by Roy Lewis
Elaine Start raised her head and held his glance stubbornly. ‘I just don’t think we should jump to conclusions without looking at all the evidence.’
‘You think Raymond Conroy didn’t strangle the Chivers woman?’ Charlie demanded.
She hesitated. ‘I didn’t say that. I—’
‘You don’t think we should treat Conroy as our major suspect?’
‘I’m not sure. I mean, this Khan guy—’
‘You don’t think we should look for Conroy as a main priority?’ Charlie insisted savagely.
Elaine Start’s mouth was set firm. She made no reply.
Charlie Spate regarded her coldly for a little while. Then he nodded. ‘OK, so you’ve made your point. I’ve heard you out. But I’m sure we both agree I’m in charge of this investigation. And I’m sure you agree it’s worrying that Raymond Conroy, a suspected killer, should have disappeared from our screens. And I’m also certain, now, that you’ll follow instructions and give every priority to hunting that perverted bastard. Others are checking on Khan. And when we find Conroy, well, I guess we’ll be able to get answers to all the questions you raise, won’t we?’
His eyes reflected his displeasure. Elaine stood rigidly in front of his desk, almost at attention. Then, quietly, she picked up the photographs, slipped them back into the file and turned towards the door. When she reached it, she hesitated. She looked back at him. Her tone was reluctant, suddenly uncertain. ‘There’s one more thing. I … I haven’t got around to, well, thanking you.’
Charlie raised his eyebrows but made no reply.
She was unable to meet his eye. ‘Last week, when you rescued me from Club 95. If I’d been picked up in that state, it could have cost me my career.’
‘Probably,’ he replied coldly.
She took a deep breath, her magnificent bosom rising. For once he was not distracted. ‘And if you hadn’t taken me home,’ she added, ‘you wouldn’t have lost track of Conroy.’
‘That’s true.’
He wasn’t making it easy for her. She raised her eyes, staring at him sheepishly. It was an odd situation, a new development in their relationship. Although he was the senior officer, it was Elaine who always seemed to be in control in their personal lives. For once, she was caught awkwardly, unable to retain her composure. She ran a hand nervously over her mouth. ‘Well, I just feel I ought to say thanks, and sort of apologize to you. For putting you in that position, I mean. And thank you, for not spilling the beans to ACC Charteris.’
Charlie shrugged dismissively. ‘I could hardly do that, without exposing my own behaviour.’
‘Yes, but …’ Her voice died away. Her glance flickered around the room, then returned to hold his. ‘Anyway, I’ve been slow in telling you I appreciate it. I needed to think things over, you see, and that meant I couldn’t say anything straightaway.’
‘Let’s forget it,’ Charlie said airily, and busied himself with the papers in front of him. After a short silence he looked up, to see Elaine still standing in the doorway.
‘I was wondering … will you be coming around on Friday night?’ she asked.
Charlie’s eyes narrowed. Then he shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think that would be a good idea.’
It was as though he had struck her. She stiffened, held his glance for a few seconds then opened the door and left the room. The door closed behind her. The soft click of the lock had the sound of cold finality.
3
Inevitably, the newspapers retained the story in front-page headlines for the next few days, and there was considerable coverage on the regional television programmes. By the end of the week criticism of the police became more vocal: the fact of the botched police surveillance was leaked to the press and the question was asked, how could they have allowed a suspected murderer to vanish without trace? Eric discussed it with Sharon Owen when they met for dinner in the city.
‘They’re being careful not to mention Conroy by name,’ she said.
‘Even though it’s obvious it’s him they’re referring to,’ Eric agreed.
They had both read the potted history of the life of Coleen Chivers churned out in various newspaper articles. There was extended coverage of her business successes, her activities in various projects, and some guarded comment on her social life.
‘They’re skating around her personal life a bit,’ Eric mused, ‘but there’s enough to be read between the lines to suggest they know about her somewhat rackety indiscretions.’
Sharon shook her head. ‘At least no one yet seems to have picked up the family connection with me. Let’s hope it stays that way.’
It did not, of course. Early the following week, the news broke in the Journal. An investigative reporter had traced the family tree, first back to the link with the Chivers Trust and their grandfather George Chivers, and then to Sharon’s mother, and her brother Peter, who had sired Coleen Chivers. There was even a mention of the scandalous behaviour of Sharon’s father, the solicitor James Owen, who had depleted the funds available to the beneficiaries of the Chivers Trust. Eric wondered whether the leak would have been the result of questions asked of the former trust solicitor, Strudmore. There was a certain gossipy quality about Strudmore’s confidences, and he was the most likely source.
Sharon took it fairly philosophically. They met for a coffee at the Malmaison on the Quayside, close to Eric’s office and her chambers. ‘It was inevitable they’d fish out the information,’ she said gloomily. ‘But there’s nothing I can do about it. There have been a few phone calls from journalists. Not very welcome, but I’ve been polite. And dismissive. I didn’t know Coleen Chivers. I had never met her. I have no comments to make on the manner of her death. And I’ve refused to discuss the fact that I had defended Raymond Conroy.’ She hesitated. ‘Or as one journalist put it, the man who has since murdered my cousin.’
‘That’s yet to be proved,’ Eric muttered.
‘I put the phone down on the guy when he said that.’ Sharon toyed with her coffee spoon, staring out of the window down towards Wesley Square, and across the elegant curving arch of the Millennium Bridge towards the Baltic Centre. ‘But what do you think, Eric? Did Conroy do it? Did we help get him off the Midlands murder charges, only for him to kill again?’
‘We did our job, Sharon. That’s all. And it’s not yet been proved that Conroy did kill Coleen Chivers. It’s not something that deserves our attention.’ Even as he said it his mind slipped back to the interview with DCI Charlie Spate, when he had asked Eric for his assistance in using Jackie Parton as an informant. He hadn’t mentioned it to Sharon, and he saw no reason to do so now. He had heard nothing from the ex-jockey, but he was sure that if Jackie Parton came up with any information he would hear of it before any report was made to DCI Spate.
‘Have you had a visit from the police?’ Eric asked curiously.
Sharon frowned. ‘Just a brief one. After the article came out, actually. They just wanted to ask me about the Chivers Trust. Sort of hinting that maybe I could have profited from the death of my cousin, as far as trust monies were concerned. I put them straight on that one. Since the agreements were signed, and witnessed by you, my rights to the funds are circumscribed. It’s her estate that’ll get what she was due under the Chivers Trust; nothing to do with me. And I can hardly believe she’d have mentioned me in her will. If she’d even made one. The officers … they seemed satisfied by that. And I’ve no doubt they’ve already checked that I was not in her social circle.’
Eric nodded. ‘I see that Tony Fraser has continued with his series on Raymond Conroy.’ He shook his head, puzzled. ‘I’m surprised the editors are still happy to take the pieces. I mean, with this new killing, and Conroy on the run, they’re taking a chance … though their own lawyers will have vetted the writing for possible libel.’
‘Yes, I saw what Fraser had written. There’s a hint of further startling revelations,’ Sharon mused, ‘but that’s probably journalistic licence to keep up interest. As far a
s I can see Fraser has just about run out of information he could have obtained from what’s already been written about Conroy, or came out during the hearings in the Midlands and up here at Newcastle Crown Court.’ She finished her coffee, replacing the cup firmly. ‘Anyway, that’s it. I’d better get back to my chambers. I’ve got a stack of opinions to write.’ She glanced at him quizzically as she rose. ‘But not on recent immigration matters.’
Eric laughed. ‘I’m afraid they’ve dried up as far as I’m concerned too. Either Linwood Forster is being very careful, or the Home Office has sorted out all its concerns about illegal immigrants.’
‘I can hardly believe that.’ She stood beside the table, looking down at him. ‘Of course, with Coleen’s death, the problem about security of the files has sort of gone away, hasn’t it? So there’s no reason why you shouldn’t use me for opinions in the future.’
‘Rest assured, my love, I don’t imagine anyone will look upon that as a possible motive for murder. You’re in the clear.’
She grinned at him. ‘Who knows what lies in the mind of a woman?’
As the days passed the furore died down somewhat in the newspapers, being succeeded by accounts of a wreck in heavy seas off the north-east coast, a case of smuggling cigarettes in Hartlepool, and the confiscation of a haul of heroin in Yarm, the result of a Customs and Excise investigation that had been carried out over the previous three years. Eric recognized the names of two former clients of his firm. Fortunately, he had not been asked to defend them.
While he was on his way back from a magistrates hearing at Berwick-upon-Tweed, he decided to make a diversion to visit his ex-wife Anne at Sedleigh Hall. She invited him to dinner, and offered him a bed for the night. Naturally, she asked for his views on the murder of Coleen Chivers, wondering whether it really had been the work of the man he had earlier defended. He shrugged the questions aside. There was already too much theorising in the media.
‘Anyway, I’m glad you’re here, Eric,’ she said, ‘because I’ve been meaning to ask you to take a look at some of the contracts I’ve been asked to sign. Not tonight, but if you’ve time before you leave for Newcastle in the morning, perhaps you’d be kind enough to cast an eye over them. For an appropriate fee, of course,’ she added, smiling.
‘What do they concern?’
Anne explained that the growing recession had caused a number of European-funded projects that she was overseeing to be placed in jeopardy. Unbeknownst to Eric, she had been devoting more time of late to the oversight and supervision of contracts with suppliers in the north-east, likely recipients of money from the European Social Fund.
‘No longer a hard-headed businesswoman, but a philanthropist!’ he exclaimed. ‘So you after a life peerage or something?’
‘And sit with all those old fogies in the House of Lords?’ she scoffed. ‘Hardly that! But I’ve got most of my business activities under control now, I’ve good managers and administrators in place and … well, the gap you left, I’ve managed to plug.’
‘Except in this instance,’ Eric suggested.
‘I suppose so. But you do come cheaper than some of the firms of lawyers I deal with!’ she laughed.
The following morning Eric spent rather longer than he had expected in discussing the contracts with Anne. Some of them raised issues which she had not contemplated and together they discussed the implications and the pitfalls which might arise in the future were she to conclude the agreements. She invited him to stay for lunch and he took the opportunity to spend an hour walking around the estate in the late morning sunshine. It brought back memories of the time they had spent there together, and a degree of nostalgia touched him. But they were days long past, and both he and Anne knew they had moved on of recent years: there was no reliving of the relationship they had enjoyed.
When he returned from his walk among the ancient oak trees that lined the avenue leading down to the meadows, Anne met him in the hallway, at the foot of the grand staircase. ‘There was a call from your office while you were out.’
‘They rang here?’ Eric fumbled in his pocket for his mobile, then muttered a curse. He had left it in the office.
Anne smiled. ‘You can return the call in the library. Susie implied it was sort of urgent.’
Eric walked through to the library, sat down at the long mahogany table and picked up the phone. Susie answered it almost immediately. ‘Mr Ward! I’ve been trying to get hold of you. I expected you back in the office this morning.’
‘I’ve been detained here. So what’s the problem?’
There was a slight hesitation. ‘I’ve been asked to make sure you call this number.’ She read it out to him, then paused again. ‘It’s Raymond Conroy.’
Eric frowned. A brief image of all the newspaper headlines flashed across his mind. ‘What the hell does he want to speak to me for? I don’t act for him any more.’
‘He didn’t give any explanation,’ Susie replied primly. ‘But he seemed more than a bit flustered, sort of agitated.’
Eric hesitated, then nodded. ‘As I would be in his situation. All right. Give me the number again.’
He took a pen from his pocket and wrote down the mobile number Susie gave him. After he’d replaced the phone he thought for a few moments, then punched in the number for Sharon Owen’s chambers. The clerk informed him she was not there. Eric tried her mobile. It was switched off.
Finally, he rang the number Susie Cartwright had given him. The phone rang out for a long time before it was answered.
‘Ward?’ The voice was strained, and the man was breathing hard, as though he had been running. There was a muffled quality to the voice also, a thickness that caused a distortion in his tones. ‘Ward? This is Conroy.’
‘You wanted me to call you.’
‘I have to see you. It’s urgent.’
‘What about?’ Eric asked carefully.
‘Can’t you guess? But I can’t discuss it over the phone. I need to see you. Come to me and—’
‘Conroy,’ Eric interrupted, ‘I don’t think this is a good idea. I’m no longer your legal representative. No doubt you’re fully aware the police have been searching for you. You’ll have seen the newspapers. I give you this bit of advice freely. You need to contact the police, hand yourself in and—’
‘It’s all rubbish! It’s crazy! The stories in the newspapers, they’re all lies! The police are trying to frame me again, the way they did over the killings in the Midlands! I need to see you, Ward, to sort this out. There are things I didn’t tell you when you were acting for me. I need to talk to you. It’s urgent, goddamn it! I’ve got to talk to you!’
The words came out in a rush. The man was almost babbling, and it seemed to have affected his voice. It was almost as if Eric was talking to a stranger, and he was unable to discard the impression that the speaker was at the end of his tether.
‘I still think you should see the police. If you can explain to them—’
‘No! I’ll explain to you. Ward, you must come to meet me. I’ll explain everything then. I don’t want to talk to those other bastards. They’ve already tried to railroad me once. I don’t trust them!’
There was a short silence. Eric sighed. ‘All right,’ he said reluctantly. ‘I’ll come to meet you. Where are you at the moment?’
‘I’ll be waiting for you. Rowland’s Farm. It’s in the Coquet Valley, not far from Warkworth.’
Eric knew the area. He glanced at his watch. ‘If you can give me more precise directions, I should think I’ll be there in about an hour or so.’
Susie Cartwright liked Jackie Parton. She could not say precisely why the sight of him always cheered her up: perhaps it was his cockiness, his jaunty, rolling walk, his ready smile. Or maybe it was because he flattered her, paid her attention, made her feel good. So when he walked into the office she smiled at him. There was no need for him to make an appointment if he wanted to see her employer. DCI Spate she would always be difficult with: Jackie Parton she would acco
mmodate. She would always see to that.
‘You’re out of luck today,’ she announced. ‘He’s not in.’
Jackie Parton seemed unusually subdued, and there was a frown on his narrow features. ‘What time do you expect him to get back?’
She shrugged. ‘He should have been in this morning, but I finally traced him to Sedleigh Hall. He’d called in to see Mrs Ward.’ She still could not bring herself to use Anne’s maiden name. She still remained concerned that things had come to such a pass that they had divorced. ‘I expect him back later this afternoon.’
‘I’ve tried his mobile.’
‘He left it in the office yesterday. He’s often forgetful that way,’ she muttered, sighing and shaking her head. ‘He can be so old-fashioned, you know. I keep telling him he ought to accept modern technology less reluctantly. But he still leaves the phone behind from time to time.’
Jackie Parton hesitated, then walked around the room a couple of times, as though weighing up something in his mind. At last he nodded. ‘OK, when he comes in, or if he phones you before he reaches the office tell him I’ve been in. Tell him….’ Jackie Parton hesitated. ‘Tell him I need to talk to him because I know where Raymond Conroy is hiding out, and I need to—’
‘Mr Conroy?’ Susie’s eyes were round. ‘He’s already been in touch.’
‘What do you mean?’ Jackie asked huskily.
‘Mr Conroy rang here, wanted to speak to Mr Ward urgently. I finally traced Mr Ward to Sedleigh Hall and passed on the message.’
