Brothers' Tears (6 page)

It wasn't the big boss, as those idiots outside had said it would be. It was
their
boss, the man in charge of security for some organisation. A big concern, by the look of it. A well-organised business: this was a suitably anonymous place for a meet, whatever the dress affectations of the man conducting it. Tracey sat motionless and waited; he wasn't going to let the man with the watch-chain know that he was nervous.

The man sat back, steepled his fingers, continued his impersonation of a different kind of executive. ‘Well, Mr Tracey. So your boss is dead. And your job was to protect him. Didn't do a very good job there, did you?'

‘I offered to stay with him on Monday night. He said it wasn't necessary.'

‘You didn't kill him yourself, did you, Steve?'

‘Of course I didn't! He'd be alive now if he'd allowed me to stay with him when he went outside Claughton Towers on Monday night.'

Watch-chain smiled. ‘I wouldn't be too sure of that. You might have been dead meat yourself, Steve, instead of enjoying this conversation. You don't mind me calling you Steve, do you?'

‘You can call me what you like. You're in the box seat. You and your gorillas outside.'

‘Box seat. Yes, I suppose that's so.' He smiled contentedly, his teeth looking very large and very white in this ill-lit place. ‘But I have good news for you, Steve. I have been empowered to offer you employment. Generous thinking, that, after you failed in your last assignment. But then I work for a generous man.'

‘Lennon.' Steve had been thinking furiously, trying to work out who could be behind his virtual kidnap.

Watch-chain looked a little surprised, even for a moment discomfited. ‘Best not to speculate at this stage, Steve. But I suppose you have a right to know who'll be paying your wages. So yes, Mr Lennon. He's prepared to take you on. He's taking over most of your organisation following the unfortunate demise of James O'Connor. And he wants as smooth a transition as possible. So he's prepared to take on you and whichever two of your staff you recommend. You'd be deputy to me, of course.' He ran his hand lightly over the front of his waistcoat, fingering the watch-chain as if it offered him reassurance. ‘But you'd be second in line in our security department. It's a very generous offer, if you ask me.'

Steve wanted to say that he didn't ask him, that he'd had quite enough of this patronising nonsense. But this fellow was making a generous offer on behalf of his employer, offering a job to a rival in the same trade of violence. He was going to have to work with the Jamaican. If the man was vain enough to indulge in silly charades like this, he might even take over from him, in due course.

Tracey took a deep breath and stood up. There was no possibility of refusal. He knew too much about the empire of James O'Connor for that. If he opted out of work for the new ownership, he might well be eliminated. He thrust out his hand and said, ‘I accept, subject to proper remuneration. I'm sure I can rely on Mr Lennon for that.'

The man in the waistcoat winced again at Tracey's mention of that name. He had planned to reveal it himself at this stage to this man who would operate in his shadow. But he stood up and thrust his hand forward. ‘Peter Coleman. Here's to a long and successful working relationship.'

Middle management making a new appointment. Steve completed the bizarre playlet by shaking the big hand firmly, then closing his left hand over the right as the two big men came together. He wondered how many victims these hands had dispatched in the last ten years.

T
here had been a mill here once. It had been built in bright-red brick, with a square tower at one end, like that of a great church. A chimney had risen high at the other, dwarfing everything else around. The long terraces of low houses had been built in meaner brick, but they had been homes to many hundreds of people. The streets here had once reverberated with the sound of clogs clattering to work, hastening to beat the morning whistle at the factory gates, to shut their wearers in with the greater clatter of the steam-driven machines within the smooth brick walls.

All that was long gone. Percy Peach didn't remember it, but he'd seen pictures and been instructed in his primary school on the proud industrial heritage of the area. Manchester had been not only the workshop of the world but also Cottonopolis, and Brunton had been one of the great cotton-spinning towns. Now all was changed, changed utterly. That expression came back to Percy from some point in his chequered school career.

The area was now part of an industrial estate. There were bright new buildings with big windows. Volkswagens and Audis and Toyotas dominated the car parks, as if to remind people that the world had moved on. The headquarters of O'Connor Industries was a surprisingly small building near the entrance to the estate. It had ample parking and a much more impressive entrance than any of the utilitarian buildings which predominated here. Dark red wooden doors opened between a pair of high granite pillars, a style determinedly out of fashion with more muted modern styles.

Jan Derkson rose automatically to greet them, as she had greeted so many hundreds of visitors here before. She said, ‘We can go through into Mr O'Connor's room if you like. We won't be disturbed there.'

‘Then let's go there. We certainly don't want to be disturbed,' said the bald-headed man in the trim grey suit. ‘I'm DCI Peach and this is Detective Sergeant Northcott.'

It didn't feel right to Jan to be taking this room over. She realised now that she had always adopted a deferential air when she brought in the boss's visitors. Now she forced herself to take charge, inviting the very tall black man to sit in one of the two luxurious armchairs, seating herself carefully on the edge of the matching but smaller armchair alongside him. She invited Peach to take the swivel chair behind the big desk, but he declined and came and sat in the armchair which matched Northcott's and was directly opposite to her.

He smiled briefly and she felt him assessing her, with his head tilted fractionally to one side. It wasn't the sort of sexual review to which she had accustomed herself and learned to deal with over the years, but rather a cool estimation of her usefulness, of how much she might be able and willing to give them in the way of information. She found it disconcerting. It felt as if she was being interviewed without warning for a job, as she had not been for many years now.

She was relieved when Peach eventually smiled and spoke. ‘We have great hopes of you, Ms Derkson. As James O'Connor's personal assistant, you can probably tell us more about him than anyone we have seen so far.'

‘I doubt that. I understand that you have already seen his widow.'

‘And how do you know that, Ms Derkson?'

‘I'm Mrs Derkson and I have no objection to your calling me that. I would prefer it, in fact. And I had occasion to be in touch with Mrs O'Connor yesterday, about a business decision. I imagine there will be many other such occasions in the weeks to come.'

Her voice faltered a fraction on that last thought, but then she was instantly her business self again. Her watchful, intelligent grey eyes were exactly the colour of her straight skirt. The paleness of her cheeks was accentuated by the whiteness of the perfectly laundered blouse beneath them. The heels on her black shoes were precisely the right height to combine elegance with efficient movement. Yet Peach noted that she was clearly uneasy. Perhaps she was unused to sitting in an armchair in this room, where she had deposited so many people who had come here to see her employer. Or perhaps some deeper malaise was troubling her.

The DCI spoke slowly and soberly, as if respecting the place where they sat. ‘You know more about James O'Connor's business dealings than anyone else we are going to speak to. You were also on the top table, the host's table, at Claughton Towers on Monday night. That implies that you were regarded as a friend as well as a trusted employee. We need both information and opinions from you, Mrs Derkson.'

‘And you are welcome to both, in so far as it is in my powers to offer them. I shall be as open as I can be, but I fear you will be disappointed. James O'Connor was rather a private man, in his business dealings as well as in his family life. I made appointments for him, typed whatever letters he thought appropriate. I fear I know less of the various businesses which have their headquarters here than you would like me to.'

‘Your employer played things close to his chest?'

They caught the tiniest smile on the wide mouth. ‘That is one way of putting it, yes. He committed as little as possible to paper. He once told me that you could be more flexible that way. People couldn't quote back at you from what you'd written in different circumstances months earlier.'

‘Do you know that he was under police investigation?'

She frowned. But she took plenty of time over her reply and took care not to let any annoyance show. ‘No, I didn't know that. I'm surprised to hear it.'

‘How surprised?'

She crossed her legs, made a deliberate attempt to appear more relaxed than she had seemed hitherto. ‘Mr O'Connor was a good employer to me. He never treated me any way but fairly. I wouldn't trust some of the people I've seen in here at times, but it wasn't my business to pronounce upon them. When I think about it, I can accept your view that my employer “played it close to his chest”. I know quite a lot about some of his work and nothing at all about large chunks of it.'

‘It is those sections which interest us, for obvious reasons. We need every scrap of information you can give us. We're not Fraud Squad or Drug Squad; we're interested only in solving a murder case.'

‘You've already taken away my files and my computer. I fear you won't find much of interest.'

‘In that case, what you are able to tell us now will be even more important. We know that he was heavily involved in casinos and betting shops. These are lucrative enterprises in their own right; they are also often used as means of laundering money brought in by illegal trafficking.'

‘Drugs?'

‘Principally drugs, yes. We have learned since James O'Connor died that he was moving to take over a large portion of the illegal drugs market in north-west England. It is a lucrative trade as well as a highly dangerous one. When people move into new areas, powerful interests are affected. He chose to make enemies of some very nasty people. People who may have decided it was time to be rid of him.'

‘You shock me. I have to accept what you say, but I had no idea that Mr O'Connor was involved in anything like this.'

Despite what she said, she didn't look very shocked. The death had plainly upset her, but Peach was pretty sure that she had at least suspected the nature of James O'Connor's interests. Jan Derkson was far too intelligent not to have wondered exactly where all this money was coming from. She was measuring this interview, trying to find how much they knew, how much she could safely conceal. He said abruptly, ‘You know more than you're telling us. If you obstruct our enquiries, we shall take whatever action is appropriate.'

This time she was shaken. His sudden loss of patience and change of tack disturbed her, despite her attempt to remain calm. ‘I'm sorry that you feel I'm being obstructive. I'll answer whatever questions you care to put to me as honestly as I can.'

The snag with that was that he didn't feel he knew enough yet to ask the penetrating questions he needed. He'd never felt so little in touch with an investigation he was supposed to be directing. There was a huge field of suspects and Tommy Bloody Tucker had cocked up the vital first stage of the enquiry. He looked hard at the white-faced, watchful woman in front of him. ‘Did you compile the invitation list for Monday night's function?'

‘I suppose I did, under Mr O'Connor's direction. The family guest list was pretty obvious from previous occasions; I merely duplicated that, with one or two small changes. My employer gave me the names of the business people he wanted to see there.'

‘I'm in your hands here, Mrs Derkson. My team is doing routine checks on everyone who attended on Monday night. I want to see the most significant ones myself. Business rivals of the host perhaps. Anyone outside the family whom you were surprised to see included on your list.'

He wondered if she would insist on going into the outer office to retrieve the full list of those to whom she'd sent letters of invitation. It would have given her time to think, to decide just what information she was prepared to volunteer. But she obviously had that information already in her mind; the difficulty for him was going to be in deciding exactly how frank she was being. Her fingers flicked briefly to her lips, but otherwise she was quite still. Percy wondered if she was a former smoker who had given up the awful habit, as he had. She eventually said very distinctly, ‘There were two people I was surprised to include on the list, because I knew they'd been rivals of his in the fairly recent past.'

‘Did you query their inclusion?'

She allowed herself a wry smile, which showed what an attractive woman she would be in a different context. ‘You didn't query things with James O'Connor. He knew his own mind. If those names were on the list, they were there for a purpose.'

‘But you don't know what that purpose was?'

She pursed her lips, looked down at her right foot in concentration. ‘I don't know. I can speculate. My guess would be that they were former rivals whom he no longer felt were threats to him. I don't know, but I suspect he'd taken over enterprises which were once theirs. I think perhaps their presence on Monday night was intended as a conciliatory gesture. But I should stress again that I don't know that; I'm merely trying to be as helpful as I can, as you encouraged me to be.'

‘I appreciate that. And we'd better have these names.'