by J M Gregson
Peach held it back a moment longer. ‘He’s Asian, sir.’
‘Ah. A promising suspect. You do well to be suspicious, Peach.’
‘Thank you, sir. A very smooth Asian. A very sinister one also. He goes by the name of Younis Hafeez.’
Tucker blanched. Percy found it a pleasing phenomenon: he could have watched it for much longer. ‘You must proceed with great caution, Peach.’
‘And why would that be, sir?’ The black eyebrows arched impossibly high beneath the shining bald head.
‘Mr Hafeez is a prominent local citizen. A representative of our immigrant community. I should not need to remind you that you must tread very carefully here.’
Tucker’s racial bias operated as usual only against the lower sections of Brunton society. ‘Prominent indeed, sir. And rich. How do you think he makes his money?’
‘I don’t know, Peach. That is not our business.’
‘That was exactly his attitude, sir. I find it strange that you support it. I think how the man makes his money is very much our business. I do not think you will wish to find yourself in Younis Hafeez’s corner in the months to come, whether or not he murdered Jason Fitton.’
‘You must take great care not to offend our Asian community, Peach. I have noted before that you are rather insensitive in this area.’
And you are the most bloated hypocrite I have met in almost twenty years of policing, thought Percy. Which is saying quite a lot, because I’ve encountered quite a few, most of them in senior ranks. ‘Hafeez is a villain, sir. You can take my word for that. He’s involved in large-scale trafficking in underage girls, the filthiest and most widespread scandal of the last couple of years. He covers his traces well and he uses others to do his dirty work. In my view, however, we’ll have him in court and behind bars within the next year. But what we have to decide more immediately is whether he killed Jason Fitton. My own view, which I shall not pass on to others, is that I hope he did and that we can pin it on him. The town would then be rid of two major villains – Fitton and Hafeez – through one criminal act.’
Tucker blanched again. ‘You will indeed not express that view outside this room. You are fortunate that I take a liberal view and allow as much rope as I do, Peach. These are two prominent local businessmen and their wealth must surely have benefited the town. One has been murdered and must be avenged. The other is a prominent member of our Asian community; any investigation of his movements needs to be handled with great care and sensitivity. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Eminently clear, sir. Care and sensitivity are two of my most notable qualities.’
‘I don’t want anyone accusing us of racism, Peach.’
‘I see, sir. Perhaps you should bring your own sensitivity directly to bear on the case.’
‘That will not be necessary, Peach. I trust you to forge ahead and solve this. But tread very carefully.’
‘I see, sir. Forge ahead and tread carefully. A difficult balance to strike. Perhaps I should bring your attention to another tennis club possibility. The chairman. Born and bred in Brunton and as near white as we can produce. No racial card to be played against us by Arthur Swarbrick.’
T.B. Tucker had no blanches left. He said wearily, ‘He’s another well-known and influential local figure, Peach.’
‘Yes, sir. Unfortunately, that doesn’t exempt him from suspicion. On the night of the summer ball, he was around the tennis club in the hour between one and two, after most people had left. He has no witness to when he eventually left the club or arrived home. And he was no friend of Fitton’s. He’s admitted to his dislike of our victim, and I have a feeling that dislike may prove to be much deeper than he has so far admitted. I am pursuing further enquiries, but I shall try to tread carefully whilst forging ahead.’
Tucker sighed heavily. ‘Have you no possibilities from the normal criminal world?’
Percy considered this for three long seconds. Then he said, ‘There’s a woman, sir.’
‘Ah!’ The face brightened behind the rimless glasses. ‘This could well be a woman, you know. No huge strength was required to tighten that cord.’
‘Yes, sir. That’s why I mentioned that we have at least one female suspect.’
Tucker attempted to lighten things. ‘Not a prominent local businessman this time!’
‘No, sir. Her gender would make that difficult. You probably don’t know the lady. She’s been a member of the tennis club for many years. I believe she was instrumental in securing DS Northcott’s recent acceptance to membership at Birch Fields.’
Tucker leant forward and jutted his jaw. ‘This sounds altogether more promising.’
‘The lady’s name is Olive Crawshaw.’
‘I know her, Peach!’ Tucker was animated by one of his rare eureka moments. ‘She’s a schoolteacher.’
‘Indeed she is, sir. A senior and distinguished one. That does not automatically make her more of a suspect, does it?’
‘She taught my niece. Bit of a harridan, as far as I remember.’
Percy considered this description and decided not to reject it. The formidable Olive might herself have accepted it, coming from Tommy Bloody Tucker. ‘She admits to a dislike of the deceased and she has as yet no alibi for the time of his death.’
‘Well, there you are, then. Proceed with expedition. I’m very happy to have been able to give you a pointer.’
Percy thought that even T.B. Tucker couldn’t be serious about that, but there was no sign of levity in that noble visage. He stood up on this cue, but felt he could not leave without a parting shot. ‘Of course, it’s early days and we’re still turning up suspects, sir. It’s still possible there could have been someone in that car park who had no connection with the tennis club.’
He left the room with Tucker restored to his familiar state of bafflement.
Anne Grice looked up and down the considerable length of Clyde Northcott and gave him a welcoming smile. She was less certain about the bouncy little man with the round face and the bald head who had introduced him: this was not her image of a detective chief inspector. But it takes all sorts, as any senior PA quickly learns from the panoply of human life that passes before her during any week.
‘I’m afraid Mr Walmsley is in Yorkshire today, talking to the new owners of Fitton’s Metals. He’s very busy following the death of our previous owner, as I’m sure you will appreciate.’ She glanced down at her desk diary. ‘He may be back this afternoon. Perhaps if you care to make an appointment for tomorrow morning, I could—’
‘We’re quite busy ourselves, Mrs Grice. But you may be able to tell us what we need to know. We’ll speak to your very busy employer as and when it becomes necessary.’
‘I’ll give you whatever help I can, of course. I can’t imagine that it will be much. I didn’t know Mr Fitton. I haven’t worked here very long.’
She was nervous; Peach sensed it. It might be significant.
‘Yes, I realize that. I noticed it from a study of the list of employees that you were kind enough to email to us.’
Anne flicked aside a strand of dark hair and turned her brown eyes on to the round, innocent-seeming face. ‘I’ve only been here for a few weeks. I’ve got to know our managing director quite well, as you’d expect, since I was appointed as his PA, but I never had the opportunity to meet Jason Fitton.’
It was the second time she had told him that and she’d used the victim’s full name this time. No more than nervousness, perhaps, but nervousness always interested CID men. ‘Why did you come here, Mrs Grice?’
‘That is my own business, surely.’
He gave her a wide, understanding smile. ‘It certainly is. It may be ours as well – ninety per cent of the facts we pick up this week will prove to be irrelevant, but we’ve no idea two days after a murder which ten per cent might be pure gold.’
‘I can assure you that my reasons for taking this post had nothing to do with the crime you are investigating.’
‘You can inde
ed assure me of that. If you choose to go no further, DS Northcott will simply record that you refused to answer the question.’ The large black face beside him gave a small, affirmative smile to support that.
She looked from one to the other and gave them no answering smile. She was good at her job and was used to being highly respected. This felt almost like bullying, and Peach’s smile made the moment not lighter but more annoying. ‘I felt I was getting into a rut in my previous post. I fancied a new challenge with a different firm. I made the right decision. Mr Walmsley is both an efficient and understanding employer.’
‘Which your previous boss wasn’t?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘Indeed you didn’t. That is why I asked the question.’
He was trying to nettle her. Both of them knew it. She kept calm and produced a rather elaborate sigh to show that she didn’t appreciate her time being wasted like this. She spoke like one instructing a troublesome child. ‘My previous employer was fine and we’d had a good working relationship for eight years. I was driving ten miles to Preston each day, whereas this office is within two miles of my home. I fancied a new challenge with a bigger firm, in a more convenient place.’
‘So you came here without any increase in salary.’
She hadn’t thought that he would know that, still less that he would quote it at her. The English will talk about all sorts of intimate things, but money is usually out of bounds. Policemen were not social beings. Even as she thought that, her normal fairness and balance told her that they probably couldn’t afford to be when they spent most of their time speaking with liars. ‘Money wasn’t the most important consideration. And with a bigger firm, the profit bonuses may well be more generous.’
‘I see. Despite the fact that Fitton’s Metals has been standing still and not paying any real bonuses for the last three years? I should have thought someone as efficient as you obviously are would have investigated that before you took the job here.’
‘We are in a recession. Most businesses are suffering.’
‘You are a Brunton resident. Are you sure that you didn’t know Jason Fitton?’
Another sigh, another suggestion that her patience was being sorely tried. ‘I knew of him, obviously. My previous firm even had occasional dealings with Fitton’s Metals. But I didn’t know the man personally.’
‘But you knew all about him?’
She was torn between her natural inclination to show her efficiency and her wish to distance herself as far as possible from the man’s death. ‘I knew that he wasn’t as well liked as his father had been when he was running the firm. All kinds of people passed through my office to see my boss in Preston; one picks up bits of gossip, whether one wishes to or not. I kept whatever I heard to myself, as a good PA should.’
‘As a good PA should, indeed. And I have no doubt that you are a very good PA, Mrs Grice. But to us you are not a good PA but a valuable source of information. So what impression did you form of the man who is now our murder victim?’
She considered her position for a moment, then spoke very carefully. ‘If I am being treated as a source of information, can I be assured that what I say will go no further? It would obviously be quite wrong in normal circumstances for the managing director’s PA to be offering her opinions on the owner of the firm.’
‘Who is now the late owner. Hence our request. All information we receive is treated as strictly confidential, Mrs Grice. It will only ever become public if it passes out of our hands and becomes part of a court case. I cannot think that the impression you formed of Jason Fitton, a man you claim never to have met, will become that.’
Anne didn’t like the use of that word ‘claim’ but decided it was better ignored. This man Peach was quite confrontational enough, without further encouragement. ‘Jason Fitton wasn’t the man his father was. That’s what I heard. His father had built the firm up from scratch and was well respected, both by the other firms he dealt with and by the people he employed in increasing numbers as the business grew. Jason didn’t sound either as reliable an employer or as pleasant a man as his father had been.’
‘Yet you chose to come here and work for him. Presumably you didn’t know when you did so that he was going to die within a few weeks.’
He’d used another insulting word: that ‘presumably’. He was openly trying to rattle her. Well, he wouldn’t succeed. ‘I’d also heard that he didn’t take much part in the operation of the firm. I came here to work for Mr Walmsley, not Jason Fitton.’
‘Seems an unnecessary risk, though. Especially if you were as happy in your previous post as you have claimed. Mr Fitton was operating other businesses as well as Fitton’s Metals. Much less reputable businesses. What do you know about them?’
‘Almost nothing. I’ve heard rumours, as I told you, from people who passed in and out of my office in Preston. And people said things to me when they heard I was coming here. Things about prostitution and gambling, and even about these recent scandals where underage girls in Rotherham and Rochdale have been procured for middle-aged men.’
Peach pursed his lips, as elaborately and conventionally as she had previously sighed. ‘Yet you still chose to come and work here.’
‘I’ve already explained that. And rumour feeds on rumour and becomes vastly exaggerated. I don’t believe in conspiracy theories.’
‘Neither do I, Mrs Grice. Not until they are substantiated by convincing evidence, as I anticipate some of the rumours you heard will be in the next few months. Did you know Mr Walmsley before you came to work here?’
The question came swift as an arrow and out of the blue, when she’d been considering the dire things she knew about Jason Fitton. Anne made herself take her time. ‘I knew of him. There is something of a grapevine amongst PAs and other secretarial staff. The names of the ones who are moody or who throw tantrums or are in any other way unreasonable are circulated more widely than they realize. I knew I would be working for the managing director if I came here: the post was advertised as his personal PA. So naturally I spoke to some of my contacts here before I even applied for the post. What I heard was good. I am happy to say that my experience over the last few weeks has confirmed that. Mr Walmsley is not only fair but very considerate. Normally, I like to keep my work and my private life strictly separate, but think I could say that we are almost personal friends.’
‘Almost.’ Peach frowned a little at the thought.
She was used to him now, so that she didn’t accept the bait. ‘Everyone in the firm is endeavouring to make the transition to new ownership as smooth as possible. Mr Walmsley and I are working hard on that. He is the man who makes the decisions and shapes policy, but I think I can say that I have been his conduit to the rest of the staff at this anxious time.’
‘His conduit.’ Peach nodded. He had this annoying tactic of picking on particular words in what she’d said and weighing them out loud, as if he wished to cast doubts upon her integrity.
He paused for a few seconds, then smiled at her and nodded to Northcott, who said, ‘For the record, you’d better tell us where you were between one and three a.m. on Sunday morning, Mrs Grice.’
She felt that she’d won a small victory when Peach had passed the questioning to his junior. She would treat as absurd any notion that she might have been involved in this strange death. ‘Not killing the owner of the company that pays my wages. I was safely tucked up in bed, Detective Sergeant Northcott.’
‘Alone?’
There was a moment of tension whilst she grinned at the two serious faces before her. ‘Alone, I’m afraid. This is an imperfect world.’
Peach offered nothing in the police Mondeo as they drove away from the factory site. Clyde eventually ventured, ‘You gave her quite a going-over. I didn’t expect that.’
‘Neither did I, Clyde, when we went there. But we’re still clutching at straws in this, and she suddenly seemed one of the more worthwhile straws.’
‘She’s divorced, isn�
�t she? She seemed very fond of Bob Walmsley. Do you think there’s something going on between them? Do you think she knew him before she came here? Is that why she applied for her present post?’
‘What a lot of questions, DS Northcott! Good habit to acquire, mind you. And we do get the occasional bonus in CID work. I went in there expecting nothing and discovered an interesting woman.’
THIRTEEN
Olive Crawshaw wished that it wasn’t the long summer holiday and that she was busy at school. She needed things to divert her thoughts from what had happened to Jason Fitton after the tennis club’s summer ball.
Physical activity might be the answer. She went to the club to play tennis that Tuesday afternoon. For over an hour, she was involved in a competitive doubles match with three players who were twenty years younger than her. She more than held her own in the rallies and lasted three sets without too much difficulty; indeed, she was pleased to see the rather overweight young woman on the other side of the net chasing vainly after one of her cross-court backhands. Whilst they played, she was totally involved in the physical challenges of racing about the court and playing the shots to the best of her ability.
When the game was over, introspection set in again. She had tea and cakes with the people she had played with, but she was more than usually silent during their chat and laughter over the teacups. Eventually, she excused herself, explaining that she needed to ensure that there were court reservations for the juniors she controlled within the club, and slipped upstairs to the club’s offices.
She found her old opponent Arthur Swarbrick there and for once she was glad to see him. They had a common interest now, rather than the issues of club policy that normally divided the ultra-conservative chairman and the most forward-looking member of his committee. Olive was characteristically direct. ‘Did the police come to see you about Jason Fitton?’
‘Yes.’
‘Me too. I didn’t enjoy it.’
