Murder in Hyde Park

by Phillip Strang

  ‘Four days ago, in Hyde Park.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Where you fished the man out. She was standing around the back of the Peter Pan statue.’

  ‘Are you sure it was her?’

  ‘I was on my own, and it was raining. Not heavy but enough to be annoying.’

  ‘Describe the scene, take your time. I’ll record you on my iPhone.’

  ‘It was just after five in the morning. I came into the city early, attempting to catch up on some work that was overdue, have a run around the park. I’m coming up past the statue, minding my own business. I was making good time, the best for the last few weeks, and there she is.’

  ‘The blonde?’

  ‘Yes, her. There’s rain coming at me from the rear, and it’s cold, but I’ve been running for some time, so I didn’t notice it. And then, out from behind the statue, the woman. She’s agitated, ducking behind the statue, coming out again, looking up and down. She’s nervous, I can tell that, and it’s raining, and she’s wet. All she’s wearing is a white blouse and a skirt, knee-length.’

  ‘Shoes?’

  ‘High heels, so she’s not a walker.’

  ‘You saw a lot for someone who was running past, making good time.’

  ‘The lace came loose on one of my shoes. I wouldn’t have stopped, not for her. I’m about twenty yards up the path, heading towards Lancaster Gate.’

  ‘Okay, you’ve seen her, and you’ve stopped. Then what?’

  ‘My time was shot, so I stood there catching my breath. I’d overdone it, I knew that, but I had been determined, and then my shoe. I watched her for a few minutes, and then I carried on. Nothing more after that.’

  ‘Any idea as to why she was there?’

  ‘No. I didn’t think much about it after that. There was a meeting in the office at ten, and I wasn’t prepared, not as well as I had to be. I hurried back to the office, a quick shower, and then I focussed on a report. The oxygen in the brain helped, and I completed the report earlier than expected.’

  ‘Did you see the woman again, or before that day?’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘How about you, Roy?’

  ‘Not me. To me, she was a stranger.’

  ‘Does it help?’ Adrian Clark asked.

  ‘It brings in another element to the investigation,’ Larry said. ‘But why didn’t you tell us before?’

  ‘We only met this morning, and I’d pushed it to one side in my mind. Running early or even late, especially in summer, you see some sights. Couples copulating, people arguing, dogs defecating, the owners looking the other way, not bothering to pick up the mess. I even saw a couple strip off their clothes and jump in the Serpentine for a swim, and it wasn’t summer. Probably high on drugs, but I said nothing.’

  ‘Thanks for your help. Adrian, I’ll need you down at the station to make a formal statement. You as well, Roy. Midday suit you both?’

  ‘We’ll be there,’ Roy said. Adrian Clark nodded his head.

  The two men walked out of McDonald’s. Larry ordered another Big Mac. He phoned Wendy.

  Chapter 7

  A gushing of emotions, the need to talk: that was what Wendy had expected from Christine Mason after seeing and confirming that the dead man was indeed her former lover.

  Wendy was not disappointed in the woman as they sat in a café not far from the pathologist’s. Outside, on the street, people hurried by, some going to work, others just out for a stroll or for window shopping, the chance to spend their money.

  ‘Seeing him there, it wasn’t what I expected,’ Christine said. She had removed her jacket; the café was warm.

  The tea had arrived in a teapot, along with two cups, a jug of milk, a bowl of sugar cubes. Wendy called the waitress back, complained about the tea being tepid. The woman had pulled a face but had taken the teapot, returning in a couple of minutes with another.

  ‘In your own time,’ Wendy said.

  ‘So pale, so cold, so…’

  ‘Dead is the word. The man was murdered, we’re sure of that, but why? You’re holding back. Is it a fear of your husband? A fear of something else?’

  ‘I never really knew who he was. It was just… I know it sounds silly, but he made me feel special.’

  ‘And you still think he cared?’

  ‘I wanted to believe him, but he was so attractive. The sort of man that could have had any woman, but he chose me.’

  ‘Christine, you’re not a stupid woman, not uneducated. Why do you continue to talk as if you’re a teenager? This is not reality television. This is real life where attractive men take advantage of vulnerable women, people overdose on drugs, murder people in Hyde Park. Colin Young, whoever he was, was up to something, or he had upset someone.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know.’

  Christine Mason didn’t look to be naive and silly, yet she was. She had fallen for the dead man, even though he was younger than her, probably only a few years older than her own children, yet somehow she saw it as all possible, that the man was sincere, that he cared, that he came to London every few weeks to see her first, to conduct business second.

  ‘And when he wasn’t in the hotel?’

  ‘We kept in contact.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘By phone. He would phone me every few days.’

  ‘No mobile number?’

  ‘He changed it every two weeks.’

  ‘Why? You’ve not told us this before. What reason did he give?’

  ‘He said that he preferred secrecy, and if you kept a phone for long enough, you’d be plagued with nuisance calls.’

  ‘And you believed him? You’re an accounts manager for a five-star hotel. They don’t employ dummies, or do they? Are you pretending to be competent, making a damn good show of it, fiddling the books? How much more than the two thousand pounds that you’ve mentioned?’

  ‘Please, it’s too much.’

  ‘It’s here or down at Challis Street. We know that Young was not on the straight and narrow. People do not change their phones every few weeks, nor do they keep it a secret where they live, not from those they care for, not unless there’s a wife, or a business partner, or a criminal organisation after them. You know something, and you’re not telling. What is it? Your husband will have to be told if we hold you for twenty-four hours, forty-eight possibly, pending enquiries. You’re the most likely culprit at this time, and we’re desperate for an arrest. You’ll do for now.’

  Wendy looked over at the waitress, could see that she was talking to another employee. All in all, the café had been a disappointment. The tea had not been that hot the second time around, and the sandwiches, cut into triangles, that the women had eaten but not enjoyed had been neither delicious nor fresh; too few in quantity, as well.

  ‘Next time, I’ll call the inspectors in to check your kitchen,’ Wendy said as she paid the bill.

  ‘Who do you think you are?’ the waitress said, leaning down to whisper in Wendy’s ear, ensuring the other patrons didn’t hear.’

  Wendy flipped open her warrant card. ‘Police, you want to make something out of it?’

  ‘No tip, then?’

  ‘Not a chance.’

  ***

  Christine Mason sat on a chair at Challis Street. She hadn’t been charged with a crime, and Wendy still wanted to believe her story. If it hadn’t been for Larry’s phone call as she had driven the woman back to the Fitzroy Hotel, their accounts manager would have been back in her office balancing the books, checking the money that had come in that day, the money going out, the staff salaries, the expenses.

  ‘I’m sorry about this,’ Isaac said, as he sat down beside the woman. Wendy could have sworn that Christine Mason, nervous and confused as she was, visibly relaxed as Isaac spoke to her.

  ‘DCI, Mrs Mason has some explaining to do. I don’t think that we should regard her as an innocent bystander at this time,’ Wendy said.

  ‘Sergeant Gladstone’s right. We’ve received further information. We sho
uld be in the interview room. Do you have legal representation?’

  ‘I don’t want my husband to find out,’ Christine Mason said.

  ‘It’s gone beyond that but we have no intention of contacting him, not just yet. It depends on what you tell us.’

  Wendy took hold of the woman’s arm and led her to the interview room. She sat her on one side of the table, and she and Isaac sat on the other. Isaac informed Christine Mason of her rights, the procedure that would be followed.

  Larry listened from another room. He should have been in the interview room, as it had been him who had received the revelation from Adrian Clark. He had passed up the opportunity, as both Eardley and Clark were in the station. They were writing their statements, and once finished, Larry would speak to them once more, see if there was any other snippet of information that Clark could remember. If there was, it would be passed onto his two colleagues.

  ‘Mrs Mason, you made a statement to Sergeant Gladstone,’ Isaac said.

  ‘Call me Christine.’

  ‘Very well. Christine, you made a statement, admitted to a relationship with Colin Young.’

  ‘Yes, that’s correct.’

  ‘There are anomalies in your statement. Facts you’ve not revealed, inconsistencies you’ve not explained.’

  ‘I’ve been honest, believe me. I had an adulterous relationship with a younger man. Isn’t that enough? I should be ashamed, and maybe I am sometimes, but it was good, he was good, and now he’s lying dead on a metal table. What did he do to deserve that, you tell me?’

  ‘That is why we are here,’ Isaac said. ‘With a full statement from you, we will find out who he was, where he was from, who killed him. Was it you?’

  ‘Never. I loved him.’

  ‘As you have said before.’

  ‘He told me he only cared for me.’

  ‘But did you trust him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Was he married, single?’

  ‘He told me he had never met the right woman.’

  ‘Do you have a lot of money?’

  ‘My husband has.’

  ‘Could you get access to it?’

  ‘I don’t understand why you are asking these questions. I’ve done nothing wrong, I only fell in love with a good man.’

  ‘DCI Cook’s trying to help you, Christine. It pains me to see you subjected to this,’ Wendy said. ‘You were seen in Hyde Park.’

  Christine Mason’s face turned ashen, the blood draining away. ‘It’s a lie. I’ve never been there.’ Her voice weakened.

  ‘We have a witness. Four days ago. Not the day Colin Young died, but you were there. You were at the exact spot where he was murdered. Now, what do you have to say? The truth this time, not some half-baked story that it was eternal love, and it transcended the age difference,’ Isaac said. ‘You, Christine Mason, are either a naive woman or a predator, fixated on younger men, men who can satisfy you whereas your husband can’t.’

  ‘You can’t talk to me like that.’

  ‘We can and we will. You had the motive, and you had the place, even the strength, to kill him. Now, once again, did you kill him? Are you going to tell us the truth?’

  ‘I need a lawyer.’

  ‘We’ll halt the interview. Do you have someone we can call?’ Isaac said.

  ‘My sister. She’ll come for me.’

  ‘Please phone her. Sergeant Gladstone will arrange transport for her, allow her time to talk to you. For your sake, I hope she’s competent.’

  ‘I’d trust her with my life. She can’t be here until tomorrow.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She’s busy.’

  ‘If that’s the case, you’ll be spending the night here. Is that what you want?’

  ‘No.’

  ***

  Wendy would have said that Isaac had been badgering Christine Mason. Not strictly by the book, but she had seen him use the tactic before. A woman in love was a formidable force to break and broken she had to be. Her being in Hyde Park at the place where the man had died was damning. In the hands of a skilled prosecution lawyer, and if it was found that the dead man had been playing the field and Christine Mason had known, the circumstantial evidence could be enough to sway a jury. If the woman didn’t clear up the doubts at Challis Street, it would go against her. And what if she had confronted the man that day that Adrian Clark had seen her? If she had, then why was he still running that same path?

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Isaac said. ‘I had to do it, you know that.’

  ‘Not that she’d agree, but yes, it had to be done. I’ve been trying to get her to be honest. I don’t believe she did it, though.’

  ‘A woman’s intuition or police evidence?’

  ‘Both, I suppose.’

  ‘Her husband, where is he?’

  ‘He’s still in the country. Is it time to call him?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  Larry sat with Roy Eardley and Adrian Clark. Clark was looking better, and he gladly accepted a coffee from the machine that dispensed something with a taste resembling treacle. At least, that was how Bridget described it. She had an espresso machine in Homicide, but the three men were sitting in a room on the ground floor.

  ‘Anything else before you sign your statement, Roy?’

  ‘Nothing from me.’

  ‘Adrian? Did you see her more than the once?’

  ‘Not that I can remember. Strange, her being there.’

  ‘She’s in the station, upstairs. We need her to open up.’

  ‘A woman scorned, and all that?’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘It stands to reason. A man’s murdered, the woman had been looking for him. She did it, I’m sure.’

  ‘Speculation,’ Larry said. ‘No proof, no evidence, that’s the problem.’

  ‘If she saw me, she might remember me.’

  ‘Why? Any reason?’

  ‘None that I can think of. I looked over at her as I ran past, nodded my head. I certainly had no intention of stopping for her, not with the time I was making.’

  ‘Would you have at another time?’

  ‘Damsel in distress. I like to think I would, but no. Just talking out loud. You seem to want more from us, but we can’t help.’

  ‘It would help if we could be sure that she saw Young in the park.’

  ‘Did she kill him?’ Eardley asked.

  ‘We’re not even sure that’s his correct name. We call him Colin Young because that’s what the woman called him, and what he signed in at the Fitzroy as.’

  Eardley and Clark left the station soon after. Larry had exhausted what he was going to get from them. He took the lift to the third floor and sat down at his desk.

  ‘Long face,’ Isaac said as he sat down beside him.

  ‘Who is this man?’

  ‘The credit card? Any leads?’

  ‘He used it at the Fitzroy each time he stayed there, nowhere else. It’s the same with the phone calls he made. The man was either an inveterate womaniser or a villain of the first order.’

  ‘It’s too contrived, too much skulduggery. The hotels, how’s the checking going?’

  ‘That’s Wendy’s responsibility. You’d better ask her. I went with the jogger angle, trying to find out where the man could have run from. He entered from Bayswater Road, I’m certain of that.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘If he entered on the south side of the park, he would have chosen another route around the park, and Christine Mason was there and waiting for him near the statue. Has she opened up?’

  ‘We’re getting her legal representation. She’s going to need it.’

  ***

  The two-hour delay before the interview extended to four. Christine Mason’s lawyer, her sister, had been in court – a messy divorce. The team at Challis Street knew that they would have to agree to the delay.

  On the dot, four hours as stated, the sister walked into the station. ‘Homicide, DCI Cook,’ she said at the desk on the grou
nd floor. Wendy went down to meet her, escorting her up to where her client sat.

  Gwen Hislop was an efficient woman, Wendy could tell. She had entered the station dressed in a blue suit with a white open-necked blouse. She was older than her sister, and no ring on her finger. If Wendy didn’t know otherwise, she would have said she was not the sort of woman who wanted a man, not like her sister. Not that it reflected badly on the lawyer, and her manner and the way she carried herself, proud and haughty, indicated somebody who’d be a formidable adversary in a court of law. Or maybe she was a woman in a man’s world, pushing that little bit extra, to not let the men’s club ride over her, male chauvinism still in existence. Regardless, she was Christine Mason’s lawyer, and she was entitled to however long she needed with her client.

  Inside the room where the two women sat, a hush, neither wanting to speak. Eventually, Christine broke the silence. ‘How are you?’

  ‘And now you ask? How long has it been? Four, five years?’

  ‘Longer. You look well.’

  ‘I can’t say the same for you. What is it this time? I thought you would have learnt your lesson. Is Tony involved in this mess? They gave me a case file on the way in.’

  ‘Tony’s beastly to me, won’t let me out. I’m no more than a drudge to him, a slave to his every whim.’

  ‘Can you blame him after the last time? Do the police here know about your last escapade?’

  ‘It wasn’t in this country, you know that. It’s best if they don’t find out.’

  ‘And what happened to the man? Dead in the desert, died of thirst. And you in jail for three months before they could get you out.’

  ‘We were in Dubai, you know that. They’re strict about those sorts of things.’

  ‘They're not too keen on adultery here, either.’

  ‘I didn’t kill him in Dubai, you know that.’

  ‘And now, what are we going to do? Defend the indefensible?’

  ‘You’re my sister. I need you to get me out of here.’

  A pregnant pause while the two warring sisters considered their respective positions.

  ‘Very well, the full story,’ Gwen Hislop said. ‘And don’t give me any of that poor little me, no drooping eyes, no crocodile tears.’