Cold is the Grave

by Peter Robinson

  ‘It didn’t happen?’

  ‘Oh, it happened, but not the way he told it.’

  ‘You tell me, then.’

  ‘It was in Clerkenwell, outside Barry’s club. Craig found out about the place and he started hanging around there, pretending to be taking photographs. He was obsessed. He just wouldn’t let go. I told him to stay away, but he wouldn’t listen. He even started coming in, but Barry had him barred. When he came up to me, it was the last straw. I wouldn’t have let them hit him like that if I could have stopped them, but it all happened so quickly. It was his own fault, really.’

  ‘He said he didn’t know where you lived.’

  ‘He didn’t. I told Ruth to make sure she didn’t tell him. He knew about the club from before, though, from the party.’

  ‘Which party?’

  ‘The one where I met Barry. At some promoter’s house. Ruth took us. She knows people in the music scene and all that.’

  ‘Craig was there, too?’

  ‘Yes. That’s how he knew Barry owned a club in Clerkenwell. I started seeing Barry after that night and a week or so later I left Craig. He was just getting to be too much.’

  ‘I see. And were you laughing when they beat him up?’

  ‘I wasn’t laughing. I was crying. The fool.’

  ‘Why would he lie to me?’

  ‘The truth would hardly make him look good, would it? Craig might seem so nice and well balanced on the surface, but he’s got a mean streak, too, you know.’

  ‘Did he ever hit you?’

  ‘No. He knew I wouldn’t stand for that. It was just . . . oh, you know, if I came home late or something, he’d always be waiting up and go on at me, calling me a slut and a whore and stuff. It was mean. Nasty. Then he was all pathetic the next morning, telling me he loved me and buying me presents and all that when all he really wanted was to get into my knickers.’

  ‘I still don’t understand why he would lie to me. He believed I was your father. Surely he must know I’d find out the truth when I found you?’

  Emily laughed. ‘Silly. It’s the last thing I’d tell my father. Think about it.’

  Banks did. She was right. ‘But you’re telling me.’

  ‘That’s different. You’re not my father. You’re not like him at all. You’re . . .’

  ‘I’m what?’

  ‘Well, you’re more like a friend. Cute, too.’

  ‘I’m flattered, Emily, but you’d better not tell your father that.’

  She giggled and put her hand to her mouth, as if embarrassed to catch herself out in a juvenile act. ‘You’re right about that.’

  ‘Have you heard from Craig at all since you’ve been back in Yorkshire?’

  ‘No. I’ve not seen or heard from him since that night outside the club.’

  ‘What about Ruth?’

  ‘I’ve talked to her a couple of times on the phone. But I didn’t give her much cause to like me, did I? I think she fancied Craig and I took him away from her.’

  ‘It was as much his choice. Besides, she’ll get over it.’

  ‘Yeah . . . well . . . Ruth’s got enough problems without me adding to them.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Nothing. She’s just a bit fucked up. Couldn’t you tell?’

  ‘She did seem strange.’ Not stranger than Emily herself, though, Banks thought. He pushed his empty plate aside and lit a cigarette. It wasn’t as if there were anything to be gained by trying to act as a positive, non-smoking role model to Emily. ‘Are you going to tell me what happened in London that night?’ he asked. ‘Before you arrived at the hotel.’

  Emily licked at the rim of her glass. ‘I’ve been thinking about it.’

  ‘And?’

  She looked around, then leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘I’ve decided I will.’

  Banks could smell the advocaat on her breath. He leaned back. ‘I’m all ears.’

  Annie had not been completely honest with Banks, she admitted to herself the next afternoon as she drove out to the Daleview Business Park to meet Charlie Courage’s boss at SecuTec, Ian Bennett. As usual, when she found it difficult to talk about something, she had been flip, all style and no substance. Working out of Eastvale, with Banks, bothered her more than she had been able to tell him. It wasn’t that she couldn’t separate her job from her personal life – she felt she could do the job perfectly well, no matter who she worked with – but so much proximity to Banks might weaken her resolve to end their relationship. After all, she had given him up not because she didn’t feel anything for him, but because she found herself feeling too much too soon, and because he brought too many complications from his previous relationship with him, a marriage of over twenty years. Working with him again, she had to admit to herself that she still fancied him.

  To hell with it, she told herself, sneaking a quick glance at the map on the car seat beside her. Almost there. She would just do her bloody job and let the rest take care of itself. One thing her brief romance with Banks had done was renew her faith in the job, make her think about why she had become a policewoman in the first place. Now she had a better sense of herself, more confidence, and she was damn well going for inspector. Not that the job was everything, mind you – she wasn’t going to make that mistake and end up a dried-up old spinster with no life other than work – but she was willing to commit herself as much as it took. And because her work life was going to be hard, she wanted to keep her personal life simple. With Banks in her bed, it wouldn’t be.

  The black wrought-iron railings to her left bore a large painted sign saying DALEVIEW BUSINESS PARK, along with a list of businesses located there. Annie turned through the gates, which were probably intended more for decoration than security, she thought, and looked for the SecuTec office.

  The business park consisted of a large, one-storey red-brick building, built in the shape of a pentagon and divided into a number of units, each with its own logo, and some with showcase windows and parking spots for two or three cars out front. Though it wasn’t a shopping precinct as such, the pottery shop and the needlecraft centre had outlets there, along with a stairlift company, a furniture workshop and an Aga centre. The other units were taken up by offices: a company that rented holiday cottages, for example, and a mail-order exercise-video distribution company, Annie noticed. She wondered if that were some sort of euphemism for what they really sold. If it was a front for a porn operation, then it might be connected with Charlie Courage’s murder.

  Ian Bennett opened the office door for her before she even reached it.

  ‘DS Cabbot,’ she said, fishing for her warrant card.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Bennett, smiling. ‘I believe you. Come on in.’

  She followed him into the small office.

  ‘So this is what the well-dressed young policewoman is wearing these days,’ he said, looking her up and down.

  Under her navy blue raincoat, which hung open, she was wearing boots, black tights, a short denim skirt and a white sweater, none of which she felt was particularly weird. What did he expect? A uniform? A twinset and pearls?

  Bennett was younger than she had expected from the voice on the telephone, probably about her age, early thirties, with thick curly dark hair and more of a tan than you can get hanging around Yorkshire in winter. He looked as if he played sports to keep in shape, something that involved a lot of running around, such as tennis or squash, and while his salary probably didn’t stretch as far as Armani, he was wearing designer casuals that must have set him back a bob or two. A mobile phone bulged ostentatiously from the pocket of his zip-up suede jacket. Annie guessed that the BMW she had parked next to was probably his.

  ‘So this is what the well-dressed young yuppie-on-the-go is wearing to impress the girls these days,’ she countered, aware as soon as she had done so that it wasn’t the best way to start an interview. Big problem, Annie: you’ve never been able to suffer fools gladly, which gives you at least one thing in common with Alan
Banks. Stop thinking about him.

  SecuTec had only a small office at Daleview, where Charlie Courage had spent his nights on guard duty. Annie glanced around and saw that he’d had a small television for company, along with facilities for making tea and a microwave oven for heating up his midnight snack. The office was too small for the two of them, and it smelt of warm plastic. Annie sat on what would have been Charlie’s desk and Ian Bennett leaned against the opposite wall by a company calendar. Like so many of those things, it showed a buxom, skinny-waisted smiling blonde in a bikini. She was holding a spanner.

  Bennett flushed at her insult. ‘I suppose I deserved that,’ he said, running his hand over his hair. ‘I always say something silly when I meet an attractive woman. Sorry. Can we start again?’

  Annie gave him a low-wattage smile, the kind she reserved for the masses. ‘Best all round,’ she said.

  Bennett cleared his throat. ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you very much,’ he began. ‘I didn’t know Mr Courage well.’

  ‘When did he last work?’

  ‘Sunday night. He was on the four-to-midnight shift.’

  ‘Are you certain? Did you see him?’

  ‘No, but he logged in. I mean, he has to log in with us so we know someone’s there.’

  ‘How does he do this?’

  Bennett pointed at the desk beside her. ‘Computer.’

  ‘Could someone else have done it? Pretended to be him?’

  ‘I suppose it’s possible. But they’d have to know his user name and his password.’

  ‘I see. Was this the shift he always worked?’

  ‘No. Other days he worked from midnight till eight in the morning.’

  ‘Was he the only nightwatchman?’

  ‘No. It works like this. On the days the units are open, we have the other security guard, Colin Finch, work four to midnight and Mr Courage work midnight till eight, when the units start opening in the morning. Then, when we get to Sunday, they alternate. Colin does four to midnight Saturday, Charlie does midnight to eight. Then Colin does eight to four, and so on.’

  ‘I see,’ said Annie, who remembered the horrors of shift work very well indeed. Most of the time she hadn’t known whether she was coming or going. ‘So Colin Finch would have seen Mr Courage when they changed shifts at four on Sunday?’

  ‘Yes. I should think so.’

  ‘Can you give me his address?’

  ‘Of course.’ Bennett fiddled with the computer and gave Annie a Ripon address. ‘He’ll be in at four today, though, if you’re still around.’

  Annie looked at her watch. It was half past two. ‘Did you know that Mr Courage had a criminal record?’

  The question seemed to embarrass Bennett. ‘He had? Er, actually, no, we didn’t know.’

  ‘Surely a security firm like yours runs checks on potential employees?’

  ‘Normally we do. Yes, of course. But this one . . . well . . . it seems he slipped between the cracks.’

  ‘ “Slipped between the cracks”?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I see.’ Annie made a note in her brand-new notebook. What she actually wrote was, ‘Don’t forget to pick up something for dinner at Marks & Sparks’, but Bennett wasn’t to know that. ‘Have there been any incidents at the park over the past few months, since Mr Courage started working here?’

  ‘No. Nothing at all. As far as SecuTec is concerned, Mr Courage seemed to be doing his job well.’

  ‘Nothing gone missing?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘The other tenants, are they all satisfied?’

  ‘Yes. As I said, we’ve had no problems, no complaints at all. I don’t suppose it’s something you police ever consider, but have you thought at all that Mr Courage might indeed have gone straight, as they say? I mean, just because a man makes a couple of mistakes, it doesn’t mean he’s marked for ever, does it?’

  Annie sighed. This wasn’t going to work, she could tell. ‘Mr Bennett,’ she said, ‘why don’t you leave the recidivism versus rehabilitation argument to people who know what they’re talking about and just answer my questions?’

  He smiled. ‘I thought that’s what I was doing. I mean, I’ve told you there were no problems. I was only suggesting that it might indicate Mr Courage had changed his ways. You do believe that criminals can change their ways, don’t you, Detective Constable Cabbot?’

  ‘It’s detective sergeant,’ Annie corrected him, adding a silent ‘pillock’ under her breath. ‘And I’m merely suggesting that we’ll get you back in your Beemer and on your way to your next meeting much faster if you simply answer my questions.’

  Bennett fiddled with his mobile, as if hoping it would ring. ‘Carry on,’ he said, with a drawn-out, long-suffering sigh.

  Annie smiled to herself. He would no doubt tell his guests at tonight’s dinner party or whatever about his brush with police brutality. ‘What exactly were his duties?’ she asked.

  ‘He was supposed to walk around the park, check doors and everything once an hour. To be honest, though, it wasn’t much of a job; there wasn’t a lot for him to do.’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so with all these modern security gizmos. Why bother hiring a nightwatchman at all, then?’

  ‘It was a matter of appearances, really. The tenants like it. Believe it or not, no matter how many sophisticated alarm systems you put in place, people always feel a bit more confident if there’s a human being around.’

  ‘That’s comforting,’ said Annie. ‘I don’t suppose I need to worry about Robocop much any more.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘A joke. Never mind. Carry on.’

  ‘Oh, I see. A copper with a sense of humour. Anyway, having someone on the premises discourages vandals, too.’

  ‘What about a dog?’

  ‘They can be effective, but you can’t just leave them alone. Besides, there’s the whole problem of lawsuits if they actually bite anyone.’

  ‘How did Mr Courage get the job?’

  ‘He applied through normal channels. I must say, he seemed credible enough.’

  ‘The mark of a master criminal.’

  ‘You’re joking again?’ Bennett smiled.

  Annie didn’t smile back. ‘Mr Courage was paid by cheque, am I correct?’

  ‘Actually, no. His wages were paid directly into his bank account.’

  ‘Were there ever any cash bonuses?’

  Bennett frowned. ‘Cash bonuses? I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Cash in hand.’

  ‘Certainly not. That’s not SecuTec’s policy.’

  ‘And no money has ever been reported missing by any of the businesses operating out of this park during the period of Mr Courage’s employment as nightwatchman?’

  ‘No.’

  Annie closed her notebook. ‘Very well, Mr Bennett,’ she said. ‘You can go now. We might need to get in touch again later.’

  ‘Fine. Feel free to do whatever you need here, but please remember to lock up when you leave.’

  Bennett practically ran out of the office. Annie stood in the doorway and watched him reverse the BMW, then take off in what would have been a cloud of dust had the ground not been so wet. As it was, one of the puddles he hit sent a sheet of water over a woman just walking into the needlework-centre shop a few units down. She looked down at her soaked raincoat and tights and glared after the car, shaking her fist.

  She shouldn’t have been quite so sharp with Bennett, Annie thought, as she watched him clear the gates and turn right onto the main road. He was a smug pillock, true enough, but she’d had to deal with plenty of those in her time, and she hadn’t usually resorted to bullying. He looked like the kind who’d put in a complaint, too. Would that have any effect on her attempt to make inspector? She doubted it. But she also made a mental note to watch herself and be a lot more compassionate towards fools and pillocks.

  Now, she thought, it was simply a matter of deciding whether to go right or left and spend an hour or so talking to
the people who operated the businesses at Daleview. They would probably know a lot more about its day-to-day operations than Mr Ian bloody Bennett. After that, with any luck, Colin Finch would have reported for duty.

  ‘Barry was very angry after you left,’ Emily said, toying with, rather than smoking, another cigarette. ‘I’ve never seen him so angry. When he gets angry, he goes all cold. He doesn’t go red in the face and shout or anything, like Dad, he just gets this fixed sort of smile and does everything in a very slow, careful sort of way, like straightening the cushions on the settee or lighting a cigarette. And he talks very quietly. It’s frightening.’

  ‘Do you know why he was angry?’

  ‘Because you came asking questions. He doesn’t like anyone asking questions, especially strangers.’

  ‘What did he do to you?’

  ‘Barry? He didn’t do anything. I’m telling you. He was angry in that cold way he had. He just told me to get ready for the party, then we did another couple of lines of coke and off we went.’

  ‘What kind of party was it?’

  ‘The usual sort. Music-business people, a few minor bands, groupies, along with a few young entrepreneurs, other club owners. The kind of people Barry collects. There was a bonfire and fireworks outside. But we mostly stayed indoors.’

  ‘Drugs?’

  She laughed. ‘Oh, yes. Of course. Always drugs.’

  ‘Does Barry deal?’

  ‘No. He just buys.’

  ‘Go on.’

  Emily paused. For all her bravado, Banks could tell she had difficulty talking about it. ‘Barry was weird all evening. I tried to just . . . you know . . . stay away from him until his mood had passed, keep my distance, talk to some of the guys in the bands and stuff, but he kept appearing, smiling in that cold way of his, putting his arm around me, touching me . . . sometimes even squeezing . . . hurting me . . .’ She drank some of her Snowball, grimaced and said, ‘I don’t think I like this, after all. Would you get me a lager and lime or something like that? I’m thirsty.’

  ‘I’m not buying you an alcoholic drink, Emily. You’re under age.’

  ‘Don’t be a spoilsport. I’m already drinking one, aren’t I?’

  ‘You’re right. I probably shouldn’t even be sitting with you. But I am. If you want me to get you a drink you’ll get a lemonade or a Coke.’