The Stranger Times

by C. K. McDonnell

  Banecroft gave a tight, humourless smile. ‘Speaking of instincts, did you get your wallet back OK?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘Where was it exactly?’

  Sturgess casually flipped through his notes. ‘About sixty feet due east of where you tossed it – as you’d expect, given a prevailing wind from the west, as there typically is in Manchester, and as there was last night.’ He looked up. ‘Really? Did you think you were the only person it occurred to that the late Mr Brush’s remains were found to the west of the building? That none of us dumb coppers could’ve figured that out?’

  ‘DS Wilkerson gave us the impression that foul play was not suspected.’

  ‘If she did, that was not her place to do so. It was her job to ask you to come and assist us with our investigation. At this juncture, we have not ruled anything in or out.’

  ‘I’d be inclined to rule out suicide,’ said Banecroft.

  ‘Why so? I’ve gone over it with our SOCOs and they assure me that with a running start and a variable wind …’

  Banecroft scoffed. ‘That is weak. Simon was a lot of things – a sprinter wasn’t one of them. And that’s at the best of times, not after he’d climbed forty-two floors of skyscraper.’

  ‘How do you know he walked up?’

  ‘None of the lifts in the building are being treated as part of your crime scene.’

  ‘Well, aren’t we clever?’ said Sturgess.

  ‘We? No.’

  Sturgess gave a tight smile and leaned back in his chair. ‘If you have a better explanation, Mr Banecroft, I’m all ears.’

  ‘I don’t, although just because I haven’t doesn’t mean I’d be inclined to reach for the most convenient and shoddily constructed version of events in order to close a case.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sturgess, ‘I know how enamoured you are with the implausible – I’ve read your paper. I, however, have CCTV footage that shows Mr Brush, alone, sneaking past security and making his way up the stairs to the roof. I’ve had two officers spend the whole morning going through the recordings from three different cameras covering the lifts and stairs, and the only people who appear on them are a couple of security guards, whose whereabouts we have verified, and the dearly departed Mr Brush. Have you got any theories to explain that away?’

  Banecroft shrugged. ‘Let’s not rule out police incompetence at this early stage.’

  Sturgess said nothing for a few moments. He simply looked across the desk at Banecroft, who returned his gaze and smiled.

  ‘What was Simon working on?’ asked Sturgess.

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘For the record, I’d like to remind you that this interview is being recorded and may be used in evidence.’

  ‘Noted. I would also like it noted that I have not been offered a cup of tea since I’ve been here.’

  Sturgess leaned forward. ‘Here’s the thing, Vincent – may I call you Vincent?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘Here’s the thing, Mr Banecroft. I met Simon Brush yesterday at the scene of an unexplained death down in Castlefield, and he identified himself as a reporter for The Stranger Times.’

  ‘Is that so? Last week we had a woman come into the office and tell us she was the result of Boris Johnson breeding with the queen of the planet Mucktacki. My point is people can say they’re anything – that doesn’t make it so.’

  ‘True,’ said Sturgess. ‘But while I can easily imagine people lying about whether they worked for your publication, it feels very unlikely that someone would do it this way round.’

  ‘Is there a question here or are you just flirting with me?’

  ‘Do you know a John Maguire, also known as Long John?’

  ‘Not that I’m aware of. Who is he?’

  ‘He … isn’t, not any more. He was the victim in yesterday’s unexplained death, although Simon did proffer an explanation.’

  ‘Did he? And what was that?’

  DI Sturgess leaned back. ‘Seeing as you’re being so very helpful, Mr Banecroft, I think I’ll keep that particular piece of information to myself.’

  ‘Well, then, in the spirit of cooperation, how about I give you something and then you can return the favour.’

  ‘That very much depends.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Banecroft. ‘Have you checked the memory card in Simon’s camera?’

  ‘What camera?’

  ‘Interesting,’ said Banecroft. ‘The camera he wore permanently around his neck. The one he took with him everywhere. It wasn’t with the body, was it?’

  ‘No, but then—’

  They were interrupted by a knock on the door. DS Wilkerson popped her head around it sheepishly.

  Sturgess checked his watch. ‘DI Sturgess suspending the interview at eleven forty-one a.m. to speak to DS Wilkerson, who has just entered the room.’ He paused the tape. ‘Can’t it wait, Andrea?’

  ‘Sorry, boss. Mr Banecroft’s brief has arrived.’

  Sturgess turned back to Banecroft.

  ‘I didn’t call a lawyer. I don’t have a lawyer, and I certainly don’t want some court-appointed shirt-filler, thank you very much.’

  ‘She says she works for the newspaper,’ said Wilkerson. ‘She’s on a retainer or something like that.’

  ‘She?’ asked Sturgess. ‘It’s not …?’

  Wilkerson gave the slightest of nods and Sturgess swore quietly under his breath.

  ‘Actually,’ said Banecroft, beaming what was meant to be a smile, ‘I think I’d quite like to meet this lady, whoever she is.’

  Sturgess nodded at Wilkerson, who withdrew from the room.

  ‘I bet you wish you’d given me that cup of tea now,’ said Banecroft.

  A minute later the door of the interview room opened again and Wilkerson stepped inside, ushering in a woman who was … Banecroft wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but this wasn’t it.

  Sturgess stood up. ‘Hello, Ms Carter.’

  The new addition to their number stood at maybe five feet tall, and that included a couple of inches of heels. Her blonde hair was cut into a short bob and her oval face was dominated by a smile that hardly left room for much else.

  ‘Hello, Tom – you’re looking well. Oh, I see they’ve still not redecorated in here.’

  Her voice was high-pitched and could be considered grating – until you heard her machine-gun warble of a giggle that followed and quickly redefined the term.

  She extended her hand to Banecroft while still across the room and then dropped her armful of folders as she approached. ‘Oh, clumsy me! What am I like?’ She giggled again.

  With a roll of his eyes, DI Sturgess assisted Ms Carter in picking up her files.

  ‘Now, Tommy, no reading anything, you naughty boy. There’s defences for half the innocent men in Manchester in here – and a few of the guilty ones.’

  Her files duly recovered and plonked on the desk, she offered her hand to Banecroft once more. ‘Now, let’s try that again. Veronica Carter at your service.’

  Banecroft shook the woman’s hand and attempted a polite smile as she giggled again for no earthly reason that he could fathom. She slipped into the empty chair beside him.

  Sturgess turned the tape recorder back on. ‘Let the record show that we have been joined by Ms Veronica Carter, who I am informed is counsel for The Stranger Times newspaper – is that correct?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ms Carter, ‘in large part, although, seeing as it is official, a teeny tiny correction, if you please. It is Dr Carter.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Sturgess. ‘Dr Carter.’

  She gave Banecroft a pally nudge. ‘I’ve got to get that in where I can.’ This was followed by an extended remix of the grating giggle. Then she turned to Sturgess. ‘Right, so let’s kick off with me putting on record that I am appalled that the Greater Manchester Police have now taken to locking up journalists for nothing more than doing their job.
’

  ‘Their job does not include lying to the police.’

  ‘Oh, phooey. Come on, now. A little bit of overenthusiasm – it’s hardly Watergate.’ The giggle made another unwelcome appearance.

  ‘To be fair, Mr Banecroft and Ms Willis are not exactly Woodward and Bernstein. Have you read the publication you are defending?’

  ‘Religiously,’ said Carter, without skipping a beat. ‘It is a fascinating exploration into the world of the unexplained, and the diverse and colourful beliefs that, as members of a free society, we are allowed to possess. Its very existence is a tribute to the society in which we live.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sturgess, in a way that acknowledged a lot of words had just been spoken.

  ‘And that is the point I will be making to the editor of every newspaper in this country if I do not leave this room in fifteen minutes, accompanied by my client and his associate, wherever she may be.’

  ‘Are you threatening me, Ms Carter?’

  ‘Doctor. And heavens, no, Tommy-Tom-Tom – I would never do that.’

  There was another knock on the door.

  ‘Ah,’ said Dr Carter, ‘perfect timing. That will very probably be DS Wilkerson to tell you your superintendent is on the phone. I rang him on my way here and threatened him.’ This unleashed another fit of giggles.

  The door opened, but before Wilkerson could say anything, Sturgess had pushed past her, slamming the door behind him.

  ‘Well,’ said Dr Carter, ‘someone is a real grumpy goose today, isn’t he?’

  ‘So,’ said Banecroft, ‘not that I’m complaining, but you’re the lawyer for The Stranger Times?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Only … I’m the editor and I’ve never heard of you.’

  ‘Have you needed a lawyer before now?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘Well, there you go, then. If it makes you feel better, I’ll send you an invite to my firm’s Christmas party this year.’

  ‘I don’t like parties.’

  ‘Excellent, that’ll save us some money on vol-au-vents and cheap plonk.’

  The door opened and Sturgess re-entered, looking less than full of the joys of spring. ‘Thank you for your time,’ he said to the floor. ‘You are free to go.’

  ‘Super,’ said Dr Carter, picking up her things. ‘As always, Tom, lovely to see you. Are you taking care of yourself? You don’t look well.’

  ‘Now that you mention it, I do have a splitting headache coming on.’

  Dr Carter tutted as she walked by. ‘It’s all that caffeine you drink – can’t be good for you.’

  ‘Thanks, but you’re not that kind of doctor, Doctor.’

  Banecroft walked past him. ‘Inspector, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again.’

  ‘You can count on it.’

  Dr Carter stopped. ‘Now, Thomas, you big silly billy. I know that wasn’t a threat, as you’re far too intelligent a man to say such a thing in front of little old me, but you should be careful. Other people don’t have my understanding nature.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  Banecroft started to follow Dr Carter down the hall, but stopped and turned around.

  ‘One more thing, Inspector.’

  Sturgess sighed. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Simon’s bike.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘It’s locked to the chain-link fence outside of the building site.’

  ‘Thank you for letting us know. I’ll make sure it gets returned to his mother.’

  ‘Good. It might be tricky, though. I noticed it earlier, and it’s triple-locked. Do you think it’s odd that a man intent on killing himself should put three locks on his bike?’

  Neither man said anything, but they gave each other a long, hard look.

  CHAPTER 21

  The silence was weird.

  Hannah had worked at The Stranger Times for only three days, but she’d never heard the place silent before. It was oppressive.

  She’d spent most of the day sitting in a police interview room waiting to be questioned, but she’d been released before it could happen. It wasn’t that she’d been looking forward to it – of course she hadn’t. There was, however, a tiny part of her that’d been looking forward to getting grilled by DI Sturgess. Her soon-to-be ex-husband hadn’t been big into conversations that weren’t about him, so Hannah had been excited to spend some quality time with an attractive man who was interested in what she had to say. It was not lost on her how mortifyingly pathetic those thoughts were.

  Instead, she had briefly met a short, rather odd woman who was apparently the paper’s lawyer, before being instructed to pick up Banecroft’s car and head back to the office. She’d managed to reach it just before it got towed but it had a few tickets nonetheless. She had them in her pocket, but it didn’t feel like the right time to bring them up.

  She’d returned to the office just after Reggie and Ox had got back from Scotland. Grace had rung them to break the news about Simon. Reggie sat at his desk, staring out the window, while Ox paced back and forth like a tiger in a too-small cage.

  ‘Would anyone like another cup of tea?’ asked Grace, not for the first time.

  ‘No,’ said Ox, ‘I don’t want a bloody cup of tea!’

  Reggie turned in his chair and gave his colleague a pointed look. Their eyes met briefly and Ox looked down at the ground. ‘Sorry, Grace, I didn’t mean to …’

  ‘It is all right, darling. We are all upset.’

  Ox shook his head again and went back to pacing in silence.

  Stella sat in the corner, staring at her phone, her green hair hanging over her face.

  ‘Do we know when the funeral will be?’ asked Reggie.

  Grace shook her head. ‘I suppose with all the police matters still outstanding …’

  ‘Right. Yes. Of course.’

  Ox picked up a small green toy alien from his desk and squeezed it, causing it to emit a high-pitched squeal. He looked at it for a minute and then tossed it in the bin.

  More silence.

  Hannah had never been good with silence. Back in primary school, her teacher had forced the whole class to sit in silence until the culprit confessed to stealing the Kit Kat from Timmy Walsh’s lunch box, and she’d ended up doing so in under a minute. She wasn’t even guilty – she just couldn’t stand the tension. She even found it hard to sleep in silence, preferring to nod off with the TV or the radio burbling away in the background.

  She considered the large item on Reggie’s desk. ‘So, is that the actual toilet?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Reggie. ‘The pub’s landlord identified it. There’s a mark on it from where one of his patrons broke a tooth.’

  ‘Right,’ said Hannah. ‘How did it all go?’

  ‘Well,’ said Reggie, looking rather bashful, ‘it wasn’t the most dignified episode of paranormal investigation, but we did follow’ – he nodded towards Banecroft’s office – ‘his suggestion. The local Catholic priest said no to the exorcism, then he found out the Protestant vicar said yes, and soon we had the two of them all but duelling over it in the pub’s function room.’

  ‘Really?’

  Reggie nodded. ‘Ox got pictures of the whole thing.’

  Hannah looked in Ox’s direction but he was just standing there, looking out the window, uninterested in the conversation.

  ‘It ended up with the two men coming to blows, both sides claiming the other threw the first headbutt. It was terribly undignified. Then there was the throwing of some fried food. All in all, it was the most Scottish thing imaginable.’

  ‘It sounds like it’ll make a good article.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Reggie, without much enthusiasm. ‘I’m sure he’ – another nod in the direction of Banecroft’s office – ‘will be pleased. I mean, not that he’s ever actually pleased about anything.’

  ‘Where the hell is Banecroft?’ This was from Ox, and the question was directed towards Hannah, despite her having no new information since the last time
he had asked.

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Him and that lawyer woman left at the same time I did. One of the officers was nice enough to drive me to the car, but I … I assumed he’d be here when I got back.’

  Reggie made a huffing noise. ‘Odds-on the lush headed straight for the nearest public house.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Ox. ‘He’s probably too ashamed to show his face.’

  Hannah went to say something but thought better of it.

  Where Banecroft was at that exact moment in time was about one hundred yards away, sitting uncomfortably in the passenger seat of a canary-yellow sports car. Dr Carter had offered to take him to lunch, which he had refused, then to the pub, which, somewhat to his own surprise, he had also refused. Then she had taken him to a drive-through coffee place, which he had also tried to refuse, but was given no option. He now had a coffee called something in Italian, which had cost more than a flight to Italy.

  They were now parked on Mealy Street. Banecroft wanted to return to the office but his lawyer wanted to chat. He had tried to get out of the car, but it appeared she had engaged some form of child lock on the doors.

  Banecroft didn’t like lawyers – even those who’d got him released from assisting the police with their enquiries. Lawyers were very good at telling you what you couldn’t do, and Banecroft was not very good at being told what he couldn’t do. He was also a couple of proper drinks and several cigarettes away from the closest he came to normality, and he was irritable – or rather, more irritable than usual. If he had to put his irritability down to one thing, he’d have plumped for Dr Carter’s giggle.

  As if on cue, she did it again. Banecroft had no idea what she was laughing at. It didn’t seem to matter.

  ‘So,’ she said, turning in her seat, ‘we need to …’ She paused and started looking around. ‘Oh my God, do you think people think we’re doing it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Every time I pass two people in a parked car, I wonder if they’re doing it. I wonder if other people, passing us now, think that’s what we’re doing.’ It turned out supposed embarrassment raised the giggle an octave. It was no improvement.

  ‘No.’