by J M Gregson
The stocky man who sat ridiculously on the edge of the bed was ready for this. ‘That sounds like a challenge, Riordan. I like a challenge. You’re right in the frame for this. We shall go away and set about gathering the evidence for an arrest. Don’t leave the area without letting us know your new address.’
It was a useless instruction to a man like Patrick Riordan, of course. He would move when he wished and where he wished. But the routine instruction seemed to drag him more firmly into the middle of the case. He was a man who would have killed O’Connor without a vestige of conscience. Neither of the CID men could decide as they journeyed the thirty miles swiftly back to Brunton whether he was guilty, but both of them hoped he was.
The police machine had produced a little more information for them by the time they reached the station. Patrick Riordan had hired a car in Manchester for four days, from Wednesday to Saturday of the previous week. It had been sighted in Brunton on Thursday and on Friday and returned to its Manchester base on Saturday.
Job done?
The late Dominic O’Connor’s PA was keeping things going in his section of the firm, as all good PAs seem able to do. The managing director at Morton Industries had his own office staff, but after the death of his Financial Director he needed Mrs Jean Parker to hold the fort in that division, during the confusion which inevitably followed.
The MD said four days after the death of Dominic O’Connor, ‘You’ve done splendidly, Jean. You’ve kept our clients happy and explained things very well to them. But I know it’s a holding operation and that you can’t take decisions. We’ll need to appoint a new financial director as quickly as possible.’
They were the words Jean Parker had been waiting for. Once she was sure she was alone, she made a brief phone call and arranged a lunchtime meeting in the pub by the Ribble where they had often met before. It was a big, rambling place, but there were not very many people there at a wet Thursday lunchtime, and the many nooks and crannies of the place afforded privacy for those who sought it.
Brian Jacobs felt no qualms about putting his palm firmly on top of his mistress’s hand as they sat together at the small round table.
It was curious how that still gave her a thrill, Jean thought. Sex was a strange thing. It was an important – perhaps the most important – part of life. Yet after all the things they had done in bed, after all the intimate things they had muttered to each other and repeated to each other over the years, she still felt that little surge of warmth running through her body when Brian simply put his hand on top of hers. Love was a curious business, at once complicated and very simple.
She said, ‘We’re muddling through. People have been very understanding. I’ve managed to postpone most of the meetings he’d arranged.’ She wouldn’t refer to Dominic O’Connor by name; Brian was still absurdly sensitive about that. He couldn’t bear to hear her pronounce the name of the man he had so hated.
‘Yes. People will be very accommodating, for a while. Then they’ll get impatient. You can’t do without a Financial Director for very long. Not with the scale at which Morton Industries now operates.’ It was the nearest he would come to acknowledging the success of his late rival’s work with the firm.
Jean Parker smiled at him, then brought up her other hand to clasp his. ‘That’s why I thought we should meet. The MD came in to see me this morning. He thinks as you do that the firm urgently needs to make an appointment.’
Jacobs gave her a small, contented smile. ‘Great minds think alike.’ He had no baggage with the MD at Morton’s, who had been appointed after he had left the firm. He’d met the man on neutral ground and got on well with him. ‘He’s right. You need as seamless a transition as possible, and that means a swift appointment.’
‘It might carry a partnership, if they replace exactly.’
‘Yes, I’d forgotten that. He’d worked himself a partnership in the firm, hadn’t he? He knew how to feather his nest, after he’d done his cuckoo act and tipped any rival out of it.’
It was a good metaphor, she thought, but it was absurd that he wouldn’t even mention Dominic O’Connor. You couldn’t go on hating a dead man; there was no substance in it, nothing left to hate. She said, ‘I think if you applied, you’d stand a very good chance.’
It was an outrageous idea. But he’d known the suggestion was coming, known from the moment he’d received that excited phone call two hours ago. ‘They say you should never go back.’
‘They aren’t always right. Especially if the reason you left no longer exists.’
‘The new man won’t want me. He’ll think I left under a cloud.’ He was ticking off the objections that others, not he, might make.
‘But you didn’t. As far as the records are concerned, you were an ambitious man who wanted more responsibility and sought it elsewhere. You needed to spread your wings.’ After the cuckoo had pushed you out, she’d nearly said. She was pleased to push the bird metaphor along. It seemed to keep them on the same wavelength – or was that a different metaphor? The brain was a strange organ. Why should she be concerning herself with metaphors, at this key moment in her life?
‘I’m not sure that I’d want to put in a formal application. It might compromise my position with my present firm.’
‘I think Morton’s might be prepared to approach you, if I said you were available. I’d have to plant the idea subtly, of course, let the MD think it was his notion. I’m only a humble PA who is at present without a boss.’
Brian grinned at her. ‘Behind every successful man there is a clever woman. And you’re the clever woman I want behind me, Jean Parker.’ He squeezed her small hands between his, pouring more emotion into that small contact than into many a coupling between sheets.
‘The MD’s going to pop in to see me at the end of the day. I’ll suggest tentatively that there might be a man available who’s already enjoyed success at Morton’s and knows the ways of the firm. And who’s gone on to broaden his experience through success with another firm. Or let him come up with those ideas for himself.’
‘This man sounds the ideal candidate, whoever he is. I can’t see how Morton’s could turn him down.’
‘I can only plant the thought. My humble station doesn’t allow more than that. But there’s nothing to be lost, is there?’
‘Nothing at all, my darling. You go ahead and be the clever woman behind me!’
She left discreetly before him. Brian Jacobs looked at his watch, bought himself another drink, and settled back comfortably into his chair. He’d told that bastard at the time that he’d suffer for what he’d done. Well, you couldn’t have more complete revenge than this. Your enemy lying stiff and cold in the mortuary, his widow bedding another man, and you yourself about to step into the job and the partnership he had left behind. Cheers, Mr Dominic O’Connor!
They were becoming familiar with the impressive modern mansion where James, the elder O’Connor brother, had lived. Drugs and prostitution were lucrative industries to add to your more respectable portfolio, thought DCI Peach, as he and DS Northcott drove past the gardener and up to the main entrance of the house. Well, James O’Connor would never have to answer to the law for his sins now.
His widow seemed even more composed than when they had seen her previously. Her long dark hair was lustrous and impeccably groomed. Her face was skilfully made up and had more colour in its cheeks than when they had seen her on Tuesday. Peach wondered whether she had chosen the bright blue dress especially for them. It looked to him elaborate for this time of day, but perhaps it was her habit to dress to impress. Lucy would have had an opinion on that; he wouldn’t ask for Clyde Northcott’s view.
He said once they were seated, ‘We shall be able to release your husband’s body in the next few days. You can begin to plan the funeral.’
‘Thank you. Both I and my daughter will be glad to have closure. For different reasons, of course. I told you on Tuesday that I’d ceased to be close to Jim by the time he died.’
‘You told us that you’d taken to sleeping with his brother. It’s Dominic’s murder we are now investigating.’
‘It wasn’t a casual shag, as you imply.’ She watched him for a moment, as if assessing the impact of the harsh word from her well-groomed lips. ‘As far as I was concerned it was a serious relationship. Dominic apparently thought differently. But he isn’t here to defend himself, so you have only my account of the liaison.’
‘Precisely. And it’s my opinion that you were very bitter when Dominic O’Connor chose to end it. He may well have known things about your husband’s death when you met last week, as you claimed. But I think you were also hoping to revive your affair when you met Dominic at the Grouse Inn last Thursday evening.’
‘I can’t prevent you thinking whatever you choose to think. It hardly matters, now that Dominic is also dead.’
‘He died within twenty-four hours of that meeting.’
Sarah O’Connor showed the first signs of strain she had allowed them to see. ‘You’re surely not suggesting that I had anything to do with that? Not the old “Hell hath no fury” cliché, for God’s sake. Don’t waste my time and yours!’
‘It’s a cliché because it is so often true, Mrs O’Connor. We’ve seen it operate many times. Where were you on Friday night, please?’
‘I’ve told you that before. I was here. My daughter Clare was with me during the day, but she went out in the evening.’
Peach looked at her steadily. ‘I’m giving you the opportunity to revise that statement, in the light of information we have now received.’
‘I have no wish to revise it. You can’t change the truth.’
‘And you’re still telling us that your car didn’t leave the garage on that night.’
‘I am.’
Peach glanced at Northcott, who said immediately, ‘Your car was seen at eight fifty-five on Friday night, Mrs O’Connor. It was reported as being less than a mile from Dominic O’Connor’s house at the time.’
‘There must be a mistake. Did your observer note the number of the car?’
‘A blue BMW Z4 was reported. It is a very distinctive motor car.’
‘Yes. That is one reason why I was attracted to it. Distinctive, but not unique. My car was safely garaged here on Friday night, DS Northcott. And now, unless you have any more relevant questions, I shall bid you good day.’
‘I think we should go to the Lake District. Have a long weekend together to celebrate our freedom. I’m a good walker, you know. You’d be surprised. You might think I’m a fragile little thing, but I can put on my boots and tackle the fells. You haven’t seen that side of me yet!’ Ros O’Connor stretched her slim legs out in front of her in the passenger seat of the car and inspected them.
‘I’m sure I will, my darling. And I can limp along with the best of them on the hills: it just takes me a little longer. But not yet. We don’t want to excite too much interest, do we?’ John Alderson tried not to look as nervous as he felt.
‘I don’t see why not. Let the old biddies gossip all they want! Give them something to occupy them, I say. Father Brice might not approve of the way we got together, but he’ll have to marry us in church, when we choose to ask him. I shall enjoy watching his face!’
John grinned. He would rather enjoy upsetting Father Brice and any other representatives of Holy Mother Church. But it was too soon for that. ‘We need to be confident the police have finished with us before we make any moves, don’t you think? And I was divorced, you know. It’s a long time ago, but the Catholics might not want me to have a church wedding.’
‘Oh, things have changed a lot in the last twenty years. I’m sure I’ll be able to square it. If Father Brice doesn’t cooperate, we’ll go over his head. Perhaps I should sound him out now, so that we know where we stand.’
‘I don’t think you should do that, Ros. Really I don’t. I want you to trust me on this.’ He took her hand in his and looked earnestly into the small, feline face, trying to still the round eyes which were so mobile. ‘We’ve nothing to lose by waiting. The police are anxious to make an arrest. If we excite their interest, they won’t leave us alone. And who knows, they might even decide that one of us killed Dominic, if they can’t get anyone else for it.’
‘Oh they wouldn’t do that, I’m sure. This is England, not Russia, you know.’ The blue-green eyes fastened on his, the small, humorous mouth creased into the winning smile he found so hard to resist. ‘I feel quite guilty. I’m glad Dominic’s dead and out of our way, you see, and I don’t really care who knows it.’
‘You mustn’t go round saying things like that. You really mustn’t.’
‘Only to you, my darling. Those thoughts aren’t for public consumption.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. But it’s better that you don’t voice them at all. Better that you don’t even think them.’
She took his hand. ‘You’re a cautious old thing, aren’t you? But I wouldn’t have it any other way. I wouldn’t change anything about you.’ She rubbed her small, chiselled features hard against his shoulder.
The sun was setting brilliantly over the sea twenty miles west. They were sitting in John Alderson’s car on Jeffrey Hill, high above the vale of Chipping, which looked at its serene best in the light of evening. He looked round, making sure they were unobserved, that they had the spot to themselves. Then he slid his arm round Ros’s shoulder and held her hard against him. ‘I wouldn’t change anything about you, either. Except maybe your impulsiveness. I’m just afraid you might get yourself into trouble if you celebrate our freedom too obviously. We live in an imperfect world, you know.’
‘You sounded almost like a priest when you said that, John. But you’re right, of course, you always are.’ She kissed his cheek softly, then looked at the long, soft shadow on the other side of the valley. The late spring night was stealing in slowly over a scene which had changed little in centuries.
Ros O’Connor allowed a small, silent giggle to shake her slim body, to show this was not a serious thought. ‘It wasn’t you who put Dominic out of our way, was it, John?’
FIFTEEN
Jean Parker surveyed herself in the mirror and decided she looked as composed as ever. That was the way a good PA should always look, and she was jealous of her reputation as a good PA. You should be like a swan moving serenely along, Dominic O’Connor had once said. However frantically your limbs were working beneath the surface of the water, you shouldn’t let the watchers see them.
It was strange that the image should come back to her now, when she was trying to put Dominic out of her mind. The police would be here again soon, though what they wanted to come back to her for she couldn’t imagine. The woman who’d arranged the time with her on the phone had refused to give her any details. No idea what it was about, that neutral voice had said. Jean had used the tone and the idea often enough herself to recognise that she wasn’t going to learn anything. She opened a sales file on her computer and busied herself solemnly with its details.
They came precisely at nine thirty, the time that impersonal voice had specified. The bouncy little man with the bald head and the tall black man, the same pair who’d come here on Monday. She wished obscurely that different officers had come. That would have made it seem more impersonal and more safely distant, as if they were starting again. She said breezily, ‘Here after more information? I’ll help in any way I can, of course. I suppose I’m not allowed to ask how the case is going?’
‘You’re allowed to ask. We might be more inclined to answer if you’d been frank with us four days ago.’ Peach’s refusal was calm but uncompromising.
‘I can’t think what you mean by that. I gave you all the information about Dominic O’Connor which I had available.’
‘Maybe you didn’t tell us lies. But you withheld certain facts. That can impede an investigation just as effectively as lies. You intended to deceive.’
‘I was frank with you. You have taken away my computer files which relate to Dominic’s business
dealings, as well as the contents of my filing cabinet. And I told you that he had conducted a series of affairs – I gave you whatever I could of his private life.’
‘But not of yours.’
The grey eyes hardened beneath the soft brown hair. ‘I am entitled to my privacy.’
‘I’m afraid that isn’t so. No one is entitled to privacy during a murder enquiry. Not if his or her private life has a bearing on the case. Whatever the rules say, that’s the way it works out.’
‘What I choose to do away from here has nothing to do with your case.’ She was trying desperately to keep calm; it was a long time since anyone had spoken to her so aggressively.
‘We need to be satisfied about that before we leave you to get on with your life. When you take a deliberate decision to conceal things, it excites the suspicion of cynical coppers like DS Northcott and me.
She suddenly hated this odious little man, with his immaculately creased trousers and his highly polished shoes and his confident, overbearing manner. Yet she was obscurely conscious that he might be delighted by that. If she lost her temper, she was likely to give him more than if she remained calm. ‘Perhaps you had better make yourself clear instead of speaking in riddles. What is it that I am supposed to have concealed?’
‘I think you know that perfectly well. I think you’re playing a little game with us. I should warn you that the stakes for you might be dangerously high. And also that you might endanger Mr Jacobs rather than help him by trying to conceal his involvement in this.’
‘I don’t understand. I specifically cited Brian Jacobs to you when you asked me if Dominic O’Connor had any enemies.’
‘You did. You prompted us to interview him. It was an interview for which he seemed well prepared.’
‘Brian is a very well organised man. I don’t see why he should apologise for that. It’s been an asset to him in his work for many years now. You need to be well organised, if you’re handling a company’s finances.’
