Текст книги "Fear of Drowning"

Автор книги: Peter Turnbull

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 11 страниц)

Saturday

…in which Nicola Williams catches the last bus and Chief Inspector Hennessey comes across a date which has personal significance.

‘It’s not on, Hennessey, it’s just not on. It’s your neck, not mine. The Chief Constable wants a reply, so what do I tell him?’

‘Excuse me, sir.’ Hennessey stood in front of the man’s desk. ‘But I was not harassing him. Yellich went to his house and spoke to his wife.’

‘That’s not what Mr Richardson’s solicitor has told the CC. If you’re harassing anybody it weakens the case, you know that, apart from it being unlawful. What have you got on Richardson, anyway?’

‘Quite a lot. Motive, possible implication with an earlier murder with a similar MO. I’ve made a case with less.’

‘And he’s in the cells now?’

‘Yes, sir. As is Sheringham, who for my money is the prime suspect, but I’m not dismissing Richardson.’

Commander Sharkey reclined in his seat. A framed photograph on the wall showed Sharkey in an army officer’s uniform, a second showed him in the uniform of an officer in the Royal Hong Kong Police, now he was a commander in the City of York Police. He’d done well for a man in his forties, younger than Hennessey, and Hennessey couldn’t take that from him.

‘Sheringham, you see, is a smug piece of work but frightened of his wife, and he has motivation to murder both Mr and Mrs Williams.’

‘He has?’

‘They were both going to blow a whistle on him. Max Williams was involved in a drug scam, he was funding a huge purchase of anabolic steroids and seemed to be getting cold feet and may have been about to turn Queen’s evidence against Sheringham. Mrs Williams was threatening to expose his marital infidelity. That’s motivation enough. The other point is that they are both known to each other, they work out at Sheringham’s Gym and are known to be drinking partners.’

‘A conspiracy, you think?’

‘I wouldn’t rule it out, sir. And apart from them both having a motivation to murder Max Williams, they are both very strong, very fit men, quite capable of digging the shallow grave within the hours of darkness. In fact, they’d make short shrift of it. Very short shrift, despite the fact that the soil is baked hard and would be as solid as if it were frozen.’

‘But you’re still lacking the vital link in the evidential chain, are you not?’

‘We’ve still to quiz both of them again, sir. But yes, the vital link is missing, which is why we haven’t charged them.’

‘Why the call on Mrs Richardson in the first place?’

‘Just to take a measure of the lady, and also following up a point made by Sergeant Yellich who felt that the sanitizing of the crime scene had a woman’s touch about it.’

Sharkey raised an eyebrow.

‘Look, sir, we’re trying to solve a murder here. No, we’re not, we’re trying to solve a double murder and I for one have no time for political correctness at a time like this. Especially as there is such a thing as a woman’s touch, more care, more attention to detail, and, as Yellich said, Williams has ruined Mrs Richardson’s livelihood too.’

‘Alibi, for her?’

‘None. Neither she nor her husband nor Sheringham have an alibi for the time of the murder, nor for the time of the likely disposal of the bodies.’

‘All right, George, that gives me something to tell the< CC.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘This is a high-profile case, George. The CC wants a result.’

‘Understood, sir.’

‘But a safe result. A secure conviction. So please proceed with caution.’

Hennessey knew he was getting old when constables looked young, but this was ridiculous. A schoolgirl, a child…still slight and frail of build, still awkward, yet she was a Mrs, a married woman. She had rings on her finger which said so and she was a solicitor. Monica Have. She announced herself to the room for the purposes of the tape recording as Monica Have of the firm Have and…

Hold, thought Hennessey, or perhaps Have-not.

But the woman said, ‘Scarborough, of York.’

Hennessey wrote ‘Have and Scarborough, solicitors, York’ on his pad.

Yellich said, ‘I am Detective Sergeant Yellich, City of York Police.’

‘Mr Richardson…’ prompted Hennessey. ‘For the tape.’

‘Michael Richardson,’ he said resentfully.

‘Right, Mr Richardson. You knew Mr Max Williams?’

Hennessey asked the questions, Yellich observed acutely.

‘Yes.’

‘In what capacity?’

‘He engaged me to build a house for him.’

‘For which he couldn’t pay you?’

‘Yes. As I said.’

‘Just to get the story straight, you didn’t ask for money upfront, nor for an agreed sum to be lodged with a firm of solicitors to be released upon satisfactory completion of the work, because you believed that he had the money.’

‘Yes. Stupid, to be sure, but yes.’

‘He had a reputation in the Vale for being a soft touch for a lot of money, is that correct?’

‘Yes. He came on the scene recently, a year or two ago, but his reputation got round the business community.’ Richardson spoke freely but Hennessey was acutely aware that the man was not giving anything away.

‘He’s ruined your business?’

‘Looks like it. The housing market is depressed at the moment, couldn’t sell that house easily anyway, too fancy for North-country tastes at the best of times. If I sold it at all, I’d have to let it go cheap. Would recover the materials and labour costs. I’ve got crews to pay, the bank won’t lend enough to see me through.’

‘A lifetime’s work down the tubes.’

‘Aye…’

‘Make anyone want to kill, wouldn’t it?’

‘Would it?’

Monica Have didn’t give any emotion but, thought Hennessey, she was clearly, utterly focused, listening to every word.

‘Well, wouldn’t it? You have a motivation, a strong one.’

‘Yes…’ Richardson nodded. ‘Yes, I confess…’

‘Careful!’ Monica Have glanced at him.

‘I confess,’ repeated Richardson. ‘I confess that I felt like killing him, I confess that I am not unhappy that someone has done so, except that now I have no chance at all of recovering my debt.’

‘It weakens the motivation,’ Monica Have said to Hennessey.

‘I would point out that my client does not have the motivation you claim he has.’

‘Mrs Have.’ Hennessey leaned forward. ‘I would point out that your purpose is to ensure that the procedures as dictated by the Police and Criminal Evidence Act are observed. You are not here to advocate on the part of your client.’

‘Accepted.’ Monica Have inclined her head.

‘But she’s right,’ Richardson smiled. ‘I don’t have the motive you claim.’

‘Only once you’ve calmed down. Hot-headed, though, are you not? An Irishman with the traditional fiery Celtic blood. You were seen and heard to threaten to kill Max Williams whilst holding a two-foot-long length of scaffolding, which our forensic pathologist said could have caused the injuries.’

‘Could have?’ Monica Have looked at Hennessey. ‘It’s an important point. If you can say would have, you would be in a stronger legal position. So would or could?’

‘Could,’ Hennessey conceded.

‘You see,’—Monica Have spoke softly yet with an authority Hennessey found annoying in one so young—‘for this interview to proceed, you have to be on stronger, firmer grounds. Motivation has evaporated, you haven’t got a murder weapon’

‘And I have to say that once again you are straying into the area of advocacy, Mrs Have.’ Hennessey spoke equally softly.

Monica Have made a slow, slicing movement through the air with an open palm. ‘Well, let’s see how far we get.’

‘We’ll leave the issue of the murder weapon on one side then. And frankly, as to the motivation, it isn’t really an issue if the perpetrator acts in a fit of rage, then tries to cover his misdeed.’

‘I didn’t kill them.’

‘You know Tim Sheringham?’

‘Are you asking my client or telling him?’ Monica Have eyed Hennessey with a gimlet-like gaze.

Hennessey paused. ‘Do you know Tim Sheringham, he of Sheringham’s Gym?’

‘Aye, I do.’

‘Well?’

‘We have a beer occasionally. Nothing more than that.’

‘Sure?’

‘Sure.’

‘Do you use anabolic steroids to build your body?’

‘No. I don’t need to.’

‘Tim Sheringham’s in the frame for this as well.’

‘This?’ Monica Have said, without looking at anybody.

‘The double murder of Mr and Mrs Williams.’

‘Thank you, Chief Inspector.’

‘Tim Sheringham’s in the frame for the double murder of Mr and Mrs Williams as well as you, Mr Richardson.’

‘So go and give him a hard time.’

‘You both have motive, you both know each other, you’re both strong men, well able to dig the grave in which the bodies were found in the time you had to dig it in, and neither of you have an alibi.’

‘So?’

‘And the house, the murder scene was cleaned thoroughly, painstakingly. As if by a woman.’

Richardson’s eyes narrowed. ‘What are you saying?’

‘What I’m saying, Mr Richardson, is that with your anger towards Williams, and with Tim Sheringham’s double motivation which you may or may not be fully aware of, fuelled with a little alcohol, feeding and reinforcing each other, you visited the Williamses’ house, where you battered them to death, and later, the following night, you buried their bodies in a field, close to their house. Didn’t you?’

‘No.’

‘Then you got your wife to clean up the mess.’

‘No!’ Richardson stood up. Yellich did the same ‘You leave my wife out of this.’

‘Out of what?’

‘This!’ Richardson sank back into his chair. ‘My life is ruined, without this. I don’t need to make it worse by serving life for murder. I don’t want my wife’s life ruined. She’s done nothing to deserve this.’

‘But you have. Is that what you’re saying?’

‘No. No, I haven’t.’

‘Chief Inspector.’ Monica Have spoke slowly. ‘I have to insist that now you either charge my client with the double murder of Mr and Mrs Williams, or you discharge him from custody pending further enquiries. You have no evidence on which to hold him, and in the absence of a confession, I have to say that your only option is that of the latter.’

Hennessey sat back in his chair, glanced at Yellich, who raised his eyebrows. He then said, ‘This interview is terminated at…10.45 a.m.’ He switched off the tape recorder.

The red recording light faded. He took one of the cassettes and placed it in the case and handed it to Monica Have.

Bravado.

Smug. Well turned out, muscular, handsome, smiling, holding eye contact, but inside, Hennessey knew, inside Tim Sheringham was shaking like a leaf.

The twin spools of the tape recorder spun slowly. The duty solicitor turned to Hennessey as if to say, ‘A pause is a pause but this has gone on too long.’

Hennessey, undeterred by whatever the duty solicitor might think, had to concede that Sheringham was bearing up well, standing up to questioning, hard questioning, very well. Very well indeed. He’d been here before, he knew the value of not saying anything he didn’t have to say.

‘You murdered Max Williams because he was pulling out of a drug deal he was financing, and threatening to inform on you.’

‘Did I?’

‘Didn’t you?’

‘No.’

Another pause. Beside him, Hennessey felt Yellich stiffen and then relax.

‘Mr McCarty informs me otherwise.’

‘Mr who?’

‘Mr McCarty. Sergeant McCarty, Drug Squad.’

‘Oh yes…’ Sheringham smiled. ‘I remember him now.’

‘I bet you do,’ Hennessey growled, fighting back a growing dislike for Sheringham. ‘Have quite a motivation, have you not?’

‘Have I? Not?’

The duty solicitor, a small, bespectacled man who had given his name as Fee, and who Hennessey had not met before, glanced at Hennessey but said nothing.

‘You were having an affair with Mrs Williams, she threatened to inform your wife of that and she had photographs that compromised you. And he, well, he had information which could jail you and he was going to spill, he’d already been interviewed by the Drug Squad, and he was going to go along with a sting operation and you found out, or you suspected, and so you bumped them off.’

‘Could you be more specific, please?’ asked Fee.

‘So you murdered them. Two birds with one stone.’

‘Did I?’

‘Didn’t you?’

‘No.’

‘Then you cleaned the mess up, but not well enough, didn’t get little specks of blood up from under the carpet.’

Sheringham remained silent. Smiling.

‘Then you put them in a shallow grave.’

‘Did I?’

‘Didn’t you?’

‘No. In fact, no, I didn’t.’

‘But you benefited from their murder.’

‘Well, yes.’ Sheringham pursed his lips. ‘Yes, I have. My marriage may well survive now, for one.’

‘And for two, Mr McCarty of the Drug Squad won’t be obtaining the major conviction he was anticipating.’

‘No comment.’

‘You know with that anabolic steroid stunt you seem to have skated on very thin ice and got away with it.’

Sheringham raised his eyebrows.

‘But murder. Double murder is a different matter. Not so easy to wriggle out of this one, especially because we can link you with both victims. Not only that, but we can link you with a motivation to murder both victims.’ Sheringham shrugged.

‘Tell me about your relationship with Michael Richardson.’

‘He’s a mate. Not close. Met at the gym. We have a beer together once or twice a month.’

‘That’s all?’

‘That’s all.’

‘You see, he had a grudge against Williams.’

‘I know. He told me. But it was his fault, he should have had money lodged with a solicitor, but he thought Williams’s reputation as a man with a bottomless money bag was safe enough. He won’t make that mistake again.’

‘Two of you together, you with a strong motivation to murder both Mr and Mrs Williams and he with a grudge.

After a few pints, feeding into each other…then you took turns to do the digging of the grave…two strong blokes, easy work Sheringham shook his head whilst smiling in a classically patronizing gesture which Hennessey felt was calculated to provoke him into violence. He was forced to concede that Sheringham’s ploy very nearly worked. He counted slowly and silently to ten. ‘Then,’ he said, ‘Mrs Richardson cleaned up.’

Sheringham remained silent.

‘She’s a lazy woman.’

‘Who?’

‘Michael Richardson’s wife. I’ve never been in her home, but Mick’s forever complaining about it, fag ash everywhere. I tell you, if I did want someone to clean up after a murder, it wouldn’t be Mrs Richardson.’

Hennessey glanced at Yellich, who nodded.

‘You see,’ Sheringham smiled. ‘You can’t make a case, because there is no case to make. Yes, all right, I have benefited from the murder, hers anyway, it’s a neat and an unexpected solution, but that doesn’t mean to say I murdered them. I didn’t.’

‘Chief Inspector Hennessey.’ Fee spoke slowly. ‘I have to move that you now either charge my client or release him from custody pending further enquiries.’

A pause.

The twin spools spun.

Reluctantly, very reluctantly, Hennessey said, ‘This interview is concluded at eleven-fifty-five a.m.’ He switched the machine off and the red light faded.

Hennessey left the interview room and walked down the corridor towards his office and then stopped in his tracks, as if he had received a blow to the stomach. He remained motionless. Then he recommenced walking.

He walked past his office.

He walked out of the building.

He walked the walls. Twice. But took no notice of the ancient city.

He returned to Micklegate Bar Police Station.

He went to Sergeant Yellich’s office. Yellich was sitting at his desk. Hennessey stood in front of the desk and said, ‘We’ve been looking in the wrong direction.’

‘Sir?’

‘We were right, there is a conspiracy.’ He sat in the chair, folded into it, it seemed to Yellich. ‘And you were right, there is a woman’s hand in this. But it’s not the Richardsons and Sheringham.’

‘No, sir?’

‘No. Let me get this right in my own head. Ten years ago Marcus Williams died, drowned in his bath. The coroner thought it might have been suicide, hence the open verdict. A young man was seen in the vicinity of the house at the time of his death, that same young man was a mourner at the funeral, when he wore the uniform of a naval officer.’

‘Could only have been Rufus Williams.’

‘That’s my thinking. But Marcus Williams wouldn’t allow anybody near him unless he knew them.’

‘He also had a pack of very solemn dogs to protect him.’

‘Hence Rufus calling on him and getting to know the dogs, getting them to recognize and trust him.’

‘How did he get through the gates, boss? They’d be locked.’

‘What are the walls of the grounds like?’

‘About as high as this room, covered in ivy.’

‘Even I, at my venerable age, could clamber over that, Yellich.’

‘Yes, boss.’

‘So that’s how he got in. Keeps the dogs outside. Goes into the house…he’s a big guy, strong guy, separates himself from the dogs…there’s a dog flap in the front door, isn’t there?’

‘Yes, boss, easy to jam shut with something though.’

‘Oh my…the thought of what happened next…picks his uncle up, carries him upstairs under his arm…removes his clothes without tearing them ‘Like undressing a child.’

‘Forces the taps on. They haven’t been used for years, but he has the strength to free them off. Immerses his uncle and sits on him until he drowns, but makes sure there’s no bruising. Holds him, but not tightly enough to cause injury…then leaves him to be discovered, and he did that because he didn’t know about Marcus Williams’s fear of drowning.’

‘That’s a very solemn level of premeditation there, boss, very solemn.’

‘Isn’t it? But what’s the motivation, why kill an uncle who has been a source of warmth, when your father has been a source of coldness?’

‘Nowt so queer as folk, boss.’

‘Which in this case is not the answer, Yellich. What would you kill for, Yellich?’

‘Passion, boss. I don’t like to admit it, but I think I could kill for passion, not so much me, but if anyone harmed Sarah or Jeremy, I could kill ‘That makes you a human being, Yellich. But ponder Rufus Williams, what could motivate him to clamber the walls of Oakfield House, pat the Dobermans on the head as they bound up to him with their little tails wagging, then, leaving the dogs outside, go into the house, and to wherever his uncle is and say, “Hello, little man, I’m here to kill you.” If passion wasn’t the motive, what was?’

‘Greed. Lust for filthy lucre.’

‘Has to be, doesn’t it? Either out of greed, or fear of poverty, if they are not in fact the same thing. Nicola Williams told me that her brother often used the phrase “drowning in poverty”, or specifically fear of same.’

‘I can see an obstacle, boss. An obstruction in sequence of logic’

‘Go on.’

‘How could he know what his uncle was worth? How did he know the uncle would name his brother, the uncle’s brother, Rufus’s father, as main beneficiary?’

‘I don’t know and I don’t know. At the end of the day it may be that his fear of drowning in poverty made him think the gamble was worth taking. The gamble being that his uncle was worth enough to murder for, and the gamble that his uncle either had left no will at all, or had named Max Williams, his brother, as main beneficiary in his will; either way, Max Williams would benefit. And if Max Williams benefited, so did Rufus and Nicola. Put them in direct line of inheritance and maybe an earlier access to it, which is how it turned out because both Rufus and Nicola enjoyed a stipend from daddy to supplement their salaries.’

‘He just took the risk that Marcus Williams hadn’t left a will naming a cats’ home as the sole beneficiary. Yes, I can see that.’ Yellich paused. ‘But that doesn’t explain what happened at the family bungalow last Saturday night. Suppose only he can tell us that. Shall we bring him in, boss? Time for a quiz session?’

Hennessey paused. ‘No…’ he said. ‘No, bring his sister in. She’ll be at his rented cottage doing his packing for him. She can tell us what happened at the bungalow, and not only can, but I’ve an old copper’s feeling that she will tell us.’

Nicola Williams trembled with fear, she looked pale, wide eyed, on the verge of tears.

Hennessey switched on the tape-recording machine, the twin spools spun, the red recording light glowed. Hennessey said, ‘The date is Saturday, the thirteenth of June…’ He paused. ‘The thirteenth of June…the time is two p.m. The place is Micklegate Bar Police Station in the City of York. I am Chief Inspector Hennessey. I am now going to ask the other people present in the room to identify themselves.’

‘Detective Sergeant Yellich.’

‘Nicola Williams.’

‘Miss Williams, can you confirm that you are here of your own volition?’

‘I have not been arrested, if that’s what you mean.’

‘Do you wish a solicitor to be present?’

‘No.’

Hennessey paused; he didn’t know how to approach Miss Williams. He felt he could work his way round the edges in ever diminishing circles and, by that means, get to the heart of the matter, or he could cut the Gordian knot. He felt both Yellich and Nicola Williams waiting his gambit. He decided on the latter option, risky as it was, he would cut the knot. ‘Miss Williams, I have been hearing a lot about drowning lately. I have to tell you that you too are in danger of drowning.’

‘I am?’

‘Yes. You are in danger of drowning in criminality. I can throw you a lifeline, it’s up to you to decide to catch it or not. You are standing on the side of the road, a vehicle is approaching you, it is a bus, but it is more than that, it is the last bus. You can catch it or let it go past you. The lifeline, the last bus, you have this one opportunity to help yourself. If you don’t take this opportunity you start to work against yourself. If you’re frightened of drowning, I suggest that you help yourself. I was talking to a barrister the other day who told me that it’s always best to play with a straight bat.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘What I mean is that we will be reopening the investigation into your uncle’s death. We now believe he was murdered by your brother. By doing so, he made your father wealthier by six million pounds, more when Oakfield House was sold. That made you and your brother stand to inherit the money in the fullness of time, in the interim you could access it to featherbed your lifestyle.’

‘You’ve done your homework.’

‘So you’re catching the last bus?’

‘What else can I do?’ She sighed and looked at the floor.

A tension left the small room.

‘Not a great deal.’ Hennessey spoke softly after a pause to allow Nicola Williams’s reply to register. ‘In fact, any other strategy will only worm you into a hole you’ll never get out of. Don’t drown, stay as near the surface as possible.’

‘The straight bat?’

‘The straight bat. What did you know of your uncle’s murder?’

‘Nothing for ten years, until a week ago this evening. I thought that Uncle Marcus had drowned in the bath.’

‘What happened last Saturday night?’

‘Rufus killed Mummy and Daddy.’

Another pause. ‘I’m pleased for you, and I’m pleased for myself that you’re taking this stance, but here I have to caution you…’

‘I don’t want to be cautioned…I’m in a state of shock…I still want to wake up. The only way I can come to terms with what has happened is to tell you…you see, it was at the meal at the Mill that we learned the truth…that we were broke…we had nothing…Daddy just laughed at it. He was a strange man, obsessed with petty things, everything in the home had to be “just so”, but big issues, the important things in life, just didn’t reach him. Anyway, we left the Mill, Rufus had gone into a cold fury…we drove home. I drove. Mummy was crying, Daddy was singing, Rufus was staring straight ahead, not even blinking…’

‘Rufus could kill your uncle so as to put your uncle’s fortune into the hands of your father but he couldn’t control your father’s spending of it.’

Nicola Williams wiped her eyes. ‘If you’re used to having money then poverty hides a real fear…it would be bad enough if Daddy had lost his money…but what Rufus couldn’t handle was that he’d murdered for that money…then Daddy had squandered it. He’d murdered for nothing.’

‘Poor Rufus,’ growled Yellich. Hennessey glared at him.

‘That money, properly invested…’ Nicola Williams took deep breaths…‘What we could have had if only Uncle Marcus had drowned, if only Daddy had just an ounce of Uncle Marcus’s business sense…if only…’ She forced a smile. ‘That’s going to be the hallmark of the rest of my life…if only. This time last week, it didn’t matter that I was a low-grade civil servant in my thirties, because Daddy’s money paid the rent and bought my clothes and kept my car on the road…now all I’ve got is my salary.’

‘You may not even have that.’

She shot a glance at him.

‘Depending on what happened at the bungalow last Saturday night, you may be an accessory to murder. If that’s the case, that’s your job down the tubes; even if you escape prison, you’ll be drawing Social Security.’

She drew breath sharply. ‘You said you were allowing me to catch the last bus.’

‘I am. That doesn’t mean to say you’ll escape prosecution.’

Nicola Williams clenched her jaw. ‘I want immunity from prosecution in return for a complete statement implicating my brother.’

‘You and your brother have the same ruthless streak, don’t you?’

‘Same tyrannical father, same weak mother who failed to protect, you have to become ruthless to survive. Maybe Daddy killed his brother in a sense, Rufus was just the murder weapon…I think I’ll be chewing that one over for some time to come.’

‘No deal about the immunity request.’

‘Oh, I think there will be…I mean, I have a loyalty to my brother, but I have a loyalty to my parents, I have a loyalty to my uncle and I have a loyalty to myself. But like every other human being, I can only serve one master. Other masters have to fend for themselves.’ She sat back in the chair, recovering composure, recovering confidence. ‘I have not yet told you what happened at the bungalow.’

‘I can guess.’

‘I’m sure you can, Chief Inspector, but you can’t walk into York Crown Court asking what you guess to be used as evidence, can you? Rufus won’t be spilling any beans.’

She held eye contact with Hennessey, then Yellich, then Hennessey again. ‘You’ve got no hard evidence at all, have you? Nothing at all. But I can make and sign a statement that will enable you to clear up three murders. That will look good on your service record, and it’ll be good for the statistics of this police force. So how about it?’

‘I can’t say yea or nay. The Crown Prosecution Service will have to pronounce on the issue of immunity from prosecution in return for Queen’s evidence.’ Hennessey spoke sourly. He knew she was right. He also knew she’d get her immunity. ‘I have to give them a measure of your evidence, it’s a question of letting the dog see the rabbit.’

‘Turn your play thing off and I’ll tell you.’

Hennessey said, ‘The interview is terminated at two-thirty four p.m.’ He switched off the machine, the red light faded.

‘Well…’ Nicola Williams smiled. ‘We got back to the bungalow…Rufus disappeared and returned with a long piece of metal, a car jack handle from the garage…he killed Mummy first…brought it straight down on her head…I think he did that so she’d never know the story about Uncle Marcus. It all happened quickly…then he turned on Daddy…really angry…told Daddy how he’d murdered Uncle Marcus…how he’d planned it, once he had realized how wealthy Marcus was and once he’d realized how Daddy had survived all the years by dipping into Marcus’s pocket…he said Marcus hadn’t got much of a life anyway…so we may as well have the money. We could use it, Marcus couldn’t, with his hermit-like existence…what use was all that money to Marcus…confess I’ve never seen Daddy sober up so quickly…then Rufus really went mad, beating Daddy’s brains out saying, “That was my money…that was my money…six million pounds…gone, gone…”.’

‘Then?’

‘Then after we’d collected ourselves, he dragged the bodies into the garage and we cleaned up the mess together. He did most of the clearing up, I followed after him because he wasn’t very thorough.’

‘We thought…well. Sergeant Yellich here thought the clean house spoke of a woman’s touch.’

‘He was right.

‘He went back to his cottage on the Sunday. I stayed behind, going over the cleaning until I felt I’d got all the blood up…then I went to the garage and said goodbye to my parents. So you see, I wasn’t really lying to you when I told you I’d seen and spoken to both my parents on the Sunday afternoon. Then I returned to London. Rufus returned the next night, Monday/Tuesday night, put the bodies in the Volvo, drove them a little way out into the country and buried them in a field. So you see, I haven’t really committed a very serious crime.’

‘Accessory to murder. That’s serious enough.’

‘That could be argued. I didn’t assist with any murder. I didn’t know it was going to happen. When I cleaned up the mess I was in a state of shock, under the thrall of my brother…my state of mind was temporarily unbalanced…I would plead guilty to a lesser charge of obstructing the police with their enquiries…but for immunity from prosecution for that petty crime, you get the evidence you need to wrap up three murders. The GPS will go for that deal, won’t they? Or is it an it? Won’t it?’ Nicola Williams stood. ‘Now, if you’ll kindly escort me back to my brother’s cottage, I’ll be able to collect my things and leave before Rufus returns from the base, he’s drawn weekend day duty officer this weekend. You can arrest him when he returns at about five p.m. It’ll be neater than arresting him at the base. And you’ll know where I am…it’s not in my interest to do anything but cooperate fully and completely. I’ll let you know my new address.’

‘Your new address?’

‘Well, I’ve got some adjusting to do, haven’t I? No more expensive rented flats in NW2 for me. I’ve got to find a damp bedsit somewhere. Maybe transfer out of London to some place where the rent is affordable for someone on my salary. Look for a rich man to rescue me. I’ve still got some good years in me. Shall we go?’

Yellich looked at Hennessey, who nodded, reluctantly.

Alone in the interview room, Hennessey looked at the date he had written on his notepad. June the thirteenth.

Some years he anticipates the date with dread, other years it comes and goes without him noticing it, and other years, the worst happens, he realizes on the day that it is the date. The thirteenth of June. His brother’s birthday. At least it would have been had he lived. Had he been cautious, not reckless, had the danger years not claimed him as one of theirs. It is said that the cemeteries are full of young men who don’t believe it can happen to them, and Graham Hennessey, twenty-two years old when he died, was one such. A long time ago now, but each thirteenth of June it seemed to Hennessey as though it was yesterday that the policeman had knocked awkwardly on his parents’ front door.