‘Of course.’
‘So he’ll have met Hugh Morgan then, and even if your uncle couldn’t see that he was a villain, Paul could.’
‘Oh, Uncle Tony could see he was a villain all right,’ I said, ‘but since the honest partners were prepared to sell the company cheap, he didn’t really care.’
‘So Paul was in Bristol with his pockets full of money, blood on his hands, and nowhere to run to,’ Marie said. ‘He had no choice but to turn to Hugh Morgan – and once I’d realised that, the rest was easy.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I went to see Morgan and gave him some guff about there being a substantial reward for information which would lead me to Paul Taylor. At that point, I still wasn’t one hundred per cent sure I’d got it right, but as soon as I mentioned the money, his eyes lit up and I knew I was spot on.’
‘He admitted it?’ I asked amazed. ‘Just like that?’
Marie snorted. ‘Of course it wasn’t just like that. What he said was that he wasn’t sure, but he might know a man who knew a man who might be able to get the address where Paul was hiding. He didn’t want any money himself for providing this information, but the other two men would probably want £10,000 each. I told him that for that kind of money I could find plenty of men who knew men, and he said that in that case, maybe it could be fixed for ten grand between them.’
‘Why is he so willing to sell Paul out?’
‘My guess is that Taylor’s now paid him all the money he could lay his hands on, so there’s no point in running the risk of hiding him any longer. So, given that Morgan was planning to withdraw his protection anyway, the extra ten thousand is something of a bonus.’ She lit a second cigarette from the stub of her first. ‘By the way, he wanted you to know that he was involved in this. He was most insistent on that.’
He would have been, I thought. He’d promised to get his revenge and now he had – first by impeding the murder inquiry for quite some time, and then by squeezing money out of me.
‘The reason you asked me for the money, rather than going to Lydia, is that you don’t trust her,’ I said. ‘Is that right?’
‘Yes.’
‘And when did this lack of trust begin?’
‘It was there right at the start. She either wanted Paul to be found or to make certain he couldn’t be found – and whichever it was, that meant she was tied in with the murders in some way.’
‘So even though you didn’t trust her, you still agreed to work for her?’
Anger flashed in Marie’s eyes. ‘I had no choice but to work for her,’ she said. ‘I’m not rich like you Conroys. If I was going to carry out my investigation properly, I needed someone to pick up my expenses, and Lydia’s offer was like a gift from heaven.’
‘Let me see if I’ve got this straight,’ I said. ‘You were already intending to try and find Paul Taylor, even before Lydia hired you?’
The anger in her eyes was suddenly replaced by defensiveness. ‘That’s right,’ she agreed.
‘Why?’
She shrugged. ‘It’s an interesting case.’
‘An interesting case?’ I repeated ‘Tell me, Marie, what makes it so interesting – the fact that it involved my family?’
‘Perhaps.’
Lydia had been right – about this matter at least. Marie had always shown an unnatural interest in the Conroys.
Even during that first meal we had together in the little Italian restaurant in Oxford – the very night we met – she’d been pumping me for information. I could see that now.
But why had she done it? Though Lydia claimed that she knew the reason behind it, I was as much in the dark as I’d ever been.
‘Just what kind of game are you playing, Marie?’ I asked.
‘Game?’ she echoed, as if she had absolutely no idea what I was talking about. ‘No game! Someone tried to kill you, remember?’
‘Of course I remember.’
‘And that really matters to me,’ Marie said. ‘Doesn’t it matter to you, Rob? Don’t you want to find out who was responsible for three members of your family dying unnecessarily?’
It was an evasion, and I knew it, but what else could I say but, ‘Of course it matters to me.’
Marie stubbed her cigarette out forcefully in the ashtray. ‘Then can I suggest that instead of questioning me like this, we get on with the job we’ve both come down here to do?’
‘Will you ever tell me what’s going on inside your head?’ I pleaded. ‘Will you ever let me see what you’re really feeling?
‘Perhaps when this is over,’ she said. ‘Maybe then, I’ll finally be able to let myself come clean.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
There were uniformed officers in every room of the house – going through drawers, tapping the backs of cupboards, and lifting floorboards. The man who had instituted the search stood next to the picture window in the lounge, looking down across the fields to the mere, while the man whose home was being subjected to such detailed scrutiny paced agitatedly up and down behind him.
‘This is totally outrageous,’ my cousin Philip said.
Owen Flint turned round to face him.
‘The magistrate who signed the search warrant didn’t seem to think it was too unreasonable,’ he said mildly.
‘Why would I have murdered Bill Harper?’ Philip demanded. ‘I promoted him. I gave him a status in the company equal to my own.’
‘You’ve made the point before,’ Flint reminded him. ‘But the promotion was business – the murder might well have been an affair of the heart.’
Philip laughed. ‘An affair of the heart? Whatever can you mean by that, Mr Flint?’
‘You chucked Susan Harper but then you discovered – much to your surprise – that you really were in love with her. And you had to have her at any cost – which is why you killed her husband.’
‘Do you think that Bill would have objected if I’d used my droit de seigneur to take his little Enid off him – because I don’t,’ Philip said. ‘And far from falling in love with her, if it hadn’t been for the convenience of her happening to live in the village, I probably wouldn’t have bothered with her at all.’
You really are a little shit, aren’t you, Flint thought!
‘Susan’s nothing but a vindictive little bitch!’ Philip said with sudden venom, ‘and if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll find a way to pay her back for this.’
‘I wouldn’t think you were exactly in a position to be making threats, sir,’ Flint said. ‘Besides, look at it this way – Susan Harper’s testimony may have made you the number one suspect for the murder of Bill Harper, but at least it’s got you completely off the hook for the murders of your father, uncle and cousin, because she’s your alibi for the night before the crash, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, she is,’ Philip agreed. ‘With Bill away in Bristol and Swansea, it was the ideal opportunity for us to spend some time together. But she’s totally wrong about the other thing. It wasn’t me she saw coming up the fields and entering this house.’
‘Who was it then? A burglar? A passing tramp who just happened to have your door key? The Mad Hatter?’
‘I don’t know,’ Philip said angrily. ‘You’re the police – you find out who it was.’
A uniformed constable entered the room, carrying an iron bar in a plastic evidence bag.
‘We found this buried in the garden, sir,’ he said.
Flint turned to Philip with a pitying expression on his face. ‘You look surprised we’ve found it so quickly,’ he said. ‘Haven’t you ever heard of metal detectors?’
‘Anyone could have put it there,’ Philip said frantically. ‘All they had to do was open the gate and dig a hole. I can see what’s happening here. I’m being framed, aren’t I? I’m being set up for something I didn’t do.
‘If you didn’t kill Bill Harper, then you’ve got nothing to fear,’ Flint told him. ‘But let’s just say you killed him, and then buried the murder weapon. Can you be sure
– absolutely sure – that one of your neighbours, out for a late night stroll perhaps, didn’t see you at it?’
Philip’s head jerked back, as if he’d been slapped.
‘Are you saying that you’ve got a witness?’ he asked shakily.
‘I’m saying there’s a possibility of a witness,’ Flint said noncommittally.
Panic flooded Philip’s eyes. ‘Even if I did bury it – and I’m not saying that I did – it’s just an iron bar,’ he said. ‘There’s absolutely no proof that it’s the murder weapon.’
Flint shook his head. ‘You think that just because you cleaned it you’ll have got rid of all the traces,’ he said. ‘If you do, you’re wrong, boyo – terribly, terribly wrong. The lads in forensics will by tomorrow have come up with enough material to fill a small book. And there’ll be other things. We’ll find your footsteps leading down to the mere – and we’ll be able to tell when you made them. We’ll find soil samples on your shoes. There may even be some bloodstains on your clothes.’
‘He didn’t blee—’ Philip began.
‘No, he didn’t, did he?’ Flint said. ‘So that’s one little pointer we can’t use. But like I said, there’ll be enough others.’
‘Am I being arrested?’ Philip asked, now on the verge of hysteria.
‘Not till we’ve done a few tests,’ Flint told him. ‘But if I was in your shoes, I wouldn’t go making any long-term plans.’
The tests would turn out to be positive, he was sure of that. So they’d have both the means and opportunity to help them make their case. The only problem was, he still had no idea – absolutely no bloody idea at all – why Philip should have wanted to kill Bill Harper.
****
Marie stubbed out the third cigarette she’d smoked since we entered the buffet, and glanced down at her watch.
‘It’s time to make a move,’ she said. ‘Give me the money.’
I placed the brown envelope on the table between us. I was expecting her to put it in her handbag, but she merely grabbed it and then stood up.
‘Let’s go,’ she said.
We made our way across the station towards the main exit. Marie still had the envelope in her hand and I found myself looking around nervously for signs of pickpockets and muggers.
‘When will the exchange be made?’ I asked.
‘Soon,’ Marie replied unhelpfully.
We were almost at the street. A newspaper seller was shouting out the day’s headlines, and one of his customers took a sudden step backwards and banged into Marie.
‘I’m terribly sorry,’ the man said. ‘I can’t think what could have made me so incredibly clumsy.’
‘No harm done,’ Marie said.
The man stepped clear of her. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
‘Positive.’
‘Well, in that case, I’ve got a train to catch.’
The man hurried away, but not before I’d noticed the corner of a brown envelope sticking out of the corner of his newspaper.
I turned my attention to Marie. She was studying a single sheet of cheap writing paper.
‘This is the address,’ she said.
‘But how do you know it’s the right one?’ I asked. ‘That bastard Morgan could have written down his granny’s address for all you know, and still have taken the money.’
‘When you cut through all the morality crap, he’s simply a businessman making a deal,’ Marie said. ‘Why would he bother to double-cross me – and possibly store up trouble for himself later on – when it’s just as easy to tell me the truth?’
‘If he’s not double-crossing you, he’s double-crossing Paul Taylor,’ I pointed out.
Marie snorted. ‘There’s nothing I can do about that – because you simply can’t protect people like Paul Taylor. They’re born to be double-crossed.’
I’d always realised we came from different worlds but now – when I was already feeling out of my depth and in danger of drowning while she was as calm as if she’d never left the paddling pool – I began to see just how different our worlds were.
We left the station and turned right. Marie’s Golf was parked on a double yellow line, but with the luck of the Irish she hadn’t been ticketed.
‘There’s an A to Z of Bristol on the passenger seat,’ she said. ‘Look up Alexander Terrace.”
****
We left the city centre behind us and were soon passing through an area of grim terraced houses, most of which seemed to have been abandoned.
‘It’s not very salubrious, is it?’ I said.
‘Did you really expect Hugh Morgan to book a desperate fugitive like Paul Taylor a room in the Ritz?’ Marie asked.
I read a street sign, and then checked my map again. ‘Alexander Terrace in the next street on the left,’ I said. ‘As far as I can work out, Number 17 will be about half-way down it.’
Marie indicated but instead of turning, as I’d expected her to, she merely pulled into the kerb.
‘No point in advertising the fact that we’re here,’ she said.
We walked down the street. Many of the houses were boarded up and even those still occupied looked as if they would crumble to red brick dust with the slightest encouragement. There was an alley running along the side of Number 11, and Marie came to a halt there.
‘Go up to Number 17 and knock on the front door,’ she told me. ‘Make sure you knock very loudly.’
‘And where will you be?’
She looked at me as if I was a slow pupil she really despaired of teaching anything.
‘I’ll be round the back, of course,’ she said.
As I walked up the street, my heart was pounding at what felt like double the usual rate, and I was suddenly as cold as if I’d plunged into icy water. It was possible, I told myself, that we were only a few minutes away from finding out why three of my family had died – and though there was a part of me that desperately wanted to know the answer, there was also a corner of my being which feared that perhaps the truth might be so horrendous that it would be better left hidden.
I reached Number 17. The brickwork was eroded. The black paint on the front door was peeling. The faded curtains at the front window were tightly drawn. I didn’t know how much Paul Taylor was paying for his hiding place but whatever it was he was being cheated.
I knocked loudly on the front door, and saw the curtains twitch. I knocked again. There was the sound of running footsteps in the hall. I bent down and opened the letterbox.
‘Be sensible, Paul,’ I shouted. ‘You know you’re going to have to talk to me some time.’
The footsteps were getting fainter. I knocked a third time, and wondered whether it was as easy to break down doors in real life as it always seemed to be in the Hollywood movies.
There were more footsteps – two sets – and the door swung open. Paul Taylor was standing there, bent forward. Behind him was Marie, with his arm in a lock. He looked like nothing so much as a terrified child, and I found it almost impossible to believe that this man – this pathetic wretch who Marie had rendered completely helpless – could be a killer, even a long-distance one.
‘You’ve no right to do this to me,’ Paul gasped.
‘No right!’ Marie said harshly. ‘You’re a fugitive from justice, sunshine. It’s you who doesn’t have any rights!’
‘If Marie releases you, do you promise not to try and make a break for it again?’ I asked.
Paul looked up at me with eyes which were filled with defeat. ‘What would be the point?’ he said. ‘I’ve nowhere left to run to.’
‘Why don’t you let him go?’ I suggested.
‘You come inside and close the door behind you first,’ Marie told me, manoeuvring Paul a little further back down the hallway.
Once I was in the passage, Marie let go of her captive’s arm. Paul reached up with his left hand and massaged his shoulder.
‘You hurt me!’ he complained.
‘It’s your own fault – you shouldn’t have struggled so mu
ch,’ Marie said indifferently.
‘Shall we go into the lounge?’ I asked.
‘If that’s what you want to call it,’ Paul said bitterly.
When he led us into the room, I saw exactly what he meant. Apart from a three-piece suite which must have been old when my grandfather started making furniture, the room was bare.
‘Welcome to my humble home,’ Paul said, the bitterness still very much in evidence in his voice. ‘How did you find me?’
‘How do you think we found you?’ Marie asked.
‘Did Hugh Morgan sell me out?’
‘Of course,’ Marie said. ‘And he did it without a second’s hesitation. He doesn’t give a toss about you. Nobody does. Nobody wants to help you either – except for us. And even our help is dependent on how cooperative you are.’
Paul sank heavily onto the sofa. A cloud of dust rose around him.
‘I suppose I should have expected it from Morgan,’ he said. ‘I had nothing left to give him. Perhaps I should have gone while I still had a little bit of money, but where would I have gone to?’
He looked tired, I thought – very, very tired. And much older than the last time I’d seen him.
‘Did you kill my brother?’ I asked.
He shook his head wearily. It was the gesture of a man who, having failed in his one brief dash for freedom, had finally given up hope and no longer cared what happened to him.
‘Say it!’ I demanded. ‘Tell me you didn’t kill my brother.’
‘I didn’t kill John. I didn’t kill any of them.’
‘Then who did?’
‘Lydia.’
‘You’re lying to me!’ I said angrily. ‘Maybe she was behind it all, but Lydia was in the Middleton Spa Hotel the night the car was tampered with. According to Chief Inspector Flint, she couldn’t have got out without being noticed. Besides, she called room service in the middle of the night like she’d done all the other nights she’d stayed there.’
Paul shook his head again. ‘She called them all the other nights, but that night it was me.’
‘You’re saying you could imitate her voice well enough to fool a woman who’d probably heard it 50 times before?’
‘No, I couldn’t,’ Paul agreed. ‘But I didn’t need to. She’d left a tape with two messages on it. I played the first one – ordering the coffee – over the phone. And I played the second one from the bathroom when room service arrived. Lydia said that was where she normally was when the coffee arrived, so it wouldn’t arouse any suspicion. And as for issuing orders and then not waiting for a reply, she’d been doing that all week. I tell you, she planned it all out very carefully.’
The Vital Chain Page 26