The Concrete Ceiling

by Peter Rowlands

  I nodded as vigorously as I could manage. “It’s easy to be wise after the event.”

  “I’ll tell you what else I think,” Sam said to me. “I think Nick took a dislike to you right from the start. He must have looked at your photograph in those press reports and seen you as a potential rival.”

  I said, “But you and I weren’t in touch any more. I wasn’t in your life.”

  “Not in the beginning, no – you were just a theoretical threat. But as soon as I invited you to that ridiculous party, the threat became real in his eyes. So it was my fault really.” She shook her head. “Apparently you became a second obsession with him.”

  “But he was very subtle about it.”

  “Oh, yes he was good at that. He had a knack of shafting people at the same time as ingratiating himself with them.” She suddenly sat back and lifted her arms defensively. “Don’t start asking me why I stayed with him if I knew all this. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking in the past few days. I’ve understood a lot of things I didn’t see before.”

  Ronnie was shaking her head. “Has anybody mentioned the word ‘psychopath’?”

  Sam said, “Not in my hearing, no. But I thought psychopaths had no feelings. I’d have said Nick had extremely strong feelings. He allowed them to dominate his life.”

  Later Sam said, “I haven’t seen your article yet – the one you wrote for Seismic Scene.”

  “They chopped it around a lot. I’m just one contributor out of three.”

  “Dad said he thought it was a good summing-up.”

  “You can look at it now if you like.” I waved towards my laptop. “I was reading it when you arrived – checking to see if I could add anything new since I submitted my part.”

  Sam wandered over to the desk and waggled the mouse to bring the computer to life. For a moment she looked at the screen, then she said, “What’s this?”

  I went over and stood shoulder to shoulder with her. The main item in view was the webcam video Jane Caldwell had obtained for me. I said, “Oh, I’d forgotten about that. It’s some bloke who visited Rob Openshaw’s house the day before he was killed.”

  She looked more closely. “I know that man! What was his name?” She screwed up her eyes. “Simon Curtis – that’s it!”

  “You know him? Seriously?”

  She looked again at the picture. “I’m pretty sure, yes.”

  “Where from?”

  “If it’s the same man, I met him once at the cottage. It was soon after we moved in there. I’d just pulled up at the front door, and Nick was already there. He’d been having a meeting with two other guys. They’d finished, and one of them was getting into his car to leave. The other man was chatting to Nick on the doorstep, so we were introduced. It was very fleeting.”

  The significance of this was beginning to dawn on me. I said “Do you realise what this means?”

  Chapter 81

  I stared at Sam in wonder. “You’ve just discovered a link between Nick and Rob Openshaw. They both knew this man Simon Curtis. But how can that be? Nick and Rob existed in completely different circles.” I paused for emphasis. “I knew both of them, but why would they know each other?”

  “Search me.”

  “Do you know what this guy that you saw did for a living? Was he in the property business?”

  “I got the impression he wasn’t. Afterwards Nick made some remark about branching out into new fields.”

  I turned to Ronnie. “Sorry about all this, but I’ve just realised that two separate threads of my life apparently overlap, when they shouldn’t. I need to know what the hell is going on.”

  “Don’t mind me. This is an education.”

  I turned back to Sam. “Maybe I can track down this guy Curtis.” I leaned over the computer and typed in “Simon Curtis”. This produced forty million finds. I said, “I think we’ll need to narrow it down a bit.”

  “North Greenwich!” Suddenly Sam was triumphant. “Nick introduced him to me as Simon Curtis of North Greenwich.”

  This cut down the list of finds drastically. I sat down at the computer, and for a while I browsed among the Simon Curtises whose names came at the top of the list. I said, “I don’t really know what I’m looking for.”

  Then Ronnie came up with an idea. “If this guy Curtis knew Rob Openshaw, and Rob Openshaw’s job was promoting books, why don’t you type in ‘books’ or ‘reading’ as one of your search terms?”

  “Good thinking.” I re-ran the search, and within a couple of minutes I’d found him.

  Simon Curtis was the founder of a book promotion service.

  * * *

  Sam pulled her chair over to the computer and crowded up beside me. “What does this mean?” she said.

  “I don’t know. Let’s have a look.”

  I scrolled around the TopBookReads web site. The firm had been founded by Simon Curtis seven years before, and I quickly spotted that it was based in London, which made it something of a rarity. Although Rob Openshaw himself had been working from here, his business had remained American in spirit. This firm really did appear to be home grown.

  I turned to Sam. “Did Nick know anything about publishing?”

  “I doubt it. He never would have had the time for it.”

  “He wasn’t a closet self-publisher?”

  “Self-publicist, maybe,” Ronnie commented dryly.

  Sam said, “The nearest he came to the publishing world was through a relative of his. He told me once that some uncle of his had been in book publishing.”

  That had me interested. “Who was this? Did you ever meet him?”

  “No, I think he probably died years ago.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Something Hathaway? I’m afraid I don’t know.”

  But my mind was already whirring. When I’d been talking to Annette Braddock, the publishing executive who’d picked my brains in the British Library, she’d remembered Rob Openshaw from years back. More important, she’d told me the name of the publishing company where he’d started out. That might be a clue. What was it? I racked my brains for a moment, then remembered it: Firecorner Publishing.

  There was no Firecorner Publishing web site, but I found various links to other sites that mentioned the company, and pretty soon I was reading an account of how it had been founded back in the 1970s, and its offices had been in Chelsea. The name of the founder was Gerald Hathaway.

  I said to Sam, “Let’s just take stock. In the past, Nick’s uncle Gerald ran a publishing company, and Rob Openshaw worked there for a while. Later Rob starts a promotion service for self-publishers, and eventually he winds up back here in London.”

  I paused. “Jump forward to this year, and we find Nick having a meeting with this man Simon Curtis, who runs another promotion service for self-publishers – also in London. Then a few months later, Curtis is videoed outside Rob Openshaw’s house. Clearly they know each other. So what’s going on?”

  I glanced between Ronnie and Sam, for the moment neither had anything to offer. I said to Sam, “Do you think Nick might have met Rob Openshaw years ago, when Rob was working for Gerald Hathaway?”

  “I don’t know. It’s possible. The family might have gone on visits to see him. I wasn’t with Nick long enough to pick up his family folklore.” She shuddered theatrically. “Thank god.”

  “What about the other guy who was leaving when you turned up that day at the cottage? Did you get much of a look at him?”

  “Only fleetingly. He was ducking into his car as I arrived.”

  “Could he have been Rob Openshaw?”

  “I don’t know. What did Rob Openshaw look like?”

  I trawled around the web until I found a news story about Openshaw’s death that included a photograph of him. I said, “Have a look. Could this have been the man you saw getting into his car?”

  She peered closely at it. “I can’t swear to it, but yes – it could be him.”

  * * *

  Sam and Ronnie
left at around eleven to catch the Tube back to east London. After they’d gone I paced up and down the lounge, trying to think through what I’d just learned. I already knew that Nick Hathaway had become involved in various aspects of my life, but I’d never for a moment suspected that my book-publishing endeavours might be one of them. Now I had to re-imagine everything.

  The more I mulled over what I’d discovered, the more convinced I became that Nick had known Rob Openshaw. What was bizarre was that he’d never given the slightest indication of it. Quite the opposite; when I’d been accused of killing Openshaw he’d treated the man as some unknown third party. He’d even mustered Bernard Croft to handle my legal defence.

  If Nick really had known Openshaw in his childhood, then clearly their relationship had nothing to do with me. The question was whether my arrival on the scene had somehow influenced subsequent events.

  My instinct was to start finding reasons for blaming Nick for Openshaw’s death, but that seemed ridiculous. I’d seen no other evidence to suggest it, and I couldn’t think of a clear motive. In any case, if it was true, how come the evidence was still pointing so emphatically at Ellie?

  And where did this newcomer Simon Curtis fit in?

  I glanced at my watch. Did I dare bother Dave Matthews at this time of night? I did, but he soon had me feeling guilty. He listened to some of what I had to report, then said a little irritably, “I can see where you’re going with this, Mike. You want me to pick Pat Evans’s brain again. Well let me suggest an alternative. Why don’t you go and talk to him yourself?”

  Chapter 82

  “So we meet at last.” DI Pat Evans gave me an ironic look as he shook my hand briefly and led me into a small office. He was in his late forties, squarely built with a full head of wavy black hair. He had a genial face, but his penetrating gaze made him difficult to read.

  I said, “I believe I have you to thank for getting me out of a fix when your colleagues were determined I was a murderer.”

  “We prefer to nail the right guys if possible.” He gave me a deadpan look.

  “What’s happened to DS Ratcliffe and DC Baird, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “They’re on suspension. They might get their jobs back, but if they do, their cards are marked.”

  “You’re being remarkably candid.”

  He leaned back in his chair and allowed himself the indulgence of a smile. “Dave is a good guy, isn’t he? Excellent company. And his partner Suzy – what a live wire! Anyway, he’s persuaded me to give you the benefit of the doubt, and I take some persuading.”

  It wasn’t exactly fulsome support, but I decided to take it as a backhanded compliment. I said, “I appreciate the good will.”

  “So why did you want to talk to me today?”

  I described the webcam video I’d seen of the man arriving at Rob Openshaw’s house the day before the killing. “Dave said this was dismissed as irrelevant, but I wondered if it would be worth your while looking at it again?”

  “You wondered that, did you?”

  Despite this unpromising reaction I pressed on, “I’ve worked out who this guy is. His name is Simon Curtis, and he was in the same business as Rob Openshaw. Maybe he had a grudge against him?”

  He gave me an assessing look. “You’re a journalist, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, kind of.”

  He steepled his hands for a moment, choosing his words. “Look, I agreed with Dave that I would talk to you today because we gave you a hard time when you were a suspect. You could call this my way of making amends. But this conversation never happened – I need your undertaking on that. If I tell you anything, you have to promise me it won’t end up in the public sphere. Not unless I say so, anyway. Are we agreed?”

  “Absolutely.”

  He nodded. “OK, well surprising as it may seem to you, we know all about Simon Curtis and Rob Openshaw. You need to give us a bit more credit. They were in discussion about merging their businesses. Or to be precise, Mr Openshaw was going to take over Mr Curtis’s company.”

  That took the wind out of my sails. I’d been hoping my revelation would have much more impact. However, after a moment I continued, “Did you know that Curtis was also in discussion with a man named Nick Hathaway?”

  Evans gave another brief smile. “This would be the same Nick Hathaway who tried to bury you alive a few days ago? Yes, we know about that too. Mr Hathaway was going to come up with some of the funding for the acquisition.”

  I paused to take this new information on board, then said, “If you knew about Nick Hathaway’s involvement, why didn’t you tell Dave or me?

  As soon as I’d asked the question I knew the answer, but that didn’t save me from having to listen to it. Evans said, “This may come as a surprise to you, Mr Stanhope, but we’re not actually obliged to share our deliberations with you, however much of a good man Dave Matthews might be.”

  “Sorry, I put that badly. What I’m saying is that I was indirectly connected to Nick. He was going to marry a friend of mine. And you were treating me as a suspect in Openshaw’s murder. Didn’t the connection seem significant?”

  For the first time Evans seemed slightly hesitant. “We might be a bit brighter than you seem to think, but we’re not omniscient.”

  “Didn’t anyone find it odd that Nick organised a solicitor for me?”

  “Same answer.”

  “But surely Nick Hathaway would have figured in your investigations eventually?”

  “My colleagues had plausible suspects. At the time of their original investigation there was no reason for them to cast the net wider.”

  “And now?”

  He gave me a questioning stare. “Give me a solid reason why we should revisit this.”

  “Well, while this man Curtis was visiting Openshaw they got into some sort of fight. The next-door neighbour Jane Caldwell heard shouting and a crash like furniture falling over.”

  Finally he raised his eyebrows. “Did she now? That’s something that never came up.”

  “Ask her. She’ll confirm it. She reported it at the time, but she says no one paid her any attention.”

  He looked thoughtfully at me for a moment, then scribbled something on his notepad.

  I said, “You need to find out why Openshaw and Curtis might have got into a shouting match.”

  He shook his head. “Their emails and texts were perfectly cordial. They were talking about how the merger between their businesses would be a win for all concerned.”

  “But they must have fallen out about something.”

  “The problem is that Mr Curtis has a solid alibi for the day of the murder. He was at a book fair in the West End.”

  “Maybe he sneaked out. Islington isn’t that far from central London.”

  “Then he should have appeared on the webcam footage for that day. But he didn’t.”

  “Maybe he came in the back way, over the fence? Apparently Ellie and her boyfriend used to do that all the time.”

  “But we’d still have picked him up on CCTV somewhere in the neighbourhood.”

  “If you were looking for him.”

  He stared at me for a moment, then picked up a phone from the table. He chatted briefly to a colleague, then put the receiver down again. “I was just checking on Simon Curtis’s alibi for the day of the killing. It sounds watertight to me.” However, he was now looking pensive.

  I said, “What?”

  “Just a fleeting idea. I’ll need to give it some more thought.”

  I asked how matters stood with Graham Bulwell. I was expecting a perfunctory reply, but he surprised me. “Bit of a puzzle, that,” he said.

  “How do you mean?”

  I could see him debating with himself for a moment, then he said, “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but something about Bulwell’s account of the events that day has always struck me as odd. He’s admitted assaulting Openshaw, but he’s been adamant all along that he never actually shoved him or hit him. He claims he bar
ely did more than grab the man’s arm. It wasn’t the kind of gesture you’d associate with an assault.” He sighed and quickly corrected himself. “Well, in these enlightened days it would probably be viewed a serious invasion of Openshaw’s personal space. My point is that it doesn’t sound like a killer blow.”

  “But Openshaw went down anyway.”

  “Exactly. And Bulwell is taking responsibility, so the assault case against him will go ahead.”

  The conversation was coming to a close. I said, “So will you be looking again at Simon Curtis?”

  “As I said, his alibi is strong. Also there’s no motive. Quite the opposite – Curtis had plenty of reason to be grateful to Openshaw for backing his business. We’re not about to leap into action against him without good reason. All I can say is that we’ll keep an open mind.”

  Presumably this was the best I could expect. As I stood up I said, “What about Ellie Openshaw? Are you still going after her?”

  “We’re in discussion with our American colleagues about the best way forward.”

  “Did her boyfriend Chico come forward in the end?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. It was his evidence that more or less settled the case.” He gave me a meaningful look. “He mentioned your name when he turned himself in.”

  Chapter 83

  The lights were on in Covent Garden, and a chilly breeze was gusting through the open-ended market building. I’d just come from a meeting south of the river in Kennington, and decided to take the opportunity for an impromptu catch-up with Sam and Ronnie. I’d made sure in advance that their stall would be there.

  “You won’t believe this,” Ronnie said as she saw me approaching. “We’ve recovered all the stuff that was stolen from us – and you’ll never guess where it was. Nick had it!”

  “What?” I stared at her in disbelief. “You’re saying the burglary was a set-up?”

  “Yup. The police found our stuff in a garage near Banbury – gemstones, silver, loads of finished items, even some tools. The whole lot. We should get it back next week.”