So far, Otway had found someone at the station, a quietly spoken, thoughtful woman who had worked with Jim Breslaw, but had stayed the course, kept her head down, said yes and no to Tom Taylor as required, even after catching him and Alison Glassop on the floor in his office late at night.
‘Gave me a fright, I can tell you,’ Grace Shean said.
The women sat on a park bench two hundred yards from the station, near enough for Grace to have walked, far enough for them not to be disturbed or recognised.
‘How did you find me?’
‘A friend,’ Ashley said, not willing to mention that Jim Breslaw had given her the name. ‘Tell me what you know.’
‘I’m not that important. You know that. Do my job, go home.’
‘Inconspicuous, part of the furniture?’
‘Nobody knows I’m there, left alone most of the time, that is these days. Young Tom, he calls me mum, not that I like it much, never had kids, you see.’
‘Out of politeness or sarcasm?’
‘He’s a sweet boy, done nothing wrong by me, except for calling me mum, but it could be worse.’
‘If you were a sweet young thing, he could have been chasing you around the station,’ Ashley said.
She had judged it correctly. Grace Shean belonged to that army of decent people who give to charity, look for the cheapest items at the supermarket, pay their taxes, go to work, go home. A good person whose life had passed by.
‘Alison?’
‘I’m not sure she does much, other than look pretty, smiling all the time. Although with young Tom…’
‘Not so much smiling?’
‘Not something you want to see every day. My dear old mum, ninety-six years of age, if she’d been there, we’d be burying her now. She’s from another time, prim and proper. I’m not.’
‘A wicked soul, are you?’
‘I like a bit of fun, not that I get out much, and my husband, bless his soul, dead and gone now. He was solid, a decent provider; mind you, we didn’t want much.’
‘The same as you? Invisible?’
‘He was. Worked in a factory, making parts for industrial-grade air-conditioners, knew more about the process than anyone else, could have told them a thing or two about reducing costs, improving the product, but they never listened.’
‘Is that the same with you?’
‘I observe.’
‘You see what goes on, who’s sleeping with who, who’s fiddling the books, creaming off the money.’
‘I don’t like to talk. Loyalty, not much of it left.’
‘Not much fun being ignored, the target of ridicule.’
‘Mr Jaden, he disapproves of disrespect in the office. Alison can be a cow, looks me up and down, sneers and pulls a funny face when I’m not looking.’
‘Funny face to who?’
‘To Tom, but he doesn’t like it. He’s had a good upbringing, respectful. He told her off once, I could hear them through the door, not that I’m an eavesdropper.’
‘Her reaction?’
‘She told him not to be childish, that it’s harmless fun. He didn’t say anymore after that, understandable if she’s ringing his bell.’
‘A quaint term,’ Ashley said.
‘It’s better than what they say these days.’
‘Too much crudity, I’d agree.’
‘I know. On our street, where I live with my mum, the children shout it to each other all the time.’
‘Jim Breslaw?’
‘Not here,’ Grace Shean said. ‘We might be seen.’
‘It’s unlikely, but if you want, we can talk in my car, a restaurant if you’re hungry.’
‘Your car will be fine. I have to get back soon.’
In the car, the engine running, the heater on full blast, Grace relaxed. ‘It’s a lovely car,’ she said.
‘It is, cost me plenty.’
‘I never learnt to drive. Dan, that was my husband, he drove me everywhere, not that we ever had anything like this; our car was old, and he was always fixing it.’
‘Jim Breslaw?’ Ashley said, returning to the previous question.
‘He was a good man, treated me well.’
‘Competent?’
‘I thought he was, but we were losing money, not that it was his fault.’
‘He was regarded as impeding progress, blamed for Simmons’s death.’
‘Angus Simmons didn’t care about anyone but himself. I can’t say I liked him.’
‘Did you meet Maddox Timberley?’
‘He brought her to the station once or twice. She was delightful, complimented me on my clothes. Not very sincere, her doing that.’
‘You look fine,’ Ashley said. ‘She was polite.’
‘Even so, I liked her. Him, I didn’t care for, full of himself, not in a cocky way, but smug. That kind of look that says I’m better than you, which he was, climbing those mountains.’
‘You admired him?’
‘For what he achieved, but then he goes and climbs that building, falls off, flattened on the top of a truck. Mr Jaden was on the warpath when he heard, screaming out loud to anyone nearby: “Who authorised that man to climb that building? I want their name, and I want it now”.’
‘Anger or show?’
‘Mr Jaden doesn’t get angry, only pretends. He only worries about money, and Angus falling off that building was going to hurt him where it hurt most.’
‘His back pocket?’
‘That’s it, but I know the truth. He knew that Angus was going to climb, a message from Jim Breslaw.’
‘You can prove it?’
‘I’ve got a copy of the email. I’ve also got a copy of Jim Breslaw’s termination letter and the severance package he received. Very generous, it was.’
‘Who took the shot? Any ideas?’
‘Not at first. I thought it was an accident, but then more people are tuning into the channel, and soon after, Tricia is announced as the star of a new show, guaranteed to excite, and so on.’
‘The so on?’
‘The usual. You were there, but then you started asking questions. Mr Jaden, he didn’t like that.’
‘What’s the truth? What are you hiding?’
‘Jim knew about the new programme, even before Angus Simmons fell. It was his idea, not that he received credit. He thought Angus was starting to look old, not the great force he had once been, and that accident when Mike Hampton fell was still giving bad vibes. Angus Simmons was no longer the all-conquering, pure as the driven snow, bona fide hero. He was on the way out, and Tricia was in.’
‘Do you like her?’
‘She fancied herself, although she was careful not to let it show. Maddox, I liked, a genuineness about her, but Tricia, she’s what she wants you to see, and as for Alison, thick as two short planks. More attractive than the other two, but Tom Taylor will soon dump her.’
‘Tricia Warburton?’
‘I’m sure he slept with her. You’ll not tell Alison, lose my job?’
‘I won’t. Proof?’
‘The invisible woman, sees all, says nothing.’
‘You’re talking to me.’
‘It’s not comfortable, knowing one of those in the office is a murderer.’
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know, but Tricia’s flirting with Bob Babbage. That man’s slimy.’
‘Not an attractive man,’ Ashley said.
‘Does it matter? Mr Jaden’s no oil painting, but he’s got women stashed around the city.’
Grabbing her handbag, Grace Shean opened the car door and got out, looking back at Ashley, shouting that she was late and had to get back to work, almost colliding with a car.
Ashley knew she was onto something. She considered whether to let the police know or wait and see. The latter option appealed more.
***
Maddox Timberley breezed into town, a man on her arm, a contract to pose nude for a lads’ magazine. All in all, she was pleased with herself, her star in the ascendency,
although her mother was distressed at her lax morals, not believing that the pretty little girl she had given birth to would be splattered once again across the pull-out centrefold of a magazine, showing what should be reserved for someone she loved, not every Tom, Dick, Harry and pervert.
‘Don’t worry, mum,’ Maddox had said as she sat in the kitchen of her parents’ council home. They had refused to move, even when their daughter could afford to buy them a small place of their own. ‘It’s where I was born, where I’ll die,’ the mother’s rebuke, more to do with where the money had come from than the uprooting from familiar surroundings.
Isaac read the guff on Maddox Timberley’s return, her new beau, speculation as to whether she was on the rebound or if she had found true love.
He knew it wouldn’t be long before Maddox was asked her opinion on global warming, the damage to the environment, rioting in America, feminism, and whatever else.
Wendy met with Maddox, a suite at one of the best hotels in London.
‘You’re making a splash in the media,’ Wendy said as she sat in a chair that almost swallowed her, such was its plushness. Behind her, a view over the River Thames, the London Eye off to one side, the tourists with their iPhones snapping happy shots, oblivious to a heavy mist rolling up the river.
‘It’s a show,’ Maddox said. ‘You must know that.’
A yawn from the other room, a bleary-eyed Romeo staggering out.
‘Realistic,’ Wendy said, a smirk on her face.
‘It’s not what it seems.’
‘I suggest you get rid of lover boy, and you and I can have a serious chat, woman to woman, or else Challis Street, bright lights and not those from a photographer. What’s it to be?’
‘Make yourself scarce,’ Maddox said, kissing her lover on the cheek, securing the towel that was slipping from around his waist.
‘Whatever,’ the response.
Five minutes went by, time enough for Wendy to look around, to see the designer luggage, the underwear casually strewn, to smell the air.
‘Smoking pot?’ Wendy said. ‘We have been a naughty girl, haven’t we?’
‘I’ve nothing to be ashamed of.’
‘We’ll see about that. It’s offensive, not able to control yourself for more than a couple of weeks before you find another man.’
It wasn’t the standard interviewing technique, Wendy knew. She felt it appropriate under the circumstances.
In the other room, the sound of a shower running, Romeo singing out loud.
‘If he’s not out of here in two minutes,’ Wendy said, ‘he’ll be out on the landing with no clothes on, you as well. Miss Timberley, your credibility is in the garbage. You’re now a hostile witness, and the next time we meet, you’ll be in a prison cell, not living it up here.’
‘You can’t talk to me, not like that. My manager—’
‘Your manager will do nothing, and as for him who’s got one minute…’
‘You said two.’
‘I lied, no different from you. Proud of yourself?’
The police station was the best place for the interrogation. Still, Maddox Timberley, her taste in lovers questionable, hadn’t committed any serious crime, although knowingly telling untruths to the police wasn’t going in her favour.
Wendy knew why she was so hard; she had liked the woman, recognised good values, underlying decency beneath the pretty exterior. She was disappointed, and she was letting it show.
‘What do you want me to do?’ Romeo asked, his eyes bloodshot. He was barefoot, dressed in a pair of jeans, a white tee-shirt from the Caribbean, an image of a glass with a straw and a decorative umbrella.
‘Anywhere, just don’t be long,’ Maddox said.
‘Make it long,’ Wendy said. ‘Call in one hour. What’s your name?’
‘Why?’
‘Sergeant Wendy Gladstone, Homicide, that’s why.’
‘I haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘Who said you had? I asked for your name.’
‘Brett, Brett Valentine.’
‘Not your professional name, not the name when you’re prancing around, flexing your muscles, screwing Maddox.’
‘John Saunders. You want an address?’
‘Somewhere we can find you, in case you do a runner.’
‘She’s got it,’ Romeo said, looking over at Maddox.
‘I can give it to you, a phone number as well,’ Maddox said.
‘Criminal record?’ Wendy asked.
‘You’ve no right to ask.’
‘Which means you do. What for?’
‘Possession of drugs, dealing, time in jail, a couple of years, out early on appeal.’
‘And this is the sort of trash you go around with?’ Wendy said, looking over at Maddox. ‘Angus Simmons, a man of substance, of achievement, and you’d rather screw this piece of garbage?’
‘Angus? Substance, achievement? The man couldn’t get it up, not unless he was half-drunk, dosed up with Viagra.’
‘I thought you were decent, but you’re not, just garbage crawled up from the same primordial slime as Brett Valentine Saunders over there.’
‘It’s Brett Valentine. I don’t use the other name, not good for my image.’
‘You’ve got no image. Now, get out and don’t come back until I say so. Is that clear?’
‘You—’
‘I can, and the drugs in here? What if I got a sniffer dog in? What will it find?’
‘Nothing. I’m not dealing now. I’m a model; make enough money.’
‘Get out, now.’
Maddox Timberley sat quietly in a chair; she was crying.
Chapter 16
With calm restored in the hotel suite, Wendy phoned Larry, briefly explained the situation and told him to get over to the hotel.
Isaac had been informed of developments, not entirely comfortable with the situation, but willing to let his sergeant continue, his inspector supporting her.
Wendy and Larry, on his arrival, went into another room. Wendy admitted she had said and done things, not because she had wanted to, but because it was necessary.
‘Drugs?’ Larry asked.
‘More than marijuana, although they may belong to the boyfriend,’ Wendy said. ‘No point in wasting our time on a search. We’re here for murder and the truth. This relationship with Simmons is all-important.’
‘Maddox, are you ready?’ Wendy said.
‘I should have a lawyer with me.’
It was the woman’s prerogative; neither Wendy nor Larry could refuse.
‘Anyone in particular?’
‘I have a friend. I trust him.’
‘Lover?’
‘No. Sergeant, you’ve got it all wrong. I’m not like that.’
Wendy said nothing.
‘We’ll reconvene down at Challis Street, make it official,’ Larry said.
‘Not there. I don’t want to be seen, my image.’
‘You’re hardly the virgin queen,’ Wendy said. ‘I thought there was no such thing as bad publicity.’
‘Everyone thinks I’m on the rebound from Angus, that I’m heartbroken, finding solace in the arms of another man.’
‘Aren’t you?’ Wendy said.
‘I loved Angus, always will.’
‘Here or the police station?’ Larry said.
‘Here is fine. I’ve broken no law.’
‘We’ll see,’ Wendy said, pulling out a drawer next to the drink cabinet, recognising the packaging, not needing to sniff or to inspect, knowing that the contents were illicit. An arrest could be made, which she had no intention of pursuing.
Larry phoned room service, asked for tea and coffee, along with a selection of sandwiches. ‘You’re not picking up the tab, are you?’ he said to Maddox.
‘Not for here.’
‘Who is?’
‘Fame has its benefits.’
‘It's strange,’ Wendy said, ‘that you, Maddox Timberley, who has all the attributes and the opportunities, should sell
yourself as a slut, whereas Deborah Hampton, who you believe insulted you, we’ve found to be estimable.’
‘If I am what you believe of me, then why are you here? Why do you think I can help?’
‘It’s not only you,’ Larry said. ‘You’re not the only person leading a double life.’
‘Double life? What does that mean? I don’t understand.’
A knock at the door. A man, dressed in a suit, pushing a trolley. ‘Afternoon tea for three,’ he said.
‘Put it there,’ Maddox said, indicating a place next to her.
‘Is that all, madam?’
‘It is, thank you.’
The man lingered. Larry, not used to such places, put his hand in his pocket, withdrew a five-pound note and slipped it to the man.
In return, a slight bow and the man disappeared as quickly as he had come.
‘What entitles you to such luxury?’ Wendy asked.
‘It’s my fifteen minutes of fame, and if I play it right, a lot longer.’
‘And it’s that important?’
‘We grew up poor, not dirt poor, food on the table, a stable home, but back then, plain Freda Sidebottom, a gangly child with braces on her teeth, knock knees and a speech impediment. This is what I wanted; I always have. I’ll do anything to keep it.’
‘Including screwing whoever, even murder?’ Wendy asked.
Larry leant over, helped himself to a sandwich. ‘No cucumber? I thought it was compulsory in the best hotels.’ He was concerned that Wendy was allowing her angst to intrude on her professional duty. He looked over at his sergeant and lowered his head slightly, hoping that she got the message to lower the tone and use subtlety, not the bull in the china shop approach.
‘Tell us, Maddox,’ Larry continued, helping himself to another sandwich. Whatever it was in the last one, it was tasty, and he was hungry. ‘In your own time, about you and Angus, and how come we find you here in the lap of luxury, a man in your bed?’
‘My career was stalling before Angus’s accident; there are always younger, skinnier, prettier girls coming through all the time. I’d been one of them once, but I was on the way out. It had been great, travelling the world, the fashion houses, the expensive clothes, parties, and I had a few more years left, but I wasn’t getting paid as much, and I knew that one day the phone would stop ringing. Angus’s death, I had to seize the opportunity.’
The Hero's Fall (DCI Cook Thriller Series Book 14) Page 13