Winterman

Winterman Page 21

by Alex Walters

  'And you joined the Home Guard?'

  'Felt I should do something. Not many air raids round here, except sometimes when they dumped a load on the way home. But we're close enough to the German coast for invasion to seem a possibility.'

  'Merriman avoided the call up as well?' As far as Winterman was aware, acting had never been a reserved occupation.

  'Medical grounds, supposedly. He never let on exactly what. I imagine they worked out that he was queer. It didn't take a lot of working out in Howard's case.'

  Winterman was struggling to imagine Pyke and Merriman clad in the dull green serge of the Home Guard. 'Why did Merriman join the Home Guard?'

  'Why did Howard do anything? Probably to meet men.'

  'In the Home Guard?' This was Hoxton from the far side of the room. 'Optimistic sort then?'

  'He met me,' Pyke pointed out. 'I think we both knew as soon as we saw each other. You get an instinct if you're… this way inclined. Part of the survival process.'

  'And you formed a relationship?'

  'We formed a relationship,' Pyke said. 'Would you like details?'

  Winterman shook his head. 'I'm sorry. I know this must be painful. I just want to be clear.'

  'We more or less lived together for about four years, towards the end of the war. People seemed to turn a blind eye at the time, even out here in the sticks. Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, and all that. I kept my house in town – for appearance sake, mainly – but spent most of my time out here.'

  'But you're not still living here?'

  'No, we split up. Over a year ago now.'

  'Can I ask why?'

  'Christ, why does any relationship end? We're not that different from you lot, you know. We'd just had enough, I suppose. No, that's not right. I'd had enough. Howard was more than happy to continue. In fact, I don't think he ever really acknowledged we'd split.'

  There was something Pyke wasn't quite saying.

  'But you'd had enough?'

  'Of it all. Of having to pretend. Of leading a double life. Of the risks involved. Particularly in my line of business. Working with you lot. A lot of people don't care anymore, but plenty do. So I thought it was time I tried to go straight. Well, not straight exactly, but not bent either.'

  'So the split wasn't about Merriman specifically?'

  There was a moment's hesitation. 'It was, in part. Howard wasn't the easiest person to get on with. Don't get me wrong. He could be charm personified when he wanted. He could make you feel you were the only person who mattered in the world. But he was a selfish bugger. Or rather a self-centred bugger. Half the time, it didn't occur to him anyone else existed. The other half, he thought they were all there to cater to his needs.'

  'Including you?'

  'Especially me. I didn't mind most of the time. But he could be wearing. And over the last couple of years, he became more difficult.'

  'Go on.'

  'It was his career. He'd been fairly successful before the war. I mean, nothing spectacular. But he'd built up a solid stage career, begun to get himself noticed. Had one or two lead roles. Even a couple of minor roles in films.'

  'I thought I recognised the name,' Winterman said.

  'You might, if you're one of those people who reads the whole cast list for a film or goes to the theatre regularly. Or did pre-war anyway. If I'm cynical, I think one reason Howard was glad not to be called up was that he thought it might reduce the competition. There weren't so many plays being staged or films being made, but all that business continued throughout the war. With some of the more successful figures in the forces, Howard expected to move a few rungs up the ladder. But it didn't work like that.'

  'It rarely does,' Winterman observed.

  'I suppose not. But Howard resented it. He was getting older. He wasn't going to get the leading man parts he wanted. Another few years and there'd have just been character parts open to him…' Pyke paused.

  For the first time, Winterman could see the stirrings of emotion in the other man's expression, as if the reality of Merriman's death had only now struck him.

  'That made him harder to live with?'

  'He was angry. Drank too much. He wouldn't say so, but he was finding it harder and harder to get decent work of any kind. Ironically, a lot of those who were called up made a name for themselves, came back bigger than ever. Howard had always lived beyond his means. Had a rather grandiose idea of the life he ought to be leading.'

  'Like this house?' Winterman gestured vaguely around at the ornate decor.

  'You'd spotted that? Yes, like this house. He bought this place for a song, but he spent a fortune on it. Not just the rebuilding. Everything in the place. He had to have the very best.'

  'Where did he get it? Some of this stuff doesn't look as if it would have been easy to come by even before the war.'

  'That was Howard. He knew people who knew people. If it was out there, he'd find a way to get it.'

  'Illegally in some cases, I'd guess, looking at some of this stuff.'

  'It's not for me to say. I honestly don't know. I never wanted to know. But I imagine you're right. Howard mixed with some people… well, let's just say that that was another reason to end it.'

  'What sort of people?'

  'Bad company. Rough trade. That gives the wrong impression though. Suggests Howard had a troop of gangsters in and out of this place. It wasn't like that.'

  'No?'

  'No. This was all a legacy of Howard's time in London before the war. He knew a few unsavoury characters. Real gangsters, some of them. It's amazing how many of them were queer, you know. Though most wouldn't have admitted it for anything.'

  'Merriman brought some of that back here with him, did he?'

  'He knew who to contact if he wanted something. That something might have been anything from a piece of furniture to illicit drugs.'

  Winterman nodded impassively. 'Would he have made any enemies among these people?'

  Pyke laughed unexpectedly. 'It's very likely. Howard generally wanted to be loved, but he was quite happy to be hated. Just so long as he wasn't ignored. He was definitely living beyond his means. Even before we split, the work seemed to have dried up. He wasn't helping himself, with the drink and his general attitude. I know he missed some auditions. He was rude to producers. Dismissive when he felt something was beneath his talents. He picked up one or two jobs, but nothing like enough to keep him in the style to which he wanted to be accustomed.'

  'He was in debt?'

  'I imagine so.' Pyke rubbed his eyes, staring down at the floor. 'But that's not all I'm saying.'

  Silence fell across the room. Winterman glanced across at Hoxton, who had been sitting, blank-faced, listening to the dialogue. 'What else?'

  'I've no evidence for this. Nothing that would stand up in a court of law. But he was getting money from other sources. A lot of money.'

  'What other sources?'

  Pyke closed his eyes and then slowly reopened them, his gaze fixed on Winterman's face. 'Blackmail.'

  'Blackmail?'

  'I think so.'

  'You didn't report it?'

  'Christ, man, I've no evidence. I didn't even want to think it. There were signs when I was living with Howard, but I blanked them out.'

  'What sort of signs?'

  'Fag ends of telephone calls. Odd behaviour. Howard had many qualities but discretion wasn't one of them. I found an envelope full of money once. He had some story about how an impresario had insisted on paying him in cash to avoid tax.'

  'Who was he blackmailing?'

  'This is all speculation. But I know what Howard was capable of. When it suited him – when it was to his benefit, I mean – he could be incredibly organised. If he wanted to do something like this, he'd do it properly. He'd protect himself. He'd make money out of it. He'd have picked his victims very carefully. People with something to hide and good reasons to keep it hidden.'

  Winterman looked sceptical. 'He had at least one secret of his own. Risky, if y
ou're engaging in blackmail.'

  'Hardly, really. An actor turns out to be homosexual? Whatever the Sunday papers might say, that's not going to cause too many ripples, is it? Howard didn't exactly go out of his way to conceal it anyway.'

  'If Merriman was involved in blackmail, I imagine we'll find evidence somewhere in the house.' Winterman didn't say he'd already made an examination – admittedly fairly cursory – of the upstairs rooms.

  'Howard would have been careful. If there was stuff he was using, he'd probably keep it somewhere safer than here.'

  'Is this suggestion something you're likely to want to share with DS Spooner?'

  'Yes, of course. I mean, it is just speculation on my part–'

  'But it would provide Spooner with an alternative explanation for Merriman's murder?'

  'Alternative? You mean to the convenient lover's tiff theory? I suppose it would.'

  'Don't misunderstand me, Pyke. It's not that I'm doubting what you're saying. But it's only speculation and pretty far-fetched speculation at that. I wouldn't be surprised if Spooner just saw it as an attempt to deflect attention from you.'

  'So you're saying I should lie, or withhold information, from your senior officer?'

  'I'm saying nothing, Pyke. This conversation isn't taking place. Isn't that right, DC Hoxton?'

  'I've heard nothing,' Hoxton grunted.

  'You've got to tell Spooner whatever you think is right. For all I know, you did murder Merriman. It's the most obvious explanation, and I couldn't blame Spooner for jumping to it. Speaking personally, I don't see you as the type. But I've been wrong about that kind of thing before.'

  'Thanks for the overwhelming vote of confidence. For what it's worth, I didn't kill him.'

  'For what it's worth,' Winterman said, 'I'm prepared to believe you. But that still leaves the question of why you're here at all. I thought you'd split up.'

  Pyke's expression suggested he had no real answer to this question himself. 'That's the big one, isn't it? The answer is that I came back to Framley for reasons you know. That, in turn, brought me back here.'

  'You couldn't keep away?'

  'Something like that. I hadn't intended to come back. When you first dragged me out to this place to see that poor wee body–' He stopped, and for a moment Winterman thought Pyke might finally begin to show some real emotion. 'It was that night. I was on the way back on the bike when there was another fall of snow. I skidded and it didn't seem safe to go on. There was nowhere else locally I could go, and it seemed madness to try to carry on just for reasons of pride or embarrassment.'

  'You just turned up on the doorstep?'

  'More or less.'

  'How did Merriman take that?'

  'In his stride, as always. It was as if we'd never split up. As if I'd just been away for a few days. But that was Howard.'

  'You've been here since then?'

  'Christ, no. I just stayed the night. And I made it clear I was there only because of the snow. We had a few drinks, a pleasant enough evening. But nothing else.'

  'But you came back again?'

  'I did, didn't I? Explain that one. I suppose I wasn't really finished with Howard.'

  'I'm sorry,' Winterman said. 'I really am.' He paused, inwardly cursing the policeman's instincts that would make him ask the next question, pitched just when Pyke seemed most vulnerable. 'Why did he go out last night?'

  Pyke looked uncomprehending for a moment. 'Howard? You've seen the clothes?'

  'I had a quick look round upstairs. Thought I'd better check the lay of the land before Spooner's lads got their mitts on it. I found the clothes and the boots. It looked as if he'd been out sometime late last night.'

  'Or early this morning. I know. I don't know why though.'

  'You weren't aware he'd gone out?'

  'Not till this morning. I found the clothes, the way you did. I'll spare you the details, but I slept in Howard's room last night. I'm a heavy sleeper though. I didn't hear a thing. Either he got up sometime in the night or early and then had changed out of the damp clothing, back into his dressing gown.'

  'Whichever it was, it suggests he'd been out before. Before he went out and encountered whoever murdered him.'

  'Howard wasn't usually the sort for midnight assignations. Preferred his creature comforts. You were more likely to find him in that dressing gown than those boots. That's why I was so surprised to see them in the wardrobe this morning. Howard wore them more as a fashion item than anything else. Made him look rugged. Leading man stuff.' Pyke paused, clearly thinking. 'If you want my opinion, he must have gone out sometime in the night. It wasn't like Howard to leave anything uncleaned – certainly not just to stick them back in the cupboard like that. If he'd been out after he got up this morning, he'd have cleaned and polished them downstairs. He must have been out in the night sometime then just slipped them back in the wardrobe on the assumption I wouldn't spot them.'

  'That would imply he didn't want you to know that he'd been out.'

  'It would, wouldn't it? It's easy to see why you're the detective here.'

  'You've no idea why?'

  'Not at all. But if Howard was involved in blackmail, it wouldn't surprise me if one of his victims was local. He never liked putting himself out any more than he could avoid.'

  'You're suggesting some sort of assignation last night? Linked to his death?'

  'I'm suggesting nothing, old chap. You asked for my opinion.' Pyke rose and walked over to the window, which overlooked the rear of the house, out of sight of Merriman's prone body. 'Christ, I don't know, Winterman. All I can tell you is I didn't do it. There's no particular reason why you should believe me. But I didn't. And I'm not telling you this stuff about blackmail just to throw up a smokescreen.' He shook his head. 'Christ, what a mess.'

  Winterman glanced across at Hoxton. 'For what it's worth, which frankly isn't much, I don't think you killed him. Partly because, if this was a crime of passion, it's a hell of a coincidence, given Fisher's death. If you'd cold-bloodedly copied Fisher's murder, you're smart and knowledgeable enough to have removed any trace of your presence and made yourself scarce rather than just telephoning us.' Winterman shrugged. 'But that's my sort of logic. I wouldn't kid yourself that Spooner will be of the same mind.'

  'I've no illusions about Spooner,' Pyke said. 'There are a few innocent men behind bars because he was more interested in closing the case than in finding out the truth. And not just behind bars.'

  Winterman watched him in silence. Pyke's unspoken thought was obvious. If he were found guilty of murder, the outcome could well be more than mere imprisonment.

  'I'll do whatever I can, Pyke.' Winterman glanced at his watch. 'Is there anything else you can tell us?'

  'I don't think so. Most of what I've told you is speculation. It's just brought home to me how little I knew about Howard. I don't know who he mixed with in London. I don't know who else might have been in his life. If he was involved in blackmail, I've no idea who the victims might have been.'

  'If one of the victims was someone local if would have to be someone with a reputation to lose. And money. That narrows the field.'

  'That's your territory, old chum,' Pyke said morosely. 'But it's still just speculation.'

  'At least it gives me something to speculate about. Which is more than I've had so far.' Winterman looked again at his watch. 'I don't want to be caught with you when Spooner turns up. I'm going to leave you in the good hands of DC Hoxton, who's been sitting too far away to hear any of this conversation.'

  'Not a word, sir,' Hoxton said.

  'I'll do what I can,' Winterman said again. 'I'll try to persuade Spooner to keep an open mind. Failing that, I'll make sure I keep an open mind myself. You need to start thinking about precisely what you're going to tell Spooner when he gets here.'

  Pyke nodded somberly. 'Thanks. It's Joshua, by the way.'

  Winterman blinked. 'What is?'

  'My Christian name. Some people call me Josh. The ones who don'
t call me Pyke.'

  'Crikey.' Winterman gazed at him for a moment, then held out his right hand. 'Ivan.'

  Pyke took the hand and shook it solemnly. 'Ivan. Bloody hell. If I'd known, I wouldn't have been so embarrassed about mine.'

  Chapter 49

  Mary had intended to walk quickly past the graveyard to avoid another conversation with Bryan. But as she turned the corner she saw a large black Humber police car parked across the gateway. Not their own Wolseley, which meant that other officers had arrived from HQ.

  She slowed briefly as she reached the gate. Brain was just inside, morosely smoking a cigarette. He was looking lost, his limited role usurped by the arrival of the HQ team.

  'Have they found anything, Bryan?' Mary asked. 'About the blood, I mean.'

  'If they have, they're not telling me. But they're not telling me anything. Put me firmly in my place, they have.' A look of faint hope crossed his face. 'Did you find the inspector down at the station?'

  'No, I'd missed him. It looked as if they'd headed off in the car.'

  'They didn't say they were going anywhere. I thought they'd be back up here to examine the site.'

  'Is this a friend of yours, Constable?' a voice said from behind him. 'Can I help you, madam?'

  Mary had watched the plain-clothes officer approaching. 'I don't think so. What exactly did you have in mind?' To her left, she sensed Brain stifling a laugh.

  'I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave, madam. The churchyard isn't open today.'

  She smiled pleasantly. 'Are you the new sexton? I don't think we've met.'

  'I'm a police officer, madam. This is police business.' The man hesitated, clearly recognising there was no reason why she should accept this statement at face value. He reached into his overcoat and produced his warrant card.

  Mary registered that, despite his overbearing manner, he was nothing more than a DC. 'Thank you, Constable. I take it this is about the child's body?'

  'What would you know about that, madam?' The superciliousness was slipping slightly.

  'I was one of the people who discovered it. Along with DI Winterman.' Her smile widened. 'I imagine you'll want me to make a statement about it.'

 

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