The Murder House (32 page)

‘You mean like Yorke and his friends?' I asked, hoping to steer him back in that direction. What was going on? Of course James had made calls that night – two were to me!

Oakley nodded. ‘But so what? Yorke's case was coming up, so of course they'd be in touch.'

But James
had
called me. Did that mean he'd had two mobiles – a legal one and one for making clandestine calls? If so, Oakley would have no more idea where to find it than I did.

‘It's still being used, so Taylor thinks the killer must've swiped it,' Oakley went on. ‘I suppose it makes sense. After all, someone emptied his pockets of his wallet, keys, et cetera, presumably to prevent identification.'

‘Why would the killer use it?' I asked before I could stop myself. What was I doing? Putting doubts in his mind was hardly wise!

Oakley gave a wry smile. ‘I don't think he is, but I'm in a minority. Anyway, whoever had it waited for four days before making a call. Obviously he thought he'd be safe by then.'

He clearly knew nothing about murderers.
I
didn't feel safe, and it was almost a month since I'd killed James.

It was odd, I thought to myself, that I was more concerned about being caught for James' murder than for Wright's. Wright meant nothing to me, and I rarely thought about his death. Perhaps it was because James was the first. Perhaps it was because I didn't feel remorse for what I'd done to Wright. Perhaps it was because the shame and disgust for what I'd done to Wright would come later.

But I'd been reprieved yet again – I was free for another day. My fears about the phone had been unfounded, and unless Oakley found James' second mobile, I was off the hook.

Oakley drove to Mrs Paxton's house to find a shiny red BMW parked in the drive. He was certain it wasn't hers, and wondered if it had belonged to James, liberated from his garage without asking police permission.

‘I'm Donna Trembleth,' said the attractive woman who answered the door. She was richly confident and immaculately dressed. ‘Maureen's niece. I'm here to keep her company until this nasty matter is over.'

‘We're working very hard to catch your cousin's killer, Ms Trembleth, but it might help if we knew more about his personal life.'

‘No!' The sharp voice from the hall beyond made Oakley jump. Maureen Paxton's hair was perfect, the cement of her make-up in place, and all traces of hysterical grief eradicated. Only a slight darkness under her eyes suggested she'd been under strain. The police liaison officer was behind her, a middle-aged constable in a scruffy suit.

‘I don't understand, Mrs Paxton,' said Oakley. ‘We only want—'

‘I know what happens when you paw through people's personal affairs. Things get misinterpreted and it damages those who aren't there to defend themselves.' Her chin trembled slightly, but then she regained control.

‘You think something in James' life is open to misinterpretation?'

‘No, that's
not
what I'm saying,' snapped Maureen, ‘although it proves my point. I said innocent things are misinterpreted and distorted. The fact that you immediately jumped to the conclusion that James had something to hide proves that I'm right.'

‘We're not trying to do anything like that,' said Oakley gently, although she was right. Wright's wife was going through a similar process, and God knew what they'd dredge up from
his
past. ‘But someone was unpleasant enough to kill James, so we know he had dealings with at least one unsavoury person.'

‘Of course he did, but through
work
. His clients were unsavoury. But you want to look into his
personal
life. You saw what that horrible Farnaby did when James went missing. He started stories that James was homosexual.' She spat out the last word and Oakley saw the liaison officer regard her with dislike.

‘We're just trying to get a picture of—'

‘Oh, yes,
now
you are. You're fascinated with him
now
, but you didn't give a damn when I reported him missing!'

‘That's not true, Mrs Paxton,' said Oakley quietly. ‘We did a lot more for James than we do for most missing adults. But now we're trying to catch his murderer. We can't do that unless the people who loved him, and who want his killer brought to justice, are prepared to do all they can to help. You knew James: we didn't. We need you.'

‘Mr Brotherton told me that James had bribed juries.' Maureen's eyes filled with angry tears. ‘He said that James was involved in all manner of illegal practices, and that he'd brought Urvine and Brotherton into disrepute. But James would never do anything like that.'

‘I'm sorry you had to learn that,' said Oakley. ‘We'll try to keep it out of the papers – Brotherton certainly won't want it made public. It may come out in the trial, but only if it becomes relevant.'

‘Trial!' she spat. ‘What do
they
do but destroy innocent people?'

She turned and stalked away, and Oakley saw her shoulders heaving with sobs. Her opinion of trials hardly seemed to be what he would have expected from a criminal lawyer's mother. But she was right about two things: the police
were
more interested in Paxton now he was a murder victim, and her son's dirty linen
would
be pawed through in detail.

‘She's upset,' said Donna. ‘She didn't mean to be rude.'

‘It's all right. I can't begin to imagine what she's going through.'

Donna hesitated, then forged on. ‘This is probably totally useless, but I went to the same school as James – I was a couple of years below him, but I knew his friends. There was a couple he really liked: Gary Sheldick and Frances Moorfield. They probably haven't seen each other for years, but they
were
good pals. They might be able to tell you what James was like.'

‘And you can't?'

‘Not really. He was always too busy for us, so all I know is that he didn't like peas and I saw him steal ten pounds from his mother's purse when he was twelve.'

‘Any idea where I might find these friends?'

She gave an elegant shrug. ‘I believe Gary used to live in Redland, and I think he works for an insurance company. But that's all.'

Oakley drove home and looked up ‘Gary Sheldick' online. There were two listed in the Redland area. He dialled one, and hit gold the first time. He told Gary why he was calling, and arranged for him to visit the station early the following morning with Frances. He put down the phone and forced the case from his mind, determined to enjoy his evening with Catherine. Then he spent the whole night talking to her about it.

Frances Moorfield and Gary Sheldick were apprehensive when they arrived, telling Oakley that they'd never been in a police station before, let alone made a statement. They were an earnest pair, conventional and decent. Frances wore a blue suit with a pearl brooch in one lapel. Her engagement ring was discreet, indicating that money hadn't been wasted and was probably being put away for a deposit on a house. Gary wore grey trousers and had three pens of different colours neatly lined up in his shirt pocket.

‘This won't take long.' Oakley suspected ancient school friends wouldn't have much to reveal, but was unwilling to leave a stone unturned. ‘I'm sure you've heard that James Paxton was found dead earlier this month. We're interviewing friends and family to build up a picture of him.'

‘Well, I'm afraid we can't help,' said Gary apologetically. ‘We haven't seen him for a couple years now. We used to meet fairly regularly, although I always sensed he'd be away to more illustrious acquaintances once he was on the road to success.'

‘You make him sound callous, Gary,' objected Frances chidingly. ‘But he was just a social butterfly. We were his best friends at school, and he'll come back to us in time.' She realized what she'd said and flushed. ‘Or he would have, if …'

Oakley thought she was being overly generous. The staid pair who sat holding hands under the table weren't the sort of friends who'd have benefited Paxton, and he imagined the lawyer would have been less likely to deal with them, not more.

‘He went to Oxford after school,' Frances went on. ‘But he had a year out in the middle of it and worked here in Bristol. I think that was when he decided to go into criminal law.'

‘No, he decided that at school,' corrected Gary. ‘I remember him talking about it. I recommended contract or industrial law, because that's where the money is, but he said there was money in criminal law if you were good.'

‘Do you remember him as dishonest in any way?' asked Oakley. This was blunt, but neither seemed surprised by the question.

‘He cheated in school exams,' said Gary reluctantly. ‘I often saw him looking at other people's papers, reading what they'd written. But I shouldn't be saying this. It can't have any relevance to his death, and it'll only upset his mother if she hears about it.'

‘And he stole purses on school holidays,' added Frances. ‘He was arrested for shoplifting from Woolworths, too, but his mother got it sorted out, so you won't find anything in the records. She said James couldn't go into law if he had a criminal record. You can ask Colin Fairhurst about that – he and James were pretty tight at the time.'

‘Mrs Paxton said Colin was a bad influence on James.' Gary gave a wry chuckle. ‘But it was the other way around. Colin's a really nice bloke.' He leaned across the table and wrote a number on one of Oakley's statement sheets. ‘That's Colin.'

‘And Helen Anderson,' added Frances. ‘She works here so you probably know her. She was at school with James, too.'

‘She was?' asked Oakley, startled.

‘Well, yes and no,' corrected Gary pedantically. ‘She was in our year but she hung out with a completely different crowd. I bet she and James didn't say more than three words to each other the whole time.'

‘But it was James who told her to come and meet us for a drink,' said Frances. ‘About two and a half years ago. Maybe less. I can't remember now.'

‘Colin will, though,' said Gary with a meaningful smile.

‘I think I've met Colin,' said Oakley, recalling that was the name of the man who'd been with Anderson the night he'd bumped into her at the harbour. It was indelibly etched in his mind, because he'd stunk of mortuary while trying to impress Catherine. Such a thing might have made a lesser woman think again, and he felt their relationship had taken a huge step forward that day.

‘He and Helen have been an item for a while now,' said Frances. ‘It's sweet. I'd no idea he liked her. Anyway, Colin will remember when she first started to join us.'

‘So Helen is part of a social circle that includes you two, Colin and James?' asked Oakley, thinking he had better get his facts straight before he went to Anderson and demanded answers.

‘Not exactly,' said Gary. ‘I think she stopped James for speeding and he asked her to join us for a drink – probably to get out of a ticket, although she gave him one anyway. But James was already going off us by then, so I doubt he and Helen met more than once or twice. But ask her.'

‘I hope we haven't got her into trouble,' said Frances nervously.

‘Is his father dead?' asked Oakley, changing the subject. He had tried to broach the question with Maureen several days before but she had avoided answering, leaving him uncertain as to whether she was a widow or a divorcee.

‘Don't you know?' Frances was surprised. ‘I thought Mrs Paxton would've told you.'

‘Told me what?'

‘You'd better not tell her you got this from us,' said Gary anxiously. ‘She won't like it, and I don't want her to make a scene at James' funeral. Colin told us, about two years ago – maybe less – but he asked us to keep it to ourselves, so we have.'

‘What?' said Oakley impatiently.

‘James' father is in prison.'

I'd celebrated too soon. I thought I was home and dry when the phone enquiry floundered, but I was just arriving for work when I saw Gary and Frances in the station. They were with Oakley.

I did a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn and ducked into the briefing room, where a carrel provided a convenient screen. I risked a glance over the top, and saw Oakley shake hands in a friendly manner and open the door for them. What had they told him? That I'd known James? Had they, like Colin, guessed that I'd slept with him, and confided their suspicions? How long would it be before he put it all together? Or would he—

‘I understand you knew James Paxton.'

Oakley's voice right behind me made me jump a mile. I'd been so engrossed in my terrified musings that I hadn't heard him coming. I could feel the blood draining out of my face, and my heart was thudding hard. Damn! I wasn't going to have time to decide what to say, and hasty answers were likely to be dangerous. I took a deep breath to pull myself together – my life was on the line, and I
had
to be in control. I forced a smile, and hoped he couldn't see my panic.

He did notice, of course, because he was that sort of policeman.

‘You made me jump,' I said in an effort to explain away my unease.

‘Why?' he asked. ‘Do you have a guilty conscience? Did you kill Paxton because he got better A-levels than you?'

My heart had given a painful lurch at his first comment, so when I saw he was being facetious, I was angry. ‘You shouldn't sneak up on people,' I said sharply, then added, ‘sir,' because berating inspectors was hardly wise.

‘I didn't sneak,' he objected. ‘I was walking quite normally. What are you doing here, anyway? Oh, I see – reading
The Sun
. No wonder you're embarrassed. You claimed to be a
Guardian
reader, and you've been caught out.'