Paint a Murder

by Lily Ashton

  “Could I have a quick word with Edward Hacker please?”

  “He’s left for the day. Can I take a message?”

  “Oh, that’s a nuisance. I told him I would stop by at this time.”

  “I’m sorry, but he’s not here. What’s it about?”

  “The portrait of William Hacker in Edward’s office, we were talking about it when I was here the other day. He said I could use it in my exhibition catalogue. I don’t suppose I could just pop in and take a quick photo?”

  Toby frowned and threw a copy of Country Life on the top of the pile.

  “It will only take a couple of minutes. I’ll be finished before five, promise.”

  Toby brightened and waved her through.

  Alice marched passed empty desks and into Edward Hacker’s office. At the door she turned around and looked for Toby, but he was hidden behind a dividing screen. She entered the office and pushed the door shut.

  She took out her phone and clicked a few shots of the Hacker portrait. A couple of steps closer and she took another shot. She walked behind Edward Hacker’s desk and glanced over its surface. Folders, a container of pens, double decker trays stuffed with bound documents, and a really old desktop computer.

  Profits, she thought, in the wallet, not in the office equipment.

  Voices wafted through the door. She waited until they faded away, then she pulled the memory stick out of her pocket and plugged it into the computer. The screen woke up and flashed a picture of Edward Hacker standing in a field, the middle of a six man line-up. He was wearing a green tweed jacket and waistcoat, with a matching flat cap. A broken shotgun was tucked under his left arm and a couple of pheasants hung from his right hand.

  Alice went to work, her heart beating fast. Two minutes later, she slipped the memory stick back in her pocket and left.

  “Thank you, Toby. I’ve got everything I need. Have a good evening.”

  Alice closed Hacker, Stanley & Dole’s front door behind her and headed for The Bull.

  Chapter 32

  Glasses chinked, chatter droned and green music played underneath. Alice sat beside Joe in The Bull’s courtyard as he related a hair-raising Somalian adventure story. She swigged cool beer from a bottle and fingered the memory stick in her pocket. Finn Kinnaman laughed at Joe’s punchline.

  “And how was lunch at the bordello?” said Joe.

  “As it happens, it went fantastically well. We got to see Sean’s new sculpture, which Roddy thought was a pile of camel dung.”

  “That good, huh?”

  “He was right, though, it was horrible.”

  “Is he lending something?” said Finn.

  “Yes, though not that sculpture, thank God, he lent a lovely woodcut instead. We found it completely by chance, under a dust cover in a bedroom he’s decorating.”

  “I know that feeling,” said Finn. “I’ve been redecorating Mum’s shop and I have to cover everything every time. Mum swears she always finds something she hasn’t seen for ages when she takes the covers off.”

  “Meant to say, I love the pale green,” said Alice. “Love your mum’s clothes, come to think of it. By the way, I’d like to see your pictures of Vivien Taylor’s party.”

  “Sure, I’ll send them over. Fine place she has there.”

  “Isn’t it amazing? Joe, you should gate-crash her next party, so you can have a look.”

  “I’m not sure I’d go to the trouble. Besides, I’ve seen it already, the outside at any rate. I kayaked up that way last summer. Saw the studio too, the one her husband uses.”

  Alice felt her cheeks heat as she remembered her encounter with Walker and their near-miss kiss.

  “Any progress on recovering Vivien’s drawing?”

  “Sadly not. At least, DI Salisbury didn’t tell me anything when I spoke to him yesterday.”

  Now her cheeks were really burning. Nathan had barely been out of her mind since their meeting, as she raked through happy memories of their time together. And there were many. It was a gentle, easy relationship, with no fights.

  Even at the time, she knew the distance between them would not be a problem. It would only be for a year anyway. When Alice’s degree finished, she would move to Manchester too. There was a gallery there she was keen to apply to.

  Instead, she broke off the relationship. Looking back now, she could not put her finger on why. No affairs, no smelly socks left on the floor, no raised voices; Nathan had been everything she could have asked for in a boyfriend. So, what had scared her off?

  Perhaps Nathan Salisbury had made the mistake of being perfect. Or was it just her?

  Joe seemed to be raking over his own memories. “Do you miss covering hard news, Finn? You’ve shot some notorious criminals before.”

  “I’m happy shooting privileged people enjoying their privileges, thanks. I’m enjoying the quiet life. A spot of fishing, a round of golf, a friendly local pub. I’m happy in Great Wheaton. How about you? Do you miss the sound of gunfire at night?”

  “No. I’m leaving all the excitement to Alice.”

  “Good evening.”

  Alice’s heart thumped as she recognised the voice. She stalled and steadied herself before looking into Walker Hampton’s smiling face. Her eyes darted around him, but she could not see Vivien.

  “Are you here to see the band?”

  “Yes, it’s one of Joe’s recommendations.” Introductions were made and the men shook hands.

  “From your accent, Joe, I’d say you’d know The Perrystones well.”

  “They’re from Galway, my home town. It’s grand they’re playing here now.”

  Alice squirmed under Walker’s gaze. She moved her hand towards Joe’s, but stopped before it reached his arm.

  “Well, I’ll leave you to it,” said Walker. “I hope you all enjoy the show.”

  Joe looked over at Alice. “Everything alright?”

  “Fine.”

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” said Claudia. She kissed Finn’s cheek, while Alice gave Joe’s arm a squeeze. “Was that Walker Hampton I just saw? Not the sort of place I’d expect to see him.”

  “He came to hear the band, I suppose,” said Alice.

  “Not his sort of band either, I would have thought. I wonder if something else has attracted his attention …”

  So she must knew about Alice’s visit to Walker’s studio. They all did, probably.

  “What’s today’s column, Claudia?”

  “I’m filling in for someone else today, Joe. A piece on an assault last night – outside here actually.”

  “Anything serious?”

  “Just some young drunks picking fights with each other. No one was seriously hurt.”

  A woman knocked Finn as she walked behind him and he spilt beer over his hand. He pulled a blue handkerchief from his pocket and wiped away the liquid.

  “What have you heard on the Augustus John drawing?”

  “Nothing new.”

  The Perrystones started up, and Alice settled down to watch the set. She had first heard the band when Joe took her on a music crawl through Galway. They ate mussels straight from the bay, washed down with several pints of the black stuff, and watched a succession of Celtic bands perform in the pubs along Quay Street. She loved the weave of strings, voices, and whistles. She loved the tempo and whooped along with the rest of the audience.

  Her foot tapped, her head nodded. Another round of beers. The crowd clapped. She knew this one and sang along. More beer.

  The band took a break. Claudia wanted a smoke, so Alice accompanied her through the crowd and onto the street.

  “By the way, I almost forgot to tell you,” said Claudia. “Jason Marley. After we talked about him yesterday, I thought I’d ask the police about their investigation into his death. The post mortem concluded that Jason did drown
. But that was after he sustained injuries consistent with being hit by a car. They think he fell into the river after a hit and run. They’re treating his death as murder.”

  Chapter 33

  Dazzling rays stung Alice’s eyes the next morning as she emerged from Daisy’s saloon, and she retreated down the companionway to collect her sunglasses.

  It had been a long night. After The Perrystones, Claudia had left to work on her article and Alice had gone on to another bar with Joe and Finn. One beer later and she was done, so the men walked her home before disappearing into the night. Alice lay down on her bed, still wearing her silver Vans, and succumbed.

  Leaning against Daisy’s side, she looked along Sam’s Lane to where the ponies stood at the gate of Farrell’s field. She whistled and Patches looked up, ears pricked.

  Alice had loved to ride as a child.

  Her pocket vibrated. A text from Walker Hampton.

  ‘Hope you enjoyed the band. Lunch?’

  She didn’t really have time for Walker, but he did go to Jason Marley’s funeral, so he should know who else attended. Jason’s girlfriend, perhaps …

  ‘1 pm at The Bull?’

  ‘Look forward to it.’

  Alice mulled over her conversation with Claudia the previous evening. She wrote the word ‘Murder’ on an index card and pinned it below Jason’s picture on the incident board.

  Jason Marley had been mown down on a quiet street in Great Wheaton. On purpose. And when he should have been meeting her. Who could have done such a thing? And why? She pondered the list of suspects on the incident board she had already identified for the theft. Julian de Havilland, Edward Hacker, Stefan Erickson. Was one of them also a murderer?

  Julian de Havilland had an obvious motive – Jason had opposed his shopping centre development. But resorting to murder seemed extreme.

  She dialled Nathan Salisbury’s number.

  “Good morning Alice.”

  She smiled at his voice.

  “It’s about Jason Marley’s murder. I wanted to know whether you had any suspects?”

  “I don’t usually discuss suspects, at least not at such an early stage in my inquiry, so I can’t answer that question.”

  “I get that. It’s just that I saw him that morning, you know, in the river, right outside the gallery, so …”

  “I completely understand, Alice. Mr Marley’s death must have caused you some distress; a crime like that is unsettling at the best of times. But I can assure you we have everything in hand. We’ve carried out several interviews already and we’ve investigated car repair shops, along with other leads. If it would help, I’m happy to meet up with you and you can ask me as many questions as you like.”

  “I’d like that.”

  Alice ended the call, closed her eyes and sank into the bean bag. Her fluttering stomach confirmed how good it would be to see Nathan.

  When she opened her eyes, she saw the memory stick lying on the coffee table. She picked it up, plugged it into her laptop and uploaded every file that included the word ‘Carrie’ from Hacker’s computer.

  There were a great many.

  The folders were numbered, save for one entitled ‘Misc correspondence’. It was a good place to start. She opened it up and found a number of letters between Hacker and Dennis Grant, CEO of Carrie Developments.

  Alice selected one of Edward Hacker’s letters written on HSD headed paper, copied it and deleted the contents, leaving the headers intact. Then she created an online email address that included Hacker’s initials and the name of the firm. On the now blank headed paper, she addressed a letter to the Registrar of Corporate Affairs in the British Virgin Islands. She requested a copy of the register of directors of all companies in the territory. Using Edward Hacker’s name, she asked the register to be sent to her at the new email address. As an agent for Carrie Developments, a company registered in the territory, Edward Hacker was entitled to the information. She pressed Send.

  She tried one of the other folders but was asked for a password. She tried several others, with the same result.

  Her technical skills certainly did not extend to accessing password-protected files, and she yanked the stick out of the laptop and chucked it onto the coffee table.

  She did not look up when she heard the double knock on the saloon window, she knew Livvie would be crossing the gangway to the deck by now.

  “Morning!” Livvie popped her head round the cabin door. “What the—”

  “I know, it’s my incident board.”

  “It’s like some kind of TV drama. Pictures of suspects, pieces of coloured string connecting things together, a coffee table filled with … crap.” Livvie laughed. “It looks very professional.”

  “I thought I’d get some information through the exhibition lenders that will help me hunt down the artworks,” said Alice. “Perhaps throw some light on Jason Marley’s murder, too. Did you bring the cuttings book?”

  “Yep.” Livvie laid a scrapbook on the sofa. “I can’t believe that someone deliberately killed Jason. Are you sure Claudia Rowan got that right?”

  “I got it confirmed by Nathan Salisbury too, so there’s no mistake. Someone ran Jason down, then sped off. The assumption is that the force knocked him into the river. God, poor guy.”

  “And the police haven’t traced the car?”

  “I don’t think so, though Nathan did say the police have spoken to car repair shops and—”

  Alice felt suddenly weak and she grabbed the back of the sofa.

  Livvie caught her arm. “Hey, what happened? Are you okay?”

  “Walker. He said his car was in the garage to fix a prang.”

  “And you think Walker Hampton killed Jason? What would he gain from that?”

  Alice held up both hands. “Good question, we need to think logically. Walker and Jason have been friends since childhood and Walker supported Jason’s opposition to the Dunn Road development. So, there would be no reason for him to kill him.” Alice breathed a deep sigh and released her grip on the sofa. “Phew, that’s a relief.”

  “Why is it such a relief that Walker Hampton is not a murderer?”

  “Because I’m having lunch with him.”

  Livvie rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible. Just make sure your gorgeous man doesn’t find out.” Livvie took a step towards the door. “Listen, I’ve got to get back to the café. If you need any help with any of that” – she pointed to the incident board – “just ask. I want Jason’s killer nailed as much as you do.”

  Alice flicked through the cuttings book. Neatly trimmed articles from the Courier and other publications recorded Jason’s protest against the Dunn Road shopping centre. It began in 2012, when Carrie Developments and rival companies put forward tenders for a retail and leisure centre on the site. Jason attended the first council meeting to discuss the issue and spoke “with passion”, according to the Courier, against the plans.

  He spoke at council meetings whenever the Dunn Road development was on the agenda, or even when it was not. A regular presence at the ‘Have your Say’ slot, his views were stated concisely and consistently at every opportunity.

  In the event, it had made no difference – the council went ahead regardless. But Jason had made a nuisance of himself and at the end of the day, perhaps that was all he could have done.

  Alice was impressed with Jason’s record of dissent. He disagreed with the council and had taken it on, with a persistent programme of calculated action against it. Marches, speeches, leaflets, letters to newspapers, interviews. All recorded in the cuttings book. He had achieved something important, done something that mattered. Alice felt butterflies in her stomach. Pride, and perhaps a little envy.

  As she flicked through the book, one story jumped off the page. Jason had been arrested. That was not the story – he was arrested many times. But this time, h
e had shouted his protest during a council meeting and would not shut up. He was asked to leave the chamber and when he refused he was forcibly removed and subsequently arrested for creating a public nuisance.

  The meeting was held to award Carrie Developments the contract. They waited until Jason was ejected, then Julian de Havilland asked for a named vote. Instead of the usual “Hands up and say aye!” type of vote, councillors were called by name and had to state whether they were for or against the award. They all agreed bar one – Councillor Felicity Gault.

  Could Felicity Gault, Alice wondered, be the woman who gave Jason information? It would make sense. As a councillor, she would know what was going on. She might have passed Jason confidential information which he then used for his judicial review application.

  Julian de Havilland had asked for the named vote. Did he want people to know that Felicity Gault voted against Carrie Developments? Why would it matter? All the other councillors voted in favour, so Felicity’s dissent made no difference to the outcome.

  Perhaps Julian had wanted to embarrass her. Strange, though, given that they were in the same political party. Alice would never understand politicians …

  It was time Alice found out more about Julian de Havilland. A chat with Felicity Gault might help, so she gave her a call. Alice explained why she wanted to meet her and as Felicity was spending the day at home, she invited Alice over.

  But first, there was lunch with Walker.

  Chapter 34

  Walker had been urbane and fun over lunch, but Alice had learned nothing more about Jason Marley. From what she could ascertain, Walker had spent most of Jason’s funeral in the pub and could barely name any of the attendees.

  A fifteen minute walk from The Bull, to the east side of Great Wheaton, brought Alice to Earle Road and a row of Victorian terraced houses. At the end of the line, Felicity Gault’s front door was opened by a chirpy, blonde girl who directed Alice to her grandmother in the garden.

  The women sat in Felicity’s petite, colourful garden on wicker chairs with flamingo-patterned cushions. A magpie pecked at a bone, watched by a couple of King Charles Spaniels lying on the grass nearby.