Only a Game

by J M Gregson

  This time it was Peach who began the questioning. ‘We asked you to go on thinking about Saturday’s killing and the people who were around at the time, Mrs Black.’

  ‘I’ve done that. It’s difficult not to, when you’ve been close to something horrific like that. I haven’t managed to come up with anything which seems significant.’

  ‘Really?’ Peach’s eyebrows arched impossibly high towards the baldness above them. They seemed to Debbie Black the most expressive black arcs she had ever seen. ‘Have you reviewed your own story? Are you happy that you’ve told us what the courts used to call the whole truth and nothing but the truth?’

  Debbie felt the skin on her face suddenly very warm. She fought for calmness as she pretended to review what she had said to them on Monday. ‘I think I told you everything. James Capstick dropped his bombshell and shocked us all – even his wife, as far as I could see. Several people, including me, spoke up against the sale of the club to people who knew nothing about this area, but Capstick made it clear that none of us had any say in the matter. Then he left us and we indulged in a collective bout of righteous indignation. It was clear to me pretty quickly that we weren’t achieving anything more than letting off steam, so I left and drove back here. I couldn’t be certain of the time I left, but it was probably around half an hour after Capstick had told us he was going up to his office.

  ‘You didn’t go out again?’

  ‘No. I was here for the rest of the evening. Robbie rang and told me that he was going to see his old friend and fellow-manager Jack Cox about the implications of the takeover for him. I think he got in at about eleven and we then spent another hour discussing what was going to happen to us.’

  ‘You didn’t go back to the football ground after you’d left?’

  ‘No. I just told you. I didn’t go out at all for the rest of the evening after I’d returned here.’

  ‘That isn’t quite what I asked you, Mrs Black. I asked if you returned to Grafton Park at any time after you’d left.’

  ‘Then I’m telling you again that I didn’t.’

  He looked at her steadily for what was probably a few seconds but what seemed to Debbie a very long time. She stared steadily, fixedly, back at him, trying to thrust away the thought that her cheeks must be reddening. Then, almost reluctantly it seemed, Peach said, ‘Our information is that you did in fact return to the football ground on Saturday night, not long after you had left the private car park.’

  Her first instinct was to hold stubbornly to her denial, as if she had been a child caught in some minor transgression. But they must have a witness, possibly more than one. She wouldn’t drop her eyes, but she couldn’t meet Peach’s gimlet stare for any longer. She transferred her gaze to the woman who sat with her eyes on her notebook as she said dully. ‘I did go back. But I didn’t kill Capstick.’

  Peach was quieter, less challenging now after her admission. He said softly. ‘You had better give us a full and exact account of your movements.’

  ‘Yes.’ But there was a long moment before she spoke again, whilst she fought to stop her mind from racing. ‘I left as I told you, perhaps half an hour after Capstick had left us in the hospitality suite, perhaps a little less than that. But I didn’t come straight back here. About a mile away from the ground, I turned into a lay-by and stopped to collect my thoughts. Eventually I decided to go back and speak to Capstick. To plead with him, if you like.’

  ‘From your description of the man and his reactions in the hospitality lounge a little earlier, you couldn’t have expected him to be very receptive.’

  ‘I don’t suppose I did. But Robbie’s future was at stake. Our whole life in Brunton was at stake. I was prepared to try anything to save those things.’

  ‘Even murder.’

  ‘No. Not murder. I wasn’t thinking of that.’

  ‘So what exactly did you do?’

  ‘I sat in the lay-by for ten minutes, perhaps fifteen. Then I drove slowly back to the ground. I had to make myself do it, because I didn’t really think Capstick was going to take much notice of me. But I’ve persuaded a few men to change their decisions in the past.’ A private, unconscious smile relaxed her taut features for a moment. ‘Anyway, I had to try, because there was so much at stake for us.’

  ‘Did you see anyone else when you went back?’

  ‘No. It was very quiet around the entrance by then. I parked in a side street, not in the private car park. I didn’t think anyone had seen me.’

  She looked interrogatively at Peach, but she knew he wasn’t going to reveal the identity of his witness. ‘Go on, please. Try not to miss anything out.’

  ‘I slipped through the single wooden door which was the only one which was open and went quickly up the stairs to the chairman’s office. I’d never been up there before, so I wasn’t even sure which room was his at first, but the door was clearly labelled. I knocked and there was no reply, so I pushed the door open cautiously and went in. I got a terrible shock. I think I might even have given a little scream, but I’m not sure of that.’

  She was silent then, recalling the scene, thinking for a moment that they already knew what she was going to say. It was Lucy Blake who prompted her with the obvious question. ‘So why were you so shocked, Mrs Black?’

  An involuntary shudder shook the slim body opposite them. If the woman was acting this, she was doing it very well. ‘The man I’d come to plead with was dead. He was slumped forward over his desk and I didn’t realize what had happened, until I saw that awful mark around his neck, as if something had cut right into it.’

  TWENTY-ONE

  An hour later, DCI Peach sat with his head in his hands at his desk, pondering his next move. That was determined for him when his internal phone informed him that Chief Superintendent Tucker needed to see him urgently.

  He climbed the stairs dutifully, then watched Tucker shuffle papers self-importantly into a file before he could afford his DCI his full attention. ‘It’s time you were getting results in this James Capstick case,’ Tucker said portentously.

  ‘We’ve made progress, sir.’

  ‘That isn’t enough, as you know. The press are implying that we’re baffled.’

  ‘Yes, sir. It’s a favourite word of theirs, isn’t it? I think we are quite near to an arrest. I would appreciate your guidance.’

  Tucker glanced at him suspiciously, but there was no hint of irony in the round and expressionless face. ‘You’re welcome to my advice.’

  ‘Thank you. Proof may be the difficulty, sir. I think I know who did this, but I have no proof worthy of the name and I don’t see it presenting itself easily.’

  Tucker, who had been preparing to browbeat his DCI, was thrown off balance. He couldn’t remember when his advice had last been sought. ‘You’d better tell me what you’ve found about the people involved in the case, if you want my views.’

  ‘Yes, sir. The wife is Helen Capstick. She is a major gainer by this death – however dubious the sources of his wealth, Capstick was a rich man. She was conducting an affair at the time of his death. Capstick was ignorant of this, though he may have had his suspicions. Helen knew that his chauffeur was about to put him in the picture.’

  Tucker pursed his lips, stared at the ceiling for a moment, and said with an air of revelation, ‘The widow could be the one, in my view. Did she have opportunity as well as motive?’

  ‘Indeed she did, sir. Alongside several other people, of course.’

  Tucker looked disappointed. ‘We shall bear her in mind. What about this chief executive you mentioned in your notes?’

  ‘Darren Pearson. Another man with motive and opportunity, sir. He seems to be an effective administrator, but his private life is in turmoil, as a result of a serious gambling problem. He would probably have lost his highly paid post had Brunton Rovers FC been sold. He admits he would find it difficult to obtain a similar post elsewhere.’

  ‘That makes him a strong candidate for this crime, you know.’

>   Peach reflected for a moment on Tommy Bloody Tucker’s continuing talent for the blindin’ bleedin’ obvious. ‘Yes, sir, I thought that. He knows the labyrinth of passages and rooms beneath the stand at Grafton Park better than anyone, which makes him on the face of it the most likely person to have followed Capstick up to the chairman’s office. Apart, perhaps, from the man who had been chairman himself in a previous era.’

  ‘Edward Lanchester? I don’t think you should entertain Edward as even a possibility. He’s been a prominent figure in the town for forty years now. A very successful businessman, in his day, and still a highly respected local figure.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Percy held his peace and forbore to remind Tucker that respected local figures and even successful businessmen were not immune from temptation. ‘There’s the Blacks. Robbie and Debbie.’ He glanced at Tucker’s uncomprehending face. ‘The football manager at Brunton Rovers might also be out of work after a Middle Eastern takeover. His wife is not only a determined supporter of her husband but much attached to this town and its people.’

  Recognition dawned on the head of Brunton’s CID. ‘The tennis player. Nice girl, that. Hardly strikes me as a killer.’

  ‘Some time since she was a tennis star, sir. Debbie Black is forty-three now. A very determined woman when her family’s interests are threatened, I would say. Also, she returned to Grafton Park after leaving on Saturday night. A visit which she initially concealed from us.’

  Had he expected a compliment on his diligence in discovering this, Percy would have been disappointed. Tucker said ponderously, ‘And how did the woman seek to explain this?’

  ‘She says she went to try to reason with Capstick. She claims he was already dead when she entered his office.’

  Tucker rocked back on his chair, then leant forward decisively. ‘No doubt you’re taking that story with a large pinch of salt, Peach. That would certainly be my advice.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I thought it might. Would you like to know who I think did this and how I think we might extract a confession?’

  Chief Superintendent Tucker did his usual impression of a particularly obtuse goldfish, and Peach hastened to take him into his confidence. It was always as well to have the hierarchy behind you when you played a hunch, in case you were totally mistaken and the proverbial hit the fan.

  The April afternoon was bright with the promise of summer as Lucy Blake turned the police Mondeo between the now familiar high gateposts of Edward Lanchester’s substantial Edwardian villa.

  ‘This will be a bluff,’ said Percy Peach.

  Lucy thought she had never seen him look so nervous. ‘You’re good at bluff,’ she said firmly.

  Lanchester was standing on the top step with the big blue front door open behind him before they got out of the car. ‘You look as if you have news for me,’ he said breezily. He glanced up at the clouds racing across the spring sky before he took them into the sitting room with the long window which looked out across the garden to the big scarlet rhododendron.

  ‘They announced on the radio at one o’clock that the takeover was definitely off,’ he told them with satisfaction.

  ‘You’ll be pleased about that,’ said DS Blake. She knew that he liked her by now, so that it seemed natural to her to respond to his news.

  ‘We think we are very close to an arrest,’ said Peach, who had not taken his eyes off the handsome, ageing face since they had come into the room.

  ‘That’s good.’ Edward waited for a moment. Then, when neither of them offered anything, he added, ‘I think I said to you on Monday that whilst I didn’t like Capstick, I couldn’t really condone murder.’

  ‘Indeed you did. It was something which Darren Pearson told us which led us towards the solution of this particular mystery.’ Peach was fencing with the man with his own weapons, offering phrases couched in politeness rather than anything more direct.

  ‘That implies that your man is not Pearson. I’m glad about that. I think I told you on Monday that Pearson has been an excellent servant to Brunton Rovers. I also happen to like him.’ He nodded his satisfaction two or three times, as if they had been talking about some minor piece of good fortune for the chief executive.

  ‘Darren Pearson told us, you see, that he had seen someone returning to the club after they had apparently left on Saturday night. Someone who had neglected to tell us anything at all about this episode.’

  ‘Who was this?’

  The directness was startling after the previous leisurely phrases. For the first time in their three meetings, Lanchester looked both animated and disturbed. Peach took his time, but he still stared unblinkingly, disconcertingly, at his man. ‘It was Debbie Black.’

  ‘Debbie Black couldn’t commit murder. She isn’t that sort of person.’

  ‘Isn’t she? Your reaction does you credit, but I’m afraid you must leave us to be the judges of that, Mr Lanchester.’

  ‘But didn’t you listen to what she had to say? She must have given you some explanation for her actions.’

  ‘Oh, she says that she went back to try to reason with James Capstick, though she agrees that he wasn’t the sort of man who would have listened to reason.’

  ‘But surely that’s possible? It was clear when the man made his announcement that Debbie and Robbie Black were most upset about it. I think it’s quite possible that she went back to plead with him.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you be asking me what sort of reaction she got from Capstick?’

  The well-groomed elderly man looked thoroughly uncomfortable. ‘I suppose I presumed that she got no satisfaction from him. I think you implied that. What did in fact happen?’

  ‘Nothing at all, according to Mrs Black. She claims, you see, that when she climbed the stairs and entered that office Mr Capstick was already dead.’

  ‘Well, isn’t that quite possibly what happened? Debbie Black may well be telling you the truth.’

  Peach shrugged his broad shoulders elaborately. The expression on his face said that he couldn’t believe that anyone could be so gullible. ‘You learn to be cynical, in this job, Mr Lanchester. Mrs Black concealed the whole of this episode from us, when we interviewed her on Monday. That seems significant, to me. It certainly won’t count in her favour when she is in court, facing a charge of murder.’

  The old man rose from his chair with startling agility. ‘I think we need a drink.’

  ‘Not for me,’ said Peach promptly. Blake shook her head when Lanchester gestured towards her with the whisky bottle. He poured himself a measure, looked for a moment in silence across the long stretch of weedless lawn to the border beyond, and sat down again, sipping the spirit neat, whilst his brain raced furiously towards a decision.

  ‘Debbie Black’s a good woman and in my view an honest one. That will surely count in her favour.’

  Peach noted the desperation in his tone with satisfaction and allowed himself another, less elaborate, shrug. ‘The judge will direct any jury to consider the facts of the matter. Debbie Black will not be able to deny motive – both she and her husband had a lot to lose with the proposed change of ownership. She will have to admit that she went to the room where murder was committed and that she lied about it afterwards.’ Peach knew that the Crown Prosecution Service would never take so thin a case to court, but believed that Lanchester like most members of the public would have only the sketchiest knowledge of their procedures.

  Edward Lanchester took another substantial sip of his whisky, felt the warmth of it coursing through his throat and his chest. ‘You must have other candidates for this crime. I felt the atmosphere in the hospitality suite on Saturday night when Capstick was telling us all that whatever we said, whatever we felt, wouldn’t make a jot of difference to him. When he was positively enjoying telling us that we were completely powerless in the matter, there was real hostility to the man.’

  ‘I accept that. Everyone who was there seems to be agreed upon it. But only one of them had the nerve to take action.’

 
Perhaps it was the implied admiration for the boldness of the action that finally swayed him. Edward had already decided that he couldn’t allow a woman he liked and admired to be charged with a crime she had not committed. But the final, logical step to removing her from the spotlight was an admission. He downed the last of his whisky with a decisive swallow, then said with devastating simplicity, ‘I killed Jim Capstick.’

  If he had expected astonishment in his audience, he was disappointed. The young woman he had increasingly regarded as a substitute daughter rose silently, moved across the room to him, and quietly and unemotionally voiced the words of his arrest. He looked up at her, fancied he caught in her vivid blue-green eyes the sympathy she had so carefully excluded from the formal phrases of the arrest. He said dully to Peach, ‘You knew, didn’t you?’

  ‘I thought I knew. We needed a confession. Neither of us thought you’d allow someone else to be charged with a crime you knew you’d committed.’

  Edward gave a small, sad smile at this oblique tribute to his integrity. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Something you said on Monday evening when we first talked to you. Something I hardly noticed myself at the time. When we asked you if you’d any idea who might have committed this killing, you said that of course you’d been thinking about that “over the last forty-eight hours”. That was too precise for your own good. You’d only been told of the murder by Darren Pearson on Sunday morning: officially you’d known about it for less than thirty-six hours. Only the person who’d committed the crime had known about it for forty-eight hours and more.’

  Edward Lanchester nodded. The details of his error seemed only a matter of curiosity to him now. He felt he’d always known that he was going to confess. He even felt a curious relief in acknowledging his guilt. ‘I couldn’t let that man destroy Brunton Rovers. The football club’s been a central theme in my life. People say it’s only a game, but it’s always been a lot more than that for me.’