Joint Enterprise (The Romney and Marsh Files Book 3) (17 page)

‘You’ve arrested my mates, yeah?’

‘That’s right.’

‘So you must have some evidence, right?’

‘Yes. Good evidence. Blood samples found on one of the uniforms match the dead man’s.’

Ray nodded solemnly taking this on board. ‘What will happen now?’

‘If none of you owns up to it and we can find no other evidence to weedle out a single culprit, I will have no alternat
ive but to charge you all with Joint Enterprise.’

Ray snapped his eyes up at Romney and his mouth fell open. ‘What did you say?
’

‘I said
: I will have no alternative but to charge you all with Joint Enterprise.’

Ray’s mouth moved silently for a long moment before he finally found his voice. ‘What does that mean?’ he said and he was staring intently at Romney now as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

Romney found the sudden change in the young man and the intensity of his attention unsettling. He said, ‘It means that you will all stand trial for the murder.’

Jez Ray creased his face up. ‘I don’t be
lieve it. That’s mental. Joint Enterprise. That’s what you said, right?’ Romney indicated it was. ‘What are the chances? Man, that’s fucking freaky.’ He was shaking his head in utter disbelief and staring away, seeing things that no one else could.

Romney had had enough. ‘Is there anything else, Mr Ray, only, as I said, I’m a bit busy
, as you can probably imagine?’

Slowly, Jez Ray came back to his present. His head fell on to his chest and he breathed out once heavily.  ‘Yes, there is, Inspector. I have a confession to make. I killed him.’

*

Now they were all sitting down in interview room one: Romney, Poisson, Jez Ray and his solicitor. Introductions had been made. Formalities had been observed. And the necessary technology was whirring away.

‘So, Mr Ray, what would you like to share regarding what happened on the thirteenth of this month at Dover castle?’

Ray had spent a few minutes in private consultation with his legal aid and left him in no doubt about the course of action he wished to take. The solicitor had spoken with Romney regarding the charge that might finally be brought should his client commit his confession to tape and paper and with everyone apparently satisfied
, the solicitor’s only task now was to sit and listen to his client spill his guts.

‘Like I said before
, and I’m sure my mates have told you because it’s the truth, it was all supposed to be a bit of fun. Really, that’s all. It was an idea one of us had and I really don’t know whose it was originally. We were just going to gate-crash the battle scene kick some French arse and slip away.’ He made eye contact with Poisson. ‘None of it was personal. If they’d been Germans or Spanish or whoever we’d have been up for it. Fighting for our country.’ He broke off perhaps realising the stupidity of that remark. ‘We were just going to rough a few up because they wouldn’t be expecting it. It might sound sick to you lot but, really, the looks on their faces when we got among them. Anyway, we all had these dummy rifles and I’d knicked a bayonet off someone and shoved it on the end of mine. I was only trying to look more authentic. I’d had a few beers before we turned up. We all had. I wasn’t too steady on my feet and that field was all over the place, especially once the horses had churned it up. What I’m trying to say is: it was an accident. I was a bit drunk. I wasn’t really paying attention. I stumbled and when I looked up this bloke came charging at me from the other side. He just impaled himself on the bayonet. Honestly. It was a just a terrible accident. When I saw what had happened I panicked and just got as far away from it as quickly as I could. I didn’t know he was dead when I left him.’ He took his time before he began again and they waited for him. ‘I never told any of the lads. None of them have a clue about it. I’m sorry for what happened. I’m sorry for my mistake. I’m sorry for everything.’

W
hen it was clear Ray had finished, Romney said, ‘Why are you confessing to this now?’

‘Before, I thought if you didn’t have any evidence you might not be able to prove anything. I was scared. I don’t want to go to prison. But now I know you do have evidence I can’t let you drag my mates into it. I love those boys. They’re like brothers to me. They’re my family. They aren’t responsible in any way for
what happened. I am.’

‘Where is the bayonet?’

‘I chucked it in the English Channel, off the docks.’

*

Romney and Poisson were drinking coffee on the pavement outside Romney’s favourite little eatery just around the corner from the station. Both were smoking. Romney had stopped buying cigarettes again, but was happy to accept one of Poisson’s Gauloise. He was celebrating the successful and unexpectedly quick conclusion to what could have been a difficult and time consuming investigation, given the numbers of people involved and lack of evidence and witnesses.

‘It was pure chance my s
ergeant and I were there in the first place and even more fortunate that we virtually ran into those five as they were leaving. If we hadn’t, then I’m sure we’d still be questioning the hundreds of bona-fide combatants looking in vain for our killer.’

‘So, you have no doubts it was as he said?’

Romney looked perplexed. ‘You heard him. Do you? We know it was one of them. Why should he lie if it means he is the only one going to be punished for it?’

‘Of course. I’m sure you’re right. Please, ignore me, Tom. I’m naturally suspicious. The
French have a saying, you know: if something sounds too good to be true, then it probably isn’t.’ Romney’s knitted brow betrayed his feelings. ‘Ah, please, my friend. Take no notice of me. We have what you English call ‘a result’, I believe. Let us be thankful for that. I dare say it must be as he claims. The evidence would point to it, no?’

‘Yes. Nothing else makes sense. I’m sure he’s our man.’

They imbibed their caffeine and inhaled their nicotine for a comfortable, quiet pause.

‘What sort of sentence do
you think he will be handed for ending a man’s life?’ said Poisson, releasing a plume of smoke, like a broken industrial valve.

Romney sighed deeply. ‘Not long enough, in my opinion, even if it was an accident. I don’t know how things are in France, but in the UK it seems to me that the sentencing structure has slowly been so diluted down that it’s only a matter of time before we start letting serial killers off with a caution. With Jez Ray, it all depends on how the Crown Prosecution Service wants to play it. You heard me speaking with his so
licitor. We’ll be pressing for Manslaughter, but we must prepare ourselves to have to settle for Misadventure all things considered. We might end up somewhere in the middle, Involuntary Manslaughter. With time spent on remand, his plea-bargaining, the apparent circumstances, the lack of witnesses to scream a contrary opinion to his and the understanding he will only serve half of his time actually in prison, he could be back on the streets in five years or fewer.’

‘It is the same in France,’ said Poisson
, with similar melancholy. ‘Driven by accountants I’m sure of it.’

‘My s
uper said something similar recently,’ said Romney.

‘Too many people locked up costs too much money, never mind that as soon as they are back in society most of them persist in reoffending. It’s the victim’s families I feel sorry for. How
do I tell his wife, when she has two young children to bring up on her own, that the man responsible for her husband’s death has said sorry and so he’ll be back with his family before her children are out of elementary school?’

Romney changed the depressing subject with a sudden happy thought. ‘Well, that’s a short visit for you.’ And then instantly regretted that the Frenchman might interpret his apparent pleasure at the realisation he was no longer saddled with an outsider for what it was – relief.

If he did, he was decent enough not to indicate it. ‘Certainly much shorter than my previous visits to England. But I won’t be going home immediately.’

‘Oh?’

‘I have a great desire to see something of this historic town now that I am here, especially the castle. I understand it is as fine an example of its type anywhere. I can combine that bit of pleasure with a necessary piece of business: viewing where Paul Henry fell in battle.’

‘Paul Henry? Who was he? A famous French invader?’

‘No, Tom. He is the man Jez Ray killed.’

‘Oh. Yes, of course. Sorry. I forgot.’
Romney tried to cover his embarrassing slip by saying, ‘Why do you need to see that?’

‘When I speak with his family and for my report I must be absolutely clear about all the details. The French expect it.’

‘Right. Well if you’d like an escort, I’ve got just the man who would consider it a pleasure to show you around. He’s quite a history buff.’

‘Buff?’

‘Enthusiast.’

‘Ah. Thank you. I might just take you up on that.’

‘Where are you staying tonight?’ asked Romney.

‘A hotel
called The Ramada. Did you know that Ramada is a Spanish term meaning an open or semi-closed shelter roofed with brush or branches? So my hopes are not high. The French police service, or rather its expenses coffer, is not what it used to be. Again, I blame the accountants. They have ruined just about everything in France. Europe too. Your country did well to stay out of the Euro. It will ruin us all in the end. Mark my words.’

Romney thought the man needed cheering up. ‘Well, I don’t know how you do things in France, Frederic, but here, when we have a good result, we usually all go to the pub to celebrate. You’re welcome to join us.’

‘Ah, the English pub. Now there is an institution that we French should have also adopted when we had the chance. I should be honoured to share in your victory.’

*

Superintendent Falkner made one of his rare forays down to CID towards the end of the day. Heads went down over work-stations to give an impression of great industry as he moved among them like some pious Cardinal blessing his flock. He let himself into Romney’s office. ‘Seems that perhaps you had a wasted journey, Captain Poisson,’ he said.

‘Visiting your beautiful coun
try is never a wasted journey, Superintendent,’ replied the Frenchman.

‘That’s the spirit. Congratulations, Tom. A quick result. That’s what area like to see. Could have been tricky and time consuming
, I gather, if you hadn’t got him to confess. And we all know that time is money.’

Romney smiled and said magnanimously, ‘Thank you, sir. It was a good team effort.’

‘Did you have to beat it out of him? Or did he come quietly?’ Romney didn’t know what to say and was grateful that Falkner broke the little bubble of the sudden discomfort he felt in front of his guest. ‘Just our little joke, Captain Poisson. We only ever hurt them if it’s absolutely necessary.’ He winked at Poisson to confirm he was still being a great wit. The Frenchman bowed slightly to show his understanding and appreciation of the great British humour at play, suffering as one must the occasional idiocy of senior officers, whichever side they might be on. ‘But no film?’

‘No, sir. No film. I’m convinced they’re not lying about it.’

Falkner looked troubled before saying, ‘I dare say you’ll be thinking about the pub?’

‘Just a quick one, sir.’

‘Well, Tom, remember what I said about the spotlight? It was a good day’s work here today, but we’ve still got a murder to solve and that film to find. Make myself clear?’

‘Crystal, sir.’

And then in an unprecedented act of generosity Falkner withdrew two twenty pound notes from his wallet and said, ‘Allow me to get the first round in.’

Romney was so taken-aback that he almost forgot to say thank you.

‘Your superintendent is a very generous man, Tom,’ said Poisson, when Falkner had departed. ‘My chief could learn something from him, I think.’

‘Isn’t he just,’ said Romney, instinctively holding the money up to the light.

Poisson began to laugh. ‘You English and your sense of humour.’ But Romney had no idea what he found so funny.

***

10

Poisson set his half-empty pint glass back on the table with an obvious show of appreciation for British ale. ‘A wonderful change from gassy lager. I still can’t understand why it has never caught on on the continent,’ he lamented. ‘So, you have another murder to be investigating?’

‘Yes,’ said Romney, also enjoying his drink and his evening. ‘A Dover man this time. Stabbed to death in his bed at the local hospital while recovering from being stabbed on his doorstep.’

The Frenchman drew breath in sharply between his teeth. ‘Either he is a most unfortunate individual, or you have a determined assassin to find.’

‘Looks like the latter. Just had his first book published as well. Seems it’s a bit controversial, but it remains to be seen whether it has anything to do with his death. ’