Joint Enterprise (The Romney and Marsh Files Book 3)

by Oliver Tidy

  ‘So this Vitriol hadn’t suggested his life might come under threat again?’

  ‘If you mean should we have offered him police protection, sir? No. I’m assured by Grimes that Vitriol gave no such indication and did not ask for protection. He was as mystified by the attack as anyone, apparently. And it’s not as though he is a visiting dignitary. And we can’t possibly be held responsible or culpable in any way for the fate that befell him at the hospital.’

  Falkner looked thoughtful. ‘I suppose you’re right, Tom. We don’t have crystal balls do we? And I’m sure that if knives are going to be drawn looking for backs to stab the hospital and those responsible for his care and security are way ahead of us in the line. What about the death at the castle? I gather you have suspects.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I got distracted yesterday from the interviews with the Vitriol business. I’m sure one of them will turn out to be our man, or all of them.’

  ‘DS Marsh is running that is she?’ Falkner didn’t sound too happy about that.

  ‘Only yesterday, sir, when I was called away. She’s acting under my specific instructions and we have liaised fully.’

  ‘So it was your decision to let them go?’

  ‘All except one, sir. He was too drunk to be interviewed and a night in the cells wasn’t going to hurt him. Besides, none of them were under arrest. I had hoped that a little informal chat with each might reveal something.’

  ‘Were you hoping for a confession?’ Falkner made it sound as unlikely as it probably was.

  ‘Not exactly, sir. In any case, we’re still waiting on forensic assessment for any actual evidence of their involvement. Once we’ve got that we can start charging them.’

  ‘And what if the guilty party decides to flee?’

  ‘Then we’ll know who the guilty party is, sir.’

  ‘You rode your luck with Carl Park, Tom. In retrospect we sailed very close to the operational wind with that one. Area weren’t watching our every move then. Remember what I said yesterday, Tom – by the book.’

  ‘Yes, sir. It would be a great help, I think, if the missing film were to be recovered.’

  ‘Yes. Bearing in mind the importance of that, not just to the victim of that crime, but also to further our own investigations into a suspicious death, I find your choice of officers investigating the theft, shall we say interesting?’

  ‘Actually, it’s more like Hobson’s choice, sir. Like I said, we’re spread thin and I must prioritise. Two murders take precedence over a theft.’

  ‘Of course they do, Tom, but still, Grimes and Spicer? You know what they call them don’t you?’

  ‘No, sir,’ lied Romney, surprised that Falkner did and feeling uncomfortable for it.

  ‘Never mind. I’ll say again, I can arrange reinforcements.’

  ‘If I think it’s necessary, sir, I’ll ask. I have faith in my team.’

  ‘Then on your head be it, Tom.’ Falkner said it with a half-smile, but Romney detected something deeper in the comment. ‘However, there is one other you’ll have to make room and a welcome for, I’m afraid.’ Romney waited. ‘The French authorities are sending a man over.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Same reason we would if a British national died on French soil, probably. Reports have to be made, people have to be accounted to. His family, at least, are going to want to know what happened to the poor man. Who’s going to do it if they don’t send someone?’

  *

  Romney did go out for his coffee and didn’t much care if Superintendent Falkner was back at the window looking down and disappointed.

  *

  ‘Sergeant Marsh.’

  ‘Morning, sir.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that common line they’ve all given us, the one about loving their history and that’s why they were there and all that crap. Must be something one of them dreamt up well in advance believing that if they got caught it would work for them. It’s actually not bad when the onus is on us to prove otherwise. They can then shrug off the violence as self-defence, or getting carried away with the spirit of the action. Difficult for us to prove too much, either way. And it might have worked if one of them hadn’t got a little too carried away. In fact, if there hadn’t been a death then no one would have been any the wiser about them and their little bit of fun would have remained just that.’

  ‘I agree, sir.’

  ‘And none of them could remember whose idea the whole thing was?’

  ‘That’s what they all said, sir. Very convenient for them, of course.’

  ‘Yes, well, they might start thinking a little more selfishly when we turn up at their doors and places of work with arrest warrants. Let’s just wait to see what forensics turn up. Chase them up would you. As soon as they know, I want to know. After we’ve interviewed the drunk we’ll go to visit the home of our late micro-celebrity. I’ll see you downstairs in fifteen minutes.’

  Romney stopped by Grimes’ desk. ‘What time are you two going back up to the castle?’

  ‘Any minute, gov. You want me to give Mr Crawford a message?’

  ‘Don’t tempt me.’ Romney glanced around to see if he could be overheard. ‘I’ve spoken to our leader. He’s keeping a keen eye on things. Understand? Remember what I said to you this morning: thorough, effective, fair, cooperative and above all everything by the book. And if you can get a quick result, I’ll buy you dinner.’ There was nothing like appealing to a man’s weakness. Grimes’ face lit up.

  *

  Romney took one look at the young man sitting opposite him and, despite his haggard appearance, said, ‘I know you, don’t I? Where have we met?’

  Jez Ray looked like shit and he felt it. It was obvious. ‘No idea. Look, I don’t feel so good. Do we have to do this now?’

  Romney made a show of exchanging a contrived look of utter astonishment with Marsh. ‘Do we have to do this now? Do you know why we are here, Mr Ray?’

  ‘The gig at the castle, I suppose.’

  ‘And why would you think that?’

  ‘Cos I phoned James at work yesterday and they said he’d been pulled. Then I phoned the others. Same story. I figured I must be on your list.’

  ‘So you went and got yourself drunk instead of turning yourself in to help us with our enquiries?’

  Jez Ray managed a bit of a smile. ‘Seemed like a good idea at the time. Not so sure now, though. I feel like crap. Anyway, you know what they say – a condemned man, last requests and all that. Are you allowed to keep me here against my will? I mean I haven’t been arrested or charged with anything have I?’

  ‘At the present time, Mr Ray, you are here voluntarily. You are not under arrest and you have not been charged.’

  ‘Really?’ Then he laughed and stood up. ‘In that case, I’m leaving. Pubs’ll be open soon. Life is short and all that?’

  ‘You don’t want to help us voluntarily, Mr Ray?’

  ‘No. I don’t.’

  ‘Something to hide then.’

  ‘Oh fucking hell, don’t start with all your mind games. I’m not in the mood. How do I get out of here?’

  ‘Suit yourself. Jez Ray, I’m arresting you on suspicion of causing the death of Paul Henry at Dover Castle on the thirteenth of this month. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

  ‘What, no pub?’ Romney shook his head. ‘Better get me a solicitor then.’ And he sat down again. ‘And a couple of aspirin would be good.’

  *

  ‘He didn’t seem surprised when you detailed the charge, sir. No shock at all. He didn’t say anything about it.’

  ‘Odd, eh? Do you think he heard me?’

  ‘I did. Clear as a bell.’

  ‘Well, it would be nice to think that he is our man, but he still seems pissed to me. We’ll give him some time.’

  ‘Where do you know him from then, sir?’


  ‘I have no idea and it’s really annoying me. Please don’t mention it again. Well, he can wait a bit longer. Cock. Let’s you and I go pay a visit to the late Mr Vitriol’s home. Grimes tells me he still lived with his mum if you can believe it. See if we can find something to suggest who might have wanted him dead so desperately that they would follow up a failed attempt so soon and in such a public place.’

  *

  Edy Vitriol had shared a maisonette with his aging mother on Maison Dieu Road. She answered the door to them in her dressing-gown even though they had called ahead to announce their intention to visit. In her hand she clutched a crumpled piece of cloth. Her eyes were puffy and red. She shuffled ahead of them in her slippers leading them through to a comfortable little sitting room.

  ‘I’d like to offer you our condolences for your loss, Mrs Vitriol. And apologise for bothering you at what I can see is a very difficult time, but in order to catch whoever did this to your son we’re probably going to need your help.’

  ‘I know, Inspector. I know. I’m sorry. I’m empty. He wasn’t a bad lad. He’d had his difficulties, but he never deserved this.’

  ‘What sort of difficulties?’

  ‘Oh, a long time ago. Things that he never recovered from. Things that played on his mind.’ She waved her frail hand as if brushing away the importance of what she had mentioned.

  ‘He’d recently had a book published, I understand,’ said Romney, looking to find something that might cheer the woman a little. She burst into tears.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Three years he’d been pursuing that dream – getting published. His book hasn’t been printed for more than a week. He was so happy. A changed man. I thought that maybe he’d be able to finally bury his demons. And someone had to do this awful thing. He wasn’t a bad man.’

  When she’d stemmed the flow somewhat, Romney said, ‘I have to ask, Mrs Vitriol, did he have any enemies that you know of? Is there anyone you suspect might have been involved in what happened to your son?’

  ‘No. No one. Edy kept himself to himself. He didn’t go out much. Didn’t have a close circle of friends. No girlfriend. I know that his book was considered a bit controversial, but why would anyone kill him over something like that. It was all about getting published. He was always stuck in his room writing.’

  ‘All right. Do you mind if we have a look around his room?’

  ‘No. I’ll not come in if you don’t mind. I can’t face it yet.’

  It was a good sized room. Lots of light from the picture window. A single bed was pushed into a corner, a few clothes were scattered around, but this was more a working space than a sleeping space. A large desk was cluttered with paperwork. A laptop sat open. A shelf of lever arch files. A display board was crammed with Post-it notes. Featuring prominently on the ceiling above the bed was a poster with a motivational message. The two officers craned their necks to read it. An image of a large tin can with the single word ‘SUCCESS’ painted on its side filled the middle of the poster. Above it was written: SUCCESS COMES IN CANS, and underneath it, BE A CAN. DON’T BE A CAN’T.

  ‘Easier said than done when you’re surrounded by can’ts most of the day,’ said Romney. His mispronunciation of the word from the poster left Marsh in no doubt regarding his meaning.

  ‘Thanks very much,’ she said.

  ‘Present company excepted, of course,’ said Romney, with a smile.

  An audio cassette case caught Romney’s eye placed as it was centrally on the desk. He picked it up and read out loud that it was a copy of the recording of a radio show Edy Vitriol had been on two days before at White Cliffs FM. ‘Made two days ago,’ he said. ‘One day before his first stabbing. Might tell us something.’ He slipped it into his pocket.

  ‘Look at these, sir,’ said Marsh. She had found a box of hardbacks of the newly published book. She handed one to Romney. ‘All Women Are Prostitutes’, she read. ‘The book that exposes the truth about how men and women really see each other.’

  ‘It’s an interesting concept, don’t you think?’ said Romney. Marsh glared at him. ‘Actually, he might have been on to something. Think she’ll mind if we take a couple away for background reading?’

  As a collector of first editions Romney was always interested in a book, especially a first edition, first impression, debut; especially a first edition, first impression, debut that was likely to have had a small print run and that had been signed by the author who had experienced a recent and untimely death, thereby making him newsworthy.

  ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking, sir?’

  ‘Yes. These could be worth big money if the critics receive it well.’

  ‘Sir!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That is not what I was thinking. Shame on you.’

  ‘Spare me, Sergeant. Go on then, what are you thinking?’

  ‘Never mind.’

  Romney had put the book to one side and was flicking through one of the lever arch files. ‘Nothing here.’ He put it back and fingered the board of Post-its. Then he pressed a button on the laptop. The home screen showed. ‘We should take this. Come on. I think we’re wasting our time.’

  On the way back to the station Romney received a call from the duty sergeant informing him that Jez Ray’s legal representation had arrived and was waiting for him.

  ***

  8

  ‘He’s just walked in, sir. One moment please.’ The officer who had had the misfortune to field the call put her hand over the mouthpiece and signalled to the DI. ‘Sorry, sir, a Mr Hugo Crawford on the phone for you, again. He’s rung twice already.’

  Romney allowed himself a little smile as he took the receiver from her. ‘Detective Inspector Romney speaking.’

  ‘This is Hugo Crawford, Inspector.’

  ‘Hello, Mr Crawford. I trust that the two detectives I’ve assigned to your missing film are making progress?’

  ‘Yes, indeed. They are absolutely marvellous. I have every confidence that they will be discovering who stole my film and making arrests very soon.’

  Romney was unable to contain his outright shock. ‘Really?’

  ‘No, not really,’ said Crawford in a scathing riposte, ‘and I can understand why you sound so surprised. Are they your idea of a joke, Inspector?’

  ‘I beg your pardon, Mr Crawford.’

  ‘That pair of buffoons you have assigned to my missing film. They do nothing but get in the way and ask stupid questions – questions that incidentally I’ve already supplied answers to, to you. If the fat one isn’t feeding his face at the catering van, he’s trying to lecture me on matters of historical authenticity. As far as I can tell they are doing nothing pro-active towards investigating the theft of my film.’

  ‘Detective Constable Grimes is only interested, Mr Crawford. It’s one of his things. I had hoped that his personal interest might have provided extra insight and empathy for you during the investigation. I’m truly sorry to hear that I got that wrong. You do know that he was one of your free soldiers?’

  ‘Do I know? He never stops going on about it. Listen, Inspector, I need that film recovered. We cannot stage the battle again. If I don’t have that film the project is going to be ruined. Do I need to remind you that my uncle is taking a keen interest in proceedings?’

  Romney ignored that. ‘They are good officers, Mr Crawford, and all that I can spare at the moment. You remember we do have a suspicious death to investigate and now another murder in the town. We are not a large force. But I’m confident they’ll get a result. Thanks for calling.’ Romney put the phone down feeling very good. Crawford was getting crabby and even if the police were doing nothing right they were also doing nothing wrong. They were doing their best.

  Before going down to interview Jez Ray, Romney went up to his office and very carefully slipped the two signed copies of Vitriol’s debut that he’d managed to persuade the bereft mother to part with into his desk drawer.

  Going back out to the squad room he saw Grime
s and Spicer walk in. Neither looked happy and Grimes looked unwell.

  ‘What are you two doing back here?’

  ‘Crawford asked if we could come back when they were less busy, gov,’ said Spicer. ‘Says we were in the way.’

  ‘Wish he’d make up his bloody mind. Does he want our help or not? We can’t do much for him from here,’ said Romney. To Grimes, he said, ‘What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘The shits, gov. Terrible stomach cramps. I think I’ve eaten something that’s not agreeing with me.’ And with that he clutched his voluminous stomach and trotted back out towards the toilets.

  Romney thought briefly of the out-of-date confectionary he’d supplied Grimes with that morning. ‘Listen to this while I’m downstairs interviewing, would you?’ he said, tossing the cassette tape to Spicer. ‘It’s a recording of that Vitriol on the radio. I want to know if there’s anything that could be relevant to our investigation into his death.’

  *

  Romney and Marsh sat across from Jez Ray and his court appointed solicitor. Romney hadn’t seen this one before. He looked young, which probably meant keen. He could, therefore, be a problem.

  ‘So, Mr Ray. You seemed a little confused this morning. Feeling any better?’

  ‘A bit.’

  ‘Good. Let me tell you what we know and then perhaps you can share what you know. How’s that sound?’

  ‘Awesome.’

  ‘Two days ago you, Mickey Price, Colin Mattock, James Andrews and Gavin Ireland decided to gatecrash the historical re-enactment at Dover castle. Yes?’

  ‘Actually, we decided last week, but that’s when we were there.’