Red is the Colour

by Mark L. Fowler

  ‘I’m not sure what to think,’ said Tyler. ‘A mystery girl would be a handy distraction.’

  ‘I don’t believe he intended it to be much of a mystery, sir.’

  ‘Come on,’ said Tyler. ‘Let’s not keep the VIP waiting.’

  Martin Hillman did a good line in petulant charm, thought Mills, as the players took up their places in the interview room. Mills thought back to that old school photograph. The look of what Tyler had referred to as ‘cold detachment’ peeping through the mask. And that same meticulous parting of the hair, cut at an MP’s length all those years before; as though signifying a premonition or else a master plan.

  Hillman appeared to be feeling in good company next to his solicitor, and Mills wondered if it was a Freudian thing, Hillman’s mother being a solicitor, even his runaway – or perhaps driven away – father. But maybe that was a conundrum for some professorial type thinking of churning out a new thesis on the workings of the human mind with reference to the great Sigmund, and not for a detective sergeant who recently did a one-day course on applied psychology for the academically challenged.

  Still, Mills couldn’t help thinking: had Hillman’s mother cast the die in the mind of her young son – that there wasn’t a problem in life that could not be smashed away by the services of the right kind of legal representation?

  Maybe she had a lot to answer for, God rest her soul.

  Mills was snatched from his reverie.

  Tyler switched on the tape and proceeded to make the preliminaries sound like the rising of the final curtain.

  The formalities completed, it was speech time. The manicured brief had his money to earn, and wasted no time setting about doing so.

  His client, ‘being a man of serious integrity and standing in the community’, would ‘naturally be more than willing to assist the police in the execution of their duties in any way possible.’ His client would be ‘particularly keen to offer his assistance when the matter involved the investigation of a serious crime.’ It was, however, ‘in nobody’s interests to use heavy-handed techniques and outrageous stunts in a ham-fisted attempt to conjure something up where evidently substance was notably lacking.’

  It was, thought Mills, a consummate speech, but still not worth whatever this suited con-man was charging.

  It was, thought Tyler, the biggest load of tosh that he had heard in quite a while, and further indication that the night ahead was going to be hellish.

  Tyler made no comment on the speech, giving it a few seconds’ silence before launching into a concise résumé of the established facts concerning the final ordeals suffered by Alan Dale. No other names were mentioned at this stage, and the effect seemed to Mills rather like an intricate sketch minus the colour.

  Throughout the résumé, Hillman maintained a countenance of mild indifference silently echoed by his solicitor.

  Tyler threw down his first question.

  ‘Were you, Mr Hillman, involved in the incidents that I have described, on either or both of the days in question? The days in question being June 14th, 1972 and June 16th, 1972.’

  Hillman looked toward his counsel, and it seemed to Mills that nobody could give a simple answer to a simple question anymore, not when you were paying the person sitting next to you the kind of money that a police officer could only dream about.

  If some tacit command had passed between the two men, it was not apparent; yet when Hillman turned back to face Tyler, something had changed.

  ‘I was there,’ said Hillman.

  ‘On both days?’ asked Tyler.

  ‘Yes. On both days.’

  ‘And what was your role in the events that transpired on those two occasions?’

  The solicitor interjected at this point, demanding that Tyler clarify what exactly he wished to know. Tyler maintained the question, but the interruption had served to warn the client not to be drawn by broad questioning into saying more than was required.

  Mills had seen people give entire life stories in answer to the vaguest questions. There didn’t seem to be much danger of that happening here, though.

  Hillman thought and then said, ‘It was a nice evening. I’m talking about June 16th, though actually both evenings were pleasant, as I recall. It was not unusual for youngsters to use the park in the summer. There was something going on, and I was naturally inquisitive.’

  This is going to be like pulling teeth, thought Mills. Hillman and his counsel could spin things out for hours, wearing out the interrogator and at the same time giving the illusion of being abundantly helpful.

  Winding down the clock.

  Thirty minutes in and the detectives were still no wiser than at the outset. Hillman was speaking in long and leisured sentences, saying virtually nothing, while his solicitor was raising objections every time Tyler tried to short-cut the routine and move the thing forward.

  Around the hour mark, Hillman’s counsel started to make good use of the crusted jewels on his wrist that collectively resembled a watch. It wouldn’t be more than a minute or so before he started asking how much longer Tyler intended keeping his client.

  Anticipating this, Tyler offered a break. A comfort stop, he called it. It would also give him time to review his strategy and get another opinion.

  They went for it. It was the first positive sign that Hillman and Co didn’t know all the tricks.

  DC Brown was putting in quite a day himself, though he didn’t baulk at organising the refreshments. In the CID office, he was asking Mills how it was going, and Mills said, ‘Slowly.’

  ‘What’s Hillman said about being on CCTV?’

  ‘We haven’t got to that yet.’

  ‘What’s Tyler playing at?’

  ‘Now that is a question.’

  ‘What’s a question?’ said Tyler, entering the office.

  ‘Just thinking out loud, sir,’ said Mills.

  ‘About anything in particular?’

  ‘It was me,’ said Brown. ‘I was asking what Hillman was saying about the CCTV footage – placing him in Stoke the other night. I suppose we’re all a bit uptight about the situation.’

  Tyler nodded. ‘I appreciate that. And I appreciate all of the hard work that this team has put in. Whatever the outcome of all this, I want you to know that, okay.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Brown.

  ‘Berkins not shown yet?’ asked Tyler.

  ‘He rang a short time ago,’ said Brown. ‘He wanted to know if there had been any developments. He wants you to ring him as soon as you’ve finished with Hillman.’

  ‘He’s staying up all night, is he?’

  ‘I wouldn’t like to speculate, sir,’ said Brown.

  ‘I want you to organise something for me,’ said Tyler. ‘I want you to make sure that Hillman sees Dammers and Swanson.’

  A question-mark formed on Brown’s face.

  ‘It makes an interesting party trick when the entertainment’s delayed. I saw an inspector pull it off once. He’s a chief superintendent himself these days, but don’t let that put you off. It’s really quite simple.’

  Hillman and his solicitor were waiting for the detectives to join them back in the interview room when the lights went out.

  Dammers and his representative were waiting in a room further down the corridor, while Swanson, whose now-requested legal rep had unfortunately been involved in a minor road traffic accident and was delayed, was attempting to break the world smoking record in a room of his own.

  The desk sergeant, joined by DC Brown, showed Hillman and his brief out of the pitch-dark room. A technical hitch, Brown explained; they would have to use a room further down the corridor.

  The solicitor seemed on the point of saying something, when they passed an open door. Hillman had already seen the occupant, chugging on a cigarette as though his life depended on it. Swanson looked up, and for a moment the two men locked stares. The desk sergeant and DC Brown observed as Swanson, the breath appearing to be temporarily trapped inside his smoky lungs, nodd
ed and weakly said, ‘Hi.’

  But Hillman didn’t return the acknowledgement, and turned away abruptly.

  ‘I think we can use this room,’ said Brown, pointing toward another open door further down. He let Hillman turn the corner into the room before shouting, ‘Oops, we are busy this evening. Sorry about that.’

  Dammers turned to see Martin Hillman standing in the doorway. He couldn’t help but betray recognition, though he managed not to speak. Hillman turned to his brief, who in turn addressed the two police officers. ‘I take it you have a room that is not already occupied?’

  Hillman was finally shown to an unoccupied interview room and told that the interviewing officers would be along soon. DC Brown waited in the corridor while the desk sergeant went to inform Tyler of the juxtaposition.

  Almost immediately Tyler arrived apologising profusely for the inconvenience, and asking if they would mind returning back to the original interview room as the problem with the lights had now been rectified.

  He noted that Hillman looked less controlled now, more distracted, as though all of his powers of concentration were being eaten up trying to mind-read the situation and its possible implications.

  Hillman walked back up the corridor, in the company of his choosing, with Tyler right behind him. Martin Hillman scarcely turned his head as he passed the two open doors, but Tyler looked in through both portals and saw a deepening fear resident in each.

  With Hillman back in the original interview room, Tyler again apologised for the inconvenience, and asked if they would like drinks. While this was being organised he said to Mills, ‘I think Dammers and Swanson have come up to the boil. Let’s boogie.’

  The interview had moved on to formal, and Swanson was told that, of course, he was at liberty to wait for his solicitor or be provided with an alternative, though by the look of things he was going to have to be patient. Swanson’s nerves were ragged enough. He wanted to get this over with.

  ‘So, Mr Swanson, as you can see we have practically the full set. Douglas Marley is too ill to join us, but we have a statement from him. Now, I want to know who approached who about keeping quiet about the circumstances of Alan Dale’s death. I want to know whether it was Hillman, Jenkins or Dammers who actually killed Alan Dale. And I want to know who killed and/or arranged the killing of Steven Jenkins.’

  Tyler addressed the shattered wreck before him, observed Mills, with controlled incandescence. And there was no doubt about it: Swanson was ready to sell his soul and anything else required to make this nightmare end.

  Swanson spoke. ‘Dammers came to see me. I told you that. He was talking about what had happened all those years ago, down by the park. He said that the police would be nosing around again, asking questions. He said that they’d already been to the school and were trying to talk to Howard Wood. But if we kept our cool, nothing would happen.’

  Swanson tried to light another cigarette, but his hands were shaking too badly and he gave it up.

  Mills said, ‘Finish telling us what you have to tell us, and I’ll light one for you.’

  Swanson went on. ‘He said that he’d spoken to all of the others from that day, and that everyone was going to play ball. I asked him if he was sure about that and I could tell he was holding something back. I’ve been doing my job a long time, and I can tell when somebody’s being straight. I think he knew that he had to tell me, or else it was just creating another possible problem.’

  ‘So, what did he tell you?’ asked Tyler, slowly, calmly, betraying nothing of the furious energy building inside. Mills was sensing it, though, nonetheless.

  ‘He told me that Jenkins was a problem. That he was bottling out, but that it could be taken care of.’

  ‘Did he explain what he meant by that?’

  Swanson reached for his cigarette packet, put it back down. ‘He didn’t explain and I didn’t ask.’

  ‘But you had an idea that something might happen to Steven Jenkins?’

  ‘Yes. I didn’t think they’d kill him. I thought more of a warning or something.’

  ‘They? You said they, Mr Swanson?’

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘What was Martin Hillman’s part in this?’

  ‘I don’t know. When Dammers was telling me about the others, he never mentioned Hillman.’

  ‘Why is everybody so afraid of Martin Hillman?’ asked Tyler.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘And Douglas Marley? Was he a problem?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Martin Hillman made a special trip over to visit Marley. Did you know that?’

  Swanson started to sob.

  Tyler let him.

  Then he repeated the question.

  ‘I knew that Marley had a lot of problems – I knew that through my job. Dammers asked me if I’d had any contact with Marley, which I hadn’t. He wanted to know how the land lay with him.’

  ‘What do you mean by that, Mr Swanson?’

  ‘Dammers said that when he visited Marley, he had gone along with what was said. But he had the feeling that Marley couldn’t be trusted. He said something about needing a second opinion.’

  ‘And you thought that might mean Hillman?’

  ‘I don’t know anything about Hillman.’

  ‘Who killed Steven Jenkins?’

  Mills took out a cigarette out of the carton on the table, placed it between Swanson’s dry lips, and lit it. ‘Nearly over now,’ he said.

  Tyler asked, ‘Do you think Martin Hillman was in any way responsible for the murder of Steven Jenkins?’

  Swanson was shaking and crying. Taking a heavy pull on his cigarette he said, ‘Hillman never got his hands dirty.’

  30

  ‘Mr Dammers, why did you visit Steven Jenkins?’

  ‘I never visited him.’

  ‘Arranged to meet him, then?’

  Dammers didn’t answer.

  ‘You were doing the rounds, weren’t you? You had a call from Martin Hillman, and he wanted you to look up some old school chums on his behalf. Phillip Swanson, Douglas Marley, Steven Jenkins, and even your old teacher Mr Wood. Wood and Swanson were solid enough, so you believed. But Douglas Marley …’

  Tyler made the motion of a boat crossing a stormy sea. ‘A bit rocky, but nothing that a pep talk from a real master couldn’t put right, eh? Jenkins, on the other hand – he was always the bolshie one, wasn’t he? Hated authority; hated being told what to do. Had kept his nose clean for quite some time, working here and there for whoever would take him on. Usually falling out with his employer, sooner or later – the nature of the beast, you might say.’

  The solicitor asked if Tyler intended keeping them enthralled with his wild speculations all evening, or if there was a point in sight. Tyler didn’t even acknowledge the interruption.

  ‘Have you spoken to Martin Hillman during the last week or so?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Have you had any recent contact with Steven Jenkins?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘With Douglas Marley?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘With Phillip Swanson?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘With Howard Wood.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘At least two of them say that you did.’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘Did you assault Alan Dale?’

  Dammers laughed. ‘I already told you: that was Jenkins.’

  ‘When you left Alan Dale for dead?’

  ‘Detective Chief Inspector!’

  Tyler nodded toward the brief. Were they programmed to continually remind a detective of his rank, he wondered.

  ‘When you … left Alan Dale, you say that a girl was coming up the hill. Do you know who this girl was?’

  ‘I don’t know. But she seemed familiar. I’d seen her around.’

  ‘Earlier you intimated that she may have been Alan Dale’s sister.’

  Dammers shrugged. ‘I heard that he had a sister.’

  ‘How? From whom? A
nd when?’

  Dammers seemed flustered for a moment and Tyler feasted on it. It was one thing throwing out neatly barbed accusations, quite another to find your arrogant façade pricked by them.

  ‘She found him alive?’ asked Tyler.

  ‘He was alive when we left; we hadn’t really hurt him that much.’

  ‘A broken cheek bone? A savage beating? Your work as a probation officer must be quite interesting.’

  ‘Really, I must object. And as you clearly have no evidence at all linking my client to the alleged crimes, I must insist that you conclude this interview without delay.’

  ‘Mr Dammers, where were you last Sunday evening and in the early hours of Monday morning?’

  Dammers smiled. ‘I was at the office and then out for the evening.’

  ‘Working Sundays?’

  ‘Catching up on paperwork. We’re very busy, you know.’

  ‘Anybody at the office with you, or do you prefer to work alone?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, a colleague was with me.’

  ‘And do you make a habit of working that late, and at the weekend?’

  ‘Unfortunately, needs must. It’s not a nine-to-five job. You must know how it is.’

  ‘And you can supply the name of this colleague, Mr Dammers?’

  ‘Kay Shields.’

  ‘Probation officer?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And where did you go when you left the office?’

  ‘We went for a drink’

  ‘A local pub?’

  ‘Yes, and then on to a club.’

  ‘On a Sunday evening?’

  Dammers smiled. ‘We’re in the twenty-first century now, I believe.’

  ‘You go to a lot of clubs, Mr Dammers?’

  ‘Is this relevant, DCI—’

  Tyler held a hand up to the brief, and looked directly at Dammers.

  ‘Occasionally, but I wouldn’t say often.’

  ‘Where did you go after you left the club?’

  ‘To my house.’

  ‘Alone?’

  Dammers shook his head.

  ‘Is that a ‘no’, Mr Dammers?’