THE JAGGED LINE

by Carolyn Mahony

  ‘What?’

  ‘Maggie Lazard mentioned another pub, The Crown, in Barnet. She said that was Ken’s regular, because it’s where they used to live and all his mates hang out there. Maybe we should have a word with the landlord there? You don’t have to come, I’m happy to do it on my own.’

  Harry thought about the packing he needed to do for moving into his grandmother’s tomorrow and found it wasn’t a difficult decision to make at all.

  ‘No, that’s fine. I’m with you…’

  ‘Yeah, I remember seeing Ken Monday,’ the landlord said, handing him back the photo. ‘He comes in most Mondays and stays for an hour or two. I’m sure several people would have seen him. He’s a regular.’

  Harry and Beth exchanged glances.

  ‘It’s Monday this week we’re talking about. Are you sure he was here? And if so, what time did he leave?’ Harry asked.

  The man gave it some thought. ‘Yeah, he was here. Can’t say I remember what time he left, though. One day rolls into another in this job.’

  ‘Can I have your name?’

  ‘Derek Mason.’

  Harry wrote it down. ‘Anyone else here at the moment who might have seen him on Monday?’

  The landlord looked around the room. ‘Ginger over there might. The guy with the red hair,’ he clarified unnecessarily.

  Harry and Beth made their way over to a table by the window where a man was sitting talking quietly to a woman.

  ‘Mind if I ask you a couple of questions?’ Harry asked, pulling out his card.

  ‘Depends what it’s about,’ the man said, making a show of studying the card.

  ‘I understand you know Ken Lazard?’

  ‘Yeah. Good guy.’

  ‘Were you here Monday night?’

  The man looked at his wife.

  ‘I think so. We were, weren’t we, Mary?’

  His wife nodded.

  ‘Do you remember if Ken came in that night?’

  ‘I think he did. Why?’

  ‘Do you remember what time he came and what time he left?’

  Again a quick glance at his wife. ‘Can’t say for sure – it was four days ago now. I remember seeing him briefly but I can’t remember when exactly, and we left before he did.’

  ‘Anyone else see him, do you think?’

  ‘You’d have to ask around. Sorry, not much help, I know. Drink up, Mary, we need to get back for that film.’

  ‘Do you mind giving me your name and address, sir, for my notes?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Beth frowned at Harry as they sat down at a table. ‘Why would Ken Lazard lie about where he was? Especially if people here can give him an alibi?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe they can’t give him an alibi – not a full one anyway. Edwards said Copeland had been killed between eight and eleven. If Ken didn’t get here until, say, eight-forty-five and we don’t know what time he left, but he didn’t get home until nearly eleven-thirty, then theoretically that gives him a whole window of opportunity to kill Copeland, both before he arrived and after he left. We need precise confirmation on the alibi and maybe he knew that was going to leave him with time unaccounted for.’

  Beth shook her head. ‘I’m not sure he strikes me as being the kind of guy who’d kill someone like that. With a knife, I mean. I’d have him down as more a fisticuffs type.’

  ‘You speak from experience, do you?’ Harry’s voice was amused.

  She looked him straight in the eye. ‘Aye, Harry, I do. I’ll bet I’ve experienced more of that sort of stuff than you have – even if you do have seven years on me.’

  Something in her tone warned him from making a joke of her statement. He could imagine not many people would mess with Beth.

  ‘You could be right,’ he conceded mildly. He looked around. ‘The place is filling up. I think we should split and do the rounds and compare notes later.’

  Twenty minutes later they were standing outside Harry’s car preparing to head home.

  ‘I don’t know about you,’ Beth said, ‘but I got the impression there was some sort of cover-up going on in there. Several people knew Ken – said they’d talked to him – but no one could remember exact timings, although one bloke did say he thought he’d left about ten-thirty or maybe a bit before that.’

  ‘In which case what was he doing for the next hour or so before he got home? I agree there was something odd going on in there. A couple of people suggested I pop back another night and in the meantime they’d try to think back to Monday and see if they could remember in more detail.’

  ‘After they’ve spoken to Ken, do you think?’

  ‘Wouldn’t surprise me. I think I’ll pay him a visit myself on Monday, see what he’s got to say now he’s had a bit of time to think about things.’

  He watched as Beth flicked the key fob at her car and opened the door.

  ‘What are you up to this weekend?’ he asked. ‘Anything exciting?’

  ‘Nah. You?’

  He tried to think of some way of sexing it up, and failed. ‘Moving in with my grandmother for a couple of months. I think I mentioned she’s not well.’

  ‘You must be fond of her.’

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘I never knew my grandparents. My dad’s parents are dead and my mum’s parents disowned her when she married him. They haven’t spoken to each other since. My grandparents live somewhere in the East End, I think, but I’ve never met them.’

  ‘That’s sad. Don’t you ever feel tempted to get in touch?’

  ‘What’s the point? They’re a rum lot, my family. I’d probably only be disappointed. Need a hand moving in tomorrow?’

  Harry shook his head. ‘Nice of you to offer, but I haven’t got much to pack. It’s not as if I live miles away. Hop in. I’ll drop you back at the station to get your car.’

  ‘No worries. I can get a cab. There was quite a nice guy I got talking to in there. Offered me a drink if I was going off duty. I might just take him up on it. See if he’s turned on by a woman in uniform.’

  ‘Er … you don’t wear one.’

  ‘Soon remedy that if I need to.’

  ‘Is that how you usually grab a guy’s interest, then?’

  She grinned. ‘No … it’s a new approach – I’ll let you know how it works. See ya, good luck with the move.’

  ‘Take care,’ Harry couldn’t help saying.

  ‘Don’t do anything you wouldn’t do, you mean?’

  Beth’s expression was openly taking the mickey out of him.

  ‘Just look out for yourself,’ Harry said. ‘What was his name?’

  ‘Harry …?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Piss off, eh? I’ll see you Monday.’

  ***

  The man walked into the new nightclub in Hatfield and looked around him. It was the same as any other club, really, although he had to admit the newness of the place gave it a classier feel than most. It was gone midnight and the dance floor heaved with drug- and alcohol-infused bodies gyrating to the heavy beat of music that blared from the speakers.

  He could do it now. The thought excited him as he imagined his strategy. Approaching a girl of his choice, making eye contact, moving in …

  It hadn’t failed him yet, and there was no reason to think it would now. But no … he had an established routine and it hadn’t let him down. He’d be patient, do what he always did. Case the joint (he loved that expression), watch how the bouncers worked – whether they were on it the minute something happened, or more laid-back – and last, but not least, work out his escape strategy in case anything went wrong.

  Taking his time, he sauntered over to the bar and ordered himself a beer.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Harry rolled over in his bed and clicked the alarm off with an irritable groan. He’d forgotten to unset it last night, which put paid to any thoughts of a weekend lie-in this last morning in his flat. From now on, he’d be waking up in his old room in his grandmother’s house.

/>   He lay back on the pillows and gave it some thought. It was fine, but it was something he’d have to get used to again – having someone else to factor into his way of life. He’d lived alone for a number of years – had undoubtedly become a bit stuck in his ways. But it was a comfortable rut he’d carved for himself and he liked living like that.

  Then he remembered why he was doing it. They’d known two years ago when his grandmother’s cancer had been diagnosed that the prognosis wasn’t good, but now her demise was imminent, it was dawning on him what a void she’d leave in his life.

  He didn’t want to think about it. Throwing the duvet back he got out of bed. He looked at the suitcase lying open and empty on the floor, and decided it could stay that way for the time being. Plenty of time for packing later.

  Two hours later, he was pulling up in a side road near Cartwrights Estate Agents and crossing the road to their office. Robert Cartwright was already there, talking sombrely on the phone, and he acknowledged Harry’s presence as he walked in.

  ‘I’ll be with you in a moment,’ he mouthed, covering the handset with his hand. ‘Dad’s diary’s on his desk and so is Paul Copeland’s file if you want to take a look while you’re waiting for me.’

  Harry sat down in Dominic Cartwright’s chair and picked up his diary. It was pristinely kept and fairly concise. There were only two appointments for the Thursday he died, one to go and see Paul Copeland’s girlfriend, Susan Porter, and the other the viewing in Hadley Wood with a Mr and Mrs De Souza, for eleven-forty-five. It was the same road where he’d been killed. He reached for the file on Paul Copeland and flicked through it. Everything seemed to be straightforward and in order. Even his references, despite the fact he’d been in prison. There was one from a long-standing friend and another from a firm of accountants in Cockfosters. He made a note of the names and resolved to give them a call.

  ‘Found what you’re looking for?’ Robbie walked into the office looking harassed.

  ‘Not much to go on. No entries in his diary for Thursday, apart from the valuation in Hadley Wood and a visit to Susan Porter.’

  Robbie shrugged. ‘His visit to Susan was an impulse decision – I’m surprised it’s in there at all. I was going to go but he thought it should be him as he was the senior partner.’

  ‘I was just going through Paul Copeland’s tenancy stuff. It all seems in order, although there’s no copy of his actual contract?’

  ‘Isn’t there?’ Robbie took a step forward so he could flick through the file himself. Then he shrugged. ‘It’s probably in the backlog of filing that’s waiting to be done. I’ll get Sharon to dig it out on Monday.’

  ‘Thanks. And the owner is …’ Harry glanced down at the paperwork. ‘Simon Jordan, is that right?’

  ‘Yes, he’s a solicitor in Whetstone. His details will be in the file even if the actual contract isn’t there, but I can give you his number if you like? He’s an old family friend.’

  ‘That’s fine as long as it’s here. Is it okay if I take the file and diary with me to the station so we can go through it properly?’

  ‘Sure. But I haven’t gone through his diary properly myself yet, which I’ll need to do.’

  ‘I can photocopy it all here if you’d rather?’

  ‘That might be better, if you don’t mind. Or again, I can ask Sharon to do it on Monday. I’d offer to do it for you myself but I’m up to my ears at the moment. I was in at half past six this morning trying to get a handle on what’s urgent out of Dad’s work, plus having to deal with my own.’

  ‘No worries. I think I can manage to work out how a photocopier works. If you come across anything you think might be significant while you’re sorting through his stuff–?’

  ‘I’ll let you know straight away.’ He looked at Harry sharply. ‘Are you thinking Dad’s accident might not have been an accident?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Harry responded smoothly. ‘The chances are it was exactly that, but obviously we need to cover every angle until we find out what happened.’

  The phone in Robbie’s office rang and he sighed. ‘Excuse me. If it’s a long one, can you see yourself out once you’ve finished your photocopying?’

  Ten minutes later, Harry sat in his car and perused the notes he’d made from Dominic Cartwright’s diary and Paul Copeland’s file. It made a sorry apology for evidence of any kind. The only things of any significance were the address in Hadley Wood where he’d carried out the valuation, and his visit to Susan Porter first thing that morning. Could anything have happened at either of those meetings that might have put him in danger?

  There was only one way of finding out. He’d start with Susan Porter first as she was the nearest.

  As soon as he arrived at Susan Porter’s flat she told him she had to go out.

  ‘Sorry, I’ve got a lot on today,’ she said, leading him through to the lounge. ‘And I’m working this afternoon.’

  ‘I won’t keep you long. I just need to ask you a couple of questions about Dominic Cartwright, the estate agent who manages this flat. Were you aware he’d been killed?’

  She stopped dead in her tracks, swinging round in shock. ‘No. When? Bloody hell.’ She sank down onto a chair.

  ‘Hit-and-run on Thursday. We’re trying to establish if there could possibly be a connection between his death and your boyfriend’s, or whether it’s just an unfortunate coincidence. I understand he came to see you Thursday morning – do you mind telling me why that was?’

  She was looking stunned, and for a moment she didn’t say anything. Then pulling herself together with an obvious effort, she said, ‘To say he was sorry about Paul and that there was no rush for me to move out. He was kind – told me if I couldn’t afford to stay here they’d try to help me find somewhere cheaper.’

  ‘Did you talk about anything else – anything to do with Paul’s death, for example?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It seems odd that you wouldn’t have talked about Paul at all?’

  ‘It’s private. I don’t like talking about it. He just asked when the funeral was and I told him I didn’t know yet. Paul’s parents were fixing it.’ She looked as if she was about to say more, then clamped her lips together.

  ‘What?’ Harry asked, picking up on her indecision.

  She shook her head. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Susan, if there’s something you’re not telling me – it could stop us finding out who did this to Paul. Don’t you want justice for him?’

  ‘’Course I do.’

  She chewed on her thumbnail, considering for a moment, then blurted out, ‘There was something going on. I don’t know what, ’cos Paul wouldn’t tell me, but he thought he could make money out of it – enough for us to move out of here and get a better place, he said. I told him if it was illegal I didn’t want to know – I didn’t want him going back into jail again. But he said it weren’t him what was likely to end up in jail. Then, when he came in that night before he was killed, he’d been in a fight. I asked him what it was all about, but he just told me to stop banging on. That’s why we argued, ’cos I told him we shouldn’t have secrets like that from each other.’

  ‘Did he say who it was he was suspicious of? Or who the fight was with?’

  She grabbed her handbag off the back of the chair.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Susan–’

  ‘I don’t know and that’s all I’m saying. It’s your job to find out what happened – I don’t want to end up like Paul.’

  She pushed past him into the hall and took her coat off the peg. ‘You’ll have to go. I’m running late.’

  ‘Have you still got my card?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  She opened the front door and waited.

  Harry had one last go. ‘If you change your mind and want to talk more, call me. I’ll meet you wherever you want. I know it’s a difficult time for you – and frightening – but don’t you think you owe it to Paul to help us as much as you can? If we feel that puts you in danger,
we’ll take steps to protect you. Think on it, okay?’

  Her gaze met his briefly and he saw the fear in it. She nodded. ‘Will you be at his funeral? I know the police sometimes do that on the telly, when there’s been a murder.’

  ‘Someone will probably be there, if you let us know when it is. I’ll make it if I can. And if you want to talk afterwards, just say, okay?’

  Another nod.

  And that was all he could do, he thought, as they both exited the house and he watched her hurry off down the street. She was clearly frightened of something, but unless she chose to tell him what, there wasn’t much he could about it.

  He climbed into his car and looked at his watch. Still only ten-thirty, plenty of time to interview the De Souzas in Hadley Wood if he wanted to, before heading home to pack.

  Pulling out his mobile, he checked his notes and dialled their number.

  ‘Come in, come in.’

  Mrs De Souza spoke in a heavily accented voice as she ushered Harry through the marble-floored entrance hall into the luxurious living room. ‘My husband he will be down in a minute. Can I get you something to drink?’

  ‘No thanks.’

  ‘You have come about poor Mr Cartwright, yes? It was terrible, terrible. He’d only been gone a few minutes when our neighbour knocked on our door and said what had happened. She’d seen Dominic leave the house and thought he might be a friend of ours.’

  ‘And was he? I notice you call him by his first name?’

  ‘Not a close friend – he was of course younger than us. But we knew him through the golf club – it is why we asked him to come and do the valuation. So good to feel you can trust someone these days.’

  ‘And neither you nor your neighbours saw anything at all of the accident?’

  ‘We saw nothing. I wish we had. Denise – our neighbour – said it happened so quickly, she didn’t get the chance to note any details. I know she has spoken to the police about it.’

  She gave a little shudder. ‘Such a shock. As you can imagine, everybody is talking about it since.’

  ‘And I keep telling you, you need to try and put it out of your mind now,’ another voice said from the doorway.