[Inspector Peach 13] - Wild Justice

by J M Gregson

  His tone was one of flat despair. Peach said gently, ‘I don’t think that is so at all, sir. But that is not what concerns us here. We need a full and accurate account of your actions on Friday night.’

  Thompson went on as if he had not heard him. ‘I’d only just found out about them. I never thought my Clare would do that to me.’ Then he looked up desperately at Lucy Blake. ‘I still love her, you know. Still want her. Still need her. There’s no one else for me, God help me!’

  Peach’s calm voice cut harshly through this passionate avowal. ‘I seem to remember that God helps those who help themselves, Mr Thompson. So tell us what happened when you drove back to the Gisburn Hotel.’

  Jason looked hard into Peach’s face, feeling that only by confronting him could he focus on the matter in hand. A slow, mirthless smile crept onto his face. ‘Very little happened. I was looking to catch Clare and Hayes together, to have it out with them. I don’t know what I’d have done to them if I’d found them together. Killed him, I shouldn’t wonder!’

  ‘Which someone did. At around that time.’

  ‘Not me, Chief Inspector. I began in the main bar, where I saw Hayes still drinking with his cronies. There was no sign of Clare. I looked round all the main rooms, even asked the waitress you mentioned to check the ladies’ cloakroom for me, but she wasn’t there. I suppose the staff who saw me wondered what I was about.’

  ‘As we do, Mr Thompson. Especially since you chose to conceal these actions from us.’

  ‘I had a motive to harm Hayes, didn’t I? I didn’t want you to know about that.’

  ‘Which we now do, with the fact that you lied to us heaped upon that motive. Did you kill Mr Hayes? Did you not in fact wait for him to come out to his car and then take the opportunity to be rid of him?’

  ‘No! I drove away from the hotel when I couldn't find Clare. I drove back home and went to bed.’

  Blake looked up from her notes. ‘You have told us that you didn’t locate your wife on the premises. Were you convinced that she had left the hotel?’

  ‘Yes. I knew when there was no sign of her with Hayes that she had left the place. I wanted to get home. I wanted to hold her tight against me and take her to bed with me!’

  ‘But how could you be certain that she had left? Did you check whether her car had gone?’

  ‘No, I’d expected her to be in the hotel, you see. When I couldn’t find her there, I eventually checked the spot where we had parked earlier in the evening. I was very relieved when I found that the car was gone.’ Jason found it easier to talk to this softer, female presence than to the man who seemed to doubt every word he said.

  But it was Peach who now asked him, ‘And when you returned home for the second time, was Mrs Thompson there?’

  This time it was Jason who paused, his mind working furiously on the implications of what he was going to say. ‘Yes. We must have got in at almost the same time. She was still in the garage when I drove into the drive.’

  ‘She must have been surprised to see you coming in after her.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, she was. I told her I’d forgotten my coat and had to go back for it.’

  He sat in the room alone for a good quarter of an hour after they’d gone. He would need to talk to Clare about this when he got home. It was urgent, now. But they hadn’t talked at all, not really talked, since that bastard Hayes had been put out of their lives.

  * * *

  Jane Martin’s mother was very proud of her daughter, in the way that successful one-parent mothers always are.

  She’d made sacrifices for her daughter - she had mended her own ways to set an example to the girl, for a start. Times had been hard, before Jane went to school and through most of her primary-school days: the social helped with the rent, but there wasn’t much left over for luxuries from what Sally Martin earned in the supermarket. She had sometimes been tempted to go back to her old ways to make easy, quick money, but each time she had looked at her pretty, innocent daughter and her resolution had held firm.

  It had all been worthwhile when she got to the comprehensive. She hadn’t realized how bright Jane was until the teachers there had told her. The people at the junior school had always said what a nice, helpful kid she was, but now these new teachers insisted that her daughter was intelligent. There was nothing Jane could not do, they said, if she put her mind to it. Even a good university was possible, if she worked hard.

  No one in Sally Martin’s family had ever been to university, good or otherwise.

  Jane justified everything the teachers said. She got a clutch of GCSEs with handsome grades, then two A grades and a B grade in her A-levels. University beckoned, but she would not go. ‘You’ve worked for me for long enough, Mum. I’m not taking on a student loan and giving us more debt. I want to be able to contribute to this household: I’ve never earned anything except from my paper round years ago and my Saturday mornings in the shoe shop this last year.’

  She had taken the croupier’s job at the new Brunton casino, though her mother was against it and she knew that her daughter was much more nervous about it than she pretended to be. And being Jane Martin, she had made a success of it. She was reliable as well as intelligent, and her sunny personality had gone down well with both staff and clients. The money was good, and a good portion of it came to Sally, even after Jane had moved into the bedsit in Brunton.

  That move had disappointed her mother, but she told herself that the girl had her own life to live and needed her independence. Anyway, the new place was much nearer to the casino, so that Jane didn’t need to make the long journey home in the early hours. She could almost pay the rent for the bedsit on what she saved in taxi fares, she assured Sally. And she did as she had promised, and came back to see her mother regularly. At least once a week.

  It was almost a week since she had seen her now, so that when the bell of the council flat rang at seven thirty on Tuesday evening, Sally Martin thought that it must be Jane.

  Her face fell when she saw who it was. Not only was it not Jane, but it was a copper. The old fears and hostility she thought she had buried long ago rose within her at the sight. This was a pig on her doorstep. A pig who had done his best for her; a pig who had set her on the right path and helped her stick to it. But it was still a pig, and she didn’t want pigs in her life any more.

  She looked at him for a moment, then said, ‘I suppose you’d better come in, Sergeant Peach.’

  He waited until he was sitting on the worn sofa and she had switched off the old television set before he said, ‘It’s Detective Chief Inspector Peach now, Sally. I’ve gone up in the world.’

  ‘Aye, well. It’s been a long time. I’ve gone straight, so I don’t know why you’re here.’ She didn’t know why she couldn’t be more gracious. Years ago, when Jane was still at primary school, Peach had got her the job at the supermarket and had a word with the manager. She was pretty sure that the past sell-by-date food she’d got almost for nothing in those hard, far-off days had been down to a suggestion from this man.

  But he was still a copper, and she didn’t want coppers coming here and the neighbours talking. She said abruptly, as if trying to make amends for her welcome, ‘You still Percy, then?’

  ‘Fancy you remembering that, Sally Martin. Aye, I’m still Percy. The fuzz don’t let you escape a name once they’ve pinned it on you.’ He looked at the rapidly ageing face, at the blonde hair already streaked with grey and the once-pretty features which were now heavy and furrowed. She couldn’t be much more than forty, but she had lived hard in her troubled youth and life couldn’t have been easy since then. He looked round at the clean but shabby room and said, ‘You’ve made a go of it. I told you that you could.’

  ‘Aye. You want a brew?’

  ‘I could murder a cup of tea, lass. It’s been a long day.’

  He transferred a small box of chocolates onto the scratched dresser behind her chair while she was in the kitchen. He divined correctly that it was a long time since a m
an had brought this woman chocolates. He took an appreciative sip from his beaker before he said with real feeling, ‘I’m glad you made it, Sally.’

  ‘It wasn’t easy, even after I’d kicked the drugs. But Jane helped. She’s a good kid. A good young woman, I should say now.’

  ‘Aye, I’m sure she is, Sally.’ He dropped easily into a broad Lancashire accent when he came into places like this and spoke with women like Sally Martin. ‘Her dad never came back, then?’

  ‘No, he didn’t, thank God! His heart were as black as his skin, that bugger! He only wanted to bed me to show his pals ’e could ’ave me.’

  ‘At least he gave you a beautiful daughter, Sally Martin.’

  Her face lit up at the mention of her daughter. ‘Aye, he did that, all right. He weren't a bad-looking lad. She’s a little belter, isn’t she, my Jane?’

  ‘She is that, Sally.’ Percy thought that Brendan Murphy had used a very similar phrase in reporting back on his meeting with Jane Martin. ‘It’s about her that I’m here, Sally.’

  ‘She isn’t in any trouble, is she, Mr Peach?’ The lined face was suddenly full of anxiety.

  ‘No, I don’t think she is, Sally. But one of my officers saw her yesterday, as part of a murder inquiry, and I thought I’d follow that up by having a talk with you. Just so that we’re sure we’ve got everything we need to know.’

  Now she was really alarmed. Her mouth set in a stubborn line. ‘Jane’s a good girl. She’s never been in any trouble.’

  ‘Not quite true that, is it, Sally?’

  Once a pig always a pig. They never let you forget, pigs. ‘That was years ago. She got in with the wrong set.’

  ‘A violent set. There were knives involved.’

  ‘She was with the wrong set. The court knew that. She only got a suspended sentence. She’s never been in any trouble since then.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. Has there been anything odd in her conduct recently? Anything different from the way she normally behaves with you?’

  ‘No. Nothing. I want you to go now.’

  Peach leant forward, waited patiently until she looked up into his face. ‘Do you trust me, Sally? Have I ever been anything but straight with you?’

  She dropped her eyes to the worn carpet. ‘S’pose not.’

  ‘And I’m being straight with you now. At this moment, I don’t believe your daughter killed her employer. But I do believe she held something back when she spoke to my officer. That’s why I’m here. And whatever the situation is, the best thing you can do now is to be absolutely frank with me. Concealing things won’t help anyone, believe me.’

  She nodded slowly, knowing that deep down she trusted this copper, however much that went against her old watchwords. ‘I don’t know anything. She hasn’t told me anything. I haven’t even seen her since this man Hayes died.’

  ‘But how was she before he died?’

  She considered again whether she wanted to tell him even this little thing, when her instincts were so much against it. But she had gone too far now to draw back. And in her heart of hearts, she believed against her code that this man would do his best for her and for Jane. ‘There isn’t much to tell.’

  ‘So tell it, Sally.’

  ‘The last two times I saw her, she wasn’t her usual self. She was - distant, I suppose. A mother knows her daughter, you know.’

  ‘I know, Sally. She was withdrawn, you say.’

  ‘That’s it, yes. Withdrawn. She’s usually bubbly, wanting to talk about her week at work. Last week and the time before she wouldn’t say anything about that.’

  ‘Have you any idea what it was that was disturbing her?’

  ‘No. I tried, but she wouldn’t be pressed. I’m sure it had nothing to do with the death of this man Hayes.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right, Sally. Don’t worry about it.’

  But as he drove thoughtfully back to his cold and unwelcoming house, Percy Peach was not at all sure about it.

  Chapter Twenty

  Tamsin Hayes was quite pleased to hear that the CID people were coming to see her again. She’d rather expected them to be back before now. The sooner this business was done with and she was rid of Tim Hayes for ever, the better she would like it.

  She wondered whether to deck herself out in her widow’s weeds again. She’d rather enjoyed that little charade on Saturday. But she was getting bored with the part now. She’d accepted the condolences of her neighbours and of those friends who didn’t know the real state of her marriage with scarcely preserved decorum, wanting all the time to let her face crack into a wholly inappropriate smile.

  She was tired of deception. She decided to abandon it, even for the police. She dressed herself in the fawn woollen dress and expensive tan leather shoes which she had always liked. She felt very relaxed and quite daring when she looked at herself in the mirror. It was the right appearance for someone embarking on a new life, she thought. She’d already joined the history of art group at the adult-education centre. One of the men had asked her to go for a drink afterwards. She’d refused, of course: she wasn’t going to get into anything at all with men for a while, let alone anything heavy. Still, it was nice to be asked.

  Once she had got this CID business out of the way, she’d give her full attention to her exciting new life.

  * * *

  Chief Superintendent Tucker hadn’t wanted the television cameras in. But the press and communications officer told him that he couldn’t leave it later than Wednesday to issue some sort of statement. Timothy Hayes had been a prominent figure in Lancashire industry, and the press, local and national, were going to turn hostile if they were not given something to bite on quickly.

  Tucker always dealt with the media himself. Public relations were his forte, the area which had raised him to his present eminence. He thought he was rather good at handling young television presenters. He was certainly much happier with their limited experience than with the older and more cynical crime journalists, who tended to cut through his suave assurances and ask questions which were altogether too prescient for his resources.

  The interview began rather well, he thought. He assured the pretty young woman from Granada that no stone was being left unturned and that much had already been discovered. Then she asked him if anyone in particular was helping police with their enquiries. He gave her a polished, experienced smile. ‘It is everyone’s duty to assist the police, Grace. And everyone so far has acknowledged that duty. I am satisfied with the progress of the very large team I have allotted to this case.’

  ‘But have you yet isolated a prime suspect?’

  He shook his head sadly. ‘The prime suspect is a concept beloved of television crime dramas, isn’t it? Your medium has a lot to answer for, I’m afraid.’ He gave her a benevolent, forgiving smile.

  ‘There has been no arrest, then.’

  Tucker tried to remain unruffled. A woman as young as this really should know her place. Perhaps he would have a word with the producer once the cameras were switched off. ‘Contrary to some public opinion, we do not rush to arrest innocent people. Justice is our aim, Grace. Our aim and our watchword. When we have reason to think someone should be under arrest, we shall move quickly and decisively.’

  ‘It sounds to me as if you are not even near to an arrest, Chief Superintendent Tucker.’

  ‘We have been working night and day on this baffling case, Grace. I have scarcely left my desk since I was called upon to coordinate this investigation.’ Tucker hoped fervently that Percy Peach would be too busy to see this performance.

  ‘You use the word “baffling”, Mr Tucker. Would it be a fair summary of the present position to say that the police are baffled, then?’

  The headlines leapt black and huge into Tucker’s nightmare vision. He wondered if he was sweating, if the light powdering which the make-up girl had given him was sufficient to cope with this. He resisted the impulse he felt in his thighs to squirm, forced himself to lean forward and jut his chin as he
said confidentially, ‘We are anything but baffled, Miss Wilkinson. But at this delicate stage, you will understand that enquiries are confidential. Once we have more definite news, I shall be happy to speak to you again.’

  ‘Would you care to hazard a guess as to when that would be, Chief Superintendent Tucker?’

  He forced a smile, tried to look his most urbane, and said, ‘That would not be a professional thing to do, Grace. I’m sure you know enough about police work to understand that by now.’ His patronizing smile said that she actually understood none of the subtle nuances of his delicate mission.

  Grace Wilkinson swung round to confront the camera full face. ‘It seems that there is as yet little progress in this case. A case which the head of Brunton CID himself admits is baffling. He currently holds out no hope of a swift arrest.’

  Ten minutes later, the head of CID fumed in private in his penthouse office. That bugger Peach was out, of course. Interviewing the widow, his DC said. Tucker couldn’t even give himself the release of a good bollocking.

  * * *

  On this bright spring morning, the view from the big detached house where Timothy Hayes had lived was at its best. Lucy Blake looked across the valley towards Longridge Fell and the village where she had spent the first twenty-two years of her life. Beside the car as she drove slowly up the long drive, the first daffodils shone boldly in the borders. The gardener had given the lawns their first mowing of the year and cut their edges. The camellias on the south wall of the house were bursting into a fresh and defiant pink, which proclaimed that the hounds of spring were indeed upon winter’s traces.

  The curtains on the big windows at either side of the oak front door were no longer tightly drawn, the woman who opened the door to them was no longer clad in the elaborate mourning garb she had worn to meet them on the day after her husband’s death. Her tan leather shoes, her light brown dress and the sunlight which streamed into the big sitting room where she took them seemed to echo the spring and new growth outside the house.