Cold is the Grave

by Peter Robinson

  ‘You’re obviously a very careful man. It’s odd, though, isn’t it?’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘So many of your friends and employees being criminals. Jamie Gilbert. Andrew Handley. Gregory Manners. Charlie Courage.’

  ‘I told you, I’ve never heard of a Gregory Manners or a Charlie Courage.’

  ‘Of course not. My mistake. The others, though.’

  ‘Like I said, it’s hardly my responsibility what my employees get up to in their own time. Maybe criminals have more fun.’

  ‘One might be forgiven for assuming that they were merely carrying out your orders.’

  ‘Assume what you want. You can’t prove anything.’

  ‘I’d say if a man has one criminal employee, that might be carelessness, but two . . .?’

  ‘Are we going anywhere with this, Chief Inspector?’ Gallagher chipped in. ‘Because if we’re not, we can stop right here. As they say in the vernacular, shit or get off the pot.’

  ‘And you a well-educated man, Mr Gallagher. Tut-tut. I’m appalled. Wash your mouth out, as my mother would say.’

  Clough stood up. ‘I’ve had enough of this.’

  ‘Sit down, Barry,’ said Banks.

  ‘You can’t make me. I’m free to go whenever—’

  ‘Sit down!’

  Clough was so taken aback by Banks’s tone that he subsided slowly into his chair again. Gallagher said nothing. He looked as if he badly needed another couple of lines. Banks leaned forward and rested his arms on the table. ‘Now, let me tell you what I think happened, Barry. You had a nice little earner going, pirating software and games. You’d rent units in business parks all over the country for a while under phony company names, flood the local markets using the same distribution setup you’d organized for your smuggling business; then you’d move on, like playing hopscotch, always one step ahead of Trading Standards. Gregory Manners ran the operation in the Daleview Business Park and Andrew Handley oversaw the regional operation; just my guess, of course, but Andy wasn’t seen around the place as much as Mr Manners was. Andy Pandy got very pissed off at you, perhaps because you treated him like shit: pushing Emily into the room with him, passing on your leftovers. He decided, in revenge, to rip off the operation. To do this, he enlisted Charlie Courage, nightwatchman and petty criminal. Charlie probably arranged for the move to Northumbria and passed the details on to Andy Pandy, who arranged a hijack, killing the driver, Jonathan Fearn, a local wide boy recruited by Charlie. How am I doing so far?’

  Clough sat with his arms folded, a supercilious grin on his face. ‘It’s fascinating. You should write detective fiction.’

  ‘But you suspect a double-cross. You don’t trust what you hear about Charlie Courage. Maybe you don’t like strangers being brought in on things. Whatever. You lean on Gregory Manners enough to know it’s not him. Which leaves Andy Pandy. Then you have Jamie Gilbert and another minder pick up Charlie and ask him a few questions. The hard way. Charlie never did have much of a stomach for violence, and it doesn’t take long before he spills the whole scam. They take him for the long ride and blow him away, then they do the same with Andy Pandy, after they’ve beaten the whereabouts of the stolen stock and multi-disc-copying machines from him.’

  ‘And where are these machines, then, seeing as you’re so clever?’

  ‘Barry,’ Gallagher cut in, ‘I’d strongly advise—’

  Banks waved him down. ‘It’s all right, Mr Gallagher. I’ll answer Barry’s question. Andy Pandy had a lock-up in Golders Green, and it was broken into shortly after he disappeared. I think your lads also did that, took back the stolen equipment. My guess is that you’ve sold it by now and moved on to something else.’

  Clough contemplated his fingernails. ‘Like I said, it’s a fascinating story. You’ve missed your vocation. See, Simon, they’ve got nothing.’

  ‘Remember, Chief Inspector,’ said Gallagher, ‘time’s running out. Shit or get off the pot.’

  Banks paused, scribbled a couple of meaningless notes in his file, then got up and said to Kevin Templeton, ‘Take Mr Clough downstairs to the custody sergeant, Kevin, and have him charged with conspiracy to commit murder. I’m sure Mr Gallagher will make sure everything’s done according to PACE regulations.’

  Clough flushed. ‘You can’t do this. Tell them, Simon. Tell them they can’t do this!’

  ‘I’ll deal with it, Barry,’ said Gallagher. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll have you out in no time.’

  ‘What do you mean, you’ll have me out in no time? Out of where?’

  ‘He means out of prison, Barry,’ said Banks. ‘And if you ask me, I think he’s being overly optimistic.’

  ‘If truth be told,’ said Banks to Annie over an after-work pint in the Queen’s Arms that evening, ‘I think it was me being overly optimistic in thinking we can make any charges stick against Clough.’

  Annie sipped her pint and settled into her chair. She looked around. The pub was pretty quiet at that time in the evening; most people were at home having dinner and watching the news. Occasionally, a Christmas shopper or two would come in with carrier bags from Marks & Spencer, Tandy or W.H. Smith in the Swainsdale Centre across the square, knock back a quick whisky and head out again. Christmas decorations hung across the ceiling. The pub’s dim light glowed in the polished wood and brass, the dimpled, copper-topped tables, the sparkling glasses and the bottles arranged behind the bar. Cyril, the landlord, stood chatting to a regular. The jukebox was mercifully silent and Annie could hear the church choir collecting for a refugee relief fund, singing ‘Away in a Manger’ under the giant Christmas tree outside. Poor kids, she thought. It was real brass-monkey weather out there; they must be freezing.

  ‘You don’t think there’s much hope, then?’ she asked.

  Banks shrugged. ‘We’ll set up a meeting with Stafford Oakes in the CPS office, but let’s just say it’s pretty flimsy evidence so far.’

  ‘What about the forensics?’

  ‘I’ve never put much faith in tyre tracks. Most people don’t know Goodyear from Michelin.’

  ‘But the blood?’

  ‘Might be something there, if the lab doesn’t “lose” the evidence.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Remember that fire at the Wetherby lab a few years ago?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That was started to destroy evidence being kept there. Don’t you think someone like Clough is capable of something similar?’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that. What about the witness who saw Jamie Gilbert with Courage?’

  ‘Easy meat.’

  ‘Oh, dear.’

  ‘Indeed. I have a terrible feeling that they’ll both walk. Conspiracy’s always a bugger to prove. And as for implicating him in Riddle’s suicide . . . that was pissing against the wind.’

  ‘It was suicide, then?’

  ‘Not much doubt about it. I had a brief word with Dr Glendenning after he did the post-mortem this afternoon. No signs of a struggle, no signs of restraint or drugs in the system. He’ll run a full tox check, of course, just to be certain. And the note’s been checked by an expert. It’s Riddle’s handwriting. No, I think we can be pretty certain that Jimmy Riddle voluntarily sat in his car with the engine running. We can also be damn certain that the business with Emily and the pressure Clough was putting on him were a big part of what drove him to it, but we can’t touch Clough for that.’

  ‘He’s a slippery bastard, all right.’

  ‘Anyway, I’m getting more and more interested in Ruth Walker.’

  ‘You think she killed Emily?’

  ‘I think she might have. It never really made any sense to me that Clough would have done it, especially after he tried to blackmail Riddle, much as I’d have loved to put him away for it.’

  ‘But Ruth?’

  ‘She certainly had the opportunity, for a start. She was off work, poorly, at the time Emily was killed, or so she says. She could have driven up and back easily.’

&
nbsp; ‘And the means?’

  ‘She said she had a cold, but I think her sniffle might have been caused by something else.’

  ‘Coke?’

  ‘At a guess.’

  ‘What about the strychnine, though?’

  ‘One of the leads I’m following up. As far as I can piece it together, her degree’s in computers and information technology. She’s very bright, got first-class honours and walked straight from university into a good job. She works for a computer software company. One of the employees told me that they custom-design software systems for business applications.’

  ‘You think she could be connected with Clough’s pirating racket?’

  ‘It is a connection that springs immediately to mind, I’ll admit, but no. That’s not it. This isn’t the sort of thing you could profitably pirate. It’s tailor-made for very specific business functions.’

  ‘So where does it lead us?’

  ‘This employee I talked to, she thinks that Ruth’s working on an inventory control system for a large pharmaceutical company.’

  Annie whistled. ‘I see.’

  ‘What I’m trying to find out, if I can get hold of the boss there, is whether the job could possibly have given her access to controlled drugs such as strychnine.’

  ‘And if there’s any missing?’

  ‘Yes. But it could have been such a small quantity it wouldn’t be missed. I don’t know how tightly they control these things.’

  ‘Pretty tightly, I’d say. But if Ruth really was working on inventory control . . .’

  ‘She might have access to the inventory. Yes. And she might also have been in a position to falsify data about quantities. We’ll just have to wait and see. In the meantime there’s another couple of things we need to follow up on.’ Banks lit a cigarette. ‘Want something to eat?’

  Annie shook her head. ‘I’ve got some leftover pasta at home. Pub food’s not very appetizing for a vegetarian.’

  ‘They do a nice salad sandwich, I’m told.’

  ‘I know. I’ve had one. A strip of wilted lettuce and a couple of slices of green tomato. What next?’

  ‘First off, I want you to ask Darren Hirst, the boy who was with Emily the night she died, for access to his mobile phone records. I just realized last night what was bothering me about the Riddles’ phone records.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Emily’s call to me the day before she died. It wasn’t listed.’

  ‘She could have used a public box.’

  ‘That’s what I thought at first, with the background noise and all. But Darren has a mobile and she was out with him and the gang that night. It’s my bet she used his phone, and that she also used it to talk to whoever she set up the drug buy with. It’s hardly likely she’d risk using her home phone for something like that. What I’d like to know is whether she used Darren’s phone to call Ruth close to the time of her murder.’

  ‘That should be easy enough to find out.’

  ‘There’s another thing. I also phoned Craig Newton, Emily’s ex-boyfriend down in Stony Stratford.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘When I went to talk to him, I remember noticing some photographs of Emily that bore a strong resemblance to the one that appeared in the newspaper yesterday.’

  ‘You think he was behind the story?’

  ‘Craig? No. But he confirmed that Ruth also had prints of the photos because they’d been taken at a party they’d all attended.’

  ‘One of Clough’s parties?’

  ‘Not this time, no. Before Clough. The point is, though, that Ruth could have supplied the newspaper with the photograph and the hints about Clough and Jimmy Riddle.’

  ‘But how could she know?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. It’s all speculation so far. She obviously knew about Emily and Clough, probably knew Clough was a bit of a gangster. If she had discovered that Rosalind Riddle was her birth mother and was blackmailing her over it, it’s no great leap of imagination to assume that she knew Jimmy Riddle was chief constable.’

  ‘I suppose not. But why?’

  ‘To cause trouble for the Riddles. She was already black-mailing Rosalind, remember. Perhaps after Emily’s murder Rosalind refused to pay up any more.’

  ‘Are we going to talk to Ruth again soon?’

  ‘Definitely. Up here this time. I’ll have her brought up tomorrow. I hope we’ll have answers to some of our questions before she arrives. There’s one other thing.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘We need to talk to the person who saw Emily get into the car at the Red Lion. So far I’ve been thinking that a light-coloured car driven by someone with short blond hair probably meant Jamie Gilbert.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Ruth Walker. She drives a cream car – I’ve seen it – and she’d bleached her hair blonde the second time I saw her. Another drink?’

  ‘Better not,’ Annie said. ‘I’ve got a long drive home. You should be careful, too.’

  ‘You’re going home?’

  ‘Don’t look so disappointed. We’ve got a busy day tomorrow.’

  ‘You’re right. But you can’t blame me for showing a little disappointment.’

  Annie smiled. ‘I’d be pissed off if you hadn’t. Anyway, after last night I’m worn out. I’m surprised you’re not tired, too.’

  ‘It’s been a long day. That’s true.’ Banks swirled the last quarter of his pint around the bottom of the glass. ‘Do you think Ruth killed her adoptive parents?’

  ‘Very unlikely. Mind you, I think she was definitely responsible for the cigarette end that started the fire. Her parents didn’t smoke or drink. They were good Methodists. Ruth went a bit wild when she got to university. Maybe she’d had a few drinks and didn’t put it out properly.’

  ‘It doesn’t sound as if she made any attempt to save them.’

  ‘Who knows what happened in there, what she could or couldn’t have done? She hurt herself badly getting out.’

  ‘Yes, but she lived. Were post-mortems performed on the parents?’

  Annie nodded. ‘I checked. No cause for suspicion. In both cases death was due to smoke inhalation. Just as with Chief Constable Riddle, there were no signs that they were restrained in any way, or drugged, and no indication that any obstacles had been placed in the way of their getting out. They were old and slow. That’s all there is to it.’

  ‘Makes you wonder, though, doesn’t it?’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Oh, life, the universe, everything.’

  Annie slapped his arm, laughed and stood up. ‘I’m off before you start getting really philosophical. What about you?’

  ‘One more cigarette, then I’ve got a couple more things to do back at the office.’

  ‘See you tomorrow, then.’

  ‘See you.’

  Annie walked out into the cold night air and paused for a while, listening to the choir singing ‘Silent Night’ through chattering teeth. Then she dropped a few coins in the collection box and hurried off to her car before she changed her mind about Banks’ offer.

  18

  Ruth Walker arrived with her police escort shortly after lunch the following day. Wearing baggy jeans and a shapeless mauve sweatshirt with sleeves that fell long past her hands, she looked both nervous and defiant as she took her seat in the gloomy interview room. She held her head high, but her eyes were all over the place, everywhere but on the person speaking to her. A sprinkling of acne lay over her pale cheeks, and her skin looked pasty and dry.

  Unlike Barry Clough, who was now back at his Little Venice villa, Ruth didn’t have an expensive lawyer in tow. They had offered to bring in a duty solicitor for her, but she said she didn’t need anyone. Banks set the tape recorders going, gave details of the session and began. Annie sat beside him. He had the answers to most of his previous day’s questions – including two calls from Darren’s mobile, only one of which had been to Banks – in a buff folder on the desk in front of him, and he didn’t like the
story they told one bit.

  ‘I suppose you know why you’re here, don’t you, Ruth?’ Banks began.

  Ruth stared at a squashed fly high on the opposite wall.

  ‘We’ve been doing a bit of digging.’

  ‘Not really the season for that, is it?’ Ruth said.

  ‘This isn’t a joking matter,’ Banks said. ‘So drop it, Ruth. It doesn’t suit you.’

  ‘Whatever.’

  ‘You’ve told me a lot of lies.’

  ‘Lies? Pork pies. They’re what I’ve been living. What else have I got to tell you?’

  ‘It’s my job to try and sort out a few truths. Let’s start with the fire.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with it?’

  ‘With what?’

  ‘With why I’m here.’

  ‘I told you, I’m trying to get at some truths.’

  ‘There was a fire. I woke up and my room was full of smoke. I had to jump out of the window. I broke my ankle really badly. You might have noticed I’ve still got a limp.’

  ‘What else can you tell us about the fire?’

  ‘What’s to tell? It was an accident. I couldn’t walk for weeks.’

  ‘What caused the fire?’

  ‘They said it was a cigarette. It can’t have been mine. I put it out. I remember.’

  ‘Whose was it then?’

  Ruth shrugged. ‘Dunno. It wasn’t mine.’

  ‘Ruth, it must have been your cigarette. Your parents died in that fire, and all you can think about is your broken ankle. What’s wrong with this picture?’

  ‘You tell me. And they weren’t my parents. Everyone says I was the lucky one, so I suppose they must be right.’

  ‘Did you feel lucky?’

  ‘ “Do you feel lucky today, punk?” Sorry. Bad joke again. Blame it on being deprived of humour throughout my childhood and adolescence.’

  ‘Were you deprived of humour?’

  ‘It wasn’t part of the deal.’

  ‘What deal?’

  ‘You know. The one where you’re not supposed to dance, sing, laugh, cry, love, fuck. The religious deal. I sometimes think the reason they had to adopt a child was that they thought it was a sin to do what they had to do to produce one naturally.’