Mortal Taste

by J M Gregson

  ‘Ring?’

  Lambert sighed. He had never raised his voice above normal throughout their exchanges, yet Martin was inordinately afraid of him and what he might say next. ‘Please don’t try to be evasive at this stage, Mr Sheene. You must be well aware that people with your sexual preferences tend to get together in groups. I’m asking you whether you are a member of such a group.’

  ‘No. I wouldn’t – I’ve never wanted to be a member of a group like that.’

  He was suddenly scared, and with fear he was reanimated, when a moment earlier he had thought himself too exhausted to resist. They mustn’t find out about the ring and the people who were in it. If he split on them, there was no knowing what might happen to him. He said again, as if he could make it true by earnest repetition, ‘There is no group. I’m not a member of any ring.’

  Lambert studied him for a long moment, then stood up abruptly. He seemed to Martin even taller than when he had come into the room. ‘Don’t move out of the area, Mr Sheene. Not without letting us know at Oldford CID. Someone will be in touch with you over the weekend about the situation at the school.’

  Martin watched them go, standing at the front window of his house for minutes after their car had turned the corner and disappeared. Then he went back into his house and began to fling video cassettes into plastic dustbin bags with a furious energy. With garden rubbish hastily crammed into the top sections to disguise the contents, they were consigned to the council dump within half an hour. Amidst the frenetic activity of an autumn Saturday at the site, his modest contribution was scarcely even noticed. The pathetic evidence of his involvement with the group disappeared before his gratified eyes.

  In the Saturday quiet of Oldford CID, only the skeleton of the murder team was working. Superintendent John Lambert was arranging for a twenty-four hour surveillance to be kept on the comings and goings of Martin Sheene.

  Fifteen

  Daniel Price found that Saturday afternoon was a useful time to conduct the less official side of his business.

  There was no one in the offices of Price Computer Supplies at this time. If the proprietor was seen in there on a Saturday, that only made him a more conscientious employer, working diligently to preserve the prosperity of his employees as well as himself. If he was prosperous, as he obviously was, then he obviously worked very hard for it and deserved his affluence. A model employer.

  The succession of diverse humanity who visited him on this Saturday might have other views on his conduct as an employer, but they were in no position to voice them. The illegal drugs industry has no trade unions.

  Two men, then a woman, each of them in charge of selling in different parts of Price’s small but developing empire. They were doing well, these three, expanding their sales, pushing the Class A drugs which provided the greatest danger to the users but the highest profits for the suppliers. Daniel gave them appropriate encouragement, discussed with them their ideas for developing their markets still further. This was very much like his computer business, really, he thought, except that the profits were much bigger and you had to be much more careful.

  His fourth and last visitor was another male, the one Mark Lindsay now thought of as ‘the man in black’.

  This man tried to anticipate the rebuke he felt was coming from Daniel Price. ‘Business is a bit slack at the moment. It will probably pick up as we move into the winter.’

  Daniel gave him his most patronizing smile. He was dispensable, this man. He already had someone else in mind for what he called ‘the school run’ if the man in black didn’t pull his socks up. ‘On the contrary, the other people I have seen today have talked to me of expanding sales. I’m very pleased with them.’

  ‘I need to be a bit cautious with my school pushers, though. The police have been swarming around the place in the last few days because of this murder.’

  He had a point there. But it wasn’t Daniel’s policy to allow sales staff to make points, in either of his businesses. He treated any acknowledgement of the difficulties as a sign of weakness; if you didn’t admit the difficulties were there, good salesmen usually went ahead and solved the problems for themselves. ‘The people in the school aren’t Drugs Squad. They’re not investigating our little business.’

  ‘No. I’m trying to convey that message myself. But the pushers I have around the school and the club are only youngsters. They’re bound to be scared, when they see the plods around.’

  A more balanced employer than Daniel Price would have accepted the point, would have agreed that inexperienced dealers should lie low for a little while, until they got the feel of the ground and their users came back to them. But Daniel was greedy; he had so far known only success, and success is a demanding mistress.

  He said, ‘You’ve got a good market, in the comprehensive school and Shakers. An expanding market: the number of kids between fourteen and eighteen who are experimenting with drugs is going up by ten per cent each year. It’s up to you to take advantage of that demand. The patch you’ve been fortunate enough to collect gives you the best chance of all of developing a market rapidly.’

  He was almost convincing himself as he spoke. He had made up that percentage increase among teenagers, but the man in front of him was in no position to argue. The man in black said weakly, ‘Perhaps the kids I’ve got working for me aren’t quite up to it.’

  ‘And whose fault would that be? I gave you a free hand in recruiting your staff.’ Price couldn’t possibly have done anything else: he knew nothing about the situation on the ground. But the man wouldn’t dare point that out, probably wouldn’t even dare to think it.

  Like most bullies, Daniel Price got worse when there was no resistance. He said, ‘You said there were rumours that the headmaster was on to something, that he had his suspicions about your pushers. Well, he’s no longer on the scene, is he? I should have thought you’d be making hay while the sun shines.’

  Mark Lindsay would have been amazed to see the man who frightened him so cowed. The man in black virtually apologized for his lack of expansion, then promised he would do better in the future. Daniel sent him on his way with a final sharp bollocking: that would keep the bugger on his toes.

  As Daniel Price watched the car drive away, he smiled with satisfaction at the gee-up he had given to this last of his appointments for the day. He had not the slightest notion that he had just made a serious mistake.

  Jane Logan opened the front door to them before they could knock. She said accusingly, ‘Catriona’s playing hockey for the school, so I’m on my own. That’s just as well. It would have upset her to know you were coming here again, for the third time in four days.’

  Lambert said, ‘I’m sorry about that. I can understand her feelings. Perhaps a third visit wouldn’t have been necessary, if you’d been completely honest with us during the first two.’

  She didn’t react to this, offering them nothing until she had them seated in the chairs she had planned for them in the comfortable sitting room. The chairs afforded them a splendid view over a garden whose autumn colours were especially vivid in the early October twilight. Though both men were looking not at the garden but at her. She said, ‘If I told anything but the truth, it was quite unwitting. You might try allowing for the fact that I am in an emotional turmoil after the sudden and violent death of my husband.’

  Nice try, Mrs Logan, thought Bert Hook as he flicked his notebook to a blank page. But you were perfectly composed last time we were here, at pains to tell us that the marriage was over and you weren’t as grief-stricken as a widow might normally be. He looked expectantly at John Lambert, who was watching Jane Logan with a mordant smile.

  The Superintendent took his time, waiting to see if his quarry might dig herself more deeply into the hole. Then he said quietly, ‘Where were you on the night when your husband was killed, Mrs Logan?’

  ‘On Monday night? I told you. I went to the gym for a bit of a workout. I must have been home by nine or nine thirty. When Peter hadn�
��t come in at ten thirty, I went to bed. You’ve had all this from me before.’

  ‘We have indeed. I just thought you might like to put the record straight. To tell us where you really were in those crucial hours when your husband was being brutally murdered.’

  The hazel eyes on each side of the strong nose looked at them steadily. She must have known that she had been found out, but her face gave no indication of it. She said, ‘I just told you, I went to the gym. This is beginning to seem like harassment.’

  ‘Would it prompt a re-think if I told you that the gym you mentioned has no record of your visiting them on Monday night?’

  She folded her arms, gave them a small smile to show that they had not shaken her. ‘It’s a busy place. Probably they didn’t notice me. I mostly just ride one of the exercise bikes, and get on with it very quietly.’

  Lambert shook his head. ‘If you used the gym frequently, you’d be well aware that they book you in and monitor the equipment you’re using. Their records show that you paid your subscription in March, but haven’t used the place once since that initial visit.’

  For a moment, it looked as if she would persist in her hopeless denials. She flushed, whether in embarrassment at being revealed as a liar or in anger at their challenge it was impossible to say.

  When she spoke, she seemed to be forcing out the words. ‘I’m sorry I tried to deceive you. I don’t usually go in for lying. I can only say that I had my reasons.’

  ‘Which you had better outline to us now.’

  She shook her head. ‘I can’t do that.’

  ‘On the contrary, you can and must. You of all people should not need to be reminded that this is a murder inquiry. There is no room for lies, and least of all for lies from the victim’s widow.’

  She was dressed formally, in a green suit which set off her dark-blonde hair: Hook wondered if she had put this on specially to meet them, though he had given her no more than ten minutes notice of their arrival when he phoned. Her only gesture towards mourning was a black chiffon scarf at her throat, to which her hand now rose. She looked a little older today, but no less attractive. Her appearance was dignified, which was ironic in view of the indignity she had just suffered in being unmasked as a liar.

  She didn’t hurry her reply, assessing her options, then apparently deciding she could do little other than tell them the truth. Or was this more acting? Was she really deciding to release to them her own limited version of the truth, still holding back things she thought she could safely conceal? Hook, studying her now as carefully as Lambert, could not be sure as she said, ‘All right. I was with someone that night. As you may have guessed by now.’

  ‘Who was that?’

  ‘I’m not at liberty to say. I don’t want that person dragged into this.’

  ‘I’m afraid you do not have that choice, Mrs Logan. All I can say is that we will be as discreet as we can with the information, if it proves to have no bearing on this case.’

  ‘I can assure you that it does not.’

  ‘I’m afraid your assurances are not enough. Especially as you have so far decided to conceal the information. You must see that when you lie to us, we are likely to be intensely interested in whatever it is you have lied about. That is not personal; it applies to anyone involved in a serious crime investigation.’

  She smiled acerbically. ‘I should have thought a certain degree of sympathy would be accorded to the newly bereaved.’

  Lambert gave her an answering smile: they were two people who understood each other, these two, thought Bert Hook. But that meant that Jane Logan wouldn’t get away with anything. The Superintendent said, ‘You must see that you have forfeited any sympathy by lying to us. Even now, you did not volunteer the truth but denied it for as long as you could. You could be accused of obstructing the police during a murder investigation. You had much better tell us the truth now – the complete truth.’

  She nodded. ‘I was with a man. You probably guessed that.’

  ‘We try not to make guesses. We prefer that people answer our questions accurately.’

  ‘My children do not know about this. I should prefer that things remained like that, for the present.’

  ‘No guarantees, I’m afraid, beyond the assurance I’ve already given to you. You’ve held us up for quite long enough, Mrs Logan. Who was the man you were with on Monday night?’

  She looked for a moment as if she would still resist. Then she said tersely, ‘It was Steve Fenton. He – he used to be—’

  ‘Used to be Chairman of the Governors at your husband’s school, yes. We spoke to Mr Fenton this morning. But I expect you know all about that meeting. I’m sure you’ve been comparing notes from the start about what we were doing.’

  She didn’t deny it. ‘We have our reasons for the secrecy. Steve has just gone through a very messy divorce case: his wife is a vindictive woman and would take any opportunity to cut down his access to his children.’

  ‘You told us in our last interview that your marriage was not a happy one. Did your husband know about your association with Mr Fenton?’

  ‘No. I told you yesterday that Peter had bedded a succession of women. Perhaps he wouldn’t have got too excited about Steve and me. No doubt he would have called it a quick fuck on the side.’ She threw all the bitterness of a failed marriage into the last ugly phrase.

  Lambert said quietly, ‘And is that what it was?’

  ‘No. It was the first and only time that I’d strayed from my marriage vows, though God knows I’ve had cause enough to. But it was a serious relationship. Steve and I will get married.’

  ‘But you weren’t prepared to say so publicly.’

  ‘I’ve told you Steve’s situation. And whatever I thought of Peter, I wasn’t going to destroy his career. Headmasters are still rather like clergymen: they aren’t supposed to get divorced.’

  ‘You think it would have damaged your husband’s career?’

  ‘It would have damaged all of us, Mr Lambert. Peter had enjoyed a lot of publicity as he built up an outstanding school. You must know how media people work: the same ones who’ve built you up delight in knocking you down. You can imagine what the tabloids would have made of this. “Brilliant headmaster works long hours in school whilst his wife enjoys a quick leg-over with the chairman of his governors.” And much more in that vein. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. And Peter was far from that.’

  ‘Would he have given you a divorce?’

  ‘No. It would have damaged his career too much. We’d already discussed it, long before Steve was on the scene; I wanted us to split up once the children had reached eighteen, but Peter wouldn’t have it.’

  ‘So what would be happening to you and Mr Fenton now if your husband was still alive?’

  ‘I don’t know. Peter didn’t even know about Steve and me – he was far too wrapped up in his own affairs, professional and private. I’d have wanted a divorce, Peter would have opposed it; he’d have thrown the children into the argument, said a quick shag didn’t warrant a divorce, refused to accept that Steve and I were anything more than that, and generally made things very messy.’

  Lambert watched Hook making a note on his page. He had caught the anger in her obscenity and was waiting to see if she would go further. When she remained silent, he said, ‘So you now say that you were with Mr Fenton on Monday evening. For how long?’

  She did the right thing, appearing to think about her statement. She had in fact decided what she must say before they came. ‘From about seven thirty to ten. I couldn’t be precise about the times: I didn’t think I was going to be asked about them by senior CID officers at the time.’

  ‘And those officers didn’t expect to find the widow of a murder victim lying about her movements at the time of his death,’ rejoined Lambert dryly. ‘Is there anyone else who can vouch for the fact that you and Mr Fenton were together during those hours?’

  ‘No. Would you expect there to be?’ She let her smile emphasize how rid
iculous the question was.

  Lambert did not return the smile. He kept his scrutiny steadily upon the intelligent face opposite him as he said evenly, ‘I wouldn’t expect that, no. But it would be useful from your own point of view if someone could confirm this, since you and Mr Fenton have previously steadily denied that it was so.’

  She was nettled a little, despite her resolution to remain calm. ‘It was surely understandable that Steve and I should wish to keep things quiet. We both have children, for a start. Steve’s are still adjusting to a divorce; he’s trying to maintain contact with his two. Mine have just lost their father in the most distressing circumstances. We should like to tell them about our relationship in our own time, not let them hear some sensationalized account of it from the tabloids.’

  Lambert nodded tersely. ‘So you decided to lie in a murder investigation. To obstruct the course of the law. Mrs Logan, it must surely be apparent to you that you have just been outlining a perfect motive for murder. For you; for Mr Fenton; for both of you together.’

  She looked for a moment as if she would shout defiance at him. But in the end she took her cue from his coolness, meeting the stare of the grey eyes with a defiant calm of her own. ‘All right, I understand that. I cannot expect you to have the same perspective on events as I have. All I can do is to assure you that I didn’t kill Peter, and neither did Steve.’

  ‘Then I suggest you give some thought to who might have done. Despite what you have said about your marriage, you must have known the people who were around your husband better than anyone. Think about it, then give us your thoughts in confidence – more frankly than you have done previously.’

  They stood up. Jane Logan could scarcely believe that in the end they were going very swiftly. Then Lambert paused in the doorway. He had daughters of his own, older than this woman’s, with children of their own now. But he remembered the crises of their adolescence. He said, ‘Mrs Logan, we gathered when we interviewed the manageress at the gym that her daughter is a friend of your daughter. I suspect from what she said that Catriona knows that you have not been visiting the gym when you told her you were going there. I just thought you might like to be made aware of that.’