Need You Dead

by Peter James

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you certain?’

  Hesitant. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You seem unsure.’

  ‘I had it with me.’

  Roy Grace produced a sheet of paper on which was printed a street map, with a small red circle drawn on it. He handed it to Darling. ‘I’d like you to take a look at this.’

  The suspect and his lawyer both studied it.

  ‘Do you recognize it?’ Grace asked Darling.

  ‘It’s a street map.’

  ‘It is. Are you familiar with this area?’

  ‘Should I be?’ He sounded sullen.

  ‘Well, it does look as if you’ve spent a bit of time there recently. Which supplier do you use for your mobile phone, Mr Darling?’ Grace asked.

  ‘O2.’

  ‘The map I’ve handed you is a street map of the area of Hove immediately around Lorna Belling’s flat at Vallance Mansions. Do you see that red circle?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you know the location where it is drawn?’

  ‘It’s the area around Vallance Mansions.’

  ‘Correct. We obtained this map from the phone company. It’s a triangulation report on your phone number. You told us a short while ago that on the afternoon of Wednesday, April 20th, you were measuring up the grounds of a property in Hurstpierpoint, and afterwards that evening you were walking your dog up on the Downs. Is that correct?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘According to O2, your phone, which you said you had with you all the time, was in the vicinity of Vallance Mansions from 1 p.m. until 10 p.m. on that day. Can you explain that?’

  Darling stared at him, then at Guy Batchelor, and suddenly seemed to shrink even further.

  ‘I’d like to speak to my client in private,’ Doris Ishack said.

  ‘A little work on jogging his memory, perhaps?’ Grace said, unable to resist. It was met with stony stares.

  ‘Interview suspended at 10.07 a.m.,’ Grace announced for the benefit of the recording device.

  48

  Sunday 24 April

  Roy Grace went outside with the DI so that Guy could have another cigarette. A former heavy smoker himself, some years back, Grace understood you’d never get the best out of anyone whilst they were craving a cigarette. There were patches of blue in the sky. Maybe later he’d get a chance to go home and kick a football around with Bruno. But for now Operation Bantam was his priority.

  ‘Give Darling time to sweat a bit, Guy?’ he suggested. ‘Let him start wondering what else we know about him.’

  ‘Yes, I like it. How long have we got before we have to release him – or apply for an extension?’

  Grace looked at his watch, and did a mental calculation. He was interrupted in mid-thought by his phone ringing.

  ‘Roy Grace,’ he answered. It was Georgie English, the Crime Scene Manager. ‘Sir,’ she said. ‘I’ve just had the report from CSI Chris Gargan, on the semen that was found in the body of the victim.’ It had been sent to LGC Forensics for analysis – one of the labs to which Surrey and Sussex Police sent evidence for DNA testing. She began to list out for him the details of the lab’s findings. All the differences in the DNA of the semen found inside Lorna Belling, when compared to her husband’s DNA. Georgie English reeled off jargon: restriction enzymes, nitrocellulose, radiolabelled probe microbes hybridizing to DNA fragments, polymerase chain reaction, alleles.

  It was like an impenetrable foreign language. He didn’t need this much information. English could have cut the crap and simply said, You’re screwed!

  Or rather, Lorna Belling had been.

  By someone not her husband.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  ‘Shit,’ he repeated, and then said, ‘Is Chris Gargan sure, Georgie?’

  Dumb question, he knew. Of course the lab were sure. The lab knew the importance of 100 per cent accuracy. It was what they had built their business on, police forces being able to rely on their reports in court. Belt and braces. No smart-arsed brief was ever going to pick a hole in their findings.

  There was no match to anyone on the DNA database, she informed him with clear regret in her voice.

  With Seymour Darling’s past criminal history, his DNA would have been on file. Although that still did not exclude him as a suspect. But it weakened the case against him.

  He thanked her and ended the call, then relayed the essence to his colleague.

  Batchelor took a final drag on his cigarette and crushed the butt in the wall-mounted receptacle, then they went back inside, both officers thinking hard and going through the ramifications.

  ‘So Lorna Belling had had sex with someone the day she was murdered. That doesn’t necessarily mean her husband didn’t kill her, does it, boss?’

  ‘It could have given him even more of a motive. Had he found out she was having an affair, which had been the trigger?’

  Batchelor nodded. ‘Yup, that has currency.’

  ‘But what this information does do is blow this case wide open. It’s suddenly become a lot more complex. Whose sperm was it? What was her relationship to this person? Could this person, rather than her husband, be her killer? There’s a lot more work to be done,’ Grace said.

  ‘Meantime, what do we do about Seymour Darling?’

  ‘We have to release him on bail.’

  ‘I still have a feeling it’s him.’

  ‘He’s a lying little scrote, for sure,’ Grace said. ‘But we don’t have enough evidence to charge him. Not yet. Keeping him in custody any longer would just be a distraction for us.’

  Batchelor looked pensive for some moments, then nodded, reluctantly. ‘You’re right, boss.’

  Grace looked at his watch. There was now a mountain of work to be done on this case, but he was mindful of his responsibility to Bruno, too. He was also aware it was three days since the murder had been discovered and they were going to have to hold a full press conference. ‘Guy, let’s hold a planning meeting at midday. Ask someone from Media Relations to come along so we can prepare a press release and briefing for first thing tomorrow. Do you know who’s on call?’

  ‘Oliver Lacey, boss, I already checked.’

  ‘Good, he’s smart. Let’s think about the message we need to get out.’

  ‘We need witnesses who were in the vicinity of Vallance Mansions on Wednesday night,’ Batchelor suggested.

  ‘Yes. Anything else?’

  ‘Anyone who knew the couple? Clients of the deceased?’

  ‘Yes. But most, if not all, would be on the mobile from her home, which Digital Forensics have,’ Grace said.

  ‘Anything else, boss?’

  ‘Any householders in the area who had CCTV cameras pointing at the street in front of their property? But that should be covered by the outside enquiry team.’

  ‘It should be.’

  ‘What are we missing that we could appeal to the public for?’

  Batchelor shrugged. ‘I dunno. Vehicles in the area?’

  ‘Yes, vehicles in the area. Unfamiliar ones. If she’s been having an affair, it might have been going on for a while. Her lover might well have arrived in a car. Someone, a vigilant member from the local Neighbourhood Watch scheme perhaps, may have spotted a car they did not recognize parking for a couple of hours and then leaving.’

  ‘Good point.’

  ‘Make sure the Crimestoppers number is included on any images.’

  ‘It will be, boss.’

  ‘This is a good exercise for you, Guy.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ He shook another cigarette out of the pack.

  ‘This is a good case for you to cut your teeth on. To see the complexities of a homicide investigation. This is turning into what I call a real Gucci job.’

  ‘Gucci?’ Batchelor looked down at his shoes. He was wearing a pair of black Gucci loafers he’d bought in a designer outlet sale on a recent shopping expedition with his wife.

  Grace smiled. ‘Nice shoes. Wasn’t meant to be personal. Gucci’s what I call
a proper investigation, rather than just low-life on lowlife. We’ve got a real puzzle on our hands here, Guy. Your big chance to shine as my deputy.’

  ‘I’ll rise to it, boss!’

  ‘I know you will. You’re smart. As SIO I’ll be watching every step you take.’

  ‘You sure you don’t want to take it over, now you’re back?’

  ‘You’re doing well, Guy.’

  ‘I appreciate your faith.’

  ‘I’m sure you won’t let me down,’ Grace replied.

  Confidence smiled back. ‘I think we should have one final interview with Darling before we release him,’ Batchelor said. ‘Now he’s had time to think.’

  ‘Oh?’ Grace quizzed.

  ‘Something that’s just occurred to me.’

  49

  Sunday 24 April

  ‘Interview with Seymour Darling, by Detective Superintendent Roy Grace and DI Guy Batchelor, in the presence of his solicitor, Doris Ishack, of Lawson Lewis Blakers, recommenced at 10.35 a.m.,’ Grace said, and re-cautioned the suspect.

  ‘Do you have anything to say about being in the vicinity of Mrs Lorna Belling’s flat, in Vallance Mansions, Hove, on the afternoon and evening of last Wednesday, April 20th, the day she died, Mr Darling?’ Guy Batchelor asked.

  ‘Actually, yes, quite a lot.’

  Batchelor gestured with his hand for him to proceed.

  ‘I think the bitch was having an affair.’

  Batchelor shot a glance at Grace, who looked poker-faced.

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘I saw him.’

  Batchelor and Grace exchanged a glance. ‘Saw who?’ Batchelor asked.

  ‘He stood in the porch and rang the bell. Minutes later I saw them in the window, all wrapped up in each other’s arms. Snogging.’

  ‘The same man who was in the porch?’

  ‘I couldn’t swear.’

  ‘So he could have been visiting someone else in the block? There are over fifty flats. What makes you so sure it was Lorna Belling he was visiting?’

  ‘Because—’ He hesitated. ‘He had the same build.’

  ‘That’s all? The same build? As who?’

  Darling hesitated again. ‘Yes. I – he kind of looked smooth.’

  ‘In what way did he look smooth?’

  ‘He reminded me a bit of James Bond.’

  ‘James Bond? Which James Bond? Daniel Craig? Pierce Brosnan? Roger Moore? Sean Connery? One of the others?’

  ‘I – it was sort of the way he carried himself.’

  ‘So while you stood outside her flat, seething with anger, James Bond was inside, busy murdering her?’ Batchelor pressed.

  ‘I don’t know what he was doing.’

  ‘Was this the first time you saw him? According to the phone records, you stood outside Lorna’s flat most of Monday, April 18th, and most of Tuesday, April 19th. Did you see James Bond on either of those days, too? Or are you going to deny you were there then?’

  Darling squirmed, visibly. ‘I was there, yes.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you have been at work? Quiet week, was it?’

  ‘I had jobs measuring garden fencing in that area.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Batchelor asked. ‘Your employer would be able to confirm it, if I called them, would they?’

  Darling reddened, suddenly looking panic-stricken. ‘Look – please – I was outside, watching her flat. I was angry. I was waiting for her to come out and I was going to confront her. I did see him – this Bond character – on Monday afternoon. About 2 p.m.’

  ‘Was he abseiling up her wall?’

  ‘No, he had a bottle – I think – it looked like a bottle in a carrier bag – and he looked nervous. He went to the porch and then went in. I saw them up in her window a few minutes later.’

  ‘You saw him twice in broad daylight,’ Batchelor said. ‘But you can’t tell us what he looks like? Are you sure he exists? He’s not some figment of your imagination?’

  Darling shook his head. ‘He was looking around, nervously, like. You know? Like he didn’t want anyone to see him. Like a man – having an affair.’

  ‘Are you talking from experience?’

  ‘I don’t think that is an appropriate question,’ the solicitor interrupted.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I think it is,’ the DI said. ‘I’d like your client to tell us more about why he thinks James Bond – if he exists – was having an affair with Lorna Belling and was in her flat on the day she died.’

  Doris Ishack leaned across and conferred with her client in whispers for a moment. Darling nodded, then turned back to the detectives.

  ‘No comment,’ he said.

  ‘Mr Darling, would you recognize this – er – James Bond if you saw him again?’

  ‘I – I might.’

  ‘You saw this man outside Lorna Belling’s apartment building twice, in broad daylight, less than one hundred yards across the road from where you were standing, and you claim to have seen him in her window twice, but you are not sure you could identify him if you saw him again. Are you really sure he is real?’

  ‘He drives a matt-black Porsche.’

  ‘Oh? In the books, from memory, James Bond drives an elephant-breath-grey Bentley. In most of the films he drives an Aston Martin. But your James Bond drives a Porsche?’

  ‘I notice cars. It’s just coming back to me. I saw the same Porsche – a 911 Carrera 4S – driving around slowly, like it was looking for a parking space, on the Monday afternoon, and again on Wednesday.’

  ‘You can identify cars, but not their drivers?’

  ‘It had darkened windows.’

  ‘Did you get its registration number?’

  ‘No, why should I have done?’ Darling gave him a pointed look. ‘I’m not a sodding detective.’

  ‘Fair play,’ Batchelor conceded. ‘I don’t suppose you’d remember whether it was a normal or a personalized plate?’

  ‘You don’t suppose right.’

  There was silence for several moments. The solicitor broke it. ‘If you have no more questions for my client, I’d be grateful if you would release him immediately.’

  The two detectives stepped out of the room for a few minutes. When they returned, Guy Batchelor said to Doris Ishack, ‘We are not happy with a number of the answers your client has given us. We will release him on police bail whilst we continue with our enquiries.’

  He turned to Darling. ‘Your solicitor will explain the full conditions. But, basically, during the period you are on police bail you are to live at the residential address you have given us. You are to surrender your passport to the police so you cannot leave the UK, and you will report weekly to a police station at a time and place we agree with you. If you do not adhere to these conditions you can be re-arrested and may be kept in custody. Is that clear?’

  ‘Clear as mud,’ Darling said.

  At that moment Batchelor’s phone, which he had switched to silent, began vibrating. Stepping away from the table, he answered it.

  It was Julian Raven, from Digital Forensics. ‘Guy,’ he said. ‘We’ve been working on Lorna Belling’s phone and there’s something that might be of interest to you.’

  ‘Yes, what, Julian?’

  Raven told him.

  Batchelor made some notes on his pad, thanked him and hung up, with a beat of excitement. He turned and signalled to Roy Grace and the pair walked to the door. As they reached it, Darling called out, ‘Hey, Mister Detectives – thanks a lot, for nothing.’

  50

  Sunday 24 April

  ‘Tell me?’ Grace asked Batchelor as they left the custody suite building and headed over to his parked car.

  ‘Julian Raven says Lorna Belling had been in regular contact with one particular phone number a few days before her death. She had disguised the name on her phone contacts list.’

  ‘Do we have a name?’

  ‘Better than that!’ Batchelor said with a grin. ‘We have a plot on his movements.’

  Tw
enty minutes later, back in his office, Grace removed his dark-blue suit jacket and hung it on a hook behind the door, then slipped behind his desk, with his back to the window. Batchelor sat down in front of him.

  ‘Might this be the James Bond that our friend, Darling, was referring to?’ Grace pondered.

  ‘His name’s Kipp Brown, he’s an IFA with his own very successful business in Brighton. Kipp Brown Financial Services. He has ads all over the place in the Argus, Latest Homes and on Juice radio – always featuring himself with his catchphrase, “Trust Kipp!”’

  ‘Does he have any form?’

  ‘No.’

  As Grace wrote the name down on a pad, Batchelor glanced out of the window behind the DS. He could see a man with a clipboard looking up towards the roof of the building.

  ‘According to Raven,’ Batchelor continued, ‘triangulation on Brown’s mobile phone puts him in the vicinity of Vallance Mansions on two occasions in the past week. The first was for a two-hour period, 2 p.m to 4 p.m. on Monday, April 18th, and the second – here’s the interesting bit – between 1.45 p.m. and 3.55 p.m. on Wednesday, April 20th.’

  ‘Bloody hell! That tallies with what Darling told us.’

  ‘Seems like we might have another suspect, boss.’

  Grace was pensive for some moments. His private phone pinged with an incoming text and he was momentarily distracted by it. The text was from Cleo and there was an accompanying photograph. It showed Bruno in bed, with Humphrey curled up on the duvet, on his stomach.

  Looks like Humphrey has a new best friend! XXX

  He smiled, raised an apologetic hand to Batchelor then texted back.

  How great is that???? Love it!! Love you. XXXX

  Then he focused back on the information he’d just received, thinking hard. On his desk was a copy of Friday’s Argus newspaper. The seventh page was dominated by a dramatic photograph of the scene where Corin Belling had been run over. Halted cars and blue and white police tape. The headline read:

  HUSBAND KILLED BY CAR HOURS AFTER WIFE FOUND DEAD

  From the story accompanying it, Guy Batchelor appeared to have handled the press release skilfully, giving enough to satisfy the reporters, but nothing for them to sensationalize. Just bald facts. Lorna Belling had been found dead in her rented apartment on Thursday morning. She and her husband had a history of domestic violence and the city support service, RISE, had been in the process of intervening. Corin Belling had run from his office when police officers (Grace appreciated the anonymity Batchelor had afforded him) had gone to interview him, and, attempting to flee, had run into the path of oncoming traffic. The incident had been referred to the IPCC.