Alex Gray - The Riverman

‘Oh, I think we can do better than that,’ Lorimer told him.

‘Oh, no!’ Catherine Devoy was looking out of the window at the street below.

‘What is it?’ Alec was at her side in two strides. There below them were three police cars blocking the road, officers already climbing the stairs to the office.

Catherine looked up at the man beside her, willing him to take control as he always did, but all she saw was a mask of impotent fury drawn across his features.

‘Alec?’ she faltered, grasping onto his sleeve. ‘Alec, what-?’ but her words were lost in the snarl that issued from his mouth as he shook her off.

‘Stay here!’ he commanded. ‘Say nothing. D’you hear me? Not a word!’ Then he turned from the window and disappeared down the corridor.

Catherine ran out of her room then stopped as her PA looked up in astonishment. This wouldn’t do. She couldn’t chase him all over the office. It wouldn’t do at all.

She retreated and closed the door. It came to her then that Alec wasn’t coming back. She was on her own. Catherine drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Hadn’t she always known it would end like this? Any remaining fantasies she might have had about a new life with Alec dissolved at that moment. She would remain here and await the police who were no doubt swarming over the building already. What she had to do was like an exercise in damage limitation, she thought wildly. It was imperative that she took control of herself and maintained what vestiges of dignity she could muster. But what about Alec? What was he doing?

Alec Barr leapt down the fire escape to the cobbled area below. His breath came in sharp, short bursts. If only he could make it to the car park then he’d elude them.

His feet slipped and slithered on the metal rungs as he turned the final corner and jumped to the ground. Heedless of what was going on in the offices above him, Barr ran along the lane to the underground car park they shared with the adjoining offices. For once he was grateful that they did not have a basement car park of their own. A quick flick of the remote and the huge metal doors began to open. Slowly, slowly they rose, Barr cursing them under his breath, then at last he shot through and headed for his silver Jaguar.

The noise of the engine roared in the hollow echoing space as he rounded the bend that would take him out of the building and into the street. He prayed that no police car would be blocking the exit. A quick glance told him that the way was clear and he stepped hard on the accelerator, narrowly avoiding the kerb as he took the corner into the next street.

His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as he negotiated another bend and took the road leading towards the other side of the river. The afternoon traffic slowed him down and he dropped into the inside lane. He’d have to hide the car somewhere and proceed on foot. They’d be looking for him: they’d know his registration. All these thoughts whirled around his brain as Barr left the main thoroughfare.

Alec Barr had baulked at the thought of taking the life of a fellow human being. He’d often wondered how on earth anyone could do it.

Now he was beginning to find out.

‘I’ll ask you once more, Miss Devoy, where is Alec Barr?’ Lorimer wanted to thump the table between them, to jolt the woman out of her hard-faced complacency. He glanced over to the uniformed officer who was standing by the door and gave him a nod. It was time, he thought.

The woman continued to stare at the floor as if she were trying to blank out everything around her: Lorimer, Solly and DS Wilson, who were regarding her with ill-concealed impatience. It had taken them three-quarters of an hour to achieve precisely nothing. Now they had to play their trump card.

Solly watched her face as Catherine Devoy looked up at the man entering the room. Wordlesssly she rose to her feet, her cheeks drained of colour and then she slumped back into her chair, her mouth open.

Standing there in the doorway, Michael Turner looked from one person to the other, an expression of bewilderment on his face.

‘How could you do this?’ the woman whispered, staring at Lorimer as if he were somehow responsible for making the dead come to life again.

Looking at her, Lorimer saw the sudden change. She appeared older now, her white face a mask, those scarlet lips no longer the badge of a strong, confident woman but something painted on, making a mockery of the person she wanted to be. And he felt a surge of pity. Was she one more victim in this tangled web?

‘Let’s start at the beginning,’ Lorimer said at last.

All that pent-up energy had gone out of her now and she sat, arms limply by her side, following Michael Turner with her eyes as he left the room with a uniformed officer. He would soon be in the observation room adjacent to them, watching and listening.

‘Miss Devoy,’ Lorimer’s voice brought her attention back, ‘tell me how it all began.’

‘It was when Duncan showed Alec those papers,’ she said listlessly. ‘He was so concerned to do the right thing.’ She shook her head as if trying to clear away some distant memory. ‘The right thing would have brought the firm crashing round our ears. We’d been dealing with Jacobs’ people for ages.’

‘By dealing I take it you mean money laundering,’ Lorimer said.

‘Yes,’ she muttered reluctantly. ‘Then there was a proposition from another chain of bookmakers. Jacobs wouldn’t countenance it.’ She shrugged. ‘His death didn’t come as a total surprise. These sort of people can be very persuasive, Chief Inspector.’

Lorimer stared at her. They’d known about the contract killing of one of their clients yet had said nothing at all. What had motivated them? Greed or fear? But the woman was talking again, the words flowing now like a dam that has burst its banks.

‘Made some good money out of that business, too. Then Duncan comes in like a knight in shining armour wanting to inform the London office that something wasn’t right. It would have meant ruin for us all,’ Devoy insisted, as if Lorimer should surely understand. ‘Good old Duncan was prepared to make that sort of sacrifice but we … chose a different option,’ she said heavily.

‘We?’ Lorimer prompted her.

‘All of us. Graham, Alec, Malcolm and me.’

‘Go on,’ Lorimer told her. ‘Tell us exactly what happened.’

They listened as she described how West had obtained the drug, she had made sure it was put into Duncan’s drink at Michael’s going-away party and then West had led Forbes over to the edge of the water and pushed him in. Michael’s party had been the ideal opportunity. They’d got rid of Forbes and their contact in New York would see that Michael was taken care of, she told them. Then things had started to unwind.

‘And Adams? Where did he fit into all of this?’

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘Malcolm was persuaded to take the money and keep his mouth shut.’

‘So where is Adams now?’

A mere shrug of her shoulders told the DCI that Catherine Devoy didn’t know and cared even less.

‘Alec Barr,’ Lorimer began slowly. ‘ You made him do all of this?’

Her eyes widened in astonishment. ‘What? You really think that?’ Then she began to laugh, a dry harsh sound that ended in a sob. ‘My God, he really fooled you too, didn’t he?’

Lorimer frowned at her.

‘You think I influenced Alec ?’ Her smile trembled on the verge of tears and she looked down, fumbling in a pocket for a clean, folded handkerchief. Then, as if drawn back by Lorimer’s blue stare, she continued. ‘It was his idea from the beginning. He set up all our accounts, made the running to these bookmakers, everything. He was like a …’ she paused, trying to put her thoughts into words, ‘like a pioneer. He thought of it all, even down to the last detail. How we would spike Duncan’s drink, how Graham would make it look like an accident.’