[Lambert and Hook 22] - Darkness Visible

by J M Gregson

  Lambert looked at the scanty details Rushton had so far recorded under the name on his computer. ‘I’d like rather more information before we confront this Daniel Steele - if he’s anything to hide, he’ll know the system and be fully prepared. Who was his superior officer at the time he was investigated?’ Rushton consulted his notes. ‘Superintendent North.’

  ‘Jack North?’

  ‘That’s the man. Doesn’t mean anything to me - this was well before my time here.’

  ‘I know Jack North. He gave me my first breaks, when I was a sergeant. Old school, but a good man. Solid as a rock and reliable as the day is long. I saw him only last month.’ Rushton was wondering why Lambert looked so grim. ‘That’s a good thing, then, that you’re still in touch. You’ll be able to discover the facts of the case - as I say, there’s very little in his file, because no legal case was ever brought. Human rights legislation, I suppose.’ He smiled ruefully at the unrealism of the legislators, always a solid source of agreement amongst policemen.

  Lambert’s smile was even more doleful. T visited Jack North in a home, Chris. His wife asked me to go, for old times’ sake. He’s got Alzheimer’s. He scarcely knew me, the day I saw him. Whether he’ll remember anything about Daniel Steele, I very much doubt, but I’d better go to see him again.’

  They paused for a moment outside Boutique Chantelle. Their collective CID career experience now spanned over forty years, so that there were very few situations into which neither Lambert nor Hook had ventured to conduct inquiries. This appeared to be one of them.

  They took deep breaths and entered the shop. A stout woman was paying for a highly expensive and beautifully packaged dress. She looked at the two big men very suspiciously, as if venturing into this exotic female world automatically declared them to be peeping Toms at best, and more probably some much more devious sort of pervert.

  The two large men stood at one side of the floor and stared at the dove-grey hat which was the nearest item to them as if it was of surpassing male interest, waiting patiently for the proprietor to be free. This apparently confirmed the customer’s worst suspicions. She dearly wanted to know what they purposed, but she had to collect her credit card and depart with a final baleful glance.

  They showed their warrant cards and announced themselves. Then Lambert said with a glance at the door and the vanished patron, ‘I feel we may not be doing your business and reputation much good, Mrs de Vries. Is there somewhere more private where we could talk?’

  She took them through to what had once been living accommodation but which in these more affluent days was now merely storage space behind the shop. It was surprisingly spartan, even squalid, after the sumptuous gentility of the window display and the shop interior. A kettle and three mugs stood on the side of an old porcelain sink. The wallpaper was at least twenty years old and the two armchairs in the room were designed for comfort rather than style.

  The elegant figure who invited them to sit on two of the upright chairs beside a battered table seemed wholly out of place in this environment. She offered them tea, apologized for the fact that she did not have fresh milk because it went sour too quickly in here in the summer heat, then glanced round the room, as if seeing it for the first time. They divined in that moment that she did not spend much time in here, and was probably preoccupied with other concerns when she did.

  With her obviously expensive beige dress and her carefully coiffured ash-blonde hair, her sparingly but expertly made-up face and her shoes in soft tan leather, Michelle de Vries was clearly designed to inhabit the front section of the premises rather than these unlovely private quarters. Lambert was reminded of the occasion years ago when he had interviewed a famous and debonair actor and found him in full Shakespearean costume, but smoking one of the now long departed Woodbines before a cracked mirror in the green room.

  Both men noticed that Michelle de Vries seemed so far neither surprised nor disconcerted by their arrival here. She sat down opposite them, looked round again, and said, T must spruce this place up a bit, I suppose. I haven’t been here that long.’

  ‘How long, Mrs de Vries?’

  ‘Eighteen months, since I opened. A little longer since I took the lease.’

  ‘It’s nice to see a new enterprise amidst all the big chains. Is it a success?’

  She wanted to tell him to mind his own business, that she realized that he was only doing this preliminary fencing to find out more about her. But something told her to treat this watchful, experienced man with extreme caution. ‘It takes time to establish a business like this, which doesn’t depend on the popular taste. Advertising isn’t much use, beyond letting people know that we are here. Most of our recommendations come by word of mouth.’

  * * *

  ‘You speak as if there are others involved. But this looks very much a one-woman business.’

  She forced a smile. ‘I have an assistant, at present part- time, until we see more clearly how business is developing. The initial capital to set up and stock the shop came from my husband. That is why I tend to think of it as a joint enterprise.’

  ‘And what do you know of a man called Darren Chivers?’ His tone had not altered; his delivery was as low key, almost conversational, as it had been in his previous questions. That made the sudden switch all the more devastating. Michelle felt the skin on her face suddenly hot as she strove to retain the same control of her own voice. ‘He’s the man who was killed at the weekend, isn’t he? The man whose body was found at Highnam.’

  ‘Indeed. But I was wondering whether you didn’t know rather more than that about Mr Chivers.’

  ‘No. He wasn’t the sort of man who would come in here, was he?’

  ‘And how would you know that, if you hadn’t met Chivers, Mrs de Vries? Our press officer hasn’t released any details of his personal circumstances or his lifestyle to the media yet.’ Michelle had never played these deadly games before and she was no good at them, she realized. Certainly no good against a skilled man like this. She said dully, ‘He came into the shop a fortnight ago. I’d never met him before that, and I didn’t meet him again.’

  ‘And why did he come here?’

  ‘He was demanding money with menaces. I sent him away with a flea in his ear and he didn’t come back.’

  ‘And you didn’t report the incident to the police?’

  ‘No. I told you, I’d sent him away with his tail between his legs. I didn’t see any need for further action.’

  Lambert nodded slowly, weighing the information, and for a moment Michelle thought that he was accepting what she had told him. Then he said, ‘Does that sound very believable to you, Mrs de Vries? It doesn’t to me, and I’m sure it doesn’t to Detective Sergeant Hook. I think a woman alone in a shop like yours would feel very vulnerable. I think that if a man demanded money with threats of violence she would accede to his demands. In the unlikely event of her successfully repelling such an attack, I think the first thing she would do is inform the police of the incident. I find it incredible that she would not do so. So I suggest that you abandon this fiction and tell us the truth.’

  Michelle felt a variety of emotions, but the overwhelming one was of humiliation. She hadn’t felt so small and worthless since a nun had exposed her in a lie when she was fourteen and left her standing in front of her desk, twisting her toes in an agony of embarrassment, willing the floor to open beneath her and remove her from those relentless eyes beneath the starched white wimple. She could see the lines on the forehead of this interlocutor, whereas she had not been able to see the nun’s brow at all. That only made the unblinking grey eyes seem even more threatening.

  She was looking at the scratches on the table as she said, ‘He did demand money, but not with threats. Not physical threats.’

  ‘Chivers tried to blackmail you, didn’t he?’

  She nodded, unwilling to trust herself with further words. The quiet, relentless voice said, ‘We need the details of this threat, Mrs de Vries.’

&nb
sp; From somewhere deep within her, she found the will to resist, to defend that flame in the darkness that was her and Guy. ‘I’m not prepared to tell you that. I’ve told you all you need to know. All you’re going to get from me.’

  Lambert and Hook had operated for so long together that they were like football strikers with an instinctive, unspoken understanding of when to move. Bert Hook, whom Michelle had almost forgotten in her contest with Lambert, now said quietly, ‘Chivers was seen checking the number and address of a house near Park Road primary school on Monday the twenty-third of June. What can you tell us about that, Mrs de Vries?’

  It was a bow at a venture. He had no evidence that this sighting was related to the woman in front of them, but something had suggested to him that this was a likely connection. It worked. She shrugged hopelessly, assuming as members of the public usually did that they knew far more than they actually did. ‘I have a lover.’ She glanced up at them on that bold word, for the first time since her initial lie about Chivers had been exposed. ‘My husband does not know about this. Darren Chivers was threatening to reveal it to him. He wanted money to keep his mouth shut. I said I needed time. Fortunately for me, he died before he could collect.’

  For some reason she could not at first analyze, it was important to her that she concealed the payment she had made. Then she realized that secrecy was surely important, if nothing of this was to get back to Gerald. She looked up into the comfortable, weather-beaten face of DS Hook and could almost believe that he was on her side. He said sympathetically, almost apologetically, ‘We are here because we are conducting a murder inquiry. You realize that this gives you a motive for removing Darren Chivers?’

  ‘I suppose it does. I didn’t kill him.’ It sounded flat, even fatuous.

  ‘We need the name of this lover, Mrs de Vries.’

  ‘Why? So that you can go and accuse him of murder?’

  ‘So that we can eliminate him from the inquiry.’

  She sighed. It was hopeless. They seemed to hold all the cards. ‘You have his address. You might as well have his name from me as from anywhere else. His name is Guy Dawson. And he knows nothing about this death.’

  Just when she had got used to answering Hook, it was Lambert who now asked, ‘Where were you last Friday night, Mrs de Vries?’

  ‘That’s when he was killed, isn’t it?’

  ‘We think so. Answer the question, please.’

  ‘I was at home with my husband, I think.’

  ‘He will confirm that?’

  ‘No. You can’t ask him that. He’ll want to know how I’m involved in this.’

  ‘Unless we arrest someone else for this crime quickly, we shall need confirmation of your whereabouts at the time it took place.’

  ‘Gerald couldn’t do that anyway. I’ve just remembered, he had a business meeting in Birmingham on Friday. He didn’t come home until late on Friday evening.’

  ‘I see. If you can think of anyone who can confirm to us that you were not in the Highnam area between the hours of eight and midnight, it would obviously be in your interests to give us the details. As it would to furnish us with any other information relating to this crime. Good day to you, Mrs de Vries.’

  A woman came into the shop as they left, looking at them as curiously as the earlier customer had done. Michelle was glad to move straight into the process of selling a wedding outfit to the prospective bride’s mother. She felt thoroughly at home with this conversation, just as she had felt out of her depth with the CID officers. If all went well, she was assured, there was the possibility of two bridesmaids’ dresses to follow today’s sale. She was giving a performance, of course, just as her stuttering display to the police had been a performance, but this one was altogether more assured. It was a smooth and practised performance, which came very easily to her. She felt that her tongue had been loosened and her brain unlocked with this return to her normal world.

  It was welcome because it postponed her return to that uneasy position she had never had before, suspect in a murder inquiry. Once she was alone with her thoughts again, uncertainty, doubt and eventually dread took over her mind. She forced herself to sit absolutely still and breathe evenly in the empty shop for a full two minutes before she picked up the phone.

  ‘Guy? I’m sorry to ring you at work, but it’s urgent. The police have been here. They left about half an hour ago.’

  ‘We knew that was possible. At least you’ve got it over with. What did you tell them? As little as possible, I trust. That’s what we agreed.’

  ‘I know it is. And I tried to keep to it. But they knew things. Knew a lot more than I thought they would.’

  ‘What sort of things?’

  ‘Well, they knew that Chivers had been here. Apparently my name was on a list in his pocket.’

  ‘But they didn’t know why.’

  ‘I had to tell them, Guy. I told them at first that he’d come in here demanding money with menaces, that I’d seen him off, but they wouldn’t buy that. I had to tell them that he’d been trying to blackmail me.’

  There was a theatrical sigh at the other end of the line. She could almost feel his disapproval coming down it, but he made no comment.

  ‘I didn’t have a choice, Guy. I couldn’t afford to be seen to be holding back information from them, could I? I didn’t tell them that I’d actually paid him two thousand quid.’

  ‘That’s something, I suppose.’

  ‘Yes. They pointed out that being blackmailed gave me a murder motive.’

  ‘They can’t make anything stick, though, so long as you keep schtum. You didn’t tell them about us?’

  ‘I had to, Guy. I tried not to, but Chivers had to have something to blackmail me with, didn’t he?’

  That sigh again, as if he was dealing with a troublesome child who couldn’t obey simple instructions. ‘But you didn’t tell them about me, did you? You kept me out of it?’

  ‘I had to tell them, Guy. They already knew a lot more than I thought they would. Someone had seen Chivers outside your house, checking on the number and the name.’ She wondered why she was so desperate to account for herself to him, why they could not just be fighting this battle together. ‘If I hadn’t given them your name, they’d have had it from the electoral register, wouldn’t they?’

  ‘You’ve dragged me into it now, haven’t you?’

  She wanted to tell him that he should want to be with her in whatever trouble was around, to scream at him that she was only in this because of him. Instead, she said meekly, ‘I had no choice, Guy.’

  ‘They’ll want to see me, now. They’ll be treating me as a murder suspect.’

  Michelle rang off then. She stared at the phone for a long time after she had put it down. For the first time, she wondered where Guy Dawson had been last Friday night.

  Eighteen

  ‘You arrested anyone for this murder yet, Dad?’ Jack Hook was full of the sensational case which was dominating the local press.

  ‘Eat your cereal,’ said his mother sternly. It was a totally unnecessary demand, as the cornflakes were disappearing with their customary lightning speed, but she didn’t like her boys to concern themselves with unsavoury crime.

  ‘They used to hang people for murder,’ said twelve-year- old Luke in wide-eyed wonder. “‘You will be taken from this place and hanged by the neck until dead”,’ he intoned, then clasped his hands around his throat and popped his eyeballs alarmingly. ‘Do you remember those days. Dad?’

  ‘No, they were long before my time. And you’re going to be late for your piano lesson,’ said Bert Hook sternly. ‘You wouldn’t have risked that in my day.’

  ‘Birch you for it, did they?’ said Jack. ‘Does he still have the marks on his bottom to show for it, Mum?’

  ‘Albert Pierrepoint, the hangman was called,’ said Luke dreamily. ‘Must have been a good job, that.’ He made his throttling gesture with his hands again, holding his breath and threatening to project his eyeballs on to the breakfast tab
le.

  ‘Hanging wasn’t his only job,’ said his elder brother magisterially. ‘He ran a pub as well.’ Jack shook his head sadly at the thought of these vanished opportunities. ‘Ideal sort of life, it sounds to me.’

  ‘Mr Armitage says he taught this chap Darren Chivers at one time,’ said Luke. ‘He thinks he came from a broken home. Do you think we could pull that one, Jack?’

  His parents refused to rise to the bait, and Jack was driven to his favourite remark. ‘I expect Dad will be playing a hunch, Luke. Producing some brilliant insight when John Lambert is baffled.’

  Bert Hook did not snub this as he would usually have done. It felt uncomfortably close to what he had been doing on the previous day. He was reduced to snapping, ‘It’s Mister Lambert to you, Jack, and don’t you forget it.’

  Mark Rogers decided to emphasize his status to the police. They didn’t need to know that he had only acquired this office a month ago, or that he shared the PA who greeted them in the outer office with another, female, executive. He would play the busy and important man, who was squeezing them into his day only because he was an exemplary citizen and wanted to give the authorities all the help he could in their pursuit of a serious criminal.

  ‘See that we’re not disturbed for as long as this takes, please, Julie,’ he said loftily. ‘Explain to my appointments that an emergency has cropped up and I shall be available to them as soon as possible - I don’t anticipate that this will take very long. And rustle up some coffee for my visitors a.s.a.p., will you?’

  They sat down carefully in the easy chairs he had set out for them and studied the office unhurriedly, noting the neutral company prints on the walls, the absence of any of the individual touches which would have made this room a personal province. Mark felt compelled to break the uncomfortable silence. ‘You said when you rang that this was in connection with that mysterious death in Highnam at the weekend. I’m anxious to give all the help I can, of course, but I can’t think that will be anything worthwhile.’