Backhand Smash

by J M Gregson

Arthur managed a reassuring smile. ‘I shouldn’t worry. They’re questioning everyone who was there on Saturday night.’

  ‘Not everyone is getting the top brass, though. Mostly it’s just the PC Plods, asking routine questions and recording routine answers from all and sundry. I got the top brass. DCI Peach and his bagman – I think that’s what they call it, isn’t it? It was a pleasant surprise to find that it was Clyde Northcott, who is now a member of the club despite your opposition.’ That barb came out before she could still her tongue; she immediately regretted it.

  ‘I had the same pair. Your black man didn’t seem to be exactly on our side.’

  ‘He has a job to do and he’s getting on with it. Clyde will be a perfectly acceptable member of our club. For the moment, you’ll have to accept my word for that.’ She directed a sour smile at the papers on his desk rather than at Swarbrick: they were fellow sufferers today, not opponents. ‘I didn’t like that man Peach.’

  Swarbrick nodded, happy to accept a rare agreement with this woman who was normally a thorn in his flesh. ‘He got under my skin too.’

  ‘It’s his job to do that, I suppose. But he did seem to enjoy it.’

  ‘He did indeed. I’m quite relieved to discover that you had the same feeling about him. I thought it might be just me he didn’t like.’

  ‘I don’t think we should take it personally. I’ve been thinking about it. I reckon Peach likes to annoy people because when they’re knocked off balance they reveal more than they would do otherwise. We might not like him, but I think he’s a clever little bugger.’

  A forthright word from Olive Crawshaw, who usually expressed herself quite trenchantly without the use of expletives. Arthur’s concern disguised a flash of personal hope as he said, ‘They can’t suspect you, surely?’

  Olive gave him a rueful smile. ‘In television series the cops always say they suspect everyone who hasn’t got an alibi. Peach made it quite clear to me that I didn’t have one.’

  ‘Me too. I suppose they have to ask about these things, but he seemed inordinately pleased when I had to tell him that I was here well after the dance ended and went home alone.’

  ‘But Shirley was with you, wasn’t she? I saw you dancing together earlier in the evening.’

  ‘She went home early and was asleep when I got in. Now I wish she’d stayed.’

  ‘I’m sure you do.’ Olive thought mischievously that it must seem very contrived to the police, sending your wife home early and being left to your own devices. Arthur must surely be more of a suspect than she was. She said, ‘They found out quite a lot about me, when I look back on those twenty minutes. They quickly established that I disliked Jason Fitton – well, much more than disliked him.’

  ‘I shouldn’t worry too much about that. I got the impression that they hadn’t much time for the man themselves – but they have to investigate his murder, of course. They found out that I didn’t like him either, Olive.’ But they didn’t discover just how deeply I hated him or why. He kept that thought to himself.

  Olive actually knew all about the reasons for his hatred of the dead man, but chose not to raise them here. ‘Who do you think killed him, Arthur?’

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps it’s best not to speculate, Olive.’

  They were both using first names now: that hadn’t happened for a while. It was surprising how a common threat could pull people together. Olive Crawshaw said, ‘I’ll pop in and see you later in the week, if you’re here.’

  ‘I expect I shall be.’ They smiled bleakly at each other as she left.

  Bob Walmsley kept his automatic welcoming smile on his face as his PA showed in the CID men later that afternoon. ‘I’m happy to give you whatever help I can. That goes without saying, though I don’t think I shall be able to add much to what I told you two days ago. I hope this won’t take very long. I have only just got back from my visit to Leeds to meet the new owners of Fitton’s Metals. Things are pretty hectic here at present, as I’m sure you can appreciate.’

  Peach sat down beside Northcott in the chairs that had been set ready for them and looked hard at the managing director. ‘You could have saved us a lot of time if you had been more honest with us on Sunday, Mr Walmsley.’

  ‘I can’t think what you mean by that. If there are any omissions, I am at your disposal for as long as it takes.’

  ‘You hated Jason Fitton.’

  It was blank and uncompromising and it made Bob Walmsley fearful. ‘I didn’t like him. I didn’t like what he was doing to this firm. I didn’t disguise that to you. I admired Jason’s father and I thought his son was on his way to ruining this firm. The firm I have grown to love, if that is not too sentimental a word. I thought he was jeopardizing the livelihood of people who have worked here for many years.’

  ‘You had a more personal reason to dislike him. Your wife’s brother.’

  Bob wondered how to react to this. ‘It’s personal, as you say. That’s why I didn’t mention it to you on Sunday. I didn’t think you would find out about it.’ He looked suddenly older than his fifty-eight years.

  ‘All kinds of things come out in a murder investigation, Mr Walmsley. When people conceal them, it makes people like us think they may be significant.’

  ‘This isn’t, because it has no bearing on this death. I didn’t kill Jason Fitton.’

  ‘I think you’d better tell us all about it, in case there are any details that we don’t yet know.’

  Peach had put the onus on him. Bob didn’t dare give him anything but the truth, because he didn’t know exactly how much this dark-eyed man with the black fringe of hair around the bald head already knew. ‘Gerald, my brother-in-law, had a small gents’ outfitter’s business in Blackpool. It was a modest earner but it occupied a wonderful corner site, which Fitton wanted for one of his betting shops. I think Gerald would have sold if Jason had made a reasonable offer, but he offered a sum that was quite derisory.’

  ‘How long ago was this?’

  ‘Twelve years. Fitton was gradually establishing his monopoly of betting outlets: we didn’t know then how evil he was or what things he would resort to.’ He stopped for a moment to look at the two expectant faces in front of them. He turned his head a little, finding it easier to speak to Northcott’s more sympathetic face than to the unrelenting Peach. ‘Gerald turned down the offer and told Jason to get lost. It was a mistake. He had Fitton’s heavies in the shop the next day. They dislocated one of his fingers as a little token of what might come next if he didn’t cooperate. But what really upset him was that they said their next action would focus on his kids. He had two boys aged ten and twelve at the time, and his visitors pointed out what soft targets they would be. Gerald sold out for practically nothing to Jason Fitton the next day.’

  ‘What became of him after that?’

  The question was studiously neutral. Bob couldn’t be certain what they knew. He didn’t want to tell them this, simply because it increased his own motive for this murder they hadn’t yet solved. ‘He couldn’t find another job, not a permanent one. He seemed to lose reliability as he became more depressed. He committed suicide five years after Fitton had closed down his business.’

  ‘Did you raise this with Fitton?

  ‘I tried to, on one of his rare visits here. He said Gerald was a melancholic and a loser, and that a death five years after he’d taken over the shop couldn’t possibly be laid at his door. He also implied that my own employment here would be at stake if I pursued the matter further, or was even stupid enough to raise it again.’

  Peach smiled grimly. ‘I think I’d have wanted to kill the man if he’d treated me and mine like that.’

  ‘I did want to kill him. But I had more sense than to do it. Someone else relieved me of the temptation on Saturday night.’

  ‘Of course they did, Mr Walmsley. But we have to explore all possibilities as conscientious coppers, don’t we, DS Northcott?’

  ‘Indeed we do, sir. We didn’t ask you this when we were me
rely gathering information about the firm on Sunday, Mr Walmsley. Where were you between the hours of one and three a.m. on Sunday morning?’

  Bob had known that this was going to come. He gave the big black man with the notebook in his hand a little smile, trying to show how unthreatened he was by the question. ‘I was at home and in bed, Detective Sergeant. Sound asleep, as far as I can remember.’

  Clyde took what seemed a long time to make a note of that, feeling the tension building in the room. ‘So no doubt your wife will be able to confirm that for us?’

  Bob hesitated for a moment. He had known this question must follow the other one and he’d prepared what he wanted to say. But he was suddenly tempted to change that. Deborah would support him if he asked her to: she was an instinctively loyal wife. But the police machine was very efficient when it was on full throttle. They might know exactly where she had been. If he lied now, that might damn him further in their eyes. ‘Unfortunately, she cannot do that. Deborah was away that night. She visited her mother, who is in her early eighties, on Saturday. She intended to come home in the evening, but she rang me to say that her mother had a chill and that she was staying the night.’

  ‘Is there any other person who can attest that you were not at Birch Fields Tennis Club on Saturday night?’

  He hesitated a moment, so that both men glanced sharply at him. ‘No, I’m afraid there isn’t. Of course, if I’d been out killing Fitton, instead of innocently tucked up at home, I think I’d have made sure I had an alibi.’

  Peach was back in like an eager terrier. ‘Would you, indeed? You’re thinking like an experienced criminal, then. But I expect that’s just because you’re an intelligent man and can put yourself in our position. How would you describe your relationship with Anne Grice?’

  The question came like a shot and Bob was stunned by its arrival. He took his time to answer it. When it came, his reply was as measured as the question had been abrupt. ‘She is a very efficient PA. I am happy with the appointment. Indeed, I have congratulated myself several times on it during the last two days. Mrs Grice has worked admirably in the chaos that has inevitably followed this unexpected death. Jason Fitton was forty-six and we expected him to be around for the foreseeable future.’

  ‘So you’ve worked happily together. Does the relationship extend further than that?’

  Walmsley smiled patronizingly. ‘I’m a happily married man, Mr Peach.’

  ‘Would Mrs Walmsley agree? We sometimes find that long-term partners have quite different perspectives.’

  ‘Deborah would certainly confirm it. We haven’t seen much of each other in the last few days, for obvious reasons, but we trust each other absolutely.’

  ‘Forgive me, but we coppers see rather a lot of the seamier side of life. Many men do not see a happy marriage as a reason to be monogamous. So could you now be quite clear about your relationship with Mrs Grice, please?’

  Walmsley looked at him steadily across his desk. ‘I could say that I regard your question as impertinent and refuse to enlarge any further upon the matter.’

  ‘You could indeed, sir, and you would be entirely within your rights to do so. We should then simply log that you had refused to clarify the matter. We would have that on record as we proceed to explore other strands of this complex investigation.’ Peach looked as if that would be entirely to his satisfaction.

  ‘I have come to rely heavily on my PA in a very short time. The main reason is that she has proved even more efficient than I anticipated she would when I appointed her. As a result, I have trusted her with more and more details of the firm’s business and with my thoughts on our senior employees. You probably know that she is a divorced woman who lives alone and is devoted to her work. She has given freely and generously of her time since she came here. I think it would be fair to describe us now as friends as well as working colleagues.’

  ‘I see. That is very interesting.’ It was almost the expression Anne Grice had used in answer to the same question earlier in the day. Almost as if that is what they had agreed between them to say. Peach volunteered a wide, innocent smile. ‘Well, that’s good, then. A man in your position needs as many friends as he can get.’

  On that enigmatic and rather threatening note, he rose to go. Then, as Walmsley relaxed, he said, ‘Why do you think Mrs Grice chose to come here? To a similar post and with a negligible rise in salary.’

  It was Bob’s turn to smile. ‘I’ve no idea, Chief Inspector. I’m just happy that she did. Perhaps you should ask her yourself.’

  ‘Oh, we already have, Mr Walmsley. We spoke to her at some length this morning.’

  ‘Yes. She told me about that, as you would expect. I’m surprised you thought it was worth the trouble, when she has been here for such a short time.’

  ‘So was I, to be frank. We didn’t intend it when we came here. But you would be surprised to know how much we learned from her.’

  Bob said evenly, ‘I’m sure she strove to be helpful, as is her habit.’

  ‘Not about why she came here. She gave us a few reasons, but they were scarcely more convincing than yours. Incidentally, she says she was tucked up in bed and enjoying her beauty sleep at the time the owner of your firm died, just as you were. But perhaps you already know that. Have you had any further thoughts on who might have committed this crime?’

  ‘Not really. I’m sure you now know much more about it than when we spoke on Sunday. Jason was killed by someone who was at that tennis club ball, I should think. Or some enemy from that murky underworld where he’d been making his real money over the last few years.’

  ‘Or even some combination of the two.’ Peach looked hard at Walmsley, wondering how much he knew about Younis Hafeez, who would qualify on both counts.

  He got no reaction. Instead, Bob Walmsley said, ‘I suppose you’ve considered the possibility of a contract killer? I’m sure plenty of Jason’s enemies had the funds to employ a man to do that.’

  ‘Including the managing director who thought Fitton was ruining his own firm.’ Peach gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling for a moment. ‘We hope fervently that this wasn’t a contract killer. They’re professionals, you see: they leave very little of themselves behind at the crime scene. People who aren’t habitual killers usually leave much more of themselves in what we call the “exchange” of the crime scene. Goodbye for the present, sir. I’m sure we shall be in contact again before the end of the week.’

  Bob Walmsley waited until they were well off the premises before he called in his PA. ‘They’re on to you, Anne. You’d better tell me exactly what they asked you this morning and what you said to them.’ She shut the door and they sat down together, as good friends should.

  Everyone in the small village at the foot of Longridge Fell knew now that Lucy Blake, who had married the policeman, was pregnant and that Agnes Blake, long-time resident and respected widow, was destined to become a grandmother. If all went well, that is: the older women in the village who were Agnes’s contemporaries added that phrase like a mantra, as if it could insure them against medical disasters.

  At six o’clock on a warm August evening, the Ribble Valley was at its best. For once Percy was not in a hurry and he drove slowly to savour the scenery. The great mound of Pendle Hill had the western sun bathing its slopes and did not look threatening on a night like this. It took darker days and darker skies to set people talking of the Pendle Witches and the hangings at Lancaster. He drove through Whalley with its ancient abbey and out towards the village of Mitton, where the three rivers met. He intoned as he drove the old rhyme which came back to him from school:

  ‘Ribble, Hodder, Calder and rain,

  All meet together in Mitton’s domain.’

  Then on past the green-topped towers of Stonyhurst College, where Gerard Manley Hopkins had penned much more complex and disturbing verses. ‘Glory be to God for dappled things,’ Percy said quietly, and put his hand on Lucy’s knee.

  ‘I’m not dappled,’ she said, a littl
e uncertainly. ‘Though that might be the next thing that pregnancy brings, I suppose.’

  ‘It’s a voyage of discovery,’ said Percy sententiously.

  ‘It’s a voyage of aches and pains and vomiting,’ Lucy corrected him.

  ‘The nights are drawing in,’ said Percy irrelevantly.

  They were too. The sun was invisible now, though they could see it gilding the woods and the hills away to their right, towards Whitewell and the glories of the Trough of Bowland. This is the area the Queen had once said was her favourite part of Britain. Percy hadn’t much time for royalty or the establishment in general, but he thought that in this matter his monarch had shown excellent taste. As they ran through the valley along the long flank of Longridge Fell, the sun emerged again, dipping away towards the sea on the Fylde coast twenty miles to the west. Percy was pleased that he had taken his time. Things in his life were dropping into perspective. For the first time since he had seen it, the image of that garrotted corpse in the car park became less vivid in his mind.

  ‘I had to let my belt out another notch this morning to get into the trousers I wear at work,’ said Lucy gloomily as they ran into the outskirts of her home village. ‘It’s not fair that you should put on weight all round. I’m sure I’ve put an inch on my bottom as well as what’s been added to my belly.’

  ‘And every inch is much appreciated.’ Percy smiled benignly and gave her the low growl with which he prefaced sexual advances.

  ‘Not by me it isn’t. And please keep both hands on the wheel,’ said Lucy firmly.

  Her mother had the lights switched on and the electric fire on low when they arrived. The old cottage looked very cheerful. The scent from the kitchen was highly promising as Percy delivered the bottle he had brought into his favourite septuagenarian’s hands. ‘The temperature’s dropping quickly in the evenings now,’ said Agnes. ‘Let me know if you want the heating turned up.’

  ‘I don’t need to be treated as an invalid,’ said Lucy discourteously.

  ‘What news of my grandchild?’ Agnes couldn’t delay any longer the question she had been planning to ask all day.