[Lambert and Hook 21] - A Good Walk Spoiled

by J M Gregson

  It was the detective sergeant who did most of the questioning when Ben Paddon accompanied them into the office they were using for interviews at the end of the biggest laboratory. Darkhaired, sallow-cheeked, scrupulously polite; probably Jewish, Ben decided, even before she told him that her name was Ruth David. He felt a little spurt of satisfaction at his cleverness when she gave him her name.

  They told him that there was nothing personal in this, that they were going through a routine which had to be observed whenever someone gave information to the police. He nodded sagely, replied earnestly, gave them his impression of the reasonable man personified. He did it rather well, he thought. This was not a situation he had ever been in before and he found himself rather enjoying it.

  The young detective constable, who had so far watched him closely but offered very little in the way of words, now said, ‘You have access to some of the most deadly and least detectable poisons in the world in this place, don’t you?’

  ‘We do indeed, yes.’ Ben smiled as he might have done at an intelligent child. He could surely afford to be a little patronizing to one who was so young and of such a low rank. ‘Any one of us could probably wipe out twenty or thirty people, if we had a sudden inclination to do so.’ He leaned forward a little. ‘And as you say, the most deadly of the recent poisons are sometimes the most difficult to detect in the human digestive system. If one of us planned things carefully, it might be difficult to find the evidence to pin the crime on him, however desperately the long arm of the law might try to encircle him.’ He giggled a little at such a ridiculous concept. ‘But of course, what occupies all of us here is saving life! A great deal of our work is devoted to producing new ways of healing people.’

  DS David thanked him for his patience and cooperation and he gave her the boyish smile which women had told him they found attractive. ‘When you’ve nothing to conceal, there’s no pressure, is there? I only hope that you catch the person you’re looking for. If there really is such a person, that is!’

  She gave him an answering smile and then said quite suddenly, ‘Are you married, Mr Paddon?’

  ‘No. Never have been. And no children.’

  ‘Are you in a serious relationship?’

  ‘Is this really necessary? Is this sort of question going to help you to find the person you want?’

  ‘Very probably not. A lot of our questions prove in the end to be unnecessary, but we like to have the fullest possible picture of everyone we investigate. Sometimes the people they associate with can be quite significant, you see. In the case of terrorist investigations, that has certainly proved to be so. But of course, these things would be obvious to an intelligent man like you.’

  She suddenly reminded Ben of a girl who had taunted him at school, who had made his life in the sixth form a misery for a time. That girl had been tall and dark-haired like this woman: he hadn’t thought about her for years.

  He hadn’t anticipated them talking to him about his private life and he certainly didn’t want them prying into his associates. His smile, and his certainty had gone as he said, ‘I’m not in a serious relationship at present. I have to say that I still cannot see the relevance of this line of questioning.’

  DS David smiled, becoming more urbane as Ben became more rattled. ‘Neither can I, at the moment, Mr Paddon. But as I explained, what is pertinent to this matter and what is not may only become clear with time. Perhaps I should point out that there are no constraints upon you here: you are a member of the public helping us voluntarily with our inquiries, offering us the kind of helpful cooperation which we expect from all good citizens.’

  ‘But if I refuse to answer your questions, you will draw your own conclusions.’

  ‘We shall certainly be free to do that, yes. That is a fact of life, isn’t it? They might be totally the wrong conclusions, of course. But that possibility would be avoided if you gave us honest answers. Which would be in confidence, of course.’ Ruth David gave him her broadest, most innocent smile. He was reminded again of that girl who had taunted him cruelly all those years ago.

  ‘Look, I think I know what you’re getting at. I’m not gay. All right? I keep myself to myself because that suits me. But I have girlfriends, not boyfriends. So far, I’ve never wanted to get married. That’s probably one of the reasons why my relationships don’t tend to last.’

  ‘Your sexual orientation is of no great interest to us, sir. But any sort of crisis in your private life might be. If you were a man going through a divorce, a man with a dying child, or a man in any one of a dozen pressure situations, you might behave irrationally. If you had secrets you wished to conceal, you might be at the mercy of someone who threatened to divulge them, and thus perhaps driven to criminal conduct. The personal backgrounds of people constantly influence the actions they take.’

  Ben realized he was attracting unwelcome attention to himself by his prickliness. He took a moment to compose himself before he said, ‘All right, I can see that, now that you explain it. I’ve never been through this sort of thing before.’

  ‘And you may never have to go through it again, with luck. I hope it hasn’t been too uncomfortable for you.’ She paused, managing to imply that if he was uncomfortable he must have something to conceal. Then, when they seemed about to finish the exchange, she said abruptly, ‘What do you know about this animal rights movement, Mr Paddon?’

  Ben wondered if he looked as shaken as he felt. ‘Nothing, nothing at all. Well, only what I’ve read in the press. Like everyone else.’

  ‘And seen on the television, no doubt.’

  ‘I’ve seen items about their protests on television, I suppose. I don’t watch the news very often.’

  ‘What about the local All God’s Creatures people? Do you know any of them?’

  He scratched desperately at his brain for inspiration. Did they know something? Had they been spying on meetings? Was this a trap for him to walk into? ‘I don’t know any of these people, no. Unless I’ve met them unwittingly - I don’t suppose they go around trumpeting their ideas until they’re sure of their ground.’ He shrugged his shoulders, which seemed to have suddenly become very rigid. ‘They’ve always struck me as rather a crazy lot. ’

  ‘We’d probably agree with you there. You’ve been here two years and you strike me as an observant man. Are there any of your colleagues you would suspect of having sympathies with these people?’

  ‘No.’ The monosyllable had come too promptly and certainly, and Ben realized it immediately. ‘I’ve given the matter some thought already, you see. You’re probably aware that your investigations over the last two days have not gone unnoticed.’

  They released him then, with the injunction that he should get in touch with them if any useful thoughts on the matter occurred to him. Ben took note of the people who were interviewed after him. The last of them was that paragon of scientific virtue, Debbie Young. She had been here as long as anyone, Ben thought, so he must surely be a long way down on their list of priorities.

  He found he needed that reassurance, for he was more shaken than he had ever expected to be by his half-hour with the police. Perhaps he should not have taken it so lightly, should not have dared to enjoy the experience at the start.

  Still, the main thing was that they had not rumbled him. Ben Paddon was pretty sure of that.

  Six

  Priscilla Godwin dressed carefully for her little outing with the boss. The days were steadily getting shorter, but it was still a mild evening.

  She was trying to treat it lightly, but found herself taking more care than she had done for years over the selection of her high-necked ivory blouse and simple blue cotton summer skirt; the fact that she had recently been complimented on both of these was quite incidental, of course. Her new off-white sandals with the raised heels set off the blouse nicely, and made her shapely legs look just a little longer, she thought, as she studied them from front and rear in the full-length mirror of her wardrobe.

  She sat down
on her sofa to wait for her escort, then found herself within two minutes on her feet and back at the mirror in her bedroom. A little too plain, perhaps. She opened the lid of her jewellery box, studied the contents for a few minutes, then extracted the Victorian amethyst brooch which her grandmother had left her, which was too valuable to be worn except on the most special of occasions.

  The sun had already disappeared over the Welsh hills and darkness was dropping in early, reminding them autumn could not be delayed for much longer. Yet the night was still warm enough for Richard Cullis to have the sunroof slightly open on his BMW. ‘We should make the most of this,’ he said cheerfully. He followed the words with a slight, confident smile, but he did not take his eyes off the road ahead.

  Priscilla couldn’t be sure whether he was referring just to the weather. She said, ‘It’s certainly a perfect evening for early September,’ and immediately felt leaden and obvious.

  Richard laughed but did not say anything, turning the big car off the road and negotiating the lanes towards the quiet country pub he had used many times before. It wasn’t very far from here that his unknown assailant had forced him to drive on that night he was trying to forget.

  As if she divined his thoughts, the woman beside him said, ‘Everyone in the labs has had the third degree from the CID this week. Did anything come out of all those interviews?’

  ‘Not as far as I know.’ The police had told him to say nothing, but this pretty woman with the demure air which so excited him could surely not be involved in any animal rights nonsense. ‘Maybe there isn’t anyone. Maybe the man who kidnapped me was just throwing out random threats about an infiltrator to cause us and the police a lot of trouble. They tell me that’s the sort of thing these people do.’

  ‘Looking round the labs and the people who work with me, that certainly seems the likeliest explanation.’ She found herself trying to reassure this man who was usually so confident.

  ‘Anyway, we’re here to enjoy ourselves, not worry ourselves about idiots like that.’ Richard spoke firmly as he swung the dark-blue BMW into the car park of the country inn. He smelt the perfume of the woman next to him as he switched off the engine, shut his eyes for a moment before he slid from his seat. More than he could remember for months, he was thrilling to the heady excitement of the chase.

  Priscilla asked for a gin and tonic and he bought her a double when he went to the bar: no harm in helping things along a bit, even when you had confidence in your charms. He set the drinks down on the little table, then slid in beside her on the leather bench behind it, feeling her thigh warm against his beneath the summer skirt. ‘Priscilla’s rather a mouthful, for a simple chap like me. Do you have anything shorter available for your intimates?’

  She smiled, wondering if she looked as nervous as she felt. ‘Most people go for Scilla, but I don’t like the association with Cilla Black. You can call me Pris if you like.’

  ‘I do like, so Pris it shall be! I shan’t call you that at work, needless to say. I’ll be careful not to embarrass you there.’ Best to let them know that it wasn’t anything long term, however good they were between the sheets. The gradual realization that you were experienced, that you’d had plenty of shags in your time, was one of the things which attracted women, in Richard Cullis’s view.

  Like many determined womanizers, he knew very little about women in general and only minimally more about most of the ones he had bedded.

  They talked a little about work, both of them picking their way carefully through the beginnings of a conversation they hoped would become more interesting. He said ‘That’s a very pretty brooch,’ and leaned forward to look at it more closely on her breast.

  She said, ‘I’ve always liked it. It’s got sentimental value, too, because my grandmother left it to me.’

  Then the waiter came out from the dining room and announced, ‘Your table is ready when you are, sir. Would you care to look at the wine list?’

  Priscilla took a nervous pull at her drink and stared hard at the table until the man had gone. She said evenly, still without looking up into the features which she knew would be carrying that knowing, man-of-the-world smile, ‘I distinctly recall saying that we weren’t having a formal meal tonight. ’

  ‘Ah, but you did say that we’d indulge ourselves with a bit of pub food. I merely took the liberty of making that a little more formal and bringing you to a place where I know the food is good. Take it as a compliment to a charming companion. Don’t be offended, Pris.’

  She did look at him now, and he had the look not of a roué but of a little boy who might have unwittingly offended and was anxious about it. She knew it was an act, but it made her want to laugh, so that she knew she could not carry on the argument. She said as firmly as she could, ‘What started out as a quick drink seems to have grown like Topsy. I think I’d like to go Dutch on this.’

  ‘We’ll see.’ He moved his hand across the table and put it on top of hers. ‘Let’s just enjoy the evening, shall we, with no strings attached. It’s only a fortnight since I was forced to drive through lanes not far from here with a knife pricking into my neck. I’d certainly like to forget about that. And you should forget all about the cares of work and let your hair down, Pris.’

  She made no further protest and he led her through into the dining room. The low hubbub of conversation and sporadic outbreaks of laughter from other tables soon made it seem to her that she had probably made too big a deal of his presumption in booking a table for them. She determined to show him that she wasn’t an impressionable adolescent, nor even some ingénue who was unversed in the ways of the world. When Richard offered her the wine list, she chose a claret which would nicely complement her lamb fricassee and his beef, enjoying the little flutter of surprise across his tanned features when he found that he was with a woman who had the confidence to choose the wine.

  She became less careful during the meal, telling him more about herself and her opinions on life than she had envisaged doing at the beginning of the evening. He kept her glass filled and she was aware that this had something to do with her relaxation, but she felt well in control of herself. She wasn’t driving, so there was no need to be cautious with the claret, as he reminded her twice. A good reason, too, to be cautious with his own imbibing, he reminded her, as he poured the last of the wine into her glass.

  At the very back of her mind, a tiny but insistent voice kept telling her that this man was married, that she wasn’t, and that she had no need of complications in her life. Priscilla gave a small, secret smile at herself for having such old-fashioned inhibitions. This was the twenty- first century and she was a modem woman. She had a burgeoning career, a job she liked, and the education and experience to control her own destiny. She might be with a man of the world who had a certain reputation, but she would show him that she was herself a woman of the world. She might even enjoy pointing that out, if the necessity to show that she was in control should ever arise. An attractive woman of thirty didn’t reach that age without being able to brush off men. And she was not at all sure that she wanted to brush off this particular one.

  She had fruit salad for the sweet course, then allowed him to talk her into a brandy with her coffee. They were chatting happily now and she said suddenly, before she knew that she had formed the thought, ‘I’m glad you ordered this meal. It was a good idea after all. It’s been a most pleasant evening.’

  ‘And it’s not over yet!’ said Richard Cullis, with a mellow, slightly predatory smile.

  At the moment when Priscilla Godwin was looking round at the other diners and sipping her brandy, Ben Paddon was meeting a quite different set of people.

  He was in a crowded room at the back of a decrepit Victorian house in Cheltenham. It was in an area which had once been highly desirable, but which had gone down rapidly in the last twenty years. Most of the houses had now lapsed into flats which were little more than bedsits, with a constantly changing and often dubious occupancy. The front gardens, which had
been filled with geraniums and lobelia in the heyday of these houses, had long since been covered with concrete, which disappeared at nights beneath a variety of ageing cars and vans. The high windows which had once had velvet drapes were covered now with a variety of ill-matched and sometimes ill-fitting cheap curtains.

  The curtains in this room were old and fading, but they covered every square inch of the glass against any prying eyes. The single electric light bulb had a cracked and dusty shade, so that the illumination from its already inadequate hundred watts was further diminished. The room was crowded; there was no heating, and when they had met here during the winter, the place had been cold and clammy. Tonight, on a September evening, it was too hot, mainly because of the number of bodies crammed within it. Someone had tried to open the sash window, but the swollen frame had not moved more than an inch.

  All God’s Creatures were working to an agenda, of sorts. But because no one had seen it in writing and they were most of them inexperienced in the protocol of meetings, disorder was constantly threatening. The assembly roared its approval of what pleased it and dissolved into hisses and boos when something displeased it, so that the man at the centre of things was constantly calling for silence to enable the meeting to proceed.

  He had tried to conduct the meeting from a sitting position, in the interests of democracy. That hadn’t worked because there weren’t enough seats for all of them and because of the rowdy nature of the assembly. It was good to have such a good turnout, but the numbers made it more difficult to control things. The leader had been on his feet for some time now and was abandoning his gestures towards equality in the attempt to drive things forward. Belatedly, he realized that they had spent too long and allowed too many contributions on the evening’s first items, so that he now needed to press ahead quickly if chaos was to be avoided.