Looking at the distraught man in front of him, Paolo knew he wouldn’t report his misuse of the telephone system, but he couldn’t allow it to continue either. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.
“Arbnor, here’s twenty pounds. I want you to go and get a pay as you go card that allows cheap overseas call rates. Until your daughter is well again, come to me each time the credit is getting low. I’ll fund your phone calls until Besjana is on her feet again. Okay?”
Tears filled Arbnor’s eyes as he reached out to take the money. “You are a good man. A very good man. I can never thank you enough.”
“You could say thank you by telling me who drowned Derrick Walden,” Paolo said.
“But I don’t know!” Arbnor replied, a hunted look on his face.
Paolo smiled. “I know. I was being flippant.” Seeing a look of confusion on Arbnor’s face, Paolo explained what flippant meant. “I wish someone did know something though. We’ve come to a dead-end with that enquiry.”
“Then why not ask Mr Fletcher Simpson?”
Paolo thought he’d misheard, but Arbnor looked serious and repeated the name when asked.
“Why would I ask him?”
“Because he was here earlier that day. I could hear through the wall, he was having a big, big argument with Derrick.”
“What about?” Paolo said, sitting forward.
Arbnor shook his head. “I don’t know. I tried not to listen, but Mr Simpson was very angry. When the argument went on for a long time, I became very embarrassed and went to do my rounds.”
Paolo stood up. “Thank you, Arbnor. You’ve been very helpful. Don’t forget, when you need more credit for the phone, come to me. Don’t use the phones here.”
“Thank you. I am sorry I let you down.”
Paolo grinned. “Just don’t do it again. Come on, Jack. We’ve got another visit to make.”
As they left the youth centre, Paolo saw Clementine was still outside. He tried to make it to the car unobserved, but she looked up and spotted him. As she tottered across, Paolo was already formulating what he needed to say, so spoke before she had chance to.
“Miss Towers, I’m really sorry, but I have to rush to interview someone. Really, it’s better if you call the station and speak to someone there.”
“But, it’s important. I have to speak to you about the licentious behaviour I’ve observed.”
“Call the station. Someone there will attend to your concerns,” he said, getting into the car and barely waiting for Jack to fasten his seatbelt before pulling away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
During the drive to Fletcher Simpson’s office, Paolo was struck by the difference in Jack’s attitude. From being fawning and over anxious to please, he was silent and almost surly in his only response when addressed. Paolo decided he preferred the silent sulk to the effusive toadying, but wondered what had caused the change in him.
As he pulled into the car park, Jack had the car door open before Paolo had brought the car to a stop.
“Have you got a problem with something, Jack?”
“Well, since you’ve asked, yes. You let that man get away with running up international call charges and then rewarded him by giving him money to get a prepaid phone!”
Paolo smiled. “Did you not listen to his story? His little girl is seriously ill and he sends all his money home. I know what he did was wrong, but I’ll pay the phone charges at the centre so that no one loses out by it.”
“Why? What’s Arbnor to you?”
Paolo shook his head. “He’s a fellow human being in difficulties. Isn’t that enough?”
Jack shrugged. “He could always go back to Albania if he needed to be close to his family.”
“Where there’s no work for people like him? Like you, I have a good job and a roof over my head. I happen to know Arbnor is dossing down on the floor with half a dozen others who are doing all they can to look after their families back home.” Paolo paused for breath, determined to calm down before he began yelling. In a more measured tone, he continued, “I can afford to be generous. It’s only a few quid. Come on, we’re not going to see eye to eye on this, so let’s put it to one side.”
And please, God, thought Paolo, don’t let me put myself in the position of having to take Jack out with me ever again!
By the time they were standing next to the waterfall wall, Paolo had his temper back under control. He shouldn’t have lost it with Jack as he did, but the man would try the patience of a… Paolo laughed inwardly. No way was he a saint. Determined to make amends, he pointed to the waterfall feature as it began to slide across.
“Pretty spectacular, isn’t it.”
Jack nodded, but didn’t speak. Oh well, Paolo thought, at least I tried. When the same woman appeared who’d helped Paolo and Dave on the previous visit, he smiled and asked to speak to Fletcher Simpson.
“I’ll just call up and ask him if he has any time free, but I think he has meetings all afternoon.”
Paolo smiled. “Perhaps you could let him know it is in connection with a murder enquiry and I’m prepared to stay here until he can spare me a few minutes.”
He watched the woman’s eyes grow large at the words murder enquiry. She hurried back to her sanctuary on the far side of the waterfall and picked up the phone. Paolo couldn’t hear the words, but from her body language he could tell she had first been told to tell them to come back at some other time and then she must have repeated Paolo’s words, because she listened, nodded and put the phone down. By the smile on her face, Paolo knew what she was going to say before she got the words out.
“Mr Simpson can spare you a few minutes if you would like to go up,” she said.
When they reached the top of the stairs, Fletcher Simpson was already waiting for them.
“Come into the boardroom,” he said. “I’m expecting visitors at any moment and I’m not sure how they would react to having police in my office when they arrived.”
He held the door open for Paolo and Jack to pass through and then closed it.
“Now,” he said. “What’s all this nonsense about helping you with a murder enquiry? I don’t know any murder victims and I certainly don’t know any murderers.”
Paolo pulled out a chair from the polished mahogany boardroom table and sat down before answering.
“But you do know a murder victim, Fletcher. You know, or rather knew, Derrick Walden.”
Paolo had expected Fletcher to deny knowledge of the dead man, but that wasn’t what happened. To his amazement, Simpson laughed.
“You find his murder amusing?”
“Not that, no. What I find amusing is you trying to turn a suicide into a murder. The papers have only reported it as a suicide.”
“Do you still believe everything you read in the press, Fletcher? And you the owner of one of our very own gutter rags that couldn’t print the truth even by accident?”
Fletcher’s smile slipped just enough to let Paolo know he’d scored a hit.
“We deliberately allowed the press to think it was an accident. The fact that it was reported as a suicide was something over which we had no control. However, there is no doubt in my mind, Derrick Walden was murdered.”
A wary look settled on Fletcher’s face. “And you’ve come to me about this why?”
Paolo put his arms on the polished wood and leaned forward. “Because, it seems you might have been one of the last people to see him alive. Would you like to tell us about your trip to the youth centre where you were heard arguing with Derrick Walden? While you’re at it, you can also tell me why Derrick came here to your office.”
“But he didn’t!”
“You’ll have to try better than that, Fletcher. I saw him leaving here. It was on the news footage the night that Clementine Towers held her protest out the front.”
“If he was here, and I’m sure you wouldn’t lie about it, I certainly didn’t see him. Hold on a moment, I’ll ask the girls downstairs.”
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He picked up his phone and pressed a few buttons. After a brief chat, he ended the call.
“It seems someone did come here on that night, demanding to see me, but he didn’t leave his name. Judging from the description I’ve just been given, it was Derrick Walden. As you’ve no doubt realised by now, if someone arrives without an appointment, they don’t get to see me. Present company not included in that restriction, of course.”
“If you didn’t meet with Derrick here, why did you go to the youth centre to see him?”
“Because he somehow got hold of my direct line number. I have no idea how. He insisted I went to see him.”
Paolo felt like shaking the man. “For the Lord’s sake, spit it out, Fletcher. What did you and Derrick Walden argue about?”
For the first time since they’d sat down, Fletcher looked uncomfortable.
“I should have told you before. God knows, I’ve come close enough times, but, well, I’m not exactly proud of what I did.”
An inkling of the truth entered Paolo’s mind, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it.
“Don’t tell me it was you with the lipstick?”
Fletcher nodded. “I told you the truth about why I was at the centre. I’d gone there to see how the funding I’d hoped would come to the canal restoration project had been wasted. There was no one around in the main hall, but I saw everything set up for the big unveiling.” He sighed. “I went over to the plaque and lifted the cover to see what had been engraved. I swear to you, I had no thoughts of vandalism in my mind, but when I stepped back, I nearly fell when my foot slipped on something. I looked down and there was the lipstick. I have no idea what came over me, but I lifted the cover again and scrawled the accusation.”
Paolo was amazed at what he was being told, but knew Simpson was telling the truth.
“Why did you use those words?” Paolo asked.
Simpson shrugged. “I’d heard rumours about the youth centre funds being misused.”
“And yet you didn’t report that to the police or print it in your paper? I find that hard to believe.”
Simpson smiled. “Contrary to what you think, we don’t actually print accusations without proof to back them up.”
“Fair enough,” Paolo said, hoping his voice betrayed his scepticism. “Why did you spell the words as you did?”
“Why do you think? To make it look as if one of the yobs hanging round the place had done it. Then I left. As far as I know, no one saw me do it.”
“Apart from Derrick Walden?” Paolo asked.
Fletcher shook his head. “No, he didn’t see me. I passed him as I was leaving. When the plaque was unveiled he put two and two together. I think he believed he could bleed me for a few thousand, but I had no intention of allowing that to happen. Blackmailers never stop.”
“So you killed him?” Jack said.
Paolo jumped. He’d been so taken up with Fletcher’s story that he’d forgotten Jack was even there. No, he didn’t think Jack was right, but he wanted to see what Fletcher had to say.
“Don’t be ridiculous! Kill a man over something so stupid? I might be made to look a fool, but it’s hardly on a par with what I hear Montague was getting up to.”
“And how would you know what he’d been doing?” Paolo asked.
Fletcher laughed. “My gutter rag newspaper, as you called it. We have ways of finding out things in the public interest.”
“You mean things the public are interested in,” Paolo said. “There is a big difference between the two. Let’s get back to your altercation with Derrick. You went to the centre, as asked. Why, if you had no intention of paying up?”
“I wanted him to see my face when I told him to go to the police. I wanted him to realise I meant what I said. You can’t tell when someone is sincere over the phone.” He stood up. “I’ll face the public humiliation of my idiotic act. It was stupid and childish. I’ll hold my hand up to that. You can charge me with vandalism, but you sure as hell can’t pin a murder charge on me. That man was alive and well when I left the youth centre.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The following morning, Paolo sat at his desk staring into space. The early edition of Simpson’s rag was spread over his desk with the headline proclaiming My Moment of Madness! Fletcher had taken the opportunity to turn his confession into an attack on the youth centre, making it seem as if he’d deliberately cast suspicion on Montague Mason for no other reason than to make the public aware of how their money had been misused. The following paragraphs all dealt with the benefit to the town which would come as a result of the canal renovations.
Paolo felt like punching something. He’d gone to Fletcher Simpson’s believing he was on the right track, but from the moment Fletcher had begun his tale, Paolo had seen there was no way he would have murdered Derrick Walden to keep the matter quiet. It just wasn’t a big enough deal to kill over. As was proved by today’s newspaper spread.
If it wasn’t Fletcher Simpson and it wasn’t Arbnor, who did that leave? It could have been Chaz, or even George Baron, as both of them were seen outside the centre that night, but what possible connection could there be between the two clubmen and the swimming coach? They were all originally from London. Is that where the answer would be found? It was possible, but Paolo had a strong feeling the reasons were closer to home.
Paolo knew he was missing something. Derrick and George appeared not to be connected, but he felt sure they were, even if the connection was tenuous. He was almost certain something he’d seen or heard recently to do with George Baron would help solve the mystery of Derrick Walden’s murder, if he could only grasp it. Why did he have a feeling it was to do with George Baron’s autopsy? What had been said there that he should have paid more attention to? There was definitely a clue hiding in the recesses of his mind. He closed his eyes and tried to tease it out.
A tap on his door stopped the thoughts from swirling to the surface. It didn’t matter. Now that he knew there was something to recall, he would find it.
He looked up to find CC standing in the doorway.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir,” she said, entering the room and closing the door behind her. “I could see you were deep in thought, but you asked me to dig deeper to try to find a connection between the known victims, plus the one we believe Colin Jameson was mistaken for.”
Paolo pointed to the chairs in front of his desk.
“Take a seat, CC.” He waited until she’d settled herself and opened a file on the desk. “So, I take it you’ve found a definite connection?”
She sighed. “It appears so. All three of them have been arrested in connection with rape. The first one, Jason Corbett, who we’ve now positively identified as the coma patient, was released without charge. The second, Glen Scott, who you discovered killed himself, was also arrested and released without charge. That’s why those two didn’t show up immediately on our system when I first ran a search. The third on the list, Brent Harrison, the one we think was the true target when poor Colin Jameson was taken, did go to trial but the case against him collapsed. His barrister was able to convince the jury that the rapist–”
“Alleged rapist,” Paolo interrupted. “If the trial collapsed, he was never convicted.”
CC looked as though her mouth was full of lemon juice. “As you say, sir, alleged rapist… You know, sir, I read the trial transcript, it’s pretty obvious he was as guilty as hell. He kept the poor woman trapped in her home for over twenty-four hours. He admitted being with her for that length of time, but claimed she had invited him in after a date and they had a consensual relationship. He even said in court he didn’t hold a grudge and was looking forward to seeing her again! How’s that for a veiled threat? The victim wasn’t in court that day, but members of her family were. You can be certain the message was passed on.”
Paolo could see by the way CC was flexing her hands that she would like to offer up a few threats of her own. He’d be prepared to put money on the o
utcome if she ever followed through on it.
“Calm down, CC. Justice stinks at times, but we have to roll with whatever happens. Why did the trial collapse?”
“Two reasons, sir. His confession wasn’t considered valid evidence. He’d boasted about what he’d done to the victim before the arresting officer had time to read him his rights. As soon as his rights had been read, he changed his tune completely. The bastard claimed he was innocent and the woman had enticed him from a nightclub with promises of a good time and only screamed rape when she realised he wasn’t up for a long-term relationship.”
Paolo sighed. He’d heard that tune played too many times. Sometimes the rapists even sounded as if they actually believed the crap they were spouting.
“You said two reasons. What was the other one?”
“Witnesses from the club said she left with him of her own free will, leaning against him, which she might well have done if her drink had been laced with Rohypnol.”
“So, another rapist walked free.”
CC gave a half smile. “Alleged rapist, sir.”
“Yes, thank you for the reminder,” Paolo said, returning her smile. “Do we know what happened to the victim afterwards?”
CC nodded. “I did a bit of digging. She had a nervous breakdown. Spent a few months in psychiatric care and then moved away. I’ve spoken to her mother, who is understandably angry about the whole affair. She says her daughter is a complete wreck. Can’t sleep at nights, jumps at the slightest sound, can’t work, has lost all her friends. I asked where she was living now and was told in no uncertain terms it was none of my business.”
“Poor woman,” Paolo said.
“The mother or the daughter, sir?”
“Both, but I was referring to the daughter. Any other information that might be of use to us?”
Looking For A Reason (#4 - D.I. Paolo Storey Crime Series) Page 22
