The Wrong Kind of Clouds

by Amanda Fleet

  Kate held her hands up before he could continue. ‘I get the message. Perhaps that wasn’t the best word to use but as I said,’ she half spat the word, ‘he’s put all of that behind him now. And I really don’t see where your line of questioning is going.’

  LB leaned back and steepled his fingers. ‘Patrick Forrester has gone missing, Mrs Hampton. You had an affair with him. That information is splashed all over the papers, mere days before the elections in which you were to stand, causing you to resign. You phone him and threaten to kill him. Your husband was angry about your affair. Your husband’s brother-in-law is a convicted criminal who has served time for assault to severe injury, housebreaking with assault to severe injury… All things considered, you’re not in a very comfortable position.’

  She swallowed, paling visibly, and fiddled with her wedding ring.

  ‘Did you ever take drugs with Patrick Forrester?’ LB abruptly changed the line of questions.

  Watson choked.

  ‘I am not going to answer that!’ Kate’s eyes flashed.

  ‘Why not? It’s a straightforward question.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I thought you’d asked me in to help with finding Patrick. I don’t see how your question is at all relevant.’

  LB didn’t need her to reply—he’d seen the truth in her eyes. Ed had been right. He pressed again, anyway. ‘Mrs Hampton. Did you ever take drugs with Patrick Forrester?’

  ‘No. I did not.’

  Kate’s dander was up and LB looked deliberately at his notes. He knew she was lying. ‘Did you draw money out of the bank on Monday?’

  She took a sip of her tea and LB saw that her hands were shaking. ‘Yes. Yes, I did.’

  ‘How much did you withdraw?’

  ‘Five thousand pounds.’

  LB was silent for a moment, letting the amount settle between them.

  ‘That’s a lot of money, Mrs Hampton. Could you tell me what you withdrew it for?’

  Kate fiddled with the cup, twisting and turning it before answering. ‘I was going to give it to Patrick.’

  ‘Why was that? You’d called things off with him only the day before.’

  ‘I’d promised that I’d help him to pay off some debts.’

  LB held her gaze until she looked away. ‘What debts?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just know he was in trouble over money.’

  ‘And you felt you still had to give it to him, even though the two of you had broken up?’

  Kate didn’t answer.

  ‘Does your husband know that you withdrew this money?’

  ‘I withdrew it from my personal account. There is no need for Paul to know anything about it!’

  ‘Did Patrick threaten you?’

  She swallowed and picked up the half empty mug of tea, taking her time. ‘Yes,’ she said finally. ‘He threatened to expose our affair. I said that I’d help him to clear his debts if he didn’t. That was what the money was for.’

  ‘I see. That’s technically blackmail.’

  ‘I don’t see it that way. I just promised I’d help him clear some debts.’

  ‘And when were you going to give this money to Patrick?’

  ‘Tuesday afternoon. I arranged to meet him in a park near the office. I claimed I needed some air. He didn’t show up.’ She half laughed. ‘The money’s still in my bag. I haven’t had time to go to the bank yet.’

  LB scribbled something down, his brain racing. Did they have enough to hold her? He didn’t think so. DC Price wasn’t the only one with friends in high places. The chief was an old friend of Douglas Rae’s and would have her out before LB could draw breath.

  He glanced up. ‘May I summarise?’ He didn’t wait for a response. ‘You met Patrick Forrester in February when he was an adviser to a committee on which you were chair. You became friendly and this friendship developed into an affair. Someone, possibly Mr Forrester, told your husband about the affair. Your husband was angry and upset. You ended it with Mr Forrester at the weekend and you haven’t seen him since then, although on Sunday, the day you two ended, you phoned him and left an imprudent message on his answerphone. However, you cannot now recall what he had done to upset you so much.’ He glanced up with a wry smile, one brow cocked. ‘Mr Forrester had threatened to expose your affair and you decided to clear his debts in exchange for his silence. You had arranged to give him five thousand pounds on Tuesday but he did not keep the appointment.’

  Kate nodded, looking furious.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Hampton.’

  ‘May I go now?’

  ‘Not just yet. If you could be patient for just a little longer? One of the constables can get you another tea if you would like?’

  Kate nodded grimly. ‘Another tea would be nice. Thank you.’

  LB gathered his notes together, scraped his chair back and waited for Watson to lead the way out of the room. He shut the door behind them with a click. A constable came up and told Watson that Paul Hampton had now arrived and was waiting in Interview Room Three. Watson nodded and turned to LB.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think that Mrs Hampton is being economical with the truth at times and at others, she’s an outright liar. Shall we see what Paul has to say for himself?’

  ***

  Where Kate Hampton had been the epitome of self-control, Paul Hampton was raging. As LB sat down in the chair opposite him and started to organise his notes, Paul slammed his hands on the table.

  ‘I’d like to know why you’ve asked me in for questioning.’

  LB glanced at Watson. That wasn’t the phrase used when they’d invited him to help them with their inquiries.

  ‘I know nothing about Patrick Forrester going missing!’ Paul added, his face pinched and his eyes stormy.

  ‘Please relax, Mr Hampton. We’d just like you to help us with our investigation at this stage.’

  Paul’s eyes flashed at the end of the sentence and LB wondered if he’d pushed it too far. He sorted through his notes, listening to Paul’s breathing, trying to judge when he’d calmed.

  ‘Now, Mr Hampton, I appreciate this is a delicate matter, but we know that your wife was having an affair with Patrick Forrester. Could you tell us how and when you found out about it?’

  ‘I got a letter telling me about it.’

  ‘Who was the letter from?’

  ‘It was anonymous, but it was from Forrester.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘The tone of it. The phrasing of it.’

  LB nodded slowly. ‘So you know Patrick Forrester then?’

  ‘No. What I meant was, it said “I am having an affair with your wife”. That sort of phrasing.’

  ‘I see. And do you still have the letter?’

  ‘No. I burned it. It’s not the sort of thing you keep as a memento, is it?’

  His lip curled on the words. LB acknowledged the point silently.

  ‘When did you receive this letter?’

  ‘On Saturday.’

  ‘In the post? Hand delivered?’

  ‘In the post. At home.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘Then? Well, then I asked Kate if it was true and she said it was. Confessed all.’

  His voice caught as he spoke and LB looked steadily at him. Despite his bluster, Paul Hampton looked like a man who’d had the stuffing knocked out of him. Bad enough that your wife cheats on you, but with a man so much younger and everything so public? No wonder he was hurt and angry.

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘Saturday night. We had a big fight. As you might imagine.’

  Paul shifted in his seat, tapping his foot and screwing up his lips, his shoulders hunched. LB smiled sympathetically, as if he understood this man’s pain entirely.

  ‘Quite. But you say you don’t know Patrick Forrester. You never spoke to him?’

  ‘No.’

  The response shot back clean and true.

  ‘Have you ever called him? Left a message?’

  Pau
l hesitated and LB waited. When the silence became embarrassing, he added, ‘Threatened him?’

  LB could feel the looks from Watson slamming into him but he kept his focus on the man opposite. Paul was still floundering.

  ‘Mr Hampton?’ LB prompted, an edge creeping into his voice.

  ‘Er. I may have made a rash call that night. It was an empty threat. I was just upset and drunk.’

  ‘I see. And have you ever spoken to your brother-in-law, Bruce Macdonald, about how upset you were about the affair? While drunk, upset or otherwise?’

  Paul didn’t answer. LB prompted him.

  ‘Er, no,’ Paul stammered out eventually.

  ‘Mr Hampton, we’re only talking about the last six days. Why so unsure?’

  ‘I haven’t talked to Bruce but I might have talked to Kirsty about it. My sister.’

  ‘Might? Did you, or didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I did.’

  ‘And what was your emotional state when you spoke to her? Angry? Upset?’

  ‘Er, both. With Kate. Angry and upset with Kate.’

  He was on the back foot and LB kept pressing forward. ‘And how did Kirsty react?’

  ‘Um. Well…’ His gaze shot up to the left before meeting LB’s eye again. ‘She was upset for me. Naturally.’

  ‘When did you call her?’

  ‘Sunday.’

  LB looked across at Watson. ‘Perhaps you could get someone to call Mrs Macdonald to check that?’

  Watson looked surprised but nodded. LB watched as Paul rubbed his fingertips together and shifted in his chair.

  ‘Do you think your sister would have talked to her husband?’

  ‘I can’t answer for what my sister may or may not do. But I see what you’re driving at. Bruce is no thug these days. He’s a reformed character. I’d like to think that he might be upset on my behalf to hear about my wife’s infidelity but I doubt very much that he would do any more than shout about it.’

  LB stared at him until he was almost squirming. ‘Was Patrick Forrester blackmailing your wife over their affair?’

  ‘Not that I know.’ The colour leached from Paul’s cheeks. ‘Why? Was he?’

  LB didn’t answer. He glanced down at his notes, letting the question hang.

  ‘So, on Saturday you received a letter which you believe to have been from Patrick Forrester, although it wasn’t signed, outlining the fact he was having an affair with your wife. You confront your wife about this, you argue, you are both upset and you are angry. You also have a few drinks. Whilst angry, upset and drunk, you make a rash phone call to Patrick Forrester, threatening him? Am I right so far?’

  Paul’s jaw tightened and he nodded.

  ‘You then made a call to your sister the following night, to tell her what had happened?’

  Again, a faint nod.

  ‘But you didn’t speak to your brother-in-law either then, or at any other time, about Mr Forrester? And you have no knowledge of where Mr Forrester is now?’

  ‘None whatsoever. May I go now? I’ve told you all I know.’

  ‘Did you draw money out of the bank on Monday?’

  Paul’s jaw snapped shut. LB waited but Paul remained tight-lipped.

  ‘It’s only Friday, Mr Hampton. Did you draw several thousand pounds out of your account on Monday? Surely you can remember whether you did such a thing?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yes, you can remember, or yes you did withdraw a large sum of money?’

  ‘Yes, I did take some money out.’

  ‘For what purpose?’

  ‘Something private.’

  ‘You need to elaborate, Mr Hampton.’

  ‘It’s a private matter. I don’t care to divulge the details.’

  ‘Mr Hampton, forgive me for being blunt. Your wife was having an affair. You found out about it and argued with her. You threatened the man in question. You drew a lot of money out of the bank on Monday and now the man is missing. You don’t have the luxury of not caring to divulge what the money was for.’

  ‘It’s for my sister,’ said Paul suddenly. ‘She needed the money. For a very personal health reason. I won’t say any more.’

  LB stared at him. That would take days to check out, time they didn’t have. ‘What’s the money for, Mr Hampton?’

  ‘It’s for my sister and a very personal matter. It has nothing to do with Patrick Forrester.’

  ‘I think you’d be better off telling us. At the moment, it looks like the money is to make Patrick Forrester disappear.’

  ‘Well it’s not. It’s not for me to tell you. Ask Kirsty. Though she’ll tell you it’s none of your damn business!’

  LB flexed his knuckles, making them crack. He could ask a thousand times and Paul would say the same thing. Or lawyer-up.

  ‘May I go now?’ Paul’s anger was returning.

  ‘We’ll just check that call to Mrs Macdonald. If you could be patient with us for a little longer?’

  LB gathered his notes abruptly, signalling to Watson to get up. Watson scrambled to his feet and accompanied LB out of the room.

  ‘Get Kirsty Macdonald’s number. I don’t believe he’s telling us everything.’

  LB waited while Andy Watson got the number. Watson made the call, putting it on speaker.

  ‘Mrs Macdonald? DI Andy Watson from Police Scotland here. Could I speak to you for a moment?’

  ‘Bruce has gone straight.’

  ‘It’s not about your husband. Could you confirm whether your brother called you in the last week?’

  ‘Paul? Yes. On Sunday. He wanted to speak to…’

  She broke off. LB heard a faint beep on the other end of the line and cursed himself. Paul was surely texting her.

  ‘Er…’ she hesitated. ‘He wanted to speak to me about Kate.’

  ‘And how was he?’

  ‘Well, upset and angry. As you might imagine.’

  ‘And did he speak to your husband?’

  ‘No,’ she said abruptly.

  ‘And did Paul give you money this week?’

  Pause.

  ‘What if he did? What business is that of yours? It was for something very private.’

  LB swiped his finger across his neck, looking at Watson and shaking his head.

  ‘Well, thank you for your time, Mrs Macdonald.’ Watson ended the call and looked at LB.

  ‘He fucking texted her, didn’t he?’

  LB nodded, his jaw clenching. ‘Did your desk sergeant not get the contents of his pockets?’

  ‘He was only in for questioning,’ retorted Watson. ‘Not detained or under arrest. Jesus. We have fuck all on either of them. It stinks, but we have fuck all.’

  ‘For form’s sake, shall we ask them where they were between ten and twelve on Tuesday?’ said LB, wearily. ‘Though I doubt that if they are behind it, they were the ones getting their hands dirty.’

  They returned to Interview Room Three. Paul was leaning back, smug and at ease. He smiled brightly when the two detectives arrived.

  ‘So? Did Kirsty confirm things?’ he said.

  LB smiled brightly back. ‘Yes, she did, Mr Hampton. Yes, she did.’

  He was tempted to ask for Paul’s phone but knew the text would have been wiped the moment it was sent.

  ‘Could you just tell us where you were each day this week, please?’

  Paul visibly relaxed. ‘Certainly. On Monday, I was running a training course with some of our junior staff that took all day. I popped to the bank in a break. On Tuesday, I was in a meeting with at least six other people in the morning and in my office all afternoon. On Wednesday, I was meeting with clients all day. On Thursday, I was in my office all day, as I was this morning, apart from between eleven and two when I was meeting a client and having lunch with them. I came here straight afterwards. You can check all of this with my secretary, if you want? She’ll be able to give you all the contact details.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Paul slid a business card out of his wallet
and handed it over.

  ‘That number will get straight through to her. Do you want me to wait here until you’ve contacted her?’

  Both LB and Watson knew that his alibi was tight but Watson decided to go through the motions anyway. Once the confirmations came back, the two left Paul in the interview room and returned to see his wife.

  ‘So sorry to be keeping you so long, Mrs Hampton.’ LB sat down. ‘Just one last thing. Can you tell me where you were each day this week, please?’

  Kate Hampton’s list was as depressingly watertight as her husband’s—at least half of it had been broadcast on the local news each night as part of the election coverage. LB smiled and folded his notes together. He and Watson returned to Watson’s office.

  ‘Have we got enough to hold them on?’ LB asked.

  Before Watson could answer, his phone rang. He answered it, his eyes narrowing before he hung up. ‘Their lawyer’s here.’

  LB clicked his tongue. Watson’s phone rang again. He picked it up. ‘Yes, sir… yes, sir.’ The call ended, Watson’s shoulders slumped as he replaced the receiver in its cradle.

  ‘Let them go?’ said LB, brows raised.

  Watson nodded grumpily. ‘Yep. Not enough to hold them on. Alibis are watertight; sister will say anything Paul fucking wants her to. She’s married to Bruce fucking Macdonald—she’s had plenty of training in that department!’

  ‘Then let them go and let’s try and break the corroboration?’

  ‘Kirsty won’t serve him up in a month of Sundays.’

  LB shook his head, suddenly exhausted. ‘Any chance of surveillance?’

  ‘Fuck off.’

  LB shrugged. They stood in the hall together and watched Paul leave, moments after Kate had exited. Andy Watson folded his arms, also staring after Paul.

  ‘There’s something not right there. Not right at all. But we have nothing. I don’t imagine there’ll be anything back from the flat. Your bird has fucked up any chance of finding anything.’

  ‘My bird?’ LB swung round to face him. ‘Do you by chance mean Ms Morris?’

  Watson didn’t respond, just narrowed his eyes and jutted his chin out.