A Narrow Victory

by Faith Martin

  In no mood to celebrate a new millennium that would not see their grandson Billy growing up in it, the couple had spent a quiet night indoors, watching telly. Brandt had avowed that he was trying to stop drinking and that going to a party where booze would be flowing like water wasn’t exactly a good idea. His wife, Margaret, had confirmed quietly but firmly that she and her husband had been together all that evening and night of 31 December and that they’d gone to bed at about one o’clock in the morning.

  Since the Brandts lived a good half an hour from the house where Felix had been killed, there was no way Brandt could have done it. Even if you took 1.15, when the body was found, as the very outer limit of when the crime had been committed, and accepted the possibility that Felix had been killed only moments before being found, Brandt wouldn’t have had time. To wait for his wife to fall asleep, leave the house, illegally drive his wife’s car, gain admittance, and find and kill Olliphant would have taken him at least an hour. According to Varney’s calculations anyway – and he’d had a DC go through the motions to make sure.

  Of course, Varney hypothesized that an alibi provided by a spouse was virtually worthless anyway. Margaret Brandt could easily have been lying, and if she were a browbeaten wife, lying on command on the orders of her spouse would have been second nature to her anyway. Or she could even have been complicit in the crime. She could have driven her husband to the house, waited for him to do the deed and then taken him back to their home.

  No CCTV cameras had managed to pick up the Brandt family car en route to the murder scene but again that meant nothing. Either one of them, acting alone or together, could have made their way there via other means – bus, or taxi, or even by borrowing a friend’s car. And although neighbours of the Brandts, when questioned, had admitted that they’d seen lights on in the family home all that evening, that in itself meant very little either. None of them had admitted to seeing or talking to the Brandts during the time in question – most had been either hosting parties of their own or going to or from a party themselves. And how hard was it to leave a light on in the house to mimic occupancy?

  On the other hand, you couldn’t disprove such an alibi either. And with no eye witnesses to put either of the Brandts at the house – and here Hillary found herself, not for the first time, damning those concealing costumes – and with no forensics to place them at the crime scene, Varney had been stumped.

  Hillary firmly added an interview with the Brandts to her list and closed the file.

  It was time to go home.

  She grabbed her coat and stuck her head in the office on the way out. Sam and Jimmy were back, and seemed excited about a lead they’d run down on their vast pile of unsolved burglaries. And she could see why. If they succeeded in bringing in Knocker Clarke and his gang to answer for the whole lot, they would do their solved-crime statistics a power of good, which would earn brownie points for everyone all round.

  Hillary added her own encouragement and good wishes to the mix, then told the Boy Wonder and the goth to pack it in for today, and that she’d see them bright and early tomorrow.

  Steven Crayle didn’t get home until gone seven. Although he spent about half his time nowadays with Hillary on the boat, the rest of the time he spent in the neat semi he’d finally finished paying for, in the area of Kidlington that ran beside the Oxford canal.

  As he let himself into the house, he paused for a moment in the kitchen to listen to the silence, which nowadays felt more oppressive than ever. Then with a sigh he opened the freezer and cast a weary eye over the array of frozen ready meals.

  He’d been divorced for nearly six years before Hillary Greene had joined his team, and his life had slowly changed. Now, the silent emptiness of the house seemed depressing, whereas before he’d simply never noticed it. Now it felt almost too big, and he found himself missing the enforced but cosy intimacy of a narrowboat.

  As he opened the microwave and chucked in his beef stroganoff dinner, he found himself wondering what Hillary was doing. Then he wondered what Donleavy wanted to see him about tomorrow – although he thought he could guess.

  Steven frowned. If it was what he thought it was, what should he do about it? His options were limited to a simple yes or no. But nothing in life was as simple as that, as he well knew. He just wished things with Hillary were a little more clear cut. A man liked to know where he stood.

  He sighed, loosened his tie, and set about making a pot of coffee.

  He was going to have to have a serious talk with Hillary. And he was not at all confident that things would go well. Perhaps she did not see their relationship as he did? Perhaps he’d read it all wrong? What if he ended up making her mad, or worse, hurting her? This morning it hadn’t just been in his imagination that she had mentally and emotionally pulled away from him. The growing strength of their relationship was clearly confusing her.

  But then he couldn’t really jib at that. He’d known from the first that that bastard Ronnie Greene, her bent, womanizing first husband, had really done a number on her. No wonder she didn’t trust men. So, looking at it from her point of view, why should she trust Superintendent Steven Crayle?

  But if she couldn’t get past her issues … well, where exactly did that leave them? He was too old to be messing about playing silly buggers. The week they’d spent together on the boat had been a bit of an eye-opener, and for him, at least, had started to make him seriously question the nature of their future together. And the only realistic conclusion, to him at least, had been obvious.

  But what if she didn’t feel the same? And what if his meeting with Donleavy tomorrow changed everything about their working relationship, as he feared that it might?

  Where would that leave them then?

  He was still staring sightlessly out over his rather overgrown back garden when the microwave pinged that his dinner was ready.

  Hillary awoke early, unaware that her lover had spent a long and predominantly sleepless night thinking about her and the precarious nature of their future together. If she had, she probably wouldn’t have been feeling so pleasantly cheerful and upbeat as she drove into HQ and entered the building on the dot of nine.

  There were, after all, perks to being a civilian. And having proper holiday time, and no unpaid overtime, were right up there with the best.

  In her office, she checked her mail – electronic and otherwise – and then grabbed her notebook and a large concertina file and went to check on the new recruits. Both were in, of course, and looking bright eyed and bushy tailed, as they should be.

  ‘Right, first things first.’ Hillary held aloft the concertina file. ‘This is the murder book. A bit dramatic, I know, but it has a solid purpose. Every time you complete a task, dig out some data or have a thought, you make a copy of it, and leave it in here. The murder book is to be kept updated at all times, and available for any of us to read at any time,’ she stressed firmly. ‘Investigations can get very complicated very quickly, leads get tracked down and dead ended whilst other things can get forgotten or overlooked. This way, we don’t repeat ourselves and everyone knows what everyone else is doing. Also, if one of us misses something, there’s a good chance another member of the team will pick up on it. So, Jake.’ She looked up as Jake stiffened to attention. ‘Today, I want you to concentrate on the financial aspects, like I said yesterday, and when you’ve done make a report for me, and one for the file. And as well as finding out about how Olliphant’s business dealings stood, I want you to check out how a Mr Colin Harcourt is doing now.’

  ‘This is the witness in the Felix Olliphant/William Brandt car crash, right?’ Jake said. ‘I saw from the files that he’d accused our murder victim of paying him off. You want to see if I can find any trace of evidence that he might have done so?’

  Hillary nodded. It was the one thing she’d found that DI Varney hadn’t bothered to follow up on. She could understand why it wouldn’t have been high on his priorities but a cold case was all about checking down the p
aths not followed in the original investigation. And the fact that the Boy Wonder had picked up on it too was impressive. The man had done his homework and was thorough – but then, what else could you expect of someone who’d made their first million by the age of twenty-one or whatever?

  ‘Right,’ Hillary said. ‘I want to know how Harcourt’s company is doing now, how it was doing then, and anything else that catches your eye as being off or interesting. You’re a man of business – your nose should twitch if something isn’t right. Trust your gut.’

  ‘Guv.’

  ‘And Zoe, this morning, you’re with me. We’re going to start with Felix’s immediate family. A victim’s loved ones are nearly always where you start – statistically, they’re the most likely to be either guilty of the crime, or be able to point you in the right direction. And besides any of that, they’re the ones who knew the victim the best – and getting to know the victim thoroughly, and working out what made them tick, is the first step in finding out who wanted them dead.’

  ‘Guv. Felix’s mother died eight years ago. His father’s still alive though – I’ve got his current address. Oh, and by the way, DI Varney is now deceased. He died two years ago – lung cancer. And his sergeant isn’t in the job any longer, and has moved to Scotland. I’ve got his address and phone number if you want it.’ As she spoke, Zoe shot a quick, smug look at the Boy Wonder, just making sure that he’d seen that he was not the only one who’d been doing his homework.

  ‘Good work,’ Hillary said, somewhat dryly. Although she wasn’t about to discourage competition between her two new recruits – after all, a little competition was healthy, and would ensure they were kept on their toes and producing their best work – she was not sure that Zoe needed to worry. If Jake Barnes felt at all threatened by his co-worker, he was doing a damned good job of looking indifferent. ‘But I think we’ll leave off talking to the sergeant just yet. This is our investigation now and it doesn’t always do to pick up the preconceived ideas and prejudices of the original team. We’ll wait and see what we can come up with that Varney didn’t, and only talk to his right-hand man if we get desperate.’

  ‘Right, guv,’ Zoe said.

  When Hillary and the jubilant Zoe skipped out of the door, the younger woman on her way to conduct her first ever interview with a witness, Jake Barnes was already tapping away with expert and ferocious speed on his computer keyboard, and barely seemed to register their leaving. Once they were gone, however, he paused for a moment and leaned back in his chair thoughtfully. Then he gave a mental shrug.

  He had a mountain to climb, he knew, but it was early days yet.

  Felix’s immediate family still lived in Woodstock, so as she sat in the passenger seat of Zoe’s trendy little new Mini (painted a glossy black, naturally) Hillary assessed the goth’s driving ability. Which was surprisingly good. The 24-year-old drove with that deceivingly relaxed and laid-back air coupled with full alertness that only seriously competent drivers displayed. So although she chatted, and sometimes even gesticulated, Hillary slowly relaxed as she became convinced that they were not about to get wrapped around any lamp posts or rear-end the car in front.

  ‘Felix’s mother died not quite a year after he did,’ Zoe informed her now, as they approached the famous market town where the Duke of Marlborough and his Blenheim Palace hung out, attracting tourists year round. ‘I reckon—’ Zoe neatly dodged a car full of Japanese, who seemed to be slightly bemused by the roundabout system ‘—that she died of a broken heart. Although the doctor’s report I tracked down said that it was a heart attack,’ she admitted more prosaically.

  Hillary, now coming to expect the dramatic from her newest recruit, didn’t bother to comment, except to say mildly, ‘And of course you’ll copy that report and put it in the murder file when we get back.’

  ‘Uh? Oh, yeah, sure,’ Zoe said. ‘The Olliphants have lived in the same house for, like, forty years or so. Don’t you think that’s a bit weird?’

  ‘Not everyone moves about like a cat on a hot tin roof,’ Hillary said, amused. ‘Perhaps one of the Olliphants inherited it from one of their own parents and didn’t want to sell it for sentimental reasons? Or maybe they just liked it too much to move. And once their son was dead, they might not have wanted to move because all their memories of him growing up were in the house.’

  ‘Right. So now the old man’s a widower as well, he won’t want to move because the wife’s memories will all be there as well. Poor old sod.’

  Hillary glanced out of the window as Zoe, using the sat nav with imperious ease, pulled them up outside a small cul-de-sac of substantial, between-the-war houses, built in the local pale stone. With grey slate roofs, and generous and mature gardens, the detached residences had that air about them that spoke of respectable money – not vulgar new money, or aristocratic old-time money, but that middle-class comfortable money which was becoming much rarer to find in these days of austerity.

  ‘So this is where our murder victim was brought up?’ Hillary said. ‘He went to the local school, I take it?’

  ‘Yes, guv. Then on to Birmingham University, where he studied art,’ Zoe added dismissively.

  Hillary couldn’t help but smile. With her own BA from Reading safely in the bag, it was clear that Zoe wasn’t particularly impressed by Felix’s credentials.

  Hillary had no doubt that Zoe must have checked up on her new boss’s educational background, and had thus discovered that Hillary herself had taken a BA degree in English literature from an unaffiliated Oxford college. Just where did that place her in Zoe’s strict academic hierarchy?

  ‘So, what do you see, Zoe?’ Hillary asked now, considering it high time that Zoe’s proper education should begin. If she was indeed serious about making the police service her career, then there was no time like the present to start studying for it. ‘And from what you see, what does it tell you about our victim?’

  Zoe realized she’d been put on the spot and took a quick breath and looked around, her dark-lashed and elaborately black-smudged eyes darting about and taking it all in.

  ‘Well, the Olliphants were always well off,’ she began cautiously. ‘Felix didn’t really want for anything. He was an only child, and they had him late in life, so he was probably a little spoiled. And growing up around here, there’s nothing that would have had the chance to toughen him up, would it?’ She gestured around the genteel surroundings. ‘No street gangs, no drug dealers, no other harsh realities of life. He left uni and set up his own business straight away with someone who obviously knew what they were doing – which was probably very smart – and as far as we know, this Olligree Interiors outfit always turned a decent profit.’

  She paused for breath., and began to wish she’d studied psychology instead of sociology. ‘Perhaps that tells us he was cautious, not one to take risks? He always did what was expected of him, paid his taxes, and all that. And he was a good-looking fella.’ She suddenly grinned. ‘Perhaps that’s where he let his hair down a little? Pushed the boat out, experimented a little? Made him feel brave, perhaps?’ Then she sighed. ‘All in all, I’d say he’d always had things pretty easy.’

  ‘Except for the car crash when young Billy Brandt died.’ Hillary, somewhat bemused by all the theorizing, had to put in a bit of blunt reality.

  ‘Oh yeah. Except for that,’ Zoe said bleakly.

  ‘And for the fact that someone stabbed him to death,’ Hillary pointed out.

  Zoe shot her boss a quick look and grinned. ‘OK, OK,’ she said, holding out her hands and crossing her fingers. ‘Pax. I know I can get carried away sometimes. I’ll try to rein it in in future.’

  Hillary grinned. ‘Well, I did ask for your opinion. And a little speculation can be helpful. Just don’t get so caught up in your own theories that you miss significant details.’

  ‘Right, guv. Engage eyes and brain before operating mouth. Got it.’

  Hillary laughed. Zoe Turnbull certainly had an open and engaging way about her that bod
ed well.

  ‘Right, let’s see if Mr Olliphant is in then. And Zoe,’ Hillary said quietly, ‘I want you, this time, to just observe and learn. If you think of something I’ve missed tell me what it is later and we’ll talk about it. You can always go back and interview a witness, many times if you have to, but if you do or accidentally say something that puts them off, or makes them feel antagonistic or humiliated right at the outset, then you may never gain their trust again. OK?’

  ‘I get it, guv,’ Zoe said, and mimed zipping her lips closed.

  Hillary was still smiling wryly when they walked up the neat, flower-bordered path to Gordon Olliphant’s front door and rang the bell.

  Felix’s father was a tall, slightly stoop-shouldered man, with wispy white hair, watery grey eyes and skin like old parchment. He was dressed in grey trousers, white shirt and one of those baggy, curiously colourless cardigans that seemed to be the province of old men. He seemed surprised to see them, as well he might after all these years. But if Zoe’s dark pseudo-Victorian skirt and ragged-style bodice complete with the complicated goth make-up disturbed him, he gave no sign of it. Indeed, even after Hillary had painstakingly explained who they were, and what the Crime Review Team was all about, he looked neither excited nor unduly worried or fretful by their presence, but simply stood wordlessly aside to let them in.

  He must, Hillary gauged, have been in his early eighties, and as he beckoned them to follow him and led them through a spacious and airy hall into the main lounge, he shuffled his slipper-clad feet carefully along the parquet flooring as if not quite steady on his legs.

  The heating was full on, in spite of it being August, no doubt because his blood was thin and he felt the cold, but Hillary found her own face becoming flushed by the heat. Beside her, she saw Zoe looking around avidly, as if trying to fix the interior of the room into her mind.

  Hillary quickly did the same but rapidly came to the conclusion that if Felix, as an interior designer, had had a hand in his parents’ house, there was no sign of it now. The room was bland, comfortably furnished and predominantly beige, with not a decorator’s focal point anywhere to be seen.