by J M Gregson
There were only two of them when they came, a short man with a bald head and a black moustache and a woman with striking red-brown hair, aquamarine eyes and just a suggestion of freckles, which made her look younger and more innocent than her job demanded. Yet both of them seemed to Debbie Black to be studying her more intensely, to be more aware of her face and anything it betrayed, than any television or newspaper camera had been in the past.
It was the woman who introduced them: she said she was DS Blake and the man with her was Detective Chief Inspector Peach, who was in charge of the case. He looked round the room, taking in the excellent modern furnishings and the prints she had taken so much trouble selecting, whilst his colleague explained the routine of an investigation like this one. Debbie said nervously, ‘You must think I’m very important, if I warrant the attentions of the man in charge and his detective sergeant!’ Immediately she wished that she hadn’t essayed this feeble levity.
Peach gave her a grave smile. ‘You were one of the last people to see the victim alive, Mrs Black. Such people always warrant full investigation.’
‘I saw him with a lot of other people. I’m sure you’ve already been told about the announcement he made.’
‘Indeed we have. But now we’d like your account of it.’
Debbie wondered why that sounded so much like a threat. ‘There isn’t much to tell. We were all full of the famous victory over Liverpool – me more than anyone amongst the women I think, because my husband is the manager and I felt he’d engineered it. By the time of this announcement, the Liverpool party had left and joy was unconfined and increasingly noisy.’ That was a sentence she had prepared beforehand. It sounded exactly like that to her as she delivered it, but she pressed on. ‘At first I think we all thought that Jim Capstick was there purely to join in the general exultation. We weren’t allowed to keep that illusion for very long.’
‘How did Mr Capstick seem at this time? Remember, please, that we have to build up a picture of a man we never knew and now never will know through the accounts of other people.’
She welcomed this. It was a question she had not anticipated, an opportunity to move away from the phrases which she had worked on beforehand but which she now felt were too obviously prepared. A chance also to convey to them the bastard Jim Capstick had been, when he was not presenting his public mask of affability to the world. ‘He seemed at first a little embarrassed. He said he was sorry to break up the party but that he had something to say which he had rather we heard from him than from the gossip-mongers in the Sunday papers.’
‘I expect you had some sympathy with that, as a person who has suffered in the past from such people.’
Debbie hadn’t expected the personal slant. She wondered if it was designed to throw her off track, to shake her composure a little. ‘I have indeed. But not for a long time, I’m pleased to say. Not since the days when I was Debbie Palmer, tennis player and model, and they linked me with a string of different men and a string of outrageous and largely imaginary escapades. Jim Capstick was made of sterner stuff than me. I expect tabloid journalists worried him a lot less.’ She allowed herself a little smile at the comparison. ‘He said that he knew that this wasn’t an ideal moment, but there was no alternative. He then told us that he was planning to sell the club. It was a complete bombshell.’
‘Not to everyone, Mrs Black. Some people had suspected that something of this nature was in the offing.’
She was beginning to dislike the man and his cool, almost pedantic, persistence. ‘And in that “some people” you include my husband, I presume. Well then, let me tell you that it was a bombshell to me. I know now that Robbie knew that accountants had been in the place examining the books and that he was worried about something like this. But he hadn’t told me anything about that before Saturday.’
‘And why was that, do you think? Wouldn’t you have expected him to say something about it?’
‘That’s between us. It has nothing to do with this death.’
‘I’m sorry to probe into areas which would normally remain private, but murder is a crime which removes the normal barriers. It may well be irrelevant to this crime, but you must let us be the judges of that.’
‘Very well, though I still can’t see why it should be of interest to you. Robbie was aware that there was interest in the club from an outside source. He was even worried about it, as you would expect. But often such interest comes to nothing, particularly when it is a smaller club like Brunton Rovers which is involved. He wasn’t expecting events to move on at anything like the speed they did. And he didn’t tell me because he knew it would upset me. He knows I’ve grown very attached to this house and this area. I love the people here and the life we’re building up among them. Robbie thought – and I’m sure he hoped – that it would all come to nothing and that he and I and the children would carry on as before.’
‘Thank you. I can accept that the news was as you say a bombshell to the majority of the people in the hospitality suite at Grafton Park on Saturday night. Did anyone seem more shaken, perhaps more outraged, than anyone else?’
It was an opportunity, almost an invitation from him, to throw suspicion on to someone else other than her and Robbie, and she was tempted by it. But she was wary of this man now, wary of the pretty woman beside him on the sofa, who sat so quietly in her house and made detailed notes of her replies. They would have listened to others as well as her; she must take care not to contradict the story others had told of these feverish minutes two days earlier. ‘If there was anyone like that, I was too excited myself to notice it. Old Mr Lanchester spoke up. You’d expect that: he’s a good man, Mr Lanchester. He used to be chairman of Brunton Rovers himself, a long time ago.’
Peach smiled. ‘Before even my time, Mrs Black. And I’ve supported them since I was eight.’
‘The more you see of old Mr Lanchester, the more you admire him. He’s not afraid of anyone. He stood up to Jim Capstick immediately.’
‘Perhaps he had less to lose than others.’
Debbie Black paused, thinking furiously, wondering why he raised this. He was interested in how she saw other people in relation to Capstick, perhaps. That meant that he would be sounding other people about how they felt about her, about whether her feelings were strong enough for her to be a candidate for murder. They would be asking them about Robbie and how he had felt. Peach had already spoken to Robbie this morning: she wished now that she had asked for a more complete account of that meeting when he had rung her at lunch time. The thought of this emotionless man and his team going coolly about the business of undermining her life here was a chilling one.
Defending a man she had always liked seemed in these circumstances the safest option. ‘It’s true that Edward Lanchester has on the face of it less to lose than others. But he’s seventy-five: the easiest option for him would have been to sit back and say nothing – perhaps to tell us later and more privately just what he thought of Jim Capstick. But Edward’s a man of greater integrity than that. Perhaps it was because he knew that others had more to lose that he was the first one to speak up and voice what most of us were thinking.’
‘Which was what?’
‘Well, I think Capstick had said that it was in his own interests and that of the club to sell out now. As far as I can remember, Edward said that it might well be in Capstick’s interests, but he very much doubted whether it was in the club’s interests to sell out to people in the Middle East.’
Peach nodded. ‘I believe you also spoke up yourself.’
She tried not to be disconcerted by how much he already knew about this. It was a reminder to her to be careful not to embroider what she said – it was possible, indeed, that he intended it as that. ‘Yes. I remember being surprised to find myself speaking. I think it was the fact that Edward had been so forthright that encouraged me to say what I thought. And others too, I should think. I said that it wasn’t like an ordinary business deal, that when Brunton Rovers changed hands, t
he whole town was involved.’
‘And how did Mr Capstick react to that?’
She hesitated, trying to think of the best word. ‘He was truculent. He said he saw no reason to do anything except make the best possible deal for himself. I think once he’d made the initial announcement, he quite enjoyed himself.’
‘That seems a little odd, doesn’t it? Wouldn’t it have been more natural to take the view that he had to take what he saw as a good offer, but he regretted that it should be necessary to do that?’
Debbie Black’s broad, attractive mouth set into a grim line. ‘You didn’t know Jim Capstick.’
‘No, we didn’t. As I pointed out earlier, we have to get to know him through the descriptions of people like you who did.’
‘He enjoyed power. He enjoyed other people being powerless. When Capstick felt he was in control, he loved it. He liked to rub other people’s noses in the knowledge that he and not they controlled their destiny.’ She felt the passion of her dislike for the man surging into her words, but at this moment she didn’t care about that.
Peach studied her without embarrassment for a moment. ‘You seem very confident about this assessment, Mrs Black. You couldn’t have known Mr Capstick very well, surely?’
‘Well enough. You’re right of course – I don’t suppose I met him more than half a dozen times, and always with a group of other people. But I’m telling you how he was on Saturday night and the sort of man he was. I’ve met a few like him, in the past.’
‘I expect you have, yes. Do you think other people who were in the hospitality suite on Saturday would agree with your assessment?’
‘Yes. They might not have seen him exulting in his power as clearly as I did, but I don’t think anyone liked his manner – probably not even his wife.’ She added the last thought as if it had only just struck her.
‘Did other people support what you had said?’
She suspected that he already knew that they had, that he was testing her. ‘Darren Pearson pointed out that Capstick was happy enough to invoke the people of Brunton, to pretend that they mattered to him, when he wanted their money at the turnstiles and their bums on his seats. My Robbie said that in his view the new owners wouldn’t be football men, with any sense of the history of the club and this area.’
‘And what was Mr Capstick’s reaction to those views?’
‘I’ve told you. He didn’t bother to reply. He didn’t bother to disguise the fact that any considerations other than money meant nothing to him. In fact, he rather enjoyed asserting just that to all of us. That’s what I meant when I said he was a man who enjoyed power. It brought out the bully in him. He warned Darren Pearson that he wouldn’t be able to recommend him as chief executive to the new owners if he didn’t toe the line. I expect he’d have said as much to Robbie, if he’d persisted with his protest.’
Peach watched Blake scribbling furiously. Only when she stopped did he say to Debbie Black, ‘You’ve given most people you mention a motive for killing James Capstick. Which of you do you think it was who choked the life out of him in the hour which followed?’
She gave a little gasp at the directness of it, but was otherwise not visibly shaken. It was what she had expected, she told herself. She resisted the temptation to say waspishly that it was their business and not hers to answer that: this was not a man to antagonize with glib rejoinders. ‘I don’t know. It might not have been someone who spoke. Capstick was a man who almost invited people to become his enemies: you could see that from the way he handled this announcement of the takeover which was going to affect all our lives. Someone might have had quite other reasons to kill him than the change of ownership of Brunton Rovers. Saturday night would have provided him or her with a wonderful opportunity.’
Unexpectedly, Peach smiled at her. ‘Perhaps you should have become a detective when you gave up tennis, Mrs Black. One of the things we have to remind ourselves of constantly is that there might be other explanations as well as the obvious ones. Do you know of anyone with a personal grudge against the deceased of the kind you suggest?’
‘No. But I’m sure the extensive research you are no doubt conducting will throw up some possibilities.’
‘Are you, indeed? What time did you leave the hospitality suite, Mrs Black?’
She was studiously unruffled and unhurried. ‘I can’t be precise. I didn’t know it mattered at the time. We discussed the news among ourselves after Capstick had left us to it. Everyone was pretty excited. I should think it was about twenty minutes after Capstick went up to his office – if that is indeed what he did.’
‘Did you leave alone?’
‘Yes. My au pair had arranged to take the children home and get them to bed, so I wasn’t tied to any particular time, because I knew beforehand that I would be required in the hospitality suite after the game to help entertain our visitors. I went out to the reserved car park to get my car at around half past seven, I should think. But it may have been earlier or later, I couldn’t be sure.’
‘Did anyone see you leave?’
Again she gave thought to a question which could have provided her with a valuable witness before she said, ‘Not that I’m aware of, no. But I know that I was home by eight, because I went to see the children in bed. I didn’t leave the house again.’
‘I now have to ask you again whether you have any idea who killed James Capstick.’
She smiled her acknowledgement that the interview was coming to an end, that she thought she had handled it well enough. ‘Beyond the fact that it wasn’t me, I’ve no idea, Detective Chief Inspector Peach.’
SEVENTEEN
The day had clouded over. The first spots of rain pimpled the big window on the turn of the stairs as Peach climbed the staircase to Thomas Bulstrode Tucker’s penthouse office at Brunton police station. The low cloud had already shut out the line of the hills and left only an ever-diminishing view of the grimy roofs of the old cotton town. A suitable obfuscation for a Tucker exchange, in Percy’s not altogether unbiased view.
‘It’s taken you a long time to come and report to me,’ said Tommy Bloody Tucker tetchily.
‘On the contrary, I took the first opportunity to apprise you of the case yesterday,’ his DCI pointed out firmly.
‘In an attempt to ruin my weekend relaxation!’ said Tucker unreasonably.
‘Your golf seemed to be doing that quite effectively without my contribution,’ said Peach thoughtfully. ‘Golf seems to be that sort of game, don’t you think, sir? You set out to unwind and find yourself knotted up with frustration in no time. Still, I’m quite new to it. I haven’t yet acquired your philosophical acceptance of misfortune and formidable powers of self-control.’
‘What is it you’re here to say, Peach? I’m far too busy to waste my time with your fripperies.’
Peach reviewed the square metres of empty desk in front of his chief. ‘I thought you said you were impatient for my report, sir. Well, the good news is that we’ve already interviewed the victim’s wife, his chief executive at Brunton Rovers FC, his football manager, and his football manager’s wife. None of them appear very enthusiastic about the late James Capstick – not even his wife, in my view.’
‘Very interesting, I’m sure,’ said Tucker with all the sarcasm he could muster. ‘Are you now going to tell me who killed him?’
Peach smiled benignly, not at all put out: chief superintendents, his expression said, must be allowed these harmless sallies. ‘Afraid not, sir. You wouldn’t wish me to leap to conclusions, I’m sure. Your overview would tell you that haste is the last thing the CID can afford in a high-profile case like this one.’ He brightened as if struck by an original thought. ‘I think you might tell the press officer that enquiries are proceeding satisfactorily and that the public are co-operating with us, but that no arrest is imminent.’
Tucker, who had already directed that a statement including just these anodyne phrases should be issued, glared fiercely at his acolyte. ‘We’re under pressur
e here, Peach. The nationals and the radio and the television are pressing us, in view of the high-profile victim. We need a result, and a quick result.’
Peach considered whether he should invite the man to take direct responsibility for the case he was nominally directing, the most reliable method of deflating him. Instead, he said tersely, ‘As soon as I’ve anything tangible to report, I shall do that, sir. In the meantime, I advise against one of your media-briefing conferences; it could be a trifle embarrassing with so little to reveal to the jackals. I wish to broach another and more personal subject with you, sir.’
‘Personal?’ Tucker did his goldfish impression, as if this was some exotic foreign word which he could not be expected to understand.
Percy took a deep breath. ‘I’m getting married, sir.’
‘Married?’ More bemusement.
‘Yes, sir. I always thought it was to be a case of “once bitten, twice shy” in my case – you are no doubt aware that I had a brief and not altogether happy experience of matrimony many years ago, sir. When I was in my green and salad days, as the Egyptian queen memorably expressed it.’
‘Salad?’
Percy thought that Tucker had now mastered perplexity and should move on to some other reaction. ‘I suppose that beholding the deep and unbroken contentment which characterizes your own marriage might have had a subconscious effect upon me, sir.’
The vision of Brunhilde Barbara finally broke through Tucker’s bemusement. Alarm burst suddenly into his florid features. ‘Now look here, Peach, I don’t know what you’re implying, but—’
‘So I thought I would take the plunge again into the uncertain seas of commitment, sir. I am to be married at the beginning of May. In view of the fact that it is my second voyage on these perilous seas, we thought a quiet ceremony would be advisable, sir. I hope you will understand that in such circumstances I thought it advisable not to issue an invitation to you and your wonderful wife, sir.’
