by Frank Smith
Paget sighed. ‘Let’s not play games, Merrick,’ he said wearily. ‘You were the one with the gun. Still looking for Lisa after you killed Gray. You wanted to finish her off once and for all, didn’t you? Blow her away just as you’d blown David Gray away. Destroy the face that had destroyed you.’
Merrick threw his head from side to side and tears ran down his face. ‘No. No. No!’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘It wasn’t like that. The bloody gun went off. Both barrels. I couldn’t kill Lisa; you have to believe me. She was my life, for God’s sake. I just wanted to frighten her; make her come back to me. But when I saw this bastard in bed with her … naked … all over her, I went mad.’
Merrick lay there, chest heaving as he gasped for breath. ‘I don’t even remember pulling the trigger,’ he went on. ‘First thing I knew there was this explosion and I was on my arse in the middle of the floor, and Lisa was screaming. She was up and out of there like a flash. I didn’t even know I’d hit her. By the time I realized what had happened, she’d gone. I tried to find her, but she’d disappeared. I went out into the yard, round the back, but I couldn’t find her. I thought she must be hiding in the house, so I came back, but just as I got to the door, Foster came down the stairs. I hit him. Smashed him hard with the butt of the gun, and down he went. But the bastard got my foot with something as he went down, and it hurt like hell. I could hardly walk, so I got out of there because I didn’t know who else might be about.’
‘Foster wasn’t there,’ said Tregalles.
‘Of course he was there,’ said Merrick. ‘I ought to know; I hit him. Bastard deserved it anyway. None of this would have happened if it hadn’t been for him. You should be going after him. He started it when he stole Lisa away from me. We were all right until he came along.’
‘Did you actually see his face?’
Merrick’s eyes became guarded. ‘It was Foster,’ he repeated, but he sounded less sure now than he had before. ‘It had to be Foster,’ Merrick insisted. ‘Who else could it have been?’
‘Take my word for it,’ Tregalles told him, ‘it wasn’t Foster. Tell us again where this person was when you hit him.’
‘I told you. I heard him coming down the stairs as I was coming back into the house, so I stood to one side of the doorway and hit him when he came through.’
‘So he was inside the cottage coming out?’ said Paget.
‘Christ! How many times do I have to tell you? I’m the one who’s supposed to have the concussion.’
‘Just wanted to make sure I had it straight,’ said Paget.
Merrick put out his hand and caught Paget’s sleeve. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt her,’ he said. ‘Honest to God, Paget, you have to believe me. I didn’t mean to hurt her. I loved her. It wasn’t my fault. You must believe that.’ His hand dropped away, and he began to sob.
The doctor moved to the side of the bed. ‘I think my patient has had quite enough for now,’ he said firmly.
Paget stood looking down at the man in the bed. He could feel no pity for him. Lisa Remington had been bruised and battered by this man, and when she left him he’d pursued and finally killed her. And then he’d tried to justify his actions by saying that he loved her.
‘I think we’ve all had quite enough,’ he said as he turned away.
* * *
‘… WHAT KIND OF MAN do you think I am? I’ll admit that I didn’t want him to marry Janet, but as God is my judge, I was not the one who splattered his brains all over the pillow like that. In fact I didn’t know he was dead until you told me last week, and that’s the truth. Neither did Janet.’
Paget switched the tape off. There was silence in the room for several seconds. He was in Alcott’s office, and as usual the air was thick with smoke.
It was Paget who finally spoke. ‘Those details were never released,’ he said. ‘Mike Freeman claimed to have been hit before he entered the cottage, but Merrick said that he heard the man he thought was Foster come down the stairs, and he hit him as he came out of the house. It was dark, and Merrick was in so much pain from having his toes smashed as Freeman went down that he didn’t hang about to check on who it was he’d hit. He just assumed it was Foster. Merrick said his foot was so painful it was all he could do to get to his car. That’s what made his driving so erratic. He took the corner too fast and scraped the side of the Protronics car in his hurry to get away.’
He fell silent for a moment. ‘I think Merrick was telling the truth when he said he didn’t know Lisa had been hit. If you recall, he was still talking about her as if she were alive when Tregalles talked to him in London.
‘Merrick had no reason to lie about where he was when he hit Freeman, but Freeman did, because he’d been upstairs and knew that Gray was dead. And he must have told Janet, but she had to report Gray missing because it would have looked more than suspicious if she hadn’t. After all, they were due to be married in a few weeks.
‘But she couldn’t tell the police what she knew without implicating her father, and she would never do that. She even made up that story about her father falling down the stairs at home, and it almost worked.’
‘Freeman couldn’t have known for certain it was Gray, not with his face shot away like that,’ Alcott objected.
‘He went there expecting to find Gray in Lisa Remington’s bed,’ Paget pointed out. ‘Why should he think anything else, especially when Gray failed to appear the following day?’
Paget shook his head sadly. ‘I can almost feel sorry for Janet,’ he went on. ‘Having to cope with her fiancé’s death would be bad enough, but finding out what sort of man Gray was must have been devastating for her. God knows what she thought of her father’s part in it all, yet she stood by him; even lied for him. As for Porter…’ Paget dismissed the man with a contemptuous wave of the hand.
‘But I would like to see Mike Freeman nailed for his part in all this. I suppose there hasn’t been a change of heart over at New Street?’ He looked at Alcott hopefully, but the superintendent shook his head.
‘Mr Brock feels there is nothing to be gained by prosecuting Freeman,’ he said, obviously quoting. ‘Mike Freeman seems to have quite a high standing in the business community, and he’s already putting it about that he and his daughter are being harassed by the police. Mr Brock feels that such a prosecution might prove counterproductive to good public relations at a time when we need the support of the community.’
Paget cocked a quizzical eye at Alcott, but the superintendent’s face revealed nothing as he butted a cigarette and lit another. The chief inspector sighed inwardly. What it all came down to was local politics. Chief Superintendent Brock was a political animal—and an ambitious one. Don’t rock the boat. Let’s not do anything to spoil his chances of becoming the next chief constable. And in a region such as this, image was important.
Paget got slowly to his feet and moved toward the door. ‘If there’s nothing else, then…?’ he said as he shrugged into his coat.
‘There’s still the trial, of course.’ Alcott blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling. ‘And the defence is bound to call Mike Freeman and the others. In fact I’d be surprised if they don’t try to prove that it was Freeman who killed Gray.’
The same thought had crossed Paget’s mind, and he’d taken comfort in it. Perhaps he’d underestimated Brock, he thought grudgingly. Prosecuting Freeman and the others would be costly, and they might get off with nothing more than a slap on the wrist. Far better for Brock’s ‘bottom line’ for the chief superintendent to sit back and let Merrick’s defence counsel do the job for nothing.
‘I’m not so sure that wouldn’t have been true if Freeman had arrived first and seen the gun,’ he said. ‘It could have gone either way. If Merrick retracts his statement—and he probably will—Freeman’s actions might muddy the waters sufficiently to cast doubt in a jury’s mind as to who did actually pull the trigger.’
Alcott stood up, stretched. ‘Which is why I want you and Tregalles here in my office first thing i
n the morning. I want to make sure that we have everything covered.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Good God! Is that the time?’ He grabbed his coat and came round the desk. ‘On your way home, are you, Paget?’
‘I had thought…’ Paget began, but stopped abruptly as Alcott gripped his arm and propelled him through the door.
‘You’re on your way home,’ he said firmly. ‘Marion’s car is in for servicing, and she’s got mine. You can drop me off.’
‘I take it that’s an order, sir?’ said Paget wryly.
‘Damned right it is,’ said Alcott grimly. ‘We’re supposed to be going out to dinner with friends tonight, and if I’m not home by six, Marion will kill me.’
Forthcoming from Worldwide Mystery by
FRANK SMITH
FATAL FLAW
STONE DEAD
A Worldwide Mystery/September 1999
First published by St. Martin’s Press, Incorporated.
ISBN 0-373-26320-1
Copyright © 1996 by Frank Smith.
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