by Luke Delaney
‘Show me a liar and a man with a lot to lose and I’ll show you a pretty good suspect – Hellier’s both those things.’
‘How so?’
‘Stuart Young told me that Daniel generally liked to play it safe, keep to established, regular customers, so it’s always a wee bit of a surprise when a new guy comes on the scene.’
‘And a new guy had come on to the scene?’
‘Aye,’ Donnelly explained. ‘Only appeared about a week ago. Kept himself to himself, didn’t mix, didn’t cause trouble either, but Young’s pretty sure he had relations of the paying kind with Daniel at least once. He says he saw them outside the club, before they headed off together.’
‘Go on,’ Sean encouraged, listening more intently now, a mental picture of the man they were about to meet beginning to form in his thoughts. Not of his physical appearance, but of his state of mind, his possible motivation, his ability or not to take the life of a fellow man.
‘Okay. Firstly, Young told me he had asked Daniel about this newcomer a few nights after he’d seen them outside together – nothing heavy, just small talk. Daniel told him that the man was called David, no surname mentioned, and that he worked in the City and lived alone somewhere out west. But then things get a little more complicated. You see, Young was working the door the night the newcomer first appeared, when a regular punter came in, a …’ Donnelly quickly checked his notebook again ‘… a Roger Bennett. Now Bennett, who’s known Young for years, sees this newcomer David and makes for the exit sharpish. Young asks him if there’s a problem and Bennett tells him there is, the problem being that Bennett knows our friend David.’
‘How?’ Sean asked unnecessarily.
‘Through work. Bennett works for a big men’s magazine in the West End – you know the type of glossy rag, all cars and tits. Anyway, this new guy’s been to his office a number of times to do their accounts.’
‘So?’ Sean was growing impatient.
‘The problem being, Bennett is gay, as you may have guessed, but he doesn’t want anyone at work to find out. Apparently it wouldn’t go down too well in his office. So he decamps from the club and asks Young to give him a ring if and when David disappears from the scene.
‘No big deal, but I figure if this David’s been with the victim, we need to speak to him anyway. So Young gives me Bennett’s number and I give him a ring and ask him where I can find this David. He tells me he doesn’t have the foggiest what I’m talking about, but when I remind him of the night he left the club on the hurry-up, etc. etc. it all comes back to him and he opens up. And guess what he tells me?’
Sean answered immediately. ‘He’s not called David and he doesn’t work in the City.’
Donnelly froze for a second, a little deflated that Sean had made the leap without needing any more information. ‘Dead right, Bennett reckons that David’s real name is James Hellier and he works for Butler and Mason International Finance. But you already knew that, didn’t you?’
Sean didn’t answer. ‘What you didn’t know,’ Donnelly continued, a satisfied smile spreading across his face, ‘is that, according to Bennett, Hellier also has a wife and a couple of kiddies. Interested?’
‘Hmm,’ Sean replied. He was interested. ‘Like you said, “Show me a liar and a man with a lot to lose …” But this doorman, Young, did he ever see Hellier in the club before that night, or after?’
‘No, but he doesn’t work there every night.’
‘CCTV?’
‘Their system’s ancient – still runs on VHS, if you can believe it. They reuse the tapes after seven days. The tapes from last week are already recorded over, but we can check the current tapes to see if he’s been there any time during the last few days.’
‘Get it done,’ Sean told him as they pulled up outside an old Georgian mansion block converted into exclusive offices. Identical buildings ran the length of the long road, all painted white with black windows, and doors adorned with heavy, shiny brass numbers. Pointed metal railings fenced off the entrances to the basements, curling up and along the short flights of stairs leading to the front door, where visitors were met by pristine brass plates announcing the company within. Only Arabs and the aristocracy could afford to actually live here now.
The two detectives climbed from their Ford and walked across the pavement to the building’s entrance. ‘Here we go, Butler and Mason International Finance. Shall we?’ Donnelly rang the outside security buzzer. They didn’t have to wait long. A female voice crackled back from the intercom. ‘Butler and Mason. Good morning. How can I help?’
‘Detective Inspector Corrigan and Detective Sergeant Donnelly from the Metropolitan Police.’ Donnelly deliberately avoided stating they were from the Murder Investigation Team. ‘Here to see a Mr James Hellier.’ He made it sound as if they had an appointment. It didn’t work.
‘Is he expecting you?’ came the voice through the small metal box. Donnelly looked at Sean and shrugged his shoulders. Time to put a little pressure on.
‘No. He’s not expecting us, but I can assure you he will want to see us.’
Whoever it was on the intercom wasn’t easily bullied. ‘Can I ask what it’s in connection with please?’
‘It’s a private matter concerning Mr Hellier,’ Donnelly told her. ‘We believe someone may have stolen some cheques from him. We need to speak with him before someone empties his bank account.’ The threat of losing money usually opened doors.
‘I see. Please come in.’
The door buzzed. Donnelly pushed it open. They passed through a second security door and into the reception of Butler and Mason, where they were met by a tall, attractive young woman. She wore expensive-looking spectacles and an equally expensive-looking tailored suit. Her hair was hazelnut brown and tied back in a perfect ponytail. Sean thought she looked unreal.
‘The voice on the intercom, I assume?’ Donnelly asked. She smiled a perfect, practised smile that meant nothing.
‘Good morning, gentlemen. If I could just see your identification, please?’
Neither Sean or Donnelly had their warrant cards ready. Donnelly rolled his eyes as they fished their small black leather wallets from inside jacket pockets and presented them flipped open to the secretary.
‘Thank you.’ She looked up at them after examining the warrant cards more closely than they were used to. ‘If you would like to follow me, Mr Hellier has agreed to see you straight away. His office is on the top floor, so I suggest we take the lift.’
Clearly Hellier was doing well for himself. They followed her to the lift where she pulled open the old-style concertina grid and then the lift doors. She stepped inside and waited for them to join her before pressing the button for the top level. They moved silently up through the building until the lift juddered to a halt. She opened the doors and another grid. Sean was losing patience with the charade. They stepped out into the upper reaches of the building and walked along the opulent corridors without talking, the high ceilings providing plenty of wall space to hang portraits of people long since dead. The entire office reeked of money and was much bigger inside than they had expected. Eventually they arrived at a large mahogany door. The nameplate attached bore the inscription James Hellier. Junior Partner. The secretary knocked twice before pushing the door open without waiting for a reply. ‘Some gentlemen from the police to see you, sir.’
James Hellier was as elegant as the secretary. A little under six foot. About forty years old, athletic build. Light brown hair, immaculately cut. He looked healthy and fit in the way the rich do. Good food. Good holidays. Expensive gyms and skin-care products. His suit probably cost more than Sean earned in a month. Maybe two.
Hellier held out a hand. ‘James Hellier. Miss Collins said something about my cheques being stolen, but I really don’t think that’s likely, you see—’
The secretary had already left the office and closed the door. Sean cut across Hellier. ‘That’s not actually why we’re here, Mr Hellier. Your cheques are fine. We nee
d to ask you a few questions, but we thought it best to be discreet until we had a chance to speak with you.’
Sean was studying him. In an inquiry like this a witness could turn into a suspect within seconds. Was he looking at the killer of Daniel Graydon?
‘I hope you haven’t come here to try and obtain client details. If you have, then I hope you’ve brought a Production Order with you.’
‘No, Mr Hellier. It’s about your visits to the Utopia club.’
Hellier sat down slowly. ‘Excuse me. I’m not familiar with that club. The only club I belong to, other than my golf club, is Home House in Portman Square. Perhaps you know it?’
Sean was trying to judge the man. He was sure Hellier was lying, but he sounded remarkably confident. ‘DS Donnelly here’s been making some inquiries at the club. You’ve been recognized.’
‘Who by?’ Hellier asked.
‘I’m not prepared to tell you that at this time.’
‘I see,’ Hellier said, smiling. ‘A silent accuser then.’
‘No. Just someone who wants to remain anonymous for now.’
‘Well, whoever it is, they’re lying. I can assure you I’ve never heard of a club called Utopia.’
‘Mr Hellier, I’ve had all the club’s CCTV tapes from the last couple of weeks seized. As we speak, some of my officers are going through them. They’ll be producing stills of all the people on the tapes. How sure are you that when I look through those stills I am not going to see a picture of you? Because if I do, I am going to start wondering why you’re lying. Do you understand?’
There was a long pause before Hellier answered. ‘Who put you up to this?’ he eventually asked in a calm voice. ‘Who paid you to follow me? Was it my wife?’
Sean and Donnelly looked at each other, confused. ‘Mr Hellier,’ Sean explained. ‘This is a murder investigation. We’re police officers, not private investigators. I’m investigating the murder of Daniel Graydon. He was killed on Wednesday night, Thursday morning, in his flat. I believe you knew Daniel. Is that correct?’
‘Murdered?’ Hellier asked through gritted teeth. ‘I’m sorry. I had no idea. How did it …?’
Sean watched every flicker in Hellier’s face, every hand and finger movement, every sign that could tell him whether Hellier’s shock was genuine. Did he sense any trace of compassion? ‘He was stabbed to death in his own flat,’ Sean told him and waited for the reaction.
‘Do you know who did it – and why, for God’s sake?’
‘No,’ Sean answered as his mind processed Hellier’s performance − and that was what he was sure it was. As polished as it was, as convincing as it was, a performance nonetheless. ‘Actually, we thought you might be able to help us with the who and why.’
‘I’m sorry, but I really don’t see how. I hardly knew Daniel. I know nothing about his life. We had a brief physical relationship, nothing more.’
‘Did he know you were married?’ Sean asked.
‘No, I don’t think so. How could he?’
‘You’re a wealthy man. Did he know anything about your financial circumstances?’ Sean picked up the pace of his questioning.
‘Not as far as I’m aware.’ Hellier answered quickly and confidently.
‘Did Daniel Graydon at any time try to extort money or other favours from you, Mr Hellier?’
‘Look, I think I know where you’re going with this, Inspector … sorry, I can’t remember your name.’
‘Corrigan. Sean Corrigan.’
‘Well, Inspector Corrigan, I think my solicitor should be present before I say anything.’
Donnelly leaned in towards him. ‘That’s fine, Mr Hellier. You can have a panel of judges present, for all I care, but you’re a witness right now. Not a suspect. So why do you need a solicitor? And I don’t know for sure, but I suspect your wife is unaware of your nocturnal activities. And what about the other partners here at this lovely firm? Do they know you have a taste for young male prostitutes? I guess it’s all a question of how much you trust your solicitor to show absolute discretion. And me too.’
Hellier stared hard at the two intruders into his life, small intelligent eyes darting between the detectives, before suddenly standing up. ‘All right. All right. Please keep your voices down.’ He sat down again. ‘I went there once, about a week ago, but please, my wife mustn’t find out. It would destroy her. Our children would become a laughing stock. They shouldn’t be punished for my weaknesses.’ He paused. ‘It may be difficult for you to understand, but I do love my wife and children, I just have other needs. I have suppressed them for more than twenty years, but recently I … I couldn’t seem to stop myself.’
‘When did you last see Daniel Graydon?’ Sean asked.
‘I can’t remember exactly.’
‘Try harder.’
‘A week or so ago.’
‘We need to know exactly when and where, Mr Hellier,’ Sean insisted.
‘Try checking your diary, iPhone, or whatever it is you use,’ Donnelly suggested.
‘It won’t be in my diary,’ Hellier told them sharply. ‘I’m sure you understand why.’
‘But something will be,’ Sean said. ‘A false business meeting, a dinner with clients that never took place. You would have put something in there to cover yourself.’
Hellier studied Sean, their eyes unconsciously locked together. He reached for his iPad with a sigh. His finger slid around the screen and within seconds he found what he was looking for − a false overnight meeting in Zurich. ‘The last time I saw Daniel was a week last Tuesday – eight days ago.’
‘Where?’ Sean pressed.
‘In Utopia.’
‘Did you ever go to his flat?’
‘No.’
Sean felt like being cruel. ‘And did you pay him to have sex with you in the club or somewhere else?’
‘I pay for sex because it’s less complicated. Keeps things simple. I can’t risk being involved in a relationship. That would make me vulnerable. You needn’t look so disgusted, Inspector. I don’t like the fact I pay for sex. I don’t like the fact I abuse the trust of family and friends. I keep things simple for all our sakes.’
‘So where did you have sex with him?’
‘I’ve admitted having sex with him – isn’t that enough?’
‘Are you absolutely sure you didn’t go back to his flat, ever?’ Sean asked.
‘Positive.’
‘And Wednesday night. Where were you Wednesday night?’ Sean continued.
Hellier paused before answering, his eyes narrowing. ‘You don’t … you don’t seriously think I had anything to do with his death, do you?’ He looked both incredulous and frustrated.
‘I just need to know where you were,’ Sean repeated with an almost friendly smile.
‘Well, if you must know, I was at home all night. I had a pile of paperwork to catch up on, so I left here at about six and went straight home, where I spent most of the night working in my study.’
‘Can anyone verify that?’
‘My wife. We had dinner together, but, like I said, I spent most of the night working, alone.’
‘Then we need to speak to your wife,’ Sean insisted.
‘Look,’ Hellier snapped. ‘Am I a suspect or not?’
‘No, Mr Hellier,’ Sean answered. ‘You’re a witness, until I say otherwise. But we’ll still need to speak with your wife.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Donnelly reassured Hellier. ‘We won’t tell her what we’re investigating.’
‘Then what will you tell her?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. That we’re looking into an identity fraud, a case of mistaken identity,’ Donnelly offered. ‘The sooner she can confirm you were at home Wednesday night, the sooner we can clear the whole mess up. Fair enough?’
‘You do want to help us, don’t you, Mr Hellier?’ Sean asked.
Hellier sat silently for a time before leaning forward and snatching a pen and paper. He quickly scribbled something down and pushed the paper tow
ards Donnelly. ‘My wife’s name and my home address,’ he said. ‘I’ve assumed a phone call wouldn’t satisfy you gentlemen.’
‘Much obliged,’ Donnelly said, slipping the note into his jacket pocket.
‘Will she be at home now?’ Sean asked.
‘Possibly,’ Hellier answered.
‘Good,’ was all Sean replied.
‘And when my wife verifies that I was at home, I’m assuming that will be the end of it.’
Sean almost laughed. ‘No, Mr Hellier, it’s a little more complicated than that. We need you to come to the station within the next two days. Whenever is convenient to you will be fine. Bring that solicitor too, if you want.’
‘But I’ve told you all I know,’ Hellier argued. ‘I’m sorry, but I really can’t help you.’
‘You had sex with a young man who’s now dead,’ Sean told him. ‘Murdered. We’ve taken samples from the victim’s body. Forensic samples. If you had sex with him within the last couple of weeks, part of you could still be on the victim. We need to eliminate any foreign samples found on the body that may have been left by you.’
‘That really won’t be necessary. I always used a condom. I may be foolish, but I’m not mad. You won’t find any …’ Hellier stalled, trying to think of suitable words ‘… thing belonging to me on his body. You don’t need to examine me.’
Sean stood up and leaned in close to Hellier. ‘Oh yes I do, Mr Hellier. And you will give me what I need. If you don’t, then I’ll arrest you on suspicion of murder and take the samples anyway. I’ll get a warrant and search your home. I’ll search this office – and we won’t be as discreet about our business as we’ve been so far.’
He wasn’t bluffing; the more serious the offence, the more he could stretch his powers to the limit. He opened his wallet, took out one of his business cards and threw it on the desk. ‘That’s my office and mobile numbers. You have a day to call me. And I’ll require a full written statement from you at the same time. You’ll have to tell us about your relationship with Daniel Graydon. Absolutely everything. One day to call, Mr Hellier, and then—’
The door to Hellier’s office unexpectedly swung open. Another well-dressed man entered the office without asking. Sean assumed the rich-looking man in his late thirties or early forties had to be Hellier’s boss. He looked the man over, taking in details only a cop would see. He did it to everybody nearly all the time, an occupational hazard he was almost unaware of. The man had purpose and poise, not just because of his physical presence: he was at least six foot tall, strong and fit, his tailored suit not disguising his deep chest and slim waist. But he also had an aura about him, a sense of power and control. Sean knew the man would be the sort of boss his underlings would both fear and love.
