by Iain Cameron
He needed to know more as he knew in his gut that it was wrong for a senior lecturer in a leading UK university to exploit his relationship with a girl in his tutelage for personal gain, but he was not sure what he was guilty of, if anything.
‘I can see where you’re coming from,’ King said after Henderson received an overview of CVU’s activities and briefed King on his dilemma. ‘You see, not only does our view of what constitutes pornography change over time, if you think back to what used to offend people in the 1900s and even the 1940s you’ll see what I mean, but it also varies between societies, religious groupings and even social groups.’ He stopped to drink from a Chelsea FC-emblazoned coffee mug.
‘To put this in simple terms, kissing in the street is not a crime in this country and nor should it be, but in many Muslim states, it is. Moving further up the scale to say, sex in a public place, which would warrant no more than a reprimand from a magistrate here in the UK and for the girl, probably the offer of a modelling contract from one of the red tops, but in the Middle East, parts of Africa such as the Sudan and countries in the Far East, they would be thrown in jail for a five-year stretch and God help the woman if she’s married.’
King was a large man with a booming voice. A Lancashire man, with a blunt way of speaking which Henderson found refreshing, as he wasn’t afraid to call a spade a spade and didn’t wallow in semantics or pad out a point with window dressing. However, the facade of the imposing and intimidating copper was slightly tarnished by a mop of grey hair and a bushy moustache, making him look more like a genial uncle or a Variety Club member that took disadvantaged kids to the seaside every summer.
‘So what you’re saying is that murder is murder wherever you go, but porn is defined by the morals of what is acceptable in each country.’
‘Precisely. Now, in your specific area of interest, a web site that is displaying the private parts of naked women and women having sex with men, or even with several men, it is not something we have the time or resources to monitor and on the advice of the CPS, not something they will prosecute. In any case, most of these web sites are American, Russian or Eastern European and so, even if there was a change in the law in the UK to make such activities illegal, users could still get their fix from thousands of foreign web sites and there would be little we could do about it.’
Henderson felt a wave of frustration come over him as he could see people like Lehman getting away with this scot-free. ‘That makes perfect sense but I can’t say I like it.’
‘I understand your annoyance, Inspector but also take this into consideration.’ He held up a large hand and counted with his fingers, ‘one, the action displayed in these pictures or videos, is between, in the main, consenting adults. Two, they are doing nothing different than what you would find in a million bedrooms across the UK. Three, it provides employment for many. In the US, according to some, it’s the second largest industry. Four, to many of the liberal left, it’s nothing more than harmless fun.’
‘What about it’s corrupting influence?’
‘Now there’s an interesting point,’ he said with such enthusiasm that Henderson was convinced, but for the smoking ban, he would be reaching into his pocket for a pipe. ‘There’s been a lot of research in this area although much of it is anecdotal, however it does suggest that it does change the attitudes of boys who watch it regularly, in that they expect their girlfriends to act, look and behave like porn stars, but I suspect that sort of discussion is way off your remit.’
Last night, Henderson took a look at Lehman’s web site, academic-babes.co.uk, in the sanctity of his flat and on his own computer, but only viewed it as a casual user and not a subscriber and didn’t know what additional pictures or services a monthly fee would entitle him to. He didn’t find pictures of Sarah but that didn’t mean her pictures weren’t once displayed there and had since been deleted, reducing the chances of the people running the site becoming involved in a police investigation, but many of the other girls he saw were obviously in the same age group as she was.
The legality of the web site aside, he knew activities like this tended to attract criminal elements, a sentiment echoed by Superintendent King, and if he could prove Sarah was killed as a result of her involvement in Lehman’s web site, he would nail the bastard with all the charges he could think of.
SIXTEEN
DS Walters opened the interview with basic housekeeping, in particular reminding Jon Lehman that his attendance at Sussex House was voluntarily as he was not under arrest. They could have seen him at his office at the university, but he would have been too comfortable there. The bland surroundings of the Interview Suite, located in a unit attached to the side of Sussex House, offered a modicum of institutional intimidation that was blithely ignored by their battle-scarred regulars, but Henderson hoped it would be enough to knock a smart, middle-class suspect like Jon Lehman sufficiently off-balance into making a mistake.
He was dressed in a fawn-coloured linen jacket which probably cost hundreds of pounds, but the crushed and wrinkled look, which Rachel would have called fashionable, looked as though he had been sleeping in it and the un-brushed mop of thick, black hair and three-day stubble only added to his crumpled and dishevelled appearance.
That aside, years of experience had taught him never to judge anyone, not even a suspect, by the cut, quality or labels on their clothes and he could recall dozens of examples of dishevelled drug dealers sitting where Lehman was sitting, who were worth millions or well-spoken city gents adorned in a Jermyn Street suit who were up on charges of embezzlement and facing bankruptcy. Only a few weeks ago, he was walking near the Lanes in the centre of Brighton when he saw a man in scruffy jeans and jacket walk into an up-market art gallery. Assuming he was selling something or asking for directions, he was surprised to see him emerge a few minutes later with a painting under his arm, which he put into the back seat of a brand-new Rolls Royce parked nearby.
Instead, he looked at the eyes. In Jon Lehman’s case, it was hard to tell as his eyes were watery and so he didn’t know if he was suffering from a malady, grief or the effects of alcohol or drugs. Corroborating evidence such as the bloodshot veins surrounding both pupils like spiders webs, clearly visible despite the large black-framed glasses, which were slightly tinted, suggesting to him it was booze. However, unlike most of the drunks he had come across, including his errant uncle William who would slur and get maudlin when drunk, Lehman spoke clearly and with authority.
‘I understand all of that Sergeant Walters. I want to do whatever I can to help you find Sarah’s killer.’
‘So, Mr Lehman,’ Henderson said. ‘What do you do at the university?’
‘I’m a senior lecturer in Business Studies. I teach on several undergraduate level and postgraduate level courses. Before you ask what that’s means, I lecture to students, answer their questions, mark their essays and complete the associated admin.’
‘Do you only work at the university? I know some lecturers and professors are on the boards of companies and health boards and such like.’
‘That’s quite right, Inspector. I serve on several Government steering committees, looking at a variety of issues affecting the business community and improving the transparency of company accounts. I’m also the author of five accountancy text books.’
‘Successful, or are they only read by your own students?’
‘No, my books are widely acclaimed and two are used as core texts in a number of well-known universities.’
‘What was your relationship with Sarah Robson?’ The sharp change in subject matter was designed to provoke a reaction but unfortunately it didn’t.
‘Sarah. Yes, what happened to Sarah was a tragedy, poor girl. She was one of my students, one of my best students, as a matter of fact. She was a very clever girl and did very well in her exams, if I remember rightly.’
‘How well did you know her?’
‘I guess I knew her the same as any other student, really. I’ve been tea
ching her for nearly two years and she was in many of my seminar groups, so you get to know them quite well in those situations.’
‘Did you single her out for special attention…?’
‘Inspector Henderson, I must protest at the personal nature of your question.’
‘…because she was so smart.’
‘Oh yes, I see what you mean, I apologise for my reaction. No, yes, well I suppose I did. She would always take a lead in some of the livelier discussions and naturally I would look to her when things were getting a little bogged down.’
‘Mr Lehman, I don’t think you’re being entirely frank with us.’
‘What do you mean? I’m not trying to hide anything I...’
He slapped his hand down on the table. ‘Don’t mess about with me sir, I haven’t got time or the patience. We know your relationship with Sarah Robson was something more than professional and in fact, I would say you enjoyed an intimate relationship with her.’
‘That’s an outrageous accusation. I have come here to this police station of my own volition to try and help you find Sarah’s killer and all I get is slandered by unscrupulous rumours.’
Henderson didn’t respond. The man’s porcelain edifice was crumbling, confidence leaching from him like an actor losing his place in the script or a comedian that couldn’t remember the punch line of a joke.
‘We have witnesses,’ he said slowly, ‘who saw you and Sarah kissing at Steven Ormerod’s party in Hove last November and again, during a Christmas party at Sarah’s flat in Milton Road. Need I go on Mr Lehman? I have a long list of incidents here.’
He slumped over the table, head in hands. He mumbled something, which neither he nor Walters could make out.
‘I’m sorry Mr Lehman,’ Walters said. ‘Could you repeat what you just said, we couldn’t hear you.’
‘I think I need a lawyer.’
‘You don’t need a lawyer. You are not under arrest and are free to go whenever you choose.’
He sat up, relief etched on his face like a child realising his bad behaviour wasn’t a problem and the scrawl on the wall hadn’t been noticed.
‘Before you think of going anywhere,’ Henderson said firmly, ‘I need answers to some questions and I won’t stop until I get them. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes,’ he said quietly.
‘Now tell us about your relationship with Sarah.’
He took a sip from the cup of water beside him and spoke quietly. ‘It all started so innocently as she was often in the same social circle as me, in one of the bars at the university or in one of the coffee lounges, and then one night at a lecturer’s party, some students were hired to serve drinks and canapés and we started talking. I gave her a lift home and well, it all began there. From November last year, we went out together whenever our circumstances would allow and that carried on until February.’
‘You’re married, I understand,’ Walters said.
‘Yes, but what’s that got to do with it?’
‘Was it difficult to hide this relationship from your wife?’
‘No, not really, you see, our marriage is a bit more open than most.’
‘So why did you and Sarah split up in February?’ he asked.
‘She told me she now wanted to go out with boys her own age and her friends were beginning to accuse her of currying favour with the academic staff, but they seemed to forget she was bright and didn’t need my help and I didn’t give it.’
‘Did any of your colleagues know or find out?’
‘It’s not so usual for relationships of this nature to start between lecturers and students. Universities are a fertile breeding ground, believe me.’
‘Is it not frowned upon by the university authorities?’ Walters asked.
‘Thinking of blackmailing me Sergeant?’ He said smirking. ‘Yes, it is, but it’s not a sacking offence by any means. We are warned against it in a paternal sort of way, for our own benefit and to avoid litigation, that sort of thing.’
‘So where were you on the night Sarah was murdered?’
Lehman sat back and ran his hand through his mop of foppish, untidy hair. In Henderson’s opinion, a comb would have been a better choice. ‘Where was I on Thursday 7th March? I don’t remember too much about what I did that day or the whole weekend come to think about it, but that date will be forever ingrained in my heart.’ Tears welled in eyes and they paused the interview for a few minutes to allow him to regain his composure.
‘I was in the bar at the university until twelve and then I went to a party at Fay Vincent’s flat in Hangleton and stayed there until four. The weekend starts on a Thursday for most students, in case you’re wondering.’
‘What if I was to suggest to you that as someone who was jilted by Sarah Robson, you had a good reason to murder her,’ Henderson said.
‘There is no way I would have killed Sarah,’ he said quietly, ‘I loved her.’ He bowed his head, sobbing.
‘I think this is a good place to stop and get some coffee. Don’t you think Sergeant Walters?’
They left Lehman to his thoughts and headed out of the room and towards the coffee machine at the end of the corridor.
‘The atmosphere was getting a bit heavy in there,’ Walters said.
‘Yeah, I needed a break. There’s no point in bringing up more serious stuff if he’s an emotional wreck.’
Walters fished out the first cup. ‘I’ve seen dirty dishwater look better than what’s in there.’ She took a sip and winced. ‘Bloody awful, as usual. You know, just the other day I fancied a drink and went up to the machine on the second floor but the vending guy was there. When he finished cleaning, he opened a catering-sized tub of Nescafe coffee and he let me take a sniff. Amazingly, it looks and smells like instant coffee, so something must happen when it gets inside that machine to turn it into the tasteless crap we have here, but I can’t explain it.’
‘It’s good to know the machines are cleaned.’
‘What do you think of Lehman?’ she said as they turned and walked slowly back to the interview room. ‘I don’t think he killed her.’
‘What makes you say that? He’s only been in the chair fifteen minutes and already I can see both motive and opportunity.’
‘He doesn’t seem the type, he’s too, I dunno, mild mannered and if you remember, I mean how could you forget, Sarah’s murderer was nothing short of brutal. I always imagined the killer to be someone bigger and more aggressive. Not to mention he said he loved her and I don’t think he was putting that on.’
‘I haven’t made my mind up about him yet although I think you’re right about the second bit, but don’t forget love can be a strong motive too.’ He paused, thinking. ‘So, we’ve got two suspects. One is Mike Ferris but you don’t think it was him because he told us where the body was, and the other is Jon Lehman but you don’t think it was him either, because he was in love with her. We’re running out of suspects here.’
‘Well, you did say this case wasn’t going to be easy.’
They re-entered the interview room where Lehman was looking composed and thanked them for bringing him a coffee, although that was before he tasted it.
‘So Mr Lehman, if you didn’t kill Sarah, who do you think did?’
‘I have no idea. She was such a sweet girl with no enemies that I can think of.’
‘What about some of the shady characters you work with on that porn web site of yours? Could they have done it?’
‘What?’ he said looking shocked. ‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’
‘Mr Lehman, you lied to us about Sarah, but don’t compound my low opinion of you as a truthful witness. I’ve seen it, other people have seen it,’ he said raising his voice, ‘pictures of Sarah with her kit off, pictures of Sarah with her legs open…’ In truth he hadn’t seen them but he was inviting Lehman to contradict him.
‘Stop it! Stop!’ He said. His head dropped to the table, his hands cupping his ears. ‘I don’t want to hear it.’
‘You’ll hear it all right.’ Henderson said. ‘You exploited her, like you’ve been exploiting girls at the university for years!’
‘No. No. No. That’s just lies, all lies!’ Lehman jerked his head up, his face streaked with tears. ‘They are not exploited; they do it willingly, for money and good money to boot. In any case, Stark says we are doing nothing illegal.’
‘It might not be bloody illegal,’ Walters said, ‘but it wouldn’t go down well with parents when they find out the man they trusted with the education of their children was running a porn site that was featuring their daughters.’
‘Sneer all you like but we’re doing nothing wrong.’
‘Who’s we?’ asked Henderson.
‘We? I meant me.’
‘No, you bloody didn’t. You’re in partnership with other people. You mentioned Stark. C’mon Mr Lehman, if you are doing nothing wrong you can tell me their names.’
‘No, I won’t. I can’t.’
‘Look mate,’ he said. ‘I can get their names from other sources much easier than you think but it will take time and let me remind you, this is a murder investigation and time is something I don’t have a lot of. If I have a mind to, I’ll keep you here until you tell me.’
The word ‘murder’ seemed to have a greater effect on him than the threat to keep him in a police interview room for several hours. He looked down at the desk and muttered, ‘Alan Stark.’
‘Who’s he?’
‘He’s a law professor at the university.’
‘What’s his involvement?’
‘Same as me, a fellow investor.’
‘And?’
‘A man called Dominic Green. He’s...’
‘Oh, I know who he is,’ he said, ‘everyone in this building knows him: slum landlord, drug dealer and now a successful property developer. Accused of extortion, bribery, assault and murder but never convicted as something untoward usually happens to one of the witnesses. That slime ball needs no introduction.’
