‘I’d hardly call it dabbling,’ I said, ‘if you used one of those.’
He smiled with pride and agreed that he had been quite keen.
‘I’ve never seen one before,’ I admitted, adding: ‘Neil Armstrong left one on the moon, you know.’
‘Too heavy to bring back, Inspector,’ Kingston replied. ‘The cost was negligible compared with the rocks that replaced it. A cool million dollars an ounce, they said, to transport anything there and back.’
We parted like old mates and I strolled off down the drive. I had a moment of panic when I remembered the gates, but they’d opened them for me.
He was a liar, I was sure of that. He’d recognised the three names I’d mentioned. Salesmen are supposed to be suckers for a so-called bargain, and it looked as if something similar applied to psychologists. I’d been right not to forewarn him of my visit. That would have given him time to rehearse his answers and his body language. Taken off guard, he scored none out of ten.
I’d enjoyed the Carlos Castaneda books. The main character is a Mexican sorcerer who does wonderful things while blasted out of his mind on peyote. They’re full of wisdom and insights, but otherwise total claptrap. Mind you, I really do look for that special spot, what he called a place of power, before I sit down to eat my sandwiches.
I went back to Kendal nick to give an informal report to my opposite number, in case I needed any favours from him, and drove back to Heckley. The meeting was over when I arrived, but Sparky was still hanging around. I was writing my thoughts down when he came in with two mugs of tea.
‘He sounds a right charmer,’ he concluded after I’d told him all about it.
‘He is. What happened here? Anything I need to know?’
‘Just one small item. There’s nothing new on the burglaries, so you can forget about them. Except, of course, that it’s a month since the last one, so they’re due again. Jeff’s alerted everyone. Graham rang, from London. He said that the FBI have located Melissa, and we can have her any time we want. Apparently she’s over there on a non-immigrant visa, and has overstayed her welcome by several years.’
‘That’s useful to know. Have they talked to her?’
‘No, and they won’t unless we ask them. She’s living in a trailer park just outside a town called Oak Ridge, in Tennessee. Graham thinks he should go over to have a word with her.’
‘That might be a good idea,’ I said. ‘Do you fancy going with him?’
He shook his head. ‘Nah, let him have all the glory.’
We pushed our chairs back. I put my feet on the desk and Dave balanced his on the edge of the waste-paper bin. ‘First drink I’ve had since the one this morning,’ I said.
He looked at me and told me: ‘You’ll be giving yourself an ulcer.’
‘Through not drinking tea?’
‘Through not eating regularly; not looking after yourself. What are you doing this weekend?’
‘Haven’t thought about it,’ I replied. ‘Do some catching up. Sleep, cleaning, gardening and the car, for starters.’
‘Do you fancy going off somewhere?’
‘No. I’ve too much to do.’
After a long silence he said: ‘You still miss her, don’t you?’
I put my mug down and replied: ‘Who, Annabelle?’ in my best see-if-I-care voice. She dumped me three months ago, after five years, and yes, I did miss her. Like a bird would miss its wings.
‘Mmm.’
‘I suppose so. Does it show?’
‘Yep. You’ve become a miserable sod.’
‘I’m sorry. I thought I’d covered it up fairly well.’
‘I’ve known you a long time.’
That’s true.’
He finished his tea and said: ‘How about having a day’s fishing some time. It’s years since we’ve been.’
‘You mean, like, there’s plenty of fish in the sea? Is that it?’
‘I didn’t say that,’ he protested, grinning.
‘But that was the train of thought. I’d have socked you if you had.’
‘Bridlington, next weekend. We could take Nigel. We could all go.’
I nodded my approval. ‘It might be fun,’ I replied. ‘We could bring a cod back for Gilbert, show him a proper fish.’
We talked about the case for half an hour and went home. We had lots of hearsay evidence but nothing substantial. Nothing forensic that would link Kingston with the fires or even with Melissa. If he denied ever knowing her there was little we could do to show otherwise. Witnesses might identify him as Rodger Wakefield, but in isolation that was worthless. In the absence of a rock-solid link we would have to build up a formidable amount of circumstantial evidence to show he was the man who did Fox’s dirty work. We might not be able to pin anything on Fox himself, but we’d disgrace him. We’d have to settle for that, but it was going to be a long haul. I decided that a talk with Mr Big himself might be a good idea.
Three o’clock in the morning; the thunder and lightning woke me. I dozed until eight and had a leisurely breakfast while watching the rain flatten the peonies in the garden. At nine I strode into the police station to see what the mailman had brought.
‘It’ll wash the cricket out,’ the desk sergeant grumbled after I’d said my good morning.
‘Well, paint a door and watch it dry,’ I suggested.
I read the night ‘tec’s report and the mail, but there was nothing worthwhile. I tried the SFO, to have a word with Graham about going to America, but they don’t work weekends. I didn’t bother with his home number. At ten I rang Janet Holmes in York.
‘It’s Charlie Priest, Mrs Holmes,’ I began. ‘Inspector Priest. I came to see you on Wednesday.’
‘Hello, Mr Priest,’ she answered, sounding quite pleased. ‘This is a surprise. Was there something else you wanted to know?’
How about dinner one evening, for a start, I thought, but I decided not to rush it. ‘Not exactly,’ I told her, ‘but on Thursday I was speaking to a friend of yours. Mo Dlamini. He asked me to give you his number.’
‘Mo? That’s wonderful. I’ll write it down.’
I dictated the number then told her that we’d have to hold on to the photographs she’d loaned us, but I could send her copies if she was worried about losing them.
‘Oh, keep them, Inspector,’ she said. ‘I’ve had to let go of a lot more than a few old snapshots lately. I, er, would like to know what happens, though. I don’t suppose you’re allowed to discuss it with a civilian, are you?’
‘Not on the telephone,’ I replied, smiling to myself. ‘And not until after it’s been to court, which could take years.’
‘Oh, what a pity,’ she replied.
‘On the other hand,’ I said, ‘I’ve been on lots of other cases which have been to court and I’m perfectly free to discuss.’
‘What are you trying to say, Inspector?’ she asked, with a laugh in her voice.
‘I’m trying to say, Mrs Holmes,’ I began, ‘that we are both grown up and on our own, and I would like to take you out to dinner one evening, if you’d be so kind as to accompany me.’
‘I’d be delighted. You’re very kind. Does your sergeant go everywhere with you?’
‘Er, no, not everywhere. In fact, I wasn’t thinking of bringing him along. Do you mind?’
‘Not at all, Inspector. I’m afraid there is one small snag, though.’
There always is. Usually it weighs seventeen stone and plays rugby union. I invited her to tell me all about him.
‘On Monday I’m going to Greece for two weeks. Nothing exciting, I’m afraid. I’m accompanying my mother and a friend of hers, just to make sure they stay out of trouble. I don’t want my inheritance going to someone called Popodopolopodis.’ She laughed again.
‘That’s all right,’ I said. ‘I’m a patient man. Have a good time and I’ll give you a ring in a fortnight or so.’
‘I’ll look forward to that. Thank you.’
Dumdy-dumdy-dumdy-dum. I put the phone dow
n and sat back. Dumdy-dumdy-dum. She was a very pleasant lady, I thought. Dumdy-dumdy-dumdy-dum. And intelligent, too. Dumdy-dumdy-doo. I put the stuff on my desk in neat piles and went home.
The Reynard Organisation headquarters are in London’s Docklands, in spite of what the people of Leeds are led to believe. The new office block would be one of Fox’s satellites, and the thousand new jobs he promised would be young girls with telephone receivers glued to their ears, working round the clock. Monday morning I asked Graham to investigate how I could get to see the man.
He rang me back just before lunch. ‘The office block in Leeds is called Reynard Tower,’ he told me, ‘and Fox himself is coming over to cut the ribbon. He’s on a run with the government at the moment, probably trying to ingratiate himself for a knighthood. Having sacked about a quarter of a million workers in the last twenty years these thousand jobs are his way of proving that we have turned the corner and are now in a leaner, fitter Britain. Opening day is two weeks tomorrow, so that’s your best chance to see him while he’s in Yorkshire.’
‘How do I make an appointment?’
‘Ring his diary secretary at the Docklands HQ. Then follow instructions.’
‘Thanks, Graham. You’ve been a big help. Are you serious about going to America?’
‘Oh!’ he exclaimed. ‘I could be. I definitely could be. What do you think?’
‘I think you should,’ I told him. ‘I get the impression that Melissa and Kingston didn’t part on friendly terms. Maybe she’d enlarge upon that. Or do a deal, who knows?’
‘Their politics are poles apart. He’s a militant capitalist and she sounds like an anarchist. Then there’s the sex thing; a woman scorned and all that. You could be right.’
‘Think about it. Have a word with Piers and Mr Tregellis. Tell them that I think someone should go over there and stir things up.’ I’m a great believer in stirring things up.
‘I’ll do that, Charlie. Thanks. Thanks.’
I dialled the number he’d given me and a very polite female told me that I was through to Reynard London.
‘I’m trying to fix an appointment with JJ Fox,’ I told her. ‘Could you please put me through to his diary secretary?’
‘What name is it, please?’
‘Priest.’
‘Mr Priest?’
‘As in Roman Catholic.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Sorry. Nothing.’
‘I’m putting you through.’
It was Pachelbel’s Canon in D. I hate Pachelbel’s Canon in D, especially when it’s played on a twenty-quid Yamaha organ. Fortunately I had only to endure two bars, which is all you need hear to know the work intimately, when another female sang: ‘Secretaries; how can I help you?’
‘I’d like to make an appointment to see Mr Fox when he comes to Yorkshire in a fortnight. Can you put me through to his diary secretary, please?’
‘Mr Fox? We don’t have a Mr Fox.’
‘JJ Fox, love. He owns the company.’
‘Oh, that Mr Fox.’
After that it was personnel, then head of secretariat, with bursts of Pachelbel in between. By the time I reached the legal department I’d decided that a hatchet downsizing of his own administrative staff might be a good idea and that Pachelbel should have been burnt at the stake.
‘Did you say Detective Inspector Priest?’ one of his tame solicitors asked me after I’d been shunted around the legal department.
‘Yes. From Heckley CID.’
‘And what’s it about?’
‘Before I answer that,’ I said, ‘tell me this: do you have the authority to make an appointment for me to see Mr Fox?’
‘Yes, I do. Subject to his approval, of course.’
‘Right then, listen up. It’s about murder. I want to ask Mr Fox a few simple questions, and one way or another I shall ask them. It might be easier and less embarrassing for all concerned if you could make an appointment for me to see him on his territory, then I won’t have to insist on seeing him on mine. Do I make myself understood?’
‘I’ll ring you back, Inspector.’
Phew! I’d enjoyed that last bit. It’s not too often I get to tell a lawyer the facts of life. No doubt if and when I saw Fox he’d be surrounded by them and they’d have a conference about everything from whether to say good morning right through to having milk or sugar in their coffees. I’d learn absolutely nothing, but I’d have them worried, and that’s worth a lot.
He kept his word. At four o’clock he confirmed that Fox would be opening the Reynard Tower in a fortnight. He’d arrive at the Fox Borealis Monday afternoon and stay for one night. Tuesday morning he was having a power breakfast with the Lord Mayor of Leeds and other dignitaries, and would see me at ten, before his next appointment at half past. I said my thank yous, like I’d been brought up to do, and wrote it in my diary, with a fluorescent marker-pen circle around it. We were on our way!
I’d been neglecting Keith Crosby, so I rang him from home, after chicken pie and new potatoes. I didn’t give him any details or names, but assured him I was working full-time on the case and the Serious Fraud people were interested and involved. He thanked me profusely. After that I finished most of the painting that I’d started on Thursday night. Every summer the police put on a gala in the park to raise money for the children’s ward of the General. The dogs and the horses show what they can do, and we stage a mock bank raid, with flashing lights and cars skidding on the grass. One of the stands is for paintings by cops or their families. Most of them are of the Dales, some amateurish, some extremely skilled, but all slavish to the scene as viewed. The PC who has organised the show for the last ten years brought me a wad of entry forms for the troops and I told him to put me down for a couple of paintings. If I could knock up a couple of big abstracts I’d enter them, just for the notoriety. Anything for a laugh, that’s yours truly. And Janet would be back by then; perhaps she’d come with me.
When I saw Kingston he’d talked about walking in the dark, and the more I thought about it the more it appealed to me. Most of the time it would be ordinary, like walking in fog, but if you did it often enough you’d eventually have one of those magical experiences that make all the dull trips worthwhile. I could imagine being above the clouds, with the stars blazing across the sky like you’d never seen them before. I’d have to give it a try, when all this was over.
Tregellis was on the phone at eight thirty next morning and kept me talking for nearly an hour. It was worthwhile, though. He agreed that Graham should go to America and thought that Piers should accompany him. If Melissa agreed to kiss and tell about Kingston he could reassure her that she was safe from prosecution, or if he thought that that was out of the question and she insisted on having a team of hotshot lawyers present he could stop them running rings around poor Graham. The legal staff employed by the SFO have a special status. A Prosecution Service solicitor would never visit a client, but one with the SFO can because he is part of the investigative team, and the SFO can order a suspect to answer questions. There’s a downside to that. A cornerstone of British law is that a suspect is not expected to incriminate himself, so any information extracted this way cannot be used in court. It’ll be different in America, of course, so Piers would have to do some swotting on the plane.
Meanwhile, we agreed I’d talk to JJ Fox on the pretext of gathering information about Kingston, who we knew worked for him. At this point we were displaying no suspicions about Fox himself. We’d nail his minions first, then see how they sang.
‘What if,’ Tregellis asked, ‘my two trusty manservants go all the way to the US of A and Melissa denies all knowledge of Kingston? She was never in one of his classes, was she?’
‘No, but I’ve been thinking about that,’ I replied. ‘How does this sound?’
When I’d finished he said: ‘Right, I’ll have a word with the brass in Cumbria and tell them to liaise with you.’
I put the phone down, rubbed my ear and rotated my shoulder.
Who’d be a telephone girl? Maybe I should be more sympathetic to them in future.
Eight a.m. on the Thursday morning a contingent from Cumbria Constabulary led by my oppo from Kendal arrested Nicholas Kingston on suspicion of defrauding the Inland Revenue. Eight a.m. was a compromise. They’d said seven, I’d suggested ten. Sparky, myself, one of their DCs and our photographer sat sipping coffee from a flask in Dave’s car at the end of the lane as Kingston was lifted.
‘There’s seven of us for Saturday,’ Dave said.
‘Saturday?’ I queried. ‘What happens Saturday?’
‘Fishing. Don’t say you’d forgotten.’
‘What? To Bridlington?’
‘That’s right. Nigel and myself are going with you, and Jeff’s got a car-full.’
‘Oh. Right.’
‘They’re coming,’ Dave hissed, and I ducked down out of sight. I didn’t want the Kingstons to associate me with this. I was from another force, miles away, and on a different inquiry.
‘They’ve gone,’ he said, and I sat up.
‘Got the warrant?’ I asked, twisting round. The DC waved it in front of my face and I said: ‘Right. Let’s go.’
A WPC had been left with Mrs Kingston to ensure that she didn’t destroy all their records before we arrived. That was the story. The main thing was that she ensured that the gates were open for us. Dave parked right in front of the door and bailed out, followed by the other two. I spread myself across the seats, lying low again, and waited.
I opened my eyes as the door was wrenched open. Dave said: They’ve taken her down to the gazebo. We’ve the place to ourselves.’
‘It’s not a gazebo, it’s a belvedere,’ I told him, arching my back and stretching my legs.
Inside the house the photographer was standing beside the camera cabinet, green with envy. ‘I haven’t touched anything,’ he said, ‘but I asked her to unlock the door.’
Some by Fire Page 19
