Particular Stupidities (The Romney And Marsh Files Book 5)

by Oliver Tidy

  He sat in his car and lit a cigarette. He decided to wait until it was finished before driving off. There was the slim chance that Julie would want him to call in on his way home, even though it was very late, and seeing as she lived closer to the station than she did to his house it was worth the couple of minutes of his time.

  Romney realised that he was in a state of high sexual arousal. He had recognised long ago that the episodes in his life that created nervous tension and surges of adrenalin would usually leave him craving sex. With some it was a good drink with the lads, with others it was a fight, with him it had always been the urge to couple.

  He had only taken a few puffs when his phone signalled another text. He read it, smiled, started the car and drove. Home was not on his mind. The hour and the prospect of a full day tomorrow meant nothing to him.

  ***

  19

  Romney was feeling very pleased with himself as he took his seat in interview room one the following morning. He was freshly showered and shaved after a solid, if short, sleep. He had prisoners – people in custody who he felt strongly would be able to help him with an unsolved murder investigation. He had a good cup of coffee and a fresh pastry in his stomach and he had vivid images of Julie Carpenter’s scantily clad body during their previous night’s urgent lovemaking hovering at the periphery of his thoughts, waiting to be ushered into the light during the lulls in proceedings.

  Romney stared across the table at Nathan Coates. The necessary interviewing formalities had been observed. Marsh was sitting next to Romney and Coates’ solicitor was alongside him.

  ‘Let me tell you the least of your worries, Nathan,’ said Romney. ‘I think you’ve probably lost your job. Your employer didn’t sound too pleased to learn that you’ve been using the company lorry for transporting stolen property.’

  ‘I’ll remind you, Inspector, that it’s not been proven that the lead found in my client’s vehicle was stolen,’ said the solicitor.

  Romney treated the legal man to a rather brutal look. ‘It’s Detective Inspector and why don’t you do us all a favour and stop wasting your breath and police time saying stupid things.’ The legal representative gave Romney an angry look. ‘And trust me – your client has got a lot more to worry about than a bit of stolen metal. Besides, seeing as where he stole it from I reckon he can expect the wrath of a higher power than the British justice system to come down on him.’

  Romney turned back to Coates and then he changed his mind and turned back to the solicitor. In a more conversational tone, Romney said, ‘What exactly has he told you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said the solicitor.

  ‘What I say, man. Do you think you’re only here because we caught your client lead-handed in possession of stolen property?’ Romney enjoyed his word play as he allowed a confused long moment to pass. ‘Oh dear. You do, don’t you. Well let me be the first to let you into Nathan’s and my little secret. Like I said, the metal is the least of his problems. You might end up ruing the day you took this one on. Starting at the bottom and working our way up, Nathan is going to be charged with all those innumerable offences that revolve around desecrating churches for pleasure and profit; then we have the grievous bodily harm of a police officer, and finally the great big cherry on top: murder.’

  The reactions of the two men across the table suggested that it was the solicitor who had more to fear from the accusations. He shifted and fidgeted and his face went through a cycle of quiet emotions. Nathan Coates’ blunt, shaven head remained impassive. His thick-set body did not stir. But he didn’t have the skill or experience to keep the effect of the accusations out of his eyes, which were fixed on Romney’s face. He remained silent.

  ‘Anything to say to any of that, Nathan?’ said Romney. ‘Playing dumb isn’t much of a defence in this country.’

  Nathan Coates’ chest swelled as he took a deep breath. He let it out through his nose. When he spoke his voice rasped in this throat. ‘Who am I supposed to have killed?’

  ‘Lance Leavey.’

  Nathan’s eyebrows furrowed. ‘Lance?’

  ‘You don’t deny knowing him?’

  ‘We played football together. Haven’t seen him for weeks.’

  Romney wondered about Coates’ lack of reaction to the news. Romney didn’t know Martin well enough to say whether he would have kept news of Lance’s apparent discovery to himself or told all the first chance he got. Romney said, ‘That’s because he’s been lying undiscovered wrapped in plastic for a couple of months with his head smashed in. We only found him a week ago.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘You don’t know? Come on, Nathan. What happened? Dishonour among thieves, was it?’ The solicitor made some noises and Romney waved him quiet. ‘Before you answer that, let me share something with you: we have reliable and very convincing witnesses who will testify in court under oath that Lance was part of your little gang. We know that you get rid of the lead at the Holloways’ place because that’s where we found you last night. By the way, you know what they’re saying? They’re saying that they don’t know any of you. They’re saying that you just showed up out of the blue last night trying to flog them what you had. They’re saying they told you to sling your hook; that they weren’t interested in receiving metal without provenance (that means proof of where it came from). They called you a pikey, Nathan. That’s a bit ironic, don’t you think? Anyway, where was I? We have this strong connection between Lance and where his body was found and that connection is you.’

  ‘Where was his body found?’ repeated Nathan.

  ‘In one of the containers in the field next door to the Holloways’ scrapyard, a field and shipping container that just happen to be owned by the Holloway brothers.’ Romney sat back and folded his arms. ‘Anything to say now?’

  ‘Don’t answer,’ said the solicitor, rather predictably.

  Nathan said nothing, but he was obviously thinking.

  Romney tried to help him make the right decision. ‘Even at your most optimistic, Nathan, you have to understand that you’ve been caught in possession of stolen goods last night. Not even Perry Mason could get you out of that. One to us. Then we’ve got the serious assault of a police officer. You remember, the guy you gave a good kicking to the other night after football. Independent witnesses and the man himself will identify you as playing a key role in that cowardly episode and they will also attest to the fact that he identified himself to you as a police officer before the assault. Incidentally, you made an unholy mess of him. That was nasty and unnecessary. He looks like you must have enjoyed it. He’s a nice guy when you get to know him. You can’t expect to get off lightly for that. You can’t expect to, but that doesn’t mean you won’t. In fact, Nathan, I’m going to make you an offer that you should seriously consider. You help me out with understanding how Lance came to be dead and where, and I might be able to do something for you over that assault.’

  Nathan leaned in. ‘Lance was a mate. I had nothing to do with his death. I have no idea how he ended up where you say he did. As for the pig you claim I beat up,’ he smiled nastily, ‘it’s about the best news I’ve heard for a long time. You think you’ve got anything on me, prove it. That’s all I have to say to you.’

  Romney shook his head disappointedly. He understood that he was wasting his time with Nathan Coates. ‘Just goes to show that some people are as stupid as they look, Nathan. I gave you your chance and you’ve wasted it. All that extra time in prison for a little bravado. That really is a form of stupidity. Now I’ll give the same opportunity to the others. Someone’ll tell me what I want to know. They always do, Nathan. Always. There’s always someone with something they really don’t want to lose, something that they’re afraid of, something that they’ll trade their mates for, if it’ll get them off a hook. And when I spread the word that you’ve already been very cooperative, maybe tried to shift some blame, well, like I say, there’s always someone who can be encouraged to see sense. And that’s what it is, Na
than: good sense.’

  Romney thought he saw understanding flit across Nathan’s features, as though the tough guy had assimilated his little speech and realised who of his crew would bend under pressure and Romney’s lies. There was something of a resigned sneer around Nathan’s mouth when Romney left to get himself a drink.

  Nathan Coates and his solicitor were removed and replaced with another double act. And then another before Romney’s prediction bore some fruit.

  Romney was feeling the last twelve hours settling on mind and body when Fred Bailey and his solicitor took their seats. Romney stood and stretched as he watched the young man for signs of whether he was going to be wasting more of his time trying to crack another tough nut. Bailey’s age, body language and rather gormless, nervous look encouraged Romney to wonder if this might be the one. He needed to make some progress and he was running out of subjects.

  Romney took his time looking through some paperwork before addressing Bailey. He told him what he was going to be charged with. He threatened him with the other, far more serious, charges and after he’d gone through his routine of outlining something of his potential future, he then promised the young man that his cooperation would not go unappreciated. Before Bailey was given a chance to reply, Romney suggested in an offhand way that anything the young man could give them was really only going to be corroborative because one of the others who he’d spoken to had been only too willing to cooperate and help themselves. That individual’s release papers were being prepared.

  ‘Look,’ said Bailey, ‘I don’t know nothing about beating anyone up, right? I heard about it, yeah? I heard it was Old Bill. The others were talking about it. But you have to believe me. I wasn’t there. It was nothing to do with me. I’m really not a violent person.’

  Romney wasn’t as interested in believing that as much as he made himself appear. ‘If you’re not a violent person, Fred, then believe me, you really don’t want to go to prison. And there is only one person who can help you minimise the dangers of that: you. If it turns out that you really weren’t there then you won’t be charged with that particular crime. That’s good news for you. Why don’t we try to make it better? I need to have something confirmed that one of the others mentioned.’ Romney looked down at his notes and said, ‘Tell me about Lance Leavey.’

  ‘I hardly knew him. That’s the truth. I only met him at football and on the jobs.’

  ‘How many times have you been to the Holloways’ scrapyard?’ said Romney.

  The solicitor advised his client not to answer that.

  ‘How can I answer that without dropping myself further in it?’ said Bailey, which made him seem not quite as stupid as he looked.

  Romney breathed in and out heavily. He looked at the recording device and spoke into it before turning it off. ‘Now it’s off the record, Fred. Maybe you’d like to ask your legal counsel to wait outside for a minute.’

  The solicitor protested, predictably, but Bailey took Romney’s advice. Romney made a face at Marsh and said, ‘Maybe you could see the gentleman out.’

  When it was just the two of them, Romney said, ‘Now it’s just you and me – no witnesses and no recording, Fred. Let me remind you; nothing you say now is admissible anywhere. You help me and I’ll help you.’

  ‘I’ve been to the Holloways’ place once before. Lance was with us.’

  ‘And he definitely left with you?’ Bailey nodded. ‘Dropping off stolen lead?’ More nodding. ‘When?’

  Bailey thought and said, ‘About a week before he went missing.’

  ‘How did you know he was missing if he wasn’t a friend?’

  ‘The lads talked about it at football. No one knew what happened to him, where he’d gone. No one had a clue.’

  ‘Think back to the time before this one. Tell me what you remember. Something happened in Aylesham for Lance. Something that got him killed.’

  ‘It was night. Late. After football. Like last night. Same thing. Collect the lead and take it to Aylesham. Unload it. Get paid. Go home.’

  ‘Anything unusual happen? With Lance, I mean.’

  Bailey thought about it. ‘He disappeared for a bit. After the stuff was off the lorry. Said he was going for a piss. He was gone a while. When he came back he was different.’

  ‘I thought you said you didn’t know him very well. How could you tell?’

  ‘I didn’t. But when he came back he just seemed different to how he’d been earlier.’

  ‘In what way?’

  Bailey huffed as he thought how to say it. ‘I don’t know. But he kept looking at his mobile phone. He wouldn’t leave it alone.’

  ‘Messages?’

  Bailey shook his head. ‘I think he was watching a video.’

  ‘Someone had sent him a video?’

  ‘Or he’d made one.’

  ‘Something in the scrapyard, maybe?’

  ‘No. We didn’t offload in the scrapyard. We unloaded the stuff into one of those containers in the field next door.’

  ‘Which one? Would you know it again?’

  ‘It was dark. Maybe. It was the only other time I’ve been there. I couldn’t swear to anything. It was near the hedge. There was a building with lights on over the way.’

  ‘The school,’ said Romney.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  As he watched Bailey leave, Romney thought again of Nathan Coates and how he must have known that he had weak links in his chain. And that despite knowing this he had kept his mouth shut regardless of what it was going to cost him. Romney had a grudging private admiration for that kind of adherence to the code of silence. It wouldn’t stop him prosecuting the man with everything he could, though. That too was part of the game, part of the price to be paid for being a tough guy.

  *

  Romney and Marsh were taking a break together. Because they were pressed for time, they were in the station canteen.

  ‘So maybe Lance saw something that interested him enough to film it or photograph it,’ said Marsh. ‘It’s not much help, is it?’

  Romney said, ‘It could have been anything. He might have stumbled across a hedgehog and thought it worth filming and posting on his Facebook page. People will put any old crap on there and call it news.’

  ‘Or it could have been something more than that. Something incriminating.’

  Through a mouthful of bacon roll, Romney said, ‘Apart from the solid connection we now have between Lance and Aylesham, it’s the only thing we’ve got out of any of them about him. I could get them all back in again to ask about it, see if anyone can shed any light. It might be something. But apart from Fred Bailey no one has seemed keen to help the police with their enquiries. Time to speak to the Holloways, I suppose. They are looking more and more like the common denominators here to me.’

  Marsh trailed her spoon through the soup of the day and lifted out a glob of the dish in its previously powdered form. Something that had not succumbed to the water treatment.

  She said, ‘We could ask Sally if Lance mentioned anything. If there was anyone he was likely to have spoken to about it, it would be his girlfriend.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s that important. How could it have led to him getting his brains spilled? If he did see something up there that was, let’s say for argument’s sake, incriminating, what’s he going to do? Start blackmailing the Holloways? No-nonsense scrap metal dealers who, for one thing, he was in league with. Biting the hand and all that. He’d have to know that if he messed with them they’d dispense with him like that,’ Romney clicked his fingers, ‘if he tried anything on.’ Romney stopped in mid chew. ‘Actually, that’s not a bad idea.’ He wiped sauce off his lip with a paper towel and winced as he pressed on the cut on the inside of his mouth. ‘What if Lance did see something up there that would embarrass the Holloways, something he might be able to blackmail them with? Maybe anonymously? It would fit. He tries it on. They meet and take care of him. If he saw something incriminating worth videoing and it occurred to him that
maybe he could make something out of it – don’t forget he was supposed to be church-mouse-poor with a baby on the way – he’d likely keep it to himself. Wouldn’t want to rock the boat publicly – but a little private enterprise...’

  Marsh wrinkled her nose at Romney’s thinking or her lunch or both. ‘I still think that it’s worth speaking to Sally again. I could go up this afternoon. She could probably help me with his social networking history.’

  ‘What about the other interviews?’

  ‘I’m not exactly doing anything other than keeping a seat warm.’

  Romney shrugged. ‘Is Peter back yet?’

  ‘I saw him in the corridor.’

  ‘All fixed?’

  ‘Looked like it. He was a bit miserable. Said he hadn’t had a chance to get them insured.’

  ‘Them?’

  ‘His teeth.’

  ‘I was talking about his car.’

  ‘I didn’t ask.’

  ‘I do hope he’s not thinking about asking for a contribution. Did you see the mess he made of my car? I think I was being pretty generous offering him knock-for-knock.’

  *

  Marsh was glad to be out of the interview room environment. She didn’t mind it if she was involved: asking questions, battling wits and words with suspects. But sitting dumbly by as Romney interrogated was not her idea of stimulating police work.

  From her desk she called Sally’s place of work, identified herself and asked to speak to the girl. Sally was fetched. Marsh could not know how tough Romney had been with the young woman in Dover police’s previous dealing with her. But, knowing him, she could guess he wouldn’t have made a lifelong friend of Lance Leavey’s girlfriend. She decided to expect that there were bridges to build.