The Company

by Sally Spencer

  ‘It said on the what, madam?’

  Lydia shook her head. ‘Forget it.’

  ‘Ah, but, you see, I can’t just forget it,’ Flint told her. ‘What you were going to say was that on the news it said that a man had been killed in the explosion. And that’s quite true – a man was – but he wasn’t your brother-in-law.’ Flint’s voice hardened. ‘Why did you lie just now about having heard about it?’

  Lydia raked the fingers of her right hand through her hair.

  ‘I’m so confused,’ she said. ‘First you upset me by telling me Rob is dead, now you say he isn’t. If you ask me, you’re handling the whole situation very badly indeed.’

  ‘Nice recovery,’ Flint said admiringly. ‘But we both know that you’ve made a slip there’s no going back on.’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Lydia said.

  ‘Of course you haven’t,’ Flint said contemptuously. ‘Bombs are becoming a real problem these days, and that’s because there’s so much information available on how to build them that anyone with a bit of technological knowledge can put one together.’ He paused. ‘You have some knowledge of technology, don’t you, Mrs Conroy?’

  ‘Are you accusing me of planting a bomb?’ Lydia asked, outraged.

  ‘You had two committee meetings yesterday, and three today,’ Flint said. ‘You cancelled them all.’

  ‘Yes, I wasn’t feeling well.’

  ‘Sorry to hear that,’ Flint said. ‘The thing is, when I’m not feeling well, I go to bed. But not you, it seems. The neighbours have told us that on both days you left early in the morning and didn’t come back until the evening. Where did you go, Mrs Conroy?’

  ‘How dare you talk to my neighbours?’ Lydia demanded.

  ‘In case you’ve forgotten, I’m conducting an investigation into the death of your husband and the attempted murder of your brother-in-law, both of which I happen to think are more important than your social sensibilities,’ Flint growled. ‘So I’ll ask you again – where did you go, Mrs Conroy?’

  ‘Yesterday, I went to the Lake District,’ Lydia said, in a tone which was flat and almost emotionless.

  Flint sighed. He’d reached this stage in dozens of other cases and recognized it for exactly what it was – the point at which the suspect stops trying to pretend innocence, and instead challenges him to prove guilt.

  ‘And where did you go today?’ he asked.

  ‘Today I visited the Yorkshire Dales.’

  ‘Any particular reason for choosing those two places?’

  ‘Fresh air helps me to clear my head.’

  ‘I would have thought you’d get enough fresh air without even leaving the village,’ Flint said.

  ‘Then perhaps it was fresh scenery I was looking for.’

  ‘They’re both longish journeys, wouldn’t you say – at least a couple of hours in each direction?’

  ‘I suppose so, but I wasn’t looking at my watch.’

  ‘Still, when you’ve got a car as comfortable as the Volvo, you can pretty much drive for ever,’ Flint said. He paused. ‘Except you didn’t take the Volvo, did you? You took the little Renault that you normally use just as a run-around. Now why was that?’

  ‘It’s more economical,’ Lydia said.

  Flint made a show of looking round the room. ‘Yes, I can see you set great store on being economical,’ he said. ‘But I don’t think you did it to save money – I think you did it because the Renault is much less conspicuous than the Volvo would have been.’ He paused again. ‘Did you stop at any point to buy petrol?’

  ‘Why should that matter?’

  ‘Because if you stopped for fuel and if you paid for it with a credit card, then you’ll be able to prove that you actually were where you said you were.’

  ‘I bought some petrol at a service station on the M6, on my way up to the Lakes,’ Lydia said.

  ‘Or on your way up to central Lancashire – to the village you were brought up in.’

  ‘I hated the Darwen area,’ Lydia said. ‘I couldn’t wait to get away from it, and there’s no way I’d ever go back.’

  ‘I think you did go back,’ Flint told her. ‘I think you waited to see if Rob turned up, and when he did, you planted a bomb in the engine of his Granada.’

  ‘And I suppose you’re going to say that I also messed with the brakes on my husband’s car,’ Lydia said.

  Flint shook his head. ‘How could I? You’ve got a watertight alibi for the night before the crash.’

  Lydia smiled. ‘That’s right, I have, haven’t I? So are you going to arrest me for trying to kill my drippy brother-in-law?’

  ‘No,’ Flint said, ‘nor for actually killing the joyrider. 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 six-foot 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 where he was all along.’

  ‘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 ten thousand pounds 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 ten thousand pounds, I can buy a man who’ll take 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 Temple Meads 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.

  TWENTY-SIX

  When 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 halfway 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 Harper 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 Harper 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 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 Harper 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,’ Susan Harper 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 realized 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 Harper 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 halfway 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 sha
pe, 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.’ Susan Harper 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 Harper 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?’