by Gregson, J M
But you didn’t sound very balanced a moment ago when you spoke of a united Ireland, thought Percy Peach. He studied O’Connor for a moment, watching the smile fade from the Irishman’s lips. Then he said slowly, ‘Had you anything to do with this death?’
‘Nothing whatsoever. I told you, I wasn’t even around at the time Eric Walsh died.’
‘So you did. But if I’d been in your position and wanted to kill him, I wouldn’t have done it myself.’
Adrian looked puzzled, then almost amused. ‘A contract killer, you mean? That’s what you call them, isn’t it? What a preposterous idea! I wouldn’t even know how to go about hiring such a man.’
Peach leaned forward, looked earnestly into the long face opposite him until the smile drained once again from its lines. ‘You won’t be shedding any tears over this death, despite what you say about old scars healing. But it’s your duty to tell us about anyone whom you think might have been involved in it.’
Adrian felt easier now. The worst was over, if they were moving to a consideration of other suspects. He resisted the temptation to overplay his hand, to point them in other directions too obviously. ‘He had enemies, did Eric. But I wasn’t a member of his intimate circle, as you can well imagine, so I can’t give you names.’
Peach sighed theatrically. ‘But no doubt you can give us certain pointers.’
‘He was fond of women, Eric Walsh. Too fond, sometimes. And he didn’t care much about the areas he fished in.’
Peach nodded. ‘Took it where he could get it, did he? Didn’t worry too much where the drawers dropped, if there was an attractive woman inside them?’
‘You have a delicate way with words, Inspector. But I wouldn’t disagree with the line of your argument. I was going to say that Walsh didn’t worry if his women belonged to someone else, but the feminists wouldn’t like that way of putting it, would they? Let's just say that he was careless of whether women had other commitments. I’m told that his conquests included married women and long-term partners as well as ladies who were free agents. Eric must have made a lot of enemies.’
Peach nodded as he pursed his lips. ‘The kind of enemies his brother made all those years ago, I expect. Dangerous ones.’
Adrian knew he was being insulted, but didn’t know how to react. He had become accustomed over his years in England to being a middle-class citizen, one to whom the police were carefully polite, sometimes even deferential. It seemed to be part of this man’s technique to put people’s backs up. Perhaps he would mention that to Superintendent Tucker from the Lodge. In the meantime, he said stiffly, ‘I don't know who they were. I don’t know if anyone felt strongly enough to kill him.’
Peach nodded. ‘If you decide you’ve anything more to tell us, ask for me in the CID section. If anything else occurs to you which may be of relevance to this case, it is your public duty to relay it to us immediately.’
It took Adrian O’Connor a few seconds to realize that he was free to go at last.
*
Even with a juicy murder case in progress, a detective must have his relaxation. A man concerned with the sordid side of humanity must take care to develop his spiritual side.
To this end, Percy Peach had a game of golf on Sunday afternoon and Lucy Blake on Sunday night. Both were admirable avenues of relaxation for a busy detective inspector. He won his four-ball at golf. He liked winning. But Sunday evening proved that there were better things even than that.
Lucy shivered in the big bedroom at the back of Percy’s semi-detached house. ‘You haven’t done anything about that central heating boiler,’ she grumbled. ‘How the hell do you get yourself into bed so quickly?’
‘Long practice,’ said Percy happily. ‘That and a generous nature. I’m warming the sheets up for you. With your icy feet, I’m a hero. Probably get a George medal for it, if you’d only recommend me.’
His dark eyes sparkled happily above the duvet; they were all that could be seen of his face as he snuggled deeply and studied his sergeant and bed-mate avidly. She paused for a moment in her dark blue slip, glancing at herself in the wardrobe’s full-length mirror, nerving herself to disrobe further in the chilly room. Percy said, ‘Shouldn’t you ask, “Does my bum look big in this?” I’ve always wanted to hear a woman say that.’
‘I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction. I know all about my backside, thank you. And you know far too much about it for your own good.’
Percy moaned softly. ‘They’re one of the things that makes you think there’s still a heaven, female backsides. That’s a vulgar word, for peasants like you. Posteriors, we gentlemen call them. Derrières, the French say.’
Lucy Blake knew from previous experience that she should not linger over her undressing. She took a deep breath, whipped her slip up, her pants down and the light off in what to Percy’s entranced eyes seemed a single graceful movement. He allowed himself a small yelp of pure pleasure as she arrived in the darkness.
‘Now this,’ he said appreciatively, ‘is definitely not what I’d call a derrière. This is more of an arse, I’d have to say. But a very nice arse indeed!’ He explored the phenomenon with both hands, whilst Lucy wondered again how a man of his considerable bulk had slipped so deftly beneath her.
‘You talk too much!’ she whispered into his surprisingly delicate ear.
‘Aaaaaaaargh!’ said Percy as he entered her with practised ease. A single syllable could surely not count as talking too much.
A little while later, he spoke to the dimly visible face above him. ‘I like where you’re putting it, but it’s still an arse, Lucy! That’s what you peasants have, you see. But it’s a totally splendid arse. Sitting pretty, as you might say. In view of that, I’ve decided to waive protocol and let you have your way with me. Oooooh!’
This last was provoked by his voluptuous rider’s prompt acceptance of his invitation. Other, similar sounds, just as inarticulate but increasingly intense, followed as he disappeared into paradise.
In that miraculous suspension of time, DI Peach lost all thought of the murder of Eric Walsh.
Twelve
Darren Cartwright found DI Peach waiting for him when he arrived at his office on Monday morning. It was a disconcerting start to the week.
The fact that Peach had his buxom detective sergeant with the dark red hair at his side should have mitigated the shock for Darren. But Peach had such threatening, baleful charisma that the financial adviser was for once not diverted by a pretty face. ‘You’d better come through to my office,’ Darren said, trying not to let his hand shake as he withdrew his keys from the door.
‘Sorry to disturb you so early,’ said Peach. He did not look sorry; on the contrary, he seemed extremely pleased with himself to have surprised his prey at eight twenty-five on a frosty morning. ‘We thought you might like to get this out of the way before other people arrived. Some people don’t like to be seen being questioned by the police. It’s peculiar, but there’s no accounting for tastes.’
‘Can’t think why you’re here,’ said Darren grumpily. It was a thoughtless thing to say, but the words were out before he could stop himself.
Peach raised his expressive eyebrows to show the man how silly he’d been. ‘When we were last here, you were in fear for your life. Anonymous threats. You wanted all the police attention you could get.’
‘Yes. I must seem ungrateful. I’m sorry. But I had rather a heavy night last night and it was rather a shock to —’
‘Out celebrating, were you, sir?’
‘Well, I don’t mind admitting I had rather a lot to drink. Rather too much, if I’m to be completely —’
‘Not upset, then. Certainly not devastated.’ Peach nodded at his detective sergeant, as if confirming something she had said before they arrived here. It was disconcerting.
‘Upset?’
Percy was pleased with the effect he had created. Cartwright’s face reminded him for a moment of Tommy Bloody Tucker at his most baffled. ‘Yes, sir. I thought the m
urder of a friend under your very nose might have spoiled your weekend a little.’
‘I wasn’t there when Eric Walsh was killed, Inspector.’
‘If you had been, Mr Cartwright, I’d be thinking about arresting you for murder.’
Darren tried to summon up a patient smile. ‘I mean I wasn’t in the vicinity, Inspector Peach. I didn’t attend the Lodge Ladies’ Night. So I’m not able to help you with your enquiries.’
He tried to smile equably, but the attempt fell away in the face of Peach’s delighted beam of response. The small white teeth flashed brilliantly as the round face lit up the small room. ‘Not strictly true, is it, Mr Cartwright? That you weren’t in the vicinity, I mean.’
‘I didn’t go to the Ladies’ Night. Ask anyone who was there.’
Lucy Blake tapped a small gold ballpoint pen against teeth which were almost as white as Peach’s. ‘We know that, Mr Cartwright. We’ve taken statements from all the Lodge members who attended the Ladies’ Night. Also from all the staff of the White Bull who were working on Friday night. That is how we know that you were on the premises at the time when Eric Walsh died.’
Darren almost denied that outright. Then he realized that he would be admitting he knew the time of the murder. You needed to be careful, with these buggers. ‘I see. I’m sorry.’ He turned back to Peach and found the beam full upon him. ‘I suppose I should have told you that at the start.’
‘Indeed you should have, Mr Cartwright. But don’t be sorry that you didn’t. The fact that you attempted to conceal your presence in the White Bull is of immense interest to us. We have to ask ourselves why you chose to do it.’
Darren looked from Lucy Blake’s alert, unlined face to Peach’s more experienced one, from the sergeant’s remarkable aquamarine eyes to the inspector’s unblinking black pupils. They were very different in appearance, these two, but he found comfort in neither. He said slowly, ‘You don’t know what it’s like, to be involved in a murder hunt from the other side. Even when you’re innocent, you try to hide things.’
Peach’s smile did not disappear. ‘Really? That would be most unwise. If you are innocent, that is. We find it’s usually people with something nasty to hide who try to deceive us.’
‘I’ve nothing to hide.’
‘Really? You would be most unusual, if you hadn’t. Of course, you may have nothing to hide in connection with the murder of Eric Walsh. If you haven’t, you’ve made a very bad beginning.’
‘I don’t know anything about this death.’
‘Why were you at the White Bull on Friday night?’
‘Partly just because it was Friday night. The week’s work was over and I was at a loose end. I went out for a couple of drinks. Nothing sinister in that, is there?’
‘Remains to be seen, Mr Cartwright. Your choice of drinking venue is most interesting. So is the fact that you lied about it.’
‘I told you, the natural inclination of an innocent member of the public is to put himself as far as possible from the scene of the crime.’
‘Wrong, Mr Cartwright! In our experience, the natural inclination of an innocent member of the public is to tell us the truth. Had you arranged to meet someone in the White Bull?’
‘No. I told you, I was at a loose end and I went out for a couple of drinks.’
‘Hardly your local is it, the White Bull? Over four miles from your house.’
Apparently they knew already just where he lived. Darren tried to be calm. ‘No.’
‘Go there often, do you? Favourite drinking hole of yours, perhaps?’
Darren almost fell into the trap of claiming it was. But if the filth had questioned the staff in enough detail to establish that he’d been there, they probably knew he wasn’t a regular. ‘No, not really.’
‘So how often do you drop in there for a casual drink? The way you say you did last Friday night.’
Peach was calling him a liar without putting it into words. Darren felt himself rattled. ‘Once or twice a year, I suppose.’
‘So why were you there on Friday night?’ The question came like a checkmate at the end of a series of chess moves.
Darren made himself take his time. ‘I’m not sure I can tell you why, not exactly. I knew the Lodge was holding their Ladies’ Night there, and I suppose I thought the meal would be finishing about that time and I might meet a few friendly faces in the bar.’
It was almost convincing. Except that the Masonic function was a private one in the upper rooms of the hotel, and he must have known that Lodge members in evening dress were unlikely to leave those private rooms and roam into the public bar downstairs. Peach contented himself with a rise of those expressive black eyebrows beneath the bald pate. ‘Friend of yours, was he, Eric Walsh?’
Darren had known that this must come, sooner or later. He said, ‘Yes, in a general sort of way. We weren’t particularly close, but I enjoyed his singing and his company. I would like to have had the chance to get to know him better. Now I never shall.’
The attempt at pathos did not sit happily on the anxious face beneath the thick brown hair. Peach studied him for a moment, as though he was waiting for him to squirm, before he said, ‘So who do you think might have killed him?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve thought about it ever since I heard the news on Saturday, but I’ve really no idea.’
Peach nodded as if he had expected no help here. ‘What time did you leave the White Bull, Mr Cartwright?’
‘Didn’t look at my watch at the time. But I can probably tell you fairly accurately.’ Darren nodded to himself, frowning with concentration, showing how hard he was trying to help them. ‘It must have been around ten when I got in there, as I said, and I only had a couple of whiskeys — can’t be too careful, with the breathalyser about!’ His nervous giggle died quickly when there were no answering smiles from the other side of the desk. ‘But I was there when they called time at eleven o’clock. I hadn’t found anyone I knew to talk to, so I drank up pretty promptly and left. I must have been away by ten past eleven.’
Percy Peach and Lucy Blake took their leave then, noting Darren Cartwright’s evident relief as they left his office. Once outside, they looked at each other for a moment, as easy with their professional relationship as they were with their private one. ‘Don’t like him much, that one,’ said Lucy. ‘Natural liar, I’d say. He started off with a big one when he claimed he’d been nowhere near the White Bull on Friday night.’
Peach nodded. ‘Did you notice that he didn’t want to talk about those threatening notes he’d been receiving? Last time we saw him, he claimed to be in fear for his life. You’d think with a fellow member of the Lodge murdered, he might have been wetting his pants.’
‘The fact that he may be a habitual liar doesn’t necessarily make him a murderer.’ said Lucy Blake rather regretfully.
‘No, but it gives us the right to go on harassing him,’ said Percy happily. ‘Especially as he not only began with a big lie but ended with an even bigger one. He said he left when the White Bull closed and was away by eleven ten, putting himself comfortably outside the murder period. But the pub doesn’t close until eleven thirty on Friday nights, which means that he would be away at about twenty to twelve. Which puts him bang in the frame.’
‘And also suggests that he knows the time when Walsh died, though we haven’t released anything about that yet.’
‘We shall need to have further words with Darren Cartwright, in due course,’ said Percy Peach. He spoke with deep satisfaction.
*
‘Have you arrested our murderer yet?’ said Superintendent Tucker when they returned to the Brunton police station.
‘Whimsical, that, sir.’ Percy Peach smiled appreciatively. ‘As the man in charge, you’d know if we had, wouldn’t you? Good to see a senior officer with a sense of humour on a Monday morning, I say. Shows a sense of perspective, that. I often tell the team that a sense of perspective —’
‘This is no time for a sense of perspective
,’ thundered Tucker. He wondered if that had come out quite right, and went on hastily, ‘This is a high-profile murder. Perhaps you don’t realize quite how high-profile.’ He picked up a tabloid newspaper from the pile on top of his desk and thrust the front page towards his inspector. ‘Singing Star Cut Down at Masonic Dinner,’ the headline stated. A ten-year-old picture of Eric Walsh smiling broadly at the camera occupied most of the page.
‘Good likeness,’ said Peach. ‘Flatters him a bit, perhaps. Course, I’ve only seen him dead.’
‘This is not about what Eric Walsh looked like. It’s about detection, Peach! You need to wake your ideas up. Don’t forget I’ve put you forward as chief inspector material.’
‘Yes, sir. I expect they’ll treat your recommendation with the consideration which your standing deserves.’
Tucker peered suspiciously at the inscrutable face of his detective inspector. You could quell most of your subordinates with the mention of promotion, but this irritating man seemed proof against blandishments as well as threats. ‘Time to get your finger out, Peach, if you wish to retain my support! Turned up much over the weekend, did you?’
‘Several interesting facts, sir. Nothing conclusive.’
‘I thought as much.’
‘No one’s been able to clear you, sir, as yet. Not absolutely. Not for the whole of those forty minutes. But between the two of us, sir, I shouldn’t worry. I think it’s fair to reveal that you’re not high on my list of suspects.’ He ventured a conspiratorial grin and tapped his forefinger against the right side of his nose.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Peach. And don’t make that absurd gesture again, please.’
‘Sorry, sir. I don’t know the appropriate Masonic gesture to convey a confidence, sir. Not being a member of the Brotherhood, of course.’
‘You’re obsessed with Freemasonry! I’ve told you until I’m sick of telling you that it has nothing to do with the job. Nothing whatsoever!’
Peach pursed his lips and shook his head doubtfully. ‘Looks like it was a Mason who did this, sir.’
