A Killing Resurrected (15 page)

Paget moved in and sat down.

The office was small, with barely enough room between the desk and the wall for Paget to sit comfortably. The desk itself was metal, scuffed and well-used, as were the bookcase and chairs. A tiny fan in one corner of the room was doing its best to move the stale air around, but it was a losing battle.

Not exactly a top-of-the-line estate agent's office, he decided.

As for the man himself, Roger Corbett did not look well. His face was pale, his eyes unnaturally bright, and every so often a nervous tic tugged at the corner of one eye. The fingers of his right hand were nicotine-stained, and there was a half-open packet of cigarettes beside the ashtray. Corbett saw Paget's glance and, as if taking it as a cue, slid a cigarette out, stuck it in his mouth, and lit it. He inhaled deeply, then settled back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other.

‘Right,' he said with false heartiness. ‘Fire when ready, Chief Inspector.'

But Paget was in no hurry to begin, taking time to loosen his jacket and settle himself more comfortably in his chair while he covertly watched Corbett. The man was doing his best to appear relaxed, but his whole body was tense, and one foot kept tapping the side of the desk as if to make sure it was still there.

‘Since you know why I'm here, I'll get straight to the point,' Paget said briskly. ‘In the letters Barry Grant left behind, it's clear that he and several friends were involved in the botched burglary and the killing of George Taylor and Mrs Bergman. And, since you and some of the others who attended the party last Saturday were classmates of his at Westonleigh, and were at university together, I'll be talking to each one of you to find out which friends he was referring to. So, how well did you know Barry yourself?'

‘Now, wait just a minute!' Corbett's foot hit the floor with a resounding thump as he uncrossed his legs and sat up straight. He plucked the cigarette from his mouth and waved his hand at Paget as if warding him off. ‘I think you've got this all wrong, Chief Inspector. I was never a
friend
of Barry's. None of us were. In fact we were always trying to avoid him.'

‘Why was that?'

Corbett shrugged uncomfortably. ‘He just didn't fit into our group,' he said evasively. ‘It's true we all went to the same school and then we all went on to Leeds, but I took Philosophy, and Barry went into Engineering. Kevin was reading Law, Steph was in Business Admin, and Graham was taking Accounting, so we were scattered all over the place. I don't know if you are familiar with the campus? It covers a lot of ground, but even so, it was hard to avoid Barry. He was always trying to ingratiate himself; trying to impress us with wild stories about what he'd done or intended to do. We couldn't go anywhere without him popping up and making a nuisance of himself. He was always there.'

‘So tell me, Mr Corbett, if Barry Grant was always
there
, as you say, when did he have the time to become involved with another group to the degree that they functioned as a well organized and disciplined gang who committed several crimes?'

Corbett shook his head. ‘God only knows,' he said. ‘But I can assure you that it was none of our crowd.'

‘When you say “our crowd”, whom do you mean, exactly? Was this some sort of exclusive club?'

Corbett shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘No, of course not,' he said, ‘and I didn't mean it to sound like that. It was just that we all got on well together, and someone like Barry just didn't fit in. Apart from myself, the ones from here were Kevin and Steph, Pete Anderson, Graham Williams and John Chadwell. There were a couple of others who weren't from around here: Jamie Mac-something-or-other, I forget his last name, and an Australian by the name of Don Wyatt. Don't know where either of them are now. We lost touch once we left uni.'

‘And those from here were all old classmates from Westonleigh?'

‘That's right. We'd all been to Westonleigh, although not all in the same year, and I didn't get to know some of them well until I got to Leeds. Except Kevin, of course. He was a year ahead of me in Westonleigh, but we ended up as partners on the debating society team in his last year there, and we became good friends.'

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘And then there was Steph, of course,' he said with a meaningful look at Paget. ‘Now that
was
a surprise, I can tell you.'

‘In what way?'

‘Finding out that she and Kevin were living together. I mean I thought I knew Kevin pretty well, but that was a surprise, and one of the first things Kev said to me when I arrived in Leeds was that I wasn't to say a word to anyone back home. I thought he was kidding at first, but he was deadly serious. He said his father was dead set against Steph for some reason, and Kev didn't want him to find out, so he swore me and the others to secrecy.'

‘Did he say what his father had against the girl?'

‘No. Never did.'

‘Do you know if Kevin's father ever found out?'

Corbett butted his cigarette in the ashtray. ‘I doubt it,' he said, ‘because Kev went back home and worked for his dad the following summer, and from the way he'd spoken about the old man, I doubt if that would have happened if he knew that Kev was still seeing Steph.' He frowned. ‘But I don't see what that has to do with your investigation, Chief Inspector.'

Paget ignored the implied question. ‘Tell me,' he said, ‘where were you between one and three o'clock yesterday morning, Mr Corbett?'

For the first time since Paget had entered the office, Roger Corbett's face creased into a genuine smile as he leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head. ‘Ah, yes,' he said with a touch of smugness, ‘I was wondering when we would get around to that. And I'm glad you asked, because I do have an alibi for those hours. I'm staying at a friend's house while my wife is away, and she can verify that I was there.'

‘The friend's name?'

‘Irene Sinclair. She was at the party, too, by the way, but you can take her off your list of suspects because she didn't live in Broadminster back then.'

‘And you were in her house overnight?'

‘I was,' Corbett confirmed, ‘and before you start asking if I could have slipped out without her knowledge, I'm sure she would have noticed if I had, because we shared the same bed.'

‘Indeed?'

‘Indeed,' Corbett repeated. He seemed to be waiting for Paget to ask another question, and a flicker of irritation crossed his face when Paget remained silent. ‘My wife knows all about it, if that's what you're wondering,' he said waspishly. ‘In fact we are all good friends; have been for years, so I suggest you look elsewhere.'

He leaned forward to emphasize his next words. ‘And believe me, Chief Inspector,' he said earnestly, ‘if you are looking for a connection between any of us and Barry Grant, you're wasting your time. He was a complete outsider, and none of us had anything to do with him.'

‘Someone did,' said Paget, ‘and it seems more than likely that they were people he'd known for some time. People who knew him well enough to trust him to do what he did best, like stealing vans when they needed them. You said yourself he was always looking for ways to ingratiate himself.'

‘Could have been anybody, then, couldn't it? I mean who knows what sort of yobs he might have taken up with?'

Paget shook his head. ‘I don't think so,' he said quietly, ‘because Barry was only interested in being accepted by people like you and your friends; educated people with bright futures, and he was prepared to do anything asked of him to gain that acceptance. And those robberies were not the work of yobs, Mr Corbett. They were carefully planned and executed by intelligent people, such as those attending the party last Saturday, and I think someone at that party felt threatened by what he heard, and decided to do something about it.'

Corbett tapped his cigarette nervously against the rim of the ashtray, but he remained silent.

‘I'm told you left university after the first year,' Paget said. ‘Mind telling me why?'

Corbett butted the cigarette. ‘I was ill,' he said. ‘I started the second year, but I was missing more lectures than I attended, so I packed it in.'

‘And of course, Barry died that summer, so he didn't go back either, did he?' Paget said. ‘I presume this obsession of his with trying to ingratiate himself with you and your friends continued back here during the summer holidays, for example?'

‘Oh, yes. It didn't matter where you . . .' Corbett stopped in mid-sentence and looked away.

‘So,' Paget continued, ‘would it be fair to say that, like it or not, you did see a fair bit of Barry Grant, not only while you were at university, but back here as well during the holidays?'

‘But not to the same degree,' Corbett protested. ‘I mean we all had summer jobs so we didn't get together as much, but all right, yes, he did sometimes turn up when we were having a drink together, or something like that. Don't ask me how he knew where we were. If it had been nowadays, I'd have said he was tracking us by GPS.'

‘You say Barry was always trying to impress people by telling them of his exploits, real or imagined?' He waited for Corbett's confirming nod before going on. ‘Which means that you must have learned quite a lot about what he was doing, or claimed to be doing. And given his nature, my guess is that he would find it almost impossible not to at least hint at what he was involved in.'

Paget looked thoughtful as he continued to look at Corbett. ‘Unless, of course you knew what he was involved in, because you were involved in the same thing yourself,' he said quietly, then shook his head as if to dismiss the thought. ‘But then,' he continued as if talking to himself, ‘you've already told me that you went out of your way to avoid Barry, so that hardly seems likely, does it?'

Corbett eyed Paget warily. He wasn't quite sure whether he was expected to respond or not. His hand shook as he lit another cigarette and drew deeply on it. ‘Look, Chief Inspector,' he said earnestly, ‘I'm not quite sure what you expect of me. I've tried to be honest with you, tried to cooperate, and I resent the implication that I was somehow involved with Barry Grant, when I was not.'

‘And yet you are clearly nervous about something,' said Paget mildly. ‘And you have certainly gone out of your way to try to make me believe that neither you nor your friends could have had anything to do with Barry Grant. Did you and the others discuss this by any chance after what happened yesterday?'

‘Of course not!' Colour flooded into Corbett's face. ‘Why would we do that?'

‘You tell me.'

Corbett rose to his feet. ‘I think you have gone quite far enough with your questions, Chief Inspector,' he said. ‘I have told you everything I know about Barry Grant, and I have nothing further to say on the subject. Now, I have work to do, and I would appreciate it if you would leave.'

‘Just one thing before I go,' said Paget as he stood up. ‘I believe that whoever tried to burn the Grant house down yesterday morning was at the party last Saturday. Had they succeeded, Claire Hammond could have been killed, so, bearing that in mind, tell me this: do you know or do you suspect who that person was, Mr Corbett?'

‘No, I do not!' Corbett snapped, then clamped his lips shut and drew a deep breath. ‘I'm sorry about what almost happened to Claire,' he said stiffly, ‘and I'm glad she escaped without harm. But I've told you all I know, and I'm sorry I can't be more helpful.'

‘Oh, but you have been helpful, Mr Corbett,' Paget told him as he made his way to the door. ‘Very helpful indeed. Thank you for your time. I shall look forward to talking to you again.'

Corbett watched through the open door as Paget made his way past the secretary, now seated at her desk, and left the building. He closed the door, then returned to his seat. He sat there, eyes screwed up tightly, trying hard to recall what he might have said that had prompted Paget's parting words.

Nothing! He'd given him nothing. The Chief Inspector was bluffing, trying to shake him and make him think he'd given something away. But on the other hand, what if Paget wasn't bluffing?

Roger Corbett opened the bottom drawer of his desk, took out a bottle and glass, and poured himself a drink. He downed it quickly, then poured himself another before reaching for the phone.

There was a message from Fiona waiting for Paget on his return to Charter Lane, asking him to call her as soon as possible. He looked at the time and felt a twinge of guilt. Alcott was right, Fiona could be relied upon to deal with most things that crossed his desk, but it was hardly fair to leave so much to her while the Superintendent was away. He picked up the phone, then put it down again. Better to go up there and find out what she wanted.

What Fiona wanted was a word, and a serious one by the look on her face.

‘It's Mr Alcott,' she said with a flick of her head towards the closed door of the Superintendent's office. ‘He's in there, and he looks awful. I tried to talk to him; tried to ask him how his wife was, but he just said, “I'll call you if I need you,” and almost pushed me out of the door. And that isn't like him, Mr Paget. I know he can be a bit moody at times, but this is something different, and I'm worried about him. Have you heard how his wife is getting on?'

‘Nothing beyond what he told us the other day.'

‘Could you try to talk to him?'

‘I'll see what I can do,' he said. ‘Was there anything else?'

‘Some expenses that need a signature, but there's no hurry for them. It's Mr Alcott I'm worried about.'

‘How long has he been in there?' Paget paused to ask as he made his way towards Alcott's office.

‘Half, maybe three quarters of an hour, and not a sound out of him since he went in.'