Only a Game (28 page)

‘Yes. Several people had the opportunity.'

‘Indeed they did. And I will take you into my confidence and tell you that so far we have been able to eliminate very few of them. As far as the major suspects go, I'm afraid I would have to say none of them.'

‘Major suspects?' Pearson uttered the phrase unwillingly, like a moth drawn to Peach's flickering candle.

‘Our major suspects are all people who stood to gain by Capstick's death, whether positively or negatively.' He waited for this phrase to be questioned, but this time the grey eyes were watchful and the mouth in the prematurely lined face remained shut. ‘Mrs Capstick is obviously going to be a very rich woman as a result of this death.'

‘One presumes so. But it isn't certain, is it? Capstick was a ruthless man. He was quite capable of cutting Helen out of his will if he felt that way.'

Peach wondered how much Pearson knew about Helen Capstick and her relationship with her husband. But he smiled and said, ‘As you would expect, Mrs Capstick is a major financial gainer by this death. That was confirmed to us by her husband's solicitor this afternoon. Murder sometimes compels the disclosure of these things. Other people have more negative gains. Edward Lanchester now has reason to hope that his beloved Brunton Rovers will not fall into foreign and insensitive hands.'

‘You can't think that Edward Lanchester would do a thing like this.'

‘I may think it unlikely, but at this stage I cannot rule it out. He cannot prove that he did not climb the stairs to that room and see off a man that he makes no secret of disliking.'

‘You don't kill a man because you dislike him.'

‘The sentiment does you credit, Mr Pearson. Let us say that I have to take into account that dislike can quicken into hatred when a man's passion is threatened. Let us agree that Mr Lanchester is an unlikely rather than an impossible candidate.'

Darren felt himself being drawn into a dangerous game, whose rules he did not understand. He shook his head, trying to clear it. ‘Your killer won't be Edward.'

Peach was apparently at his most benign. ‘Others who feared the developing situation and who seem much happier after this death are Robbie Black, your football manager, and his wife Debbie.' He waited for Pearson to intervene on their behalf as he had done for Lanchester, but this time he said nothing. ‘Black would in all probability have lost his job when the new Middle Eastern owners moved in, wouldn't he?'

‘It's not certain, but probable, I suppose. These people usually like to put in their own people and establish their control over all aspects of a club.'

‘Black's fortunes obviously affect those of his wife Debbie. Apart from a natural commitment to her husband and his career, she seems genuinely attached to this area and its people.'

‘I've noticed that, yes.' Pearson looked as if he was about to say more, but he checked himself and looked at the table with a series of little nervous nods.

‘Which brings us to your own situation, Mr Pearson. Perhaps the most perilous of all.'

Darren hadn't expected anything as head-on as this. He said rather feebly, ‘Oh, I'd hardly say that!'

‘Wouldn't you? You've just indicated that the new owners would probably have wanted to replace you with their own appointment. If that were to happen, I'd say that a chief executive with a serious gambling problem wouldn't find it easy to obtain a similar post elsewhere.'

In the agonized silence which followed, Lucy Blake concentrated on her notes, whilst Pearson stared aghast at Peach, who returned his stare steadily and unblinkingly, until the man dropped his eyes to the table and said hoarsely, ‘My gambling has nothing to do with this murder.'

‘That may be so, Mr Pearson, but you can hardly expect us to accept your word on that. I should tell you that we know the state of your personal finances and the amount of your personal debt. Very little can be kept private, once a murder investigation is under way.'

Pearson did not look up from the table as he said in a voice which was barely audible, ‘It's under control.'

Peach, who enjoyed bouncing ruffians much more than he enjoyed bouncing men like this, felt suddenly very sorry for Pearson, who seemed from what he had seen to be a model administrator, with consideration for even the humblest of his staff. He was too professional to let the thought affect his probing of the man and his motives. ‘Forgive me for saying so, but there is very little evidence that your debt is under control. Your bank has repeatedly requested you to reduce your overdraft, with nil effect.'

‘I've joined Gamblers' Anonymous. They're going to be a great support to me, the group there. And Meg's come home. She's going to help me get through this.' He showed his first signs of animation in many minutes with this assertion; his grey eyes were moist and wide, pleading with them to believe him.

‘Let's accept your good intentions, Mr Pearson. At the moment they are no more than that. There is precious little evidence of your reform.'

Darren wanted to say that Meg was evidence, that she'd left him because of his problem, but had now come back to him because she believed in him. Couldn't they see that that was the best evidence of all? He shook his head hopelessly. ‘All that I can say is that if you come back in a year you'll find I've beaten this.'

‘I see. But in the meantime, do you agree that you wouldn't find it easy to get another job with the same salary if you lost your post at Grafton Park?'

‘That is probably so. I haven't given the matter much thought.' That sounded so unlikely that he tried to qualify it. ‘The gambling monster has loomed so large for me lately that I've thought only of vanquishing that. I haven't really thought much about losing the post at Grafton Park.'

Lucy Blake, receiving the now familiar little nod from Peach, said quietly, ‘Is that because you removed the man who might have ensured your dismissal on Saturday night?'

‘No.' He looked aghast at the open, enquiring face beneath the striking chestnut hair. He had almost forgotten her presence in the intensity of his confrontation with Peach. Now the openness and innocence of that face seemed like an invitation to confess and be finished with this. ‘I agree that from your point of view it looks bad. I agree that I never particularly took to James Capstick as an employer. I worked for him and he paid me handsomely enough, but I never quite trusted him – I always felt that he was prepared to sell out to the highest bidder, irrespective of what it meant to the club and the town. But I didn't kill him. And I don't really know who did.'

Blake let that last phrase hang in the air between them for a moment. Then she delivered it back to him. ‘You say you don't
really
know, Mr Pearson. That implies that you know a little more than you've told us, doesn't it?'

‘What I'm telling you is that I didn't kill him. Nothing more.'

The chief inquisitor was back in quickly on this. Peach said with a world-weary air. ‘Let's have it, Mr Pearson. It's been a long day for all of us.'

‘I saw someone, that's all. It may mean nothing.'

‘Indeed? Well, you'd better let us be the judges of that, hadn't you?'

Darren Pearson could not meet the DCI's dark, intense eyes. He stared at the table as he said in a monotone, ‘As I went out to my car in the reserved car park, I saw a movement in the street and realized that someone was going back into the building. I was naturally curious to see who it was.'

‘So you watched and identified this person. Who was it, Mr Pearson?'

‘Debbie Black.'

‘You're certain of that?'

‘Yes. She was still wearing the boots and the coat she had worn earlier.'

‘And did you wait until she came out again?'

‘No. I drove away immediately. I'd no reason to do anything else. I didn't know until the next morning that Capstick had been killed, did I?'

‘Didn't you, Mr Pearson? Hadn't you already despatched him at this point? And aren't you now desperately trying to offer us other candidates for your murder?'

‘No. I'm telling you what I saw.'

‘So why didn't you offer us this titbit earlier?'

‘I don't know. It didn't seem as important at first as it does now. And I like Debbie Black. She feels the same way that I do about this town and its people. I suppose I didn't want to implicate her. I still don't, but I'm telling you now, aren't I?'

‘You are indeed, however belatedly. And for whatever reasons. Please don't leave the area without informing us about your intended movements, Mr Pearson. Good night to you.'

Peach swept out as briskly as he had arrived, leaving DS Blake to take their leave of the man he had questioned. Darren Pearson was immensely relieved that Meg was back, so that he was not left alone with his thoughts.

‘Rubenesque,' said Percy Peach dreamily from beneath the bedclothes.

Lucy Blake jumped as if a dart had been shot into her. ‘A girl can't even get undressed in peace.'

‘Prancing about in your underwear. Trying to get a man over-excited at the end of a long and trying day.'

‘I didn't know you were there. I didn't know a man could get undressed and into bed so quickly.'

‘It's a talent you develop. Practice makes perfect, as with so many things.'

‘And I'm not sure “Rubenesque” is flattering. Didn't his women have big thighs and round bellies?' Lucy inspected the parts in question in the full-length mirror of her wardrobe, prompting a groan of agonized pleasure from her paramour.

‘Ample,' Percy offered, when he was again capable of speech. ‘Curvaceous. And as for his bottoms, Aaaaaaah!'

His loss of control was occasioned by his bride-to-be's discarding her last garment. As she stepped demurely from her pale blue pants, he forsook all attempts at speech and applauded vigorously, prompting a blush which made Lucy in his view even more pinkly Rubenesque.

Actions spoke louder than words in the ensuing twenty minutes, but Lucy did manage to interject, ‘I don't know how you can find so much energy after a twelve-hour day!' which her lover took as a compliment.

When she lay back and gradually resumed her normal rate of breathing, she said reflectively, ‘I'll be Mrs Peach in a fortnight, and then you'll lose interest.'

Percy had his eyes closed and his head flat on the pillow. He wore the most blissful and relaxed of his vast range of smiles. ‘Rubenesque!' he murmured softly.

Lucy stared at the invisible ceiling. ‘I sometimes think it was better in the old days, when people waited until they were married to sleep together for the first time. A wedding must have been more of an occasion then.'

‘Pink and rounded and Rubenesque,' muttered Percy in his dream-like haze.

She poked him in the side with the elbow which he claimed was her only sharp contour. ‘I'm talking to you, Percy Peach! Giving you my philosophical ramblings on marriage.'

‘I always enjoy rambling with you, my love,' he said dreamily. He suited the action to the words and began unhurried exploration of her stomach with his right hand. Then, to show he had been listening, he said, ‘There must have been a lot of fumbling bridegrooms who didn't know quite what to do in those days.'

‘And fumbling brides who weren't able to help them out,' said Lucy, arresting his hand at the point of no return with practised ease. ‘I don't think we'll have those sorts of problems.'

Percy Peach stirred himself dutifully into action. ‘Practice makes perfect, Lucy. Better be on the safe side.'

TWENTY

E
dward Lanchester was alert, well-dressed, beautifully shaved. Every hair of the still plentiful white hair on his venerable head was in place. At seventy-five, he was no longer accustomed to conducting meetings at nine o'clock in the morning, but that was no reason to let anyone think that his standards had slipped. He checked his appearance in the hall mirror and decided that Eleanor would have been proud of him. As was now his habit, he addressed a few silent words to his dead wife. Then he opened the door to the CID officers.

Peach was dapper as usual in well-cut grey suit and tie. He was glad of that when he saw Lanchester's elegant blue suit and tie and spotless white shirt. He wouldn't have wanted to let himself down in the presence of a former chairman of Brunton Rovers; the deferences we acquire in childhood are the hardest of all to relinquish. He said, ‘Good morning, sir. Thank you for your time. There are just a few things we need to clear up.'

Lanchester led them into the same comfortable sitting room where he had spoken to them on Monday night. There was no fire burning in the grate this morning, but wood and coal were set ready for when one was next required. The curtains which Lucy Blake had admired were open now, revealing a mature, well-tended garden, which dropped away from the window across a lawn to where an early rhododendron was beginning to glow rich red with bloom. A comfortable, slightly old-fashioned house, this, with an occupant who she sensed was desperately lonely beneath his spruce exterior.

She opened her notebook and began the exchanges, as she had agreed with Peach before they entered the house. ‘The steward you mentioned, Harry Barnard, has confirmed that you left the football ground at around seven thirty on Saturday, as you told us he would.'

‘Thank you. He's a reliable man, Harry. He seems to like being employed for a few hours at Grafton Park, though he's at least as old as me. He doesn't need to be supervised – if he says he'll do a job, you know it will be done. He's – well, I won't say any more.'

‘You were going to say he has the standards of an older generation.'

Edward looked at this bright young woman with a new respect for her prescience. ‘I was going to say something like that, I suppose. But that would be less than fair to you and others like you. I'm sure there are people around today who are just as capable and just as reliable as they were in my day.'