[Inspector Peach 13] - Wild Justice

by J M Gregson

  Chadwick’s voice seemed at first to come from a long way away as he said, ‘At least you’ve got a murder weapon.’ He gestured to where a civilian officer was labelling the plastic container in which he had carefully bagged a bloodstained pistol.

  ‘A Smith and Wesson.’

  ‘Yes. They don’t leave any chance of survival, when they’re fired at close quarters, do they?’ Chadwick retreated for a moment into a professional admiration of the weapon’s efficiency.

  ‘You said there’d been an attempt to simulate suicide.’ Chadwick nodded. ‘The pistol had been placed in the corpse’s right hand. In my view, after someone else had blown him away. You’ll make your own mind up about that, but the grip was all wrong. Whoever did this wore gloves, though. I think you’ll find the only prints we’ve lifted from the weapon are those of this poor bugger.’

  ‘When?’ The other automatic CID question. ‘Where’ was obvious. ‘How’ had just been suggested by the SOCO. ‘Why’ was just beginning and was going to take much longer.

  Chadwick smiled grimly. ‘You can be pretty certain that this happened last night. The pathologist was as cagey as those sods always are about exact times, but it was obvious to both of us that the corpse had been here all night. Hayes Electronics held their annual dinner here last night. Pearson said Hayes was pretty well the last visitor to leave the hotel.’

  Peach looked at the expensive, blood-spattered suit of the dead man. ‘Have you picked up anything useful?’

  ‘Nothing that looks likely from around the car. If anyone came here straight from the hotel, or from another car, he isn’t likely to have had mud on his shoes.’ Serious criminals were always male in police parlance, a simple recognition of the statistics of villainy. ‘We’ve got various fibres from the back seat of the car. We’ll take the vehicle into forensics when we’ve finished here. Those boys will take it apart and have their usual fun, but whether they’ll pick up anything more than my boys and girls here have remains to be seen.’

  Chadwick, Peach and Blake looked at the open door and the rivulets of moisture from the melting frost running off the BMW. The sun was rising higher, and at that moment the first insect arrived and settled on the shattered head. They did not need to express the common thought each of them was revolving: someone might well have sat in the back of this car and waited for his or her victim. Had they left any tiny traces of their presence behind them?

  The van the police call the meat wagon had arrived by the time Peach and Blake were leaving and the plastic body shell was being prepared for the reception of the mortal remains of Timothy Hayes.

  By the time today’s visitors arrived for lunch at the Gisburn Hotel, all traces of the most grisly event in its short history would have disappeared.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The curtains were drawn. Even at midday on this bright day, even with the yellow and white crocuses bright beside the long drive, there was a sombre look about the big detached house.

  Peach glanced at the impressive view across the valley and gave the bell a single ring. It seemed a long time before the big oak front door swung half open and a white face peered at them. He said apologetically, ‘I’m Chief Inspector Peach and this is Detective Sergeant Blake. We’re sorry to intrude at a time like this, but there are a few questions we need to ask you.’

  For a second or two, she looked at them as if she did not comprehend. Then Tamsin Hayes said quietly, ‘I understand. You’d better come inside.’

  She led them into a comfortable small room next to the main sitting room of the house and said unnecessarily, ‘This was designed as a breakfast room, but we’ve never needed to use it as that.’ She gave them a wan smile as they sat in the armchairs she indicated. ‘But you don’t need to know that, do you?’

  She was already clad completely in mourning: a long-sleeved black dress was complemented by dark tights and court shoes in fine black leather. There was even a black slide in her brown hair. She looked very smart, even without any sign of make-up on her drawn white face.

  Peach said, ‘We probably won’t need to take much of your time at all, Mrs Hayes. Can you tell us what time you left the Gisburn Hotel last night, please?’

  ‘Well before - well before this happened. As soon as Tim had finished his speech, there was a general exodus to bars and cloakrooms. I took the opportunity to leave unobtrusively then.’ She watched the young woman she had been told was a detective sergeant beginning to make notes with a small gold ball-pen. ‘Quite a lot of other people did the same.’

  ‘You took a taxi back here?’

  For a moment, the wan face looked puzzled. Then understanding dawned and a small smile lightened her features. ‘I had my own car. I didn’t go to the function with my husband. We had agreed that beforehand. He had to be there early, to greet and entertain his guests.’

  ‘But didn’t he want you at his side to assist him with that?’

  There was perhaps a vestige of irritation at the question before she answered, ‘Entertaining isn’t my strength. Especially with business contacts and councillors whom I don’t even know. As a matter of fact, it was the first time I’d been to this function for several years. I’m quite a shy person, and Tim understands that.’ There was a little gasp from her and her small hand flew up to her mouth. ‘I’m sorry - I should have said “understood that”, shouldn’t I?’

  ‘That’s a mistake almost everyone makes in these distressing circumstances, Mrs Hayes. Can you tell us what time it would be when you left the hotel?’

  ‘Half past ten. Perhaps a quarter to eleven. There was quite a lot of activity in the car park - a lot of people left at around that time.’ She seemed for some reason very satisfied about that.

  ‘And you drove yourself home.’

  ‘Yes. I never drink very much nowadays, so I wasn’t worried about driving. I was back here at eleven o’clock.’

  Lucy Blake looked up from her notes. This composed, black-clad figure looked like a figure in mourning in an old-fashioned play. She only needed a black hat and veil and long black gloves and she would be ready to stand at the graveside. And the woman within the clothes, unnaturally calm and measured, seeming to anticipate their every question, appeared as if she was indeed playing a part, perhaps one she had designed for herself. Lucy said, ‘There was no one with you in the car and no one here but yourself when you got home.’

  A small smile, a tiny pause whilst she estimated this new questioner, whose light blue sweater and darker blue trousers seemed almost garish by comparison with her own attire. ‘No. I have no witnesses to what I am telling you. I’m afraid.’

  ‘And we have no reason to doubt it, Mrs Hayes. But we need to record these things. Tell us what happened next, please.’

  A knowing smile. ‘Very little. I made myself a cup of tea and put on the radio whilst I unwound a little after the evening. As I said, I find these occasions quite stressful. But I was in bed before midnight.’

  ‘Weren’t you alarmed when your husband didn't come home?’ She gave the fresh young face a sad look, as if she was reluctant to disillusion Blake about the realities of life. ‘I didn’t expect him. I knew he would have to stay until the last of his guests for the evening departed.’

  ‘But you must have been alarmed when you found later in the night that he still hadn’t returned.’

  ‘But I didn’t, you see. We have separate bedrooms. Sometimes Tim slept in the big bed in my room and sometimes he slept alone. There’s no great mystery about that. There are only two of us and we rather rattle around in this big house. It seemed sensible to make the best use of the accommodation and give each other our own space. There’s nothing complicated about the arrangement - I believe many more people would do it if they were lucky enough to have as much space as we have here. I’m told royalty do something similar.’

  The explanation fell trippingly off the tongue, as if it had been either used before or prepared in advance for this meeting. Lucy tried not to sound sceptical as sh
e said, ‘So when did you find that your husband hadn’t returned home?’

  ‘Not until I got up this morning. I called something to him about breakfast and got no reply. When I looked into his room at about eight o’clock, I saw that his bed hadn’t been slept in.’

  ‘But you didn’t ring in to police or hospitals.’

  A pause, a small, sad sigh. ‘No. I had no reason to be alarmed, had I?’

  ‘Even when he was still missing many hours after you’d expected him home?’

  ‘Even then. Tim was often away overnight. I gave up wondering where he was a long time ago.’

  There was something here to be followed up, an obvious suggestion about the husband-wife relationship. But you could not push a grieving widow too hard only a few hours after her husband had been so brutally dispatched. Grief took many forms; you could not automatically assume that a calm exterior meant that there was not real suffering beneath. Peach said suddenly, ‘So when exactly did you begin to feel worried about what might have happened, Mrs Hayes?’

  She transferred her attention back to the man, as if determined to meet his renewed challenge successfully. ‘I don’t think I ever did, DCI Peach. Not until I saw your policewoman at my door. I feel now that I knew before she told me that Tim was dead. But perhaps that is fanciful.’ She nodded very slightly to herself, as if weighing the proposition.

  ‘And until our officer gave you the sad news, you had no inkling of what might have happened?’

  ‘None whatsoever. She told me initially that there had been some sort of accident. When I pressed her, she said that Tim had been shot. She offered to come in and make me a cup of tea. I said that there was no need for that. I asked her for more details, but she said she couldn’t tell me anything more.’

  Peach pictured an inexperienced woman in a new uniform, prepared for hysterics, then trying to cope with this disconcertingly organized widow. ‘She probably didn’t know any details, Mrs Hayes. DS Blake and I have actually visited the scene, but as yet we know little more ourselves. You may be able to help us a little with that, if you feel up to it.’

  ‘I shall certainly do whatever I can. That would be my duty, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘It’s everyone’s duty, but not everyone seems as clear-sighted about it as you do.’ He was content that it should sound like an accusation rather than a compliment: this abnormal calm in a widow was getting to him more than he would have thought possible. ‘Did your husband possess a firearm, Mrs Hayes?’

  A small, possibly calculated, pause. ‘I believe he had a pistol of some kind, yes. I presume he had a licence for it, if one was needed. I’m afraid I have no interest in such things. Is that what killed him?’

  ‘We don’t know, yet. Had he shown any signs of depression in the last few days?’

  A longer pause this time, as if she wished to weigh up the implications of her reply before she made it. ‘You’re asking me if Tim was in a mood to take his own life, aren’t you? Well, I’d say no. This wasn’t suicide. Someone killed him. Take it from me.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  She gave a little shrug of those impeccably groomed black shoulders. ‘He wasn’t a man to take his own life. When you’ve lived with someone for a quarter of a century, you can say that with a certain conviction.’

  ‘That’s interesting. I can tell you that the episode looked at first sight like a suicide, but we’re already thinking that someone set it up to look like that.’

  She nodded, said with something like satisfaction, ‘I presume Tim had enemies. I imagine it’s difficult to be as successful as he was in business without making enemies.’

  ‘Can you think of anyone in particular, Mrs Hayes?’

  ‘No. It wouldn’t be fair for me to speculate. I know very little about the way he had conducted his business in recent years.’

  ‘If this turns out to be a murder inquiry, as I now very much fear it will, we shall need to encourage speculation, especially among those who knew the victim best. Your views will be treated in confidence.’

  She looked from one to the other of the contrasting faces, almost teasing them, letting them wonder for a moment if she was going to give them anything. Then she said abruptly, ‘I think his old partner has had rather a raw deal in recent years. I don’t know why.’

  ‘And this old partner’s name?’

  ‘Matthew Ballack. He and Tim started what is now Hayes Electronics a long time ago. He’s still with the firm, but Tim seemed to me to shrug him off in recent years. I suspect Mr Ballack’s been treated rather badly.’ She watched Blake make a note of the name and said, ‘It’s rather unfair of me to single out Mr Ballack. I’m sure Tim had lots of other enemies. But no doubt Matthew Ballack will be able to give you a convincing account of his movements last night.’

  It was an odd thing to say. It wasn’t clear from her tone whether she believed that or not, or even whether she wanted it to be true or not. Very little was clear about this strangely composed widow, who had dressed herself so carefully to meet them. Peach said with a hint of impatience, ‘Do you think Mr Hayes was anticipating an attack? Do you think he had any sort of premonition about what happened last night?’

  She thought for a moment, then leant forward a little, as if parting with a secret. ‘He had men to look after him. The sort of men he wouldn’t have had around him in the old days.’

  ‘Can you give us names, please?’

  ‘No, I can’t do that.’ She seemed genuinely regretful. ‘But they were on the payroll, I expect. I should think his secretary would be able to tell you more about them.’

  Peach stood up, threw in his last question almost casually, hoping to catch her off guard. ‘Who do you think did this, Mrs Hayes?’

  ‘I don’t know.... Wives and husbands of murder victims are always the first suspects, aren't they?’

  Peach allowed himself a little smile, carefully concealing his irritation with this enigmatic woman. ‘We prefer to look upon them as the first people to be eliminated from the inquiry. Mrs Hayes, no doubt you are still in shock. If any further thoughts occur to you about your husband’s death, please contact me at Brunton CID immediately. We shall no doubt need to speak to you again in a day or two, when we have more information to hand. In the meantime, you have our sympathy.’

  She stood in the doorway with the curtained windows on each side of her, presenting the perfect exterior of the bereaved widow, whilst they slid into the police Mondeo and drove down the long, curving drive and off her property. Both of them wondered whether when she shut the big oak door the mask would be immediately discarded.

  * * *

  It gave Percy Peach a very nasty shock. He wasn’t expecting anything like this on a Saturday afternoon. Indeed, he couldn’t remember the last time when this had happened.

  Tommy Bloody Tucker’s head had appeared without warning around the door of Peach’s office. Tucker rarely ventured outside the rarefied atmosphere of his own penthouse quarters at the top of the huge new police building, and had certainly never been sighted before in the middle of a Saturday afternoon.

  The head was tilted at an angle of forty-five degrees. The expression on the head resembled that of a rather backward heron. It looked at Peach apprehensively for a moment, after which it straightened and the full glory of the weekend Tucker was revealed. He wore a light green sweater above plus-twos in a virulent brown and orange tartan, which had assuredly no Caledonian connection. The yellow socks and tan shoes on his lower limbs enhanced rather than diminished the startling impact of his ensemble.

  He said unnecessarily, ‘I’ve come straight here from the golf course.’

  As though it were a virtue, thought Percy darkly. He looked at his chief from top to toe and blinked a little. He had never been able to work out why Tucker swung so far away from the sober, well-cut suits he wore for work to this garish golfing gear: his latest theory was that Tucker tried to compensate for his deficiencies in playing the game by the violently aggressive hues
of his attire.

  Peach said modestly, ‘I had to cancel my golf, sir.’

  ‘Of course you did, Peach. A murder on your patch needs your immediate attention.’

  Percy noticed that as usual the work ethic the head of Brunton CID expected apparently had no application to himself. He restrained himself from asking the man what the bloody hell he was doing here now. No doubt that would emerge in the next few minutes. He said carefully, ‘The death was dressed up to look like suicide. It is in fact murder.’

  ‘And the murder of one of our most prominent citizens. This is high-profile, Peach. The sooner it is solved, the better it will be for all of us.’

  ‘I quite agree, sir. I see why you’re here now. I’m glad you’ve come in to take charge of this investigation yourself.’

  The look of panic on Tucker’s face gave his junior the first moment of pleasure in a trying day. ‘I shan’t interfere with your handling of the case, Peach. I shall of course remain in overall direction, but you know that it is my policy to trust my staff and interfere with their work as little as possible.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I often have to assure our more junior officers that you won’t interfere with them.’

  ‘There were a lot of people at the Gisburn Hotel last night. Peach. This may not be an easy investigation.’

  Percy noted how his chief never lost his talent for the incisive observation and held his peace.

  ‘There were almost a hundred people in the dining room. At the moment, you must treat everyone there as a suspect. Everyone, Peach, If they object, tell them that they mustn’t be thin-skinned in a murder investigation.’

  Percy said heavily, ‘Right, sir. Your overview is as usual invaluable.’

  ‘However, you will need to handle things carefully. There were a lot of very important people there last night.’ Tucker moved uneasily from gaudy foot to gaudy foot. ‘I was there myself.’