Brian Freemantle - A Mind to Kill

‘May have been? None that you can specifically remember?’

‘No.’

‘What about Mrs Lomax?’

‘What about her?’

‘Do you know Mrs Lomax?’

Rebecca gestured behind her, to the trading area below. ‘We worked on the floor together before she married Gerald.’

‘So you knew her as a business colleague, like you knew Mr Lomax?’

‘We were friends.’

‘ Were? ’

‘Are. We don’t – haven’t – seen as much of each other since she had Emily and moved to the country.’

‘You’re Emily’s godmother, aren’t you?’

‘Who told you that?’ demanded the woman, actually turning to stare down at the working floor.

Bentley made a vague gesture. ‘Someone said it, in one of the statements. You are, aren’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you know Mrs Lomax very well?’

‘I suppose so, yes.’

‘You sound reluctant?’

‘It depends upon what you mean by very well.’

‘What do you mean by very well, Ms Nicholls?’

Damn the ‘Ms’. Rebecca said, ‘We really haven’t seen as much of each other in the last couple of years… longer maybe… as we once did. That’s what I mean. That we’ve kind of drifted apart.’

‘You were much closer when she worked here? When she lived in London?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you know of her affair with Gerald Lomax, when she worked here?’

‘That’s an impertinent question!’

Bentley smiled. ‘That’s what policeman do, Ms Nicholls. Ask impertinent questions. Did you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Because you were close friends? Or because in these working surroundings…’ Bentley gestured to the open-plan, all-glass working area. ‘… it’s difficult to hide anything?’

‘As a friend, first. Then it became pretty much common knowledge.’

‘How did you feel about it?’

‘Feel about it?’

‘Gerald Lomax was a married man.’

‘It was their business, not mine.’

‘You didn’t have any moral feeling?’

‘I said it was their business!’

‘Why did Jennifer Lomax kill her husband?’

Rebecca didn’t have to feign the surprise at the abrupt, hard demand. ‘I haven’t the slightest idea! How on earth should I know?’

‘She’d found out, hadn’t she? About you and Gerald?’

Rebecca didn’t speak. From the warmth she knew she was colouring. ‘There was nothing to find out about Gerald and me.’

‘It’s difficult to hide anything in a place like this,’ reminded Bentley.

There was no proof. The bastards down below might have guessed but they didn’t know – she and Gerald had been far more discreet than he had been with Jennifer – so they didn’t know and no-one could prove anything. ‘I had no relationship with Gerald Lomax.’ Rebecca was pleased at the steadiness in her voice.

‘It’s a nice flat, isn’t it?’

‘What?’

‘Gerald’s, here in London. A nice flat?’

‘I’ve only been there once. At a party for Emily. But yes, it is a nice flat.’ She shouldn’t have qualified the visit.

‘When would that have been?’

‘It must be more than a year ago.’ What was he getting at? They’d always been discreet there, too.

‘Not weeks ago? Or just days?’

‘No.’

‘The security would have influenced Lomax’s choice, I suppose,’ said Bentley, conversationally. He loved questioning people who despised him: thought they were cleverer. ‘Very American.’

Rebecca felt emptied by uncertainty. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘You’re on the CCTV recording, Ms Nicholls. We’ve got you several times. It’s a long loop but it doesn’t go back years.’

Rebecca Nicholls sat motionless, without expression, for several moments, before she began to sob. There were no tears.

Bentley and Rodgers afterwards agreed that it was always the same: once the dam broke you got washed away in the confessional flood water until in the end you had to say something positive to get them to stop telling you the sexual fetishes of their grandmother’s pet hamster.

Rebecca Nicholls admitted the affair had begun a month before Emily had been born and gave dates and hotels where she and Gerald Lomax had travelled together on overseas business trips, in addition to her accompanying him on the three-times-a-year updating and assessment returns to New York.

‘But Jennifer never knew.’

‘You want me to pull down those screens and tell me that again?’ demanded Bentley. He had what he wanted. He didn’t have to go around in circles any more. This was the part when she learned he wasn’t the dickhead she’d thought him to be but the hardest bastard she’d ever met and that he’d been playing with her – enjoying himself – all the time.

‘Are you going to charge me with anything?’

‘Fucking a married man isn’t a crime. Not in this country at least.’

‘What then?’ She showed no outrage at the dismissive obscenity. He’d won. She supposed it was a spoil of victory to humiliate her.

‘Bring a proper prosecution against Jennifer Lomax.’

‘She didn’t kill Gerry because of me.’

‘Sure.’ It was going to be a good case after all. Fuckable woman, eternal triangle, jealousy, revenge, all the ingredients. Plus a bloody clever – convincing almost – load of bollocks about hearing voices telling Jennifer what to do. Bentley was conscious of Rodgers looking at his watch beside him. He gave an imperceptible nod in return.

‘Gerry was going to tell her. Get a divorce.’

‘Did he?’ pounced Rodgers, sharing the questioning now.

‘No! He said he’d tell me before he did. But he didn’t say anything. So he hadn’t told her.’

It was wrong, reflected Bentley, to believe it was only men who had their brains between their legs. ‘So you tell me, Ms Nicholls, why you think Jennifer Lomax came in here yesterday and tried to turn her husband into hamburger?’ The Americanism for an American had come to him after he’d begun speaking and he was proud of it.

‘I wasn’t responsible for his death.’ Real tears began, at last.

‘If it hadn’t been you it would have been someone else,’ said Rodgers. It was well past conclusion time.

‘We loved each other. We were going to get married.’

‘And live happily ever after?’ said Bentley.

‘Yes! Jennifer was a mistake. Like Jane had been a mistake.’

Jesus, thought Bentley. ‘It’s a bastard, the search for eternal happiness. Maybe he’s found it now.’

‘What’s going to happen to me?’

‘You’ll be called, as a witness.’

‘I won’t testify.’

‘Don’t tell me what you are or are not going to do, Ms Nicholls,’ warned Bentley, savouring the attitude Rebecca had attempted towards him at the beginning. ‘If you try to be stupid you’ll be subpoenaed. And if you refuse in court you’ll be jailed for contempt, among all those tongue-licking dykes. And if you try to leave the country I’ll apply for an international arrest warrant, which won’t achieve much but it’ll guarantee your name and photograph all over every newspaper you can think of and everyone can make up their own mind whether you were responsible or not.’

‘Bastard!’

‘Believe it.’

‘I’ll lose my job.’

‘You probably will,’ agreed Rodgers. It had just gone past the floodgates time.

Bentley thought the same. ‘Thank you for your help.’

‘I don’t want to go back downstairs. Not this afternoon.’

‘Go home then,’ said Bentley.

‘Isn’t there any other way?’ pleaded the woman, tentatively.

Not even on your back with your legs splayed, thought Bentley. ‘A man has been murdered, horribly. My only interest is in seeing that justice is done.’