The TV Detective (14 page)

‘I bloody hated him.'

‘I'm sorry, I stand corrected. You hated him and you were in Plymouth on Monday evening when he was killed.'

Spearing visibly recoiled. ‘I wasn't.'

Adam sighed and folded his arms. ‘I don't know why we have to go through these routines. You people always leg it when we come calling, so we always put cops round the back. We get some important information, you deny it. It's like a bad comedy. So, as I was saying, you were in Plymouth on Monday evening.'

‘I wasn't.'

‘Right, if I could just remind you about the little packet of special recreational powder in your desk drawer.'

The businessman looked away. Finally, he said, ‘It's only a little bit. And just for me. Times have been difficult lately. It helps me get by.'

‘And it's not particularly what I'm interested in. Now, about Plymouth on Monday?'

‘Yeah, all right, I was there.'

‘Why?'

‘Business.'

‘What business?'

‘The usual. Looking at places. I wondered if there might be some bargains to be had in the housing. Property going cheap. I'm stuffed here. It's all too expensive. No one wants to know me. I was hoping there might be something to help me get back on my feet.'

‘Who did you meet?'

‘No one. I just went to look around.'

The disbelief was as subtle as a drunken proposition. ‘You just went to look around?'

‘Yeah.'

‘You drove all that way, hundreds of miles, to look around?'

‘Yeah.'

‘You didn't meet anyone who can confirm what you were doing and when?'

‘No.'

‘So you just walked around all day, looking at properties?'

‘Yeah.'

‘In the pouring rain?'

‘Yeah.'

Adam sat back on his chair. ‘This is going to come as a terrible shock to you, Mr Spearing, but I'm afraid I don't believe you.'

The businessman looked entirely unsurprised. ‘No.'

‘OK then, let's try this one more time. Either you start telling me the truth, or you're under arrest on suspicion of murder and for possessing Class A drugs.'

Spearing laid his head down on his hands. ‘Shit,' he moaned.

‘Which I would say just about sums up your position,' Adam replied. ‘Now then, last chance. What were you doing in Plymouth on Monday?'

Spearing raised his head. ‘If I tell you the truth, it doesn't go any further, OK?'

‘I don't think you're in any position to barter. Just tell me what you were doing and we'll take it from there.'

And, slowly, Alex Spearing did.

Chapter
Twelve

T
HEY LEFT
S
PEARING IN
the tender care of the two large Sussex Police constables while they went to get some lunch.

‘We can't do anything for an hour or two, while Suzanne checks out his story, so we might as well,' Adam said. ‘Plus, it'll give him time to stew, and might make him more inclined to talk.'

They walked for a few minutes to the Lanes, a maze of shops, restaurants, arcades and boutiques, just outside the main shopping centre.

The sun was high in the sky now, and the day almost warm for an English winter. A few people sat outside the cafes, the insulation of coats and scarves well tucked around them. All the shop windows were full of tinsel and glitter, and suggestions for last minute Christmas presents. They passed a baker's, the air rich with the smell of mince pies. Seagulls wheeled, screeching in the air, circling a row of rubbish bins, looking for their cuisine of choice.

‘It's just like being back in Plymouth,' Dan mused.

He stopped at a second-hand jeweller's and scanned the gold and silver in the display. They had a fine selection of watches, particularly Rolex. “Best prices in town”, read a sign.

‘My last watch packed up a few weeks ago,' Dan said. ‘I've always wanted to get myself a decent one.'

‘How about a decent lunch first?' Adam replied.

There were so many restaurants it was difficult to choose. All were boasting special offers, fixed price menus, the familiar two-for-one deals. They looked at the menu of a Chinese buffet, a quaint Italian place, then a French bistro.

Adam's phone rang, he picked it out of his pocket, went to answerand then stopped when he saw the name on the display. Something in his face changed. With a policeman's way, he held up a peremptory hand to Dan, as if to say wait, and stalked around the corner.

Dan used the time to ring the newsroom. He'd turned his phone to silent for the interview with Spearing and hadn't been in the least surprised to find four missed calls, but just a single message. That could mean only one thing. It was the tempest known as Lizzie, and as surprising as the sun rising, or rain in the summertime, she wanted a story.

‘You're where?' came the incredulous reaction, her voice hitting a note of which an irascible toddler would have been proud.

‘Brighton.'

‘I'm sure this is my omission, but I don't remember Brighton being in our patch.'

‘Technically, it isn't. But there's a hot lead here, the possibility of a big story for us, so I thought I'd better come.'

‘The possibility?'

‘There might be an arrest – the first one – of a prime suspect for the Bray murder.'

‘Might be? Might be doesn't make stories. Might be doesn't fill the programme! Might be doesn't fascinate the viewers.'

Dan sensed the rocket was on the launch pad, and the countdown was nearing its climax. He held the phone a little way from his ear. Lizzie in full flow could be painfully loud.

‘I want news! I want reports! I want developments! I want them now! Get back to me when you've got a story happening, not when something “might be”.'

Dan pulled a face at the phoneand returned to studying the menu. French food had never been his favourite. Too fiddly, and rarely coming in sufficient quantities for the demands of his rapacious stomach.

Adam skulked back around the corner. His face was like a storm cloud over the hills.

‘I can't do lunch,' he snapped. ‘I'm going to have to nip off. Meet me back at Spearing's place in an hour.'

‘Are you OK? Is it work?'

‘No, it's not work and yes, I'm fine.'

His hand was gripping his mobile so hard the skin had turned white. Seldom could someone have sounded less fine. Adam turned and walked quickly away.

* * *

Dan bought himself a newspaper, walked back to the Italian and enjoyed an excellent lunch of fresh pasta in a tomato and bacon sauce. Like a good parent, he slipped out of the restaurant for a few moments and rang his downstairs neighbour who reassured him that Rutherford was fine, had been taken out for a walk and was currently chewing happily at his own lunch.

Dan tried not to be disappointed about not eating with Adam, but mostly failed. He wanted to talk through the case, particularly what the detective thought of Spearing. The businessman had eventually, and with great reluctance, volunteered the information about what he was doing in Plymouth. It involved a woman, he said, someone with whom he had been having an on-off affair for quite a while. She was married, so he had booked a hotel and they had spent much of the evening together before she returned home.

When Adam asked, with genuine sensitivity Dan thought, if it wasn't a long way to go for a tryst, Spearing said, ‘You probably won't believe this, but I didn't see it as just a night's fun. She's very special to me. I hardly even noticed the drive. Things are bad for me at the moment. I was feeling low. I just needed to see her and hold her.'

Adam nodded, but insisted on taking the woman's contact details, reassuring Spearing that she would be spoken to discreetly. His story would also be checked with the hotel.

It had felt like a turning point in the interview. Whereas before Adam was pointed and probing, even occasionally hostile, now he became more sympathetic.

Dan wondered if he might be beginning to understand the boundary lines between the personal and professional Adam Breen.

Suzanne and another detective were checking Spearing's story. They would have an answer as to whether he could have been the killer of Edward Bray within a couple of hours.

Dan paid the bill, and with a nod to the season left a generous tip. Sitting in the restaurant, on his own, he'd begun to feel lonely. He was a long way from home and Christmas was coming. Just as it had been for as long as Dan cared to remember he'd be spending much of it in the flat, with Rutherford, opening the presents he'd bought the dog, then the ones he'd bought for himself.

The Swamp sucked hard at the edge of his mind.

In afatal instant of reflection the eternal foe was back.

It was there, lurking in the dark shadows at the gates of his mind. The enemy he carried everywhereand which would never quite leave him, no matter for how long he ran or how hard he battled.

It was the perfect prison. The jail inside yourself.

The Swamp of the depression that had stalked Dan for all his days.

With its darkness and dankness. Its cloying, sticky, fetid and apathetic air. Its unconquerable mountains. Its greyness and its vastness, and the unshakeable certainty that it could never be escaped.

Dan tried to cheer himself, thinking of the coming weekend and his plans for a day out with Kerry. It was time to tell her his idea. He sent a text and got one back as quickly as a top tennis player returning a serve.

“That'd be lovely! What a great idea! Look forward to it! x”

She was certainly a woman who liked her exclamation marks. Only the kiss had survived the scattergun of punctuation. But the message revived his spirits and he smiled.

Dan ignored the warning voice at the back of his mind, telling him of the danger of mood swings. They had always been an omen of the Swamp gathering its strength.

Well, it could naff off, for now at least. Dan had promised himself the tablets would stay in the bathroom cupboard, and he was holding to that. He wasn't resorting to them again.

The problem was in his head. As must be the solution.

The false hope of the little bottle of pills could stay hidden. Let them gather dust. He could carry the fight himself. And he would .

Dan was going to cheer himself up further. It was time to not so much splash, but more deluge, out on some naughty Christmas shopping, all entirely for him.

The shop was an anachronism, with its oil lamps, fob watches, chandeliers and grandfather clocks. The man behind the counter even wore a waistcoat.

He spotted Dan eyeing the window display and turned on the showman's patter.

‘I see you're bare on the wrist there, good sir. Well, you've come to the right place. We've got the best watches and the best prices in town, and as it's Christmas I might even be able to go a little further and offer you a seasonal knockdown deal.'

Dan was shown a selection of watches, some picked out in gold, others silver, and more than a couple with glittering jewels sparkling from their beautiful faces.

It felt like slipping under a hypnotist's spell.

‘I need something good and robust,' he said.

The shopkeeper looked him up and down. ‘And fit for some adventuring, I'd say, judging by sir's fine physique.'

‘Well, perhaps the odd bit of walking and some running.'

‘And from sir's clothes – no doubt the need to appear smart, stylish and successful.'

‘Oh yes.'

‘But without being flash.'

Dan wasn't sure how to take that. He was wearing one of his new jackets and a new shirt too, and flash was exactly what he'd thought when he bought them.

‘Not too flash, no.'

‘Perhaps a little bit flash? A small flare of flashiness? For the benefit of the ladies?'

‘A little flash would be fine.'

The man's practiced hand darted to a silver watch at the edge of the display.

‘Et voilà!' he proclaimed. ‘The Rolex Submariner. Ideal for all the gentleman's requirements. Robust, yet a little flash, the perfect watch for the adventurer.'

The price tag looked like the culmination of a long maths lesson, but Dan was already reaching for his wallet.

It'san unfortunate fact of life; Dan reflected, that what we want people to notice, be it a new haircut, or a pair of shoes, they rarely do. However, that which we would much rather they missed, like a blossoming spot or a stain on a jacket, can almost always be guaranteed to catch the eye.

Such was the way with Dan's new watch.

Despite it being winter, he felt the need to take off his jacket at every conceivable opportunity and roll up his sleeves at the slightest chance. He kept looking at the watch, monitoring each passing minute in the hope of catching a wandering eye.

And no one noticed.

Adam's mood had not improved. They met back at Spearing's office to find the businessman talking to some prospective tenants. The two Sussex constables had the diplomatic decency to wait outside, but close enough to catch the man should he make another run for it.

He didn't, and Dan suspected that told Adam all he needed to know, even before Suzanne's call came through.

Spearing's alibi checked out. The woman he met, after being guaranteed confidentiality, had verified it, the hotel receptionist had verified it, and on the unlikely assumption they were in league and both lying, the diligent Suzanne had viewed the hotel's CCTV and that verified it too. Spearing was checking in at the very moment Edward Bray was checking out, for the final time.

They got back into the car at just before four o'clock, according to the new watch, which still hadn't attracted any of the attention it so patently deserved. Dan assumed he was driving and he was right. Adam didn't say a word, just climbed wearily into the passenger seat. This time he didn't recline, instead he sat staring morosely out of the windscreen.

Dan made a couple of attempts at conversation, which were rebuffed with monosyllabic grunts, as effective as mere waves against mighty cliffs. Instead he turned on the radio, found a news channel and concentrated on that.

Lizzie had called earlier, and Dan broke the bad news to her that there would be no story.

‘A day wasted!'

‘It wasn't wasted. It was a good idea to come, just in case. And I learnt some more about police work.'

‘The viewers didn't learn anything about the police investigation into Bray's death though, and that's the point of you shadowing the cops. I want a story, I want it on Monday, and I want it without fail. You hear that? Without fail!'

At least it was Friday and he had two days break from his manic editor and her relentless demands. And he had a new watch, proud on his wrist for all the world to see.

Except the world still hadn't had the decency to so much as notice.

It was a good hour into the drive before Adam spoke. ‘Well, it came to nothing, but we had to go.'

‘Yeah, you're right. What did you do about his little cocaine stash?'

‘I left it to the Sussex boys to decide about that. They might just turn a blind eye. It's a lot of paperwork for not much of a crime, and the guy was on his knees as it was. The Sussex cops do though reckon Spearing might have been up to some tax fraud as well, which is probably why he ran, but they can sort all that out. Now, what time do you reckon we'll get back to Plymouth?'

‘Depending on the traffic, by about eight. You in a rush?'

‘No,' Adam replied heavily. ‘Not in the least.'

They chatted a little more about what would happen in the inquiry over the weekend. Unless there was a particularly urgent development there was no need to pay for hours of overtime, so the investigation would tick over with just a few junior staff working. And, as Adam put it, ‘Bray will still be dead on Monday,' so he planned to have most of the weekend off.

‘Good,' Dan replied. ‘That means I can too. I could do with it. It's been quite a week.'

They lapsed back into silence. Despite it being the Friday evening before Christmas they were lucky and didn't hit any hold-ups. It was only when they were on the outskirts of Plymouth, at just before eight, that Adam sprang his surprise.

‘Have you got any plans for tonight?' he asked.

‘No. I was just going to go home. You?'

‘No. None. Do you fancy a bite to eat and a beer?'

Dan would have turned around to check no one else was in the car, if he hadn't had the benefit of a four-hour drive to assure him of that point.