Nothing but Trouble

by Roberta Kray

  She only had to look at their faces to know that the news was bad. ‘What’s happened?’

  There was silence for a few seconds, and then Lorna spoke up. ‘It’s Harry,’ she said. ‘He’s been arrested.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A couple of hours ago, over at Aimee Locke’s house.’

  Jess’s mouth fell open. ‘What? Why? I don’t understand.’

  ‘Join the club,’ Mac said. He pushed back his chair and stood up, but then didn’t seem to know what to do with himself. Abruptly he sat back down again. ‘He’s been arrested for the murder of Martin Locke.’

  ‘But he can’t. He …’ Jess was so shocked that she felt her legs buckle. All the air seemed to fly out of her lungs. She reached out for the corner of the desk, trying to steady herself.

  Lorna quickly took hold of her arm and propelled her into an empty chair. ‘It’s true, I’m afraid. They haven’t charged him yet, he’s still at the hospital, but they’ll interview him properly in the morning. It’s not looking good, though.’

  ‘The hospital?’ Jess murmured.

  ‘The bitch smashed a bottle over his skull,’ Warren said. ‘She claims he turned up at the house, asked to wait for her husband and then shot him in cold blood.’

  Jess’s head was spinning. None of this made any sense. ‘But why? I mean, why would she say that?’

  Warren sat back, scowled and put his hands behind his head. ‘Because she’s a fucking liar and she’s trying to stitch him up for murder.’

  ‘The trouble is that her story, at least at the moment, appears to stand up.’ It was the stranger who had spoken. Jess looked at him and he gave her a nod. ‘Richard Morris,’ he said. ‘I’m Harry’s solicitor.’

  ‘Tell me,’ she said.

  Morris glanced over at Mac, as if checking for permission to speak freely.

  ‘Yeah,’ Mac said, rubbing at his face with his hands. ‘Tell her. Maybe she can shed some light on this whole bloody nightmare.’

  Jess tried hard to concentrate as Morris recited Aimee Locke’s version of events. Aimee had, apparently, bumped into Harry on the high street in the afternoon. He’d introduced himself, shown her some police ID and claimed that they’d met before at a charity function. They’d sat for a while on the Green and had a brief conversation. Then, later that evening, at about nine o’clock, he’d turned up at the gates of the house, saying that there had been an incident at her husband’s office and that he needed to speak to him. Having already chatted to Harry earlier in the day, she didn’t feel any concern about letting him in. Martin was on his way back from the airport after a business meeting in Milan and she was expecting him home at any time. She had given Harry a drink and they had sat and made small talk for about ten minutes. She had asked him about the alleged incident, but he’d said that he’d prefer to wait until he could speak to her husband. There was no indication, according to her, that anything was amiss.

  ‘It’s all bollocks,’ Warren said angrily. ‘The bitch is making it up.’

  Mac flapped a hand. ‘Let him finish.’

  Morris paused for a second and then continued. ‘She claims that when she heard the front door open she went out to the hall to greet her husband and to inform him that a police inspector was waiting to talk to him. When they came back in, Harry had moved from his chair to a position just in front of the French windows. He was holding a gun and he shot Martin Locke as soon as he saw him. Then he ordered Aimee to turn off the security cameras. After that, he walked across the room, crouched down beside the body and checked for a pulse.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Jess said softly.

  Morris gave a light shrug of his shoulders. Aimee Locke claims she was terrified that she was going to be next. While Harry was leaning over the body of her husband, she grabbed a bottle from the drinks cabinet and hit him over the head. Then, while he was out cold on the floor, she ran out into the street and called the police.’

  Jess, feeling as dazed as if someone had just smashed a bottle over her own head, looked at the others. Her gaze flew from Mac to Lorna to Warren and then back to Morris again. ‘But why should anyone believe her?’

  ‘They found forged police ID in his jacket pocket.’

  ‘Planted,’ Warren said.

  ‘And two phones,’ Morris said. ‘One that everyone knows about, that he used on a regular basis, and another, a pay-as-you-go, that contained over sixty pictures of Aimee Locke taken over the past few weeks and a large number of texts declaring his love for her. The police think that he might have developed some kind of an obsession.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ Jess said. ‘He wasn’t … he wouldn’t …’

  ‘Unfortunately, his prints were all over the phone. The police also ran a test for gunshot residue on his hands and clothes. They were positive. All in all, it’s not looking good.’

  ‘But we know he’s innocent,’ Lorna said, reaching out to touch Jess gently on the arm. ‘We’ve just got to prove it.’

  Richard Morris looked at his watch and stood up. ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve really got to go. I’ll call you in the morning, Mac, after I’ve talked to Harry again.’

  Mac and Lorna both rose to their feet and escorted him to the door. While they were saying their goodbyes, Jess shifted across to the seat next to Warren. ‘Surely the cops can see that Harry’s been set up? This is crazy.’

  Warren shook his head and sighed. ‘The cops believe what they want to believe, babe. If they’ve got enough rope, they’ll go ahead and hang him.’

  ‘No way,’ she said vehemently. ‘They can’t pin this on him.’

  Mac came back to his desk and glared at Jess. ‘So is there anything you want to tell us?’

  Lorna sat down and shot him a warning glance. ‘Don’t take it out on her, Mac. None of this is her fault.’

  ‘I’m not saying it is. But she’s seen a damn sight more of him than we have recently. What can you tell us about Harry and this Aimee Locke?’

  ‘I don’t know any more than you do,’ Jess said. ‘I mean, I went with him to the casino at Selene’s last night, but then Ray Stagg threw us out and—’

  ‘He did what?’ Mac snapped.

  Jess was surprised that Harry hadn’t told him, but then again, he probably had his reasons – one of them being that he didn’t like being pushed around by the likes of Ray Stagg. When Stagg had ordered him to leave Aimee alone, Harry would have been inclined to do the very opposite. ‘Well, he asked us to leave.’

  ‘Did he know Harry was there to watch Aimee Locke?’

  Jess could see where there this was going and had to think quickly. She didn’t want to land Harry in it. ‘I’ve no idea,’ she lied. ‘But the two of them have had run-ins in the past, haven’t they? And I don’t imagine Stagg much cares for private investigators hanging around his establishments – they might see something he doesn’t want them to see.’

  Mac gave her a long, cool stare but didn’t press the point.

  ‘That’ll be why he didn’t mention it,’ Warren said, backing her up. ‘If he couldn’t be sure that his cover was blown, then why abandon the surveillance? There were only a couple of days to go anyway.’

  Jess stepped in with a question of her own. ‘What’s with this stalking thing? I don’t get it. It was Martin Locke who hired Harry to spy on his wife. You must have the paperwork for that.’

  Mac gave a weary shake of his head. ‘Yeah, we’ve got paperwork all right, but we haven’t got Martin Locke’s real signature. That’s another major problem. It seems that it might not have been him who came to the office last week but someone else entirely. And he paid with a cash cheque that can’t be traced.’

  Jess gazed down at the desk and drew in an uneasy breath. A someone, she realised, who must have been part of a carefully laid plan.

  ‘And the only person who saw him was Harry,’ Lorna said. ‘So there’s no proof that anyone was actually here at all. So far as the police are concerned, he could be making it all up.’

&
nbsp; As Lorna’s words sank in, Jess suddenly jerked up her head. ‘I saw him,’ she said. ‘At least I think I did.’

  Three pairs of eyes turned expectantly towards her.

  ‘You were here?’ Mac asked.

  ‘Not in the office, no. I’d parked the car at the Fox and I was waiting for the lights to change so I could cross the road. I noticed a man, a middle-aged guy, pacing up and down outside. He kept stopping by the door and staring at the name plate. I thought he was a nervous client trying to pluck up the courage to go in.’

  Mac opened a folder that was lying on his desk and pulled out a cutting from a magazine. ‘Is this him?’ he said, pointing a finger at a photograph of a thin, white-haired man standing in the middle of a group of businessmen outside a City office.

  Jess shook her head. She didn’t need to think twice. ‘No, this other guy was younger, in his fifties. He was broader, too. And his hair was grey, not white.’

  ‘Would you know him again?’

  ‘I think so,’ Jess said. ‘But I couldn’t swear to it.’ She racked her brains, thinking back to last Friday and trying to summon up an image of the man she’d seen. ‘He had a tan, I remember that. He was tall, about the same height as Harry. And he was wearing a very smart grey suit.’

  Mac slipped the picture back into the file. ‘Trouble is, you didn’t actually see him come in.’

  ‘But her description tallies with the one Harry gave,’ Lorna said. ‘It has to be the same guy.’

  Warren hunched forward, placing his elbows on the desk. ‘Now all we’ve got to do is find him. Shouldn’t be too difficult. How many middle-aged grey-haired guys can there be in this city?’

  ‘Very helpful,’ Mac said drily. He rubbed at his eyes, which already looked red and sore. ‘I think we should call it a day. Let’s all go home and get some sleep. We’ll see where we stand after Harry’s been interviewed in the morning.’

  Jess still had plenty of unanswered questions, but she could see that now wasn’t the time to be asking them. She said her goodbyes and trudged despondently upstairs. After opening and closing the door to the flat, she pulled the bolts firmly across. Harry wouldn’t be coming back tonight. She put on the light and gazed around. A cold fist of fear suddenly clenched around her heart. If the treacherous Aimee Locke got her way, he might never be coming back.

  53

  Harry’s head ached, partly from the blow from the bottle and partly from the interview, which had been going on now for over two hours. He had spent the night in hospital before being brought to Cowan Road in the morning. It had been a sleepless night, but that had been down to the shock of what had happened and the throbbing pain of twenty-two stitches criss-crossing his skull rather than any serious concern about Aimee Locke’s accusations. He had always had faith in the law – he’d dedicated years of his life to it – and a solid belief that the truth would eventually come out.

  That faith, however, was starting to recede. The two officers sitting in front of him, DI Wall and DS Henson, were less than convinced by his story. He could see it on their faces, in the way they glanced at each other. They had that look in their eyes. He remembered it well from his own days in the interview room. They already thought they’d got all the evidence they needed to hang him out to dry.

  ‘So, this man who you claim came to your office last Friday. Describe him to me.’

  Harry stared across the desk at DI Wall. He was a thin-faced, hungry-looking guy in his mid-thirties. Hungry for success, that was. Results meant promotion and promotion meant respect, more money and more opportunities. Harry had met his type before. A fast-track university graduate who was climbing the greasy pole as quickly as he could.

  ‘Haven’t we already covered this?’

  Wall’s eyes narrowed a little. ‘So I’d like you to go over it again. You got a problem with that?’

  Harry gave a shrug. He knew how it worked. You asked a suspect to repeat his story over and over again in the hope that holes would eventually start to appear. He repeated the description of the man he’d thought was Martin Locke for the third time.

  ‘And he paid with a cash cheque. Is that usual?’

  ‘Not unusual,’ Harry said. ‘Plenty of people like to keep their private business private.’

  ‘And there are no cameras in the office?’

  ‘No,’ Harry agreed, inwardly cursing the fact that they hadn’t decided to install them until after ‘Locke’ had made his visit.

  Wall opened a file and took out a photograph of the corpse of Martin Locke. He slid it across the surface of the table. ‘And it definitely wasn’t this man?’

  ‘No,’ Harry said. He stared down at the photograph, reliving the moment when Martin Locke had walked into the room. Those seconds of confusion, of bewilderment, and then … He drew in a breath.

  Wall left the picture sitting there. ‘How do you account for the gun residue on your hands?’

  ‘I can’t,’ Harry said. ‘It must have been placed there after I’d been knocked out. All he had to do was wrap my hand around the gun and discharge it again.’

  ‘He?’

  ‘Whoever shot Martin Locke.’

  ‘And the phone? And the fake ID? Did he put your prints on those too?’

  Harry recalled his encounter on the Green with Aimee Locke. ‘As I said earlier, I picked up both of those items when Aimee Locke dropped her handbag.’

  ‘But why should she go to all that trouble when she could have done it after you’d been knocked out?’

  Harry gave a shrug. ‘How should I know. To save time? To make sure the prints were convincing ones?’ He had another theory too, which he didn’t voice out loud. Aimee Locke, he had realised belatedly, was the kind of woman who liked to live dangerously. It must have given her a kick to let him pick up the fake ID, to take the chance of him flipping open the wallet and seeing what was inside.

  Wall and Henson exchanged another of their sly looks. DS Henson was an older man, probably smarter than his boss but with the sense not to flaunt it. It was he who said, with a slightly lascivious edge to his voice, ‘She’s a good-looking girl, isn’t she?’

  Harry could hardly deny it. ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Keen on blondes, are you?’

  Harry stared back at him. He presumed that they already knew about his relationship with Valerie. They would have been doing a good bit of digging over the last twelve hours. ‘As much as any other man.’

  Henson grinned. ‘I prefer brunettes myself. So when did you first set eyes on the lovely Aimee Locke?’

  Harry sighed, feeling his head begin to throb even harder. ‘We’ve been through all this. Apart from the picture that Martin … that the man who claimed to be Martin Locke showed me, the first time I saw her was at Adriano’s last Friday.’

  ‘And afterwards you followed her to her place of work and then back to her home again.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And then you went to the casino on Wednesday night?’

  ‘Yes,’ Harry said. ‘That was what I’d been hired to do.’

  ‘Of course,’ DI Wall said. ‘By the mysterious man who said that he was Martin Locke.’

  Harry could see what they were thinking, that he’d made up the story about the fake client in order to give himself an excuse to follow Aimee around and track her movements for most of the day and night. ‘Yes,’ he said again.

  Wall raised his eyebrows, as if he didn’t believe a word. He left a short silence and then said, ‘Right, let’s go over this encounter you had with her in the afternoon. You’re claiming that she approached you on the high street, said that she knew you were a private investigator and that she knew what you were doing.’

  ‘That’s exactly what happened.’

  ‘And why should she confront you like that?’

  ‘Because she was tired of her husband hiring someone to follow her around every time he went out of town.’

  ‘And then she suggested a cosy chat on the Green?’

  Ha
rry nodded. ‘She said she wanted to talk to me.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it have been smarter to just walk away?’

  ‘In retrospect.’ Harry had spent half the night wishing he had done just that. ‘But I was curious as to what she had to say.’

  ‘Curious?’

  ‘Yes.’

  DI Wall steepled his fingers and gazed at Harry thoughtfully. ‘And what did she have to say?’

  ‘Not much. She seemed scared of him, though, frightened of what he might do next.’

  ‘And so you agreed to a second chat at her house that night?’

  ‘No,’ Harry said. ‘I didn’t agree to anything. She asked me if I’d come at nine o’clock, but I didn’t say I would. At that point I hadn’t decided what I was going to do.’

  ‘But at nine o’clock you turned up all the same.’

  Harry shifted in his seat. ‘I thought she was in trouble. That was the impression she gave me.’

  DI Wall’s eyebrows shot up again. ‘And is that common practice, for you to try and help your clients’ partners, the people you’re supposed to be gathering evidence against? It seems somewhat contradictory, if you don’t mind me saying.’

  ‘It wasn’t exactly professional, no. But I believed that she was afraid of him, terrified even.’

  ‘So you thought you’d try and save her from this terrifying husband of hers,’ Wall said caustically. ‘Very gallant, I’m sure.’

  Richard Morris, Harry’s brief, looked up from the notes he was making. ‘My client is simply trying to explain the reasons for his actions.’

  Harry was starting to sweat. The room was hot and he could feel the perspiration lathering his forehead and trickling down his spine. He’d always thought that only guilty people sweated, but now, with his own future in the balance, he knew better.

  ‘Let’s move on to the photographs on the phone and the text messages,’ Wall said.

  ‘I don’t know anything about them.’ Harry could see where this was all going. They were trying to build up a case based on the fact that he’d developed an obsession with Aimee Locke, an obsession that had led him to murder her husband.