by Oliver Tidy
Marsh said, ‘If she had been his psychiatrist for that long then presumably he told her just about everything that went on in his life.’
‘No,’ said Romney. ‘She didn’t have a clue about his porn-site.’
‘Right,’ said Marsh, dragging out the word, obviously still on a particular train of thought and not so easily derailed. ‘But I’m thinking more of his anxieties and concerns than his creative leanings. That’s what you see a psychiatrist for after all, isn’t it? To talk about your fears and problems. Who goes to a psychiatrist to talk about how great their life is?’
‘If the tax-payer is footing the bill, why not? Where are you going with this?’ said Romney.
‘Well, I would expect that if he had been feeling threatened, he’d have spoken to her about it. So, as he hadn’t said anything, he hadn’t felt threatened.’
‘That’s brilliant, Sarge,’ said Grimes.
‘So, because he hadn’t spoken to her about feeling threatened because he hadn’t been threatened then it lends weight to the idea that whoever attacked and killed him hadn’t been intent on it for long.’
‘Eh?’ said Grimes. ‘I’m confused.’
‘I see what you’re saying,’ said Spicer. ‘It makes sense providing that he would have told her for sure if he’d been threatened.’
‘I got the impression he would have,’ said Romney. ‘So it’s looking more like an attack inspired by something recent and carried out by a determined killer. I like it. It’s something. When I get back from the radio station, we’ll start on coordinating Edy’s movements over his last days. Thank you. How did it go up at the castle?’ He was looking at Marsh, not Grimes.
‘First off, when I spoke with Crawford, the film archivist, Ramsden, was in the marquee. I didn’t have to make sure he overheard our conversation. He was obviously intent on catching everything. I told Crawford we had traced the Animal Rights Enforcers and had carried out a search of the premises from which they operated out of. He listened, but I got the distinct impression he knew more than I did. I told him we’d not recovered the film. I asked him straight out if he’d heard anything or received a ransom demand for the return of the film. I think he might have lied to me then. He said he hadn’t.’
‘What makes you think he was lying?’
‘Because he wasn’t his usual forceful, blustering self. He didn’t bemoan our lack of progress or threaten to call his uncle, or complain about our incompetence. He just accepted what I said a little too philosophically and a little too easily.’
‘Interesting, but it doesn’t necessarily mean he knows any more than we do. We still have to be seen to be pursuing our enquiries, however limited they might be. We need to find out ourselves who raided that farmhouse.’ He looked towards Grimes. ‘Did you speak to your old mate Wilkie?’
‘I told you, gov, he’s not my mate,’ replied Grimes with a wounded expression. ‘I called on his office on the site, but that bloke Gerry told me he wasn’t there and he hadn’t seen him all day.’
‘Great so you had a wasted morning then?’
‘I wouldn’t say that, gov. They’ve got very good caterers up there. Awesome breakfasts. Eat as much as you like.’
‘I haven’t finished,’ said Marsh. ‘I managed to speak to Ramsden alone.’
‘Go on.’ said Romney.
‘He’s still wearing a bandage around his head. I asked him how his wound was. He said it was OK. Healing nicely. I told him I wanted to see it. He said that wasn’t possible. I told him he could show it to me there and then, or I was going to have him come down the station and see our doctor.’
‘Did you, now?’ said Romney, openly appreciating her style. ‘And what did he say to that?’
‘He didn’t have to say anything. I thought he was going to have a panic attack in front of me. Started hyperventilating and everything. When he’d got control of himself he begged me not to say anything. Said it would cost him his job and he’d probably be black-listed in the industry for his part in what had happened. You were right, sir. He’s an animal rights sympathiser. And guess who his sister is?’
‘Oh no. Jane Barnes.’
‘Got it in one. It was a family affair. Quite clever when you think about it.’
‘In theory, perhaps. Doesn’t look too clever now. It hasn’t turned out particularly well for them has it? So what were they intending to do with the film?’
‘He said they wanted to draw attention to how Crawford’s film could prove subsequently detrimental to animal welfare through the publicity generated by the sabotaging of the project.’
‘If he was so against it, what was he doing working on it?’
‘I asked him that. He said work was difficult to find at the moment. Apparently, it’s a lean time for the independent film-making industry. And he said that from the inside he thought that he could do some good for his furry friends.’
‘Hypocrite. They all sound like a bunch of fuck-ups to me,’ said Romney in a flash of genuine anger. ‘I’ve a good mind to drag him and his sister in for wasting police time and to hell with the consequences.’
‘With respect, sir, I don’t think that would be in our best interests. I made Ramsden understand I expect his help and the passing on of information he might become aware of regarding anything that might be relevant to our investigation.’
‘You think that he will?’
‘Oh yes. It was actually his suggestion. Don’t forget that the ARE have had time to wonder what whoever took the film from them wants it for and they’ve arrived at the same conclusion we have: if it wasn’t someone operating with Crawford’s connivance – and clearly it wasn’t because he hasn’t got it – then it must be someone who intends to benefit in some way from temporary ownership. And that has to be financially. There isn’t anything else. And his sister was assaulted after all. He might hear something. Better to have someone on the inside than just inside, if you know what I mean?’
‘Fair point. Well, that sort who was patching him up when we arrived must have been in on it too then,’ said Romney, with the air of a man who spends his life being perpetually disappointed by people. ‘What about you?’ he said to Spicer. ‘Find out who’s running a protection racket in the town?’
‘Sorry, gov. I’ve spoken to three relatively new businesses in the town and none of them said they’ve been threatened.’
‘What’s this about?’ said Marsh.
‘I was spoken to last night by the wife of the proprietor of the new Greek restaurant off the precinct. She said three men came to their place a few weeks ago and said they’d be back within the month for a thousand pounds if they wanted to continue trading. She won’t make an official complaint and neither will her fool of a husband. I said I’d ask around. I want us all to do that, all right? I just need a name that I can put a face to for now.’
‘Are they going to pay?’ said Marsh.
‘She said her husband would not, but that he intended to deal with it when the time came.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘Yes. Oh dear. If I can get a name that’s on record, I told her that I’d show her some pictures, and if she confirms it we can have a talk with him at least. What about that box of memories?’
‘Going to make a start now, gov,’ said Spicer.
‘Grimes can go through it with you and please remember you’re not doing it to have a trip down memory lane. There’s no need to waste time going over everything. You’re just looking for anything that might be relevant to his death. Just scan it and put it back. And if any of you have any bright ideas for a new line of enquiry with the murder I’d really be interested in hearing them. They’re going to be burying him soon and we are no nearer finding out who was responsible.’ To Marsh, he said, ‘Finish interviewing those Toms from the list as soon as you can. Make it a priority now.’
‘What box of memories?’ said Grimes.
‘He can explain it to you when we’ve finished here,’ said Romney, meaning Spicer.
Back in his office Romney telephoned the radio station to see if the talk show host from the Edy Vitriol tape was still there. He was. Romney told them he would be over to speak to him within the hour. He should be sure to be available.
*
‘Hello. You must be the policeman who rang earlier?’ Roy Parker was an impression of a man. He could have been the thinnest man Romney had ever met. In his fifties he was dressed like someone out of the sixties. He wore a belt with a big silver buckle which threatened to have him over with its weight. His thinning greying hair was pulled back from his head with a pink bunchy-band. He had a handkerchief tied around his neck and John Lennon glasses. He acted camp and he looked ridiculous and Romney took against him immediately. But he was friendly enough.
‘That’s right. I’d like to talk to you about the Edy Vitriol interview you hosted. You know he’s dead, I suppose?’
‘Of course. Very sad business. How do you think I can help?’
Romney saw then that the man was anxious at having to speak with the police and it made him wonder why? ‘We found a cassette of the interview you did with him at his home.’
‘Yeah. We always provide copies for our guests. It’s a courtesy.’
‘We’re still pursuing a number of lines of enquiry,’ lied Romney, ‘and as you were one of the last people to have spoken to him, I thought it might be worth having a word with you, see if he said anything you think could be important or useful to our investigation?’
Parker looked relieved. ‘Right,’ he said. He gave an idea of thinking then shook his head and said, ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t think of anything. He didn’t seem like a man worried for his life, or anything like that. A couple of the phone-calls he got in the phone-in afterwards were a little unpleasant, but no-one was threatening to murder him.’ Romney had known before he left the station that he was clutching at straws and that this visit was probably going to be a waste of time. ‘You should speak to Sue though.’
‘Sue?’ said Romney.
‘Sorry, Susan Sharp. She hosts our Ladies Hour programme. She was on the tape too.’ Romney nodded at the recollection. ‘She and Edy spent some time together after my show.’
Romney recognised it then – Roy Parker was a spiteful gay. ‘Is she here?’
‘You’re listening to her?’
Romney was back hanging around in reception waiting for Susan Sharp to finish her live Ladies Hour on White Cliffs FM. She only had ten minutes left of her slot and so he had decided to wait. In fact, after the performance she’d turned in on the cassette, he was rather looking forward to meeting her.
Susan Sharp unnerved Romney at first sight. She was the fourth woman he’d come across in as many days who he felt an instant sexual attraction for. In the time it took her to enter the room, smile and say hi, Romney found himself wondering if there was something wrong with him. More than likely, he quickly reasoned, this was simply a phase resulting from his lack of recent physical contact with the opposite sex. He was saved having to consider much more by the need to respond to the introduction and out-stretched hand of the woman. She sounded good and smelt better. Romney had a vague recollection of Edy Vitriol hinting on the tape that he’d be interested in getting to know her more intimately. Romney could understand why.
‘Roy says you’d like to speak to me about that ghastly Edy Vitriol. Sorry to speak ill of the dead and all that, but I for one don’t think that he’s a great loss to the human race.’
‘I listened to the recording made of his interview. I gathered as much,’ said Romney. ‘Roy said you spent some time with him after the interview.’
‘He did, did he?’ Romney understood there was no great affection between the White Cliffs FM hosts. ‘Sorry, yes I did. If you want to know the truth the odious little man seriously thought he might be in with a chance of bedding me. His arrogance was astonishing.’
Romney forced himself not to leer at her rather deep and exposed cleavage. Susan Sharp was endowed with a wonderful bosom. ‘In the course of your conversation with him, did he say anything that, given the events that have befallen him since, might seem more relevant than it otherwise would have done?’
‘Did he tell me that someone was trying to kill him, do you mean?’
Romney smiled just a little sheepishly. ‘Something like that.’
‘No. Nothing like that. He was cocky and confident. I suspect he might have even been high on something.’
‘Really? What makes you say that?’
‘His manner and his mannerisms. My ex-husband fell victim to a cocaine dependency. I know the signs.’ This brought a new dimension to things. Romney made a mental note to check with pathology whether any unusual substances were evident in the dead man’s system. If he was into drugs, then he’d be into a dealer. And that was a whole new can of worms. ‘Sorry that I can’t be more helpful,’ she said.
Romney smiled at her and said, ‘Maybe you have been.’
‘I’d like that. I’ll tell you something else I’d like. I think it would be a wonderful and fitting gesture if some wealthy and enlightened philanthropist could buy up the entire stock of that rogue’s ‘book’ and bury them all with him.’
‘I gathered you weren’t too enamoured with it.’
‘It was an affront, a disgrace to the art form of the printed word and Womankind. Now, I’m very sorry, but, if there is nothing else, I really do have an important previous engagement that I am already late for.’
‘Thank you for your time.’
‘My pleasure, Inspector. Can I give you my card. You might think of something else that you need to ask me. You’ll see it’s got my personal mobile number on it.’ The thick slash of bright red lipstick bent into a smile to reveal nice even teeth. She turned and walked away with her well-formed rear bouncing obediently after her. And the detective in Romney believed that her exit was calculated to leave an impression upon him. It had. And it was in danger of leaving an impression in his trousers.
*
Romney’s mobile trilled accusingly while he was sitting in his vehicle sniffing Susan Sharp’s business card. He could just detect the faintest hint of the fragrance she had been wearing. He jumped, dropped the card into the foot well and cursed. He fished out his phone and answered it.
‘Marsh here, sir. I’ve been trying to get hold of you for over an hour.’
‘No reception,’ he said, brushing something off the business card and slipping it into his jacket pocket. ‘What’s up?’
‘We’ve found something interesting in that box of Edy Vitriol’s.’
‘How interesting?’
‘Very.’
‘I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Don’t let Grimes near it.’
‘Actually, he found it.’
***
17
When Romney broke through the double doors of CID, Grimes, Spicer and Marsh were gathered around Spicer’s workstation on which stood Edy Vitriol’s cardboard box. Papers were strewn about the surface and a lively discussion was in progress. At least, thought Romney, they were able to work together. He couldn’t have imagined a similar scene with ex-DS Wilkie’s divisive presence polluting the environment.
‘What have we got then?’ he said, approaching the group.
A hush descended before Marsh said, ‘A connection between Paul Henry and Edy Vitriol.’
Romney was unable to conceal the full extent of the astonishment this news brought. This was quite obviously one of the last things he had expected to hear. ‘Is that it? A connection between the two dead men. I thought we had a breakthrough.’ He scowled.
‘We might have, sir,’ said Marsh.
Absently-mindedly, Romney perched on the edge of Spicer’s desk and then made a noise and stood up quickly. The three of them looked at him. He leant against the desk as though nothing was wrong. ‘Well, I’m waiting.’
Marsh continued to explain. ‘It’s more than a simple and tenuous connection. It’s something unusual, specific, solid and it might
just give us a suspect for the killer of Edy Vitriol.
‘We knew that Vitriol was one of those few directly implicated regarding culpability in the capsizing of the Herald of Joint Enterprise. What we didn’t know was that so was Paul Henry. He was a French seaman working on the car deck that night. The two men must have known each other.’
Romney’s brow knitted as he assimilated this new information. ‘Hang on. You’re not saying the two deaths are related are you? Jez Ray has already confessed to killing the Frenchman. You’re not going to tell me he didn’t kill him are you?’
‘No. What we’re suggesting is that maybe Jez Ray killed Edy Vitriol too.’
The group went very quiet. The three of them studied Romney’s face for his reaction to their theory and he returned the favour looking for signs of madness or that they were having fun with him.
‘I hope you have at least one good reason for saying that other than the fact that they were both involved in the tragedy?’ He wanted to hear it all before he passed judgement and moved on to his drugs angle.
‘Actually, we’ve got three, sir,’ said Marsh.
Grimes held up a list of names of all those who had perished in the maritime disaster. He pointed towards the end of the list that was in alphabetical order and read from the ‘Rs’, ‘Sarah Ray, aged twenty-six and Phillip Ray, aged twenty-eight.’
Spicer displayed a newspaper cutting from a twenty-five year old newspaper. There was a poorly reproduced photograph of a crying baby, wrapped in a blanket and being cradled by a policewoman. It was yellowed and torn around the edges. He read a short extract, ‘Two year old baby boy, Jez Ray, was the youngest survivor of Britain’s worst peacetime maritime disaster since the sinking of the Empress of Ireland in 1914. Both his parents perished in the capsizing of the Herald of Joint Enterprise off the Belgian port of Zeebrugge on the night of 6th March 1987, leaving him an orphan.’
Marsh provided Exhibit C, which Romney could see was a collection of handwritten letters. ‘These are all letters from Jez Ray to Edy Vitriol. They span nearly ten years. From his early to late teens. He mentions in several of them that one day he is going to kill him for what he did.’ She waited.
