THE JAGGED LINE A Thrilling, Psychological Crime Mystery (Harry Briscombe Book 2)

by Carolyn Mahony

  He watched as the other man’s face paled but his expression was stubborn as he waited for Harry to say more.

  Harry leant back in his chair. ‘So … in your own time … perhaps you’d like to fill me in on what you and Mrs Wilkins were doing the night Paul Copeland was murdered?’

  Harry savoured the last bit of his iced bun, wiped his mouth with a napkin and then rose from the table in the canteen, prepared for business. He hoped the break would have given Ken Lazard time to consider his options and realise that further prevarication wasn’t helpful to either of them.

  ‘Ready for this?’ he asked Beth.

  ‘You bet,’ she responded with a grin.

  Five minutes later he was back in his familiar spot, facing Ken over the pale grey table. He tried to gauge the other man’s mood from his body language, but whatever he was feeling, he was hiding it well.

  ‘Okay, Ken, you’ve had some time to think about things now. Are you ready to tell me about Kathy Wilkins?’

  The man stared at him steadily. ‘I could be, but it depends how confidential it will be. I’m sure you get where I’m coming from?’

  ‘I think I do. But I need to hear it from you.’

  ‘If I tell you, can you keep it from Magz?’

  ‘I can’t promise. That’ll depend on how relevant it is to solving Paul Copeland’s murder.’

  ‘And if it’s not relevant?’

  ‘Then we may be able to keep it quiet. But I can’t guarantee that.’

  Ken sighed, shaking his head and staring off into the distance. After a few moments when no one said anything, he turned back to look at Harry.

  ‘I love Maggie – and Kathy loves her husband, you need to know that. But – it’s difficult, you know? Dealing with stuff … going without sex. We got to talking about it one night and it just came to us that it would be the ideal situation. Neither of us is looking to leave our partners and this way, no one gets hurt, see. Me and Kathy have got an outlet not only for the sex, but also we talk about stuff that no one else would understand unless they were in the same boat as us. That’s how it started really: we both felt such anger against the people who fucked up our lives and it was just good to be able to talk it through with someone. The sex bit came later. It’s a release, that’s all. Don’t get me wrong. We know it’s worse for Maggie and Phil – but it’s difficult for us, too, in a different way.’

  ‘So where were you the night Paul Copeland was killed?’

  ‘In the pub, like I said. Kath and I meet there when we can, and Derek lets us use one of the rooms upstairs for a bit of private time and then we usually go back downstairs, have a drink with the punters, and go home.’

  ‘And that Monday night?’

  ‘Was no different. Look, most of our mates know the set-up. It’s why they were so cagey when you spoke to them. They didn’t want to drop us in it.’

  ‘So you’re saying that you were with Mrs Wilkins from what time?’

  ‘We met at the pub at about quarter to nine. We were upstairs for about an hour and then came down for a quick drink before leaving around ten-fifteen, I reckon.’

  ‘It still leaves a gap of approximately half an hour before you met up and an hour between leaving the pub and getting home.’

  ‘That’s because I checked the tyres and put petrol in the car on my way to the pub, and I dropped Kath home afterwards and we talked in the car outside her house.’

  ‘What petrol station was it?’

  ‘Tesco’s.’

  ‘Have you got the receipt?’

  ‘I doubt it. I could look, I suppose. I put twenty quid in and paid cash.’

  ‘You say you dropped Mrs Wilkins home. How did she get to the pub?’

  ‘She got a lift with a friend and I said I’d drop her back.’

  Harry finished scribbling the notes he was writing and looked across the table at Ken. He hesitated, but really, was there any point making the bloke’s home life more difficult than it already was?

  ‘Is there anything else you want to say that you think might be relevant or helpful to the investigation?’

  Ken shook his head. His eyes shifted away from Harry’s, whether because he wasn’t being straight or because he was embarrassed by these revelations, Harry didn’t know. He switched off the tape.

  ‘Okay. That’ll do for now. For the time being you’re free to go.’

  Ken looked at his solicitor, who nodded. They both rose.

  ‘You won’t say anything to Maggie?’

  ‘Not at this stage. I’ll let you know if that situation changes.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He looked awkward, as if he was about to say something else, then he shrugged and the shutters came down again as he followed his solicitor from the room.

  ‘Does that let him off the hook?’ Beth asked, gathering up the empty coffee cups.

  Harry sighed. ‘Not entirely. There’s still that window of opportunity both before and after his time at the pub. He could have done Paul in, shoved him in the boot of his car, kept his rendezvous with Kath Wilkins and then dumped him in the early hours. Or he could have done him in after he and Kath Wilkins parted, and still dumped him.’

  ‘He’d have to be a pretty cool customer to have a dead body in the boot and meet up with Kath as if nothing’s happened.’

  Harry remembered how Ken had spent the first interview sessions being completely uncooperative. ‘Yeah, he would – but then I’d say he is a pretty cool customer … wouldn’t you?’ He rose from the table. ‘What are you up to this afternoon?’

  ‘Not a lot.’

  ‘Did you check out Simon Jordan’s client? The one he said he was meeting at the golf club?’

  ‘Yup. John Harper. They met up for nine holes, apparently. He reckoned several people saw them.’

  ‘Golf on a Thursday morning. We’re in the wrong job, aren’t we?’

  He held the door open so she could pass through. ‘Do you fancy nipping round to our friend Derek in the pub again to see if he’ll now verify Ken’s story?’

  ‘Sure. What are you going to do?’

  ‘Think I’m going to pay another visit to Paul Copeland’s girlfriend, Susan – see if she knew Ken was harassing Paul. She said he’d been in a fight but reckoned she didn’t know who it was with. I can’t see it myself.’

  ‘Maybe Paul felt more guilty about it than he let on, so didn’t tell her?’

  ‘Not if that reporter’s anything to go by. He said Paul was out to make it all as public as he could.’

  Back in the open-plan office, Beth took her jacket off the hook. ‘I’ll head off, then, shall I, to interview Derek?’

  ‘Yeah, let’s get it done. And maybe while you’re at it you could gather some more CCTV footage – from Tesco’s petrol station? We might be able to back up Ken’s story that way.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘What are your plans after that?’

  ‘Thought I’d come back here and go through the witness statements. See if there’s anything we could’ve missed. I want to get away on time tonight, though.’

  ‘Doing something interesting?’

  Beth didn’t do looking nonchalant well.

  ‘Visiting my grandparents.’

  ‘What, the ones you were talking about that you’ve never met? I thought you didn’t want to see them?’

  She shrugged. ‘Maybe I’ve been swayed by seeing the relationship you’ve got with your gran,’ she said diffidently. ‘My own family are a waste of space – that’s why I moved away – but that could be why my grandparents cut them off, in which case I might find I get on with them quite nicely.’

  ‘Well, I hope it goes well.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Beth’s expression, though Harry didn’t think she realised it, was wistful, as if she was secretly hoping for good things to come from this meeting.

  ‘I’ll see you Monday, then, if nothing comes up before?’ Harry said.

  ‘Yup. Have a good one.’

  Outside Susan Porter’s front doo
r, Harry rang the bell and waited. But when the door opened, it wasn’t Susan Porter who came out but a short, stocky fellow with a recycling bag in his hands, who looked as taken aback to see Harry as Harry was to see him. The man pushed past him, exiting the building, and Harry took advantage of the door being open to slip in. The first thing he noticed was the pile of post sitting on the shelf in the hall. Ignoring it, he crossed the short distance to Susan’s internal door and knocked smartly. There was no response.

  ‘You’ll be ’aving a long wait, mate. No one lives there anymore.’

  It was the stocky man, back from emptying his bin. He had a rough, cockney accent.

  ‘Oh? I thought Susan Porter lived here?’

  ‘Moved out a couple of days ago.’

  ‘Any idea where to?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘Who wants to know?’

  ‘Detective Sergeant Briscombe.’ Harry pulled out his card, and immediately the man’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘Alan Flint,’ he responded briefly.

  ‘You live here?’

  ‘No. I’m visiting.’

  ‘Is the upstairs tenant in? Tim Burman? We’ve been trying to contact him about an incident that happened last week. He’s not got back to us yet.’

  ‘That’s because he’s out the country on business, in France. It’s why I’m flat sitting.’

  ‘When’s he back?’

  ‘Dunno. Soon. Your message is on the answerphone. I’m sure he’ll get back to you.’

  ‘Make sure he does, please. Tell him it’s urgent.’

  Harry picked up the pile of post addressed to Paul Copeland and Susan Porter. ‘I’ll drop this down to the agents. They should have a forwarding address for Miss Porter.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Kirsty ended her call to a prospective vendor, scribbled a note and then looked through the glass partition to where Robbie was packing up for the day.

  ‘You heading off early?’ she asked, popping her head round the door.

  He nodded. ‘Lizzie says she needs a break. She’s had a couple of bad nights so I’m on bath duty tonight. When I’ve dealt with them, I’ll go over to the flat. We need to get it finished so I can get it let.’

  ‘I could babysit for you one night if you like? Give you both a break?’

  Rob ran his hand through his hair. ‘That would be great. We haven’t had a night out, just the two of us, in ages.’

  He sounded tired and Kirsty felt for him. ‘Well, my social calendar’s hardly overflowing. Just choose a night that suits you and let me know.’ She hesitated. ‘I spoke to Simon today.’

  ‘I know. He phoned me.’

  ‘Oh. Right.’

  ‘Of course he was going to phone me, Kirsty. He’s worried about what you’re going to do. And so am I, to be honest.’

  It seemed that at almost every meeting, she and Rob were arguing these days. She wanted to tackle him about the things Simon had said – about how he could be happy blurring the lines between legal and illegal, about doing deals in Lizzie’s name, which had come as a real shock to her … But she realised there was only so much she could absorb in one day.

  ‘All I want is to tell the police what Susan said about Dad seeing Simon’s tenant on the day he died, so that they can question him about it. If you agree to that, then I’ll agree to take a step back and let them get on with it.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Kirsty, that could lead to them interviewing Susan again and I’ve told you, we just want to keep a low profile – we don’t want them poking around in our business.’

  ‘You’re worrying me, Rob.’

  Her brother took a breath. ‘There’s nothing to worry about. Whatever happened to Paul Copeland had nothing to do with Dad; I’m convinced of that. It’s just an unfortunate coincidence. But if Cartwrights get sucked into this and the police start delving into things too deeply it could become a bloody nightmare at a time when we really don’t need it.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’ Kirsty’s previous intention not to say too much, flew out of the window. ‘I was shocked by some of the things Simon told me today about your business practices. I don’t know how you can work like that.’

  ‘It’s a case of necessity.’

  ‘Bollocks. I get that years back when Dad and Tony first started with no money, maybe they felt justified doing the odd cash deal to help make ends meet. But there’s no excuse now. I thought you took pride in what you did.’

  ‘I do. We offer a bloody good service to our clients – and we’re not crooked. So we bend a few rules with trusted contacts we’ve built up over the years … You show me any small business that doesn’t do that.’

  ‘Rob, what planet are you on?’

  ‘Not the same one as you, clearly.’

  ‘Cartwrights is a successful business now. You don’t need to risk your reputation, or worse. It can’t be right that you’re doing deals in Lizzie’s name – why do you do that? Is she happy about it? Does she even know?’

  She could see she’d hit a nerve and, knowing Lizzie as she did, she wasn’t surprised. She bet there would have been some heated arguments over that.

  ‘I’ve only done that a couple of times. She’s from the Isle of Man. It’s a good tax move.’

  ‘Tax dodge, you mean.’

  ‘This isn’t getting us anywhere. Okay, you want this tenant of Simon’s interviewing? I’ll see him. Hear what he has to say and report back to you. Will that do?’

  He was changing the subject, but she was sick of it, too – sick to the stomach at the thought of the wider implications of all that was coming out.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ she said flatly.

  ‘If you do, then you stay outside. In the unlikely event he’s dangerous I don’t want you in there. It’ll seem more like a routine visit if it’s just me.’

  ‘But you’ve got Lizzie and the girls to think about. If anything goes wrong–’

  ‘Kirsty, you may not like the way I do things, but I’m not the sort of brother who lets his little sister do the dirty work. I’ll be the one to go in and see him.’ He looked at his watch. ‘And if we’re going to do this, let’s do it. I’ll have Lizzie on my back if I’m not home when I said I’d be – and believe me, she’s far more scary than any bloody tenant.’

  Fifteen minutes later, Kirsty sat in her car outside 28 Myton Road and watched as her brother walked up to the front door and rang the bell. When no one answered, he rang again, then turned to her with a shrug before retracing his steps back up the path.

  ‘No one’s in,’ he said through her open window. ‘I’ll try again tomorrow on my way into work.’

  Kirsty sighed, but nodded. ‘Okay. Thanks for trying. I’ll see you tomorrow at Mum’s. And don’t overdo it tonight with the decorating. The amount of time it’s taken you to decorate that flat … It should be looking like a showpiece by now.’

  She watched as he climbed into his own car and was about to pull out after him, when a movement in an upstairs window caught her eye. Was someone up there, watching them? And if so, why hadn’t they answered the door?

  She frowned as her eyes dropped to the front door again. Something was niggling at the back of her mind. Something to do with when she’d come to visit Susan here, that first time.

  Then she realised what it was.

  Robbie had driven off and it looked like the person at the window had also disappeared. Kirsty left it a couple more minutes before opening her car door and getting out. She walked down the path to the front door and realised she was right.

  Tim Burman’s bell was on the right-hand side of the front door and Paul Copeland’s was on the left.

  So why had Robbie been ringing Paul Copeland’s doorbell instead of Tim Burman’s – knowing the flat was empty?

  The anger that flared through her was matched in equal parts by fear. What was going on? Why would Robbie deceive her like that? They’d always been so close – partners in crime with a sm
all ‘c’ – but these days she was beginning to feel she didn’t know her brother at all. It felt as, if step by step, her faith in her family was being shattered, and she wasn’t sure how to handle it.

  But there was no question of backing out now. Without giving herself time to think, she pushed the bell marked Tim Burman.

  Holy shit! What was she doing?

  ‘Yeah … what do you want?’

  The voice coming from above her head was impatient and made her jump. She looked up at the aggressive, bulldoggish features of the man glaring down at her, and tried a smile.

  ‘Hi. I was just wondering if Tim was around?’

  ‘No, he ain’t.’

  She took a step back so she could see him better. ‘I need to speak to him, I’m–’

  ‘Oh, I know who you are.’

  She blinked at him. ‘I don’t think you do…’

  ‘Oh, yeah. You’re from the agents.’

  Her brow creased. How did he know that? ‘Oh, well … yes, I am … and I need to speak to Tim.’

  ‘As I said, he’s not here.’

  ‘When’s he back?’

  ‘Don’t know …’

  He broke off at the same time as Kirsty heard the sound of the gate opening behind her. She turned around to see another man and a young woman walking down the path towards her. A quick assessment of the man told her that it wasn’t Tim Burman. This man was much younger than he’d be if he’d been a school friend of Simon’s.

  ‘I’m coming down,’ the Bulldog guy called out to them, disappearing from the window.

  Kirsty stood to one side as the couple approached the front door. Just briefly, her eyes met the blank gaze of the girl, before the door was flung open and both she and the man disappeared through it.

  ‘Look, there’s no point you hanging around. Tim’s away – won’t be back for a couple of days.’

  The man didn’t look any more attractive close up than he had done from a distance. He was only an inch or two taller than her but he was stockily built and quite intimidating close up. She held her ground bravely.