by J M Gregson
Leroy looked into the very dark face, at once so near to his in hue and so unlike it in form. This man from whom he had hoped for a little sympathy was utterly unflinching. There seemed more hope now in the round white face beside him. ‘It was a bit like that. But violence was all I had to offer, when I crawled out of Moss Side. I was serious in what I said just now about wanting something better. I was hoping this new job which Hayes was offering me would be the first step towards that.’
Peach said, ‘I’m a sentimental old fool and I’m relying on DC Northcott to keep shtum about it, but I almost believe you, Mr Moore. But to convince me for more than thirty seconds, you’ve got to come clean about everything you know.’
‘And let you throw the book at me for what I tell you?’
Percy smiled. ‘We’re not here to do deals, Mr Moore. But no one so far has laid a complaint against you. You and I know that that is because the people you’ve been threatening and thumping aren’t in a position to go to the police. But this is a murder inquiry and I’m only interested at the moment in arresting a murderer. If you give us all the help you can, if you’re sincere about wanting to mend your ways, we may be able to regard your Brunton career to this point as a closed book.’
‘I’ll tell you whatever I can.’
‘All this assumes of course that you’re not the murderer yourself. I don’t want you to think that we’ve written off that possibility.’
‘I didn’t kill Hayes.’
‘Good to hear it. However, as that comes from a man who’s killed before, you’ll understand when we treat it with a degree of cynicism.’
Leroy told himself not to panic, that he’d always expected the pigs to throw his record at him. ‘It was self-defence. It wasn’t premeditated, like this killing.’
‘Know all about this death, do you, Mr Moore? Now that is interesting. Isn’t it, DC Northcott?’
‘Very interesting indeed, sir. I’d even say significant.’
‘Would you indeed? Well, I’d probably have to agree with you on that. This might be the first break we’ve had so far.’
Leroy fought for words which would interrupt the torment. ‘I don’t know anything about the death. I just thought—’
‘We’re keeping an open mind, you see. We haven’t even had the post-mortem report yet. You know more than us, if you know for certain that it was premeditated. The question for us now is how did you come to know?’ Peach’s brow wrinkled in puzzlement at this fascinating development.
‘I - I thought the bulletins on the radio said someone had waited for him and shot him in his car.’
‘Death in suspicious circumstances was all they said. Body found on Saturday morning with a gunshot wound to the head. I sanctioned them myself. Nothing about premeditation.’
‘I must have assumed that happened. Must have thought that sounded the likeliest way for him to have died.’
‘Must you really?’ Peach shook his head sadly. ‘We try to prevent our CID officers from making assumptions, Mr Moore. But then you’re not a CID officer, and unlikely to become one.’
‘I don’t see how else he could have died.’
‘Really? Oh, there are certainly other possibilities.’ Peach leaned forward, staring into the apprehensive face, fixing the mobile brown eyes with his own unwavering black pupils. ‘There could have been an argument. Mr Hayes might have pulled out his own gun to defend himself, then had it turned upon him in the ensuing struggle.’
‘I suppose it’s a possibility, yes.’
‘Quite an interesting one, really. Because it would replicate the killing carried out by a certain Leroy James Moore in Moss Side, Manchester, six years ago.’
‘I didn’t kill Hayes.’ Leroy found his fists clenched tightly against his thighs. Like most men who had come to use violence as a tool, he felt helpless when it was not an option.
‘If that’s true, the best way to convince us of it is to point us towards the person who did.’
‘I’d do that if I could. I just want this over with.’
‘Tell us where you were in the hour after Mr Hayes had finished his speech on Friday night.’
‘I stayed around the hotel. Not in the same room as Hayes. In a different bar, a smaller one off the main one.’
‘Where you could keep your eye on the man you were protecting, without being obtrusive.’
Moore nodded. ‘He hadn’t told me to do that. I thought as Head of Security Services, it must be part of my job to see that he was safe.’
‘An interesting interpretation of your role. One in which you conspicuously failed, of course. But I don’t suppose anyone is going to bollock you about that now. Carry on.’
‘Well, I waited until there were only two or three people left with Hayes. I didn’t know them - one was a councillor, I think.’
‘We know them. They’ve been interviewed. From your point of view, it makes it more important that you get this right, doesn’t it?’
Leroy tried to ignore that, to concentrate under the unflinching gaze of these two experienced, cynical men. ‘Hayes saw me checking on things from the doorway. He gave me the nod to go and I went.’
‘What time did you leave the car park?’
‘I can’t say exactly. After midnight, but beyond that I can’t be definite.’
‘Witnesses?’
‘No.’ He wanted to mention Jane Martin. But he had been determined before they came to make no mention of her, to keep her out of this, and his resolution held. Just held. ‘There weren’t many cars left in the car park when I drove out.’
They took the details of his Ford Focus, told him to let them know of anyone who could corroborate his statement, left him with the uncomfortable idea that he was more suspect than anyone else because of his previous record.
He told himself when they had gone that he’d kept Jane out of it. There was no motive for either Jane or himself, unless they found out about what Hayes had done to her. He’d found himself wanting to shout at those pigs what kind of man Hayes had been, how much he had deserved to die. But he hadn’t done that, and he knew now as he had known before they came that it had been right to keep quiet about it.
He must go in to work soon, tell people there that he was the Head of Security, pretend that he had been given a job brief by Hayes before he died. He must get on with the new life he planned for himself. In a little while, he would be able to do it. At the moment, he was too drained for any sort of action.
Chapter Seventeen
The post-mortem report was available by midday on Monday. The pathologist had been as good as his word; he had made it a priority and opened up the lab over the weekend. Brendan Murphy, who had been the police officer in attendance, had controlled his stomach with difficulty as the organs were paraded before him and assured himself that he was now taking such things as routine.
The report provided Peach and his team with little that was new and nothing that was unexpected.
There was a moderate amount of alcohol in the body, but this man would have been just within the limits for driving. It was possible, however, that his awareness of what was happening around him would have been minimally impaired. In other words, that anyone waiting for Hayes, inside or outside the car, might have got fatally close before his or her presence was detected.
Death had resulted from a single discharge of the powerful Smith and Wesson pistol at point-blank range. Powder marks on what was left of the head indicated that the weapon had been held against the right temple of the deceased. Indications were that the weapon had been placed in the corpse’s hand after, not before, the shooting. Time of death had been several hours before the discovery of the corpse at shortly before six thirty on Saturday morning. Analysis of the stomach contents and the partial digestion of the meal eaten between eight fifteen and ten fifteen on Friday night made it possible to give an unusually accurate estimate of the time of death, which was almost certainly between twelve midnight and one o’clock on Saturday morning.
A call to forensics revealed that the scientists there held out little more hope of providing significant assistance. There were no prints other than the deceased’s on the murder weapon. Various fibres had been taken from the seats and carpets of the BMW for analysis and retention against an arrest. But indications were that the interior of the car had not been cleaned for at least a month. This was the official way of suggesting that most of these samples probably predated the night of the killing and were therefore likely to obscure rather than illuminate what had happened in those few vital minutes.
There was a single definite and vital piece of information, and in Peach’s view even that was confirmation rather than anything new. The pistol had been registered and licensed to the deceased. Timothy Hayes had owned the Smith and Wesson which had blasted away his life.
Clare Thompson was pleased to receive the CID visitors in her office at Hayes Electronics. It was an impersonal environment and one where she felt in control. Had they come to her home, she felt that they might have picked up something of the febrile atmosphere that had dominated her exchanges with her husband since the murder of Tim Hayes, even without Jason being present.
Lucy Blake always got a little extra frisson of excitement when they interviewed a woman in connection with any serious crime. She found herself more easily able to feel what the person must be feeling, to put herself into the interviewee’s shoes.
These particular shoes were elegant leather court ones, with a sensible height of heel. The woman within them also impressed her as both elegant and capable, as she welcomed them into her office with a practised, professional smile and assured them that they would not be disturbed here. She was alert and blue-eyed, with the slim build and easy movement which made her look a little taller than she actually was. They already knew that she was thirty-eight, but Lucy would have taken her at first glance as younger than that: her blonde hair was expertly cut, and her face was carefully though lightly made up to conceal the incipient wrinkles round her eyes.
DCI Peach introduced them and Clare Thompson nodded a neutral welcome to DS Blake, no doubt conducting her own assessment of this woman who was intruding into her world. Peach said, ‘Murder is the one crime where the victim cannot be questioned. We have to build up a picture of a man we never knew through the impressions and judgements of others. I’m sure that you can be more help to us in this than any other single person, Mrs Thompson.’
Clare had a moment of panic which she hoped didn’t show on her face. For an instant, she thought these intruders must know already that she had been Tim’s mistress, that he had ditched her and left her feeling vitriolic about him - angry enough to kill him, by implication. Then she realized the man was probably only referring to her position of knowledge and trust as his personal assistant. She said carefully, ‘I obviously know a lot about Mr Hayes’s professional life - it’s part of my job to do so. But I would remind you that he has - had - a wife.’
She managed that rather well, and even managed to tack a little ironic, rebuking smile onto the end of it. All that Peach said was, ‘Yes, we’ve seen Mrs Hayes. She wasn’t able to offer us much. We were hoping you might be able to enlighten us rather more.’
‘I’ll obviously help you as much as I can. We all want the man who killed Mr Hayes arrested as soon as possible.’
He smiled at her, and for a moment she thought he was going to challenge these conventional sentiments. Then he said, ‘Except one person, Mrs Thompson. Or more than one, if it should prove that there is a conspiracy involved here. What makes you assume Mr Hayes’s killer was a man?’
‘Nothing. I never even thought of it being a woman.’
‘And thus at a stroke excluded almost half of Friday night’s attendance from consideration. Including, of course, your good self. It would be useful to us if we could make such assumptions, but we have to consider all possibilities, Mrs Thompson.’ He stretched his legs out in front of him for a moment, looking very relaxed, reminding Clare of how tense she felt herself. ‘I understand that you compiled the guest list for this fatal function.’
He made it sound like an accusation. Clare said defensively, ‘In consultation with Mr Hayes I did, yes.’
‘I see. Were there any additions to the usual annual list? Any names you were rather startled to find there?’
She paused, showed them that she was giving the question proper consideration. There was a legitimate chance here to divert suspicion away from herself and towards others, without any need to tell obvious lies. ‘The list was the longest it’s ever been. Mr Hayes was anxious both to recognize the efforts which had contributed to the firm’s success and to do a measure of discreet public-relations work. She smiled. ‘I think you could probably include the invitation to your Detective Chief Superintendent Tucker and his wife in that category.’
Peach would have loved to ask her what she had made of Tommy Bloody Tucker and Brünnhilde Barbara. He did no such thing, of course. ‘We are collecting statements from everyone who was at that dinner. But it is the employees who interest us most at this stage. What I asked you was whether there were any names which stood out and surprised you on this extended list.’
‘There were some I scarcely knew, but that is in the nature of things. My job is mainly concerned with the original core work of the firm, with the factory and office staff in the electronics division here. Outside that circle, I do not know people well. I have never even met some quite senior staff in the newer sections of the firm’s development. One of the advantages for me of the annual dinner has always been to meet these newer faces.’
She was playing with him, Peach thought. Fencing carefully and allowing him to make the running. All right, lady. ‘Some of these new areas are pretty murky ones, Mrs Thompson. Apparently you’re claiming that even as Mr Hayes’s PA you knew little about them.’
‘I’ve already said that.’
‘Just checking that you didn’t want to amend or retract that position. Would it surprise you to know that drugs and prostitution figure as very profitable colonies in the Hayes empire?’
‘It would indeed. It would surprise and shock me. Perhaps it is because of that that my employer made sure I knew nothing about them. I knew about the expansion of our gambling arm, in the betting shops and the new casino, though I had no direct involvement, but nothing of any illegal activities.’ Clare was sure that she looked shaken in the face of his aggression. She told herself that it was right for her to look shaken.
‘I see.’ Peach contrived to get an incredible degree of scepticism into the two simple monosyllables. Even if it’s only guilt by implication and association, keep ’em on the back foot, even if that foot was as well turned as this lady’s. ‘Murky activities involve murky people, Mrs Thompson, take that from us who have to work among them. Perhaps you can now appreciate how names which were unfamiliar to you are going to be of interest to us.’
This stocky little bantam-cock of a chief inspector had shaken her a little, but this was really going rather well, Clare told herself. Suspicion was moving away from her and Jason to these shadowy figures she knew so little about. For the first time, she was glad that, even in pillow talk, Tim had volunteered so little to her about how he made his real money. ‘I can give you the names of employees. I can give you names of people who are operating in the new areas of development, beyond the original electronics division. I shouldn’t like to think that I am in any way implicating them in criminal accusations. Still less that I am accusing any one of them of being the murderer of Mr Hayes.’
Peach gave her the grimmest of his smiles. ‘If there is any implicating to be done, they will do it themselves, Mrs Thompson. We shall approach each of these people with an open mind, as the law demands that we do.’
She slid open the top drawer of her desk, pretended to fumble for a moment to unearth the list she had in fact been studying
immediately before they came here. She proceeded to underline a series of names, frowning with concentration over the paper to show Peach how diligently she was obeying the man’s instructions. ‘These are the people who are employees of Hayes Electronics but not familiar to me. Without exception, they are Mr Hayes’s additions to my core list of invitations. One or two of them have been attending the annual dinner for years, but most of them are recent additions.’ She slid the list across to him. He glanced at it for a moment, noting the name of Leroy Moore and Jane Martin among those underlined, then handed it across to DS Blake. Clare said, ‘As you will appreciate, things are pretty hectic here at present, but given a few minutes to myself, I could probably turn up last year’s list and tell you which ones were attending for the first time.’
‘If you could do that in the next day or two, I should be grateful to you. For the present, we shall correlate and cross-reference this with the other information which is coming in all the time from our team. Are there any of these names which you think should have special attention? I need hardly assure you that you will be speaking in confidence.’
One name had been circling in Clare Thompson’s mind for the last few minutes. She hadn’t known what to do about it; she had thought this man should be challenged, but hadn’t been able to see how she could do that herself. Here was a chance to have him looked at, to have his claims checked out by a different kind of authority. She sighed, masking these thoughts under an apparent reluctance. ‘One of the people I hardly know is Mr Hayes’s original partner in the business. A man called Matthew Bailack. I’d heard the name, even met him years ago, but certainly in the years since I moved into my present post, he has hardly been around. I think he’s had health and personal problems, but I don’t know any details. But it appears he is still Mr Hayes’s partner in the business - as you probably know, the business has never been floated on the stock market and has been in recent years very much a one-man band. But Mr Bailack assures me the original agreement still stands. He is proposing to take over the direction of the business.’