by David Smith
*
DI Hunter was a man commonly acknowledged as a prodigious talent for the future. He was held somewhat in awe by his colleagues. He was meticulous and always carefully dressed, courteous, with a clipped, precise way of speaking that slightly betrayed his mixed nationality. He also had an enviable track record of getting results through endless questions and careful observation. In fact, he seemed to have the miraculous ability to extract new evidence in cases that others would file in the ‘hopeless’ category. Despite this growing reputation he was a private man. Although friendly enough at work, he did not tend to socialise with the rest of the team. For instance, he had never been one for drinking with the lads, he was a lifelong non-smoker and partial to fine dining and expensive wines – none of these attributes fitted well with typical detective inspector material.
As a result, although respected, he was regarded as somewhat aloof and a bit of a loner by the team. Formally he was known around the station as DI Hunter, hardly anybody addressed him by his first name; in fact few actually knew what that name was. He had recently collected a nickname though, which was commonly used when he was not present – Amadeus – on account of his well-known interest in classical music and his half-Austrian ancestry. His paternal grandparents were early political refugees from the Nazis but although they had changed their name from Jaeger to Hunter, they had not managed to escape British internment during the war.
Hunter was still a bachelor; tall, skinny and blonde with chiselled, somewhat Aryan features and a lean, athletic figure. He’d had no shortage of female admirers over the years, with a number of shorter and a few longer-term relationships, mostly platonic. However, the inescapable truth was that, charming as he was, his expectations in a partner were so unrealistically high that no woman ever quite managed to penetrate through the polite formality of his external persona deep enough to capture his heart. He was quite comfortable with his single status, jealously guarding his continued independence and privately polishing his aura of existential angst.
Earlier in his life, he had thought about going into the church, but his continued religious circumspection had made a priestly future improbable. For him the basic narrative of Christianity was a myth, a delightful and decorative myth, but a myth all the same. In his view, even its basic ethical teaching was more a product of the inhibitions and complexes of modern, domesticated man than of some eternal truth. The received conventions of morality were for him boundaries to be tested. Elements of behaviour that some treated as gospel truth and others treated as a hobby to be paraded on Sunday and ignored for the rest of the week. He was quite cynical about this in a way. He believed in the man, the Servant King, but all the rest of it he regarded as invention, quaint superstition. They were appealing ideas, but not a coherent philosophy. Unable to reconcile these views with a ‘divine calling’ he eventually rejected the priesthood and instead joined the police force. But in some ways he still retained some of his monk-like spirituality. Joining the police and its world of drug addicts and hoodlums was a life choice even he would now struggle to explain.
*
It was now 8.15am, the brief was definitely late and Hunter hated lateness. He noticed the sudden increased level of noise leaking through the thin walls of the stuffy briefing room, signalling unusual activity in the corridors outside. When the brief finally entered the room, Hunter made a quick apology and stuck his head outside to see what was going on. He was made aware immediately of the events in Clarendon Square and barked a few instructions to the duty sergeant, asking him to get the whole team in from weekend leave, before returning to the conference room. He then sat in increasing frustration for an hour while the CPS lawyer went methodically through the evidence with him yet again.
By the time he finally escaped and arrived at the incident scene, it was nearly 10am. His capable team was already in full operations mode. They had been keeping him updated during the morning and he was pleased to see that they had sealed off most of the gleaming Regency streets in the immediate vicinity of the attack. Uniformed officers were preventing traffic from passing along the southern, eastern and northern sides of Clarendon Square and had blocked Clarendon Place to the west; a major thoroughfare. There were therefore extensive diversions in operation around the Beauchamp Avenue, Warwick Street and Parade areas. He had to use his blue light to get through all the traffic.
Satisfied that the immediate crime scene was locked down, he went over to talk to the forensics team, who were already working in their specialist gear at the two separate crime sites. Other uniformed search teams were combing the square for evidence of a sniper. There was a calm urgency to their work, which contrasted with the mêlée around the police cordons; a combination of irritated motorists, residents and the gathering mix of spectators and press corps.
As a consequence of the morning’s incidents, all filming had of course been cancelled for the day and the actors and crew were now looking on at the crime scene in morbid fascination at the modern parallel to their own historic set.
After a brief inspection of the murder scene, he received a preliminary debrief from his detective sergeant, learning for the first time about his friends’, Alice and Eddie’s, involvement as witnesses of the murder scene. The DI bypassed the front doorstep of No. 6, where the murder took place. The forensics team were busy taking photographs and tagging samples. He headed instead down the side drive to the tradesman’s entrance to meet with the occupants inside. He heard shouts and questions from the press who were already congregating around the police lines further down the street. He had no intention of speaking to them before he had made an assessment of the situation.
No. 6, or the ‘Napoleon House’, was one of the best-known houses in Leamington, on account not only of its history but also of its present occupant. He had met the owner, Sir William Flyte, a few times before at formal civic functions. He had taken an instant dislike to him, which had not been helped by the politician’s racy reputation in the red-tops. The man appeared to Hunter to be a fake, a somewhat seedy political opportunist who had gained position through money rather than talent. Hunter had a natural aversion to such men. Added to this, he knew Flyte’s first wife, Lady Mary, and her daughters, socially; they were in his opinion the most charming of ladies, and active like him in the local music scene. For this reason, he had felt even more aggrieved when he learnt that they had been so badly treated by Sir William following his divorce and most recent marriage.
He had not met Sir William’s third wife, Lady Nadia Flyte, although he’d heard with interest that she was a cultured and kind person. He considered it so much more a tragedy that she had become involved in the machinery and household of such an unpleasant man.
In any case, he knew that all these personal feelings had to be put to one side. He needed to deal with this tragic and potentially highly political situation in the most professional way he could, whatever his own personal prejudices. He was already prepared to be at his most courteous as he rang the bell. Surprisingly, Sir William himself answered the door, a thin, wiry man dressed like a country squire.
‘Ah, Hunter, at last. I wondered when you’d get here, please come in and join your colleagues,’ Sir William said in his normal, authoritative, slightly bullying way. Hunter sensed a note of irritation in his words, maybe because he had arrived so late.
Two female members of Hunter’s team were already in the building talking to and consoling Sir William’s wife, whose grandfather had been killed on the doorstep just two hours earlier. A couple of uniformed officers were talking with Sir William. Hunter looked around the hall, noticing immediately with disdain that the lanterns hanging from the ceiling were of the wrong period and that the Carlton House desk was too early for the house. He also noticed that Sir William was looking remarkably relaxed for someone whose doorstep was now a murder scene.
‘First of all, Sir William, please let me offer my sincere condolences on behalf of the whole force on the death of your wife’s grand
father. This really is a most distressing incident, and you can be assured my team will do their very utmost night and day to resolve what has happened here as soon as we possibly can.’
‘Thank you, Inspector; of course, as you can imagine we are all in a state of complete shock. Nadia, my poor dear wife, is just inconsolable and for this terrible thing to have happened here on our very doorstep, in such a brutal way, is just unimaginably painful for her. It’s just too bad.’
‘I do understand completely, Sir William and you have my utmost sympathies. We’ve already got a full forensics team in place and we are searching the local area extensively. There are several good leads to follow already and of course with the death of the two assailants nearby we will have some hard evidence that we can gather quickly. I know how difficult this must be for you, but I do have a few initial questions; in these cases it’s most important that we quickly build up a picture of what’s occurred without losing any time.’ Hunter paused for a second and Sir William nodded for him to continue.
‘First, Sir, are you able to give me any idea of the context of what may have happened here? I understand that the victim was your houseguest, indeed as you have just confirmed Lady Flyte’s grandfather, and that he was a very senior figure in the Sri Lankan business community? Were there any signs of trouble leading up to this?’
‘No, Inspector, I cannot recall anything of any particular significance. Of course we all know that senior business people have their enemies, but I have no inkling what could have caused such a brutal and unforeseen attack.’
‘May I ask, had Mr Nariman been staying with you for very long?’
‘No. He’d been with us only a matter of a few weeks. In fact he was due to move out today to a villa that he had rented in Lansdowne Circus. Nadia had arranged all that for him through his company. He was exhausted, you know, after all those years of running his family business and had only officially retired a few months ago. That’s the tragedy of this. It was just him and his beloved dogs staying with us and he was looking forward to living a quiet life here for a while, keeping himself to himself. Inspector, this is just so terrible, how can such a thing happen in our lovely town?’
Hunter studied Sir William’s face carefully.
‘Were there any threats, anything he was worried about? Especially concerning his personal security? Have you or any of your household noticed any strangers hanging around?’
‘No, nothing at all, certainly nothing that I’m aware of. In fact, although he was tired and quite ill physically, mentally he already seemed renewed, free at last of all the day-to-day cares and burdens of his business. I’m sure Nadia would say the same, but as you can understand she is in a state of shock at the moment and I really don’t want to disturb her with such difficult questions.’
‘Yes of course, we won’t disturb her yet, but obviously if either of you have any information that would speed up our investigations, please let me know immediately. You can phone me any time of day or night on these numbers.’
He gave Sir William his card.
‘And what about the men with the knife, have you found out who they are yet? They’re, not your typical muggers, are they?’ Sir William asked somewhat impatiently.
‘Not yet. Unfortunately they were not carrying any identifying documentation but I am sure we will track them down pretty quickly.’
Hunter was interested to note that in asking about the knife attack, Sir William had omitted to mention or ask about the rifle shot that had killed Mr Nariman. Did he really believe this was just a mugging? He assumed Sir William must be aware of the gunshot, but made a mental note to check later.
‘Well, Sir William, I think that’s all for the moment. I will need to speak to you a little later, when we have made a preliminary assessment of all the evidence. Will you be around later in the day?’
‘Yes of course, Inspector, I’m not going anywhere with Nadia in this state and am at your disposal any time. The sooner we have cleared up what happened here the better. Might I ask though, what we should do about the press? The party is already on to me to make a statement.’
‘Yes of course they would be, well for now please say nothing other than a straightforward, this is a personal tragedy; you have full confidence in the police investigation; you are asking for privacy for your family etc. Please don’t make any comment on evidence or events or speculate on motives as we don’t want anything to compromise our investigation or any subsequent prosecution.’
Hunter noted that, given his wife’s obvious distress in the room next door, dealing with the press seemed to be surprisingly high on Sir William’s agenda. For the moment he put this down to the career politician in him.
Before Hunter left the crime scene to return to the station, he decided to take a few minutes to visit the other half of the Flyte family in No. 5, the house next door. But he soon discovered from their housekeeper that Lady Mary was away on a honeymoon cruise with her new husband and that her daughters were staying with friends overnight. The girls were expected to return later in the day. He discovered that they had planned to attend the same concert as Hunter that afternoon, although of course his own attendance at that event was now impossible.
He had not been in Lady Mary’s house before, but he catalogued with pleasure the Empire period furniture, Persian carpets and paintings that decorated the hall. He also noticed that Lady Mary had the right period lanterns in contrast to the ugly Florentine lamps in Sir William’s house next door. More than enough proof of her superior taste he thought. Although he must formally treat them as possible suspects until he confirmed their movements, he felt he knew them well enough to discount immediately any involvement in these dreadful events. He decided not to try to contact them further during the morning, but wait until they returned.
He thanked the housekeeper and walked down the steps to the pavement, opening the little gate that led to the steps to the basement flat below. He descended the steps and then rang the bell and saw an eye staring at him through the uncovered spyhole. Immediately the door opened a few inches and he was greeted by his friend Eddie’s worried face. Eddie removed the chain and invited him in, apparently relieved to see him
‘Sorry, I thought it might have been the press again. Come in, Gus.’
‘Thank you, Eddie, I won’t stay long.’
He entered the hallway and Eddie led him into the kitchen, offering him a cup of tea, which Hunter declined.
‘So Eddie, how are you doing? This must have been a huge shock for both of you.’
‘Yes, it’s been insane; we’ve certainly had better days. Alice is fine though, I guess she’s getting used to this sort of gruesome stuff with the forensics, although having it happen on your doorstep is a bit weird to say the least. She’s already gone over to the hospital to get ready for the autopsy. As for Carrie, fortunately she didn’t see too much. She’s in her bedroom, probably Instagramming it as we speak.’ Hunter frowned; social media had its drawbacks in this sort of situation.
‘And you, Eddie, how are you doing?’ He looked at his friend, who was unshaven, dishevelled and pale, his red eyes suggesting he could do with a good night’s sleep.
‘I’ll admit I’m still shaking, Gus. I feel a bit of a wuss now. I’m afraid I was a bit hung over this morning after a late night. I was still in bed when it happened. The first I knew about the whole thing was when I heard Alice shouting for help from the street. I woke my friend Hugh, who was sleeping on the couch, and we both ran up the outside steps to find out what was going on. I thought she was being attacked or something, but realised at once when I got up the steps that she was trying to save this guy’s life. We dragged him up on to the doorstep of No. 6 and she told me to check his breathing and pulse and apply pressure to the knife wound until the ambulance arrived. She thought he’d been mugged.’
‘You did exactly the right thing; it could have saved his life.’
‘I have to admit I was struggling to remember my old Red Cross trai
ning, but Alice was amazing; she knew exactly what to do, told me to shout if I needed help and then ran off down to the street corner with Hugh to where those guys had been knocked off their scooter. I was concentrating so hard on what she told me to do that the weird thing is I didn’t hear anything until suddenly my face was covered well, covered with all sorts of foul stuff when his head exploded. God, the bullet must have been so close to hitting me as well. Then I saw Lady Flyte’s face when she opened the door… her face… she said something to him and then screamed before she fainted. I think that’s why I’m still shaking.’
‘Yes, I’m sorry you had to go through that kind of horrific experience. I’ve never seen or heard of anything like this; it appears there was a double murder attempt on the same person at the same time. Is there anything you can tell me about him or the attackers for that matter?’
‘No, not really. I had seen him a couple of times recently out late walking his dogs; Alice can’t remember seeing him at all. I assumed he was a houseguest of Sir William’s; so many people come and go from that house. He looked Iranian, maybe, clearly very wealthy given his suit and the gold rings on his fingers.’
‘Apparently he’s a Parsi rather than Iranian – from Sri Lanka – there’s a small but wealthy population of them around Colombo. He’s Sir William’s wife’s grandfather. Of course, she’s in shock at the moment; my officers are with her right now.’
‘Oh my God, he was her grandfather. I had no idea, that’s dreadful. She was talking to him in her own language so I couldn’t understand a word, no wonder she screamed and fainted. God, how is she?’
‘Well, still in severe distress as you’d expect and probably not helped by the fact that there are police all over her house, reporters with TV cameras and crowds outside given the connection to Sir William.’