Stephen Booth - The kill call

‘Well, that’s true, at least. They were almost inseparable, even though Dad was a few years younger. He told me that’s how they were right back to when they were boys here in Derbyshire. I think that’s probably quite unusual for brothers, isn’t it? Normally they tend to fight a lot — well, I know my two do. But when Uncle Stuart died of pancreatic cancer last year, it broke Dad up. You could see then how close they were. It took Dad ages to get round to sorting out Uncle Stuart’s things, because he just couldn’t face the memories. He found that job very difficult, stayed shut away with his brother’s papers for hours. And this thing with the illegitimate daughter — well, I think this is Dad’s way of trying to express his feelings towards his brother. He can be so naive about people sometimes. So easily taken in.’

‘You think Pauline Outram has conned him in some way? Do you think she’s not really who she says she is?’

‘No. I know Dad did a few checks on her.’

‘Not so naive, then?’

‘I made him do it.’

‘Which means Pauline Outram is your cousin,’ said Fry.

‘I suppose so. But you don’t have to be tied to your cousins, do you?’

Fry sat back, feeling suddenly tired. Erin Lacey’s version of events fit quite closely with the story told by Pauline Outram earlier, though with a different spin, of course. Strange that the two women should feel so diametrically opposed to each other when their fathers had been so close. But then, perhaps that closeness was the sole reason they hated each other.

‘Before I forget, I brought these photos that you asked for, of my Dad,’ said Erin Lacey. ‘I think there’s one here of him and Uncle Stuart together. They’re so alike, Uncle Stuart was like an older version of Dad.’

‘Thank you.’

Fry looked at the photos, remembering the man she’d met earlier in the week, with the strange grey eyes and the wide jaw line. And here were the two brothers, at a much younger age. Michael had probably been in his late teens, Stuart mid-twenties. And Michael Clay did indeed look like a junior version of his brother. But there was a certain amount of contrivance about the similarity. The younger brother had tried to tease his hair into the same style, had adopted the same casual, slouching pose, hands thrust into his pockets. A hero-worshipping younger brother, if ever she saw one.

‘You know, it’s one of Deborah Rawson’s problems, too,’ said Erin.

‘What is?’

‘The fact that Dad has been sensible with his money. She and Patrick have a huge mortgage on that place out at Mere Green. It was rather out of their range when they bought it, if you ask me. They’re desperate to keep up, both of them.’

‘To keep up with the Clays?’

‘Well, they’re not really the same class. Patrick is basically a horse dealer from a family of Irish tinkers in County Offaly. Deborah is the daughter of a garage owner in Handsworth.’

‘You know a lot about them.’

‘They’ve always been keen to socialize with us.’

‘So you had to check them out, too?’

Erin didn’t answer. But Fry was getting signals from Hitchens, and she didn’t press any further. She’d heard enough to form a picture, anyway. It seemed it wasn’t just a question of golf-club syndrome. Deborah Rawson was just as enthusiastic a social climber as her husband, if Erin Lacey was to be believed. And that, as far as Fry was concerned, was quite a big ‘if’.

‘Mrs Lacey,’ said Hitchens, ‘can you give us any other information that might help us to find your father? No matter how insignificant a detail, it could prove useful.’

Lacey shook her head. ‘I don’t think there’s anything I haven’t told you.’

Fry felt her eyebrows rise at that. She didn’t believe it for a moment.

‘If you could try to think back to when you last spoke to him,’ she said. ‘Didn’t he say anything about where he was going, what he was planning to do?’

‘No. Well, I knew that he was coming up to Derbyshire, so he would have been visiting that woman. That’s why he didn’t mention it.’

‘Because he knew you would have disapproved?’

‘I think I have the right to.’

Hitchens leaned across his desk. ‘Mrs Lacey, we have to ask you these questions. Was your father his normal self? Or did he appear depressed, or worried about anything?’

‘Not when he left home, no,’ said Lacey. ‘When I spoke to him on the phone on Wednesday, he was upset about Patrick Rawson’s death, obviously. But I think there was also an element of relief, though he would never have said so. I knew him so well that I could practically read his thoughts. I think Dad was already starting to work out in his mind what Patrick’s death would mean from a business point of view. He was beginning to think about the paperwork, make calls to lawyers, all that sort of thing.’

‘He was planning ahead, then?’

‘Definitely. He’s that sort of man. Conscientious, methodical, always thinking about his work. He was almost itching to get his teeth into the business formalities.’

Hitchens glanced at Fry. People who were busy planning ahead rarely committed suicide, as they both knew.

‘And one final question, Mrs Lacey: Is there anyone you can think of who might have wished your father harm?’

Lacey shook her head again. ‘No. Except — ’

‘Yes?’

‘Well, I thank God that Dad never changed his will in favour of the Outram woman. For a gold digger, that would have been a big temptation put in her way, wouldn’t it?’

Before Cooper could explore the Royal Observer Corps any further, Fry came back into the CID room with a disgusted look on her face. That didn’t bode well. He’d seen that look too often, and it had usually ended badly. These days, though, it didn’t seem to matter quite so much. He could survive whatever Fry threw at him.

‘Uh-oh,’ said Murfin, looking up and noticing the same thing. ‘What’s wrong now, I wonder?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You could ask her, if you’re feeling suicidal.’

Cooper got up to follow Fry to her desk.

‘Ben?’ said Murfin, in horror. ‘I didn’t think you really were that tired of life.’

‘So,’ said Cooper, when he faced Fry, ‘what’s the next move?’

She raised an eyebrow, then looked uncertain when it seemed to have no effect on him.

‘Back to square one,’ she said. ‘Back to Longstone Moor, and the two people on horseback caught on the hunt saboteurs’ camera. Back to the hunt themselves.’

‘You can’t still be obsessed with the hunt, Diane?’

‘I am not — ’ began Fry. Then she seemed to calm herself. ‘I’m not obsessed with the hunt. But we’re going to start again from first base, we’re going to identify the people Patrick Rawson met. Those riders were either members of the hunt, or they were seen by them.’

‘You’re sure of that?’

‘Ben, as far as I’m concerned, the hunt is all about violence. Even if the violent instincts are dressed up in red coats and following an artificial scent, it’s still about violence. Basic principle.’

‘There must be some way I can change your mind.’

‘I doubt it.’

Cooper realized it was probably true that her mind wouldn’t be changed. But it was no reason for him to stop trying.

‘What about Michael Clay?’ he said.

‘Well, now that we know his family is local, it puts a different complexion on his possible involvement.’

‘Just because he was born in Birchlow?’

‘He must know people in the area,’ said Fry. ‘People must know him. I don’t have to tell you how it works, Ben.’

‘He would have been a young man when his family moved away to Birmingham.’