Cold Killing: A Novel (6 page)

There was a long pause before Hellier answered. “Who put you up to this?” he eventually asked in a calm voice. “Who paid you to follow me? Was it my wife?”

Sean and Donnelly looked at each other, confused. “Mr. Hellier,” Sean explained, “this is a murder investigation. We’re police officers, not private investigators. We’re investigating the murder of Daniel Graydon. He was killed on Wednesday night, Thursday morning, in his flat. I believe you knew Daniel. Is that correct?”

“Murdered?” Hellier asked through gritted teeth. “I’m sorry. I had no idea. How did it . . . ?”

Sean watched every flicker in Hellier’s face, every hand and finger movement, every sign that could tell him whether Hellier’s shock was genuine. Did he sense any trace of compassion? “He was stabbed to death in his own flat,” Sean told him and waited for the reaction.

“Do you know who did it—and why, for God’s sake?”

“No,” Sean answered as his mind processed Hellier’s performance—and that was what he was sure it was. As polished as it was, as convincing as it was, a performance nonetheless. “Actually, we thought you might be able to help us with the who and why.”

“I’m sorry, but I really don’t see how. I hardly knew Daniel. I know nothing about his life. We had a brief physical relationship, nothing more.”

“Did he know you were married?” Sean asked.

“No, I don’t think so. How could he?”

“You’re a wealthy man. Did he know anything about your financial circumstances?” Sean picked up the pace of his questioning.

“Not as far as I’m aware,” Hellier answered quickly and confidently.

“Did Daniel Graydon at any time try to extort money or other favors from you, Mr. Hellier?”

“Look, I think I know where you’re going with this, Inspector . . . sorry, I can’t remember your name.”

“Corrigan. Sean Corrigan.”

“Well, Inspector Corrigan, I think my solicitor should be present before I say anything.”

Donnelly leaned in toward him. “That’s fine, Mr. Hellier. You can have a panel of judges present, for all I care, but you’re a witness right now. Not a suspect. So why do you need a solicitor? And I don’t know for sure, but I suspect your wife is unaware of your nocturnal activities. And what about the other partners here at this lovely firm? Do they know you have a taste for young male prostitutes? I guess it’s all a question of how much you trust your solicitor to show absolute discretion. And me too.”

Hellier stared hard at the two intruders into his life, small intelligent eyes darting between the detectives, before suddenly standing up. “All right. All right. Please keep your voices down.” He sat down again. “I went there once, about a week ago, but please, my wife mustn’t find out. It would destroy her. Our children would become laughingstocks. They shouldn’t be punished for my weaknesses.” He paused. “It may be difficult for you to understand, but I do love my wife and children, I just have other needs. I have suppressed them for more than twenty years, but recently I . . . I couldn’t seem to stop myself.”

“When did you last see Daniel Graydon?” Sean asked.

“I can’t remember exactly.”

“Try harder.”

“A week or so ago.”

“We need to know exactly when and where, Mr. Hellier,” Sean insisted.

“Try checking your diary, iPhone, or whatever it is you use,” Donnelly suggested.

“It won’t be in my diary,” Hellier told them sharply. “I’m sure you understand why.”

“But something will be,” Sean said. “A false business meeting, a dinner with clients that never took place. You would have put something in there to cover yourself.”

Hellier studied Sean, their eyes unconsciously locked together. He reached for his iPad with a sigh. His finger slid around the screen and within seconds he found what he was looking for—a false overnight meeting in Zurich. “The last time I saw Daniel was a week ago last Tuesday—what, ten days ago?”

“Where?” Sean pressed.

“In Utopia.”

“Did you ever go to his flat?”

“No.”

Sean felt like being cruel. “And did you pay him to have sex with you in the club or somewhere else?”

“I pay for sex because it’s less complicated. Keeps things simple. I can’t risk being involved in a relationship. That would make me vulnerable. You needn’t look so disgusted, Inspector. I don’t like the fact that I pay for sex. I don’t like the fact that I abuse the trust of family and friends. I keep things simple for all our sakes.”

“So where did you have sex with him?”

“I’ve admitted having sex with him—isn’t that enough?”

“Are you absolutely sure you didn’t go back to his flat, ever?” Sean asked.

“Positive.”

“And Wednesday night. Where were you Wednesday night?” Sean continued.

Hellier paused before answering, his eyes narrowing. “You don’t . . . you don’t seriously think I had anything to do with his death, do you?” He looked both incredulous and frustrated.

“I just need to know where you were,” Sean repeated with an almost friendly smile.

“Well, if you must know, I was at home all night. I had a pile of paperwork to catch up on, so I left here at about six and went straight home, where I spent most of the night working in my study.”

“Can anyone verify that?”

“My wife. We had dinner together, but, like I said, I spent most of the night working, alone.”

“Then we need to speak to your wife,” Sean insisted.

“Look,” Hellier snapped. “Am I a suspect or not?”

“No, Mr. Hellier,” Sean answered. “You’re a witness, until I say otherwise. But we’ll still need to speak with your wife.”

“Don’t worry,” Donnelly reassured Hellier. “We won’t tell her what we’re investigating.”

“Then what will you tell her?”

“Oh, I don’t know. That we’re looking into an identity fraud, a case of mistaken identity,” Donnelly offered. “The sooner she can confirm you were at home Wednesday night, the sooner we can clear the whole mess up. Fair enough?”

“You do want to help us, don’t you, Mr. Hellier?” Sean asked.

Hellier sat silently for a time before leaning forward and snatching a pen and paper. He quickly scribbled something down and pushed the paper toward Donnelly. “My wife’s name and my home address,” he said. “I assume a phone call wouldn’t satisfy you gentlemen.”

“Much obliged,” Donnelly said, slipping the note into his jacket pocket.

“Will she be at home now?” Sean asked.

“Possibly,” Hellier answered.

“Good” was all Sean replied.

“And when my wife verifies that I was at home, I’m assuming that will be the end of it.”

Sean almost laughed. “No, Mr. Hellier, it’s a little more complicated than that. We need you to come to the station within the next two days. Whenever is convenient for you will be fine. Bring that solicitor too, if you want.”

“But I’ve told you all I know,” Hellier argued. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t help you.”

“You had sex with a young man who’s now dead,” Sean told him. “Murdered. We’ve taken samples from the victim’s body. Forensic samples. If you had sex with him within the last couple of weeks, part of you could still be on the victim. We need to eliminate any foreign samples found on the body that may have been left by you.”

“That really won’t be necessary. I always used a condom. I may be foolish, but I’m not mad. You won’t find any . . .” Hellier stalled, trying to think of suitable words. “ . . . thing belonging to me on his body. You don’t need to examine me.”

Sean stood up and leaned in close to Hellier. “Oh yes I do, Mr. Hellier. And you will give me what I need. If you don’t, then I’ll arrest you on suspicion of murder and take the samples anyway. I’ll get a warrant and search your home. I’ll search this office—and we won’t be as discreet about our business as we’ve been so far.”

He wasn’t bluffing; the more serious the offense, the more he could stretch his powers to the limit. He opened his wallet, took out one of his business cards, and threw it on the desk. “That’s my office and mobile numbers. You have a day to call me. And I’ll require a full written statement from you at the same time. You’ll have to tell us about your relationship with Daniel Graydon. Absolutely everything. One day to call, Mr. Hellier, and then—”

The door to Hellier’s office unexpectedly swung open. Another well-dressed man entered the office without asking. Sean assumed the rich-looking man in his late thirties or early forties had to be Hellier’s boss. He gave the man the once-over, taking in details only a cop would see. He did it to everybody nearly all the time, an occupational hazard he was almost unaware of. The man had purpose and poise, and not just because of his physical presence: he was at least six feet tall, strong and fit, his tailored suit not disguising his deep chest and slim waist. But he also had an aura about him, a sense of power and control. Sean knew the man would be the sort of boss his underlings would both fear and love.

“James.” The well-dressed man spoke into the room. “I heard about the theft. I trust you got hold of your bank before the bastards had a chance to cash any checks?” The man’s voice matched everything else about him: authoritative and dominating, but soothing and reassuring at the same time. Sean felt it was almost gravitational, drawing whoever he was talking to toward him, like a brilliant actor performing on the stage.

“Yes. Yes, I did. Panic over,” Hellier told him.

The well-dressed man thrust out a hand toward Sean and Donnelly. “Sebastian Gibran. Senior partner here. Always a pleasure to help the police in any way we can. Any idea who you’re looking for?”

“No. Not yet,” said Sean, shaking his hand, feeling a little thrown off center by Gibran’s very presence. The handshake was firm, but not overpowering, although Sean believed Gibran could have crushed his hand if he’d wanted to.

“Well, anything we can do to help, just let me know.” Gibran’s smile was perfect—straight white teeth that shone almost as brightly as his eyes—and radiated warmth and charm, all wrapped in a protective sheath of power.

“Thank you. I will,” Sean replied. “Don’t get up, Mr. Hellier. We’ll let ourselves out. And thanks for your time.” Both detectives stood to leave the office.

“Allow me to show you out,” Gibran offered.

“We’ll be fine,” Sean said, keen to be away so that he and Donnelly could begin to speak freely. “I’m sure you’re very busy.”

“I insist,” Gibran argued, once again flashing his mouthful of brilliant white teeth. “Please, follow me.”

Sean and Donnelly followed Gibran, who smiled and nodded his acknowledgment to staff members they passed, using Christian names to greet each and every one. Sean had worked in the same office for over two years and still struggled to remember everyone’s name. Gibran’s smoothness only made Sean dislike him all the more. When they were alone, Gibran spoke again. “Where did you say you were from?”

“We informed Mr. Hellier of where we are from,” Sean responded.

“I’m sure you did,” Gibran replied. “But you didn’t tell me.”

“Our dealings with Mr. Hellier are confidential,” Sean said firmly. “If he wants to tell you more, that’s up to him.”

“If James is involved in anything that could damage the reputation of this institution, then I should be informed, Inspector,” Gibran argued. “Look,” he said, taking a conciliatory tone, the smile back in place, “a lot of people rely on me for their welfare and security in these uncertain times. It is my responsibility to protect their interests. The need of the many is greater than the need of the individual.”

“Meaning if Hellier looks like he’s going to be bad for business, you’ll throw him to the wolves,” Donnelly accused.

Gibran stared hard at Donnelly before speaking again. “James is very privileged to have both a detective inspector and a detective sergeant investigating what appears to be a minor theft.” He watched Sean and Donnelly look at each other; it was only a glance, but he noticed it. “Really, you didn’t think I was that stupid, did you?”

Sean had no answer and felt he needed to counter, to try and knock Gibran out of his stride. “What did you say you do here?” Sean asked. “International finance—what exactly does that mean?”

“Nothing the police need to be concerned about,” Gibran answered. “We help people and organizations raise capital for various business projects, no more. You know, oil people wanting to move into the building and property markets, property people wanting to move into the tech markets, and now and then someone literally walks in off the street with a brilliant idea but no funds. We’ll help them obtain those funds.”

“Well, that all sounds very noble,” Donnelly chipped in.

“We’re not part of the banking system,” Gibran assured them. “There’s no need for animosity here.”

Sean looked him up and down. He had no more he wanted to say. “Good-bye, Mr. Gibran. It was a pleasure meeting you.”

He could feel Gibran’s eyes watching them as they finally escaped into the lift, the streets below beckoning them. Sean needed to drag Hellier out of his natural comfort zone and into his world, away from protectors like Sebastian Gibran. Then and only then would they see the real James Hellier.

J
ames Hellier stood by his office window looking down on the detectives in the street below. He was careful not to be seen. He paid special attention to Sean. He disliked him, sensed the danger in him, but he felt no anger toward him. In his own way he appreciated him—appreciated a worthy adversary who would make the game all the more fun to play. They thought they were clever, but they weren’t going to ruin things for him. He would make sure of it.

He cursed under his breath—somehow he’d been recognized at the damn nightclub and he wondered who by. He should have been more careful. It was unfortunate, but not entirely unexpected. He needed to stay calm. They had nothing on him. Police talk and threats meant nothing. He would wait and see if anything developed. He wouldn’t panic and run. There was no need. Not yet.

But he would have to be careful of Gibran too. Trust him to come and stick his nose in where it wasn’t wanted. He thought he was so fucking clever, senior partner at Butler and Mason, the self-appointed sheriff of the company. If it came to it, he would be long gone before Gibran found out. Gibran should remember who gave him a job at Butler and Mason in the first place. It was Gibran who personally checked his references, glowing reports from previous employers in the United States and Far East. Only thing was, not a single one of them was real. If Gibran had actually gotten on a plane to check Hellier’s background properly, he would have eventually discovered that Hellier’s previous employment history was a myth. But he knew Gibran would rely on telephone calls and e-mails, all of which were easily arranged, especially for someone like Hellier: he had friends in low places and dirt on some in high places. Gibran had been no more difficult to fool than any of the others. And while Hellier might never have been to university to study accounting or high finance, what he’d learned on the streets, what he’d learned in order to survive, had left him more than qualified to work anywhere he liked.