And None Shall Sleep

by Priscilla Masters

  Downstairs Carter offered them tea and they accepted. These questions would not be rushed. Carter handed the mugs round and offered them both sugar.

  ‘Your wife isn’t at home?’ Joanna began conversationally.

  Carter glanced at his watch. ‘She’ll be here in a minute. She’s only at the school.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t have any more children.’

  ‘We haven’t,’ he said shortly.

  ‘She works there?’

  Carter shook his head. ‘Drop it,’ he said, suddenly vicious. ‘Ask your questions if you aye to then bugger off. Just leave us alone. We know fuck all about Selkirk’s murder, but I'd like to ask you one thing.’

  She waited.

  ‘I want to meet the bloke that forced that bastard to kneel and made him beg for mercy.’ He swallowed. ‘Because I’d like to shake ’im by the hand.’

  Joanna hardly dared breathe. She gave Mike a swift glance and read the question in his eyes.

  How had Carter known that Jonathan Selkirk had been forced to kneel? The story in the papers had reported the place and circumstances of the killing but the police had specifically asked them to omit that Selkirk had been forced to his knees.

  ‘We will have to speak to your wife too,’ she insisted. ‘The sooner the better.’

  ‘As you want,’ Carter grunted.

  ‘Mr Carter, did you have anything to do with Mr Selkirk’s murder?’

  Carter shook his head. ‘No, I didn’t.’

  Joanna watched him carefully. But even with this morning’s new knowledge she had not expected a simple confession.

  ‘Do you know Gallows Wood, Mr Carter?’

  He nodded. ‘I’ve been there once or twice.’

  ‘For what reason?’

  Carter’s face was screwed up. ‘Just walking,’ he said. ‘Just getting out of the house.’

  ‘When were you last there?’

  ‘Couple of months ago.’ Carter stood up, agitated, and peered out of the polished window. ‘Do you want to know where my wife is, inspector?’

  And Joanna had a horrid, creeping feeling. She already knew.

  ‘Every bloody morning, dinner time, teatime’ His voice stabbed at the words. ‘She stands on that bloody school crossing, every day, in the middle of the flipping road, helping the kids to cross. And do you know what she’s praying?’ He didn’t even wait for her to ponder. ‘She’s praying some other drunken psychopath will plough into her the way it did to our little girl. Now do you understand me? I didn’t kill Selkirk. But I’m glad if he suffered. He deserved to.’ The muscles at the side of his mouth twitched. ‘He sent us a bloody cheque after killin’ Rowena. Five hundred pound.’ His face twisted with a furious grief. ‘That’s when I started sending him the letters. I couldn’t stomach it.’

  Carter looked at Mike. ‘He’s ruined our lives. And there’s Molly. She lost her legs. So if Selkirk’s dead it’s no more than he deserved. Unfortunately I haven’t got a gun,’

  Joanna leaned forward and set down her mug on the small polished wine table. ‘You wouldn’t have needed a gun,’ she said. ‘The person who actually shot Selkirk,’ she spoke in a low voice, ‘was in all probability paid to do it.’

  ‘What? A hired killer?’ Carter looked astounded. ‘You mean someone paid another person to kill Selkirk?’ He scratched his head. ‘That’s a new one on me. Well, that’s me off the hook, then, I wouldn’t ’ave robbed myself of the pleasure. I would ’ave done it myself, if I’d ’ave thought I could get away with it.’

  ‘Would you?’

  Slowly Carter nodded. ‘If you’d ’ave been through what me and my wife ’ave for the last five years, you’d understand.’ He rubbed his arms as though he were cold. ‘Bugger me. So it wasn’t just us what hated him. There was others.’

  He paused at the sound of a key grating in the front door and a woman walked in. She glanced at her husband. ‘Police?’ she asked and he nodded.

  She was thin with a pale face and untidy hair dressed in black leggings and a long, black sweater. Over her arm she carried a plastic, fluorescent yellow coat. Pinned to her sweater was a brooch the size of a hen’s egg containing a picture of the same dark-haired, pretty, laughing child.

  She flopped down in the seat and sat, staring at them with a bitter smile. ‘So you think it was us, do you?’

  Joanna started to speak. ‘We’re investigating all –’ but the woman interrupted her.

  ‘We did have reason.’ She pushed a handful of hair out of her tired eyes. ‘But we didn’t have anything to do with Selkirk’s miserable death. Justice is done, in the end.’ Her mouth tightened. ‘Just tell me he suffered,’ she said bitterly. ‘Tell me he suffered.’

  Joanna looked away, startled. She fished in her bag and produced Selkirk’s final threatening letter. ‘Did you send this,’ she asked.

  Ann Carter studied it, then frowned and shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘It looks the same as one of ours. But we didn’t.’ She glanced at her husband. ‘We stopped after the police told us, didn’t we?’

  Her husband hesitated before giving a slow, trusting nod. Mike was watching her curiously. ‘Did you say it looks like the letters you used to send?’

  ‘It does,’ she said. ‘It’s uncanny, really.’ She glanced again at the copy of the letter in Mike’s hand. ‘It’s just the same.’

  Joanna decided to throw caution to the wind. ‘Does the name Gallini mean anything to you?’ she asked.

  Both Carters shook their heads.

  They were in the car before Joanna felt it was safe to speak. What do you think, Mike?’

  He was watching the neat, sad house as he turned the car round. ‘They’ve got to be our hottest suspects so far.’

  ‘But why wait? Rowena died five years ago. They last sent a letter three years ago.’

  ‘Maybe’, he said flippantly, ‘they needed to save up. Eight thousand pounds is a lot of money.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Yes it is.’

  Chapter Ten

  Selkirk & Wilde proved to be a square, stone Georgian house in the middle of the town. It looked every inch a prosperous business premises with its arched portico and nine-paned windows neatly painted black. The brass plate held only two names: Jonathan Selkirk and Rufus Wilde.

  Inside, a neat blonde sat at an antique mahogany desk. Dressed in a tailored black suit that somehow combined mourning with elegance, she rose as they entered, efficiently took their names and spoke into the intercom. ‘It’s the police.’ Her voice was awed, hushed.

  The door opened. Had Joanna been forced to imagine a fraudulent solicitor she would never have dreamed up Wilde. Because he looked every inch the traditional professional, old school tie and Establishment. Even his gold-rimmed glasses were somehow reassuring.

  ‘Detective Inspector Piercy and Detective Sergeant Korpanski.’ Joanna performed the introductions.

  Wilde’s eyes flickered over her plaster. Politely he said nothing but gave a great, heaving sigh that encompassed both her broken wrist and his partner’s murder.

  ‘A dreadful business this,’ he said, fingering his black tie.

  ‘As you say, Mr Wilde. A dreadful business.’

  ‘Do you have any idea ...?’ His voice trailed away. Behind him the blonde sat down. Wilde addressed her. ‘Tea please, darling.’ He gave Mike and Joanna a wicked wink. ‘My daughter,’ he explained. ‘Keeping it in the family.’ Wilde’s glasses glinted as he turned and caught the light.

  ‘Let’s make ourselves comfortable,’ he said genially and led them through the door into the inner sanctum – a dark, luxurious room panelled in oak. Once they were all seated in the deep buttoned leather-covered armchairs he returned to his original question. ‘Do you have any idea who might have done it?’

  ‘No,’ Joanna said cautiously. ‘At least, we’ve plenty of ideas. But nothing definite, not yet.’

  ‘I see.’ Wilde relaxed back into his chair, steepled his fingertips together and smil
ed. ‘Now what can I do for you?’

  ‘How long had you and Jonathan Selkirk been in partnership, Mr Wilde?’

  ‘Almost twenty years,’ he said mournfully. ‘It was a long time. I never guessed it would end so tragically. You don’t, do you?’

  ‘How did you think it would end?’ Mike was sounding irritable. ‘In jail?’

  Wilde’s eyes flickered dangerously behind the glasses and he cleared his throat, shifted in his chair.

  ‘Look, Sergeant whatever-your-name-is, I’m under investigation by the Fraud Squad. I’m not trying to deny it.’ He met Mike’s eyes fearlessly. ‘But in this country that still means I – and this company – are innocent.’

  ‘Until proved guilty?’ Mike’s voice was as rough as sandpaper. ‘Innocent like when he ran that little girl down on the crossing?’

  ‘That was nothing to do with me.’

  ‘But you were one of the people he had been in the restaurant with, weren’t you?’

  ‘Do your homework, Sergeant,’ Wilde snapped. ‘I was nowhere near.’

  Mike jerked back in his chair.

  ‘And as far as the Fraud Squad goes,’ Wilde said smoothly, ‘I continue to protest my innocence, however much you may attempt to bully me.’ He gave a swift glance at Joanna. ‘Yes, as a criminal solicitor I am well aware of the brutal tactics of the police.’ He sat forward and thumped his fists on the desk. ‘But you won’t bully me. I ...’

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ Joanna said wearily. ‘You know your rights. Look,’ she said. ‘I’m not interested in your alleged fraudulent dealings except where they relate to this case. You’re under investigation and that’s enough for me. My sole purpose in coming here today is to try to find out, first of all, whether your partner telephoned you from the hospital on Monday night. If he did, did he say anything that might have a bearing on his murder? Secondly, I want to know of anyone you know who hated him enough to want him dead.’

  Wilde relaxed, settled back again in his chair. ‘In answer to your first question. Yes, Jonathan did telephone me from the hospital.’

  ‘May I ask what about?’

  Wilde pursed his lips. ‘He knew he was ill. Very ill. He was worried about a couple of cases he was managing. He asked me to take them over.’ He grinned wolfishly. ‘You see? Nothing very murky at all.’

  Joanna stared at him. ‘Did he say anything that might illuminate the events of Monday night?’

  Wilde shook his head regretfully. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Was he concerned about his condition?’

  ‘Not unduly.’ It was obvious from Wilde’s brief answers that he had decided if he must co-operate he would be as unhelpful as possible.

  ‘He had received a threatening letter that morning,’ Joanna said. ‘Did he mention it?’

  Wilde sat frozen for a moment before deciding which answer to give. ‘He knew who the letter was from.’ he said. ‘And he asked me to take action against the people concerned.’

  ‘He thought it was from the Carters?’

  Wilde nodded. ‘I see, Inspector, you’ve been doing your homework.’

  She brushed the sarcasm aside. ‘Mr Wilde, I have to tell you. The Carters deny having sent that letter.’

  Wilde looked astounded. ‘But Jonathan was convinced it was from them. He told me it was another – exactly the same as before – and would I please see to it.’

  ‘And what did that mean – “see to it”?’

  Wilde shifted his gaze back to Mike. ‘I took it to mean, Sergeant, that he wanted me to warn them off with a letter.’ He opened the top drawer. ‘I’d actually dictated one ...’ he held out a small audio cassette, ‘before I heard Jonathan’s body had been found.’

  ‘What did you think had happened to him at first, when he was missing?’

  Wilde contemplated for a while, staring up at the ceiling. ‘To be honest, I thought he’d had some sort of a brainstorm, a breakdown. I imagined him wandering somewhere. He really had been under a lot of pressure in recent months.’

  ‘Anything we should know about?’

  Wilde leaned forward confidingly. ‘I don’t think things were all that wonderful at home. Sheila Selkirk,’ he said with a frown and a headshake. ‘Very strange lady, you know. And then there was this wretched investigation. Your colleagues in the Fraud Squad are none too polite, Inspector, and they make their presence felt.’ He looked hopefully at Joanna. ‘Do you think they might drop the investigation now that Jonathan’s dead?’

  She stared at him. The hope in his words lit his entire face. ‘I don’t know,’ she said slowly. ‘I wouldn’t have thought so. After all, Mr Wilde, you were both under investigation.’

  ‘Selkirk & Wilde was under investigation,’ he said crossly. ‘And the firm no longer exists. You can’t take action against the dead.’

  ‘But you can against the living, Mr Wilde.’

  He was biting his lip. ‘I know that.’

  But the exchange had given Joanna a focus for her thoughts. Surely Rufus Wilde could not have been naive enough to believe he could shift all the blame on to his partner – now deceased?

  But as she watched the solicitor fingering his dark tie she dismissed this as a motive. It was almost certainly too flimsy. Yet the doubt remained and she watched his movements with a heightened curiosity.

  ‘Who wanted your partner dead, Mr Wilde?’

  ‘No one,’ he said earnestly. ‘Absolutely no one in the entire world. Jonathan was a first-class man. Popular. Loved by all who knew him.’ He paused for breath. ‘He had the respect – the greatest respect – of every single person in Leek who had professional dealings with him.’

  It was as false an epitaph as any Joanna had heard.

  ‘Even the criminals he prosecuted?’

  Wilde gave a bland smile. ‘Just doing his job.’

  Joanna tried a new tack. ‘Mrs Selkirk mentioned a firearms case after which Mr Selkirk was threatened.’

  ‘And when would this have been?’ Wilde touched the side of his glasses.

  ‘Eight to ten years ago,’ Mike said.

  Wilde’s face was impassive as he thought. ‘Ah, yes. That would have been the Wilton case. Certainly he made some threats but he didn’t mean business. It was all sabre-rattling. ’

  The veins on Mike’s neck were standing out like ropes. ‘Sure about that, are you?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Wilde’s tone was condescending. ‘You can always tell.’

  ‘Still around, is he, this Mr Wilton?’

  ‘I really couldn’t tell you.’

  ‘So you can’t think of anyone else who disliked Jonathan Selkirk?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Not even his son?’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ Wilde said, ‘though I have to say Justin was a grave disappointment to his father.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Intellectually, you know. Jonathan had hoped Justin would follow him into the profession. Despite good schooling the boy showed no interest. No interest at all.’

  ‘A shame.’ But Mike’s sarcasm was wasted on the pompous solicitor.

  Joanna stood up. ‘Thank you, Mr Wilde. We’ll be in touch.’

  It was the last phrase that seemed to rattle Wilde more than anything else. He stared at her with a flicker of fear in his eyes. Was the impending fraud investigation so threatening to him? Or was this the result of a guilty conscience? But why? Why on earth might he have wanted his partner dead?

  She was almost through the door when the neat blonde returned with a tray of white porcelain tea cups, smothered in pink roses and a large, steaming tea pot.

  ‘Sorry, love,’ Mike said. ‘Too late.’ Then he turned back to face Wilde. ‘I hope they’ll ask you to give the speech at Selkirk’s funeral. You give by far the best one. Everyone else,’ he finished, ‘seems to have hated his guts.’

  On return to the station Joanna was met by Dawn Critchlow. ‘Which do you want first?’ she asked. ‘The good news, the news or the bad news?’<
br />
  ‘Oh, the good, always the good,’ Joanna said.

  ‘Dr Levin phoned. He mentioned dinner tonight and says would you ring back to confirm.’ She smiled. ‘He wants to book.’

  Joanna’s eyes flickered. If Matthew wanted to book a table it meant a serious talk. She had avoided confrontation with him for as long as was possible. She knew what was coming, had always known. Matthew always broke bad news face to face.

  She pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind. ‘The news?’

  ‘A car was spotted in the layby near Gallows Wood at one thirty a. m. approx. A Vauxhall Cavalier, brown. And the person even got the number. We’ve checked it out.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Holloway,’ Dawn said. ‘It’s owned by someone called Dustin Holloway. We’ll run some checks on him.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Who called in?’ Joanna asked idly. ‘Courting couple?’

  Dawn Critchlow nodded. ‘Wouldn’t you guess? Both married to other people so they didn’t come forward earlier.’

  Joanna turned to Mike. ‘We’d better check our obliging witnesses out,’ she said, ‘as well as this Holloway. And the bad news?’ she said to Dawn.

  ‘Pugh wants you in her – sorry, your – office the minute you walk in. Sorry,’ she said again. ‘But that was how she worded it. If I were you,’ she winked at Mike, ‘I should talk to Dr Levin first.’

  Joanna dropped her eyes and sighed. Somehow even Pugh seemed preferable to Matthew just at the moment.

  Pugh was no more attractive on their second meeting. Her pale eyes looked up as Joanna entered.

  ‘I shall be vacating your office late this evening,’ she said sharply. ‘Gallini’s been picked up.’

  So quickly? Joanna thought. ‘Where?’ she said aloud. ‘Heathrow. With a pocketful of money, waiting to board a plane to Sicily, ready for a family holiday and taking the money back to Papa Mafioso.’