Cruel as the Grave

by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles

  ‘Thanks,’ Atherton said when he could get a word in, ‘but it wasn’t that. I—’

  ‘You don’t wanna be shy, man. First timer, right? But you’re never too old. We get guys come in in their fifties, sixties, never worked out in their lives. I guarantee after ten minutes you’ll love it. You’ll wonder how you lived without it – it’s the endorphins, see? Better than speed, man, the endorphins. Big, big high. And you’ll see the difference in your body. Great mood, great looks, it’s win-win! Whaddaya say?’

  For a perilous moment Atherton was almost persuaded. He almost bought it. His hand made a definite twitch towards his wallet, and it was lucky he could divert it to his warrant card or a lifetime of exquisite and practised indolence might have gone out of the window.

  Dez must have been endorphined right up to the brow ridge, because he led Atherton to the office to be interviewed with a serene and helpful smile, and offered him his choice between a bottle of water and a bottle of chilled Lucozade.

  ‘Have you known Jack long?’ Atherton began, accepting the water.

  ‘Oh, years, man. Way before he opened this place. Him and me worked together at The Muscle Factory in Islington, gotta be ten years ago. We kept in touch when we went our ways, and when he started up Pex he asked if I’d like to come in wiv him. Well, I didn’t have no capital to invest, but he give me a job right off, and made me a manager. I gotta lotta respec’ for Jack. He’s got brains, man, brains an’ drive.’

  ‘Did you also know Erik Lingoss?’

  ‘Yeah, bro, like me and Jack and Erik all started off together at the Factory. We were tight. The Free Musketeers, we called ourselves.’ He smiled happily as though this were a novel soubriquet. ‘We used to get up to stuff – they was wild days!’

  ‘What sort of wild? Drink, drugs, women?’

  He looked serious for a moment. ‘You can’t do drugs if you want to look like this,’ he said with a modest gesture towards his body. ‘The body’s a temple, man. No drugs – never! And not too much booze.’

  ‘But women? That was OK?’

  ‘Oh, man!’ he said with a happy reminiscent smile, like a child remembering the best ice cream sundae ever. ‘We used to go out a Friday night, give the wimmin five minutes’ start, then go round ’em up! We shared a flat in Liverpool Road, Jack and me – Erik had his own place in Haggerston – and most nights the free of us ended up at the flat wiv half a dozen wimmin. Great days, man, glory days.’

  ‘I knew Erik was a bit of a hound,’ Atherton said in a conversational, all-boys-together tone, ‘but I didn’t know Jack was, too.’

  ‘Kiddin’ me? He was a maniac. I couldn’t keep up! It was like a contest wiv ’em. “Erik,” he’d say, “I’m over the limit, man, gotta throw one back,” and Jack’d say, “There is no limit, man. Net ’em all!” He was a wild man.’

  ‘And was Erik a wild man too?’

  ‘Yeah, at the beginning, but he was always a bit more serious. Talked about career and stuff. Then he started doing these courses – wanted to better himself. So sometimes he’d be studying at night and wouldn’t come out. Then he got this job with some tech company, house physio, and he was all like, nice suits and yuppie haircuts. I mean, he still come out wiv us, but not so often.’

  ‘He wasn’t interested in women any more?’

  Dez rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, man! Erik and sex? I mean, me and Jack calmed down as we got older. I’m married now – got a little girl – and Jack, he’s been going steady for – what – over a year. But Erik can’t help himself. It’s not like he’s wild, like the old days, but he’s – like – relentless.’ He found the word after a moment’s thought, and seemed so surprised at himself he repeated it. ‘Relentless. The relentless hunter. I don’t know how many women he’s got on the go at once. I don’t suppose he knows. I mean, you can only stand back and admire. It’s like … a professional sport, y’know what I mean?’

  ‘You have to keep in practice?’ Atherton offered.

  Dez looked relieved to be understood. ‘Yeah, and does he frickin’ practise!’ he breathed reverently.

  ‘So do the three of you still go out together?’

  Now Dez’s face drew down into stern lines. ‘What you playing at, man? Erik’s dead, innee? You tryna trap me or somefing?’

  ‘Not at all. I meant, were you all still friends before this happened.’

  ‘Yeah, we see each other now and then. We got different priorities now, but we was still friends. Except …’ He hesitated.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, Erik, he crossed a line, man, messing wiv Jack’s sister. Jack’s, like, Italian, and it’s all about family wiv them. Same as wiv us, West Indians. Family’s everything. I mean, if Erik’d had a go at my wife, I’d’ve killed him. You don’t do that, man – mess wiv family.’

  ‘What did Jack do to Erik when he found out?’

  He looked uneasy. ‘I dunno, man.’

  ‘Was he angry?’

  ‘He was mad as fire. I never seen him so mad. He went on the Hatton heavy bag and beat shit out of it. Hit it so hard he split it. Took it out that way.’ He looked at Atherton, frowning seriously. ‘He’d never hit Erik. He’d never hit anyone. It’s his life, man, power training and weights and this place. He’s a professional. He’d never betray that. It’s like a religion: you don’t use your power to hurt anyone, ever. We teach that, along with the weights. It’s Jack’s, like, mantra. He couldn’t kill anyone. Couldn’t do it.’

  It was a lot of words. Atherton was thinking, hit it so hard he split it. ‘Do you know Lucy?’ he asked.

  Dez’s face lightened. ‘Yeah, she’s a great kid. I met all of Jack’s family over the years but she’s the best. Cute as hell.’

  ‘She’s the one Jack loves best,’ Atherton suggested.

  ‘I dunno. Maybe. She’s the youngest,’ he offered.

  ‘Were you angry with Erik for messing with her?’

  ‘Yeah, bro, he, like, crossed a line. But …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Lucy, I don’t think she was, like, heartbroken about Erik. She struck me as more angry. I mean, yeah, she was stuck on him at the beginning, when he first asked her out. But she’s a smart girl. I reckon she’d already got the measure of him before he dumped her. I saw her a week, ten days ago, and she was fine. I reckon it was hurt pride, mostly. Nobody likes bein’ dumped. But I don’t fink she was cryin’ in her pillow over him.’

  ‘Did Jack tell you about the incident at a nightclub about a month ago, when he got in a fight with Erik?’

  ‘What, at Dean’s? Yeah, no, he never said they had a fight. He told Erik to meet him there. See, Erik told Lucy he was seeing someone else.’ He shrugged. ‘I said, it’s Erik, man, what d’you expect? He’s never kept to one woman in his life. But Jack says, nobody two-times my little sister, and he makes like to have it out with Erik. But there was no fight, man. Jack doesn’t fight.’

  ‘After that, were they still friends?’

  ‘I dunno. I dunno if he’s seen him again since then. But we didn’t see each other all that often anyway, these days.’

  ‘How has Jack been lately? What’s his mood been like?’

  ‘I dunno. No different. He’s Jack, you know?’ As if that answered the question.

  ‘Can you tell me what you were doing on Tuesday night?’

  Dez was about to answer, then drew back and looked indignant. ‘Hey, what you at, man? I answered all your questions. I been nice. You tryna put something on me?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Atherton said soothingly. ‘This is purely routine. We ask everyone who was associated with the victim the same question, just so that we can eliminate them. There’s nothing to get upset about.’

  Dez didn’t look entirely convinced. He said, ‘I was on early. I left here at four and went home, all right? And that’s it. I was at home all night.’

  ‘With your wife and your little girl?’

  He hesitated just a feather of a moment. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘
You didn’t go out again later?’

  ‘I was home all night, like I said. And now I gotta get back to work.’ He stood up, like a basalt column thrusting up through the earth. Atherton stood hastily so as not to be overtopped, thanked him, and left.

  There was definitely a lot of hero-worship there, he thought as he made his way out into the declining afternoon. And loyalty. Saint Jack had given him this job, made him a manager, shown him the True Path. And there was family feeling. Jack was family. Lucy was family. Would someone who worshipped Jack, but knew he would never kill the sleaze hound, feel compelled to do the deed for him? ‘At home with the wife and child’ was a good alibi – but there had been that slight hesitation. It made you wonder.

  EIGHT

  Awful Wedded Wife

  Hart had brought a box of doughnuts in to the meeting – including a plain one for Slider, who thought putting things on top of doughnuts should be a hanging offence. ‘It’s a funny thing, boss,’ she said, ‘but that charity turned out to be real. The one Lingoss talked to that neighbour about, the Prasanna female.’

  ‘Yes, she thought it was just a pick-up line,’ Slider remembered, rescuing his virginal ring from the iced and sprinkled mob. It would be safe where he was going to put it.

  ‘Well, it could still’ve been a line as well,’ she said, passing the box on. ‘It took a bit of finding, because there’s about a million organizations with Fit, Fun and Kids in their names. In various combinations. I tell you, there shouldn’t be a slobby kid with a bad attitude left in London. But I tracked it down in the end. It’s called—’

  ‘FitFunKidz. All one word. With capitals. And a “z” at the end,’ Swilley anticipated. Hart gave her a look that could have lasered off blemishes. Swilley raised her eyebrows. ‘What? I’ve got his bank statement now. He made donations.’

  ‘You could’ve told me.’

  ‘I didn’t know until just now.’

  ‘He made donations? To charity?’ Lœssop said disbelievingly.

  Hart was diverted. ‘Yeah, but not only that, he gave his time. This charity’s based in St Mark’s Road, and it does schools in North Kensington, Willesden and Harlesden. Sends in a team to teach deprived kids about fitness, diet and well-being. Lingoss only did about one a month, but then he was a busy boy. And doing even one a month – for kids, for no money …’ She left it hang, with a shrug.

  ‘The tart with the heart of gold,’ Atherton said wryly.

  ‘So he did one good thing. Three cheers,’ Fathom said grumpily. ‘I don’t see how that changes anything, from our point of view.’

  ‘I never said it did,’ Hart retorted. ‘I just said it was funny.’

  ‘Unless he was fiddling with the kids,’ McLaren said indistinctly through a custard-filled doughnut. He had put the whole thing in his mouth in the hope of getting another before they were all gone.

  ‘For God’s sake, you’re spraying crumbs and yellow gloop everywhere,’ Atherton complained, moving further away. ‘You’re like an exploding boil.’

  ‘Well, naturally they did the DBS check on him,’ Hart said loudly over him, ‘and we know he’s got no form. And the female I talked to said he was very well thought of and there’d never been any complaints. It’s all done in a big group, anyway, in the school hall or wherever, with three or four trainers in the team, and there’s teachers present the whole time, so there’s no chance of anyone being alone with a kid or anything like that. They don’t even go into the changing rooms.’

  ‘I think you’re all being cynical,’ said Gascoyne the Gentle. ‘Why shouldn’t he do something good? We’ve no evidence that he was a bad man.’

  ‘Except for treating women like shit,’ Hart said.

  Swilley looked at Atherton. ‘There’s a lot of that about.’

  Slider intervened. ‘What else have you gleaned from his bank statement?’ he asked Swilley.

  ‘It’s all very orderly,’ she said with faint approval. ‘He’s obviously got a tidy mind. His mortgage, utilities, credit cards all paid for by direct debits. Never been overdrawn. Regular salary from Gillespie’s, plus money paid in irregularly – from the private clients, I suppose. The only unusual thing is that he never draws out any cash.’

  ‘That’s not so unusual any more,’ Atherton objected. ‘Haven’t you heard of the cashless society? You can even buy your Mars bar with contactless.’

  ‘He wouldn’t eat a Mars bar,’ Fathom objected. ‘He was a fitness freak.’

  McLaren, who was sitting on his own desk, looked thoughtful and reached behind him to rummage in his top drawer.

  ‘Energy bar, then,’ said Atherton. ‘Kale smoothie. Bottle of Lucozade. Illegal steroids.’

  ‘Everybody still needs some cash,’ Swilley countered. ‘To pay the cleaner, the window cleaner, taxis – not every taxi has a card reader for those of us who don’t use Uber.’

  ‘What about all that cash in his bedroom?’ LaSalle put in.

  ‘That’s what I was coming to,’ said Swilley. ‘The seven hundred under his pillow. Whoever drew that out of a bank, it wasn’t Lingoss.’

  ‘If he was getting bonus payments for the extra manly attentions,’ Atherton said, ‘they could well have been in cash. Hence the shoebox full – though why he didn’t put it into a savings account …’

  ‘At half a per cent interest, what’d be the point?’ Swilley said. ‘Taxable interest. It was no worse off in the shoebox, and he had it to hand if he needed it. But my point is that the seven hundred is different. It was under his pillow, not in the shoebox or his wallet. He didn’t draw it out, and he hadn’t put it away.’

  ‘We’ve already said it could be a payment from a client,’ said Gascoyne.

  ‘And one who had been there recently,’ said Swilley. ‘Maybe that very evening.’

  ‘But it needn’t have been the client who killed him,’ LaSalle said. ‘They could have come and gone, and the killer arrived before he had time to put the seven hundred away.’

  ‘Fine. But if we could find out who the client was – they might have passed somebody on the stairs. Or Lingoss might have mentioned someone was coming.’

  ‘Well, the only person we know who had a good grudge against him was Jack Gallo,’ LaSalle said. ‘Who also had a fight with him at a nightclub.’

  ‘You know what Gallo means?’ said Atherton. ‘Cock. Rather appropriate, given what his pal Dez said about him. Dez of the mighty muscles and fierce loyalty. To Gallo and Lucy.’

  ‘You’re suggesting he killed Lingoss?’ Swilley said impatiently.

  ‘I’m not suggesting anything. Just observing. But both Gallo and Dez were old friends, whom Lingoss’d be likely to let in if they came calling.’

  ‘Alibis,’ said Slider.

  ‘Haven’t checked them yet,’ said Atherton. ‘Will do, though.’

  ‘My worry about either of them is that the dumping of Lucy and the fight were a month ago,’ Slider said. ‘It’s not a very immediate grudge.’

  ‘Could be the sort that festers,’ Atherton said. ‘You can be friends on the surface, but then something is said or done that triggers the old wound and out it all comes.’

  ‘The trouble is,’ Slider said, ‘the killing looks both impulsive: the first blow – and calculated: the finishing off.’

  ‘I’d say it was all calculated,’ said Swilley. ‘The first blow was meant to kill him, and when it didn’t, chummy went back for seconds.’

  ‘I’d say it was all impulsive – the serial actions of the enraged,’ said Atherton. ‘“Die, you swine, die!”’

  ‘Anything on cameras yet?’ Slider asked McLaren, who was finishing the Mars bar.

  ‘There’s a lot of footage,’ McLaren said by way of negative.

  ‘I’ll try and get you some more uniforms to help. We need proper evidence of someone going in there. At the moment, there’s nothing to say anybody was at the flat at all.’

  ‘Maybe he did it himself,’ Atherton said. ‘Clubbed himself, passed out, came round a m
oment later and thought, “Blast, I’m not dead” and did it again.’

  ‘You’re not helping,’ said Slider.

  It was after five when a call from downstairs told Slider he had a visitor. He went and met her at the lift and walked her back to his room. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Exasperated was the default expression of Kate, his daughter from his first marriage, but today it was toned down a notch, evidence to the trained mind that she was going to be asking for a favour. ‘Didn’t Mum tell you? School trip. Science museum.’

  ‘Does she know you’re coming here?’

  He was glad that the fashion for looking like a downtrodden prostitute had passed. Although she was still wearing a microskirt, it was paired with thick black tights and clunky, thick-heeled footwear somewhere between shoes and ankle boots, which took the edge off any erotic allure. Her hair was bundled up into a knitted cap like a beanie, and her only obvious make-up was a bit of eyeliner. Exposed by the lack of the straggling locks that usually half-obscured it, her face was sharply pretty in a way that reminded him painfully of her mother. Irene had always been neat, dainty, and ladylike, with neat, dainty, ladylike ways of doing everything. Even of having sex and giving birth. Even of getting rid of him – she had left him for her bridge partner, Ernie, who was wealthy, predictable and dull, everything Slider was not. Well, Joanna didn’t think he was dull. And Joanna was dynamite.

  ‘I said I might. I mean, it’s on the way,’ Kate said, offhand; and then, to his insistent look, returned an eye-roll. ‘I’ll ring her in a bit, all right? Duh, Dad, way to make me feel welcome!’

  ‘Of course you’re welcome. I’m very glad to see you. If I’d known you were coming, I could have made arrangements to take you out for something to eat.’

  Her eyes brightened. ‘I’m starving,’ she mentioned. ‘It’s, like, hours since lunch. You got any biscuits or anything? I thought people in offices always had tins of biscuits lying about.’