Simon Kernick - The Murder Exchange

‘All right,’ I said, holding the weapon gingerly, and praying that no one chose this moment to make a break for it, ‘everyone stay where they are.’

‘I need a cloth for my face,’ said the naked man, and slowly got to his feet. ‘Please.’

He stood where he was for a moment, wiping the blood from his eyes. Something about him looked familiar. Very familiar, though the beard made it difficult to tell for sure.

In the distance, I could hear the sirens. ‘Just stay where you are for a moment, sir.’

‘Please, I need water.’ He stumbled forward into the room from which Elaine Toms had just emerged. At the same time, she started edging along the floor in my direction, eyes watching me like a hawk in search of a weakness.

I pointed the gun directly at her head. ‘Do not move,’ I told her.

‘The man with no clothes’, she said, motioning over her shoulder, ‘is Max Iversson. He’s wanted for murder.’

Iversson. Shit!

I heard a window opening in the other room, and the sound of someone clambering out. A second later, a noise like a crash came from outside. I stayed put, hoping he wouldn’t get far without any clothes, knowing that I had to make sure Toms didn’t escape. I cursed myself for not clocking Iversson immediately. It’s amazing what some blood and the Grizzly Adams look’ll do to a person’s face.

Toms looked like she was going to make a break for it. ‘You’re letting him get away,’ she said mockingly.

I smiled at her, holding the gun steady. ‘Then I’d better make sure I don’t make the same mistake with you.’

She gave me a very unladylike sneer but didn’t make any move. At the same time, the sirens seemed to close in from all sides, cars screeching to a halt in front of the building. There was a loud bang as the front door to the building was forced, followed by the sound of heavy footfalls on the stairs.

The cavalry had arrived.

Gallan

‘So, Jack, tell me. Why were you in Elaine Toms’s apartment armed with an illegal handgun and silencer?’

Merriweather looked at his solicitor, who gave a slight nod, then back at me. ‘No comment,’ he said, scratching absentmindedly at the plaster on his broken nose.

‘How do you know Elaine Toms?’

There was a pause. ‘No comment.’

‘Is it through Dagmar Holdings?’ Again, he looked at the solicitor, a bald, pinch-faced individual with outsize glasses and an officious air. This was the infamous Melvyn Carroll. Again, he gave that little nod.

‘No comment.’

‘What do you know about Dagmar Holdings?’

‘No comment.’

I sighed. ‘You’re not helping us much here, Jack.’

‘Or yourself,’ added Knox, who was sitting beside me. ‘You’re facing very serious charges. Charges that carry a substantial prison sentence. We’re talking years, Jack, not months. Years. I suggest you think about that next time you get asked a question.’

Merriweather yawned ostentatiously. ‘Are you lot going to charge me with anything or are you just going to sit here wasting my time?’

Melvyn Carroll leant forward. He smelt strongly of eau de cologne. ‘My client insists he has done nothing wrong, and, as he has informed you repeatedly, has nothing further to say on the matter. I would therefore strongly request that you let him go.’

Knox and I looked at each other, then back at Merriweather. Jackie Slap stared straight ahead at me, his eyes cold. His expression was a simple one. It said: You can’t touch me. I held his gaze, looking back at him expressionlessly. The room was silent for several seconds as the two of us stared each other down. Carroll opened his mouth to say something, but it was me who spoke first.

‘What do you know about the murder of Robert Jones?’ I asked, and something in Merriweather’s expression cracked. The composure was restored within the space of a second, but it was too late. I’d caught it. I knew I was on the right track.

He shook his head slowly. ‘I don’t know nothing about anything like that. Never heard of the bloke.’

‘You’ve never heard of Robert Jones, the paper-boy who got murdered six months ago?’

‘Oh yeah, yeah, that. I heard about it, but I don’t know nothing about it. Why should I?’

‘That’s a good question,’ said Carroll. ‘What has the murder of a paperboy got to do with the charges my client is being questioned in connection with?’

‘We think Mr Merriweather may be able to throw some light on the child’s murder,’ said Knox, emphasizing the word ‘child’.

‘Look, don’t try to fit me up with something like that!’

‘No need to shout, Jack,’ said Knox.

‘I’m surprised you thought you hadn’t heard of him,’ I continued, ‘because it was, and is, a very high-profile case, and the last place he was seen alive, before he was so brutally murdered, was Runmayne Avenue where an associate of yours, Tony Franks, has a house-’

‘Never heard of him.’

‘And where you were seen by witnesses on a number of occasions, including only two weeks ago, when you were emptying out the property and claiming you were Mr Franks’s brother.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘And I don’t know where this is leading,’ Carroll interjected. ‘I’m going to have to ask you to desist with this line of questioning. It’s completely irrelevant.’

I bent down beside my chair and picked up an evidence bag. I held it in front of Merriweather’s face. ‘Guess what this is.’

Merriweather squinted. ‘I can’t see anything.’

‘Look closer.’ I pointed my finger at something almost intangible in the bag. ‘It’s a fibre, Jack, or two fibres to be precise. They came from the coat Robert Jones was wearing on the day he died, and guess what? We found them in the house you were emptying the other week. What do you think of that, then?’

‘There must be some mistake.’ There was no doubting the fear on his face now. Carroll also looked wrong-footed by this unwelcome new development. ‘I don’t know anything about a dead kid.’

‘Are you sure about that, Jack?’ asked Knox.

‘Course I’m fucking sure.’

‘How do you explain it, then?’ I asked. ‘How they got there.’

‘It’s nothing to do with me. I didn’t live there.’

‘Why were you emptying out the place, then?’ Knox said.

‘Where’s Tony Franks, Jack? We can’t seem to find him.’

‘I don’t know a Tony Franks.’

‘Why were you emptying out his house, then?’

‘I wasn’t-’

‘We’ve got a witness who says you were. She even spoke to you.’

‘Fuck this, I don’t want to answer any more questions.’

‘I think my client would like a break in proceedings,’ said Carroll.

‘We haven’t finished yet,’ snapped Knox.

‘ I’ve fucking finished,’ said Merriweather, folding his arms and making a great play of looking away.

‘Don’t you want to have a look at this photo?’ I asked, taking it out of my pocket and sliding it along the table towards Merriweather. ‘It’s the last one ever taken of Robert. Christmas Day lunch last year, six weeks before he died. It’s a good one, isn’t it?’

Merriweather continued to look away, but I could see that his jaw was quivering.

‘I really must protest about these methods. My client has already said he doesn’t want to answer any more questions on this matter. I am therefore requesting, in the strongest possible terms, that you terminate this interview.’

‘Were you aware, Jack, that a company called Dagmar Holdings paid the rent on Tony Franks’s house?’

‘I’ve never heard of Dagmar Holdings.’