Joint Enterprise (The Romney and Marsh Files Book 3) (31 page)

‘Leave it with me, sir. I’ll speak to him.’

‘Perhaps, he should seek some counselling help. Talk to someone. I mean, the work aspect aside, it doesn’t strike me as a particularly healthy interest for a middle-aged married man with children. Each to their own and all that and it’s still largely a free country, but perhaps he might need a gentle reminder that as a serving police officer it is expected that he must conduct himself in an exemplary way both on and off duty.’

*

The message was waiting for Romney that Jez Ray and his legal representation would like to speak with the police at their earliest convenience on a matter relating to a recent serious crime. That language, coming as it did from the legal representation, prompted feelings within Romney akin to what he imagined he would experience if he found himself checking his lottery ticket on
a Euro millions roll-over draw as the numbers were being called and realising he had the first four.

*

‘It’s not often you’ll hear of cases where someone facing a charge of Involuntary Manslaughter then asks for a charge of murder to be taken into consideration. Bit of a turn up for the books, wouldn’t you say?’ said Romney to Marsh, as they sat enjoying proper coffee round the corner from the station.

It was Romney’s idea and his treat after they had seen Jez Ray and his solicito
r off the premises. The interview had gone well. Jez Ray had proved particularly cooperative and helpful. Images of lambs being slaughtered had played around Romney’s mind. As Romney had stood on the station steps and watched the patrol car shuttle Jez Ray back to Canterbury and incarceration, it had taken a good measure of his self-control to stop himself from smiling and waving him off, like some distant relative after a family gathering.

‘I’m still struggling to come to terms with how that’s turned out. My arm’s covered in pinch-bruises where I have to keep checking I’m not dreaming,’ said Romney, still thinking and now behaving and talking like a lottery winner. ‘What do you think made him do it?’

‘Obviously, your speech at the prison touched something deep and powerful within him, sir,’ said Marsh. She was struggling to contain her disappointment in him at the way he had, disgracefully in her opinion, pulled the wool over the young emotionally unstable man’s eyes. To her mind the whole business had been low and unsavoury. And she couldn’t quite put her finger on why.

Jez Ray’s
sworn statement, with the ink of his signature still drying, sat on Romney’s desk. He had confessed to stabbing Edy Vitriol on the doorstep of his home. When he discovered he had not been fatally wounded, he went the next day to the hospital to finish the job in an ironically clinical fashion. He had taken two lives deliberately. The first of which Marsh could believe had been a spur of the moment thing. Not forgivable, of course, but perhaps understandable on some level. The second was clearly pre-meditated and was beyond justifiable. So why did she feel sorry for the young man? Why did Romney’s underhand treatment of Ray, simply to get a result and see justice done, bother her so? These were not questions she wanted to own up to. The answers would be something she would search for alone, later, with alcohol in front of her.

‘I’m sure you’re right. I just wanted confirmation,’ said Romney
, smirking. ‘Perhaps we should try that nauseatingly woolly-liberal practice of reaching out to our criminals on an emotional level more often. Sorry they’re victims too aren’t they, somewhere in their deep and impoverished pasts. We’ll have prisons full of blubbering, conscience-riddled, scrotes all looking for redemption and the nearest official to confess all their past misdemeanours to. And the NHS can fund all their subsequent programmes of therapy.’

In what could have been a contender for understatement of the year
, Marsh said, ‘You sound like you don’t approve of the criminally convicted having access to programmes of mental health treatment and counselling that could help them understand themselves better, aid the recovery process and maybe prevent them from reoffending.’

‘And you do, I suppose?’

‘Research has demonstrated that therapy and education of the self can have a strong positive impact on reoffending statistics and the subsequent threat to society that convicted criminals pose.’

‘At what cost to the public purse? When I think of some of the hard-cases I’ve put away in my time
, I can’t imagine any of them thinking much of a programme of therapy other than as a soft prison option. An opportunity to lie to some arsehole who hasn’t got the first idea of what most of these shit-bags who ruin people’s lives are really like. In case you’re in any doubt over my position, it’s the victims of crime I feel for. They’re the ones who should be supported and helped. Life is tough for most of us and most of us don’t resort to breaking the law because of it.’

Even though she knew she was wasting her breath, Marsh said, ‘But if money were spent on prevention
, in the long run the public purse could be spared the expense of housing and looking after repeat offenders.’

‘It shouldn’t be about the money
,’ said Romney, performing a quick U-turn. ‘It should be about the principles involved. If you know the law and then you break the law you should suffer the consequences and stop bleating about it. Take it like a man. If you can’t do the time blah, blah, blah. Actually, it’s something that I respect about young Jez Ray. I’m astounded by his admission, but I really respect him for it. He’s broken the law. It’s going to cost him a lot of his freedom, but he’s held his hands up. I wish him well. Fancy some cheesecake? I’ve got a funny story for you. You look like you need cheering up.’

*

‘If anyone’s interested, Duke of York straight after work. I’ll be buying the first round and dedicating it to villains who come clean. God bless each and every one of them. What a lot of work they save us,’ said Romney. There were smiles and nods of agreement around the little CID office. ‘While I’ve got everyone’s attention, there is something else I need to discuss. Superintendent Falkner had me in his office this afternoon regarding an official complaint he’s received from the legal counsel of the old lady cleaner who has recently left us.

‘
Apparently, while working here the other evening she was exposed to what her solicitor calls deeply disturbing images of a sexually perverted nature on a computer screen. I’m not aware of any case we’re working on at the moment that involved that kind of thing. I told the super we don’t have anything like that down here and that she must be making it up. He accepts this, so nothing to worry about. Besides all Internet traffic is monitored at area. He’s referred her legal team to them. I’m just telling you now because they’ll have to be an investigation by Professional Standards and if you walk in to find them sniffing around, not to worry. We’ve got nothing to hide, have we?’ He looked at all their faces and they all looked back and blank except one, who looked like he’d seen a ghost. ‘Carry on,’ finished Romney, only just managing to stop himself from laughing before turning away for his office to wait.

The tap at the door wasn’t long in coming. Grimes stood there looking anxious.

‘You don’t look so good,’ said Romney. ‘Guts playing you up again?’

‘No, gov. Conscience, actually.’

‘Come in then.’ He didn’t ask him to sit. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘It’s about those images that
Mavis would have seen.’

*

Romney had not enjoyed Grimes’ confession as much as he thought he would. He actually came to feel a little sorry for his charade when Grimes’ anxiety over a possibly visit from area investigators reached its zenith and threatened to embarrass them both.

After
impressing upon the detective constable the need for professionalism at all times and to resist idle curiosity, especially on work computers, Romney assured Grimes that he would do all in his power to explain away events in some believable way and smooth the waters. If nothing else the exercise would serve to have Grimes’ feeling beholding to his DI for a while, which was never a bad thing.

DI Romney had two final tasks to perform that evening before he left for drinks with his team. He shut his office door, sat down and dialled the number of his GP. It
couldn’t go on. The not knowing, the self-generated fears, the dwelling on the stories that everyone knew of men who had ignored their body’s warning signs and had left the seeking out of professional medical advice until it was too late. It would be one of the most embarrassing and unpleasant experiences of his adult life – it wouldn’t be much fun for the GP either – but it had to be faced. He had now found blood when he wiped.

The I
nternet search he had made had only served to distress him further. There was, he was now forced to consider, a very real possibility that he had cancer of the anus, or cancer of the colon or bowel cancer or cancer of something to do with his backside.

Romney made the appointment for the following morning, returned the phone to its cradle and felt a little better, although he couldn’t explain why.

The next phone call he made was to the offices of Dr Puchta. Naturally, there was no one there. The money she earned she probably didn’t work afternoons at all. Wouldn’t need to. He left a message on the answer-phone that he would call again the following day to speak with the doctor about the possibility of her making a house call at Canterbury prison on his behalf. And then he stood, shook off the worry that would do him no good and that he was loathe to fall prey to and prepared to go and enjoy the rest of whatever sort of a life he had left.

***

19

‘I’ve had an idea,’ said Romney. He and Marsh were sitting at a small circular table in the bar. Grimes and Spicer were playing darts, badly. ‘I want you to speak with your new best friend and find out about Crawford’s arrangement to get his film back. If he’s going to pay for it, there might have to be an exchange. I can’t imagine Crawford paying up front and trusting he’ll then get his film returned. If there is to be a rendezvous, I want to know the details.’

‘Why?’ said Marsh. A guarded tone was evident in her speech.

‘Why do you think? I want to be there, of course.’

‘Why? You said before that you didn’t care to be involved in it. He could just get on with it.’

‘Blimey, you sound like my daughter when she was at primary school – why? why? why? I’ve changed my mind, all right? Whoever has the film has committed criminal acts. As the upholders of law and order we are duty bound to investigate and where appropriate apprehend and prosecute. Quite frankly, Sergeant, I’m a little disappointed I should have to remind you of that.’

Marsh was not to be fazed by Romney’s assumed bullishness or his U-turn. ‘It wouldn’t have anything to do with you wanting to get your han
ds on the film to inconvenience Hugo Crawford, or just get his back up, would it, sir?’

As they were socia
lising, Romney allowed this, but ignored it because she was right. ‘Naturally, as part of our investigation into the death of Paul Henry we should like to see the film in case there is anything regarding our murder enquiry that we can learn from it.’

‘And that’s the only reason?’ she persisted.

‘It’s a good one and the only one you’re getting.’ He sipped his pint.

‘What makes you think that Ramsden can and will help?’

‘Firstly, he’s there and he can just ask Crayfish. Crayfish would appear to have taken him into his confidence about it already anyway. Secondly, as an animal rights enthusiast who has already conspired to interfere with the making of the film I would imagine that he’d be willing to tell us whatever he could in the hope that the production can be further delayed. Thirdly, tell him if he doesn’t help us, we’ll tell Crayfish all about him.’

‘Will we?’

‘I’ll think about it. But don’t tell him that bit. Besides, his sister was knocked about, so he’ll want to help us get our hands on who did that, won’t he? Try and be a bit more positive, will you?’

They sipped their drinks in silence for a minute before Romney said, ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’

‘You want me to call him now?’

‘Why not? The payoff could be imminent.’

‘I don’t think I’ve got his number.’

‘Yes, you have. He called you on your mobile when we were driving up to the prison this morning.’

Marsh huffed and got out her phone. She scrolled down her calls received. Then she stood and moved away from the table to find some quiet. She returned in two minutes wearing a troubled expression.

‘Well?’ said Romney.

‘It’s tonight. He’s going to try and find out the details and call me back.’

Grimes and Spicer returned to the table. Grimes was carrying a tray of drinks. It was an unusual sight.

‘Forget those,’ said Romney, standing. ‘We’ve got a job on tonight.’

‘What?’ moaned Grimes. ‘This round just cost me thirteen quid, gov.’

‘Did you get a receipt?’