir, but you should credit Coles with that one.’

  ‘What about this one?’ Castle prompted.

  ‘Well this one’s a lot more complicated. First off, the only people backstage were Wilko, who’d come off the stage, and KP, who had a pass to get there. No one else was allowed there, not even the venue staff were allowed there during a performance,’ Kennedy said, seeing the scene develop in his mind’s eye. Something interesting was forming. Castle interrupted again.

  ‘Well, man, any theories so far?’

  ‘I’m still working on it, sir, but you’ll be the first to know. In the meantime,’ Kennedy addressed his team, ‘let’s go back over this stuff again. Let’s plough through all the witness statements from the night of the Wilko murder. There must be something there that we’re missing. I still want to have another chat with Susan and Tracey, but separately. There’s definitely something going on there.’

  ‘Could they possibly be in it together?’ Coles asked.

  ‘Possibly. Or there might be something else there, waiting for us to find it,’ Kennedy replied. He thought in silence for a few minutes. His concentration was broken by some mutterings at the back.

  ‘I hope you’re discussing leads for this case,’ Kennedy said, interrupting their chatter and losing his thread. ‘Sean Green. I wonder if there’s anything else there. He was supposedly in the audience. The security guy swears no one passed him, but someone in the audience must have seen Sean during his walkabout in the audience.’

  ‘And his motive?’ Castle asked, with a shrug of his shoulders, hands clasped in front of him.

  ‘Well now, WPC Coles came up with a very interesting theory for that one, didn’t you?’ Kennedy smiled at the WPC, who was, as usual, sitting beside Irvine, as he waited for her to explain her elaborate theory. Kennedy wondered if there was anything going on between those two.

  ‘Well,’ Coles advised the meeting, ‘quite simply, as I see it, he brings Wilko back into the band, raising their profile, and murders him, increasing the profile still further. The band not only enjoy incredible record sales but he also greatly increases the worth of both his recordings and the publishing catalogue.’

  ‘These pop stars, they’re not normal sorts of people, are they? They’re a bit weird,’ Castle agreed, adding his own weight. ‘Remember that chap, Pauley Valentini? He was so annoyed at Radio One not playing his records that he hijacked that radio station, GLR, forcing them to play his music. His sales went through the roof. I bought some of them myself and I can tell you I don’t know what the fuss was all about. I understand perfectly well why Radio One didn’t play his music. No, never as good as Neil Diamond. Now there is a chap with great songs, mind you, the missus tells me Radio One don’t play his music either.’

  ‘Nor the Beatles, sir,’ Kennedy felt compelled to answer.

  ‘The Beatles, what have they got to do with this case?’ Castle enquired, shaking his head as though he was shaking himself out of a dream.

  ‘Radio One don’t play the Beatles either, sir.’

  ‘Yes, exactly, and they don’t go hijacking a radio station, do they? No, of course not. They’re like Neil Diamond, they’ve got good songs, they don’t need to go hijacking radio stations,’ Castle replied not exactly tying the matter up but at least taking it back to a point where Kennedy could pull in the reins again.

  ‘Now back to Sean Green,’ Kennedy said. ‘There may be other things involved here, as well. It seems that Sean’s wife was once Wilko’s lover.’

  Castle’s jaw dropped in shock. He was about to say something but before he could, Kennedy continued.

  ‘In fact, she had Wilko’s child, William, who now lives with his mother and Sean Green. So, is there something there? And, if we are going to look at Sean, we also have to look at his wife. She openly admits she would have liked things to have worked out with Wilko. Perhaps she was even instrumental in persuading Sean to take him back into Circles. But she saw what a problem he was going to be, so she dumped him and married Sean. I don’t know. Maybe we’re clutching at straws. We need to find out what KP was on to. What had he discovered? Who was the lady with the bad leg? Do Susan or Tracey or Colette limp, did anyone notice?’

  Kennedy sent everyone off under instruction to reinterview the leading suspects and witnesses. The only people remaining in Kennedy’s office were the superintendent and the detective inspector.

  ‘On another matter, Christy,’ Castle began as PC Allaway left the office, shutting the door behind him, ‘any progress on the Dr Shareef thing?’

  ‘No. Sadly not. I met him this morning. I’m afraid I didn’t get much out of him. I’m convinced he did as Rose Butler suspects, but I think he’s too clever a man by far to have left anything for us to trap him with. I’m thinking of getting Rose Butler to wear a wire and send her in to see him and see what that produces,’ Kennedy replied, running the idea up the pole to see if he’d get Castle’s support.

  Castle was, all things considered, extremely supportive.

  ‘Yes, I suppose it’s got to be worth a try, but if it doesn’t work, we’re going to have to let this one go. Hell, I’m not even sure what we could charge him with. He didn’t actually do anything, did he?’

  ‘That’s exactly it, sir. He did nothing. But surely he was duty-bound to do something, given the circumstances.’

  ‘Maybe he’d be struck off or something, but I’m not sure it would go much further than that. Let’s wait and see what we get from the Rose Butler wiretap. Keep me posted, eh? And be careful, please. He’s got lots of influential friends,’ Castle said, making his way to the door. As he opened it he turned with
a wink, ‘But don’t be too worried about his friends, he’s got quite a few enemies as well.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Kennedy sat at his desk and looked at the plastic bags before him. Inside each one were the bits and pieces taken from KP’s person when he was found.

  Then there was the mobile phone. He’d deal with that later, he thought. He searched through the plastic bags until he found the one he was after. It contained two pieces of note paper, or one large piece torn in two. He pulled a spare pair of surgical gloves from his desk drawer and shook his head in amazement at KP’s handwriting.

  The top of the first page had tear marks along the top, showing that it came from a spiral pad. On the left-hand side, written from left to right and spilling off the page, was the word PRAT. Then what looked like the beginning of a star drawn beside it and continuing off the page. Next to that was 0171 387 5080, the number of North Bridge House and a scribble which looked like it might just be the word KENNEDY. KENNEDY 0171 387 5080. Okay so far, but that was the easy part, that was his own name and telephone number.

  Prat. Kennedy turned the word over in his head. Prat.

  The middle section of the right-hand side of the page had a bird’s-eye view of what looked like a room. There were three rectangles in what looked like an arc around a line with a tick at each end. In the top rectangle were the letters CH, in the next one down AI, and in the bottom one RS. CHAIRS. The dressing room in Dingwalls? Then there would be six chairs rather than the three. In the top right-hand corner of the room, if indeed it was a room, he’d drawn another rectangle reaching almost into the corner. In this rectangle were the letters LUZD with a little arrow heading out of the room, in the direction of the top of the page.

  The bottom of the same page had a stroke come in at about forty-five degrees, then an O and an L, and an arrow pointing to the name WILKO with a question mark.