Backhand Smash

by J M Gregson

  ‘That’s hardly fair. I was very close to Jason’s father.’

  Clyde Northcott spoke suddenly after a long, watchful silence. ‘We’re not asking you to be fair, Mr Walmsley. We’re asking you to be informative. We need your help.’

  ‘He wasn’t the ideal employer, but I’m sure there have been worse.’

  ‘There is no need for you to be coy in this matter, Mr Walmsley. DCI Peach has already indicated to you that we have been pursuing enquiries into Jason Fitton’s other activities over the last few years, and particularly over the last few months. DCI Peach has been cautious in his language. I am prepared to speak off the record and to offer you my own opinion. I regarded Jason Fitton as a thoroughgoing villain who dealt in all sorts of mischief. There is no call for you to defend him or to obscure his faults. He has been transformed overnight from villain to victim. We need the fullest account of him you can give to us, warts and all.’

  Bob Walmsley looked into the long, intent black face. ‘You said you were treating this as a suspicious death. How did Mr Fitton die?’

  Northcott glanced at Peach and received in return the most minimal of nods. ‘He was strangled with a cord, Mr Walmsley. He was in the front seat of his car when the cord was thrown around his neck by person or persons unknown. He died very quickly. His death will be confirmed as murder before this day is out. That is pretty well all the knowledge we have at present. In return for that information, we expect your fullest cooperation in what will be a full-scale murder investigation.’

  Bob looked from one to the other of the two very different but equally expectant faces. ‘Thank you for telling me that. You confirm much of what has hitherto been mere speculation for me about my employer. I heard rumours that Mr Fitton had been involved recently with prostitution, and even that he might have been mixed up in some way in the recent procuring of underage girls for immoral purposes in Rotherham and Rochdale – and other towns round here as well, for all I know. I won’t comment on that, not because I’m being uncooperative, but because I haven’t the knowledge to do so. I’ve taken care to learn as little as I can of any activities of my employer outside Fitton’s Metals. My working life is as managing director of that firm, and I am – I suppose I should now say was – concerned with my employer’s activities only in so far as they affect this firm and my work in it.’

  It was a long statement and he was breathing hard and a little unevenly at the end of it. Peach let the silence stretch in the quiet room, waiting to see if tension would make the man add anything to it. He said eventually, ‘That sounds almost like a prepared statement, Mr Walmsley.’

  The man on the other side of the table weighed the implications of that and spoke coolly. ‘I’m not entirely surprised that you should say that. It is the first time that I have spoken to the police in this vein, but not the first time I have uttered these sentiments. I move amongst the business community in the town, and the activities of my employer have been the subject of lively and increasingly scurrilous enquiries over the last year or two. I have usually refused to comment. When forced to do so, because my questioners were either old friends or old customers, I have taken the same sort of attitude as I have just expressed to you. My concern is with the health of Fitton’s Metals as a business and with the well-being of the people who work there. I have separated these other activities and interests of the owner of the firm as sharply as I can from his position as owner and employer here. If what I have just said to you sounds like a prepared statement, it is because I have uttered the gist of it many times before, though in more informal contexts.’

  Peach nodded, reflecting on his words, apparently accepting the logic of what he had heard. ‘You do not seem to be astonished by the news we have given you this morning.’

  ‘I am shocked by what you tell me has happened to Jason Fitton, but not entirely surprised. I imagine he moved in dangerous circles.’

  ‘Nor do you seem to be greatly distressed.’

  Bob looked evenly into the dark, near-black eyes in the deceptively bland face. This man Peach was anything but bland, and he couldn’t imagine that anyone around him had an easy life. ‘I’ve indicated some of the difficulties of working for Jason. I’m upset by his death, especially if it’s murder, as you say it is. No one should be allowed to get away with murder, and I hope you make an arrest quickly. But I’d be a hypocrite if I pretended that I was stricken with grief. I’ve never been accused of hypocrisy.’

  ‘Thank you for your honesty. Did Mr Fitton have a PA at Fitton’s Metals?’

  ‘No. As I’ve indicated, he’s rarely shown his face in the place over the last few years.’

  Peach nodded. ‘We shall need to speak to your own PA. She must have got to know something of him and whatever relationships he had in the place over the years. PAs do that, we find. They keep their fingers on the pulses of organizations.’

  ‘They do indeed. But my present PA has only been in post for a short time. I can give you the address and phone number of my old one, who has now retired. She knew both Derek Fitton and Jason Fitton and saw much of the development of the firm over the years.’ He’d almost said ‘and the decline of the firm’. That wouldn’t have been diplomatic; it was much wiser to say as little as possible.

  Peach took the details and said, ‘The man you’ve described to us is a man who must have made many enemies. We need you to give us your thoughts on this and hopefully one or two suggestions – in confidence, of course.’

  Bob thought for a moment, then shook his head. ‘I’m sure you’re right, but those enemies wouldn’t be at Fitton’s Metals. Most people here aren’t even aware of the concerns I have about the future, because it didn’t seem politic to spread alarm and dissension, as the old army phrase has it. The older Mr Fitton used to use that phrase, but I never thought I’d be quoting him about his son’s actions in the firm.’

  Peach raised his impressive eyebrows. ‘You can’t think of anyone who wished him ill?’

  ‘Not at Fitton’s Metals, DCI Peach. I’m confident that you will find his killer elsewhere.’ He saw them off. His unsmiling face at the front door was a reflection of the grave news they had brought to him.

  NINE

  Younis Hafeez had been inside the Brunton casino only once before. On that occasion he’d been in a party of five. He’d been going through the motions of social interplay, when the business of the day had already been concluded. After twenty minutes he had made his excuses and left. He wasn’t a gambling man. He took risks, but only when he felt that the odds were stacked in his favour.

  At one o’clock on the afternoon of Sunday the ninth of August, almost twelve hours after Jason Fitton had died, Hafeez moved into the manager’s office at the casino to meet the man he had summoned to see him here. Although this was an alien environment, Younis took care to look as thoroughly at home as if he was used to visiting it daily. ‘Inscrutable’ was a cliché word. Hafeez was inscrutable, though his features were much more mobile than the term usually implied. People could not read his thoughts, because he was chameleon-like, adapting his visage and its expressions to whatever he thought was appropriate for his purpose.

  Jim Forrester, the man he had come here to see, was shrewd, unscrupulous and well informed, and he was operating on his own ground: Hafeez had arranged to meet him in his office at a time when the casino would be deserted. Yet Jim Forrester had no idea what Hafeez was about. The Pakistani told him soon enough, but in the exchanges that followed Forrester had no idea what was real, what was bluff and how far the man could implement his threats if he was denied.

  Hafeez glanced round Forrester’s office, noted the picture of three smiling children on the desk, Forrester’s token of innocence in the dubious world in which he operated. He sat down in front of the desk before he was invited to do so. ‘Your employer died last night.’

  ‘Yes, I heard that.’

  The radio announcement at noon hadn’t given a name; it had just stated that the body of a man had been
discovered at Birch Fields Tennis Club and that the death was being treated as suspicious. But Hafeez had expected Forrester to know that the corpse was Fitton’s. News travels fast on the criminal grapevine. There is always a copper or one of the many civilians the police service now employs who will let things slip, accidentally on purpose, if you make it worth his while. The police have their informers; they don’t care to publicize the fact that the traffic is two-way.

  ‘You must be wondering what’s going to happen to you.’

  Forrester had been wondering that for the last two hours, but he said only, ‘We’ll be taken care of. Mr Fitton was a good employer and this is a profitable place.’

  ‘That’s why I’m here.’ Hafeez released his first smile. ‘This is a profitable place. That’s why I am taking it over. And there are other and very different profitable places in the Fitton Empire. My colleagues and I are interested in all of them. I’m here to tell you that your future will be safe as long as you assist us to make a smooth transfer, and then replicate the loyal service you gave to Mr Fitton.’

  ‘How do I know that I can trust you?’

  ‘You don’t.’ Hafeez was quite unsmiling now, staring into the man’s face with a calm lack of emotion which was more chilling than anger would have been. ‘You don’t have any option in this matter, Mr Forrester. My colleagues and I will be taking over this and the other concerns of Mr Fitton. Including the brothels and the betting shops and certain other enterprises that are scarcely off the ground as yet.’

  He meant the procurement of underage girls. And boys, in lesser numbers. And their transfer to other parts of the country, where they would be abused and raped by other men – rich, mainly middle-aged men – who would pay well for their squalid pleasures. Forrester knew something of these things, but he’d had no involvement himself and didn’t wish to have any. He’d managed to keep them at arm’s length, though you couldn’t work as a right-hand man for Fitton without hearing something of this lucrative branch of his activities.

  Forester glanced at the photograph of his children on his desk, then quickly back into the brown, unsmiling face opposite him. He knew in that moment that Hafeez was reading his thoughts, but he had no idea whether he was despising him or not. ‘I might want out.’

  ‘I see. That might not be possible, Mr Forrester.’

  ‘I know nothing of your organization. I can in no way—’

  ‘You know a lot about Jason Fitton and his various enterprises. We shall be taking these over and we shall require your silence. If you are working for us, which I am offering you the opportunity to do, we shall be assured of that silence. If you do not accept our generous offer of continuing employment, others steps might be necessary.’ Hafeez’s voice was quiet, but he articulated the words very clearly, which made his message only more sinister.

  Jim Forrester swallowed hard. He was being offered an ultimatum. Either he continued the work he had been doing or he would be quietly disposed of, with his body perhaps never discovered. Hafeez might be bluffing – even in this dark, increasingly gangsterish world into which Fitton had plunged him, people didn’t kill unless they had to. There was always a risk with murder, even with people like him whom few people would miss. But he wouldn’t like to test that theory with Hafeez. This unexpected visitor looked like a man who would be utterly ruthless.

  Forrester licked his lips and said, ‘I know about this place and the other casinos and something about the betting shops and the other gambling outlets. I haven’t much knowledge of the other things you’ve mentioned. If you think I am competent to do so, I am happy to accept your offer to carry on the work I’ve been doing. Assuming, of course, that you obtain control of Mr Fitton’s enterprises, as you anticipate you are going to do.’

  It was the nearest he could get to a moment of defiance, and it felt rather pathetic even as he delivered it. Hafeez looked at him steadily for a moment; only his narrow brown eyes showed the cruelty that the rest of his features were masking. Then he gave a small smile and said, ‘You have made a wise decision, Mr Forrester.’

  Both of them knew in that moment that there had been no decision at all. The man on whom Fitton had relied here was accepting the inevitable. Jim tried to sound happy as he said, ‘I shall open up as usual tonight. I shall continue the normal operating routines unless I receive other directions from you.’

  ‘That will be in order. There is no reason why this should not be a productive working relationship for both of us. There may be certain changes to implement in due course, but you will receive adequate notice of these.’

  Forrester hoped this sinister visitor would go now. That would at least allow him to collect his thoughts. His mind was still reeling from the impact of this meeting. He had been wondering for the last two hours what the outcome of Fitton’s death would be for him, but this baleful arrival in the office where he was used to reigning supreme had unnerved him completely. Hafeez did not rise but continued to sit and look at him, as if wondering just how long he would tolerate this survival from a less efficient era. Jim found the silence so oppressive that he asked eventually, ‘How did Mr Fitton die?’

  He thought Hafeez would deny all knowledge of what the police had already said was a suspicious death. Perhaps he thought that any confession of ignorance would be a kind of weakness. He said, ‘He was at the tennis club dance last night.’

  ‘Yes. He went there from here.’ It was a pathetic attempt from Jim to reclaim some sort of status.

  ‘I was there myself.’ It sounded as if he was trumping the card that Forrester had played.

  ‘Was there some sort of argument?’

  Hafeez gave him again that mirthless, condescending smile. ‘I don’t know. I wasn’t involved in his death myself. You should remember that and reiterate it, should anyone speak to you about the matter.’

  ‘Yes. I’ll do that.’

  ‘I think Fitton was killed after the dance was all over, after the rest of us had left the place. His body was found in the car park this morning. The police have the matter in hand.’

  Younis Hafeez stood up at last. Perhaps he had been waiting for the questions about Fitton’s death. For an instant he stood looking down at Forrester, who struggled clumsily to his feet. ‘I shall be in touch. I look forward to rewarding what I am sure will be your loyal service to your new employers.’

  Jim Forrester sat for a long time in his silent office after his new employer had gone. He looked at the photograph of his children on his desk, then picked it up and put it away in the deepest drawer.

  Clyde Northcott had never seen Olive Crawshaw look even slightly disconcerted. Admittedly, he hadn’t known her for very long, but she had seemed as constant and irrepressible to him as Niagara Falls. In introducing him to the tennis club, persuading him to apply for membership, and securing that membership for him in the face of opposition, she had been totally certain and totally inexorable. The psychologists would no doubt have something to say about the way water dominated his images, for he now decided that her inevitability and her predictability recalled to him pictures he had seen of the Severn bore, carrying all before it as it moved swiftly upriver.

  On this Sunday afternoon and in the presence of Percy Peach, he saw her for the first time looking uncertain. On her own territory, too, where you would have least expected it. Her house was a modern semi-detached, less grand and less individual than Clyde had expected. Forces of nature shouldn’t live in conventional places like this. The garden was exactly what he would have expected. Geraniums and lobelia filled the beds at each side of the lawn. Along the front of the house was a bed of deep pink, perfectly formed hybrid tea roses, which bloomed in profusion and grew to an absolutely uniform height – as if they wouldn’t dare to do otherwise, Clyde thought wryly. A small, very legible sign informed anyone who wished to know that the name of this impressive bloomer was Wendy Cussons. Clyde took a deep breath and rang the bell.

  Peach was less inhibited by Mrs Crawshaw than Clyde had
been from the moment he met her. This would be a good contest, Northcott thought. Peach in pursuit of facts was more than a match for anyone, including even the formidable Olive.

  She took them through to a comfortable living room, where a man who looked ten years older than her sat reading the Sunday Times. ‘Do you mind if Eric stays?’ she asked. ‘It will save me repeating everything you’ve said after you’ve gone. We could pitch him into the conservatory, but there’s nothing I’m going to say that I wouldn’t want him to hear. And he won’t interrupt us: he’s very well trained in that respect.’

  ‘I have no objection to that,’ said Percy, taking in the pair with the first of his all-embracing smiles. ‘You might even be helpful to us, Mr Crawshaw, if you are able to enlarge on anything your wife tells us.’

  ‘I doubt that,’ said her husband. ‘Olive’s knowledge and opinions tend to be comprehensive. There is rarely much to be added when she reaches a conclusion. And my own memory isn’t what it was.’ He spoke with no apparent irony, but with a kind of resigned affection. It didn’t seem the sort of marital relationship that Northcott or even Peach had encountered much before, moving as they usually did amongst the more dubious couplings of Brunton society.

  ‘Your phone call told us that you wished to speak to me about the death at the tennis club. A suspicious death, the radio informed us at lunchtime.’

  ‘Highly suspicious. Do you know who it was who died?’

  ‘Indeed I don’t.’ She spoke as if the possession of such knowledge would be highly unseemly for someone of her integrity. ‘I am looking to you for enlightenment, Detective Chief Inspector.’ Edith Evans as Lady Bracknell, Peach thought. He’d seen the old film, but Northcott was too young and innocent for such things as cucumber sandwiches and the English establishment.

  ‘And you shall have it. The victim was Jason Fitton.’

  ‘I see.’

  She seemed at a loss for words, which Peach had already decided must be a rare experience for her. ‘You were expecting it to be someone else?’