Particular Stupidities (The Romney And Marsh Files Book 5)

by Oliver Tidy

  *

  Marsh continued to monitor Foyle closely as they were settling themselves in the interview room. His brow and top lip were dotted with perspiration and his eyes had assumed a haunted, fearful expression.

  Marsh made an excuse to speak to Romney quietly. ‘He doesn’t look so good.’

  ‘I noticed. Guilty conscience, you think?’

  Marsh frowned at him. ‘No, I don’t. I think he looks like a man suffering with psychological issues and I think we should treat him accordingly.’

  Romney rolled his eyes. ‘I still say he’s hiding something.’

  ‘Maybe, but we’re not going to get it out of him if he has an episode, are we? That will just delay things and the fuss and fallout will make us all look bad.’

  Romney turned to look over at Foyle and scowled. Foyle looked anything but comfortable and composed and innocent. Romney wanted to question him and question him hard. He breathed out heavily and said, ‘See if he wants anything. Then I’m going to start.’

  Marsh smiled at the man. ‘Can I get you a drink of water or something, Mr Foyle? Maybe a tea or coffee with some sugar? Biscuits?’

  Foyle smiled weakly. ‘Thank you, Sergeant. Some water please.’

  Romney had to wait while Marsh fetched it. He spent the time staring at Mr Foyle much as a man might who felt he owed the head teachers of the world some payback for a tormented youth and was going to enjoy it.

  When Foyle had taken a few sips and set his plastic cup down, Romney said, ‘Before we begin, Mr Foyle, I need to ask you a couple of personal questions. You have a partner, I believe?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘May I ask how long he has been your partner?’

  ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘Let me put it another way. Is your current partner the same partner you had at the time Lance Leavey went missing? That was a few months ago. About the time you went on long-term sick leave.’

  ‘Yes. Malcolm and I have been together for a long time.’

  ‘His full name please, Mr Foyle.’

  ‘Malcolm Close.’

  ‘And where will we find Mr Close this morning?’

  ‘Why do you need to know that?’

  ‘Because we also need to speak to Mr Close.’

  ‘What? Why? He hasn’t got anything to do with this.’

  ‘Meaning he hasn’t but you have?’

  ‘Meaning neither of us have.’ Mr Foyle’s voice had risen in pitch and volume.

  ‘It will save us a lot of trouble if you could just tell us, Mr Foyle.’

  ‘Oh, this is ridiculous. Simply ridiculous.’

  ‘Mr Foyle, I will remind you that you have not been charged with anything, yet. You are here to help us with our enquiries. It would help our enquiries if you could tell us where we can find Mr Close.’

  Foyle exhaled and his head fell a little. ‘He works in the accounts department of Dover District Council. The offices are up at Whitfield.’

  ‘I know where they are. Thank you.’ Romney looked at Marsh. ‘Tell Laurel and Hardy to go and get him, please.’

  She stepped out into the corridor and called Grimes, gave him the information and went back to join the interview.

  ‘Right,’ said Romney. ‘Are we all ready now? Good. Mr Foyle, even though you are here voluntarily and have not been arrested I’m obliged to read you your rights and I will be recording this conversation. You have the right to free legal advice and you can leave at any time. Is that clear?’

  With the disposition of a mentally brittle man, Mr Foyle indicated that it was, declined the offer of legal advice and responded where he needed to for the benefit of the tape after Romney had recited the caution. With every passing minute he looked more ill, more strained, more worried.

  With the formalities finally out of the way, Romney was able to start. ‘Does the name Lance Leavey mean anything to you, Mr Foyle?’

  Foyle shook his head.

  ‘Sorry. You’ll have to say it for the tape, Mr Foyle.’

  ‘No. The name means nothing to me.’

  ‘He is the young man who we found wrapped in plastic and dumped in the chest freezer in a container that St Bartholomew’s enjoyed the use of. Had you ever been in that container?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you knew of it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘To your knowledge, has your partner, Mr Close, ever been in that container?’

  ‘What? No!’

  Marsh could see that Foyle’s fragile mental state was crumbling.

  ‘Was Lance Leavey blackmailing you, Mr Foyle?’

  ‘Blackmail? I told you I never met the man.’

  ‘Maybe he didn’t use his name. Has anyone been blackmailing you?’

  ‘No one is blackmailing me. Where do you get this idea from, Inspector? Please, tell me. Where do you get it?’

  ‘Calm down, Mr Foyle. These are just questions.’

  ‘Calm down? I think I am quite calm considering I’m being accused of murder.’

  ‘No one has accused you of murder, Mr Foyle. Yet.’

  ‘See. You think it, don’t you? Why? Tell me one good reason why?’

  ‘When you were head teacher at St Bartholomew’s did you ever work late?’

  ‘I am still the head teacher of St Bartholomew’s. And yes, there were occasions when I felt the need to work late. Many occasions. It’s part of the commitment expected of being a head teacher.’

  ‘Times when you were the only member of staff there?’

  ‘Sometimes, yes.’

  ‘Did your partner, Mr Close, ever visit you when you were there alone?’

  ‘He may have.’

  ‘Either he did or he didn’t, Mr Foyle.’

  ‘Yes, he did.’

  ‘Did you and Mr Close ever have sexual relations in the school when you were there alone, Mr Foyle?’

  ‘I beg your pardon. What a disgusting thing to ask. How dare you. Is it because we’re gay? Are you a bigot, a homophobe, Inspector? Do you think that all gay people must be involved in depraved sexual practices? This feels like some kind of a witch-hunt. I cannot believe what I am hearing. Free to leave anytime I like, you said. Well I’ve had enough. If you need to speak to me again you can arrest me and you can expect to see me with my legal counsel. Good day to you.’

  Mr Foyle shoved his chair back violently as he got to his feet. His puce features were glossy under the sheen of sweat. Veins bulged and throbbed on his forehead. His hair was looking a little dishevelled where he’d angrily run his hands through it. But it was his wild eyes that were most suggestive that all was not well within. He began breathing heavily and then he was quite suddenly gripping the table and heaving the air in and out in an alarming way, like a man whose windpipe was closing.

  Marsh was on her feet and making her way around the table to him when he collapsed face first on to the hard floor.

  *

  Grimes and Spicer were escorting a confused and bemused Mr Close into the police station just as the stretcher with Mr Foyle strapped to it came through the door. Mr Close took one look at his partner lying unconscious, with an oxygen mask over the lower part of his face and blood all over his front, and told the detectives that he’d changed his mind about helping the police with their enquiries and if they insisted on him staying they could bloody well arrest him. While Grimes and Spicer were wondering whether to do that, Close caught up with the paramedics and – after the briefest of conversations – followed them into the back of the ambulance.

  Grimes and Spicer, along with a few other rubber-necks, watched paralysed with indecision as the ambulance accelerated away with sirens blaring.

  They looked at each other.

  ‘Who’s going to tell him?’ said Grimes.

  Spicer dug in his pocket and said, ‘I’ll flip you for it.’

  ***

  23

  ‘Say that again,’ said Romney.

  ‘He wasn’t under arrest, guv,’ said the un
lucky Grimes. ‘You said not to arrest him. It was just unfortunate timing. And to be fair, if they’re partners they should be allowed to be there for one another. I know I’d want Maureen with me if I was being rushed to hospital.’

  Marsh made a noise of agreement.

  ‘Fucking great,’ said Romney. ‘Fucking typical.’ He turned away from them, walked into his office and slammed the door.

  Grimes breathed out. ‘What happened, Sarge? Tell me he didn’t hit him.’

  ‘I suspect Mr Foyle suffered an anxiety attack. Or maybe it was a heart attack. The former I think.’ She smiled at the image of Grimes and Spicer losing their prisoner on the station steps. Sometimes she found it hard to resist visualising them wearing bowler hats to go with their nick-namesakes’ hapless expressions. ‘Perfect timing, Peter. I wish I could have seen your faces.’

  Grimes blew out his cheeks. ‘I don’t fancy them for it, do you?’

  Marsh shook her head. ‘I think he’s losing the plot. Either that or someone’s pouring poison in his ear. Whatever, I’m not sorry it’s all on hold. I’ve got work to catch up on. Anyone wants me, I’m behind the paper equivalent of K2.’

  Romney was out of his office in under five minutes looking animated.

  ‘Joy, Peter: Job for you.’

  Grimes stuffed a half-eaten baguette in his open desk drawer and chewed ferociously to clear his mouth. Marsh swore quietly under her breath.

  Romney said, ‘I don’t know why none of us thought about it before.’ His eyes took on a distant look and he shook his head, sadly, as though the weight of responsibility for being the one who had to come up with all the ideas was so burdensome. He said, ‘Why is everything left to me?’

  Marsh wanted to kick him in the shins.

  ‘What’s up, guv?’ said Grimes.

  ‘Lance Leavey was wrapped in plastic sheeting and then securely taped up. It just came to me – I’ve seen plastic sheeting like that before. I think it’s a high density DPM.’

  ‘What’s DPM?’ said Marsh.

  ‘Damp proof membrane,’ chorused Romney and Grimes in a rare moment of harmony.

  Romney said, ‘It’s used in construction work to go under concrete. I used some myself not so long ago.’ In response to their blank faces he said, ‘The school has recently had building work done, has it not? If they poured a new concrete base somewhere there would have been DPM and if there was DPM maybe there was some left over. Enough to be used in an emergency to help dispose of a dead body.’

  ‘There might not be any left now,’ said Marsh. ‘You want me to ring them?’

  ‘No. That miserable cow on the desk probably wouldn’t look properly, if at all. You two shoot up there now and have a proper look around. Just a remnant, a scrap will do. Sometimes you get a corner poking out of the ground where it wasn’t trimmed back properly. And while you’re about it raid their stock cupboard for adhesive tape.’

  ‘I’ve got some in my desk,’ said Grimes.

  ‘I don’t want some. Lance’s body was shrouded with DPM and then sealed up with tape tighter than a nun’s nickers at Christmas. Get a sample roll. Ring me to let me know how you get on and whatever you retrieve get it over to forensics as soon as you get back. Tell them it’s a top priority.’

  ‘Don’t you want to come?’ said Marsh, finding it strange that Romney was not taking the opportunity to go and see the love of his life.

  Romney made a face. ‘Boudicca wants a full report regarding what happened this morning downstairs as soon as she gets in. I imagine that troll on the desk outside her office was straight on the blower with news of our prime suspect’s “panic attack”.’ Romney, once again, drew a pair of inverted commas in the air. It was something Marsh ardently hoped he wasn’t going to make a habit of because she found it quite annoying and a little childish. ‘Finding out about the plastic is a matter of urgency. It’s something that could definitely tie Foyle to Lance Leavey’s death.’

  *

  Marsh didn’t mind being driven by Grimes. He was everything behind the wheel that Romney was not: considerate, careful and calm, but better than these he never seemed in a tearing hurry to get anywhere, even when responding to an emergency call.

  Grimes’ brutal Tango’d-tan was fading fast to leave him looking like a man recovering from a blood transfusion with complications. When he smiled, the slash of his bright white teeth in his orangey chops reminded Marsh of a carved Halloween pumpkin. She wondered whether to bring up the matter of his blood pressure again, see if he’d paid any heed to her good advice, but she stopped herself. It wasn’t any of her business and she’d already been quite gruff with him once.

  ‘How’re Maureen and the kids?’

  ‘All right. It’s a bit disappointing for everyone being back in Dover after such a brilliant holiday. You must come round one night and look at the photos. Good job the house is all finished and lovely. That helps.’

  Chez Grimes had suffered significant storm damage a few months before. A neighbour’s tree had come down in gales that had ravaged the South East. It had crashed through the roof, causing extensive structural harm, but the insurance payout had been uncontested and generous. And then there’d been the Lotto win to pay for a few extras, as well as a new car for Maureen.

  Marsh said, ‘I’ve just had an offer accepted on a Dover property.’

  Grimes turned to look at her to make sure she wasn’t having fun with him. ‘Really?’ Marsh nodded. ‘What on earth did you do that for?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Buy a property in Dover. Why would you do that? You don’t have to live here.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘What I say. You’re still young, with your whole life ahead of you. You’ve got no ties here. To be honest, I’m more than a little surprised you are still here.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it’s Dover. It’s not exactly swanky, is it?’

  ‘What makes you think I’m swanky?’

  ‘No offence, Sarge, but Dover is a crummy mid-sized town with about as much appeal as Gary Glitter’s comeback tour.’

  ‘I disagree. If it’s so crap, why do you still live here then?’

  ‘Me? I’m stuck here. Maureen’s mum and dad. She won’t move away from them. And the kids are settled and I’ve got no real ambition. I just want to keep my head down till retirement.’

  ‘How long have you got to go?’

  ‘About fifteen years unless I can wangle something on health grounds.’

  ‘Blimey. Isn’t it a bit early to be throwing the towel in?’

  ‘Not much choice. But you have. Why would you saddle yourself with a property and responsibility here? I mean, what is there to keep you?’

  ‘Sorry, but I quite like the town. All right the people can be a bit...’

  ‘Zombiefied?’

  Marsh had to laugh. She had often been reminded of scenes from The Walking Dead as she made her way through the town on a Saturday morning. She said, ‘Let’s say challenging. But the location, the history and some of the places make it interesting enough. Don’t forget I lived in north Kent before here.’

  ‘We had bets on how long you’d last.’

  ‘Really?’

  Grimes nodded as he yawned without covering his mouth.

  ‘Who won?’

  ‘No one. You did, I suppose. No one thought you’d last this long, not working with his nibs. He’s never been known for his... tact and diplomacy. And you being a woman an’ all.’

  ‘You make it sound like my survival is something to be proud of.’

  Grimes laughed lightly. ‘Oh, it is, Sarge. Believe me, it is. I’m surprised no one’s presented you with a medal.’

  ‘How long did you give me?’

  ‘Six months. I had a fiver on it as well.’

  ‘Did the DI have any money on?’

  Grimes shook his head. ‘You think we’re mad? No one told him. Where is this place, anyway?’

  ‘Wh
ere I am now: The Gateway. Couple of floors up and bigger flat.’

  ‘Justin must be happy.’

  ‘He’s not why I’m staying.’

  ‘No? But still. You two seem to get on. Is that why he sent you flowers?’

  ‘They weren’t from Justin. And if you happen to bump into us around town, please don’t mention them.’

  ‘Secret admirer?’

  ‘The estate agents, actually.’

  ‘Eh? Never heard of that before.’

  ‘Me neither.’

  ‘Well, I for one am glad you are staying. Having you around certainly ensures I’m bothered less by the guvnor, even if your arrival and continued presence do seem to have had an adverse effect on statistics relating to serious crime.’

  Marsh could have guessed that Grimes’ joy at her endurance would be a self-interest thing. ‘Thank you, Peter. If it doesn’t work out, I can always sell and move on. All the money was doing in the bank was depreciating in real terms. And what do you mean my ‘arrival and continued presence do seem to have had an adverse effect on statistics’ relating to serious crime?’

  ‘What I say. In the couple of years you’ve been with us we’ve had more people die in suspicious circumstances than in the last twenty.’

  ‘You are exaggerating.’

  ‘Maybe just a little. We should look it up.’

  ‘You can.’

  ‘Where do you think he got this theory about the head teacher?’

  Marsh gave him a sidelong glance. ‘Your guess is probably as good as mine.’

  ‘Julie?’

  ‘He didn’t say, but I think it’s pretty obvious.’

  ‘I think we’re on a fool’s errand. Still, he calls the shots.’

  ‘If I share something with you, you’ll keep your gob shut, right?’

  ‘Need you ask?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Scouts’ honour.’