‘Mr Hampton, there’s something we need to know.’
Hampton picked up the book from his lap, put it to his face. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ve got a book to read.’
‘My sons, if they had been as rude as you, I would have given them a clip round the ear,’ Wendy said.
‘What is it that you want?’
‘A letter of consent.’
‘What for?’
‘We need a release of your medical records from the Royal Orthopaedic Hospital, from Dr Henstridge.’
‘What are you trying to find? Proof that I sit in this chair all day because I want to?’
‘There have been reports that you had some movement in your foot.’
‘Did Henstridge tell you this?’
‘He wouldn’t reveal any more than is generally known. Only your time in a hospital in Argentina, your relocation to this country, your stay at the Royal Orthopaedic. He was adamant that he could say no more, not without a court order or a letter of consent from you.’
‘Then it’s a court order. I won’t give my consent. I’m here, and I’m going nowhere, and I certainly didn’t take a shot at Simmons, not that I wouldn’t have once.’
‘Are you a good shot?’
‘I am, not that I ever competed. Sometimes, on the days when I feel better, I go out the back of the house, tin cans on a fence, shoot them off.’
‘What did you think of the shot that took down Simmons?’
‘Complicated shot. Not for an amateur.’
‘Are you an amateur?’
‘I am, but I could have taken the shot.’
‘What type of rifle do you own?’
‘Ceska Zbrojovka 452 bolt action rifle with a scope. 0.22, more than suitable. The only problem is it wasn’t me.’
‘The letter of consent?’
‘Not that it matters if I sign it, but it’s the principle. I can’t see the point of you knowing my condition.’
‘And what principle is that?’
‘Accused of something I couldn’t have done.’
‘I suggest you reconsider the letter of consent, Mr Hampton.’
‘Don’t slam the door on the way out,’ Hampton said as he picked up his book.
***
Jim Breslaw did not like it. His return to the station had been in an advisory capacity, but now he was front and centre, in full control of the new programme. Not that it wasn’t a good outcome for him, but Tricia Warburton was no Angus Simmons, and the stunt advisor, Otto McAlister, wasn’t either.
‘There’s nothing to worry about. I’ve checked the equipment myself, and I’ll make a jump before you do,’ McAlister said, a man richer by fifty thousand pounds. However, the fringe benefits hadn’t resulted – Ashley Otway was keeping her distance.
The three of them, Tricia, McAlister and Jim Breslaw, were standing on a bridge to the north of London. A steel construction that had endured the test of time for more than a century, and two hundred and twenty feet below, a slow-flowing river.
Ashley Otway stood at a vantage point thirty yards away, aware that she wouldn’t trust herself to McAlister, cheapened by her involvement with the man.
‘Are you sure, Otto?’ Breslaw asked. ‘We don’t want a repeat of what happened before.’
‘Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.’
‘How long to go?’ Tricia asked. The short dress, the curvaceous figure, concealed by green overalls.
‘Down and dirty,’ Jaden had said the day before. ‘Show them another side, a daring personality.’
Even so, she wasn’t sure; she hadn’t slept the night before, wondering if the fame she craved was worth the fear.
In Homicide, Bridget watched the event, live-streamed by the television station; Wendy was looking over her shoulder.
‘Not me,’ Wendy said. Bridget could only agree.
McAlister took his position, gave a thumbs up and launched himself, arms splayed. On his return, he declared it safe for Tricia to jump.
After a snatched gulp of alcohol, Tricia took her place after her weight had been double-checked, the length of the bungee cord adjusted.
‘There’s nothing to worry about, Tricia,’ McAlister said. ‘Your heart will beat stronger, you may feel an adrenaline buzz, but it’s over within seconds.’
There was a weak smile from Tricia, a wave to the camera, and then she followed through with what McAlister had done, crossed herself for luck and pushed off.
A feeling of exhilaration as she fell, not enough time to achieve the sense of accomplishment, a camera tracking from a distance, the sound of screaming, and then at the maximum trajectory, the recoil of the cord, drawing her back up some distance before dropping her again. A shout of ‘I did it’. And then, at the lowest point of the second time down, when the cord should have recoiled again, a sound of sheer horror as it snapped.
Tricia Warburton was in free fall. She hit the river headfirst, soon bobbing back up to the surface. Pandemonium up above, disbelief, people were standing around, others overwhelmed by what they had just seen.
McAlister was rushing down a track to the river; the rescue crew at the bottom, not used to what had just occurred, not snapping into action, valuable time lost.
In Homicide, Bridget and Wendy watched the unfolding drama, the commentators on the early-morning show at the television station unsure what to say or do, and then, over to a commercial break.
Wendy was on the phone with her DCI, updating him on the unfolding events. Larry in the office, but not watching, was on the phone to Tom Taylor or whoever he could get, rushing to pick up his phone and car keys, Wendy not far behind him.
‘She couldn’t have survived,’ Bridget said.
‘It’s murder,’ Larry’s comment.
Publicity was what Jaden had wanted; publicity was what he got. The other stations started to pick up on the unfolding events, and it was on YouTube within five minutes, on Facebook in an even shorter time.
McAlister was down at the riverbank, wading into the water to grab the woman and pull her in. On one side of her face, blood was pouring out, the result of hitting shallow water, a rock below the surface. Tricia Warburton was dead.
Larry and Wendy arrived forty-five minutes later, a still stunned crowd of onlookers watching, McAlister with his head in his hands, wandering around, zombified.
‘How could it happen?’ he said. ‘I tested it myself.’
The bungee jump owner, a pugnacious little man, was there, having arrived five minutes before Larry and Wendy. ‘The first time,’ he said. ‘The cords are checked regularly.’
‘You knew Tricia Warburton was to jump?’ Wendy asked.
‘Her people asked for permission to film, wanted to see all my certificates, our level of insurance.’
‘Is that unusual?’
‘Filming for commercial purposes is, but usually, no one asks to see the certificates, nor the insurance, not that we don’t have them, we do. But you don’t expect an accident, and certainly not death. The rules and regulations in this country are stringent, unlike in some countries overseas, and accidents are rare. It’s not that dangerous. People have jumped into their nineties.’
‘Has anything been touched?’ Larry asked.
‘Nothing. Everyone’s stunned, never seen this before.’
Isaac arrived within the hour and made his way down to the river. The crime scene investigators were with the body, as were McAlister and two people from the bungee jump company.
‘You checked it?’ Isaac asked.
‘I made a jump myself with the same cord,’ McAlister said.
‘You compensated for her weight difference?’
‘I checked that those up top shortened the cord. It was right what they did, she stopped at the right level, and then the cord tensed, brought her back up. It was on the second drop that the rope snapped. It could have been a faulty cord.’
‘You don’t believe that likely?’
‘I’m not sure what to think. It’s a different discipline to
mountaineering. We’re not looking at the same thing. They want the cord to stretch, but in climbing, it’s whether the rope will support the weight, although we allow a certain amount of stretch. A bungee cord is no more than a glorified elastic band.’
Larry was on the bridge, watching the crime scene investigators.
Gordon Windsor, overseeing his crime scene team’s work, looked over the bridge briefly.’
‘No head for heights?’ Larry said.
‘Suspicious, that’s what it is,’ Windsor said.
‘It’s too coincidental for us. Two deaths from the same programme, both of the hosts attempting stunts.’
‘Climbing a building with no safety gear is foolhardy; bungee jumping isn’t, not that I’ve tried it, but my children have, so’s my wife. And from what I’ve seen so far, this appears to be a professional operation.’
‘The cord snapped, plain and simple.’
‘If that was intentional, then someone must have interfered with it.’
‘Before or after McAlister jumped?’
‘It might not be so easy to prove that one way or the other. After all, there was only a few minutes’ difference between him and her. He could have been the target.’
‘If he was, then why? McAlister doesn’t seem viable.’
‘Whereas Tricia Warburton was, is that what you’re saying?’
‘I’m not sure yet. And why kill the woman?’
‘I can’t help you there.’
Larry took one look down. He knew one thing: he would not attempt a bungee jump, not now, not ever.
***
Homicide was convinced, even if Windsor had been noncommittal, as to who the intended victim had been.
Jerome Jaden sat transfixed in his office chair, barely able to comprehend the situation. Jim Breslaw sat opposite; Bob Babbage took a neutral position.
‘The programme’s not going to work,’ Tom Taylor said. He had remained standing, not sure what to say or do.
‘Legally, we’re covered,’ Babbage said.
‘Is that all you can think of at a time like this?’ Karen Majors said on entering the room. ‘Tricia’s dead. The police will be swarming over this place. I’ll be lucky to keep any of our advertisers, not after this is splashed over the media.’
‘She was murdered,’ Jaden said.
‘How do you know?’ Taylor asked.
‘It’s a conspiracy.’
‘Do you believe what you just said?’ Babbage asked.
‘We need to act fast.’
‘It sounds callous,’ Karen Majors said. ‘Tricia was one of us; so was Angus.’
‘Emotions are not for now. Action is, and for that, I need you all on board. Jim, how about you?’
‘This has become too grubby,’ Breslaw replied. ‘Count me out, wherever this is leading.’
‘It leads to survival,’ Jaden said. ‘Within a couple of hours, the police will be here. Whoever or whatever is responsible for Simmons’s and Tricia’s deaths is not important for now; the rumours are just hearsay, innuendo or downright lies. Either we take advantage, or we might as well shut up shop now. Do you want that, Tom?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Great. You’ve got twelve hours to put together a fifteen-minute documentary: the history of the programme they hosted, interesting excerpts, Simmons’s mountaineering exploits, Tricia’s if she’s got anything of note. He’s to be the outdoor adventurer, following in the footsteps of Andrew Irvine and George Mallory, mountaineers from the 1920s. Lay it on thick, a man who had no fear, a man’s man, charismatic, loved by all. You know the sort of thing.’
‘I’ll need help,’ Taylor said. ‘I’m not sure I’ve got the skills to do this.’
‘Take Alison. Grab hold of the production team. Jim, you’re in?’
A nod of the head from Breslaw.
‘Great,’ Jaden continued. ‘In the meantime, schedule one of Simmons’s documentaries. The news team can show the necessary sympathy. And as for you, Bob, you can check out our legal liability, make sure Tricia’s daughter is looked after, payments to whoever as soon as possible.’
‘Can we afford this?’ Karen Majors asked.
‘Get whoever it is that we have – Helen Moxon, I think that’s her name – to run through the figures, also what it’ll cost to set up a new programme, murders that have never been solved, that sort of thing. Time is of the essence, and you, Karen, have got to sell it. The world’s watching, and we’re taking note.’
‘And what of Tricia Warburton?’ Breslaw asked.
‘If McAlister killed her, for what reason we can only guess, he’ll be charged. Maybe he got a knockback from Tricia. After all, he was sleeping with Ashley Otway, and she gave him the push. Who knows what goes through the mind of such a man?’
‘If he didn’t?’
‘Jim, don’t worry about this for now. Focus on preserving this station; the station of law and order, compassion and love. Karen, can you work with this?’
‘Was this planned?’ Karen asked.
‘Tricia’s murder? Why would you say that?’
‘It seems that her death has given this station another lease of life, that’s all.’
‘It’s providence. There’s always a solution. Only sometimes it’s not so easy to see,’ Jaden said.
Chapter 23
The consensus in Homicide after Tricia Warburton’s death was that whoever had taken the shot at Simmons could have tampered with the bungee cord. Gordon Windsor confirmed the probability that it had been partly cut with a sharp knife, enough to have weakened it, the reason that it took two jolts before it snapped.
Although, as Isaac said at the first meeting in Homicide after the tragedy, that speculation came with provisos, in that no one except McAlister had been alongside the woman as she jumped.
‘Then it’s McAlister,’ Wendy said.
‘What possible motive could he have for killing Tricia Warburton?’ Larry said.
‘Or the intended target wasn’t the woman,’ Wendy added.
‘Are you suggesting the cord had been cut earlier, and she wasn’t the target?’
‘McAlister was the first to jump that day. We know that the woman wasn’t keen and that he jumped to show her that there was nothing to worry about.’
‘This is common knowledge,’ Isaac said, ‘but where’s this heading?’
‘McAlister has the dirt on Hampton. We know that well enough. He’s a liability and possibly to others who know the truth.’
‘Others?’
‘I’m not sure of who, so maybe nobody.’
‘There’s a flaw in your argument,’ Larry said. ‘Even if we agree with you that McAlister’s the target, there’s still the question of the damage to the cord.’
‘Is there?’ Wendy said. ‘Hampton knows ropes and what to look for, and even though a bungee cord is not the same, he’d be able to research on the internet how much to cut the cord.’
‘It would have been seen,’ Isaac said.
‘Would it? A cold morning, high on a bridge, a tight schedule. And how often do they check them? Once a week, once a month, every time someone jumps?’
‘Hampton’s not on the bridge. How could he do it?’ Larry said.
‘Wasn’t he? And even if he wasn’t, couldn’t he have got to the cord beforehand? The company has somewhere they store the equipment. Not so difficult for a determined person, and Hampton’s single-minded. What if it was McAlister that was to plummet to his death, and somehow it held? Tricia Warburton could have died instead of him.’
‘Larry, you and Wendy, bring Hampton to the station. Bridget, use a Section 29 request form, get DCS Goddard to sign it, prepare a court order, make sure all the salient points are there, and I’ll phone up Doctor Henstridge, tell him I’m on my way and that I’ll expect full cooperation.’
***
Henstridge sat firmly on his office chair, adamant that he wouldn’t discuss the matter further or open up Hampton’s file without a court order.<
br />
‘Events are moving fast,’ Isaac said. ‘I suggest you prepare the information that we want.’
‘That’s not the issue. As you say, you intend to arrest Mike Hampton on suspicion of murder, so that must mean you are very confident of his guilt.’
‘Not murder, not yet, but he had the motive, if not the ability. He is the crux on which our investigation hinges.’
‘And if his medical report says otherwise?’
‘If it does, then we’ll look elsewhere. In the meantime, you can either deny or confirm that Mike Hampton has reacquired the use of his legs.’
‘Section 29 of the Data Protection Act gives me some leniency in this, and I’m aware that your chief superintendent has signed the form, but due to the seriousness of the matter, I’ll still need a court order. You, as a police officer, can understand that,’ Henstridge said.
‘I can, and I do. However, Hampton may well have been responsible directly or inadvertently for the deaths of two persons. I wouldn’t want another to be on your conscience.’
‘I will follow the letter of the law, no other.’
‘When was the last time you saw Hampton?’
‘It will be in the information I give you.’
‘It’s only a question.’
‘To you, it is, not to me.’
At Mike Hampton’s house, calm reigned. Larry and Wendy had arrived, told the man his rights and informed him of his removal to the police station.
‘In a wheelchair?’ Hampton’s comment. ‘Me, involved in a murder? How? I can’t leave the house, not unless I go down a ramp, and you expect to charge me with cutting a bungee cord.’
‘It’s not been reported, the cutting of the cord,’ Larry said.
‘It’s on Twitter.’
The curse of social media. Those interviewed had been told of the need for confidentiality, but others, with their smartphones, hadn’t.
‘You’ll need to come with us to the police station,’ Wendy said.
‘Why? I don’t need a cell; I’ve got one here.’
Even though a woman came in during the week to check on Hampton, the house showed neglect. An electric heater, turned up too high, closed windows, and a smell that permeated the place.
The Hero's Fall (DCI Cook Thriller Series Book 14) Page 21