Murder in Hyde Park

by Phillip Strang

  ‘Barry had a profound effect on everyone he met,’ Isaac said, unable to contain the need to confront the woman. ‘Why and how have you remained unemotional?’

  ‘Upbringing, emotional restraint,’ Amelia replied. The two police officers could see that she was becoming tired of the interview.

  ‘You were a few years younger than Barry. From what we’ve been told, he was a good catch.’

  ‘Told by whom?’

  ‘Those he was involved with.’

  ‘Gay men and older women, is that it? They’re hardly a cross-section of society. I could never allow myself to fall for a man like Barry.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m not a snob, far from it, but whoever marries me will have a say in the running of the family’s business, the ancestral home, access to a lot of money. My emotions are in check until I find the right man.’

  ‘Aristocratic, public school, a friend of royalty?’

  ‘Not at all. My parents would disapprove if I used those as the criteria. I need someone I can understand, an open book.’

  ‘The right school, knows how to use his cutlery?’ Isaac was baiting the woman, probing to see if she would make a mistake.

  ‘I wouldn’t care if he was government educated, the son of a labourer, even if he grew up on a council estate. Barry, I judged, did not have what I want. And sure, I tried to get through to Matilda, as well as Barry, but both of them were mentally compromised by what I could only judge as a difficult childhood.’

  ‘Have you found anyone suitable yet?’

  ‘Not yet. I’m still young enough, and I’m not a demanding woman looking for an impossible ideal.’

  ‘If you had fallen for him, you would have.’

  ‘I’ve told you once too often now, I kept my emotions in check. I’m not a foolish or frivolous woman. I’m not looking for an Adonis, just someone who’ll look after me and the family name, that’s all.’

  Isaac deemed that there was no more to be gained. He thanked Amelia Bentham for her time, and he and Larry left the house.

  ***

  Tony Mason sat on a kitchen chair, having refused to make himself more comfortable. The man had been suspicious when it had been Wendy who had entered the house first, her warrant card opened for him to see.

  ‘Sergeant Wendy Gladstone, I’m here with Christine and Gwen,’ she said.

  ‘What for?’ Mason’s reply. ‘And why Gwen? She’s not been here for years.’ He looked over at his wife. ‘Friends with your sister again, is that it?’

  ‘I’m in trouble,’ Christine said, her face almost stiff, with no movement, no blinking eyes, her nervous tremble a giveaway to Gwen who had her arm around her sister.

  ‘It’s serious,’ Gwen said. ‘I’m here as Christine’s sister, also as her lawyer. We’ve agreed to talk to you here, not at a police station.’

  ‘Are you under arrest?’ Mason said to his wife. Wendy observed no sign of affection between the two, just a look of accusation from one to the other.

  It was a good house, Wendy could see that. Upmarket, the stockbroker belt for those with high annual incomes, but if, as reported, Tony Mason was selling weapon guidance systems into the Middle East, then his salary had to be high. Higher than the house would suggest, she thought, not that she knew much about weapons’ sales, let alone guidance systems.

  ‘No,’ Christine replied. ‘Nothing like that, but someone’s been murdered. I had hoped to keep you out of it, but the police tell me that I can’t.’

  ‘Did you kill this person?’ Mason said. The tone was accusatory, Wendy noted. She wasn’t sure if that was the man’s manner or whether there was more to it.

  ‘I’ve killed no one, but I’m involved. I knew the man,’ Christine said. She was also sitting on a chair, her eyes downcast, not making contact with her husband’s.

  ‘I don’t like other people to be around,’ Tony Mason, a less commanding presence than Wendy had imagined, said. She had thought that he would look like a senior politician, distinguished, his voice authoritative and forceful. On the contrary, he was a smallish man, no taller than Christine, with greying hair, a slight paunch, and most noticeably, a squeaky voice.

  ‘It has to be this way, Tony,’ Gwen said.

  ‘Then let’s get it out in the open,’ Mason said. ‘It gives us a starting position.’

  ‘This is not a trade deal,’ Wendy said. ‘This is a serious matter, and you, Mr Mason, by default, are a suspect.’

  ‘Me? What have I done? You come in here, tell me there are a few questions and that I’m about to hear bad news, not that I’ve heard it yet. And now I’m a murderer. Someone had better start talking quick, or I’m out of here.’

  ‘I’m afraid, Mr Mason, I’ve taken the precaution of making sure there’s a police car outside, a couple of uniforms. The only place you can go to from here is Challis Street Police Station. Not that I want to do that, as what you are about to hear is bad enough.’

  ‘Then tell me what it is.’

  ‘I was involved with the man,’ Christine said, her eyes still downcast.

  Wendy looked at Tony Mason, attempted to see signs of the man’s reaction to what to most would be startling news. She could see none.

  ‘An affair? If that’s what it is, then say so. I can’t stand this beating around the bush. A spade is a spade, not a fork or a shovel. If you’ve been screwing him, then say so. It’ll explain why I’ve been getting the cold shoulder these last few months. There I am, out there in the desert, attempting to put the food on the table, and what do I get? You, flat on your back. Thank you very much.’

  It was a reaction, that was plain to see, but whether it was feigned or real, Wendy couldn’t tell.

  Christine Mason raised her head and looked her husband in the face. ‘Yes, it was.’

  ‘Not the first, is it? I had hoped you had got over screwing around, but that was asking for too much, wasn’t it?’

  Wendy looked over at the woman’s sister, hoping to catch her eye, hoping to see if she could gain some inkling from the woman about the exchange between the two people.

  ‘You were away for so long,’ Christine said.

  ‘I was working, not screwing around.’

  ‘I need affection.’

  ‘You need something else, and it’s not that.’

  ‘Mr Mason, Christine, regardless of the traumatic circumstances of this meeting, we need to address certain issues,’ Wendy said.

  Tony Mason stood up and walked into the other room. He returned shortly with a glass of whisky. ‘You’ll forgive me, I’m sure. Today’s not turned out well,’ he said. He smiled at Wendy, cast a glance at his wife, looked at Gwen, holding his gaze on her for a few seconds. His facial expression gave no sign of emotion, one way or the other.

  ‘Mr Mason, a frank and honest admission,’ Wendy said. ‘Did you suspect your wife of having an affair?’

  ‘Suspect, yes. But that doesn’t mean I killed the man. Or does it? It’s happened before. Has Christine told you?’

  ‘We are aware of past relationships.’

  ‘Relationships? That’s a fancy word for what she gets up to. Don’t expect me to be shocked or upset by what’s been revealed. My wife has an unhealthy appetite for men.’

  ‘It’s not unhealthy,’ Christine said. ‘If you hadn’t been so career-driven, none of this would have happened.’

  Wendy was there as a police officer, not as a marriage guidance counsellor; she needed answers. ‘You can discuss your marriage issues afterwards,’ she said. ‘What I need now is for you, Mr Mason, to tell me what you knew of your wife and Barry Montgomery, Colin Young as she knew him. Did you know?’

  ‘Not about him, but I knew something was happening.’

  ‘Relevant?’

  ‘Not to you, it isn’t. I killed no one, never have, never will.’

  ‘Yet you sell weapons to countries that suppress their citizens, wage war on others.’

  ‘Guidance systems, not weapons.’

&nb
sp; ‘The same thing,’ Wendy said. ‘You must have seen them being used, people being killed.’

  ‘I’m a salesman, government-sanctioned. I do my duty, look after this family. I don’t screw around, and I don’t kill people. Period! Is that clear?’

  ‘Mr Mason, do you realise that you’ve raised your voice, that you are angry, that you are capable of killing someone who gets between your wife and you? Do you love your wife?’

  ‘What sort of dumb question is that? I’m meant to love a tart, a woman who screws a younger man because he’s more of a stud?’

  ‘No one’s mentioned that this man was younger.’

  ‘I assumed he was.’

  ‘Why? According to Christine, her past relationships have been with men more her age. You’re holding something back. What’s the truth?’

  ‘There is no truth. I don’t know any more than I’ve already told you.’

  Wendy took her mobile from her handbag and made a call. ‘Inside, now,’ she said.

  ‘I’m afraid, Mr Mason, that you will need to be interviewed at Challis Street Police Station, suitably cautioned and with a lawyer present.’

  ‘Are you arresting me for murder?’

  ‘No. But you knew of your wife’s affair. You have gone from being a peripheral witness to a major suspect.’

  ‘Gwen, I’ll need you with me?’ Tony Mason said, looking over at her.

  ‘Yes. And Christine?’

  ‘I still want her, even though she drives me crazy sometimes.’

  ‘Are you coming voluntarily? Wendy said.

  ‘No need for handcuffs. Let me get my coat, and we can go,’ Mason said.

  Chapter 23

  On the way over to Challis Street Police Station, Tony Mason had made a few phone calls from the back seat of the police car, one of the officers telling Wendy afterwards. Not that there was an issue; the man was coming in voluntarily for questioning, he hadn’t been charged, and with mobile phones, how could they stop him phoning anyway.

  Wendy had to agree with the officers. The man had his rights, innocent until proven guilty, but his reference to a younger man had not been expected.

  Mason sat in the interview room; across from him, Isaac and Wendy. To Isaac, he was a man who kept his emotions in check. But then, from what Isaac had read about negotiating commercial deals in the Middle East, it was an extended process involving the initial courtesies, then the outright disagreements, then the consolidation, the renegotiation, the arguments yet again, before patting the other on the back, the words of conciliation and friendship and a lasting relationship. It took a competent man to handle that. To Mason, sitting in Challis Street would be seen as a minor inconvenience.

  The reason for Gwen Hislop to be representing him was unclear. If the man had connections, then he would have been phoning for a QC, not asking for his wife’s sister, competent as a lawyer, but not with a murder investigation.

  ‘Mr Mason,’ Isaac said after the formalities had been dealt with, ‘Sergeant Gladstone was not satisfied with your responses to some of the questions that were asked at your house.’

  ‘Chief Inspector, my wife tells me that she’s having an affair. How do you expect me to answer? I was upset, not thinking straight,’ Mason replied.

  Isaac was aware that he would need to be on his guard with Mason. He liked to control the questioning in the interview room and to ensure that the person opposite him wasn’t able to take control. But Tony Mason was a skilled negotiator, a man who could hold his own against the very best. And even now, was Mason telling the truth, or was it all a show? Was the man seething about his wife? Or was it a feigned response? And what about the reference to a younger man? A stab in the dark, a lucky guess?

  ‘Could you please explain your reaction to your wife’s confession?’

  ‘Stunned. Not that it was unexpected. It was just that it was so sudden, and then Gwen’s there, a woman who I’ve not seen for years. Not only that,’ Mason said, ‘a police sergeant is waving her badge under my nose, asking if she can come in. What do you expect me to say or do? How would you feel if your house was invaded, and then your wife tells you she’s been screwing around with a murdered man?’

  Isaac had to concede the man had a point, not that it meant that what he had told Wendy at the house, and what he intended to say in the current interview, was the truth.

  ‘I’ll grant you that it was difficult for you. But now, we must focus on what you know about the murdered man.’ Isaac said.

  ‘Nothing. I assumed he was younger. Christine’s got wandering eyes. A few drinks in her, and well, you never know.’

  ‘Your wife has told us about the murdered man and three other men. Did you know about the others?’

  ‘One of them. I suspected another, but I never said anything.’

  ‘The normal reaction would have been to confront the man, ask your wife to her face.’

  ‘Normal, what’s normal, Chief Inspector? How would you have handled it?’

  ‘I’m not the person being questioned. You are.’

  ‘Both times I let it pass, gave it a few weeks. Once she had got it out of her system, she changed back to what she had been before. And besides, the children were young, and I didn’t want to disturb their lives.’

  ‘Mr Mason, have you had an affair?’

  ‘What sort of dumb question is that?’

  ‘It’s not dumb, only necessary. You’re overseas, negotiating substantial export deals for your company. The temptation must be there.’

  ‘Business is conducted differently over there, but you must know that.’

  ‘I’m aware of what happens. You’ve still not answered the question.’

  ‘I have. What more do you want from me?’

  The door to the interview room opened, a ginger-haired, freckled-faced constable came in. ‘Apologies, but you’re needed outside, DCI,’ he said. Isaac acknowledged the man. He paused the interview, knowing that interruption could only mean one thing: someone senior needed to talk to him.

  Outside in the corridor, Detective Chief Superintendent Goddard. ‘You’ve got Tony Mason in there?’ he said.

  ‘We have reason to believe that he is concealing evidence,’ Isaac said.

  ‘Is he the murderer?’

  ‘He’s not the only suspect. We’ve got no proof, but his testimony has given us reason for concern.’

  ‘I’ve had Commissioner Davies on the phone.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He’s the head of the London Metropolitan Police, as you well know. “And” is not an appropriate response.’

  ‘Government interference?’

  ‘Are you likely to charge Mason with murder?’

  ‘Are we being told to back off?’

  ‘No. Davies is worried. Your Mr Mason is currently negotiating a deal to sell more than one hundred million pounds of technology to Saudi Arabia. If he secures that, then there are other companies lining up behind him to sell even more. The man’s important, and he’s sat in the interview room getting the third degree from you.’

  Isaac didn’t like it, but it wasn’t the first time that he had come across ‘in the national interest’ in a murder investigation.

  ‘What do you want us to do?’

  ‘Unless you can prove it…’

  ‘Not yet. But he knows something, I know it.’

  ‘A hunch is no good with Mason. If you’ve got proof, I’ll back you up.’

  ‘Commissioner Davies?’

  ‘He has people to report to; we all do.’

  ‘A murderer could walk free. Until he’s concluded the deal in the Middle East, is that it?’

  ‘The politicians will tell you there are hundreds, possibly thousands of British jobs at stake. They’ll not say they’ve got their fingers in the trough, and it’s their seat in Parliament that’s at risk.’

  ‘And a murderer walking free is the cost?’

  ‘Not while I’m the chief superintendent, it won’t be.’

  ***
>
  Wendy had not been pleased when Isaac had returned to the interview room and ended the interview, citing additional evidence, and saying that Mason was free to go.

  She had watched the three people leave the station. Tony Mason had got into the back seat of a Jaguar. Christine and Gwen had taken a taxi. To Wendy, the investigation into Mason was not over, but as her DCI had explained, ‘We’re being told to back off, and only to question Tony Mason when we have proof.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘We need to inform Chief Superintendent Goddard first, is that it? Ask for permission to charge a murderer?’

  ‘We still do our job.’

  Isaac could understand his sergeant’s frustration, but there was still more to do. Mason was a person of interest, although he had been out of the country when Colin Young/Barry Montgomery had died. Not conclusive in itself as the man had influential friends, people who would return a favour for him, or place him in their debt.

  Isaac could see that they were heading into the realm of conspiracy theory, and if it was someone unknown who had committed the murder, then it was a safe bet that the person would have been professional. Hitting the man on the head in Hyde Park, his subsequent drowning, still had the feel of amateurism. He dismissed his previous thought and walked over to Larry Hill’s desk.

  ‘Someone up high forcing their hand again, is that it?’ Larry said. He was leaning back, his hands behind his neck.

  ‘Thinking again? Isaac said sarcastically, although he knew his inspector was not a man to be idle for long.

  ‘Just going over the investigation in my mind. We’re focussing on the more likely characters, the men, and all three of them have negatives against them. Mason trades in weapons of death, Terry Hislop had a spell as a drunken brawler, and Archibald Marshall comes across as a despicable individual.

  ‘What’s your point?’

  ‘It seems illogical, leaving the man’s death to chance. What if he had managed to get himself ashore and onto the bank?’

  ‘We’ve spoken about this before. The man didn’t, and it’s still murder.’