Joint Enterprise (The Romney and Marsh Files Book 3) (14 page)

‘No. No one. Edy kept himself to himself. He didn’t go out much. Didn’t have a close circle of friends. No girlfriend. I know that his book was considered a bit controversial, but why would anyone kill him over something like that. It was all about getting published. He was always stuck in his room writing.’

‘All right. Do you mind if we have a look around his room?’

‘No. I’ll not come in if you don’t mind. I can’t face it yet.’

It was a good sized room. Lots of light from the picture window. A single bed was pushed into a corner, a few clothes were scattered around, but this was more a working space than a sleeping space. A large desk was cluttered with paperwork. A laptop sat open. A shelf of lever arch files. A display board was crammed with Post-it notes. Featuring prominently on the ceiling above the bed was a poster with a motivational message. The two officers craned their necks to read it. An image of a large tin can with the single word
‘SUCCESS’
painted on its side filled the middle of the poster. Above it was written:
SUCCESS COMES IN CANS
, and underneath it,
BE A CAN. DON’T BE A CAN’T.

‘Easier said than done when you’re surrounded by can’ts most of the day,’ said Romney. His mispronunciation of the word from the poster left Marsh in no doubt regarding his meaning.

‘Thanks very much,’ she said.

‘Present company excepted, of course,’ said Romney, with a smile.

An audio cassette case caught Romney’s eye placed as it was centrally on the desk. He picked it up and read out loud that it was a copy of the recording of a radio show Edy Vitriol had been on two days before at White Cliffs FM. ‘Made two days ago,’ he said. ‘One day before his first stabbing. Might tell us something.’ He slipped it into his pocket.

‘Look at these, sir,’ said Marsh. She had found a box of hardbacks of the newly published book. She handed one to Romney.
‘All Women Are Prostitutes’,
she read.
‘The book that exposes the truth about how men and women really see each other.’

‘It’s an inter
esting concept, don’t you think?’ said Romney. Marsh glared at him. ‘Actually, he might have been on to something. Think she’ll mind if we take a couple away for background reading?’

As a collector of first editions Romney was always interested in a book, especially a first edition, first impression, debut; especially a first edition, first impression, debut that was likely to have had a small print run and that had been signed by the author who had experienced a recent and untimely death, thereby making him newsworthy.

‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking, sir?’

‘Yes. These could be worth big money if the critics receive it well.’

‘Sir!’

‘What?’

‘That is not what I was thinking. Shame on you.’

‘Spare me, Sergeant. Go on then, what are you thinking?’

‘Never mind.’

Romney had put the book to one side and was flicking through one of the lever arch files. ‘Nothing here.’ He put it back and fingered the board o
f Post-its. Then he pressed a button on the laptop. The home screen showed. ‘We should take this. Come on. I think we’re wasting our time.’

On the way back to the station Romney
received a call from the duty sergeant informing him that Jez Ray’s legal representation had arrived and was waiting for him.

***

8

‘He’s just walked in, sir. One moment please.’ The officer who had had the misfortune to field the call put her hand over the mouthpiece and signalled to the DI. ‘Sorry, sir, a Mr Hugo Crawford on the phone for you, again. He’s rung twice already.’

Romney allowed himself a little smile as he took the receiver from her. ‘Detective Inspector Romney speaking.’

‘This is Hugo Crawford, Inspector.’

‘Hello, Mr Crawford. I trust that the two detectives I’ve assigned to your m
issing film are making progress?’

‘Yes, indeed. They are absolutely marvellous. I have every confidence that they will be discovering who stole my film and making arrests very soon.’

Romney was unable to contain his outright shock. ‘Really?’

‘No, not really,’ said Crawford in a scathing riposte, ‘and I can understand why you sound so surprised. Are they your idea of a joke, Inspector?’

‘I beg your pardon, Mr Crawford.’

‘That pair of buffoons you have assigned to my missing film. They do nothing but get in the way and ask stupid questions –
questions that incidentally I’ve already supplied answers to, to you. If the fat one isn’t feeding his face at the catering van, he’s trying to lecture me on matters of historical authenticity. As far as I can tell they are doing nothing pro-active towards investigating the theft of my film.’

‘Detective Constable Grime
s is only interested, Mr Crawford. It’s one of his things. I had hoped that his personal interest might have provided extra insight and empathy for you during the investigation. I’m truly sorry to hear that I got that wrong. You do know that he was one of your free soldiers?’

‘Do I know? He never stops going on about it. Listen, Inspector
, I need that film recovered. We cannot stage the battle again. If I don’t have that film the project is going to be ruined. Do I need to remind you that my uncle is taking a keen interest in proceedings?’

Romney ignored that. ‘They are good officers, Mr Crawford, and all that I can spare at the moment. You remember we do have a
suspicious death to investigate and now another murder in the town. We are not a large force. But I’m confident they’ll get a result. Thanks for calling.’ Romney put the phone down feeling very good. Crawford was getting crabby and even if the police were doing nothing right they were also doing nothing wrong. They were doing their best.

Before going down to interview Jez Ray, Romney went up to his office and very carefully slipped the two signed copies of Vitriol’s debut that he’d managed to persuade the bereft mother to part with in
to his desk drawer.

Going back out to the squad room he saw Grimes and Spicer walk in. Neither looked happy and Grimes looked unwell.

‘What are you two doing back here?’

‘Crawford asked if we could come back when they were less busy, gov,’ said Spicer. ‘Says we were in the way.’

‘Wish he’d make up his bloody mind. Does he want our help or not? We can’t do much for him from here,’ said Romney. To Grimes, he said, ‘What’s wrong with you?’

‘The shits, gov. Terrible stomach cramps. I think I’ve eaten something that’s not agreeing with me.’ And with that he clutched his voluminous stomach and trotted back out towards the toilets.

Romney thought briefly of the out-of-date confectionary he’d supplied Grimes with that morning. ‘Listen to this while I’m downstairs interviewing, would you?’ he said, tossing the cassette tape to Spicer. ‘It’s a recording of that Vitriol on the radio. I want to know if there’s anything that could be relevant to our investigation into his death.’

*

Romney and Marsh sat across from Jez Ray and his court appointed solicitor. Romney hadn’t seen this one before. He looked young, which probably meant keen. He could, therefore, be a problem.

‘So, Mr Ray. You seemed a little confused this morning. Feeling any better?’

‘A bit.’

‘Good. Let me tell you what we know and then perhaps you can share what you know. How’s that sound?’

‘Awesome.’

‘Two
days ago you, Mickey Price, Colin Mattock, James Andrews and Gavin Ireland decided to gatecrash the historical re-enactment at Dover castle. Yes?’

‘Actually, we decided last week, but that’s when we were there.’

‘Whose idea was it, incidentally?’

‘No one’s really. It got suggested down the pub as a joke and then it kind of snowballed from there.’

‘What were the reasons behind your collective decision to attend?’

‘You don’t have to answer that,’ said the solicitor. ‘Inspector, my client can’t really speak for the others can he?’

‘Fair enough. What were your personal reasons then for attending? You’ve got to admit it’s a bit unusual.’

Jez Ray smiled. ‘We’re a bit unusual. We like to do odd things together. We like a bit of fun that’s off the b
eaten track, if you know what I mean?’

‘Such as?’

‘We tried to row across the channel last year.’

‘How far did you get?’

‘Not far. We lost an oar. Had to be rescued.’

‘So, gate-crashing at the castle was a bit of fun, was it?’

‘Yes.’

‘What about the violence. A lot of people were hurt in your idea of fun. A man was killed, Mr Ray. His widow and children aren’t laughing.’

Jez Ray said nothing for a long moment while he switched his attention between the two officers, then, ‘You don’t know who it was, do you? You’re just assuming it was one of us because we weren’t supposed to be there, aren’t you? Maybe someone else had it in for the Frog. Maybe he was done by one of his own. Have you considered that?’

Romney fidgeted a little uncomfortably, thought Marsh.
She said, ‘How do you know that it was a Frenchman?’

Jez Ray smiled at her.
‘Nice try. It was on the news in the pub.’

Romney said,
‘We are considering all possibilities at present, Mr Ray, and following several lines of enquiry. We have the uniforms that were hired by your group. We fully expect forensic investigation of those to reveal whether any one, or all of you, was involved in the man’s death. Was it you, Mr Ray? Did you kill him?’

‘There were cameras all round, weren’t there?’

‘Yes.’

‘So why don’t you look at the footage?’

‘Because someone’s stolen it.’

Jez Ray burst out laughing. There was nothing forced about it. He was clearly simply tickled by something.

‘You mind telling me what’s so funny, Mr Ray?’

‘You wouldn’t understand.’

‘Try me.’

Ray shook his head and regained some control. ‘I was just there for a bit of fun. I don’t know anything about the death of the Frog. I have nothing more to say other than when can I go home?’

*

‘I don’t really want to think about it, sir, but we have to: what if he’s right? What if the man was killed by one of his own? What if this lot had nothing to do with it?’

Romney shook his head. ‘You said yourself you thought we should be looking in their direction. What’s changed your mind?’

‘I’m not saying my mind is changed, just that perhaps we shouldn’t be blinkered to the possibility that he was killed by someone who was legitimately there.’

‘Let’s wait and see what forensics have got for us.’

*

Romney walked back to CID with something unpleasant gnawing away at his insides. Spying Spicer he said, ‘Anything on the tape?’

‘Oh yes, gov. It’s well worth a listen. Might even throw up a few suspects.’

‘Really? That would be most welcome. Set it up then and round up Marsh and Grimes.’

‘Pete’s still in the toilets, gov.’

Romney made a face of distaste. ‘All right. Leave him there.’

‘And forensics called, gov. About the uniforms.’

‘What did they say?’

‘Want you to ring them.’

Romney went into his office and closed the door, made himself comfortable and called forensics. ‘Hello, Diane, DI Romney returning your call.’

Romney had been slow on the uptake with Diane Hodge. A little obtuse even, especially for a detective, but he’d been fairly smit
ten with someone else back then – someone who had gone on to let him down badly and painfully.

The more that Romney had to do with forensics, the more he was sure that perhaps Diane Hodge was burning something of a candle for him. It was the little things. She wa
s never too busy to talk to him; her voice had that slightly flirtatious element; she was always quick with a smile for him that he hadn’t noticed when she spoke with others – and he’d been watching – and her body language around him was certainly coquettish. She wasn’t bad looking. Good figure. Intelligent. And young. But she was work and Romney hadn’t worked out how to square that circle, yet. Still, no harm done with a little gentle encouragement.

‘Hello, Inspector. Long time no see. I hope you’re not avoiding me?’

‘Perish the thought. It’s all go up here, Diane.’

‘So I heard. I’ve got
something for you, Inspector.’ She let the comment hang just a moment before continuing. ‘About the uniforms that were dropped off to us. Would you like me to tell you over the phone, or do you want to come down and see me?’

Romney hadn’t had sex since Julie Carpenter. He could have, but she would have been a hard act to follow and ultimately the woman who seemed keen that they should gain some carnal knowledge of each other would have been a mistake. With hindsight, he was glad that he hadn’t decided
, in his then drunken state, to make his last memory of sex an overweight friend of a friend who was almost his age and looked older. That couldn’t have worked out well. Talking to Diane Hodge brought some of those longings floating back to the surface; released some of his juices into his system.