by P. F. Ford
‘D’you really think this Russian guy is telling the truth?’
‘I’d put money on it,’ said Slater, sulkily, ‘and I’d like to think you trust my judgement, but at the end of the day, it’s down to you I suppose.’
‘Oh please, don’t start with that sulky little boy attitude. You know I trust your judgement, it’s just that it’s a big call when I’m under the microscope and we’re supposed to be closing the investigation.’
‘Look,’ said Slater, testily, ‘you asked me to carry on investigating to see if I could find evidence to justify reopening the case. If this isn’t good enough evidence, then I don’t know what is.’
‘Alright, I’ll do it,’ she said. ‘But don’t think what happened the other night has got anything to do with my decision.’
‘What? I didn’t think it had made any difference,’ he said, the irritation loud and clear in his voice. ‘And I should hope it wouldn’t. Jesus, you’re not going to keep on bringing that up, are you?’
‘Let’s just leave it, shall we? I’ll go and have him brought in right now.’
‘D’you need me to come in and interview him? Only I’ve got all the information here.’
‘You’d best stay away for now,’ she said.
‘Look, you’re going to have to find a way to make this work. You’re the one who seems to be having a problem, not me.’
‘It’s not because of that,’ Goodnews said, angrily, ‘and I don’t have a problem with what happened. However, I do have a problem with a certain DI Grimm hovering around every bloody corner. I’m pretty sure he’s been sent to spy on me, but his pretext is that he’s looking for you. At the moment there’s not much he can do, but if you come in here now, he’s just going to be an even bigger pain in the arse than usual and he’ll bugger everything up.’
‘Oh, right,’ said Slater, chastened.
‘I’m actually covering your arse, you ungrateful sod.’
‘Sorry.’
‘So you bloody should be,’ she said. ‘Just make sure you email me all the stuff you have on him.’
‘Right,’ he said. ‘I’ll do it now.’ He ended the call and tossed his phone down. ‘Bloody women.’
‘What’s this? A lover’s tiff?’ teased Norman, a wicked grin on his face.
‘Not now, Norm,’ he said, grumpily. ‘I’m not in the mood.’
Norman chuckled quietly to himself but said nothing.
‘I’m going for a shower,’ said Slater.
‘Well, make sure you wash that shitty mood away,’ said Norman. ‘And just remember, whatever your problem is with Goodnews, it’s not my fault.’
Now Slater felt guilty, but he didn’t say anything, he just stomped off up the stairs.
‘I’m going out for an hour,’ Norman called up the stairs behind him. ‘I’ll bring back a takeaway.’
Chapter Thirty-One
‘Has he said anything?’ Goodnews asked Biddeford.
It was just past 6pm when Jimmy Huston had been led into the interview room. Now they were watching him through the observation window. He was sitting at a table in the centre of the room, looking totally bemused.
‘Only that he doesn’t know what the hell’s going on. He’s playing the bemused innocence card.’
‘He certainly looks bemused,’ she said, ‘but then I didn’t really expect him to confess. You’d better have a quick look through these notes before we start the interview, just so you know where we’re coming from.’
She handed Biddeford a sheaf of papers she had printed from Slater’s emails and waited as he skimmed through them. After a couple of minutes, he handed them back.
‘Okay?’ she asked.
‘Looks like some good work to me,’ he said.
‘Aye. Now let’s see what your man has to say about it all.’
Before she could move, the door swung open and DI Grimm walked in, carrying a cup of coffee.
‘Going to interview a suspect?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I am,’ said Goodnews.
‘Mind if I watch?’
Goodnews couldn’t think of any plausible reason to say no. ‘I suppose that will be alright,’ she said, grudgingly.
‘Oh good,’ he said, pulling a chair up to the observation window and settling down. ‘I’ve got a ringside seat and a cup coffee. All I need now is some popcorn.’
He gave her one of his false, grimace-like smiles. She gave him an equally fake one back and then led Biddeford out of the observation room and into the interview room. They settled at the table and she introduced herself and Biddeford, and then explained to Huston that he was here voluntarily, that this wasn’t a formal interview, and that it wouldn’t be recorded.
‘Did you understand all that?’ she asked.
‘I told Sergeant Slater I’ll do anything I can to help,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t necessary to send your goons over to my workplace. What’s everyone there going to think?’
‘I would imagine they’ll think you’ve come to help us by answering a few questions,’ she replied, evenly. ‘Just like you said you would.’
‘A telephone call would have been enough if you wanted to talk to me. All you had to do was ask and I would have come over.’
‘If you’re so keen to help, perhaps you can start by telling me where you were on Monday evening between the hours of five and eight?’ asked Goodnews.
‘I was at a managers’ meeting at work from just before five until gone eight,’ said Huston, without hesitation, ‘and then I went home to Bethan’s. I got there at about eight forty-five. You can ask her, she’ll tell you the same.’
‘Oh, we will ask her, don’t worry,’ she said. ‘In fact, DC Biddeford will go and arrange for someone to do that right now.’
Biddeford left the room. As he closed the door, Goodnews spoke again.
‘Tell me about your relationship with Ian Becks.’
And Huston did. He told her more or less exactly what he had told Slater. He even told the same story about attending the Becks’ wedding without an invitation. Goodnews was disappointed there were no discrepancies she could seize upon, but she wasn’t really surprised. She knew this murder had been well planned, so she didn’t expect Huston to be an easy nut to crack.
Biddeford had returned while Huston was speaking and he resumed his position riding shotgun. Almost as soon as Huston had finished speaking, there was knock on the door. Biddeford opened it and was handed a slip of paper. As he closed the door he read it. The scribbled lines told him P&P Publishing had confirmed the managers’ meeting and Bethan Becks had confirmed what time he had arrived at her house. He pulled a face, folded the paper, walked across the room and handed it to Goodnews. She read the note, looked up at him, and then read it again. Then she screwed it up and tossed it into the waste bin. If Biddeford was surprised, he didn’t show it.
‘Do you ride a motorcycle, Mr Huston?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘What sort is it?’
‘It’s a Yamaha.’
‘You’re sure it’s not a Suzuki?’
‘I think I know which motorcycle I own,’ said Huston.
‘So you must have a crash helmet?’ she asked.
‘Only a fool rides without one.’
‘Can you describe it for me?’
‘It’s like millions of others,’ he said. ‘Black, full face, with a tinted visor.’
Goodnews was getting irritated. This wasn’t going how she had expected. Maybe if she took a different direction with the questions.
‘Why did you change your name, Mr Huston? What was wrong with Radford as a surname?’
Huston looked both shocked and perplexed by her question.
‘I’m sorry?’ he said. ‘I’ve not changed my name! I was born Jimmy Huston, and I still am Jimmy Huston.’
‘But, according to the records, you changed your name from Radford to Huston by deed poll two years ago.’
‘Is this some sort of bizarre game?’ asked Huston. ‘I’ve just told
you I have not changed my name. I’ve always been Jimmy Huston. Ask Bethan. When I gatecrashed their wedding, I was Jimmy Huston, and that was six years ago. I don’t know where you get your information from but it’s complete rubbish.’
Goodnews looked to Biddeford for help, but he was fumbling through the paperwork in front of him, trying to make some sense of what was happening. He looked back at her and shrugged. It didn’t make sense to him, either.
‘I think maybe we’ll take little break now,’ said Goodnews, shakily.
‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Huston, glaring at her. ‘I know my rights. Even thought you sent your storm troopers to collect me, I came here voluntarily. I’m not under arrest, so I can leave whenever I want. I don’t think you are going to arrest me, are you?’
The last sentence was more of a challenge than a question.
Goodnews held his eye, but she felt distinctly embarrassed, and she said nothing. Biddeford had suddenly found something to study up on the ceiling.
‘No,’ said Huston, pushing his chair back and rising to his feet. ‘I didn’t think so. I’m exercising my rights and I’m leaving. If you need my help, you know where to find me, but if all you’re going to do is waste my time with stupid, meaningless drivel, please don’t bother.’
He marched across to the door, flung it open and marched from the room.
Goodnews was struggling to keep her composure. She would happily have strangled someone right now, but with Grimm watching, she needed to keep control. She took a few deep breaths and stood up. Cautiously, Biddeford did the same. He looked at her, but he didn’t need to be a genius to work out she wasn’t in the mood for warm smiles. Her normally pale cheeks were a vivid red, her lips had almost disappeared, and her pale green eyes seemed to glow with an inner fury.
‘Throw that rubbish in the bin,’ she said, curtly, indicating their notes, and then she stomped angrily from the room.
Biddeford thought it might be wise to give her some space right now, so he stayed where he was until she had left the room. When she had gone, he gathered up the notes from the table and threw them into the bin. He was immensely grateful that he hadn’t been the one to prepare them, and, consequently, wouldn’t be the one getting his balls chewed off in the very near future.
To get back from the interview room, Goodnews had to walk past the observation room. The door was open and, to her dismay, Grimm was leaning against the doorframe, a broad grin creasing his face. As she approached, he spoke.
‘Well, I thought that went really well,’ he said. ‘And you got it done so fast. It’s not every day I get the chance to watch one of the force’s rising stars in action, but I have to say, it’s been very educational. Any advice you’d like to pass on?’
‘Yes. Fuck off,’ she said, as she passed.
His grin became even wider as he turned to watch her march down the corridor away from him.
‘Is that one “f” or two?’ he asked. ‘Only I need to get it right when I write my report for the CC.’
She had already figured out he was there as a spy, but somehow hearing him say it made it even worse.
Chapter Thirty-Two
It was seven-thirty. Slater and Norman had just finished their meal and were thinking about getting back to work when the doorbell rang. Slater walked across and swung the door open. Goodnews was on the step, her face a picture of barely controlled rage. Unfortunately, it was a picture Slater was a bit slow to recognise.
‘Oh. I wasn’t expecting you,’ he said. ‘Is there a problem?’’
‘Is there a problem? I’ll say there’s bloody problem,’ she snarled. She was breathing hard.
‘Ah,’ he said, finally catching her mood. ‘Is it something I’ve done?’
‘Yes, it bloody well is. I’ve never been so humiliated in my life. And to make it worse, DI bloody Grimm was observing, and he’s going to be reporting back to the chief constable.’
‘Oh,’ said Slater.
‘Is that all you’re going to say? Bloody oh, and bloody ah? I trusted you and you’ve made me look a fool. I want an explanation.’
Slater still had no idea what exactly it was he had or hadn’t done, so he was momentarily at a loss to know what to say. Instead, he watched open-mouthed as she spat her words at him. He half expected her to start breathing fire at the same time. Then, suddenly, she barged her way past him into the house, tossing her bag onto the nearest armchair. The first thing she saw was Norman, trying his best to become invisible but failing miserably.
‘What’s he doing here?’ she demanded.
Slater tried to offer an explanation, but she was in no mood to listen. ‘Err, well, I thought I could do with a hand—’ he began.
‘Is that your laptop he’s using?’
‘I was out on the road, and we thought it would be—’
‘But he’s not a police officer, is he?’ she roared. ‘Any evidence you find would be inadmissible, not that it matters when all you come up with is rubbish anyway.’
‘It’s only inadmissible if anyone knows,’ said Slater.
‘Oh, great,’ she said. ‘Not content with making a fool of me, now you want me to break the bloody law and hide the fact, is that it?’
Norman stood up, and began to put on his jacket.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ she demanded.
‘I don’t think that’s any of your business,’ he said, stiffly. ‘Like you already pointed out, I’m not a police officer, so I don’t have to listen to any more of your crap.’
He headed across the room and stopped by the front door. ‘I’m going out for a couple of hours, Dave,’ he said, pulling the door open. ‘I’ll speak to you later.’
He walked out, pulling the door closed behind him.
‘Whatever your problem is, there’s no need to take it out on him,’ said Slater. ‘It’s not his fault.’
‘He shouldn’t even be helping you,’ she said.
‘Yes, you’re quite right, he shouldn’t be helping me, but the truth is I shouldn’t need his help, should I? And I shouldn’t have to creep about working from home like this. This should be a proper murder inquiry with everyone working on it. There’s no way Becks committed suicide, and we all know it. But because the chief constable has said “jump” and you don’t have big enough balls to challenge him, there’s a very good chance someone’s going to get away with murder!’
He didn’t think she could have got any angrier, but he seemed to have just moved her up a notch.
‘How dare you?’ she demanded.
‘What? You’re not exactly going toe-to-toe with him like you said you would, are you?’
‘Oh, right, let’s just hold it there a minute. If I’d confronted him with this stuff about Jimmy Huston and got him to reopen the inquiry, and then it had all gone pear-shaped, how would that have made me look? Oh no, hang on a minute. Let’s forget what would have happened, because it really has happened and he’s going to know anyway. That bastard Grimm sat and watched the whole thing. He can’t wait to get back and report.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ he said. ‘It’s not always about your damned career. How about you do what’s right for the victim instead of what’s right for your precious career, just this once? Becksy wasn’t just some random bloke, he was one of us!’ He realised he was shouting at her now.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I know that, but Jimmy Huston didn’t kill him. He couldn’t have. He has an alibi.’
‘Yeah, but alibis can be broken—’ began Slater, but she wasn’t interested in his suggestions.
‘He’s got twelve bloody witnesses who are all willing to swear he was at a meeting until well after Ian Becks died,’ she shouted. ‘How are we going to break that?’
‘Ah.’ It was all he could think of to say.
‘There you go again with your bloody ahs and ohs again,’ she said. ‘I wonder what you’re going to say when I tell you the best bit.’
‘Best bit?’ he said. ‘What do you mean b
est bit?’
She had been slowly advancing and was right in front of him now. ‘When I asked him why he had changed his name, do you know what he told me?’
Slater didn’t know, and he thought he probably wasn’t required to guess.
‘He told me was born Jimmy Huston, and that he’s always been Jimmy Huston, and he was still Jimmy Huston when he first met Bethan Becks six years ago. He’s even got a passport that was issued eight years ago in the name of Jimmy Huston. How do you explain that, eh?’
She barely paused long enough for him to speak before continuing.
‘Lost for words now, aren’t you?’ She was leaning forward, her face creased with anger as she spat the words right in his face. ‘How do you think I felt when he told me? You see, it doesn’t matter how big my balls are when I’m given useless information like that, does it?’
Slater’s mouth opened once or twice, but he couldn’t actually think of anything sensible to say. ‘There must be some mistake,’ was the best he could manage.
‘Oh there’s been a whole bagful of bloody mistakes,’ she said, ‘and it looks like I’m the one who’s made them all. I made a mistake in trusting you, I made a mistake in thinking you were a competent detective, and I made my biggest mistake of all the other bloody night when I let you—’
‘Just hold it right there,’ roared Slater. ‘I’ve had enough of this. If I’ve made a mistake I’m sorry. It happens. I never said I was perfect, I’m just human, right? And as for the other night, I seem to remember you were the one who came to me. You were the one in tears looking for comfort and I gave it. If anyone made a mistake, it was me.’
‘I don’t remember you turning me away,’ she said.
‘No, I didn’t,’ he admitted, ‘but, I’m not perfect, I was just being human. I’ll tell you something else – I don’t regret being human or making mistakes. It’s better than spending all my time trying to prove to everyone how bloody perfect I am.’
‘I had to sit there and let Huston go,’ she said. ‘Just after he had totally humiliated me in front of DI sodding Grimm. And that’s all down to you not doing your bloody job properly, you stupid arse.’
