Design for Murder (24 page)

‘Yes, sir,’ Charlie replied woodenly. He knew Charteris would spin this out, to dig in the knife, deeper and deeper.

‘But it now seems Fraser had an ulterior motive. For personal, family reasons, he intended killing Coleen Chivers but making it appear the crime had been committed by Conroy. He then intended moving on to murder his other niece, Sharon Owen, but things got a bit awkward when Conroy found out from television that the Chivers killing was being pinned on him, an innocent man even if he had killed in the Midlands, so Fraser had to get rid of him rather sooner than he’d intended.’

Charlie nodded grimly. ‘That’s right, sir. He drugged him, strangled him, kept him in a freezer for a short while, then strung him up to make it look like suicide. He—’

‘Yes, I’ve read your report,’ Charteris interrupted caustically. ‘He’d enticed Coleen Chivers to have a drink with him as she left the evening shindig in the Gosforth Park Hotel by revealing their relationship: in the bar he’d given her a dose of rohypnol, and then took her to his car,
strangled her, stripped her, scarred her and dumped her in Tynemouth. All that’s in your report. So is the fact that he later rang Owen and this solicitor Ward, pretending to be Conroy – who was dead by now – to draw them to the farm.’

‘That’s right, sir,’ Charlie interrupted, determined to get in his own say. ‘He used chloroform on Sharon Owen before Ward arrived. He wanted Ward out of the way as well because he might ask some awkward questions. He—’

‘Never mind Ward,’ Charteris interrupted snappishly. ‘Let’s get to the point of all this. I think I’m right in assuming that if it hadn’t been for this shady character Jackie Parton arriving at Rowland’s Farm to spoil Fraser’s party, we wouldn’t have got our hands on any of this, would we?’

There was a short silence Charlie was unwilling to break. At last, he admitted, ‘No, sir.’

The thin smile on Charteris’s mouth held no hint of humour. ‘So how come an ex-jockey could find out where Conroy was holed up, when you couldn’t?’

Charlie straightened. They were now getting down to brass tacks. He took a deep breath. ‘Parton’s a local man. He’s got contacts all along the river. He’s well known and trusted by people who would never talk to us. He made his enquiries, as I’d requested—’

‘Yes, I noted that you’d asked Ward to get Parton on the case,’ Charteris said, leaning back and narrowing his eyes reflectively. ‘But Parton didn’t come to you with the information.’

‘No, sir, as I said—’

‘He doesn’t like coppers,’ Charteris sneered. ‘Putting that on one side, you still haven’t explained how he discovered the farm.’

Charlie shrugged. ‘He’s kept pretty close about that, sir. It was a contact with an estate agency, as far as I can make out
… that, and some reports that he received from his network about activity in outlying properties in Northumberland. His contacts keep an eye on such places. The gangs along the river use empty farms like that for storage from time to time. Stolen goods. That sort of thing.’ He saw the glare from Charteris, guessing the ACC thought this irrelevant. ‘And Fraser’s articles raised his suspicion.’

‘They didn’t raise yours!’ Charteris snapped.

Charlie ploughed on doggedly. ‘So Parton made some further enquiries and worked out it was Fraser who rented the farm. He took a look at the place, saw Conroy, realized the farm had been rented to hide Conroy there—’

‘Smart little fellow,’ Charteris observed. ‘Gets to the target while we’re still stumbling around in the dark.’

Charlie knew he didn’t really mean
we
. He opened his mouth to make an angry retort, then thought better of it.

ACC Charteris picked up a pencil and tapped it thoughtfully on the desk. ‘So Parton reported back to Ward’s office, discovered Ward had gone out to the farm, and Parton himself dashed back there. Just in time.’ He paused in reflection. ‘Right, let’s get all this in clear, straight language. It was you who was responsible for tracking Conroy, and you failed miserably. He vanished on your watch. You were responsible for finding Conroy, and you failed miserably. He died before you even discovered, through someone else, where he had been hiding.’

‘Saves the cost of another trial, sir,’ Charlie muttered irritably.

‘That isn’t the point, is it, DCI Spate?’ Charteris said icily. ‘I repeat. All this happened on your watch, and you failed. And then, finally, you took Fraser into custody, brought him into the cells and questioned him, and he sang like a free-
as-the
-air bird. And then … after that, well, although I’ve read
your report, I’d like to hear about it, from your own lips. Indulge me, Spate … indulge me.’

Charlie braced himself. He took a deep breath, raising his chin defiantly. ‘We took Fraser to the magistrates court for the preliminary hearing. He was compliant, quiet, we had the cuffs on him. We were expecting no trouble. The hearing proceeded without a word from him. Then we took him out of the building, down the steps and it was then …’ Charlie swallowed hard. ‘It was then that he broke free.’

‘He was with you,’ Charteris murmured softly, ‘and two police constables. Manacled. But he broke
free
.’

Charlie licked his dry lips. ‘It was sudden. Unexpected. He kicked one constable on the leg, jerked free and ran out into the street. He didn’t get far.’

His voice died away, under Charteris’s stern eye. The assistant chief constable twisted his mouth unpleasantly. ‘I would disagree, DCI Spate. He got a considerable distance, I would say. All the way to hell!’

‘As I said before, sir,’ Charlie said, gritting his teeth, ‘saved the cost of a trial. Two, in fact.’

‘And as I said before, this happened on your watch, Spate! You were the officer responsible, you allowed this killer to escape and … what was it? A taxi?’

‘Fraser ran out in front of it, sir,’ Charlie said doggedly. ‘It was as though he didn’t see it, or maybe it was deliberate. But he got hit, he smashed his head on the kerb….’

‘On your watch….’

Charlie stood stiffly to attention. He’d been expecting this for some days, but Charteris had kept him dangling.

Charteris threw the pencil down, leaned forward, forearms on the desk as he stared at the man standing in front of him. ‘This whole thing, this farce, it’s been nothing less than a catalogue of disasters, Spate, a long trail of
incompetence. You know, ever since you came up here from the Met, where you had already developed a certain reputation for careless and irresponsible behaviour, I’ve had my doubts. I’ve kept my eye on you. You’ve had some success, but in my view it’s all been down to blind luck, chance, not good police work. But this business tops the lot. You allowed a killer to escape, failed to find him, and then allowed
his
killer to escape from custody! How incompetent can a copper get? You must know there are other rumours circulating around the force now as well … some related to your experiences in the Met, others to your behaviour up here. But this tops the lot. You realize, of course, your suspension will be confirmed. And then there will be an internal enquiry.’ He paused, glaring at the man in front of him with a malicious gleam in his eye. ‘You’ve not got many friends up here, Spate.’

Suddenly, Charlie knew what he was going to do. He eased his stiff back and glared at Charteris in contempt. The assistant chief constable guessed what was in Charlie’s mind. He nodded, slowly. Perhaps he had even been hoping for it. ‘There is another way out of this, of course,’ he said quietly.

Charlie nodded in disgust. He’d had enough.

Charteris grimaced. ‘You could resign. Seek your fortunes elsewhere. No enquiry. No mud-slinging. No problem about accumulated pension rights.’ He paused. ‘We might even arrange a certain pay-off.’

‘And I’d be out of your hair.’

‘Not just mine, Spate. Not just mine.’

Charlie plunged his hand into his jacket pocket, threw his warrant card on the desk of the assistant chief constable. It was as simple as that.

Out in the car park Charlie Spate felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He sat in the car for a little while, thinking. After leaving Charteris he had cleared his desk rapidly: there was little there that he wanted to take with him. He had been tempted to call into Elaine’s office, have a word with her, but somehow there was nothing to say. Things had changed, they hadn’t spent time alone together since she had walked from his room that day, and now he was no longer able to gauge his feelings. He had never been able to weigh up hers. Perhaps things were best left as they were. For a while at least.

He drove into Newcastle and parked in Grey Street near the Theatre Royal. He walked down a side street to the King’s Head. The bar was almost empty. He ordered a pint of bitter, took it from the silent barman and retreated into a dark corner. There was a handsome, dark-skinned man near the window. Resembled the photograph of George Khan. The lover of Coleen Chivers, still under surveillance of MI5, but cleared of involvement in the death of the Chivers woman. False leads. Charlie shook his head.

As he sipped his beer he was reminded of the hard men who had come up from the Midlands: Nick Capaldi and Gary Lawson had gone back to Birmingham now, and although they’d had no hand in the final demise of Raymond Conroy, they would have been satisfied enough with the outcome. As for Fraser, the two thugs wouldn’t have cared about his death either way, Charlie guessed: though they might have applauded the way he’d turned off Conroy, swinging from that beam.

And now Charlie had to think of the future.

Returning south didn’t appeal to him. Seeking employment with another force wasn’t an option that appealed to him. He thought maybe he’d stick it out a bit
longer in the north. Security work. Private enquiries. Office space was cheaper up here than in the Smoke. And villains maybe simpler … apart from some of the big ones.

He finished his pint and went back out into Grey Street, then strolled down to the Quayside. The Millennium Bridge was opening its eye to allow a freighter through to dock near the old Customs House. He watched it for a while, then looked back to the second floor of the building where Eric Ward had his office. He turned, made his way to the door and climbed the stairs.

Susie Cartwright was putting on her coat, just about to leave. He caught her eye: she seemed to be about to say something in protest, at the fact he had no appointment, but then thought better of it. She brushed past him and left the office. There was a light on in Ward’s room. Charlie tapped on the door, opened it, then walked in without waiting for permission. Eric Ward looked up from the papers scattered on the desk in front of him. His face was still faintly bruised. He said nothing. He didn’t even seem surprised.

Charlie took a seat without invitation. The two men stared at each other silently for a little while. Then Charlie said, ‘How’s Miss Owen?’

‘She’s recovered well enough. She’s a resilient young woman.’

‘Nearly got killed.’

‘That’s right,’ Ward agreed solemnly. He seemed to be waiting for something.

‘You too.’

‘That’s right.’

‘If it hadn’t been for me, you’d never have got away from Rowland’s Farm,’ Charlie growled.

‘Now exactly how do you make that out?’ Ward asked calmly.

‘Jackie Parton rescued you both from a tight fix. He wouldn’t have been able to do that if I hadn’t asked you to get him involved.’

The silence grew around them. Eric Ward shrugged. ‘I suppose that’s one way of looking at things.’

Charlie hesitated. ‘I’ve packed it in. The job, I mean.’

Once again, the solicitor did not seem surprised. He waited.

‘So you owe me one,’ Charlie suggested. ‘Getting Parton involved like that. Saved your neck. And Miss Owen’s.’ Charlie hunched his shoulders and slid down in his seat. ‘So I was thinking. I mean to stay up here. Find an office, take on security work. Do some private enquiry stuff. You use agencies from time to time. You could use me.’

Eric Ward raised an eyebrow. Charlie guessed what he was about to say. They had a history, he and Eric Ward. They’d never got on. And now Charlie was asking for a job. In the tense silence that followed he could almost see the words forming on the solicitor’s lips.
A job? Not in a million years
.

Instead, after a little while Eric Ward said quietly, ‘Yes. Perhaps I could at that….’