Murder Club

by Mark Pearson

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘The World Peace Mission is tracking down his medical records. Not easy from twenty years ago, if you think that he was in Africa at the time and the Internet wasn’t anything like as accessible as it is today.’

  ‘When will we get them?’

  ‘This afternoon, they promised.’

  ‘Good work.’

  ‘I do my best.’

  ‘And you do it very prettily.’

  ‘Now that wouldn’t be a sexist remark, would it, Jack?’

  ‘It’s a statement of fact, Doctor. My job, after all, is sifting the facts from the fiction.’

  ‘And you do it very handsomely.’

  ‘I do my best.’

  ‘So are you just going to hang around until you’re allowed in to speak to the witnesses?’

  ‘I’m going to speak to the reverend’s wife. See if she has anything to add.’

  ‘Send her my regards.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘And be gentle with her, she’s an old lady.’

  ‘This is an old murder.’

  ‘True. But Patricia Hunt is no murderer.’

  ‘Everybody has secrets, Kate.’

  ‘Part of your job is wheedling them out?’

  ‘Yup.’

  Kate ran her hand, slightly guiltily, over her stomach. ‘You just take care of yourself, is all.’

  ‘Hey, I’m always careful out there. Bye, darling, catch you later.’

  ‘Bye, honey.’

  Kate hung up and looked down at her stomach. ‘Because he has to take care of us too, doesn’t he? He has to take care of all of us,’ she said in a soothing voice.

  An incoming message beeped on her computer and Kate pulled up the report just in from Ben Fielding.

  She scanned it briefly, raising an eyebrow. If Laura Chilvers had been seeking oblivion that night, she had certainly gone about it the right way. Traces of enough drugs in her system to sedate an elephant. Unless someone had planted them in her drinks, of course.

  She moved the cursor and clicked on the print icon.

  51.

  DI TONY HAMILTON looked over at the tall woman who was driving. It was an estimated two-and-a-bit-hour drive to Lavenham in Suffolk from White City, but DI Emma Halliday had her foot down hard on the accelerator. They had been going for an hour or so and were at Bishop’s Stortford, about to leave the M11 and head towards Sudbury. The roads had been pretty clear out of central London, and even the North Circular had been remarkably hold-up-free. The heavier snowfalls expected in the capital had probably put most people off. Tony Hamilton didn’t blame them. Traffic in London was like one of the seven circles of Hell at the best of times; add a snow blizzard to the mix, and he’d count himself out soon enough. The only trouble was he couldn’t. The call comes and London’s finest have to answer, even if it does mean driving through several counties to get there. There were flurries of snow and the clouds overhead seemed to be thickening, but Emma had driven fast and controlled; he was impressed.

  The DI noticed that he was looking at her, with a small smile on his face.

  ‘Spit it out, Detective. You got something to say?’

  ‘Just having a little sexist thought.’

  ‘You better not have been looking at my legs.’

  DI Hamilton on reflex looked down at her very long trousered legs and then back up at her. ‘Actually I was just admiring your driving skills and was admonishing myself for being surprised.’

  ‘I surprise a lot of people with a lot of things.’

  ‘I’m sure you do, Catwalk.’

  ‘Yeah, Detective Inspector Halliday will do just fine thank you!’

  ‘Hamilton and Halliday. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I could see it on the TV. After Eastenders … stay tuned for Hamilton and Halliday. They kick butt, but boy do they look good!’

  Emma looked over at him, smiling despite herself. ‘Got tickets on yourself, haven’t you?’

  ‘Is that what you think?’

  ‘What I think is that you should let me concentrate on the driving.’

  ‘Just trying to pass the time with some witty conversation.’

  ‘Well you’re failing. Stick the radio on.’

  DI Hamilton leaned forward and pushed the button on the dashboard. A smooth announcer’s voice was reading the news.

  ‘… Superintendent Napier of White City Police Station and the Metropolitan Police has today confirmed that the body recovered from under the carriages of an east-bound Bakerloo Line train was indeed that of Michael Robinson. Mister Robinson had earlier that morning walked free from the Old Bailey after several charges of rape and aggravated sexual assault and grievous bodily harm were dropped against him. The chief witness for the prosecution, who was the alleged victim of the vicious assault, herself sensationally claimed that she was shown a photograph of Michael Robinson before the formal identification parade.’

  Tony moved his hand to change the channel, but Emma flicked it away.

  ‘The person who showed her the photo,’ the announcer continued, ‘was Detective Inspector Jack Delaney, she claimed. This claim is under internal investigation but it has also emerged that Michael Robinson had served a civil lawsuit on Inspector Delaney on the very morning he was released. DI Delaney has not been available for comment but Superintendent George Napier has confirmed that at this moment they are treating Michael Robinson’s death as suspicious. In other news Cheryl Cole has reportedly …’

  Emma switched off the announcer in mid-speech. ‘That sounds to me like wolves gathering, don’t you think, Tony? Smelling blood.’

  ‘Yeah I’d say so. Jumping Jack Flash better be watching his back.’

  ‘To think a few months ago he was the poster-boy for the Met.’

  ‘Tall poppy syndrome. The real English vice.’

  ‘And Jack Delaney is Irish.’

  ‘Black-as-bog Irish.’

  ‘Just as well he’s got us on his side, then.’

  ‘Let’s hope so. I can see heads rolling over this.’

  Emma nodded and pressed down harder on the accelerator pedal.

  *

  Delaney walked into the family area of the intensive-care unit. It was as depressing a place as they always were in hospitals around the country. National Health hospitals, at least. Some gestures towards comfort but the effect was mainly utilitarian. An industrial-style maroon carpet on the floor. Modern wooden tables with a few magazines scattered on them. Blue moulded furniture with hard-wearing fabric on it, formed into benches and individual chairs. A cold water dispenser in the corner. The light overhead too bright. A mixture of hope and despair hung in the air in these sorts of rooms in hospitals throughout the country. Throughout the world.

  Patricia Hunt was seated in the middle of the long blue bench opposite the door Delaney had just walked through. Her head was down, lost in the kind of thoughts that Delaney didn’t have to imagine. He knew only too well what they were. He presumed she had her faith to find some comfort. The last time he himself had prayed was when his wife was fighting a losing battle for her life in a hospital theatre not so very many miles away. He wasn’t sure if he was praying to a Catholic God. Over the years he had lost a sense of who he was in that regard. He was praying to the Catholic God or the Protestant or the Hebrew (even though it was supposedly the same thing), or to the Hindu God or to whatever power it was that created and shaped the universe. He prayed that that was the case and that this was not just some random chaos. So that someone might listen, might change the terrible course of events which were heading full speed to a tragic conclusion. But the words he mumbled in his head over and over again were Catholic ones. Drummed into him by rote as a schoolboy and altar boy back in Ballydehob. The words came as easily as breathing.

  Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie,
et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris.

  But the Father in Heaven who was hallowed by name, had not forgiven Jack Delaney his trespasses. His wife and her unborn child had both died that night. And Delaney had not been led astray into temptation because of this. He had simply lost all will to resist it. Neither was he delivered from Evil, but was put in its path like a sun-stroke victim walking blindly into a herd of stampeding cattle. But he was here now and he was sane and, even though he had not prayed since that terrible night, he didn’t look angrily at the trappings of religion, he didn’t bridle at the sight of a dog collar and crucifix. And he didn’t curse God and his actions every time he swallowed a glass of whiskey and ordered another.

  ‘Can I fetch you a coffee or a cup of tea,’ he asked simply.

  Patricia Hunt looked up at him for a moment or two and blinked. ‘No thank you,’ she said. ‘It’s Inspector Delaney, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re married to the lovely Dr Walker.’

  ‘Not married. Living together.’

  ‘With a child on the way.’

  Delaney shrugged apologetically. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Please,’ said Patricia Hunt. ‘You get to my age and attitudes change. I’m not sure the expression “living in sin” applies any more. Living in love is far more important. Amor Vincit Omnia. Isn’t that what they used to say?’

  Delaney smiled. ‘Not in Ballydehob.’

  ‘Do you come with news of Geoffrey? How is he?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘No news, I’m afraid. They’re keeping a close eye on him.’

  ‘It’s my fault.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘This cold weather, Inspector. Letting him out. Shovelling snow. He’s not a well man, said the fresh air would do him good.’

  ‘You mustn’t blame yourself, Mrs Hunt.’

  ‘You’re a Catholic, or once were?’

  Delaney nodded.

  ‘Well then, you should be familiar with the concept?’

  ‘I am. And it’s not a helpful one. I know that from experience.’

  ‘So how can I help you?’

  ‘I need to ask you some questions about your husband’s brother.’

  ‘Is that really necessary right now?’

  ‘As you know, a body was found in the church your husband used to be the vicar of. The victim was murdered and buried there, about the same time as your husband’s brother went missing.’

  ‘I really don’t see the relevance. This has waited twenty years for your attention. Do you not think it could wait a little longer?’

  ‘I know this is a difficult time for you, Mrs Hunt, but if you could tell me anything about the last time you saw or spoke to him.’

  ‘Do you think it is him then, Inspector?’

  ‘We’re not ruling it out.’

  ‘It can’t be Jeremy.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘I am not sure of anything any more, Inspector. As a young girl, and later as a lecturer in theology, I was pretty sure. Pretty sure about most things. Now that I am just a silly old woman, it is quite the opposite.’

  ‘You have lost your faith?’

  ‘Not in God. Never in him.’

  ‘The Reverend Jeremy Hunt had been in Africa …?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘For how long?’

  ‘Oh I am sure if you check his records, you’ll see he had been over there for many, many years. He would pop back to England every so often. But rarely. More as a holiday. Taking care of affairs, that kind of thing.’

  ‘What kind of affairs?’

  ‘The usual. Banking, investments. Like I say, it was more of a holiday and he didn’t ever stop long. We didn’t see much of him.’

  ‘Your husband had had a falling-out with him?’

  ‘Not at all. Why do you ask that?’

  ‘The way you say you didn’t see much of him.’

  ‘They are both busy men. And some families … well they are not all the same, are they, Inspector.’

  ‘Certainly not.’

  ‘Do you have any siblings?’

  ‘I have a sister.’

  ‘And do you see much of her?’

  ‘Sadly not. She lives in America. In Pennsylvania.’

  ‘Once a very religious part of the world.’

  ‘Not these days. My sister’s married to a cop. Seems he is kept pretty busy.’

  ‘I can imagine.’

  ‘So the last time you spoke to Jeremy …’

  ‘He had come back from Africa. Twenty years ago. He had phoned us.’

  ‘Did he speak to you or your husband?’

  ‘He spoke to me, Inspector.’

  ‘And what did he say?’

  ‘Very little. He said he’d come to attend to some matters of pressing urgency and arranged to come to the vicarage for dinner a couple of nights later.’

  ‘Did he say what the matters were?’

  ‘No. But he did say that he had left the missionary society that he was working for.’

  ‘Was that a surprise?’

  ‘I really couldn’t say, Detective. He didn’t really say much.’

  ‘Not even at dinner?’

  ‘He never turned up, Inspector Delaney. And we never saw him again.’

  ‘And you have no idea what happened to him?’

  ‘One phone call, a message left on our answer-phone to say he was fine and would be in touch. But that was the last we heard.’

  ‘He just vanished?’

  ‘We prayed every night for him. But, no. That was it. We never did find out what happened.’

  Delaney made a note in his small, black notebook. ‘Do you know if your husband’s brother had any enemies, Mrs Hunt?’

  ‘Enemies? What do you mean?’

  ‘Anyone who may have wanted to do him harm?’

  ‘No. Why would they?’ She took a sip of water and blinked back some tears. ‘Please, if there is nothing else. I am not up to this at the moment.’

  ‘Of course.’ Delaney closed his notebook and stood up. ‘I’m sorry to have troubled you.’

  ‘Inspector,’ she said, as he walked over to the door. ‘Don’t give up on your prayers.’

  52.

  KATE WALKER APPROACHED Dave Matthews, who was back in his usual spot behind the desk.

  ‘Doctor,’ he said with a smile and a nod.

  ‘Hello, Slimline,’ Kate responded. ‘Just to let you know I’m expecting a package couriered over to me sometime soon, I hope. Let me know when it gets here, will you?’

  ‘Of course I will.’

  Kate smiled, but made no attempt to move away.

  ‘Was there anything else?’

  Kate leaned on the desk, keeping her voice neutral, but low. ‘Dr Laura Chilvers,’ she said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Friday night – how did she seem to you?’

  The desk sergeant shrugged. ‘Much as she ever is, I suppose.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Kate. ‘She seemed a bit … I’m not so sure. Can’t put my finger on it.’

  ‘She was in a hurry to get out. Some kind of date, I think. A club opening. She didn’t say where. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Because if she dropped the ball on Bible Steve, that could come back to bite the station. Particularly her.’

  ‘He seemed all right to me.’

  ‘And have you studied for seven years, and then worked in the field for years more, to make that kind of qualified judgement?’ Kate asked, but not unkindly.

  ‘Maybe not.’ The sergeant smiled ruefully. ‘But I’ve done over twenty years dealing with drunks.’

  ‘The point is that Bible Steve, or whatever his name is, had a fall before he came in, didn’t he?’

  ‘He collapsed outside the restaurant. Not sure how.’

  ‘As I understand it, he was found in a cruciform position?’

  ‘Come again.’

  Kate demonstrated. ‘His feet together, his hands
outstretched like this.’

  ‘Yes, like that.’

  ‘Which suggests to me that he toppled over backwards, his arms outstretched for balance. Rather than crumpling in on himself, to land in a kind of foetal position.’

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Which means that he could have slapped his head hard on the pavement when he fell. He could have suffered some kind of subdural haematoma.’

  ‘Which means?’

  ‘That we shouldn’t have released him unless we were very sure he hadn’t.’

  ‘Laura Chilvers did ask if we could keep him in overnight.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because of the cold, she said.’

  ‘If she was worried that Bible Steve had suffered a serious head injury then she should have called an ambulance.’

  ‘Which she didn’t.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But yet she wanted you to keep him in, even though in your opinion he was fit to be released?’

  ‘Yes, but you know what it is like on a Friday night here, Kate, at the best of times. Friday night a week before Christmas, it was like the biblical Bethlehem.’

  ‘No room at the inn?’

  ‘Exactly. And she knows that. I’m surprised she even asked. She knows we would have taken Bible to the homeless shelter anyway.’

  ‘Not that he stayed there.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What if we released him when we shouldn’t, and he really did go out and murder someone?’

  ‘If he has, then we’re missing a corpse.’

  ‘Maybe we should have kept him in?’

  ‘If if and ans, as my granny used to say,’ said the desk sergeant, ‘were pots and pans, we could set up a bloody department store.’

  Kate chewed at her thumbnail. ‘I don’t know. Laura did seem distracted. She got that call, do you remember? Seemed very snappy after it. Not herself.’

  ‘Like I say, Kate. It was a very busy night.’

  ‘Too busy, it seems.’

  ‘It’s not going to get any quieter this side of the silly season,’ said Matthews.

  ‘Never does,’ said Kate.

  ‘Never does,’ agreed the sergeant.

  ‘I wonder who it was that called Laura,’ said Kate, not really intending to voice the thought to the large man behind the desk, but he answered it for her anyway.