Val Mcdermid - Clean Break

Michael’s mouth opened as he stared at me with new eyes. “He’s dead?” His voice was incredulous.

“Very.”

“You didn’t…? It wasn’t…?” A flicker of fear showed in his eyes.

I snorted with ironic laughter. “Please,” I said. “I didn’t kill him, Michael, I only set him up. And my payoff was getting to discover the body.”

He looked faintly queasy. I can’t say I blamed him. “Is there any chance of recovering any of the stolen paintings?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I shouldn’t think so. I’m afraid you’re going to have to bite the bullet and cough up. But like I said, you won’t be having any repeat business from this team.”

“What can I say?” He spread his hands. “I’m impressed. Look, I can’t make any promises at this stage, but I’d be interested in working with you in future. On a more official basis.”

“Fine by me. Anything you need sorting, give us a call and we’ll talk.” Normally, I’d have been punching the air in jubilation at landing a client as major as Fortissimus. Today, all I could muster was a moment’s satisfaction. Fortissimus had been too expensive an acquisition.

I got to my feet. “And on a personal note,” Michael added, his eyes crinkling in a smile, “when can I see you again?”

“Tomorrow night?” I suggested. “Meet me in the bar at the Cornerhouse at half past seven?”

“Fine. See you then.”

I sketched a wave and moved toward the door. He bounded to his feet and caught up with me on the threshold. He tried to put his arms round me in hug, but I backed off. “Not in business hours,” I said defensively. “If we’re going to work together, we need some ground rules. Rule one, no messing about on the company’s time.”

His mouth turned down ruefully. “Sorry. You’re absolutely right. See you tomorrow. Stay lucky.”

I stopped off at the Cigar Store Cafe for a bite to eat and a cappuccino, then went back to the office to pick up the Kerrchem reports from Shelley. “Nice work,” she remarked as she handed me two neatly bound copies.

“Yeah,” I said, my lack of conviction obvious.

“So what’s the problem?”

I told her my reservations about Sandra Bates and her boyfriend. At the end of my tale, Shelley nodded sympathetically. “I see what you mean,” she said. “Are you going to front them up and see what they’ve got to say for themselves?”

“I hadn’t planned on it,” I said. “I was just going to hand over the reports to Trevor Kerr and the cops and let them get on with it. I can’t pretend murder isn’t police business, can I?”

“No, but if they’re not the killers, maybe you should go and talk to them. They might have some useful ideas as to who actually is doing the killing.”

She was right, of course. Before I blew their lives out of the water, I should at least talk to Sandra Bates and Simon Morley. “What if they leg it?” I protested weakly.

“If you drop off the reports with Kerr and Jackson and go straight round there, they won’t have time to leg it, will they? This isn’t a lead that Jackson’s going to sit on till morning, is it?”

Half an hour later, I was walking up the path of 37 Alder Way. I’d sent Kerr’s copy of the report round by motorbike courier, and I’d left Jackson’s copy with his sergeant. I estimated I probably had a maximum of half an hour before the police came knocking.

Sandra Bates opened the door. Her first reaction was bemused bewilderment; then, clearly remembering what I’d been asking about, she tried to close the door. I stepped forward, shoving my shoulder between the door and the jamb. “What’s going on?” she demanded.

“Too slow, Sandra,” I said. “An innocent woman would have spoken sooner. We need to talk.”

“You’re not a student,” she accused me, eyes narrowing.

“Correct.” I handed her one of my business cards. “I’m Kate Brannigan. I’m working for Kerrchem, and we need to talk.”

“I’ve got nothing to say to you,” she said desperately, her voice rising.

From inside the house, Simon Morley’s voice joined in. “What’s going on, Sandra?”

“Go away” she said to me, shoving the door harder.

“Sandra, would you rather talk to me about industrial sabotage or to the police about murder?” I replied, leaning back against the door. “You’ve got ten seconds to decide. I know all about the scam. There’s no hiding place.”

Simon’s tall figure loomed behind Sandra in the hall. “What’s… Wait a minute, you were at the factory this morning.” He looked down at Sandra. “What the hell’s going on?”

“She’s a private detective,” Sandra spat out.

“Simon, we need to talk,” I said, struggling to maintain a responsible facade with my shoulder jammed painfully between two bits of wood. “I know about the fake KerrSter, I’ve got videos of your factory and your delivery run this morning, I know exactly how Sandra’s working the fiddle at her end. You’re already in the frame for product tampering and attempted blackmail. Do you really want two counts of murder adding to the list?”

“Let her in,” Simon said dully. Sandra looked up pleadingly at him, but he simply nodded. “Do it, love,” he said.

I followed them into a living room that came straight from Laura Ashley without any intervening application of taste. I chose an armchair upholstered in a mimsy floral chintz, and they sat down together on a matching sofa. Sandra’s hand crept out and clutched Simon’s. “There’s no way you can wriggle out of the scam,” I said brutally. “But I don’t think murder was on the agenda.”

“I haven’t killed anybody,” Simon said defiantly, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“It doesn’t look that way,” I said.

“Look, I admit I wanted to get my own back on Kerrchem,” he said.

“The golden handcuffs?” I asked.

He nodded. “That was bad enough, but then I found out they were refusing to give me a proper reference.”

I frowned. Nobody at Kerrchem had indicated that anyone had left under a cloud. “Why?” I said.

“It was my department head, Keith Murray. He screwed up on a research project I was working on with him and it ended up costing the company about twenty grand in wasted time and materials. It was just before the redundancies were going to be announced and everybody was twitchy about their jobs, and he blamed me for the cock-up. Now, because of that, personnel say I can’t have a good reference. So I’ve ended up totally shafted. Never mind waiting six months, I’ll be waiting six years before anybody gives me a responsible research job again. Kerrchem owes me.” The words spilled out angrily, tumbling out in the rush of a normally reticent man who’s had enough.

“So you decided to take it out in blackmail?”

“Why not?” he asked defiantly.

“Apart from the fact that it’s illegal, no reason at all,” I said tartly. “What about the two people who died?”

“That’s got nothing to do with us,” Sandra butted in. “You’ve got to believe us!” She looked as if she was about to burst into tears.

“She’s right,” Simon said, patting Sandra’s knee with his free hand. “The papers said they’d died from cyanide poisoning, that’s right, isn’t it?” I nodded. “Well, then,” he said. “All the stuff I’ve been using is over-the-counter chemicals, mostly ones Sandra’s picked up through work. I’ve got no access to cyanide. I’ve got none in the warehouse or here. You can search all you like, but you can’t tie us in to any cyanide. Look, all we wanted was to get some money out of Trevor Kerr. Why would we kill people if that was what we were trying to do? It’d be daft. You pay off somebody who’s wrecking your commercial operation, you do it quiet so the opposition don’t get to hear about it, you don’t go to the police. You don’t pay off murderers. You can’t hide murder.”