When Evil Wins (18 page)

After his unexpected meeting with his former Super' the day before, Detective Inspector Davis had left the scene of the fire and returned to his office to update the police computer with the sketchy details he had.

When he arrived at the office he was handed the fire investigation officer's report about the incident.

Sitting down in his chair he opened the file and read it. The fire investigation team had found two bodies, one of a child and the other of a young woman. Both had been at the center of the explosion when the gas had ignited. No accelerants had been found and the report’s conclusion remained with the initial view that the cause of the fire had been a gas leak. The duty pathologist would report on the identities of the bodies once the post mortems had been completed.

Davis put the file back on his desk, picked up the phone and called Chief Superintendent Harris.

“Harris,” the superintendent answered.

“Super', it's Davis, I've got the preliminary report.”

“Good, what does it say?”

“It says that the explosion was a gas leak and there were no signs of accelerant use. It also says that there were two bodies found, a girl, and a young woman.”

Harris sighed inwardly. “But the explosion was an accident?”

“There's nothing to say otherwise, sir.”

“When will you know about the bodies?”

“I expect the autopsy will be taking place today.”

“Well at least it's not Richard Jameson and the whole thing looks like it was an unfortunate accident. Let me know when you get the identity of the bodies, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Please remember, Davis, this is an accident, just as the report says,” Harris reaffirmed.

“Okay,” Davis said, still uncomfortable at the way his former Super' was pushing hard for the accident verdict, but everything he'd read in the reports so far, and his own notes was going to make the delivery of the accident conclusion a whole lot easier.

After what had happened in his last year in the Met and the easy way he had transferred into the Thames Valley force, he certainly didn't want anything negative about him coming to light.

“The bodies, Davis,” his former Super' continued, “I need to know ASAP.”

“You will.”

With the answer received, the phone cut off.

The British Airways flight touched down at London City airport on time. Richard and Liz were back from Edinburgh. They disembarked and collected their suitcases from the baggage collection area.

As they left arrivals, their chauffeur, the one Mandy had booked to collect them on their arrival, was waiting for them holding up the customary sign with their names on.

“It's a real loss,” Richard said to Liz.

“What is, darling?”

“Amanda, I don't know what I'm going to do without her.”

“I know it is, but why do you say that now?” Liz asked. Sometimes, even after all the time they had been married, she still couldn’t fathom the whys and wherefores of the way her husband thought about things.

Richard indicated to the man holding up the sign with their names on. “We wouldn’t have this guy waiting for us if it wasn’t for her.”

“Amanda was a good person and very professional,” Liz said. Richard and his wife made their way to the waiting man.

“Good afternoon, sir. I expect you're the Jameson party.”

“We are,” Richard answered.

“May I take your luggage?” their driver said.

“Without a doubt,” Richard answered handing the chauffeur their trolley. The chauffeur wheeled the Jameson's luggage trolley out of arrivals and to the car.

“I expect you'll be wanting to go to Wyverny House, in Penman's Green Lane, Belsize.”

“Of course,” Richard said.

The Jamesons got into the car and relaxed. Liz was happy to be home and couldn't wait to see her daughter, even though it may be a little after the time they got back to the house, because Stephanie and her nanny were obviously out for the day.

After a swift journey through London, and an unusually straightforward afternoon trip along the M25 motorway, the chauffeur eventually turned out of Chorleywood towards Belsize, the Jamesons’ house was now only minutes away.

As they turned into Penman's Green Lane Richard spotted a police car that seemed to be parked outside his property and although the trees that lined the private road always obscured the houses, as they were set back from the lane at the end of substantial gravel driveways, the police car certainly looked like it was parked at the entrance to their driveway, at the very least.

Frowning curiously he turned to his wife, “I wonder what's going on,” Richard said

“What do you mean?” his wife asked.

“Look for yourself,” Richard said pointing at the official vehicles parked in the private road. “There's a police car. And they seem to be outside our house.” Before they could travel any further up the lane a policeman stepped out in front of their car and indicated to their chauffeur that he should stop.

The driver brought the car to a halt and wound down his window.

“Can I be of help, officer?” the driver queried.

“Sir,” the police officer responded, “what is your business here?”

“I'm dropping off Mr and Mrs Jameson.”

“Ah,” the policeman sighed, knowing he'd have to be the one to break the news to Mr and Mrs Jameson and explain the details of the awful accident and the identities of the explosion's victims, to them. The news of who the victims were had just been announced on his police radio not half an hour before.

Leaning into the car, through the window, and looking at Richard Jameson, the office said; “Can I have a word, sir?”

“Yes, officer, what's this all about?” A queasy déjà vu feeling struck Richard as he spoke.

“Richard,” Liz started, “what's going on?”

“I don't know, dear, just give me a few moments with the officer and I'll find out.” Richard stepped out of the car and the policeman took him to one side, out of earshot.

As the policeman explained the circumstances to Richard, Liz noticed her husband physically sag. There was something really wrong. After the officer had finished Richard turned to face the car and his wife.

Liz saw her husband's ashen face and suddenly felt very sick; every single nerve on edge, taut and screaming.

Richard walked, almost as if drunk, back towards the car, his legs now incredibly weak from the shock of the news the police officer had given him. He looked at his petrified wife gazing back at him through the cab’s window.

“Can you please wait a minute?” Richard said to the chauffeur, barely able to be coherent. The driver just nodded seeing the look in his passenger's eye; he turned the car’s engine off.

“Liz,” Richard stammered, trying to form his words, “please come here.”

Liz got out of the car slowly and reluctantly, walking around the back to her husband; she knew something was very, very, wrong.

“Liz,” Richard started, almost losing control, “we can't go home.”

Tears were already forming in Liz's eyes; “Why Richard?”

“There's been an accident, the house has been destroyed.” Richard caught his wife as her knees gave way.

“What accident?” she asked feebly. Richard propped her up.

“It was a gas leak, there's nothing left of the house.”

“It is just the house, isn't it Richard? That's all?” Liz implored.

There was no best way for Richard to answer the question and however much he wanted to protect his wife he knew he had to tell the truth. “No, my dear,” Richard said, halting a moment, catching his breath as he attempted to think of a way to lessen the body blow. At all costs he wanted to avoid continuing but there were no other options and the fact there'd never been any secrets between them, for good or bad, didn't leave him any choices at all. “That's not all Liz, it's Stephanie and Natasha as well. They were in the house at the time.”

“Not Stephanie, Richard, not Stephanie?”

There was nothing else her husband could say. Richard was completely pole-axed, this felt like the most terrible of nightmares, but as he looked around and saw the police officers, the chauffeur and the ruins of his house. He knew this was reality in its worst form.

He helped his wife back into the car. Once she was seated, shock took over and rendered her incapable of anything.

Richard, struggling to contain his emotions, leant over to the chauffeur and asked him if he could arrange a hotel room for them somewhere in London near to his office.

Although this request was outside of his normal remit, the chauffeur saw and understood the pain his passengers were going through. He had felt this exact same pain when his wife had passed away a few years before.

The chauffeur knew a few people, and after a short amount of time on the car phone he'd organised the Jamesons a luxury suite in one of the more prestigious hotels in London. He wished he could do more but there wasn’t anything else he could do, apart from taking them to their hotel.

The chauffeur sighed despondently, he hoped to God that his next job only required him to pick up and drop off passengers at a house which hadn’t been blown to smithereens. It wasn’t in his remit to do runs like this; runs which put him in touch, once again, with the feelings he’d felt when his wife had passed on.

The thought dissipated quickly as he glanced at the passengers in the back of his car through his rear view mirror; they had to deal with the here and now, and most of his pain had been tempered by time.

After the journey from the police station back to his flat Janus walked up his stairs even more determined to discover the origins of the note he had picked up on the roof of the R.J.P building.

The last contact with his guide had enabled him to communicate with a spirit, namely the spirit of Arthur Conan Doyle, who had defined how he ought to approach discovering the facts surrounding Mandy’s death. What he had to do now was determine all the events that had preceded her tragic demise.

Certainly Gregory Smith had something to do with Mandy's untimely exit from the world; the note from the roof had told him this much. He walked into his study area, which was no more than a small alcove in his bay window, sure that somewhere within his shambolic filing system Gregory Smith's phone number existed, or at the very least, his address.

If there was anyone who could shed further light on the circumstances surrounding Mandy's death it could only be Gregory Smith; his initials were on the note and there was no doubt about that, no matter what the Superintendent had said to him.

Janus rooted through his filing system eventually finding a contact number for the man. He retrieved the paper and sat down in the chair, in his study, moving the phone onto his desk.

Janus dialled the number. The phone burred for a few seconds and then Gregory Smith picked up the receiver.

“Hello? Who am I speaking to?”

“Gregory, it's Janus, do you have a few moments?”

“Janus? Janus Malik?” Smith answered, frowning to himself.

“Yes,” Janus replied curtly.

“Janus. Hi. How are you doing?” Gregory was curious; he'd never had a call or conversation with one of Richard's star authors before.

“Not too well, Gregory – actually. I would like to talk with you though,” Janus said trying to contain his anger. He'd already decided Mr G. Smith had been complicit in Mandy's death.

“No problem, Janus,” Gregory replied. “Do you want to talk on the phone or would you prefer to meet?” Gregory Smith knew how to tackle obviously uptight individuals; it was part and parcel of his day to day job. People who didn’t want to pay, people who hadn’t been paid and people who didn’t realise they were after the things R.J. Publishing couldn’t offer; each and every one part of his remit.

“I think a meeting would be appropriate.” Janus wanted to see the look in Gregory Smith's eyes when he put the facts he had discovered to him.

“Okay, Janus. When and where?”

“The Moon on the Square, Basildon, in two hours.” This was probably the best choice as they'd both have to travel and it would be neutral territory. Janus certainly wanted a few people around once Gregory Smith found out that Janus knew he had played a part in Mandy's death.

“Okay. I hope this is important,” Greg replied, not happy about the distance he would have to travel.

“Gregory, it's very important. I'll see you in two hours then?”

“In two hours as long as I can make it in that time.”

“Agreed,” Janus said.

Gregory put his phone down. What was this author after? He wondered. Greg looked at his watch; if he was going to get to the place on time he would have to leave now. He had the London tube system to navigate and then, after that, the mainline.

Greg was curious as to what was going on; the call had been truly intriguing and there was no doubt in his mind he had to meet this guy. This little jaunt would certainly jolly up the evening, especially with nothing else arranged.

Greg freshened up; changing his shirt and tie. He decided he didn't need to change his suit; that done he made his way to the station.

***

Janus went over all the points he would highlight in his conversation with Gregory Smith. He was sure that Mr Smith, ‘G.S.’, would not be able to rebuke any of them.

Janus left his flat to catch the train to Basildon. Leaving the station after the short train journey Janus became surer, with every step towards the pub, that he'd got enough to force Gregory Smith to confess his part.

After a few moments of walking Janus entered The Moon on the Square. He looked around trying to spot Gregory Smith believing that the guy would not have turned up. However, within a few seconds, Janus spotted the immaculately dressed man; wearing a light-pink shirt underneath a deeply pinstriped suit. Janus was disappointed; these were not the actions of a murderer.

Janus strode over to Gregory. “You made it then?”

“Only just, Janus,” Gregory replied. “Can I offer you a drink?”

“No. I don't think so. I'll get my own.” Janus waved a five pound note at the staff behind the bar.

“Are you being served?” the barman asked.

“No,” Janus responded. “Could I have a pint please?”

“Of course; any particular beer?”

“I'll have a Stella.” Turning to Gregory Janus asked; “do you want anything?”

“No, I'm alright Janus, I've got my wine.”

“Just the Stella then please barman.” Janus received his pint.

“What's this all about, Janus? I don't normally meet with authors. I have no cause to. What's going on?”

“To be quite blunt, it's to do with you murdering Mandy,” Janus said flatly, watching Gregory Smith very closely, attempting to pick up any indication the man knew he had been found out.

Greg's chin nearly hit the floor when he heard this pronouncement. So this was what it was all about, Mandy's suicide. “You’ve got to be kidding, Janus. Why on earth do you think I've got anything to do with that tart's death? And it's suicide, not murder.”

Janus controlled himself, just. “She wasn’t a tart, Gregory,” he almost yelled. “She was a good friend and a fine person, almost a sister to me.” Janus wanted to add more but if he was going to get to the bottom of Greg’s involvement confrontation wasn’t the way forward. “What about the note you gave her?” he finished.

“Note, what note?” Gregory said, feigning ignorance. “I'm not quite sure what you mean.”

“The note you left on the bar you arrogant idiot.”

“Steady on, Janus. Are you sure what you're saying?” Now Greg was getting riled. Who did this guy think he was, talking to him in this manner?

“Of course I am. I read the note. Your initials were on it.”

“Janus, you can't blame me for what happened. Everyone knows she did it of her own accord.”

“Don't try and cover up. Your initials were on the note.”

“Mr Malik, you cannot point the finger at me. If I was involved don't you think the police would have brought me in for questioning or something like that? Which they haven't, I hasten to add.”

“Gregory, you're a very clever person and I don't doubt that. But I've found you out. You left the note on the bar during the anniversary party, which Mandy then picked up and read, after which she went onto the roof because of it; the roof from which she was pushed, leading to her death.”

“Janus, you are so far off base I can't possibly imagine where you're coming from but I will fill in a few details you obviously have no idea about.”

“Go ahead, Gregory. I know I'm right.”

“I admit there was a note, but it was nothing to do with me. The note you keep going on about was a note I was given in Bar Room One. You know – the pub where we all go to after work, by Mandy's sister, with the implicit instructions to leave it in a place she would find it. I have, and had, no idea of its contents; I was just doing a favour for a young lady. You know me.” Gregory winked.

“But your initials were on it Greg; G.S.”

“Sorry, Janus, I had nothing to do with whatever was written on it. I was just doing a nice young girl a favour. Are you sure my initials were on it? What did the note say?”

“The note said;
'Meet me on the roof at midnight. G.S
.'”

“Oh!…” Greg said. This revelation was something he had not expected. “Janus, I can truly assure you that you're talking to the wrong guy. What do the police say? They haven't contacted me since the interviews at R.J.P.”

“The police have the note and they're analysing it, and they said that G.S. could be anyone's initials. You're not worried about this?” Janus looked directly into Gregory's eyes.

“No. Of course not. Why should I? I was just doing a favour. And the police are right; it could be anyone's initials. And, Janus, I can assure you they're really not mine.”

Janus was flummoxed and there had been no glimmer of dishonesty behind Greg’s eyes when he’d answered his direct question.

Janus had attempted to discover the events that had happened before Mandy’s death and this particular line of enquiry was apparently a dead end. He was beginning to feel despondent once again; every avenue he tried just got shut down.

Then another thought struck him. “Greg, what did the woman look like?”

“Which woman?”

“The one who gave you the note, you arse.”

“I don't really recall, Janus; it’s quite a while ago. Having said that I think I remember she had dark hair, not black though and she was shortish, well, shorter than me. I think her hair was straight. But that’s all.”

“Nothing else? You're joking aren't you? You must have noticed something; having the eye for the women as you do.”

“Janus, I'll take that last point as a compliment and believe it or not, it is true that I do meet many women, but those that I just have the chance to talk with don't really register that much. It's only when they're interested in where I live I take it any further, if you know what I mean. But this girl just asked me to pass the letter on to her sister,” Greg said, deciding not revealing his meeting with the woman in its entirety.

“Mandy doesn't have a sister,” Janus stated.

“How am I supposed to know that? I’ve never talked to the girl apart from the hellos and goodbyes at the office. I’ve never even taken her out.”

Janus was now certain that, although Greg’s initials were, without a doubt on the note, the worst he’d done was to pass it onto Mandy.

The evening’s meeting ended and Janus left dissatisfied.

Greg on the other hand left intrigued;
a murder at R.J.P
, he thought. His friends would never believe this tale he had to tell.