Blood And Honey

by Hurley, Graham

  ‘Why not?’ she said.

  Faraday and Barber accompanied her to the interview suite. One of the rooms was being readied for her son. Faraday opened the next door and let her pass. She stepped into the small, bare room and looked around. There were four chairs tucked beneath the single table. Cassette machines were racked against the wall. Rain drummed at the barred window. She shivered, her face pale under the neon light.

  ‘This is horrible,’ she said softly. ‘Where’s Chrissie?’

  Faraday told her he was awaiting interview. He’d elected for the duty solicitor and they’d get under way as soon as the booking-in process was complete.

  ‘How long will all this take?’

  ‘That depends. If we’re satisfied with what your son has to say, he could be out of here by tomorrow.’

  ‘You’ll keep him in? Tonight?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why? What’s he done?’

  ‘We don’t know, Mrs Unwin. That’s why we’ve had to bring him down here. Murder’s a serious offence. Interviews take time.’

  ‘But he wouldn’t have killed anyone, not Chrissie; he’s not like that. He’s never been violent, never. It’s just not in his nature.’

  ‘Let’s hope you’re right.’

  Mrs Unwin gazed at Faraday a moment, not believing what she saw in his face.

  ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’ she said at last. ‘You really think he’s done it.’

  ‘Done what?’

  ‘Murdered someone.’ She shook her head, still bewildered, then let Imber pull out a chair for her. ‘This is surreal,’ she said finally. ‘I can’t believe this is happening.’

  The formal interview began minutes later. Faraday established that she was free to leave at any time, then read her the formal caution. Anything she said could be used as evidence in a court of law.

  ‘Against Chrissie?’

  ‘In proceedings, yes.’

  ‘Then why should I talk to you?’

  ‘Because we’re trying to get to the truth, Mrs Unwin. Somebody died. We have to find out how and why. Your son may be able to help us. So may you.’

  Mention of a body appeared to surprise Mrs Unwin.

  ‘Who is this person?’

  ‘We don’t know. That’s another reason we have to talk to your son. To tell you the truth, we thought it might be him.’

  ‘Really?’ The thought startled her. ‘And you had this … corpse?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So why didn’t you get me down? Show me?’

  ‘It hadn’t got a head. And the rest of it, to be frank, wasn’t much to go on. Put a body in the sea for four months and there’s not a lot left.’

  ‘How ghastly.’

  ‘Yes.’ Faraday glanced at Tracy Barber, gestured for her to take over. Upstairs they’d discussed a strategy. In essence it boiled down to a single question.

  ‘Mrs Unwin, you saw Mr Faraday and myself last week. Up in London. You remember?’

  ‘Yes. At the health centre, yes.’

  ‘And you told us then that you’d no idea where your son—’

  ‘My stepson.’

  ‘– your stepson had got to. In fact you hadn’t seen him for months.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You had no address for him, no mobile number, nothing. Not even a postcard.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then your mother, Mrs Mary Unwin, dies. That happened on Saturday night.’

  ‘Correct …’ Her answers were beginning to slow. She’s sensed where these questions are heading, Faraday thought, and she knows she’s in trouble.

  Barber hadn’t taken her eyes off the face across the table. She leaned forward, puzzled.

  ‘So how come your son gets to find out about his nan’s death?’ she asked. ‘When no one has a clue where he is?’

  There was a long silence. Someone was whistling out of tune in the corridor. Then came the distant bang of a cell door. Mrs Unwin physically flinched.

  ‘Chrissie phoned up,’ she said.

  ‘Just like that.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Out of the blue.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The day after his nan had died.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So where was he?’

  Another silence, longer this time. Mrs Unwin was studying her hands.

  ‘You’ll talk to him, obviously; that’s why he’s here.’ She nodded to herself. ‘And you’ll compare notes as well, won’t you? That’s how these things work. It’s obvious.’

  She looked up, desperate for support, for some way out of this nightmare. Tracy Barber said nothing. Silence, except for the soft whirring of the cassette tapes.

  Finally, Mrs Unwin sighed. She hadn’t told them the whole truth back there in the health centre. Chrissie had gone away in October. He’d left the place he had in Southsea and jumped in his van and gone abroad. She hadn’t known why and yes of course it had bothered her but after a while she’d stopped thinking about it.

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘He got in touch.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Before Christmas. He was living in France. He wouldn’t tell me where but he said he was fine, OK, no problems. He’d got himself a little job, he said. He’d even found a girl he liked.’

  ‘So why didn’t you tell us?’

  ‘Because he made me promise I wouldn’t. Not just you, everyone. He didn’t want anyone to know where he’d gone. He said it was nobody’s business what he was up to. He was adamant. Like I said, he made me promise.’

  ‘Didn’t that strike you as odd?’

  ‘Of course it did.’

  ‘Weren’t you worried?’

  ‘I was out of my mind, especially with Christmas coming on. Then …’ She shook her head. ‘It was hopeless. What could I do? He sounded OK. He said everything was – you know – cool. So in the end I left it at that.’ She tugged at a loose thread. ‘Then you two turned up.’

  ‘Didn’t that –’ Barber was choosing her words with care ‘– make you think at all?’

  ‘Of course it did. Chrissie’s never been an angel.’ She looked from one face to another. ‘But not this. Not murder.’

  Faraday wrapped up the interview minutes later. Dave Michaels’ face had appeared twice at the square of wired glass in the door and in any case he sensed that Mrs Unwin had nothing left to say. Profoundly apprehensive, she sat at the table looking up at Faraday as Tracy Barber wound back the tapes.

  ‘He’s in trouble, isn’t he?’ she said finally. ‘And what have I done to help?’

  Faraday offered her a lift back to the hotel but she shook her head. She wanted to stay here while they talked to Chrissie. She just hoped to God it wouldn’t go on too long.

  ‘It’ll be twenty-four hours at least,’ Faraday said. ‘A night’s sleep might do you good.’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘Not while he might need me.’

  ‘He’s in a bit of a state.’ Dave Michaels had followed Faraday into his office. Faraday shut the door.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘He’s in tears. He’s like a kid. Flat out on the mattress. Face to the wall.’

  ‘Anyone talked to him?’

  ‘Not so far. The brief’s due any minute. Might be tricky, eh?’

  Faraday nodded. The last thing he needed was the duty solicitor claiming that Unwin was the victim of undue pressure.

  ‘Take his mum along,’ he said. ‘Leave them in peace for five minutes.’

  ‘Really?’ Michaels shot Faraday a look. Potential codefendants were rarely given the opportunity of time alone together.

  ‘Yes. If anyone can sort him out, she can.’ He paused. ‘Why the tears, do you think?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Trace thinks it’s down to his nan. They were really close. Maybe he can’t bear the thought of missing the funeral.’

  Faraday nodded. Something similar had already occurred to him. He raised an eyebrow, the possibility
of extra leverage unvoiced.

  Michaels nodded.

  ‘Exactly,’ he said.

  *

  The interview started at 20.41. Faraday had spent ten minutes with the duty solicitor, who was insisting on full disclosure. Detailing the case against Unwin, Faraday was all too aware of how circumstantial it was but something told him that pressure from Unwin’s mother might prove more influential than legal advice from a total stranger.

  Dave Michaels and Tracy Barber were already in the interview suite. There was a speaker feed to the adjoining room and Faraday settled down to monitor what happened next. Michaels had agreed that Barber should lead. Five minutes’ whispered conversation in the holding cell with his mum appeared to have restored a little of Unwin’s self-confidence. Now he sat beside the duty solicitor, moist-eyed, his hair a mess, picking at his bitten fingernails. At Michaels’ suggestion Tracy had brought in a box of tissues. When she offered him one, he shook his head.

  ‘No thanks.’

  Michaels started the tape, repeated the formal caution, added the date and time and names of those present, then gestured for Barber to take over. A situation like this often played badly in court many months later. Chris Unwin was hardly a vulnerable witness but she needed to protect the Congress team from allegations of harassment.

  ‘You’re sure you’re up for this, Mr Unwin?’

  ‘No problem.’

  Tracy glanced at the solicitor. Late middle-aged, he was carrying far too much weight. After an exhausting day at the office he plainly wanted to be anywhere but here. Tracy returned to Unwin. Gently, she told herself.

  ‘Rob Pelly …’ she began. ‘Tell me how you first got to know him.’

  Unwin seemed surprised by the question. He thought for a moment, tipped his head back, evidently wondering where he might start.

  ‘Couple of years back,’ he said at last, ‘my nan went into the home over there. I was already driving by then, deliveries mainly. Some of the jobs were on the island. Whenever I could I dropped in.’

  ‘Why did your nan choose the island?’

  ‘She lived here for a bit after the war. Somewhere round Ventnor way. She loved the place. It was Granddad who brought her back.’

  They’d lived for a long time in Haslemere, he said. Then Granddad had died and after a spell with Mum in London his nan had decided to go back to the island.

  ‘She couldn’t really look after herself and Mum was out all day. Rob’s place was on the local authority list. Kushti.’

  ‘So you met Pelly at the home?’

  ‘Yeah. He owns it. It’s his place.’

  ‘And you became friends?’

  ‘Not friends exactly.’ For the first time his voice began to falter. ‘He’s not that kind of bloke. We got on OK, though, and it was good because I was able to do him the odd favour, know what I mean?’

  ‘No.’ Tracy shook her head. ‘Tell me.’

  The solicitor glanced sideways at his client. Unwin seemed oblivious. He’s made a decision, Barber thought. He’s going to cough the lot.

  ‘Well …’ Unwin tore off a splinter of nail and flicked it away. ‘Some of it was legit and some of it …’ he shrugged ‘… wasn’t.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like the blokes he brought in from abroad. There were loads of them. He was forever going over there, Bosnia mainly. He told me all the immigration paperwork was up together and the Old Bill never bothered us so I just assumed it was OK. Talking to some of the blokes later that wasn’t quite the story but – you know – none of that was down to me.’

  When Pelly asked, Unwin would ship vanloads of immigrants across to the mainland, mainly Southampton. From there he’d drive them north, to addresses in Birmingham and Manchester. Each time he did it, he got paid. Not a fortune, he admitted, but then Pelly wasn’t the kind of bloke you’d argue the toss with. Not about something as silly as money.

  Next door, Faraday remembered the informant, Gary Morgan. Morgan had talked of a row between Unwin and Pelly, the spark that had put the first flames under the bonfire that had become Congress.

  Barber obviously remembered the same conversation. Now she was asking whether such a row had ever taken place.

  ‘Yeah, it did. I wasn’t happy about stuff that was happening to my nan. Rob went off on one. I lost it too. Turned out I’d got it wrong, though. He was treating her OK.’

  ‘When did that happen?’

  ‘Dunno.’ Unwin frowned. ‘Last year. End of the summer, as far as I remember.’

  ‘OK.’ Barber nodded. ‘So tell me about Lajla. What’s the relationship between her and Pelly?’

  Mention of Lajla brought Unwin to a halt. He looked from one face to the other. Michaels gestured for him to go on.

  ‘They’re married,’ he said at last. ‘Man and wife.’

  ‘Married married? Or pretend?’ It was Michaels this time.

  ‘Dunno what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Married as in kipping together, screwing, or married as in getting the paperwork straight, getting the lady a passport, putting a roof over her head – all that?’

  Unwin blinked. He was out of his depth. He leant towards his solicitor, conferred in a whisper. Finally, he shook his head.

  ‘He says I don’t have to answer that question.’

  ‘But you’d know, surely?’

  Another conference. Then the solicitor confirmed that his client was making no comment about this woman’s exact status.

  ‘How well did you know her?’

  ‘I knew her a bit.’

  ‘What’s she like?’

  ‘She’s nice. Younger than him. But nice enough …’ He nodded. ‘Yeah.’

  Barber brought the interview back to the end of last summer. Unwin had rowed with Pelly about his nan. The argument had been resolved.

  ‘You were still going over there? Still dropping in?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘How long did that go on for?’

  Unwin stared at her. His hands disappeared into his lap. There was a long silence.

  ‘I …’ His mouth was dry. He licked his lips.

  ‘Yes?’ Barber warmed the question with a smile.

  ‘Nothing.’

  The silence deepened. Even the solicitor was getting uneasy. At last Unwin’s head went down.

  ‘This isn’t fucking easy,’ he muttered. ‘The guy’s going to kill me.’

  ‘Who’s going to kill you, Mr Unwin?’

  ‘Who do you think?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe it would be easier if you told me.’

  ‘Easier how?’

  The sudden quickening in his voice was the giveaway. He’s after a deal, thought Barber. She glanced at Michaels. He’d obviously come to the same conclusion.

  Tracy leant forward, sincere, concerned.

  ‘It would be better if you just told us,’ she said.

  ‘Told you what?’

  ‘Told us what happened.’

  He nodded, considered the proposition, looked over at his solicitor.

  ‘It’s not just Rob,’ he said at last. ‘It’s my nan. I need to see her. I need to be at that funeral. That’s the only reason I’m back here. Don’t you understand that?’

  ‘OK.’ Michaels nodded. ‘Then why don’t you just tell us what happened and then we’ll make a few decisions of our own.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About whether we believe you, for a start.’

  Unwin stared at him for a moment, then began to laugh.

  ‘You think I’d make a thing like that up?’ He shook his head. ‘That’s fucking mad.’

  ‘A thing like what?’

  Unwin’s eyes flicked left again. He was looking at Barber. He wanted someone to get him off this hook, tell him everything would be sweet.

  ‘Dave’s right,’ Barber said. ‘Unless you get it off your chest, we can’t possibly help. You have to trust us, Chris. There’s no other way.’

  There was a long pause. When th
e solicitor touched him on the arm and murmured something in his ear, Unwin ignored him. Finally he looked at Barber again.

  ‘OK.’ He swallowed hard. ‘Why not?’

  The last time he’d been over to Shanklin, he said, was back in October. It had been a Thursday, pissing down with rain. He’d dropped by the home to see his nan. They’d talked for a bit and had a pot of tea, just like always, and he’d been on his way out when he ran into Pelly.

  ‘He was in a bit of a state. He looked like shit. I’d never seen him that way. I was amazed, tell you the truth.’

  ‘What was the matter?’

  ‘He wouldn’t tell me, just took me upstairs, out the back, where he lives. I’d been up there a couple of times previous. Lajla was up there too. And the kid, the little girl. I’d never seen that before.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Them up in Rob’s place. You’re right; I should have said. They don’t live together. She’s got her own place. Down below.’

  Pelly, he said, wanted a favour. He told Lajla and the girl to go downstairs. Then he explained about a parcel he had to get rid of, big thing, heavy. It was out the back, in the garage. He needed a hand.

  ‘What was it?’

  ‘I didn’t ask. Not then. I just said yes, why not. I had the van. No problem. I could dump it at the tip on the way back to the ferry. But then it started getting weird because he said the tip was no good. It had to be tonight, once it got dark. And it meant taking it out to sea on his boat. That got me thinking.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I wanted to say no.’

  ‘But … ?’

  ‘He wouldn’t let it go. He said a hundred quid. Then he doubled it. Coming from Rob, that’s a fortune. Got me more worried than ever. I knew something was up.’

  ‘But you agreed?’

  ‘I had to. It wasn’t just the money. It was … like … I knew. And once I knew he made it obvious that I had no choice. Either I helped him or …’ He shook his head, looking away.

  ‘Or what?’

  ‘He’s mad. You should see him sometimes, the things he does to blokes who cross him. You never want to go there, believe me. Man’s a fucking animal.’