Fell Purpose

by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles

  ‘No reason. Let’s go back to Sunday. So you and Zellah went to the fair.’

  The elation dropped away. He gave Slider a resentful look, like a person realizing he had been duped. ‘I didn’t want to go. I mean, that’s kids’ stuff. But I thought if it put her in the mood . . .’

  ‘You went on your bike?’

  ‘Well, we weren’t walking,’ he said, as though that was out of the question, though it was not much more than a mile.

  ‘You seemed to be having fun there, according to witnesses.’

  He shrugged. ‘Oh well – it was all right. I didn’t mind it. And she was having a great time, screaming her head off on the rides and hanging on to me.’

  ‘Did you notice a funny-looking little man watching you or following you?’

  ‘I didn’t notice anyone. I wasn’t looking at anyone except Zellah,’ he said. ‘Why?’

  ‘Skip it. Go on – you said she was having fun.’

  ‘Yeah at first, but then she starts going quiet, and then, all of a sudden, out of the blue, she says I should go because she’s meeting someone else. I say who and she says another man.’

  ‘You must have been angry,’ Slider suggested.

  ‘You kidding me? I couldn’t believe it. I tell her she can think again about bloody that, when I’d picked her up, and then paid for all those rides. I said if she was just using me for transport I’d snatch her bald-headed. I wasn’t having her treating me like a chauffeur, the cow!’

  ‘But it was a bit late for a second date, wasn’t it? Everything would be closing round about then.’

  ‘What are you talking about? It was only about ten o’clock. Most parties don’t start until then. And all the pubs had extensions.’

  Slider had to tread carefully. ‘It was later than ten o’clock when you had your row with her. It was nearer midnight. The evening was over.’

  ‘It wasn’t midnight. I’m telling you. We’d only been at the fair an hour, an hour and a half maybe. It couldn’t have been much after ten.’

  ‘Then you had two rows. Made it up after the first, then got into it again.’

  ‘There was no two rows. She walked off.’

  Slider shook his head. ‘You were seen. We have a witness saw you quarrelling with Zellah at about midnight.’

  Carmichael set his jaw. ‘Well, they’re lying. Or you are. You’re trying to fit me up.’

  ‘I’m just trying to get to the truth,’ Slider said. ‘You quarrelled with Zellah, whenever it was—’

  ‘It was about ten!’ he shouted.

  ‘All right. Just tell me what happened.’

  ‘We got into it a bit. She said I’d only ever wanted her for sex, and I said what else did she want me for, and she was lucky to get me with a dad like hers. I said what did she call me up for that day, then, and she looks kind of mad and desperate and says she thought we could be friends. I say yeah, friends, and then you prance off with another bloke?’ He paused. ‘Anyway, we shout back and forth a bit and then she said she was sorry but that was how it was, and she walked off. I went the other way, because to tell you the truth I wanted to hit her, and I didn’t think I’d better see the bitch again until I’d cooled off.’

  ‘Very commendable. And where did you go?’

  ‘I went to the pub.’

  ‘The North Pole?’

  ‘Nah, I don’t drink there,’ he said scornfully. ‘I went up the Windsor Castle.’

  ‘In Campden Hill Road?’

  ‘Yeah. I go there sometimes. It’s quieter.’

  ‘You do business there?’ It was in a better class of area, more like Oliver Paulson’s Lansdowne Crescent. Carmichael shrugged. ‘Did you see anyone you knew in there?’

  ‘Nah. I bought a pint and took it outside. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I was in a temper. I’d had it with all this for one night.’ He made the yacking sign with his hand.

  ‘How long did you stay?’

  ‘I dunno. An hour, hour and a half. I had a couple of pints, and then I’d cooled off a bit so I got a takeaway and went home.’

  ‘You didn’t speak to anyone in the pub?’

  ‘I told you.’

  ‘So no one can vouch for you? Would the barman remember you?’

  His expression changed. ‘Maybe. I dunno. I don’t remember which one it was. It might have been a temporary. They get extra staff in on Bank Holidays, all the pubs.’

  ‘Which takeaway did you go to?’

  ‘I don’t know. It was Chinese. One in Portobello Road. I don’t remember.’

  ‘I think you should try.’

  ‘Why? What does it matter?’ He sounded panicky now. ‘I told you, Zellah left me to see another bloke. It’s him you should be asking. I never saw her again, and that’s the truth.’

  ‘You were seen around the Old Oak Common area on your bike in the early hours of the morning,’ Slider said, taking a chance. ‘We’ve got an eyewitness who saw you.’

  ‘They’re lying. You’re trying to fit me up. I never went down there.’

  ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘When?’

  ‘After you bought the takeaway on Sunday night. When d’you think?’ Slider said impatiently.

  ‘Well, I was gonna go to bed, but I was still a bit wound up—’

  ‘You said you’d cooled down.’

  ‘A bit. I said I’d cooled down a bit. I didn’t want to smack her any more, but I was still too angry to go to bed. Well, I was going down to Brighton the next day. There’s a bikers’ rally Bank Holiday Monday, and, well . . .’ He hesitated a beat. ‘All right, I do some business down there. They’re good business, those rallies. So I decided to go straight away, instead of waiting for morning. I like driving in the night. The roads are clear and you can go faster. Nobody bothers you, and I’d had enough of being bothered.’

  ‘I see. So what time did you arrive in Brighton?’

  ‘I dunno exactly. About three, ha’ past three maybe.’

  ‘And where did you go?’

  ‘I stayed at a mate’s flat. I slept on his sofa.’

  ‘You must have woken him up when you arrived.’

  He looked away. ‘I got a key. I let myself in.’

  ‘So he couldn’t vouch for what time you arrived?’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘How unfortunate for you.’ As a matter of fact, since Zellah was killed before two o’clock and Brighton was sixty or seventy miles away, he could have killed her and still have made it there by three thirty, especially as he said he was driving fast. But Slider didn’t point that out. They had kept the time of death back from any statements: you never knew when it would come in useful. ‘So,’ he went on, ‘you can’t really give us any evidence of your whereabouts on Sunday night and Monday morning. Unless a barman remembers you, or a Chinese takeaway happens to recall your memorable order of one sweet and sour pork and a special fried rice.’

  Carmichael looked sulky. ‘I can’t help it. That’s what happened.’

  ‘Maybe. So when did you come back from Brighton?’ Slider asked next.

  ‘Wednesday.’

  ‘Why have you been avoiding your own place? And why did you run when you saw us?’

  ‘You know. You found the gear. I thought you were after me for that. I’ve been staked out before by you cops. You never leave a bloke alone once you’ve got your claws into him. I spotted your lot a mile off – that big, stupid-looking plod. But he went off to have a slash or something, and I slipped in. I looked out the window this morning but I didn’t spot the black girl, or I wouldn’t have come out. I didn’t know you weren’t interested in the gear.’ He looked at Slider in appeal. ‘You said you weren’t interested in it. You said you were forgetting it.’

  ‘I’m not interested in it, except as part of a larger story. What I am interested in is the lies you’re telling me, and why you’re telling them.’

  ‘I’m not lying!’ he shouted.

  ‘Well, of course you’d say that. But the fac
t remains that we know you were with Zellah at midnight, and you can’t account for yourself for the rest of the night. You had a violent quarrel with her, and later that night she turns up dead. Now, don’t you want to tell me a bit more about it? Because there may be mitigating circumstances – if it was a fit of temper, say, and she was winding you up. You may be able to get off with a lighter sentence if it was a sudden, uncontrollable impulse. But if you lie and try to cover it up, that will make it look like premeditated, and no one will be able to help you. Certainly not me. I won’t even want to try, if you lie to me.’

  ‘I’m not lying!’ he shouted, his face ominously red. ‘You bastard!’ He flung himself out of the chair and lunged across the desk at Slider. Slider was ready and moved back out of reach, Mackay jumped forward, and Detton hurried in from the corridor. Carmichael raged and struggled for a while before he gave in to the two burly men who were both much bigger than him, but he still had the spirit to howl abuse at Slider as he passed.

  After a bit, Mackay came back, straightening himself. ‘Feisty little bugger, isn’t he, guv?’ he said mildly. ‘But not much of an alibi. A pint, a takeaway and a midnight drive? I could’ve thought of something better than that with one hand tied behind my back. Get a mate to vouch for you, at least.’

  ‘Maybe his mates wouldn’t have wanted to cover for him when it was a matter of murder,’ Slider said. ‘Do you get the impression he’s the sort to have loyal pals who love him for himself alone?’

  ‘Point,’ Mackay conceded. ‘Blokes you sell ket and charlie to wouldn’t be the most reliable.’

  ‘We’ll have to waste time checking out his alibi anyway, inadequate as it is.’

  ‘Even with Oates in the can? You’re not writing him off, then – Carmichael?’

  ‘If he hadn’t lied to me I might have,’ Slider said. ‘But he must have something to hide, if he wants to convince me he wasn’t with Zellah after ten o’clock, when we know he was.’

  ‘Yeah, and what’s that bollocks about her having another date? I can’t buy that. He’s just trying to make us think there was someone else with her later – the “mysterious stranger” who offed her. That’s feeble.’

  ‘Yes,’ Slider said, deep in thought. ‘But at least he didn’t hint who it might be. At least he didn’t try to drop anyone else in it.’

  ‘Only because he couldn’t think of anyone,’ Mackay said robustly.

  FOURTEEN

  Salmon-Chanted Evening

  Hart and McLaren went up to the canteen and came down with a couple of trays of teas and coffees and a selection of buns, and everyone piled in for a discussion. Missing were Hollis, still with Oates, and Atherton, who was on the computer in what he now fondly thought of as Emily’s Room. When they had been investigating the murder of her father, they had set up a desk and computer for her in the photocopy room so that she could do research for the case, and it had proved so useful to have a quiet place for internet surfing they had made it permanent.

  While the mugs were being distributed, Mackay recounted the interview with Carmichael.

  ‘Nah, I don’t buy it,’ Hart said, slipping her delectable bottom on to the edge of her own desk. ‘It’s a load of carp.’

  ‘Carp?’ Slider wasn’t sure he had heard correctly.

  ‘A fishy story. Look, if she had a date with someone else, why did she need Biker Boy to pick her up?’

  ‘Maybe the date didn’t have a car,’ said Fathom.

  ‘She could have gone by bus or tube, or taxi even. What sort of girl gets an old boyfriend to pick her up just for that? “Sorry, love, I’m off with someone else, ta for the lift”? I don’t think so. Especially when she knows he’s got a temper. He’s trying to cover for himself and making a pathetic job of it. The worst load of rubbish I’ve heard in a long time.’

  ‘And going off to Brighton looks like running away,’ Fathom said.

  ‘If that’s where he went,’ Slider said. ‘I shall have to use precious manpower checking his alibi – the friend in Brighton whose sofa he slept on; trying to find one Chinese takeaway in a road thick with them.’

  ‘Yeah, funny he don’t remember which one it was,’ McLaren said cynically.

  ‘You’d remember,’ Hart said, but it wasn’t approval.

  ‘Still, it means we can keep him in while we do it,’ Slider said. ‘I wonder who did initiate the date. He says he never phoned Zellah because her father might pick up the phone, but he could be lying.’

  Connolly started. ‘Oh, Jaysus, I forgot – we got the dump from Zellah’s mobile, sir. I meant to tell you. It just slipped my mind.’

  ‘You’re not allowed to forget anything in this job,’ McLaren said indistinctly through a mouthful of bun. ‘You have to train your memory if you want to stay. I did.’

  ‘Go on, Maurice,’ Hart urged. ‘Recite “My one thousand most memorable curries”. It’s a classic.’

  ‘Tell me about the mobile record,’ Slider interrupted.

  ‘Well, sir,’ Connolly said, ‘she didn’t use it much. She wasn’t one of these obsessive texters. And the calls were to the people you’d expect. The only one she made on the Sunday was to Mike Carmichael, which sort of confirms that she made the date with him at the last minute, like he said.’

  ‘What, no long chat with her mate Sophy that she was going to visit?’ Mackay said with ironic surprise.

  ‘She could have rung her on the house phone,’ Connolly pointed out.

  ‘True,’ said Hart. ‘But I bet if she did it’d be a short one.’

  ‘Who else did she ring?’ Slider prompted.

  ‘Well, in the days before it was only Sophy and Chloë, and going back further it was mostly them and another girl they mentioned, Frieda Mossman. Otherwise just a sprinkling of calls you might expect – the home number, the ballet school, the art-master Markov, Oliver Paulson’s flat, Domino’s Pizza, a What’s On in London information line, the central library at Hammersmith, that sort of thing.’

  ‘What about Carmichael?’ Hart said.

  ‘Before Sunday, the last previous call she made to him on her mobile was the beginning of June.’

  ‘So that rather confirms what he said,’ Slider mused. ‘That they hadn’t been seeing each other recently.’

  ‘If she did make a date with another bloke,’ Hart said, ‘how did she do it? Not on her mobile. Not on her dad’s phone for obvious reasons. So how?’

  ‘Maybe Sophy or Chloë made it for her,’ Connolly suggested.

  ‘But they didn’t know about it, or who it was,’ Slider reminded her. ‘I suppose she could have made the date face to face at some point.’

  ‘Or it could be that Biker Boy’s story is the load of Tottenham we know it to be,’ Hart finished.

  ‘Yeah, that gets my vote,’ said McLaren.

  ‘There’s a lot about Carmichael that bothers me,’ Slider said, ‘but there’s also a lot about him as a suspect that bothers me – mainly a motive.’

  ‘Fit of temper,’ Mackay said. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because of the tights,’ Slider answered. ‘The tights make it premeditated, which requires a motive, and I can’t see what motive he had – apart from annoyance over the second date, which we don’t believe in anyway.’

  ‘And we’re forgetting Ronnie Oates,’ McLaren said, just as Hollis appeared in the doorway. ‘How’s it goin’, Col?’

  ‘Got it all down,’ Hollis said. ‘He’s signed it and now he’s cheery and comfortable, tucked up for the night. They’re getting him shepherd’s pie and beans for his tea. You never saw such a happy felon. Good job he’s got an unhappy solicitor to make up the balance.’

  ‘Which one was it?’ Mackay asked with professional interest.

  ‘That Jane Dormer,’ Hollis said. ‘She was next on the list. Came in with a face like a boot, and it just got longer.’

  ‘Didn’t Atherton go out with her once?’ McLaren said.

  ‘More than once,’ said Hart. ‘I remember Swilley bollocking him about
it. “You’ve got to stop doinking the enemy, Jim,” she said.’

  ‘The enemy? He doesn’t go out with criminals, does he?’ Connolly said, shocked.

  ‘The legal profession,’ Hart clarified.

  Hollis went on. ‘Anyway, La Dormer was not happy that we’d questioned Ronnie without her, and very suspicious about him waiving his right to her divine presence, but there was nothing she could do about it, because he repeated it all in front of her, and she could see he wasn’t cowed and didn’t have any bruises or missing teeth. Well, no more missing teeth than usual. He couldn’t wait to do his confession all over again, with no prompting from me. Loving the whole thing. So she was stymied. All she could do was give me a lecture about oppressing minorities and trampling on civil liberties, etcetera, etcetera.’

  ‘That’s something, coming from her,’ McLaren said. ‘It was her got that Dave Gammel, the Pensioner Mugger, off on a technicality. Wasn’t worried about the civil liberties of his victims, was she?’

  ‘The main thing,’ Slider recaptured the thread, ‘is that he repeated his confession – is that right?’

  Hollis nodded, but made a wry face. ‘Trouble is, he wasn’t very good on the details of the actual murder. Nice and circumstantial about going to the fair and watching her and following her at a distance across the Scrubs. Then it starts to fall apart. He seems to have lost sight of her for a bit. Says he watched a couple snogging by the changing rooms, but that doesn’t seem to have been Zellah and her feller. Then he says Zellah was asleep when he first saw her.’

  ‘Which is what he told you from the beginning,’ Slider said uneasily.

  ‘Yes, then he contradicts that and says she came on to him. And when he comes to the murder itself, he seems to be mixing it up with Wanda Lempowski. Says she asked for money and said he could do what he liked, so he started strangling her, but she started screaming so he pulled tighter to stop her, and the next thing she was dead. Said he didn’t mean to. Begged us not to tell his mum.’