Pauline Rowson: In for the Kill

‘That is Sergeant Adams.’ Crowder pointed at the neck of the skinny man now in the driver’s seat. Adams’ eyes flicked to the rear view mirror and connected with mine. I raised my eyebrows in a kind of acknowledgement but got nothing in return. I hadn’t really expected it.

Crowder removed his hat, revealing a luxuriant head of silver hair, which was swept back off his broad forehead. I stared at his taciturn face and cold assessing eyes and felt my stomach churn. I knew he would be an even more formidable adversary than Clipton.

Crowder said, ‘You went to see Joe Bristow, why?’

‘You know why.’ That brought a smile of sorts to his lips.

‘I’ve been told you’re clever.’

‘Don’t think much of your informant then. I wasn’t clever enough to avoid DCI Clipton and prison,’ I replied acerbically.

Silence for a few moments as the car stopped and started its way back towards the seafront.

Every now and again I caught the sergeant’s glance in the rear-view mirror. I marvelled at his ability to look so disinterested. I could have done with some tips from him during my first year in prison.

‘What were you doing at Chief Inspector Clipton’s funeral?’ Crowder’s voice broke through my unhappy memories. I was rather glad.

‘I went to make sure the bastard really was dead,’ I snapped. Before prison I wouldn’t have dreamed of speaking to a police officer so dismissively or sarcastically. I had been brought up to respect the law. Now everything was different, including me. I tried not to show my tension. I knew Crowder would see it and perceive it as a weakness. Ray’s words came to me. ‘ Show the bastards you don’t give a toss. That way they can’t hurt you, even when they do hurt you’.

Crowder shook his big head like a St Bernard dog, and a sorrowful expression swept across his lugubrious face. ‘You’re not still trying to prove that you’re innocent, are you, Alex? I don’t think the parole board will take a good view of that.

Didn’t you tell them how sorry you are and that you’d hand the money over if you could lay your hands on it?’

Of course Crowder would know what the parole board report had said. ‘Is that what you’re after? Well, I’m sorry to disappoint. I haven’t a clue where it is.’

‘No? We’ve long since come to the conclusion that Andover doesn’t exist. He was your alter ego.

You were and are Andover.’

I knew I wasn’t. ‘Traffic’s heavy.’ Say nothing.

Show nothing – Ray again.

‘Why was Clipton travelling to the Isle of Wight? Did you arrange to meet him?’ Crowder said, with a harder edge to his voice.

‘Hardly. Perhaps he fancied a holiday.’

‘Where’s the three million pounds you stole, Alex?’

‘It’s stopped raining.’

‘All right, let’s try another one. Where were you between nine and eleven this morning?’

I swivelled to look directly at him. ‘You know where I was. I was making my way from my houseboat to Ryde to catch the hovercraft. And if you ask your fair-haired detective he will verify that I was nowhere near Joe Bristow’s office until just before eleven.’

Crowder smiled which made me more uncomfortable than before. I had struck lucky with the fair-haired detective theory, but I felt uneasy. Why had he been so obvious? I had the feeling that I was intended to spot him.

The sergeant pulled up outside the hovercraft terminal. Before I could climb out Crowder said in that deceptively comforting voice, ‘You’ve got that money, Alex, and I’m going to find out where it is. OK, so you may not have killed Joe Bristow yourself, but you know who did. You may even have ordered his death.’ He held up his hand to prevent me from protesting. I couldn’t anyway; I was struck dumb by what he was saying. My mouth must have been agape with amazement.

He continued, ‘I’ll get you in the end, Alex. I just thought you ought to know that.’

As I watched the car drive off I felt cold with fear. Crowder’s threats weren’t empty ones.

There was also something personal in the way he had spoken. My God, as if I hadn’t been through a bad enough time with DCI Clipton, now I had another vindictive copper on my back.

My fear swiftly turned to anger. It fed my determination to find Andover and clear my name. I’d take great pleasure in ramming that down the smug bastard’s throat.

I waited until the car was out of sight, then turned westwards towards Old Portsmouth and the High Street, where Miles’s office was based.

My mind wandered back to my conversation with Clipton’s daughter, which I’d hardly had time to digest with Crowder breathing down my neck. Why had Clipton taken an overnight bag with him to the Island? Who had he arranged to see? Had he booked in anywhere? Where was his mobile phone? I couldn’t recall them mentioning it at the coroner’s inquest. Clipton must have had one and it would show who he had called. I was heartily glad the houseboat didn’t have a telephone and that I didn’t have a mobile. If Clipton had called Camp Hill Prison to enquire after me then the screws hadn’t told me. And where were his notebooks? All police officers carried notebooks and nearly all ex-police officers kept their old ones when they retired.

DCI Crowder knew a hell of a lot more than he was saying.

A young woman with heavy perfume and pubescent hips showed me up to Miles’s office on the first floor. I got the impression that she found me rather attractive. I’d heard from some of my fellow inmates that they had no trouble finding women when they came out. I guessed ex-cons were a challenge to them, a man with a hint of danger and mystery, someone to reform.

For a moment I wondered what had happened to the blonde bombshell I’d met in Brading church.

‘I’m up to my armpits with work.’ Miles waved me into seat across the black ash desk piled with papers. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in days. His tie was askew, his sleeves rolled up showing his strong hairy forearms. There were dark circles under his bloodshot eyes and a more than usual haggard expression on his craggy face.

‘I’ve got a big court case coming up, and I’ve got to prepare the papers for the barrister. Man accused of food contamination and he doesn’t much care if he goes down for it. Claims it will be a blow for consumers against capitalism.’

‘Tell him he’s wasting his breath. I doubt it’ll dent the supermarkets’ profits and no one gives a flying fart about principles in prison,’ I said caustically.

‘I’ll pass your message on,’ Miles said, with the twist of a smile. He picked up a pencil and began tapping it on the desk.

I said, ‘Joe’s dead.’

That brought him up sharp. ‘What? When?

You’re kidding!’

‘Afraid not. His street is crawling with police.’

‘Bloody hell! How?’

‘For some reason the police didn’t seem to want to take me into their confidence.’

‘The police have interviewed you!’ He looked shocked.

‘A DCI Crowder and Sergeant Adams gave me a lift back from Clipton’s funeral. They wanted to know where I was between nine and eleven this morning, presumably when Joe was killed.

It’s rather a coincidence that Joe was killed on the morning I was due to visit him, don’t you think? Which means that Joe must have known something about Andover and was going to tell me. It also means that Andover knew I was going to see Joe.’

I told him my theory about Joe’s phone possibly being tapped. He didn’t look at me as if I’d gone mad. Miles had too much experience of the criminal fraternity for that.

‘Apart from the obvious, who else knows I’m out?’

‘Vanessa does. I called her to tell her.’