Twelve Red Herrings (3 page)

Jeremy vacated
the chairman’s place without comment the moment I entered the boardroom, and
showed no particular interest in the proceedings until we reached an item
concerning a future share issue.

It was at this
point that he tried to push through a seemingly innocuous motion which could
ultimately have resulted in Rosemary and
myself
losing
overall control of the company, and therefore being unable to resist any future
takeover bid. 1 might have fallen for it if I hadn’t travelled up to Leeds the
previous evening and found his car parked in my driveway, and the bedroom light
on.

Just when he
thought he had succeeded in having the motion agreed without a vote, I asked
the company accountants to prepare a full report for the next board meeting
before we came to any decision.

Jeremy showed no
sign of emotion. He simply looked down at his notes and began drumming his
fingers on the boardroom table. I was determined that the report would prove to
be his downfall. If only it hadn’t been for my short temper, I might, given
time, have worked out a more sensible way of ridding myself of him.

As no one had
‘any other business’ to
raise
, I closed the meeting at
5.4, and suggested to Jeremy that he join Rosemary and me for dinner. I wanted
to see them together. Jeremy didn’t seem too keen, but after some bluffing from
me about not fully understanding his new share proposal, and feeling that my
wife ought to be brought in on it at some stage, he agreed. When I rang
Rosemary to let her know that Jeremy would be coming to dinner, she seemed even
less enthusiastic about the idea than he had been.

“Perhaps the two
of you should go off to a restaurant together,’ she suggested. “Then Jeremy can
bring you up to date on what’s been going on while you’ve been away.” I tried
not to laugh. “We haven’t got much food in at the moment,” she added. I told
her that it wasn’t the food I was worried about.

Jeremy was
uncharacteristically late, but I had his usual whisky and soda ready the moment
he walked through the door. I must say he put up a brilliant performance over
dinner, though Rosemary was less convincing.

Over coffee in
the sitting room, I managed to provoke the confrontation that Jeremy had so
skilfully avoided at the board meeting.

“Why are you so
keen to rush through this new share allocation?” I asked once he was on his
second brandy. “Surely you realise that it will take control of the company out
of the hands of Rosemary and me. Can’t you see that we could be taken over in
no time?” He tried a few well-rehearsed phrases.
“In the best
interests of the company, Richard.
You must realise how quickly Cooper’s
is expanding. It’s no longer a family firm. In the long term it has to be the
most prudent course for both of you, not to mention the shareholders.” I
wondered which particular shareholders he had in mind.

I was a little
surprised to find Rosemary not only backing him up, but showing a remarkable
grasp of the finer details of the share allocation, even after Jeremy had
scowled rather too obviously at her.

She seemed
extremely well-versed in the arguments he had been putting forward, given the
fact that she had never shown any interest in the company’s transactions in the
past. It was when she turned to me and said, “We must consider our future,
darling,” that I finally lost my temper.

Yorkshiremen are
well known for being blunt, and my next question lived up to our county’s
reputation.

“Are you two
having an affair, by any chance?” Rosemary turned scarlet. Jeremy laughed a
little too loudly, and then said, “I think you’ve had one drink too many,
Richard.”

“Not a drop,” I
assured him.

“Sober as a
judge. As I was when I came home late last night, and found your car parked in
the driveway and the light on in the bedroom.’

For the first
time since I’d met him, I had completely wrongfooted Jeremy, even if it was
only for a moment. He began drumming his fingers on the glass table in front of
him.

“I was simply
explaining to Rosemary how the new share issue would affect her,” he said,
hardly missing a beat. “
Which is no more than is required
under Stock Exchange regulations.
”

“And is there a
Stock Exchange regulation requiring that such explanations should take place in
bed?”

“Oh, don’t be
absurd,” said Jeremy. “I spent the night at the Queen’s Hotel. Call the
manager,” he added, picking up the telephone and offering it to me. “He’ll
confirm that I was booked in to my usual room.”

“I’m sure he
will,” I said. “But he’ll also confirm that it was I who spent the night in
your usual bed.” In the silence that followed I removed the hotel bedroom key
from my jacket pocket, and dangled it in front of him. Jeremy immediately jumped
to his feet.

I rose from my
chair, rather more slowly, and faced him, wondering what his next line could
possibly be.

“It’s your own
fault, you bloody fool,” he eventually stammered out. “You should have taken more
interest in Rosemary in the first place, and not gone off gallivanting around
Europe all the time. It’s no wonder you’re in danger of losing the company.”
Funny, it wasn’t the fact that Jeremy had been sleeping with my wife that
caused me to snap, but that he had the arrogance to think he could take over my
company as well. I didn’t reply, but just took a pace forward and threw a punch
at his clean-shaven jaw. I may have been a couple of inches shorter than he
was, but after twenty years of hanging around with lorry drivers, I could still
land a decent blow. Jeremy staggered first backwards and then forwards, before
crumpling in front of me. As he fell, he cracked his right temple on the corner
of the glass table, knocking his brandy all over the floor. He lay motionless
in front of me, blood dripping onto the carpet.

I must admit I
felt rather pleased with myself, especially when Rosemary rushed to his side
and started screaming obscenities at me.

“Save your
breath for the ex-Deputy Chairman,” I told her.

“And when he
comes round, tell him not to bother with the Queen’s Hotel, because I’ll be
sleeping in his bed again tonight.” I strode out of the house and drove back
into the city centre, leaving my Jaguar in the hotel carpark. When I walked
into the Queen’s the lobby was deserted, and I took the lift straight up to
Jeremy’s room. I lay on top of the bed, but was far too agitated to sleep.

I was just
dozing off when four policemen burst into the room and pulled me off the bed.
One of them told me that I was under arrest and read me my rights. Without
further explanation I was marched out of the hotel and driven to Millgarth
Police Station.

A few minutes
after five a.m I was signed in by the custody officer and my personal
possessions were taken from me and dropped into a bulky brown envelope. I was
told that I had the right to make one telephone call, so I rang Joe Ramsbottom,
woke his wife, and asked if Joe could join me at the station as quickly as
possible. Then I was locked in a small cell and left alone.

I sat on the
wooden bench and tried to fathom out why I had been arrested. I couldn’t
believe that Jeremy would have been foolish enough to charge me with assault.
When Joe arrived about forty minutes later I told him exactly what had taken
place earlier in the evening.

He listened
gravely, but didn’t offer an opinion.

When I had
finished, he said he would try to find out what the police intended to charge
me with.

After Joe left,
I began to fear that Jeremy might have had a heart attack, or even that the
blow to his head from the corner of the table might have killed him. My
imagination ran riot as I considered all the worst possibilities, and I was
becoming more and more desperate to learn what had happened when the cell door
swung open and two plain-clothes detectives walked in. Joe was a pace behind
them.

“I’m Chief
Inspector Bainbridge,” said the taller of the two.

“And this is my
colleague, Sergeant Harris.” Their eyes were tired and their suits crumpled.
They looked as if they had been on duty all night, as both of them could have
done with a shave. I felt my chin, and realised I needed one as well.

“We’d like to
ask you some questions about what took place at your home earlier this
evening,” said the Chief Inspector. I looked at Joe, who shook his head. “It
would help our enquiries, Mr. Cooper, if you co-operated with us,” the Chief
Inspector continued.

“Would you be
prepared to give us
a statement
ether in writing or as
a tape recording?”

“I’m afraid my
client has nothing to say at the moment, Chief Inspector,” said Joe. “And he
will have nothing to say until I have taken further instructions.” I was rather
impressed. I’d never seen Joe that firm with anyone other than his children.

“We would simply
like to take a statement, Mr. Ramsbottom,” Chief Inspector Bainbridge said to
Joe, as if I didn’t exist. “We are quite happy for you to be present
throughout.”

“No,” said Joe
firmly. “You either charge my client, or you leave us – and leave us
immediately.’

The Chief
Inspector hesitated for a moment, and then nodded to his colleague. They
departed without another word.

“Charge me?” I
said, once the cell door had been locked behind them. “What with, for God’s
sake?”

“Murder, I
suspect,” said Joe.

“After
what Rosemary has been telling them.”

“Murder?”
I said, almost
unable to mouth the word. “But...”
I
listened in
disbelief as Joe told me what he’d been able to discover about the details of
the statement my wife had given to the police during the early hours of the
morning.

“But that’s not
what happened,” I protested. “Surely no one would believe such an outrageous
story.”

“They might when
they learn the police have found a trail of blood leading from the sitting room
to the spot where your car was parked in the drive,” said Joe.

“That’s not
possible,” I said. “When I left Jeremy, he was still lying unconscious on the
floor.”

“The police also
found traces of blood in the boot of your car.

They seem quite
confident that it will match up with Jeremy’s.’

“Oh, my God,” I said.
“He’s clever. He’s very clever. Can’t you see what they’ve been up to?’

“No, to be
honest, I can’t,” Joe admitted. “This isn’t exactly all in a day’s work for a
company solicitor like me. But I managed to catch Sir Matthew Roberts QC on the
phone before he left home this morning. He’s the most eminent criminal silk on
the north-eastern circuit. He’s appearing in the York Crown Court today, and
he’s agreed to join us as soon as the court has risen. If you’re innocent,
Richard,” Joe said, ‘with Sir Matthew defending you, there will be nothing to
fear. Of that you can be certain.” Later that afternoon I was charged with the
murder of Jeremy Anatole Alexander; the police admitted to my solicitor that
they still hadn’t found the body, but they were confident that they would do so
within a few hours. I knew they wouldn’t. Joe told me the following day that
they had done more digging in my garden during the past twenty-four hours than
I had attempted in the past twenty-four years.

Around seven
that evening the door of my cell swung open once again and Joe walked in,
accompanied by a heavily-built, distinguished-looking man. Sir Matthew Roberts
was about my height, but at least a couple of stone heavier. From his rubicund
cheeks and warm smile he looked as if he regularly enjoyed a good bottle of
wine and the company of amusing people. He had a full head of dark hair that
remained modelled on the old Denis Compton Brylcreem advertisements, and he was
attired in the garb of his profession, a dark three-piece suit and a
silver-grey tie. I liked him from the moment he introduced himself. His first
words were to express the wish that we had met in more pleasant circumstances.

I spent the rest
of the evening with Sir Matthew, going over my story again and again. I could
tell he didn’t believe a word I was saying, but he still seemed quite happy to
represent me. He and Joe left a few minutes after eleven, and I settled down to
spend my first night behind bars.

I was remanded
in custody until the police had processed and submitted all their evidence to
the Department of Public Prosecutions. The following day a magistrate committed
me to trial at Leeds Crown Court, and despite an eloquent plea from Sir
Matthew, I was not granted bail.

Forty minutes
later I was transferred to Armley Jail.

The hours turned
into days, the days into weeks, and the weeks into months. I almost tired of
telling anyone who would listen that they would never find Jeremy’s body,
because there was no body to find.

When the case
finally reached Leeds Crown Court nine months later, the crime reporters turned
up in their hordes, and followed every word of the trial with relish. A
multi-millionaire, a possible adulterous affair and a missing body were too
much for them to resist. The tabloids excelled themselves, describing Jeremy as
the Lord Lucan of Leeds and me as an oversexed lorry driver. I would have
enjoyed every last syllable of it, if I hadn’t been the accused.