‘No,’ Flint said, ‘nor for actually killing the joy-rider. But I am going to ask your permission to search this house.’
‘And if I refuse?’
‘You have the right, but I should warn you that if you choose to exercise that right, I have ample grounds for obtaining a search warrant.’
‘If you want to search, then search,’ Lydia said defiantly.
And Flint knew then that he would find nothing to tie her in with the crime.
****
It was a strange sensation to be spending the night in a house that was less than half a mile away from the home of the woman who had tried to kill me only a few hours earlier, but Owen Flint had seen to it that the Cheshire police posted guards outside, and I didn’t think even Lydia would be crazy enough to tackle a couple of 6ft policemen.
I had just poured myself a stiff drink before going to bed when the phone rang. I almost ignored it, but there was a persistence about the ringing which made me slam down my drink on the coffee table and snatch up the receiver.
‘Yes?’ I said irritably.
The voice which answered me made my stomach churn.
‘Is that you Rob?’ it asked excitedly.
‘Marie? Where are you?’
‘I’m in Bristol.’
‘Why are you there?’
‘I’m looking for Paul Taylor, of course. That’s what your sister-in-law hired me to do. Surely you must have guessed that.’
How easy it was for her to hurt me, I thought – even from a distance, down an impersonal telephone line.
‘Don’t lie to me, Marie,’ I said bitterly.
‘Lie to you? What are you talking about?’
‘You weren’t looking for Paul Taylor. You’ve known all along where he was.’
‘What makes you say that?’ Marie asked.
There was so much evident surprise in her voice that, for a moment, I almost believed her. Then I reminded myself of what I actually knew – of what a brush with cold, hard reality had taught me.
‘You’ve been up in Lancashire,’ I told her. ‘And the only possible reason for that would be to visit Paul.’
There was another pause at the other end of the line, then Marie said, ‘How do you know that? Have you been up to Lancashire yourself?’
‘Yes, I was looking for Paul – I mean really looking for him. I thought Lydia might have hidden him somewhere near her old home.’
‘I was working on the same theory,’ Marie said.
How could she lie to me like that, I wondered? How could she lie, and lie and keep on lying?
‘You’re contradicting yourself,’ I said harshly. ‘One second you’re telling me that Lydia hired you to find Paul Taylor, the next you’re saying she knew where he was all along. That doesn’t make any sense at all.’
‘It does if you think about it,’ Marie said quietly. ‘The way I had it figured out at the time I agreed to take the case was that she was hiding him, and she wanted to be sure he couldn’t be found. And what better way to test how safe he was than to hire someone like me to try and track him down?’
It was plausible – but then Marie could always sound plausible.
‘You say that’s how you had it figured out at the time you took the case,’ I said. ‘But you sound as if you don’t think that’s true anymore?’
‘That’s right – I don’t.’
‘Why have you changed your mind?’
‘Because now that I have found him it’s obvious that Lydia had nothing to do with his disappearance.’
‘You’ve found him?’ I said sceptically. ‘Every police force in the country is looking for him – and you’ve found him!’
‘That’s right,’ Marie agreed. ‘Listen, Rob, can you lay your hands on £10,000 in a hurry?’
‘I suppose so,’ I said, remembering that my father always kept a fair amount of working capital in his safe. ‘But what do you want it for?'
‘I want it because it’s the modern day equivalent of thirty pieces of silver. For £10,000 I can buy a man who’ll take to me to where Paul Taylor’s hiding.’
‘Shouldn’t you tell the police what you’ve got?’
‘That wouldn’t work. The moment they went to see him, my man would deny he knew anything, and they’d never be able to prove he did.’
‘And what about your client?’ I asked. ‘Where does she fit into all this? She could raise the money easily.’
‘I know she could. But … but the fact is, I really don’t want to get her involved.’
‘I’d have thought she was pretty much involved already,’ I said.
‘Can’t you just trust me on this?’ Marie pleaded. ‘Instead of asking all these questions, can’t you just say, “Marie, I’ll get the money and meet you on Temple Meads Station at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon”?’
Despite everything I knew, and everything I suspected, I still couldn’t resist her.
‘Marie, I’ll get the money and meet you on Temples Mead Station at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon,’ I repeated dutifully.
‘You’re a sweetheart,’ Marie gushed. ‘I love you.’ She paused again. ‘I meant that, you know. I really do love you.’
And then the line went dead.
Chapter Twenty-Six
By the time Owen Flint arrived in the village next morning, I was already on my way to Bristol. If he’d known that, he would have disapproved, and might even have tried to stop me. But he didn’t know, and by the time the police car in which he was a passenger was half-way up the High Street, he’d seen something which banished all thoughts of me completely from his mind.
What he saw as the car drew level with the post office/general store was a woman – a tiny, distant figure – standing next to the stocks in front of the church.
‘Drive on,’ he said to Matthews, who was already indicating that he was about to pull over.
‘But I thought you wanted to stop at the shop, sir,’ the sergeant said.
‘Well, I don’t,’ Flint snapped.
‘You know what you’re like if you don’t get your morning’s supply of sugar, sir,’ Matthews cautioned.
‘What I want you to do, sergeant,’ Flint said, ‘is to drive to the church, stop to let me out – and then bugger off for at least an hour.’
Matthews shrugged. ‘You’re the boss,’ he said.
‘Big of you to notice,’ Flint replied.
Matthews pulled up by the pump house and Flint got out of the car.
Susan Harper did not move an inch, but the chief inspector could feel her gaze boring into him.
When he was close enough to hear her words, she forced a smile to her face and said, ‘Have you got any sweets, mister?’ in what she obviously hoped was a comic voice.
Flint smiled back at her.
‘Sorry, I ate the last of my emergency supplies at half past four this morning, and I haven’t had time to buy any more yet,’ he said. His expression altered, becoming both more serious and more concerned. ‘What is it you want to get off your chest, Mrs Harper,’ he asked gently.
‘I feel like such a hypocrite,’ Susan told him. ‘My husband’s dead. I should be drowning in a sea of grief, but the fact is I’m not.’
‘You can’t judge yourself by the way you’ve seen other people behave when they’ve lost a loved one,’ Flint said sympathetically. ‘We all react to death in different ways.’
‘You don’t understand,’ Susan countered. ‘It’s not a question of not grieving enough – I’m not grieving at all. It’s like I’d heard that someone I hardly knew had died.’
‘Maybe that’s just what it is,’ Flint suggested. ‘Maybe he was someone you hardly knew.’
‘I was sure you’d understand,’ Susan said gratefully.
‘It really wasn’t a very happy marriage, was it?’
Susan shook her head. ‘I thought I was in love with him when we got married. And maybe I was. But it certainly didn’t last very long. I don’t think … I don’t think there
was much there to love. The only thing Bill really cared about was getting on in business, and he’d have done anything to achieve his aim.’ She brushed a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. ‘I’m rambling on, aren’t I?’
‘No, not at all,’ Flint assured her. ‘Just tell me the whole thing in your own way, and at your own speed.’
‘I was a virgin when I married Bill. Isn’t that a strange thing to be in this day and age?’
‘It’s more common than you might think,’ Flint told her, though he had no idea whether that was true or not.
‘Anyway, Bill was the only man I’d ever been with, and I’d honestly never thought of being unfaithful to him, even after we’d stopped sleeping together regularly. And then I … then I …’
‘Met a man,’ Flint prompted.
Susan looked down at the ground. ‘That’s right,’ she mumbled.
‘And was that man Philip Conroy?’
‘How … how did you know that?’ Susan gasped.
Who else would it be, given that she was virtually a prisoner in the world that was Conroy Enterprises, Flint thought?
‘It was just a lucky guess,’ he said aloud. ‘Where did you first get to know him?’
‘At a party. We were always going round to parties at a Conroy house, or having them round to ours. Philip was nice to me – attentive.’ A sad smile came to her face. ‘He used to call me his Sweet Little Enid. Isn’t that odd, when my name’s Susan?’
‘Very odd,’ Flint said.
And he was thinking, you really are a complete bastard, aren’t you, Philip Conroy?
‘From then on, one thing just seemed to lead on to another,’ she continued. ‘He said he loved me, you know – he told me that just before he took me to bed for the first time. But he didn’t really love me at all, and when the novelty wore off he said it would be better all round if we broke up.’
‘Did Bill know anything about what was going on?’ Flint asked.
Susan laughed bitterly. ‘No, Bill never found out about the affair. But do you know, even if he had I don’t think he’d have minded. Philip’s one of the bosses, and if Bill was allowing him to have me, it would be sort of like bringing an apple for the teacher.’
‘Does what you’re telling me have some sort of bearing on your husband’s death?’ Flint probed.
‘I think so. I missed Philip you see, even though I’d finally realised what he was like. So when Bill was out swimming the night that he was killed, I went to Philip’s house.’
‘And why did you do that?’
Susan raised her head again and looked Flint squarely in the eyes.
‘I went to beg him to take me back.’
‘And is that what happened? You saw him, and you asked him to take you back?’
‘No. When I got there his house was in darkness, so I thought he must have gone to bed. I had my own key. I opened the front door and I went up to his bedroom. He wasn’t there. I couldn’t stay long because I knew I’d have to be at home by the time Bill returned from his swim. I was half-way down the lane when I heard footsteps crunching on the cinder track behind me. It was obvious what had happened. Someone had come up the fields from the main road.’
Flint nodded. ‘Go on,’ he said encouragingly.
‘I turned around. I saw no more than a dark shape, but I could tell from the way he moved that it was Philip.’
‘He didn’t see you?’
‘No, I was standing against a hedge.’
‘Why didn’t you speak to him? After all, that’s why you went there in the first place.’
‘I’d screwed up all the courage I had simply to go and see him – and when he wasn’t at home, that courage just melted away. I’m not sure I’d have been brave enough to talk to him if he’d come back to his house before I left, but out on the lane it was just impossible. I was terrified of what he might say to me, you see.’
And the little sod would probably have said a mouthful, Flint thought – because his kind didn’t care who they hurt.
‘What happened next?’ he asked.
‘He got out his keys and opened his front door. Then he seemed to change his mind. He closed the door again and crossed the lane to his garden gate.’
‘Go on.’
‘He went into the garden. I heard him open the shed door – it’s got a squeak – and then I tiptoed away.’ She paused for a second. ‘It seems very strange to be betraying the man you love for the sake of the husband you don’t.’
‘Neither of them were worthy of you,’ Flint said.
‘I know,’ Susan agreed. ‘But that still doesn’t make it any easier.’
****
As the train pulled into Temple Meads’ station, I saw Marie standing on the platform, waiting for me. She was wearing one of her smart, aggressive business outfits – a dark suit with white piping – and her beautiful red hair, instead of cascading over her shoulders, was pinned tightly back.
I stepped off the train and walked towards her. I longed to throw my arms around her, and hug her to me. But I didn’t. We never touched – except accidentally – and even after what she’d said on the phone the previous evening I still felt constrained to let her make the first move.
‘Have you got the money?’ she asked, speaking in just the same crisp tone as she’d adopted when she’d given me her report on her investigation into Hugh Morgan’s affairs back in Oxford.
‘It’s good to see you,’ I replied.
The irony was wasted on her. ‘It’s good to see you, too,’ she said, without any trace of warmth at all. ‘Have you got the money?’
I tapped my inside jacket pocket. ‘It’s here.’
‘The full ten thousand?’ she asked anxiously.
‘The full ten thousand,’ I assured her.
‘Right,’ Marie said. ‘Let’s go to the buffet and I can brief you on developments so far.’
It was almost as if I’d dreamed the last part of that phone call, I thought as I followed her past students with rucksacks, women in expensive country suits who were only in town to shop, and dossers who held out their hands for spare change and kept one eye open for the police.
‘I love you,’ she’d said ‘I meant that, you know. I really do love you.’
How could she have spoken those words only a few hours ago, and yet be so cold now?
‘You still don’t understand what’s going on, do you, you bloody fool!’ jeered a nagging voice at the back of mind. ‘She needed money for the next phase of her operation, and what better way to ensure you came through with it than by telling what she knows you’ve always wanted to hear?’
I didn’t believe it! I wouldn’t believe it!
And yet the thought had come from inside my own head, so there had to be at least a part of me which accepted it as a strong possibility.
We reached the buffet. Marie, without asking me what I wanted, ordered two coffees, and took them over to the smoking section. As soon as she’d set the tray on the table, she took out her cigarettes and lit up.
I sat down opposite her. ‘You know Bill Harper’s been murdered, don’t you?’ I asked.
Marie nodded. ‘I heard about it on the radio. But it’s got nothing to do with this case.’
‘The police seem to think it might have.’
‘The police are wrong,’ Marie said, waving her cigarette like a dismissive magic wand. ‘Paul Taylor’s probably the one who killed your brother, and he’s never left Bristol since the crash.’
‘You sound very sure of yourself.’
‘It’s my job to be sure of myself.’ Marie smiled, but it was a complacent smile rather than an affectionate one. ‘Do you want to know how I found Paul Taylor when the combined might of several police forces failed?’
‘Why not,’ I said, though there were many things in my tormented mind that I would rather have talked about.
‘As you know, I started my search in Lancashire, but the moment I found out that on the day of the crash Paul had gone into a bank in
Bristol and withdrawn £20,000 from the company account—’
‘He’d done what ?’ I interrupted.
‘He withdrew £20,000 from the company account. Didn’t you know?’
‘No, I didn’t know,’ I admitted, ‘but more to the point, how did you know?’
‘If you get two publishers together, they’ll talk about nothing but publishing,’ Marie said. ‘Isn’t that right?’
‘Yes, I suppose it is.’
‘In the same way, two coppers will talk about nothing but police work. And if they’re doing that talking in a pub, and you’ve positioned yourself so you’re quite close to them, you’ll find you can learn all kinds of interesting things – especially when one of them has a mouth as big as Detective Sergeant Matthews has.’
‘But even if Paul Taylor drew out the money in Bristol, how could you assume that he was still—’
‘I checked up on Taylor’s background. He’s led a completely conventional life. He was brought up in a nice suburb, attended a good secondary school, and chose a sensible business course at university. He’s never shown any real spirit of adventure in his entire life – and he’s never been in trouble with the police.’
‘So?’
‘His picture has been in all the papers, there’ve been reports about him on the television, and the police have been manning a hot-line round the clock,’ Marie continued. ‘If they’d been looking for you rather than Paul, they’d have had you within a couple of days. But Paul is still missing. How do you explain that?’
‘Perhaps he’s gone abroad,’ I suggested.
‘Not him,’ Marie said. ‘He’s scared enough being on the run in this country. Abroad he’d be absolutely terrified.’
‘So what did he do?’
‘To stay hidden, he needed help – the sort of help which wasn’t too scrupulous, and possibly had criminal connections. The problem was that nice, straight Paul didn’t know anyone like that – except that he did!’
‘Who?’
‘Was your father part of the team negotiating the purchase of Western Haulage?
‘Yes, Grandfather insisted on it because he wanted all the directors to be behind the deal.’
‘And Paul would have gone with your father?’
The Vital Chain Page 25