Brian Freemantle - A Mind to Kill

‘What did you say?’

‘That he had to be mistaken. That the mister had been in London that night, like always – Mrs Lomax told me he was going to be, before I left – and that he never came home on the M3 anyway. He always said the A3 was quicker and there weren’t so many cars.’

‘Did you tell anyone this? Harry Elroyd?’

‘Why should I have done? It wasn’t right because I knew the mister was in London. It was daft.’

That’s how Knowland described it – ‘bloody daft: had to be, didn’t it?’ – when he responded to Elspeth Simpson’s call. The man’s recognition was instant – the reaction bright-eyed greed – and Hall immediately guessed Fred Knowland had profited hugely from the press invasion of the area and imagined even greater financial benefit from this encounter. The man, fat from sitting permanently in a driving seat, sparse-haired and quick to smile, asked as many questions as he answered and Hall didn’t doubt he would alert the press posse before he’d had time to get back to Winchester station. Elspeth was visibly distressed at having another chair seat dented, picking up and moving ornaments and picture frames and then putting them back in their original place.

‘It was exactly that, a mistake,’ she said, more than once, trying to hurry things on so she could polish and tidy away their intrusion.

‘What car was it?’ Hall persisted.

‘Cadillac de Ville,’ said Knowland. ‘Beautiful car. Had one once. Sorry I got rid of it.’

‘What colour?’

‘Mr Lomax’s? Black.’

‘You must have known the number?’

‘The system’s funny. The filter off the M3 is from a roundabout on to the road to get into Winchester. I was actually going in the opposite direction, on to the roundabout, as this car came off. I was never in a position to see a number. It was dark – it was past ten: I was going to pick up a contract customer – and it was raining. I just recognized the shape of the car: knew it immediately.’

‘As Mr Lomax’s?’

‘Why is it important?’

‘I’m clearing up the estate: there’s some dispute about whether it was a company car or personally owned,’ lied Hall, improvising.

‘No,’ responded Knowland, answering the question. ‘I recognized it as a de Ville.’

‘How many people were in it?’

‘What’s that got to do with whether it was a company car or not?’

‘Mr Lomax would have been alone, wouldn’t he? If there were several people it couldn’t have been his.’

‘It was by me in a second. But one person, I think.’

‘You must know most of the unusual cars around here, driving all the time as you do? And having the interest?’

The man smiled. ‘Not many I don’t see.’

‘So around the time we’re talking about how many other Cadillac de Villes were there in the area?’

The smile went. ‘None, as far as I know. That’s why I thought at first it had to be Mr Lomax. Until I talked to Elspeth.’

‘I think you’re right,’ agreed Hall. ‘I’ve been wasting my time.’ Knowland would obviously lead the media horde to Elspeth Simpson, who was looking visibly confused at his questions about the car. It was going to be a confused story.

‘Far to go?’ asked Knowland.

‘London.’

‘I could drive you back. Drove people around a lot for Mr Lomax. I could tell you a few stories.’

All of which had already been told and re-told and embellished, Hall was sure. ‘I’ve got a return ticket.’

‘Winchester station taxi?’ said Knowland, showing off his local knowledge and nodding to the retained vehicle outside. ‘He’d understand if you paid him off. It’s more comfortable by car. Give you a company rate, like I used to give Mr Lomax.’

‘No. But thanks.’

‘You got a number I can call you on, if anything else occurs to me?’

‘Sure,’ agreed Hall at once, offering a card with the chamber’s number.

Knowland’s hand snatched out and enclosed it like a lizard’s tongue capturing an insect. ‘Will you be down again?’

‘Maybe.’

The man’s hand was shaking with excitement as he offered his own card. ‘You need a car, just give me a ring. I’ll meet you anywhere. Come to collect you if you like.’

‘I’ll remember that,’ said Hall, accepting it.

A relieved Elspeth hurried them to the door and said she hoped Mrs Lomax would soon be back in the village and Knowland quickly said the same. He drove out on to the main road ahead of them, risking a barely sufficient gap in front of an approaching lorry, to a blast of protest.

‘What’s she like?’ demanded the driver, taking up the earlier conversation as if it had never been interrupted.

‘Who?’

‘The ghost.’

‘There’s nothing to see.’

‘Can you talk to her.’

‘I can’t,’ avoided Hall, unwilling to spend the entire journey under interrogation. ‘She talks to Mrs Lomax.’

‘She’s going to have to be locked up for the rest of her life, isn’t she? In an asylum?’

‘She’ll be going abroad soon,’ said Hall, the font of all false rumours. ‘To a special place in the sun.’

‘I suppose she can afford it with her money,’ agreed the driver, miserably.

They reached the station ahead of any pursuit. Hall had the fare ready, thrusting it into the driver’s hand and, avoiding the main ticket office, cutting into the underground tunnel to reach the London-bound platform. The train already there hid him from the main entrance opposite. He didn’t go on to the platform but to his right, out into the car park. He drove without direction away from the city, not bothering to look at a map until he reached Stockbridge and was sure there was no pursuit.

Only then did he begin to review his day, trying to get it into perspective. The circumstantial evidence begged for a proper investigation that could never be carried out now that Gerald Lomax was dead. But Jennifer couldn’t have been involved: he was sure she couldn’t. Or could she, he wondered, remembering a particular phrase in Gerald Lomax’s statement.

‘Eleven to one, one to eleven, eleven to one, one to eleven…’ incanted Mason, his voice measured, even, soporific. He held the watch in front of Jennifer, as he had the first time he’d hypnotized her. ‘Eleven to one, one to eleven…!’

‘ Why not go along with it? Humour the idiot? Can’t hurt me, after all. Can’t make me go anywhere.’

‘Can you hear me, Jennifer?’

‘Yes.’

‘And Jane?’

‘Yes. She’s not trying to stop me this time.’

‘ Help anyway I can, honey.’

‘Do you believe we can get rid of Jane?’

‘No.’

‘ Right! ’

‘So you’re not going to try any more?’

‘No point.’

‘You told me the last time how strong your mind was. Always better than anyone else.’

‘Not any more,’

‘ Right again! ’

‘Do you want to die?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you want to kill yourself?’

‘Yes.’

‘You haven’t lost your strong mind, Jennifer.’

‘Jane’s there.’

‘So you’re giving your mind over to her? Letting her have it?’

‘She already has it.’

‘Not if you don’t abandon it to her.’

‘Too tired.’

‘No you’re not. You fought, in court. Made Jeremy fight. You beat Jane, because you stayed strong-minded. You can beat her again, rid yourself of her, but you must stay strong.’

‘ What a load of crap! ’

‘I can’t get rid of her. Ever.’

‘Do you want Emily?’

‘Can’t have her.’

‘Won’t you fight to have her?’

‘ Don’t listen! ’

‘Yes.’

‘But you’re not fighting. You’re letting Jane take over.’