The Hireling's Tale (17 page)
But her spirit was entirely broken; she couldn’t go another step. She’d lost her shoes in one of the drains - for all he knew, in the first of them. She’d been walking barefoot for over an hour through stony cornfields and tussocky pasture, and under the all-concealing mud her feet were bruised and bloody. She waved a limp hand vaguely. ‘Go on,’ she gulped. ‘I’ll stay here. Get help. I’ll be here.’
But he couldn’t leave her in the open for maybe another hour. ‘It’s all right,’ he said softly. ‘I’ll look after you.’ Bending, he put her arm around his neck; then he put one hand behind her back and the other under her knees, and somehow straightened his weary back, lifting her off the ground like an
exhausted child. She buried her face in his shoulder, and he carried her through the empty yards and under the gaze of the broken windows until he found the back door into the farmhouse. Without dropping his burden he kicked it open and carried her inside.
exhausted child. She buried her face in his shoulder, and he carried her through the empty yards and under the gaze of the broken windows until he found the back door into the farmhouse. Without dropping his burden he kicked it open and carried her inside.
More bad news waited at Queen’s Street. Philip Kendall had come armed with his solicitor - and as a wealthy man he had an expensive solicitor. And the helicopter Superintendent Hilton had asked Division for was grounded with technical problems.
‘Damn and blast!’ swore Liz. ‘What kind of technical problems?’
Hilton stared at her. ‘Does it matter? It won’t fly. That means that as a search tool it’s rather less use than a bicycle.’
‘And there’s still no word of them?’
‘No. But nobody’s seen a man in a navy hatchback carving notches in his pistol either.’ It wasn’t that he thought it a suitable subject for levity, more that he’d learned there was nothing more pointless than tearing his hair out over things he couldn’t alter. A bit of bleak humour was sometimes the only sane response to things going wrong. ‘What did Mr Shapiro have to say?’
‘He’s writing his statement. One thing he said which I hadn’t thought of: if Dodgson has lost them in The Levels he may come back here to wait for them. I’ll rig some screens in the yard when we
know they’re on the way in - not before, or he’ll find some other place for an ambush.’
know they’re on the way in - not before, or he’ll find some other place for an ambush.’
Hilton’s small, hard eyes widened. ‘He thinks Dodgson could be here - now - at a window overlooking this police station?’ He thought about it, vented a silent whistle. ‘He’s right, isn’t he? Why didn’t you think of that, Inspector?’
Liz was beginning to read this man and knew it wasn’t a genuine criticism. ‘Deferring to rank, sir. I knew you’d want to think of it first.’
The superintendent swallowed a smile. ‘Have a discreet word with the neighbours, see if anybody’s seen anything. Be very careful: the last thing you want to do is walk in on this man oiling his rifle. I’ll get back to Kendall. I hoped you might bring me something to use against him. Never mind, perhaps a bit of all-purpose harassment will do instead.’ He headed downstairs to Interview Room 1.
If he’d been a local man he’d have recognized the significance of Kendall calling Mr Browne of the solicitors Carfax & Browne. Mr Carfax didn’t do police work any more, though he would stretch a point for a business client who found himself temporarily embarrassed by a breathalyser. Ms Holloway was fast building a reputation for defending the indefensible, but she wasn’t yet perceived as a heavyweight. Shapiro would have recognized instantly that Donald Browne was the solicitor of choice for the man who had everything except a criminal record and meant to keep it that way.
He began by trying to take control of the
interview: not aggressively, just laying out some ground rules that subtly suggested the ground was his. ‘Mr Kendall is happy to answer any questions which might help you get to the bottom of this unfortunate affair. But he wants to make clear that he was not part of any conspiracy, either before or after the fact. If the young woman was indeed killed by someone at the sales conference, then plainly he was there at Mr Kendall’s invitation. But that is the extent of his involvement and responsibility. He doesn’t know which of his clients might be the man you’re looking for. If he had any suspicions he’d tell you.
interview: not aggressively, just laying out some ground rules that subtly suggested the ground was his. ‘Mr Kendall is happy to answer any questions which might help you get to the bottom of this unfortunate affair. But he wants to make clear that he was not part of any conspiracy, either before or after the fact. If the young woman was indeed killed by someone at the sales conference, then plainly he was there at Mr Kendall’s invitation. But that is the extent of his involvement and responsibility. He doesn’t know which of his clients might be the man you’re looking for. If he had any suspicions he’d tell you.
‘It appears that someone used him in this matter, and if you have any questions that might help to identify that person Mr Kendall will be pleased to answer them. He considered these people friends: he’d like to know which of them thought he’d make a good scapegoat.’ Mr Browne sat back with the smug air of a man who’s covered all the angles, lacing thick fingers across an impressive expanse of waistcoat.
Despite his lack of equivalent girth, in his own circles Superintendent Hilton was considered a heavyweight too. He nodded, his thin face expressionless. ‘We’ll be glad of all the help we can get, and at the moment Mr Kendall seems likely to have more information than anyone else we can talk to. Though that may change in the near future.’ Not exactly a threat; perhaps a little more than a warning.
‘The attack on the girl; he went on, ’took place in the room registered to Mrs Atwood at a time when
Mrs Atwood was having supper with you, Mr Kendall. Do you recall whose idea that was?’
Mrs Atwood was having supper with you, Mr Kendall. Do you recall whose idea that was?’
Kendall had already told them. It was an invitation to lie which he respectfully declined. ‘Mine. We’re old friends, we hadn’t seen one another for a while; we’d spent all weekend trying to get five minutes together and I thought it would be nice to have a quiet meal before she went home.’
‘So you asked her out to supper.’
‘Yes.’
‘There’s something wrong with The Barbican’s catering?’
‘Of course not. But it wouldn’t have been a quiet meal with the rest of the delegates tucking in all around us.’
‘Where did you take her?’
‘The Hereward Inn, on the Cambridge Road.’
‘A long way out on the Cambridge Road,’ said Hilton, who’d done his homework. ‘Actually, closer to Cambridge. Was there a reason for that?’
Kendall didn’t quite have the composure to shrug. ‘I like the place. They do a nice meal.’
‘And going that far meant you’d have her company for an extra hour or more.’
‘I suppose so. That wasn’t why I chose it.’
‘No? You wanted to see her quietly, but not for too long?’
The faintest dew of a sweat broke on Philip Kendall’s upper lip. ‘I mean, I wanted to have supper with her. I wasn’t watching the clock.’
‘Really? So if Mrs Atwood got the impression that
you were, she was mistaken?’ It was a question, not an allegation: Grace Atwood had said no such thing.
you were, she was mistaken?’ It was a question, not an allegation: Grace Atwood had said no such thing.
‘Yes. She was.’
‘What time did you leave The Barbican, and what time did you get back?’
Kendall made a show of thinking. ‘We left about a quarter to nine, I think. And got back maybe about half eleven.’
‘And you were unaware that by keeping her away from the hotel for nearly three hours you were making it possible for a man to entertain two prostitutes in her room, kill one of them and clean up afterwards.’
‘Yes. Of course.’ No further elaboration. He thought he had to keep to the point to avoid trapping himself.
‘Who else knew you were going out for supper?’
‘I don’t know.’ Kendall relaxed visibly; this was safer ground. ‘I suppose almost anyone in the bar could have overheard us.’
‘And would anyone in the bar have known where you were going, and therefore how long you were likely to be?’
‘I don’t remember. I may have told Mrs Atwood about The Hereward at that point, I may not.’ So he hadn’t, he just didn’t want to have to say so.
‘But only someone who knew you were going more than halfway to Cambridge could have been sure of having Mrs Atwood’s room for long enough for a party. The hotel bar is probably the only place he could have heard it.’
‘Then I suppose I must have done. I honestly
don’t remember.’ It was one of Shapiro’s Laws of Successful Detecting always to suspect someone who uses the word Honest, but Superintendent Hilton had noticed the paradox too.
don’t remember.’ It was one of Shapiro’s Laws of Successful Detecting always to suspect someone who uses the word Honest, but Superintendent Hilton had noticed the paradox too.
‘Neither does Mrs Atwood.’
Mr Browne knew that if he did nothing else useful today he could earn his fee by filling that gap in the conversation before his client felt obliged to. ‘Mr Kendall has said quite clearly that he doesn’t remember if he referred to the restaurant or not. If Mrs Atwood doesn’t remember either, it seems likely that he did do and that’s where he was overheard.’
Hilton nodded slowly. No one could have looked less convinced. He changed tack abruptly. ‘Your delegates were largely from overseas.’
Again the fractional relaxation as the ground under Kendall seemed to firm. ‘Most of them.’
‘So, on the balance of probabilities, we should be looking for a foreigner?’
Mr Browne again. ‘You’re asking Mr Kendall to speculate on something he cannot possibly know. It may be reasonable for you to make a working assumption to that effect, but you can’t expect him to confirm it. He’s still having difficulty believing that
any
of his clients are capable of all this.’
any
of his clients are capable of all this.’
‘Yet it seems one of them was; and it seems likeliest it was one of the foreign delegates. We’ve compiled a shortlist of those men who were in the hotel on Sunday who have a history of violence. Of course, Mr Kendall would not have had access to this information when he was issuing his invitations.’
‘That’s right,’ said Kendall, marginally too quickly.
‘What puzzles me,’ said Hilton thoughtfully, ‘is how someone who only arrived in Castlemere on Friday, probably from abroad, who spent most of the weekend discussing your products in The Barbican Hotel, could know enough about the surrounding area to recognize from a chance remark overheard in a bar that The Hereward Inn was far enough away for him to use Mrs Atwood’s room for his activities.’
He didn’t dwell on that, just left it to fester. ‘Tell me,’ he went on, ‘do you remember who was in the general neighbourhood when you asked Mrs Atwood to supper? Close enough to overhear, I mean.’
This gave Philip Kendall a problem. If he said he didn’t remember, the policeman would raise one of those narrow eyebrows in disbelief that he had been so wrapped up in Grace Atwood’s company that he didn’t notice anything that was happening around them. These were his clients, men he was hoping to make money out of, it was inconceivable that he would ignore them at the final get-together. They must have been talking together, however inconsequentially. So he had to remember.
But if he failed to name the man they were looking for, and subsequently they identified him - even if they couldn’t catch him - they would take that as proof that Kendall was involved in a cover-up. On the other hand, if he named the killer and the killer learned of it, the man who was currently hunting down the escaped hooker could very quickly be diverted to another task.
All this passed through Kendall’s mind in just a few seconds. The solution came as quickly. ‘There was a lot of circulating, I couldn’t vouch for who was standing where at what point. But I do remember exchanging a word or two with …’ He reeled off all the names he could remember of men who were definitely still in the hotel on Sunday evening. In a list of maybe thirty the one they sought could be of no significance.
Hilton wrote them down, slowing Kendall as he got ahead. When he’d finished he made no immediate response but turned back the pages of his pocket-book to where Kendall could glimpse another, shorter list. The superintendent gave a little hum that, to the nervous ear, sounded distinctly satisfied.
He went through Kendall’s list, underlining five names. Five is a much smaller number than thirty; much more personal. ‘What can you tell me about Eduardo da Costa?’
It was too late for Kendall to start picking and choosing who he’d talk about. ‘He’s in arms procurement at the Brazilian defence ministry. His wife’s an artist.’
‘He was a soldier?’
‘Made colonel, I believe. Before I knew him.’
Hilton breathed heavily. ‘Talk to me, Mr Kendall. What kind of a man is he? The sort who might enjoy hurting people?’
After a moment Kendall nodded. ‘Maybe. He’s supposed to have been a bastard to his own men, and worse than that to dissident civilians.’ He smiled.
‘Though he may have started the rumour himself. Being known as a ruthless bastard is what got him where he is today.’
‘Though he may have started the rumour himself. Being known as a ruthless bastard is what got him where he is today.’
Hilton didn’t comment. ‘Kim Il Muk?’
‘Runs a petroleum refinery in Pusan. I don’t know anything about his home life.’
‘What about this business in Paris?’
Kendall grinned. ‘Yes, I know about that. Look, the man made a fool of himself over a woman in a foreign city. It happens.’
‘You don’t think he was trying to rape her?’
‘I doubt he’s the type. Mind you, they’re inscrutable, these Orientals.’
‘Nicu Sibiu?’
‘Youngest of four brothers running the family munitions business. You know how things were in Romania: imagine you were responsible for defending an arsenal. I know he talks tough. I imagine he is tough, that he had to be.’
‘He killed someone.’
‘You find that surprising? If rioters had taken over the factory the death toll would have rocketed. Was he prosecuted?’
Hilton shook his head. ‘Either the authorities called it justifiable homicide, or they weren’t willing to take on the wealth of the Sibiu clan when the boy had at least an arguable defence. Do you know if he’s married?’
‘He’s single. I believe he’s considered a great catch in Bucharest.’
‘What about Ian Selkirk?’
‘His father emigrated from Scotland soon after
the war. He was a fisherman, so that’s what he did in Mexico - ended up with a small fleet and a cannery in Yucatan. Ian was here shopping for new automated plant for the cannery.’
the war. He was a fisherman, so that’s what he did in Mexico - ended up with a small fleet and a cannery in Yucatan. Ian was here shopping for new automated plant for the cannery.’
‘And the drugs connection?’
For a moment Kendall considered denying all knowledge. Then he shrugged. ‘I’ve heard the stories, I don’t know if they’re true.’
‘The FBI think they are. They think the Selkirk fleet runs drugs into the United States. An undercover agent was murdered.’
‘By Ian?’
‘They consider that a distinct possibility.’
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