The Fifth Suspect

by Robert McNeil

  ‘Lovely setting,’ Anderson said as they walked up the path to the front door. It was in stark contrast to her rather dingy flat which sat above a shop near Oxford town centre.

  Fleming nodded his agreement as he rang the doorbell.

  There was a slight delay before Sarah Nielson appeared looking somewhat anxious. ‘I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. I was on the phone… to my father. He’s very sweet. He keeps asking if I’m all right. Wanted to come over this morning while you were here, but I said there was no need.’

  Fleming told her not to worry. ‘You’ve met DC Anderson.’

  Sarah smiled. ‘Yes… yes, of course. Come in.’

  She led the way into a little sitting room. ‘Do have a seat.’ She indicated the settee behind a coffee table.

  ‘Mrs Nielson,’ Fleming began, ‘thank you for seeing us so soon. We don’t want to take up too much of your time, but we do need to ask you a few questions.’

  ‘Yes… of course. Go ahead.’

  Fleming watched Anderson get her notebook out and saw a nervous glance from Sarah. ‘We need to make notes,’ Fleming explained, ‘if that’s okay with you?’

  Sarah smiled weakly. There was a slight hint of a Cockney accent when she spoke. ‘No problem. I ought to make more notes. Memory’s like a sieve at times.’

  ‘When did you last see your ex-husband?’ Fleming asked.

  ‘I haven’t seen him since the divorce.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘Oh, last June.’

  ‘Have you spoken to him since then?’

  ‘No, I had nothing more to do with him. There were no children so there was no need to keep in touch on that score.’

  ‘Can I ask why you divorced him?’

  Sarah hesitated and brushed a strand of hair from her face with a shaky hand. ‘It was mostly because of the affairs he had. He’d been unfaithful on at least three occasions that I knew about–’

  ‘Mostly?’

  ‘He… he used to bully me. Not just mentally…’ Sarah hesitated.

  ‘Go on,’ Fleming prompted.

  ‘He would lose his temper. Sometimes it was over nothing and he could snap. That’s when he would hit me.’

  ‘Did you ever report it?’

  ‘No. I daren’t. But my dad knew. The first time I had bruises on my face I told him I’d fallen and hit my head on a table. But after two or three occurrences, I ran out of plausible excuses. I eventually told him. He was mad. Wanted to go and confront Ronnie. He said he’d sort him out. I pleaded with him not to. My life would have been a misery–’

  ‘But wasn’t it anyway?’

  Sarah shrugged. ‘I suppose so.’

  Anderson looked up from her notebook in which she’d been scribbling furiously. ‘It must have been very difficult for you, Mrs Nielson. But I understand your predicament. Unfortunately, there are lots of women who are in the same situation as you were.’

  Fleming had been looking around the room. ‘Do you have any photographs of him with friends or army colleagues?’

  ‘God no, I burnt every one he was in.’

  Fleming showed her the wedding photograph from Nielson’s house in Bourne End. ‘That’s you, Ronnie and your father. Who’s the other man?’

  ‘Goodness, I’m surprised he still had that in the house. That’s Eddie Slater. He was Ronnie’s best man.’

  ‘Were he and Ronnie still friends?’

  ‘No, they were best mates, but Eddie was killed in Afghanistan in 2002.’

  Fleming showed Sarah the army photograph from Nielson’s house. ‘Any idea who the other five men are in this photo?’

  Sarah looked at it closely then pointed at Slater. ‘That’s Eddie Slater again. I’ve no idea who the others are.’

  ‘Did you ever meet any of his army friends or colleagues?’

  ‘Not really. We had the odd drink with people at parties and so on, but there were never any regular long-term friends as such that I knew of.’

  ‘Did Ronnie keep in touch with old army colleagues when he left the army?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Did he keep a diary or address book?’

  ‘I never saw one. I think he kept everything like that on his laptop.’

  ‘No regular visitors to the house?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘I gather he threw lots of parties at the house. Weren’t any of the people he invited regulars?’

  ‘Can’t say they were. I think most of them were casual business acquaintances that he wanted to wine and dine. You know what it’s like in the business world.’

  Fleming didn’t, but he could guess. ‘So how was business in his club?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. He kept all of that to himself. I never interfered or asked about his business dealings.’

  ‘You didn’t have a joint bank account?’

  ‘Goodness, no. He’d never let me anywhere near his finances. He only gave me an allowance, but was very generous. He used to buy me new cars, lots of clothes and jewellery. I never wanted for anything, so I suppose his business must have been doing all right.’

  ‘Mrs Nielson, I have to ask you this, were you interviewed by the police about ten years ago regarding suspicions that Ronnie was involved in drugs in some way?’

  Sarah frowned and her eyes flickered furtively between Fleming and Anderson. ‘I… yes I was. But what–’

  Fleming quickly reassured her. ‘Ronnie was never charged with any offences, but have you any idea of what it was about?’

  ‘No and I told the police that at the time. I knew nothing about any drugs. Ronnie said that a business rival was trying to stitch him up and not to worry. He said he would get it all straightened out soon. The police never came back to see me again and Ronnie told me it had all been sorted out. That was the last we heard of it.’

  ‘And then two years later there was a murder in Reading. Ronnie was a suspect. The police must have come to see you about that.’

  ‘They did but he was innocent. He was with me at home all night on the night of the murder. I never understood how he could have been a suspect.’

  ‘Maybe the police thought he had a motive. Even if he wasn’t directly involved, he could have paid someone else to kill the man.’

  ‘The man charged with the killing tried to say that Ronnie had put him up to it. Ronnie reckoned he was just trying to get back at him because he thought Ronnie had given evidence against him. Ronnie was never charged with anything and the man’s claims were never proved in court.’

  ‘Mrs Nielson, have you any idea who might have wanted to see Ronnie dead? Did he have any serious arguments or long-term disputes with anyone?’

  ‘Gosh, people were falling out with him all the time. It was the nature of his business, running a nightclub in London. But no, I can’t say that anything was so serious that someone would want to kill him.’

  ‘Do you know anyone by the name of Emma?’

  Sarah frowned. ‘Can’t say I do. Why?’

  ‘There was a postcard from her to Ronnie on the boat.’

  Sarah shook her head. ‘Never heard of her. Doesn’t surprise me though if he had a girlfriend.’

  Fleming changed tack. ‘Your father didn’t have any time for Ronnie, did he?’

  Sarah’s eyes flashed with concern. She hesitated. ‘Not really. He was angry when he found out Ronnie had been hitting me. They never really did get on, I suppose. I think Dad was just being protective toward me.’ She wrung her hands together. ‘I know what you’re thinking. He didn’t like Ronnie, but would never do anything like that.’

  Fleming smiled. ‘I’m sure you’re right, but we do need to check on everyone who could have had a reason to kill him.’

  ‘Of course. I understand.’

  Fleming rose to go. ‘Mrs Nielson, you’ve been a great help. I’m sorry to have taken up so much of your time.’

  On the way back to Oxford, Fleming looked across at Anderson who seemed to be examining her notes clo
sely. ‘What do you think of it all so far, Naomi?’

  ‘There are a few leads to follow up on, I suppose. There’s the woman called Emma. If it is Hayden’s wife, he would have had the motive to kill Nielson. And he commits suicide soon after. Then there’s the men in the army photograph, and Mr Rainer.’ Anderson hesitated. ‘By the way, I noticed something else about him.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘He’s right-handed.’

  As soon as Fleming and Anderson left, Sarah Nielson was on the phone. ‘Dad. It’s me, Sarah. DCI Fleming and DC Anderson have just been to see me…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘They asked about you. They know you didn’t like Ronnie. They asked me if I’d reported him for domestic abuse. I told them I hadn’t but that you knew. Dad, I hope I haven’t said anything I shouldn’t have–’

  ‘Sarah, don’t worry. It’s fine. They already know I hated the man. As good as said so outside the mortuary. Listen, why don’t I come over to see you tonight?’

  16

  Nielson’s Cellar was aptly named. The club was in the basement of an old rundown-looking building in the middle of Soho. Fleming and Logan had left Oxford on an early morning train to Paddington. From there they took the Bakerloo Line to Piccadilly Circus. London was bustling with morning commuters. It was hot and oppressive as Fleming and Logan walked up into Soho. Air pollution levels were high.

  ‘Couldn’t do this every day,’ Logan complained. ‘Bloody nightmare.’

  Fleming tended to agree. He’d spent eight years working in London as a detective with the Met. He had to admit it had been a nightmare most of the time. ‘You won’t be asking for a transfer to the Met then?’ Fleming joked.

  ‘Not on your life,’ Logan agreed.

  The door to Nielson’s Cellar was open, leading into a cramped hallway with a small desk stuck in the corner. Worn stone steps led down into a cavernous room with a stone floor. It looked like an old wine cellar with brick arches dividing a seating area with circular tables from a small wooden-decked dance floor. At the back of the cellar was a long bar that stretched across most of the back wall. Against one of the side walls was a slightly raised wooden stage.

  A short man wearing faded jeans and a grimy white vest was busy stacking chairs on the tables. He looked up as Fleming and Logan approached. ‘We’re closed,’ he grumbled through cracked and blistered lips.

  Fleming showed his warrant card. ‘DCI Fleming and DS Logan. We’re here to see the manager, Scottie McBain. He’s expecting us.’

  The man glowered at the two men. ‘Is that so?’ he drawled. ‘Scottie didn’t tell me he was expecting anyone.’

  ‘You Scottie’s personal assistant as well as the cleaner?’ Logan asked. He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Run along and get him, there’s a good chap.’

  The man glared and shuffled off to a door at the side of the bar.

  After a minute, he returned. ‘In there,’ he muttered, nodding toward the door.

  Fleming didn’t bother knocking since their arrival had already been announced. McBain’s office was in stark contrast to the rest of the club. A dark-green tartan carpet covered the floor. A large photograph of Glasgow Rangers hung on the wall behind a desk cluttered with papers and files. Two yellow canaries perched in a large wire cage hanging from the ceiling and a bright light hung over the desk McBain sat behind. He looked like a retired boxer. Powerful frame, bulging biceps, heavily tattooed arms. In his fifties, Fleming guessed. Grey stubble hid the heavy lines on McBain’s face, but failed to disguise thin cruel lips. He wore a tasteless tartan waistcoat over a white T-shirt and his left ear sported a diamond ear stud.

  ‘I guess you’ll be here about Ronnie,’ McBain announced in a gravelly voice. He made no move to get up from behind his desk to greet Fleming and Logan. Reclining back in his chair, he clasped his hands over the thin grey bristle that remained of his hair.

  ‘That’s right,’ Fleming confirmed. ‘Need to ask a few questions.’

  McBain shrugged and peered at Fleming through narrowed eyes. ‘Feel free, but I doubt I can be of much help.’

  Logan indicated some chairs by the wall. ‘Mind if we take a seat?’

  ‘You thinking of staying long?’ McBain retorted.

  ‘As long as it takes,’ Logan replied.

  McBain glared at Logan. ‘Don’t expect tea and biscuits as well.’

  ‘A few minutes of your time, Mr McBain,’ Fleming said, ‘then we’ll leave you to get on with whatever you’re doing.’

  ‘I was about to let Bonnie and Clyde out for some exercise.’

  Fleming frowned.

  ‘The birds – my two pet canaries,’ McBain explained, nodding towards the cage.

  Fleming looked puzzled. ‘Exercise?’

  ‘They need to be let out of their cage regularly during the day… bit like prisoners in the nick.’

  ‘You know all about that, do you?’ Logan quipped.

  ‘What the fuck is this?’ McBain demanded. He glared at Logan. ‘You trying to wind me up?’

  Fleming ignored the heated exchange. ‘What happens to the club now?’

  McBain shrugged again. ‘Don’t rightly know. It won’t go to his ex-wife. Ronnie made sure of that after the divorce. She got everything out of him then that she’s ever going to get.’

  ‘I understand there’s no other family?’

  ‘That so? Don’t know his personal details. He was the owner – I just manage the place. No doubt the vultures will decide what happens to it.’

  ‘The vultures?’

  McBain looked at Fleming as though he ought to have known. ‘Bloody lawyers, that’s who. By the time they’ve finished sorting out Ronnie’s estate, fuck knows what’ll be left after they’ve taken their cut.’

  ‘How long did you know Mr Nielson?’ Fleming asked.

  ‘About ten years.’

  ‘You happen to know any of his old army colleagues?’

  ‘No.’

  Fleming showed him the photograph. ‘Ever seen any of these men?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Which ones?’

  ‘Ronnie.’

  ‘Bit of a comedian, Scottie,’ Logan quipped. ‘Maybe you’ll find it funny if we get forensic accountants down here to check through the books. Could tear the place apart if we had to. Might be easier if you answer DCI Fleming’s questions.’

  McBain lunged forwards in his seat and leaned with his arms across the desk. His dark eyes glared at Logan. Then he relaxed and smiled. ‘Of course, I’d be very happy to help you with your enquiries.’

  Fleming resumed where he’d left off. ‘So, you don’t know anyone else on the photo?’

  ‘No.’

  Fleming showed him the wedding photograph and pointed to Rainer. ‘Know who he is?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He’s never been here?’

  ‘Never seen him before.’

  ‘When did you last see Mr Nielson?’

  ‘Wednesday. Said he was going to Bourne End for a few days. He had things to do and was going to come back to the club on Saturday afternoon.’

  ‘Did he say what it was he had to do?’

  McBain grunted. ‘I’m not his keeper–’

  ‘Answer the questions, Scottie. Make life much easier,’ Logan said.

  McBain glowered darkly. ‘No.’

  Fleming continued. ‘Did Mr Nielson have any enemies?’

  McBain laughed. ‘Who doesn’t in this game?’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Stands to reason, doesn’t it? Type of place, type of clientele. He’s fallen out with more than one client, and more than one supplier, and competitors.’

  ‘Anyone on that list he upset enough that they’d want to kill him?’

  McBain shrugged a third time. ‘Doubt it. But you never really know people, do you?’

  ‘Where did Mr Nielson keep records of all his contacts?’

  ‘On his laptop.’

  ‘There must be some records here�
�� I mean for you to access when he’s not here?’

  ‘Only suppliers and business contacts. All his personal stuff was on his laptop.’

  ‘We’ll need to see a copy of all the contacts you have.’ Fleming handed over his business card. ‘You can send it to me by email.’

  McBain took the card and slipped it into his shirt pocket. ‘I’ll get someone on to it.’

  Fleming asked, ‘Did Mr Nielson ever bring Emma here?’

  McBain frowned. ‘Who?’

  ‘Emma Hayden?’ Fleming tried.

  ‘Never heard of her.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Quite sure.’

  ‘Know a man called Potts?’

  McBain stiffened. ‘Why d’you want to know?’

  Fleming ignored the question. ‘You do know him?’

  ‘Of course I do. He used to work for Ronnie.’

  ‘What did he do?’

  McBain was evasive. ‘Oh, this and that. Bouncer, barman, running errands–’

  ‘What kind of errands?’

  ‘How the fuck should I know. You’d need to ask Ronnie.’ Scottie paused for effect and smiled. ‘Oh, but then you can’t, can you?’

  Logan glared at McBain. ‘Smug bastard, aren’t you?’

  McBain narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists. ‘Anyone else spoke to me like that and I’d–’

  ‘Kill them?’ Logan offered.

  Fleming ignored the exchange between the two men. ‘Was he anything to do with the drugs investigation some years back?’

  ‘The Met were all over the place then. They hauled Ronnie in for questioning, and so was Potts. They never found anything and never brought any charges. We reckoned it was someone who had it in for Ronnie that was trying to get the club closed down.’

  ‘Who do you think that might have been?’

  McBain laughed. ‘Any one of a hundred people. Take your pick.’

  ‘Two years later, Mr Nielson was suspected of being behind what was thought to be a drugs-related killing. Potts pleaded guilty to manslaughter. Think that could have been anything to do with the previous drugs investigation?’