Double Dealing (Detective Sergeant Catherine Bishop Series Book Two) (21 page)

40

Patrick Shea looked plumper than ever, the familiar smirk lingering around his face like a bad smell. Allan flicked back her hair as she brushed past, then deliberately allowed the palm of her hand to make contact with Catherine’s backside for a second on her way over to her own seat. Catherine ignored the performance, furious. Being sexually harassed by another woman was a new and unwelcome experience.

  ‘Detective Sergeant Bishop, we need another word.’ Shea’s voice was sickly sweet, his pale little eyes entreating.

  ‘Fine.’ Catherine’s voice was even. ‘But can we make it quick? I have a bloke waiting to be interviewed downstairs.’

  ‘Oh, you do make arrests then?’ Shea guffawed. ‘I thought most of your suspects escaped through windows?’ Catherine clenched her jaw as Allan gave an appreciative titter, but said nothing. Shea gave another little laugh, then picked up a few sheets of paper from the desk in front of him. Catherine saw he had spilt mayonnaise down his gaudy tie. The room was hot and oppressive and as Catherine’s eyes flicked towards Allan, the other woman bit her lower lip. Catherine felt nauseous; Allan was about as seductive as a pool of sick. The whole thing was pathetic, a scheme designed to make everyone so uncomfortable that they turned on Knight, reasoning that if he went, Shea and Allan would too. Why else would the two of them still be here? They seemed to have done precious little detecting.

  ‘Now, we’ve spoken to DCI Kendrick as well as the various detective constables you have littering the place up. Not the brightest sparks in the world, are they?’ Again, Catherine ignored the jibe. Shea smiled. ‘No, they wouldn’t say a word against you either, even though you made a pretty catastrophic error of judgement a few weeks ago, didn’t you? In fact, they all seem to think you’re great.’ He tapped out a little tune on the desk top with his fingertips. ‘Standards around here must be lower than what DS Allan and I are used to. Anyway, they did have some interesting things to say about DI Knight.’

  ‘The DCs did?’ Catherine smiled. ‘Amaze me.’

Shea bared his teeth. ‘Not the DCs as such, but people have told us he’s odd, weird, and that he’s not a team player.’

  ‘He is odd.’ Catherine nodded. ‘Weird too. Aren’t we all?’

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ Allan sniped. Catherine beamed at her.

  ‘And as for not a team player, well, did any of his actual team say that?’ Shea studied his notes again but didn’t speak. ‘Thought not. However much you pry and poke around, however much you want DI Knight to be bent or whatever you’re trying to make out he is, you’re not going to find anything, and you also won’t find one officer in this station who will take your side.’ She stood up. ‘Can I go now?’

Shea waved a hand. ‘Suit yourself. I’ll tell you what though, Sergeant Bishop.’

She gripped the door handle, then turned back, angry with herself for taking the bait. ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t think you know Jonathan Knight at all.’

 
Alex Lambert’s solicitor was a smart suited woman in her late twenties. Back in the interview room, she introduced herself as Sophie Townsend.

  ‘Can we get on with it, Sergeant Bishop?’ Lambert asked. ‘I have an important meeting this afternoon.’

Catherine ignored him again, flipping through the pages of her notebook, taking her time. Townsend eyed her.

  ‘My client is right, Sergeant. Is there a point to us being here?’

  ‘Mr Lambert, where’s Lauren Cook?’ Catherine barked. Lambert stared for a second, then recovered himself.

  ‘How should I know? On holiday, isn’t she?’

  ‘You tell me.’

Lambert’s laugh was scornful. ‘She works in packing, she’s not someone I chat to. How should I know where she is?’

  ‘You’ve no idea?’

  ‘No, Sergeant, I haven’t. Blackpool? Benidorm? Somewhere cheap and tacky with lots of booze, I’d have thought.’ Lambert sniffed.

Catherine met his eyes. ‘It’s good to see you have such a high opinion of your staff.’

Lambert spread his hands. ‘I’m not judging, it just seems to be what they like to do.’

  ‘You’re not a drinker then?’

  ‘I prefer a decent wine or a good whiskey.’

  ‘Of course you do. What about drugs?’

  ‘Drugs? I never touch them.’

  ‘You never touch them now, or you’ve never touched them ever?’

  ‘Never. What has this got to do with anything?’ demanded Lambert.

  ‘So you’re saying that you have never taken any form of illegal drug?’ Dave put in.

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying.’

  ‘What about selling drugs?’

  ‘Selling them? What are you talking about?’

  ‘It’s a simple enough concept, Mr Lambert. Someone gives you money in exchange for drugs. Like a shop?’ Dave added helpfully. Lambert glared.

  ‘This is ridiculous. I’m not a drug dealer.’ He turned to Townsend. ‘Can they do this?’

The solicitor tapped her notepad on the table. ‘Is my client being charged with anything, Sergeant, or are these accusations entirely baseless?’

  ‘We’re not making accusations, Ms Townsend. We have a witness who is willing to swear that Mr Lambert offered to sell him drugs.’ Catherine watched Lambert, but he didn’t seem perturbed.

  ‘A witness? Is his name Jason Garner, by any chance?’

  ‘His name is irrelevant.’

  ‘This whole conversation is irrelevant. Garner hates me because I . . . well, I slept with his girlfriend. He’ll say anything to get me in the shit.’

  ‘You deny offering to sell drugs to employees of the club you part-owned?’ Catherine asked. Lambert’s eyes burned. ‘Yes, I do deny it. It didn’t happen.’

  ‘What about offering them a sample, with a view to purchasing later?’ Dave persevered. Lambert switched his glare to him.

  ‘What?’

  ‘A small sample of your wares, just as a taster.’ Dave raised his eyebrows. ‘Like pieces of cheese in a supermarket.’

  ‘I did not offer anyone drugs,’ Lambert spat. There was a pause and then Catherine opened a brown folder that she held on her lap. She took out a photograph and lay it on the table in front of Lambert, who glanced down at it.

  ‘Who’s that?’ he asked.

  ‘Again, Mr Lambert, you tell me.’

  ‘I don’t know her.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘I’ve just said so, haven’t I?’ The smooth manner had gone; Lambert was on the defensive.

  ‘How about this one?’ Catherine slid another image over the table top. Lambert looked at it then turned his head away, his horror appearing to be genuine.

  ‘Jesus Christ.’

Sophie Townsend also averted her eyes.

  ‘Unacceptable, Sergeant.’ Her voice was tight.

Catherine ignored her. ‘Both photographs are of Keeley Pearce, Mr Lambert,’ she said. ‘Do you remember her now?’

  ‘No.’ He wouldn’t look at the photograph.

  ‘She worked at Worthy and Son for a couple of weeks.’

  ‘So what?’ Lambert ran a hand across his lips.

  ‘Did you offer her drugs too?’

  ‘I don’t even know who she is.’

  ‘Did you offer her drugs?’ Catherine wasn’t going to let it go.

  ‘No, I fucking didn’t!’

  ‘Did you do this to her face?’

  ‘No! What do you think I am?’ It was a plea, but Catherine ignored it.

  ‘As you can see, Keeley Pearce is dead. She died of a drug overdose. What do you say to that, Mr Lambert?’

Townsend butted in. ‘Sergeant Bishop, my client has already told you he doesn’t know who this woman is.’

  ‘I’ve never seen her before,’ Lambert bleated.

  ‘And once she was dead, someone destroyed her face with a shovel. Was that you, Alex? Did you do that?’

  ‘Sergeant, I really must . . .’ Townsend tried again.

  ‘Have another look at the picture, Alex. Did you smash Keeley’s face in? Were you angry with her? Tell us what happened.’

Lambert shoved the photos away with a sweep of his hand and they fluttered to the floor, Keeley’s smiling face covered by the terrible image of her battered one. Lambert rubbed his hands over his eyes, then took a deep breath.

  ‘I swear to you, I didn’t do that. I remember her face now, yes, I admit it. I don’t think I even spoke to her though. I promise you, I swear on my life. I couldn’t do that to anyone.’ He nodded towards where the pictures lay without actually looking at them. Catherine exchanged a glance with Dave, who said: ‘So did you get someone else to do it?’

Lambert turned to him. ‘Someone else?’

  ‘Yeah. You don’t seem the sort of bloke to get your hands dirty.’ Dave gave a guileless smile. Lambert laced his hands on the scratched table top with a sigh. ‘I haven’t battered anyone and I haven’t told anyone else to do it either. This is stupid.’

  ‘You seem quite wealthy, Mr Lambert,’ Catherine said. ‘Nice car, designer clothes?’

  ‘My client’s financial circumstances are none of your business, Sergeant,’ Townsend sniffed.

  ‘That depends on where the money came from, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I earn a decent salary, plus bonuses,’ Lambert sneered, rallying a little. ‘Four or five times more than you do.’

Catherine laughed. ‘Good for you.’

  ‘So your only source of income is your wages from Worthy and Son?’ Dave probed.

  ‘My salary, Constable. I don’t earn wages. I also own a couple of properties which bring in rental income. My accountant deals with all the details.’

  ‘I thought you were an accountant?’ Catherine shot back.

  ‘I am.’ Lambert raised his chin.

  ‘Properly qualified?’

  ‘Chartered,’ he smirked. ‘Good enough?’

  ‘Yet someone else deals with your rental properties?’

  ‘I’ve a full time job with Worthy and Son, I don’t have time to deal with tenants as well.’

  ‘So you just take the money?’

Lambert gave a scornful laugh.

  ‘The market’s not what it used to be, Sergeant, believe me.’

  ‘I’ll have to take your word for it. Do you have other business interests?’

  ‘Not really. I own two shops in town and three small houses, all of which are rented out. I’m trying to sell the shops, as a matter of fact, but it’s not proving easy.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because they’re empty half the time and no one wants them. Look around you - Northolme isn’t exactly a shopper’s paradise.’

  ‘Some businesses are thriving though,’ Dave said.

  ‘Such as? Fast-food places and cheap clothes shops. Not my idea of business.’ Lambert shook his head.

  ‘Drugs are always popular.’ Catherine stared at him.

  ‘Sergeant, Mr Lambert has told you he isn’t involved with drugs and never has been. Can we move on?’ Townsend was firm.

  ‘Of course. In fact, let’s take a break.’ Catherine stood up and smiled at them. ‘We’ll speak to you again soon, Mr Lambert.’

41

‘Would you like a biscuit, Inspector?’ Margaret Saddler pulled a packet of chocolate chip cookies from her desk drawer and offered them to Knight.

  ‘Thank you.’ He bit into one, then took a mouthful of tea, struggling to fit his finger through the tiny handle of the bone china cup. Margaret replaced the packet, sat down and smoothed her skirt.

  ‘Of course I keep them for Mr Worthy, but he’ll never know if we have a couple.’ She smiled. ‘Now then. I hear that Alex Lambert’s been taken in for questioning?’

  ‘Well, he went voluntarily.’

Margaret made a sound that was somewhere between a snort of derision and a laugh.

  ‘We all know what that means. He went before you dragged him.’

Knight laughed. ‘We don’t tend to drag people around, Mrs Saddler.’

  ‘Well, you know what I mean.’

  ‘What do you think of Mr Lambert?’

  ‘Alex?’ She sighed. ‘Cocky. Full of himself. Charming though, and he’s always been polite and courteous to me. I speak as I find, you understand.’

  ‘Yes, I see.’ Knight raised his cup.

  ‘I’m not sure he’s quite the businessman he thinks he is though. Not up to his father’s standard, at any rate.’

  ‘The elder Mr Lambert was John Worthy’s business partner?’

  ‘Well, in a way. They were best friends, had been for years. They were both widowed at a young age too. Mr Worthy remarried, but Victor never did. Mr Worthy was distraught when Victor died. Heart disease, you know. So sad. We lost my brother to a heart attack a few months ago.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

She rallied.

  ‘Well, you’re not here to talk about me.’

  ‘How did Alex Lambert take his father’s death?’

  ‘I don’t judge, you understand, but . . . well, Alex was sitting behind his father’s desk within three weeks. He spent a fortune redecorating it too. I’m still not sure what he does here.’

Knight smiled.

  ‘What about the other members of staff? Do they like Alex?’

  She lifted her shoulders. ‘I’m not sure. He’s charming, as I say, but he does tend to get people’s backs up. He’s . . . well, crass, I suppose.’

  ‘Crass?’

  ‘Always going on about his new car when other people are struggling to pay their bus fare, strutting in wearing new clothes every week when most of us have one or two decent outfits for work. Thoughtless.’

  ‘I see. He’s not popular?’

She eyed him.

  ‘Now, Inspector, I’m not sure what you want me to say. People mutter about him, of course they do. He’s rich, successful and good-looking. Jealousy makes people spiteful. Then again, there have been rumours . . .’

  ‘Rumours? About what?’

  ‘Someone said he’d had an affair with a young girl who worked here. She’s gone now.’

  ‘Can you remember her name?’ Knight asked.

  ‘Jemima. I can’t recall the surname, but I can check. She was just a kid, all of sixteen. Barely legal, you know.’ Her face screwed up in disgust. ‘Alex is thirty-eight.’ She got up, went across to a filing cabinet and opened a drawer. ‘Here we are. Jemima Morley. I’ve got her address too?’

  ‘Please,’ Knight replied, scribbling the name down. She handed him a form with all of Jemima Morley’s personal details on it.

  ‘Mr Worthy was furious when he found out. He looks on Alex as a son but he won’t stand for that sort of thing.’

  ‘How is John Worthy as a boss?’ Knight asked. He had a feeling he knew what the response would be.

  ‘Well, I’ve worked here for almost thirty years now and I’ve never had a cross word from him.’ Margaret smiled, finishing her tea and setting the cup and saucer on her desk.

  ‘That can’t be bad. I have cross words from my boss every day,’ grinned Knight.

  ‘He has been a little quiet these past few months,’ Margaret mused. ‘I think he’s worried about retiring and what will become of the place if Alex takes over the reins.’

  ‘What do you think will happen?’

  ‘I dread to think. Maybe he’ll turn it into a wine bar,’ she laughed. ‘I have heard . . .’ She glanced around. ‘Now, this won’t go any further, will it?

Knight replaced his cup on the saucer. ‘I can’t promise to keep secrets, Mrs Saddler. If it’s pertinent to the investigation, I’ll need to disclose it.’

She nodded. ‘Of course, I understand. It’s just that the business is struggling. The website design, the printing - none of it is bringing enough money in. I think Mr Worthy is concerned.’

Knight absorbed this.

  ‘And Alex Lambert is your accountant?’

  ‘He has an assistant too, but yes.’

  ‘Could I speak to his assistant then, please?’

  In a small room just down the corridor from Alex Lambert’s office, Luke Christie sat at a crowded desk, hemmed in by filing cabinets and bookcases. As Knight approached the open door, he looked up and smiled.

  ‘Can I help you?’

Knight shuffled forward.

  ‘You’re Alex Lambert’s assistant?’

  ‘I am, yes.’ Christie made no attempt to hide his curiosity as Knight held out his warrant card. ‘You’re a police officer?’ He pushed back his chair, concern creasing his face. ‘Has there been an accident? My parents . . ?’

  ‘No, no,’ Knight reassured him. ‘I’m here to ask you about Mr Lambert.’

The young man sank back into his chair, relieved.

  ‘Alex? Is there a problem?’

  ‘Would you be surprised if there was?’

Christie blushed.

  ‘I’m not sure what you mean. I’m sorry, there’s not a spare chair. You’re welcome to have mine?’

  ‘It’s fine, thank you. This shouldn’t take long.’ Knight moved into the centre of the room and gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. ‘Plenty of paperwork.’

  ‘Alex is always going on about having a paperless office, but we’re some way off that yet.’

  ‘What do you do here?’

  ‘I deal with accounts receivable and payable, invoices, financial reporting, entering data onto the computer system – all the tasks that don’t involve actual money,’ he smiled.

  ‘You don’t control the bank account?’

  ‘No, and I don’t open the bank statement. They still come in the post – paperless, you know.’ He rolled his eyes and Knight laughed.

  ‘What’s Mr Lambert like to work for?’

Christie hesitated.

  ‘He’s fine.’ Knight eyed him sceptically, and he reddened again. ‘A little impatient sometimes,’ he allowed. Knight waited. Christie glanced at the door, lowered his voice and said, ‘All right, he’s a nightmare. I’m looking for another job.’

Knight walked over, closed the door and turned back to Christie.

  ‘A nightmare in what way?’

The young man sighed. ‘He never does anything he says he’s going to. Payments are a good example. A supplier will chase an invoice, I’ll speak to him, promise payment as he’s said and then he doesn’t do it. We owe money all over the place.’

  ‘He won’t pay, or he can’t pay?’

  ‘I . . . I’d have to say both.’

  ‘How involved is Mr Worthy in the financial side of the business?’

  ‘I think I’ve seen him twice since I’ve worked here, which is over a year now.’

  ‘Not exactly hands-on in this department then?’

  ‘You could say that. He prefers the printing works, I think.’

  ‘Do you know when the last audit was done?’

  ‘No, sorry. I think we’re exempt because of our turnover.’

  ‘I see. So Mr Lambert has a free rein when it comes to company finances?’

  ‘More or less, I suppose. He produces reports for the board meetings, but . . .’

  ‘Thank you for your time.’ Knight turned away.

  ‘Sorry, but . . . is Alex in trouble?’

  ‘Nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Okay.’ Christie didn’t sound convinced.

Knight gave a brief smile and crossed the room. Back in the reception area, he called to Margaret Saddler, now tapping away at her computer again. ‘I’m leaving now. Thanks again.’ She smiled and waved a hand in farewell. Knight pushed open the door and then stopped. Frowning, he turned and strode back over to Margaret’s office.

  ‘Can I help you, Inspector?’

  ‘I just wanted to have another look at this photo.’

Following his gaze, she shrugged. ‘Oh, that’s a few years old now.’

Knight took his mobile phone out of his pocket. ‘You don’t mind if I take a picture of it?’

  ‘Why should I mind? It’s up there for everyone to see,’ she replied, her eyes not leaving her computer screen.

  ‘Sarge, look at this,’ Anna Varcoe said as she hurried towards Catherine’s desk with a few sheets of paper in her hand. Catherine put down the report she was reading.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Keeley Pearce’s phone records. The last call she made was three days before we found her body. Guess who to?’

  ‘Surprise me.’

  ‘Alex Lambert.’

  ‘You’re kidding.’

Catherine took the sheet Anna was holding out to her.

  ‘Highlighted in blue. It’s the only call she made to him that I can see though. They spoke for almost two minutes.’

  ‘Bloody hell. Good work, Anna. Are any of the other numbers Keeley called any use to us?’

Anna shook her head.

  ‘Not that I can see. She didn’t seem to phone people too often, she just sent texts like most people do. She did ring her mum and Simmo a few times, but that’s about all.’

  ‘Where was she when the last call was made?’ Catherine squinted at the data.

  ‘That’s the interesting thing. She was in the same area as Lauren Cook when her phone was switched off.’

  ‘So they might have been picked up in the same street?’

  ‘It’s possible.’

  ‘We need the CCTV footage then.’

  ‘I’ve put the request in.’

  ‘We’ve had Lambert in custody for three hours already.’

  ‘Do you think it’s him?’

  ‘He’s got some explaining to do, that’s for sure. The lifestyle fits, but then as he says, he’s on decent money from his job at Worthy’s plus bonuses and his rental income, as well as any money he inherited. Have we heard from DI Knight?’

  ‘No, Sarge.’ Anna hesitated. ‘I hope Rob’s not involved.’

  ‘Don’t worry about Rob. I don’t think he has anything to do with this, but if he has he doesn’t deserve your concern.’

  ‘Thanks, Sarge.’ Anna met her eyes. ‘It’s not that I feel anything for him, it’s just . . .’

  ‘I know. He’s an old friend.’

Anna nodded, grateful for her sergeant’s understanding and Catherine took out her phone.

Back in the car, Knight had another look at the photograph he’d just taken, emailed it to Catherine and DCI Kendrick and then tried her mobile.

  ‘Are you still at Worthy and Son?’ she demanded, not bothering with a greeting.

  ‘Just about to head back. Have you seen my email?’

  ‘Not yet. Let me have a look.’ There was a silence and then she said, ‘Oh.’