THE JAGGED LINE

by Carolyn Mahony

  ‘It seems strange that Paul Copeland suspected him of something and ends up dead, and then Dad goes to see him and …’ She broke off, unable to finish.

  ‘Look, Kirsty.’ Simon came round the desk and hesitated before putting an arm around her shoulder. She should have shaken it off – would have done in any other circumstances – except that it was nice to have a bit of contact with another human being, even if it was him. She felt so confused at the moment. Rob was right, she was bumbling around like a pathetic amateur sleuth, and it was getting her nowhere.

  Why was she putting herself through this?

  ‘I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for you – especially when you and your father fell out so spectacularly,’ Simon said. ‘I’m not rubbishing what you’re doing but, you know, the last thing Dom would want now is for you to drive yourself to distraction over an imaginary crime that in all probability doesn’t exist outside your head. I may not know Tim well, but to suggest he might be involved in one, if not two, murders is inconceivable. Anyway, they’ve arrested someone over Paul Copeland’s death now. Didn’t you hear the news?’

  ‘I know.’ She bit her lip, then ploughed on determinedly. ‘Sergeant Briscombe mentioned that you were in a pub very close to where Dad had his accident?’

  She felt his withdrawal as he stepped back to look down at her. ‘You’re not suspecting me now?’

  ‘Of course not. I just wondered if you might have seen anything either before you went into the pub or after you came out?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. Yes, I was there, but I literally dropped in for a quick pint and a sandwich before heading up the road to the golf club. I could see something was going on, but I was in a hurry and didn’t have time to hang around.’

  ‘Everything alright?’

  Kirsty swung round at the sound of Tony Jordan’s voice coming from the doorway.

  He walked into the room and gave her a hug as he kissed her cheek. She hugged him back, clinging onto the familiarity of him.

  ‘How are you doing, chicken?’

  ‘Not too bad.’

  ‘Good. I thought your mother bore up well yesterday and I know how glad she is to have you back in the fold. I’m heading off to lunch. Do you two want to join me?’

  ‘Sorry, I’m in a bit of a rush,’ Kirsty said quickly.

  ‘And I’ve got Peter Mercer coming in half an hour,’ Simon said.

  ‘Ah yes. Give him my regards. See you soon, Kirsty. Tell Mum Margot and I will pop over sometime at the weekend to see her.’ And with a little pat on her shoulder, he was gone.

  ‘Where were we?’ Simon said.

  Kirsty sighed. ‘We’re done. I just wanted to speak to you before I went to the police.’

  ‘With what exactly?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I don’t want to drop Susan in it, but I think they should know about her suspicions.’

  ‘But it doesn’t sound like they need to now if they’ve got the guy.’

  ‘We don’t know they have for sure, and maybe there’s more to it all than they realise. I want them to know about Paul’s suspicions about the tenant, and the fact that Dad also spoke to him. At the very least I think they should question him.’

  ‘Wouldn’t they already have done that?’

  ‘I don’t know. That’s what I want to check out.’

  Simon ran a hand through his hair. ‘I’m not sure it’s a good idea going to the police about anything.’

  She looked at him sharply. ‘Why not?’

  He hesitated, then shrugged. ‘Think about it. If you tell them about him, they’re going to want to know who gave you the information. Then in all probability they’ll interview the girlfriend again, and I don’t know if you know that we paid her some cash to erm … leave? It could be awkward if that came to light.’

  ‘Rob told me that wasn’t illegal.’

  ‘It’s not exactly illegal …’

  ‘Then what are you worried about?’

  It was obvious from his expression that he was getting frustrated with her. ‘Because it’s not exactly good practice either and I’m sure we’d all rather not draw attention to cash deals and stuff that we don’t need to.’

  She was catching up with him fast but she needed to hear him say it. ‘What sort of stuff? What are you saying, Simon?’

  He held her gaze. ‘I’m saying that Robbie wouldn’t want attention being drawn to the company’s books. And neither would we, because we’re the ones who do the legal bits for you.’

  He hesitated, obviously wondering how much more to say, then shrugged. ‘There have been other cash deals over the years and some purchases done in Lizzie’s maiden name, for example, to make it less obvious that it’s a turn – with the proceeds being paid into her account in the Isle of Man. That wouldn’t go down well with the taxman. And the deal on your grandmother’s land wouldn’t be the only discrepancy they’d find if they really chose to investigate Cartwrights books, though it would be one of the more serious because it was defrauding your aunt out of part of her inheritance.’

  Kirsty was looking at him in horror. It felt like the mire was getting so deep she’d soon be drowning in it.

  ‘There’s no need to look like that. Cartwrights isn’t the only company in the country bending the rules a bit to make a decent living, and neither are we. But it’s imperative that both sides trust each other not to drop the other side in it. It’s a relationship that’s worked well for forty-odd years – ever since our parents first started out and needed those deals to survive. To be blunt, Kirsty, we don’t need you coming in here and messing everything up. And it doesn’t take much these days to have the tax inspectors crawling all over you.’

  ‘But you’re a solicitor – you’re meant to be above that sort of thing.’

  There was an indifference to his expression that made her realise just how unaffected he was by the immorality of what they did. He shrugged.

  ‘It’s small fry. So the odd property gets turned. Who cares? No one’s getting hurt and everyone’s making money out of it.’

  ‘Except for the people being swindled out of money that’s rightfully theirs – like my aunt.’

  ‘I told Robbie and your father that your grandmother’s land deal was too close to home for comfort.’ He shrugged. ‘Your dad gave me a rough time over it – that I hadn’t been more careful about what you saw while you were doing your work experience here.’

  ‘So you knew why I left?’

  ‘Of course I did.’

  Kirsty felt flattened. She needed to be alone. She got up to go.

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I don’t know. I need to think. But I do know one thing. There’s no way I can work in that sort of set-up.’

  Simon, too, rose from his desk, his expression set. ‘Then maybe you should go back to France or find a job in another company. You need to get real, Kirsty. You’ve been very happy to take what your father provided for you all your life – but now’s the time of reckoning. Are you really going to stand against us all – tear not only Dom’s reputation to shreds, but also Robbie’s, your mother’s, the company’s – risk ruining them all financially just to salve your conscience? I don’t think it’s in you to do that.’

  Without another word she turned and left. But as she headed out onto the street, her anger burned at the fact he knew her so well. He was right. How could she even think of exposing her family like that?

  The whole business left a nasty taste that wouldn’t go away as she headed back to Cartwrights. None of what she’d learnt today had lessened her gut instinct that there was more to her father’s death than met the eye, nor had it lessened her determination to find out the truth. If there was a link between Paul Copeland’s death and her father’s, then she wanted to know about it. And there was one more thing she needed to do before she even considered giving up and leaving it to the police.

  The prospect didn’t fill her with any enthusiasm whatsoever. After all, if her father had
been murdered, his murderer was still out there. And who was to say he wouldn’t kill again?

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ‘Right, Harry.’ Murray fixed his sharp eyes on Harry’s face and leant back in his chair, his fingers steepled together in familiar fashion. ‘I’ve got five minutes for you to bring me up to speed on the Copeland case before I need to scoff some lunch down and head off to the Met. How’s the interview with Ken Lazard going?’

  It was funny how, despite having worked with Murray for over two years, he still had the power to unnerve Harry when he looked at him in that particular way, his thick, bushy eyebrows set in a severe frown.

  ‘Well, as you know, we pulled him in yesterday after Beth spoke to the Barnet News reporter. We’re due for another session this afternoon. He’s not saying anything at the moment, apart from no comment or trying to make us feel guilty at forcing him to leave his invalid wife home alone.’

  ‘You need to be careful how you handle that one or you’ll have the media swarming over us like ants – we don’t need that at the moment.’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘What did he say about the CCTV showing him following Copeland?’

  ‘That he wasn’t following anyone. He was walking to the off-licence to buy some beer to take home.’

  ‘Do you believe him?’

  ‘No, but it’s difficult to prove because the CCTV doesn’t stretch to the off-licence. He’s not being straight with us, though, and I could see he was unsettled once he knew he’d been caught on film the following morning. He said he was just taking a roundabout route to work to avoid the traffic, but that’s bollocks. It’s completely the opposite direction.’

  ‘Well, keep working on him or you’ll have to let him go.’

  ‘I’m aware of that, believe me.’

  Murray looked at him and half-smiled. ‘I’m sure you are. So what have you got so far on Copeland’s movements that day?’

  ‘Not a lot. It seems he wasn’t working but his girlfriend was. All she knew was that he was meeting up with someone at some point but he wouldn’t say who or where. That could have been Joshua Wells – the reporter Beth spoke to – or someone unknown. Ken Lazard’s car was picked up on the CCTV turning into his road at around 08.30. He could therefore potentially have followed him to a rendezvous if he left early, although according to Ken’s work, he arrived at his usual time of around nine-thirty. We have a statement from the reporter – Joshua Wells – confirming that he met up with Paul at his flat at ten-forty-five. Paul filled him in on the background of his story and told him that he was fearful for his life after Ken Lazard had attacked him the previous night in the pub. He said that Ken had followed him home and threatened to put him in a wheelchair so he’d know what it was like. He wanted Wells to run the story as a form of protection for himself, and also wanted payment for it. Wells apparently said he’d look into it and get back to him. Of course he never did because Paul was killed later on that day and Joshua Wells didn’t learn about it until a week or so later when he got back from his holiday.

  ‘So not looking very good for Ken Lazard.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What about the other chap who died? The estate agent. Any connections coming through?’

  Harry shook his head. ‘Not really, although …’

  Murray looked at him and waited.

  ‘I know how you feel about coincidences, which must be beginning to rub off on me,’ Harry said with a rueful smile. ‘There is one loose connection – a firm of solicitors in Whetstone. They’re friends of the Cartwrights and the son also happens to own the house where Paul Copeland lived. He was seen on CCTV entering a pub at the top of the road where Dominic Cartwright was run over. Says he nipped in for a pint before meeting a client up at the golf club, and had no idea Cartwright was in the vicinity. Apart from that, no links.’

  ‘Have you spoken to the client he was meeting?’

  ‘Not yet. I only tackled him about it yesterday and didn’t feel a funeral was the right place to start taking statements. Beth’s chasing it up today.’

  ‘What’s he like?’

  ‘Early thirties, pretty average. No that’s a lie. Better-looking than average, educated – clearly not short of a bob or two. Not the sort you’d naturally have earmarked as a criminal.’

  ‘So what are your thoughts?’

  ‘I wish I had some. Paul Copeland was clearly no saint. When his girlfriend told him he was kidding himself thinking he could afford a better flat, he told her she didn’t know everything. Maybe – it’s possible – he was mixed up in something illegal that was going to bring some money in, and it went wrong? Or maybe he was blackmailing someone. Or maybe he was just hoping his story about Ken Lazard might bring in some cash. Against that, Ken Lazard’s clearly got a temper and there doesn’t seem to be much doubt he followed Paul home and threatened him. He had both motive and opportunity – and he’s clearly not telling us the truth. We need a bit of a breakthrough, to be honest.’

  Murray reached for a file on his desk, signalling an end to their conversation. He looked up at Harry, the expression on his well-worn face reflecting an unusual level of empathy for him.

  ‘I know how frustrating it is. But as my old boss used say, keep digging, it’ll come – just be sure to recognise the signs when it does.’

  ***

  Ken Lazard stared Harry out across the table in the unimpressive, grey-walled interview room. His attitude was belligerent. He was clearly getting fed up with all the questions.

  ‘I told you, I went to the off-licence to get some beer and then I went home.’

  ‘And the following morning – when we have you on video turning into Paul Copeland’s street?’

  ‘There was a lot of traffic. I didn’t fancy sitting in it. I took a roundabout route.’

  ‘A very roundabout route,’ Harry said. ‘In fact, one that was completely the opposite direction to the way you needed to go to get to work.’

  Silence.

  ‘Come on, Ken. Do you think I’m stupid? You’re not being straight with me.’

  ‘I’ve got nothing else to say, except either charge me or let me go. I have a disabled wife at home who needs me.’

  ‘Then the sooner you answer my questions, the better. I’ll ask you again. Why did you go to Paul Copeland’s house that Monday morning?’

  ‘For a cup of coffee?’

  Harry glared at him.

  ‘No comment,’ Ken said.

  ‘Did you see Paul Copeland that morning?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Did you follow Paul Copeland that morning?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘We can sit here all day if you like, Ken: I’m not going anywhere. I want the truth and I’ll sit here until I get it.’

  ‘You wouldn’t know the truth if it kicked you in the arse. You’ve already got me nailed for that bastard’s murder.’

  ‘Try me. If you’re innocent you’ve got more chance of proving it if you help me find the real killer. Can’t you see that?’

  Ken glanced at his solicitor, who simply shrugged his shoulders.

  He looked back at Harry, clearly considering his options.

  ‘Alright … So maybe I did go to Paul’s house that day,’ he said finally. ‘I wanted to see him. Let him know I was watching him. He put my wife in a wheelchair, for Christ’s sake, and he didn’t give a shit.’

  Harry leant forward. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Nothing. I sat there till about nine and he never came out. I needed to be in work by nine-thirty, so I left. I knew there’d be plenty of other opportunities to collar him.’

  ‘Was anyone else around? Did anyone see you drive off?’

  ‘What do you think? That’s why I didn’t own up to it. Nobody notices shit these days.’

  ‘You realise things aren’t looking good for you?’

  ‘’Course I do, but not much I can do about it, is there?’

  He looked genuinely despondent, as if finally t
he bravado was deserting him and the reality of his situation was beginning to sink in. He reached for the glass of water in front of him with a hand that wasn’t quite steady.

  ‘You could try telling me your exact movements the night Paul died. The timings you give aren’t great as an alibi. We have one person at the pub puts you leaving around ten-fifteen, and your wife says you didn’t get home until nearly an hour later. It doesn’t take you an hour to drive from Barnet to Potters Bar.’

  A knock on the door interrupted them and Harry paused the tape as Beth walked into the room.

  ‘Can I have a word?’

  Harry frowned, frustrated at the interruption just when he felt he was beginning to get somewhere. He turned towards the tape. ‘DC Macaskill has just entered the room. I’m pausing the tape and will resume this interview after conferring with her in a separate office.’

  He pushed his chair back and rose from his seat. ‘Excuse me a minute, will you, Ken? And while I’m gone you might like to think about your situation. If you’re innocent you should have nothing to hide. And the sooner we know exactly what we’re dealing with, the better it’ll be for all of us.’

  ‘What’s up?’ he asked Beth out in the corridor.

  ‘Sorry, but there’s someone I thought you’d want to know about in Interview Room One. She reckons she’s got information for us that will prove Ken Lazard couldn’t have murdered Paul Copeland.’

  When Harry walked back into Interview Room Two to carry on with his interrogation of Ken Lazard, there was a lightness to his step that hadn’t been there before. Finally they were getting somewhere. He switched the tape back on, entered the necessary details, then turned his attention back to the man sitting opposite him on the other side of the table.

  ‘Right, Ken. You’ll never guess who I’ve just been talking to? Or maybe you can?’

  He waited for a moment and when Ken made no response, said, ‘I’ve been having a chat with your colleague at the day centre, Kathy Wilkins. Can you guess what we’ve been talking about?’

  He watched as the other man’s face paled but his expression was stubborn as he waited for Harry to say more.