In for the Kill Read online

  ‘I don’t know. It doesn’t…’

  ‘Please, honey, you’re soaked.’

  I scowled at him. ‘Can you recall exactly what your father said?’

  Her brow furrowed in thought. ‘All I can remember is that he said, I must go to Andover.

  No, hold on, he said, I’m going to see Andover.’

  ‘He said “see”?’

  ‘Yes, I remember now because I thought it was an odd expression. You might go and see Naples but you don’t usually say I must go and see Andover.’

  ‘Did he leave any notes, memoirs, records, a diary?’

  ‘No. The police asked me that. His colleagues…’ I saw her glance go beyond me and knew that they were there. They had been watching me, and waiting.

  ‘Was your father carrying a briefcase or notebook when he died?’

  ‘No. He had a small bag with him containing some of his clothes.’

  ‘What about his mobile phone?’

  ‘I…’

  ‘Christine, please,’ her partner urged, glaring at me.

  ‘One more thing. Do you know where I can find Sergeant Hammond? He used to work with your father,’ I explained when she looked at me a little blankly.

  Her face brightened. ‘He lives in Spain. He retired before Dad.’

  ‘Wasn’t he too young to retire?’ I asked surprised.

  ‘He won the lottery, or premium bonds, I think.’

  Her husband took her arm firmly. ‘Come on.’

  This time she didn’t protest. But before she had gone a couple of paces she turned back.

  ‘If you find out what Dad was doing, will you come and tell me?’

  I nodded. ‘Where do you live?’

  ‘Give him one of your business cards, Mark.’

  With a heavy sigh, Mark struggled for his pocket under his large dark-blue anorak and retrieved a tattered card, which he handed to me.

  I saw from it that he was a graphic designer.

  ‘If you remember anything else, or find anything that you think might be helpful, will you call me?’ It was my turn to scrabble for a piece of paper, which I found but I didn’t have a telephone so I wrote down Miles’s mobile number. ‘You can contact me through this. He’ll pass any message on to me.’

  She took it, thrust it in her pocket and headed for the car. I watched her climb into the sleek, black limousine and drive off. Then a fist gripped my shoulder. I stiffened before turning. I knew who it would be. The police.

  CHAPTER 4

  I‘ think it’s time we had a chat, Alex. Detective Chief Inspector Crowder.’

  I would like to have refused but, judging by the man’s expression, I didn’t think I had much choice.

  ‘Shall we get out of this rain?’ Crowder said.

  His voice was surprisingly quiet for one so large. It was well cultured and caressing too, but it didn’t fool me. Underneath I knew was a hard bastard. He was wearing a Homburg and a huge macintosh that reached almost to his ankles; all he needed was a gun slung over his arm and a pair of Hunters to look as if he was out on a country shoot. Beside him was a thin man with a short rain jacket that barely covered his narrow backside; he had soaking wet trousers, and a rather bored expression on his lean face.

  ‘I’m wet already so it doesn’t make any difference,’ I said, hunching my shoulders and ramming my hands into the pockets of my jacket.

  ‘It does to me, Alex. Perhaps we can give you a lift somewhere.’ It wasn’t a question. A face like his was made to command.

  ‘The Isle of Wight?’ I ventured.

  Crowder’s smile didn’t touch his eyes. ‘I was thinking more in the way of the hovercraft.’

  It didn’t surprise me that he knew where I had come from. It wouldn’t have surprised me if he knew what I’d eaten for breakfast. Men like him knew everything.

  We walked towards his car in silence. The man with the narrow backside opened the rear door and I climbed in. There was little else I could do; besides it would save me the bus fare.

  ‘That is Sergeant Adams.’ Crowder pointed at the neck of the skinny man now in the driver’s seat. Adams’ eyes flicked to the rear view mirror and connected with mine. I raised my eyebrows in a kind of acknowledgement but got nothing in return. I hadn’t really expected it.

  Crowder removed his hat, revealing a luxuriant head of silver hair, which was swept back off his broad forehead. I stared at his taciturn face and cold assessing eyes and felt my stomach churn. I knew he would be an even more formidable adversary than Clipton.

  Crowder said, ‘You went to see Joe Bristow, why?’

  ‘You know why.’ That brought a smile of sorts to his lips.

  ‘I’ve been told you’re clever.’

  ‘Don’t think much of your informant then. I wasn’t clever enough to avoid DCI Clipton and prison,’ I replied acerbically.

  Silence for a few moments as the car stopped and started its way back towards the seafront.

  Every now and again I caught the sergeant’s glance in the rear-view mirror. I marvelled at his ability to look so disinterested. I could have done with some tips from him during my first year in prison.

  ‘What were you doing at Chief Inspector Clipton’s funeral?’ Crowder’s voice broke through my unhappy memories. I was rather glad.

  ‘I went to make sure the bastard really was dead,’ I snapped. Before prison I wouldn’t have dreamed of speaking to a police officer so dismissively or sarcastically. I had been brought up to respect the law. Now everything was different, including me. I tried not to show my tension. I knew Crowder would see it and perceive it as a weakness. Ray’s words came to me. ‘ Show the bastards you don’t give a toss. That way they can’t hurt you, even when they do hurt you’.

  Crowder shook his big head like a St Bernard dog, and a sorrowful expression swept across his lugubrious face. ‘You’re not still trying to prove that you’re innocent, are you, Alex? I don’t think the parole board will take a good view of that.

  Didn’t you tell them how sorry you are and that you’d hand the money over if you could lay your hands on it?’

  Of course Crowder would know what the parole board report had said. ‘Is that what you’re after? Well, I’m sorry to disappoint. I haven’t a clue where it is.’

  ‘No? We’ve long since come to the conclusion that Andover doesn’t exist. He was your alter ego.

  You were and are Andover.’

  I knew I wasn’t. ‘Traffic’s heavy.’ Say nothing.

  Show nothing – Ray again.

  ‘Why was Clipton travelling to the Isle of Wight? Did you arrange to meet him?’ Crowder said, with a harder edge to his voice.

  ‘Hardly. Perhaps he fancied a holiday.’

  ‘Where’s the three million pounds you stole, Alex?’

  ‘It’s stopped raining.’

  ‘All right, let’s try another one. Where were you between nine and eleven this morning?’

  I swivelled to look directly at him. ‘You know where I was. I was making my way from my houseboat to Ryde to catch the hovercraft. And if you ask your fair-haired detective he will verify that I was nowhere near Joe Bristow’s office until just before eleven.’

  Crowder smiled which made me more uncomfortable than before. I had struck lucky with the fair-haired detective theory, but I felt uneasy. Why had he been so obvious? I had the feeling that I was intended to spot him.

  The sergeant pulled up outside the hovercraft terminal. Before I could climb out Crowder said in that deceptively comforting voice, ‘You’ve got that money, Alex, and I’m going to find out where it is. OK, so you may not have killed Joe Bristow yourself, but you know who did. You may even have ordered his death.’ He held up his hand to prevent me from protesting. I couldn’t anyway; I was struck dumb by what he was saying. My mouth must have been agape with amazement.

  He continued, ‘I’ll get you in the end, Alex. I just thought you ought to know that.’

  As I watched the car drive off I felt cold with fear. C
rowder’s threats weren’t empty ones.

  There was also something personal in the way he had spoken. My God, as if I hadn’t been through a bad enough time with DCI Clipton, now I had another vindictive copper on my back.

  My fear swiftly turned to anger. It fed my determination to find Andover and clear my name. I’d take great pleasure in ramming that down the smug bastard’s throat.

  I waited until the car was out of sight, then turned westwards towards Old Portsmouth and the High Street, where Miles’s office was based.

  My mind wandered back to my conversation with Clipton’s daughter, which I’d hardly had time to digest with Crowder breathing down my neck. Why had Clipton taken an overnight bag with him to the Island? Who had he arranged to see? Had he booked in anywhere? Where was his mobile phone? I couldn’t recall them mentioning it at the coroner’s inquest. Clipton must have had one and it would show who he had called. I was heartily glad the houseboat didn’t have a telephone and that I didn’t have a mobile. If Clipton had called Camp Hill Prison to enquire after me then the screws hadn’t told me. And where were his notebooks? All police officers carried notebooks and nearly all ex-police officers kept their old ones when they retired.

  DCI Crowder knew a hell of a lot more than he was saying.

  A young woman with heavy perfume and pubescent hips showed me up to Miles’s office on the first floor. I got the impression that she found me rather attractive. I’d heard from some of my fellow inmates that they had no trouble finding women when they came out. I guessed ex-cons were a challenge to them, a man with a hint of danger and mystery, someone to reform.

  For a moment I wondered what had happened to the blonde bombshell I’d met in Brading church.

  ‘I’m up to my armpits with work.’ Miles waved me into seat across the black ash desk piled with papers. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in days. His tie was askew, his sleeves rolled up showing his strong hairy forearms. There were dark circles under his bloodshot eyes and a more than usual haggard expression on his craggy face.

  ‘I’ve got a big court case coming up, and I’ve got to prepare the papers for the barrister. Man accused of food contamination and he doesn’t much care if he goes down for it. Claims it will be a blow for consumers against capitalism.’

  ‘Tell him he’s wasting his breath. I doubt it’ll dent the supermarkets’ profits and no one gives a flying fart about principles in prison,’ I said caustically.

  ‘I’ll pass your message on,’ Miles said, with the twist of a smile. He picked up a pencil and began tapping it on the desk.

  I said, ‘Joe’s dead.’

  That brought him up sharp. ‘What? When?

  You’re kidding!’

  ‘Afraid not. His street is crawling with police.’

  ‘Bloody hell! How?’

  ‘For some reason the police didn’t seem to want to take me into their confidence.’

  ‘The police have interviewed you!’ He looked shocked.

  ‘A DCI Crowder and Sergeant Adams gave me a lift back from Clipton’s funeral. They wanted to know where I was between nine and eleven this morning, presumably when Joe was killed.

  It’s rather a coincidence that Joe was killed on the morning I was due to visit him, don’t you think? Which means that Joe must have known something about Andover and was going to tell me. It also means that Andover knew I was going to see Joe.’

  I told him my theory about Joe’s phone possibly being tapped. He didn’t look at me as if I’d gone mad. Miles had too much experience of the criminal fraternity for that.

  ‘Apart from the obvious, who else knows I’m out?’

  ‘Vanessa does. I called her to tell her.’

  ‘Which means her new husband knows.’

  ‘Yes. Gus Newberry.’

  I wondered what he was like? How did he compare with me? What did my sons think of him? I felt myself tense at the thought of Gus Newberry doing all the things with my boys that I had once done, like kicking a football, teasing them, putting them to bed…Roughly I pushed such thoughts away. ‘There’s also Joe’s secretary,’

  I growled.

  ‘Joy! I can’t see her involved in this.’

  ‘I don’t know her, but I’d like to talk to her.’

  ‘I can arrange that. There is another alternative…’

  ‘Joe contacted Andover and told him I was coming to see him. Yes, I had considered that.

  Maybe Joe thought Andover would kill me, but silenced Joe instead.’

  ‘Which means –’

  ‘That Joe found out who Andover was and did some kind of deal with him. That’s why he told me the trail was cold. It’s why he never found out why Westnam, Couldner and Brookes allowed themselves to be blackmailed. Yes, it had crossed my mind.’

  Miles let out a long slow breath. ‘Where does DCI Crowder fit in?’

  ‘I’m not sure, except he thinks I killed Joe, or was an accomplice to his death. I assumed he was from specialist investigations. He knew all about me.’

  ‘I’ll find out. Joe was handling a couple of cases for me. I’ll talk to Detective Superintendent Reede; he’s head of the Major Crime Team. I expect he’ll send someone to interview me.’

  ‘What will you say if they ask you about me?’ I asked a little anxiously.

  ‘I’ll tell them the truth - if they ask me the right questions.’ He smiled. ‘But they might not know what the right questions are.’

  ‘Miles, don’t get into trouble.’

  He cut me short with a smile. ‘You’re forgetting I’m a criminal lawyer and a good one at that, with one exception: you.’

  Yes.

  ‘Was Joe married?’

  ‘Divorced. How did you get on at the funeral?’

  ‘Jennifer Clipton told me that Sergeant Hammond, Clipton’s second in command, won the lottery or the pools or something, chucked in his job and took off for sunny Spain. Can you check it out for me?’

  ‘You think he might have been paid off?’

  I shrugged. ‘If Andover bought Joe off, he might have bought Hammond too. And see what you can find out about DCI Clipton’s death. I know the coroner said natural causes, and it probably was, but see if the police are satisfied with that.’

  ‘How do I get in touch with you?’

  ‘I’ll ring you. I’ve given Jennifer Clipton your telephone number; she’ll call you if she remembers anything that can throw a light on what her father was doing visiting the Isle of Wight. Could you ask Joe’s secretary if she’ll meet me?’

  ‘Of course. Where?’

  ‘Wherever she wants.’

  I glanced at my watch. It was almost four o’clock. ‘Could you try her now?’

  Miles picked up his phone. ‘She won’t be in the office. I’ll try her mobile.’

  I crossed to the window as he called her number.

  ‘Joy, it’s Miles.’

  His voice faded into the distance as I stared at the grey brick façade of the grammar school opposite. It was where Vanessa had once taught, and where our boys had gone to school. Vanessa had suggested I try Miles’s law firm. After my trial and conviction Vanessa had resigned her job as assistant head teacher. She’d since found a new job teaching at a private school just outside Petersfield, which the boys now attended. It was close to where they lived with their stepfather.

  My eyes travelled along the road to where a stocky man wearing a crash helmet was standing beside his motorbike, looking this way. Was he following me? Was he a copper?

  I wondered if Joy would tell me anything.

  Would she still have those reports that Joe had compiled on his investigation into Andover? Had she handed them over to the police? Or had Joe destroyed them? Perhaps Andover had done that after killing Joe. If they were the same reports I had then I knew they weren’t worth the paper they were written on. But what if Joe had sent me edited highlights and the real reports contained some clue as to the identity and whereabouts of Andover? I had to check.

  Mile
s came off the phone. ‘Ten o’clock tomorrow.’

  Damn. I had hoped it would be today. I said,

  ‘Where?’

  ‘The café in the Portsmouth Museum.’

  That seemed as good a place as any.

  The day was drawing in earlier than usual because of the now relentless rain and heavy skies and I was surprised to find my neighbour waiting for me in the small forecourt of my houseboat when I returned home. Her long, very wet hair in various shades of brown was framing a scowling face. She wore a long flowing green raincoat that reached Doc Martin-type boots.

  ‘Have you seen my mother?’ She demanded before I had even pushed back the gate. She was glaring at me as if I’d kidnapped her.

  I didn’t even know she had a mother. ‘No. I’ve just returned from the mainland.’

  She looked cross, as if it had been irresponsible of me to leave when her mother had gone missing.

  ‘She might be inside your houseboat.’

  ‘I doubt it. It’s locked.’ I could see that she wasn’t going to believe me, so I opened up and we stepped inside. ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Ruby Kingston.’

  ‘And yours?’

  I could see she was reluctant to tell me. I thought she was going to tell me to mind my own business, but after a moment she said,

  ‘Scarlett and no cracks about Gone with the Wind.’

  ‘It’s a very pretty name. Mine’s Alex Albury, but I expect you know that already.’

  She sniffed and scoured the interior of my lounge as if her mother could have been secreted somewhere.

  ‘I wasn’t convicted of kidnap or murder,’ I snapped, irritated by her manner.

  ‘Makes no difference to me what you went down for.’

  ‘Or that I was innocent?’

  She gave a cynical smile. ‘That’s what they all say.’

  ‘In my case it happens to be true. What made you think she could be here?’

  ‘She forgets where she lives. She knocks on all the houseboats along here and I thought she might have got in without you realising it.’

  I was about to say that I thought I would have noticed an old lady rattling around the place when something in her expression prevented me.