Acid Row (33 page)

Townsend nodded. “Sure. Whatever you want.” He scribbled three telephone numbers on the notepad in front of him. "Those are my accounts. Home. Work. Mobile. I'm happy to authorize access to all three."

Tyler reached for the pad.

Gary Butler stirred himself. "You have five separate numbers attached to your house, Mr. Townsend. I ran a check last night to see if there was any way we could contact you. I hoped we might be able to patch through to your mobile. No luck. One's a fax, one's a modem, the other three are dedicated call lines. We need authority to access them all."

Townsend's eyes slid towards him.

“We'll be happy to apply for a warrant,” continued Gary without hostility. "Perhaps you'd like a solicitor present while we explain the procedure?"

"You don't have grounds for a warrant. I've already told you I haven't spoken to Amy since she left my house."

"A child matching her description was picked up by a car similar to yours outside the Catholic church in Portisfield at lunchtime yesterday."

No hesitation at all. “Those aren't grounds,” he said forcefully. "I wasn't in Portisfield yesterday."

Butler looked at Tyler, who gave him the nod to continue. "Can you prove that, sir?"

“I can certainly prove I was somewhere else at lunchtime.”

He felt in his jacket pocket for his wallet and produced a receipt from one of the flaps. "I bought lunch at the Fleet service station on the M3." He looked undecidedly between the two men, then offered the slip of paper to Tyler.

Tyler placed it on the table and smoothed it out. "It was an early lunch. This is timed at eleven forty-three."

"I hadn't eaten since the previous evening. I was on my way to Guildford for a meeting with my foreman."

“What time was that?”

"As far as I remember it was about one fifteen. His name's Steve Ablett. Address: 12 Dock Way, Millbrook. His number's in the book."

It was what he'd been leading up to. The perfect alibi. Not even Michael Schumacher could drive from Fleet to Portisfield and up to Guildford in one and a quarter hours. "What did you order, Mr.

Townsend?"

“Lasagne and coffee.”

Correct, but hardly difficult to memorize. "Lasagne 6.25. Coffee 0.95? There were faint lines on the surface of the paper as if it had been crumpled, then ironed. Tyler nodded to Butler, who took out his mobile and left the room to make the call to Steve Ablett in the corridor.

“How did you know lunchtime was critical?” he asked Townsend. "The only time we've given out is ten o'clock, which is when Amy was seen leaving the Logans' house. Did Martin Rogerson tell you?"

The man shook his head. "I didn't know it was critical till the sergeant mentioned it."

“Do you keep all your receipts?”

“Anything I can claim against.”

“Show me some others.”

He made a pretence of searching his wallet. "I emptied it recently. I don't have any with me. There might be some in the car."

"You can't claim for lunch, Mr. Townsend. Everyone has to eat. Why keep that receipt? Were you expecting to be asked for an alibi?"

"It's the last thing I bought. I tuck all receipts in here then sort them out later."

“Were you driving south or north on the M3?”

“South.”

"Then why go to the Fleet service station? Your best route to Guildford was to leave at the Camberley turn-off... a good ten miles before Fleet. There are plenty of petrol stations along that road, and they all sell sandwiches."

“I needed a break from the car.” He looked amused again. "The development's on the Aldershot side of Guildford. It's almost as quick to come off at Hook .. . and it's a pleas anter drive."

Tyler gave an easy smile in response, then looked at the tracery of lines on the slip of paper again. It had clearly been screwed into a ball then flattened out later. He thought of the litter that accumulated in the car parks of service stations. It wasn't beyond the bounds of possibility that Townsend had driven in on spec after visiting Guildford to see what he could pick up. Quite unprovable though, unless Fleet had CCTV cameras. Even then the chances that Townsend's number plate had registered out of the thousands of vehicles that visited the site each day was unlikely.

“Fair enough.” He leaned forward again. "So where did you stay last night, Mr. Townsend? You didn't spend it at your house, because we've had a police car parked outside since Martin Rogerson gave us your address at nine o'clock. We hoped Amy might have been heading your way."

“I was with a girlfriend.”

“May I have her name?”

He shook his head. "Not without her permission. She's married and I don't want her involved unless it's absolutely necessary. I've given you the proof you asked for, Inspector. If you want anything else you'll have to go through my solicitor."

“Meaning Mr. Rogerson?”

“Of course.”

"It's an interesting relationship, sir. Why does he continue to represent you? Most men in his position would bear you a grudge for stealing his wife."

He didn't answer immediately. "I'm a good client. I put a lot of business Martin's way. Why would he cut off his nose to spite his face when Laura had left him anyway?"

Tyler chuckled. "Human nature isn't quite that civilized, though, is it? Particularly when passions are involved."

The man shrugged. "Any passion Martin had for Laura died a long time ago. She's not easy to live with, Inspector. Far too clingy for someone like Martin, who needs his space. It's attractive to begin with. Vulnerable women always are they make men feel powerful. But it soon becomes wearing when the jealousy starts."

Tyler thought of his own failed marriage. The psychology of its breakdown wasn't so different. "So why did you continue to employ him?"

“I don't understand.”

"You'd stolen his wife and daughter. Weren't you worried about that?"

“Why should I have been?”

“I wouldn't want an enemy for a lawyer.”

He didn't answer.

"But perhaps he isn't an enemy? Perhaps you and he have too many common interests to fall out?"

Townsend smiled. “Perhaps we do.”

"So what are they, sir? What's all this business that you keep putting his way?"

“Property development.”

“You're talking about Etstone?”

“Yes.”

“Mmm.” He studied the man for a moment. "Then why did Franny Gough tell me it wasn't in very good shape? She said someone was stealing from you and you went ballistic every time the subject came up."

The eyes started to roam again, but whether at the mention of Franny Gough or the reference to the state of the company, Tyler couldn't tell. "It's no secret we're looking for new investment. That's what this meeting's about. My suspicion is that Steve Ablett and his crew have been skimming off the top. It's the reason I went to see him yesterday. I warned him there'd almost certainly be sackings and prosecutions as soon as the company's position was stabilized."

Strange answer, thought Tyler. “Suspicion .. . ?” "Almost cer-tn inly . ?“ ”Did you leave your luggage and camcorder with your girlfriend Mr. Townsend?"

The change of direction was so abrupt that the man was off balance again. It was another question he hadn't prepared for. Tyler could almost hear him tossing up between “Yes' and ”No'. “Yes.”

“Won't her husband wonder who they belong to?”

“He's away,” he said curtly.

"Then you must be planning to spend tonight with her as well. You'll be wanting your toothbrush and razor at the very least. Will you agree to one of my officers accompanying you? All we require is confirmation of where you were last night .. . and if her husband's away, there shouldn't be a problem."

He shook his head but didn't say anything.

“Perhaps you'd like to consult your solicitor?”

Again Townsend didn't answer, and this time the silence stretched interminably. Tyler was interested in why the man was so determined not to summon Martin Rogerson to the room. Did he know that Rogerson wasn't there? Had he guessed it wasn't his lawyer who'd phoned his mobile earlier? Or did he not want Rogerson to hear his answers? It was another five minutes before Butler returned and it was arguable which of the two men at the table was the more relieved to see him.

Tyler knew his sergeant well enough to know he'd have given him the nod if there was no more mileage in questioning Townsend.

“Mr. Ablett remembers the time as one thirty,” Butler said without emphasis. Unhurriedly, he resumed his seat. "There's a message from the Super," he told Tyler, pushing a folded piece of paper across the table. “He wants an answer PDQ.”

Tyler held it up so Townsend couldn't read it. "He's lying. I need a word outside."

“I'm sorry, sir,” he told Townsend, tucking the paper into his pocket.

"This will only take a minute. I'll have to ask you to wait a little longer."

Townsend's jaw jutted angrily. "You're being unreasonable, Inspector.

I'm fighting for my company's life here. I need this meeting. If any of those potential backers leave, Etstone could be wound up."

Tyler remained seated. "Is that why you came home from Majorca in such a hurry?"

“Yes,” he snapped. "Martin phoned to tell me the bank's refusing to cover the wages. That's what this meeting's about. I've been busting a gut for the last twenty-four hours trying to hold things together."

“Why didn't you tell Mr. Rogerson you were back?”

"I didn't want to put him in a difficult position. There are laws about trading while insolvent, and he might have felt he had to act in the interests of creditors by closing us down yesterday."

Tyler glanced at his sergeant and saw him give a tiny inclination of his head towards the door. “Why did you leave Franny Gough behind?”

A spark of anger flared in the pale eyes. "She was drunk. I couldn't even get her to her feet, let alone to the airport."

“She was stranded there. You left without paying the bill.”

"I didn't have much choice. After Martin called I was afraid the credit cards had been stopped. I told her to sneak out, take a taxi and change her flight when she reached the airport. She had enough money to cover that. It was the best I could do. If she was too drunk to take it in, that's her problem."

Tyler didn't try to hide his scepticism. "If things are as bad as you say, why were you in Majorca at all? Why didn't you stay at home and sort it?"

He had an answer for everything. "I thought I had. This has been going on for weeks. I've spent every waking hour trying to keep the show on the road. By the end of last week, I had a promise from a punter that half a million would be transferred at open of business on Monday. I believed it was signed and sealed, and in the circumstances I thought a short holiday was reasonable. Martin phoned on Thursday to say the backer had failed to come through and the bank had withdrawn its overdraft. Crack of dawn yesterday morning, I took the first flight out."

Tyler stood up, nodding to Butler. "I'm still going to have to ask you to wait, Mr. Townsend."

The jaw jutted more aggressively. “Why?”

“I'm not satisfied with your answers.”

His frustration boiled over as he slammed his palm on to the table.

"Then you'll have to wait till after the meeting, because I'm damned if I'll lose everything because of some fucking Woodentop with a power complex."

“Do you wish to consult a solicitor, sir?”

“Yes,” he said abruptly, snapping down the lid of his laptop and reaching for his jacket. “I do. I'll talk to him outside.”

"Please remain seated, sir. If you try to leave the room before the sergeant and I return, you will be detained for further questioning and almost certainly removed to the nearest police station. Meanwhile these gentleman' he gestured towards the uniformed constables 'will assist you in finding a duty solicitor."

“Don't play games with me, Inspector,” he said furiously. "I want my own solicitor."

“I'm afraid Mr. Rogerson is unavailable, sir. He's under arrest.”

“This had better be good,” Tyler told Gary Butler in the corridor outside, groping for his handkerchief and mopping the sweat from his brow. "I'm building castles in the sand here. So far he hasn't said a damn thing that disagrees with anything anyone else has said. What did Steve Ablett tell you that makes him a liar?"

Butler didn't look quite so confident now. “Nothing major,” he admitted, 'and, to be honest, he's just answered some of it."

Tyler stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket with a sigh. "All right, give me what you've got."

The sergeant read from his notebook. "Re: the security cameras on site. The tapes are supplied by the company who installed the equipment. Re: the state of the business. Up shit creek without a paddle. Almost the entire workforce was laid off two weeks ago. Steve Ablett and three others are bringing the half-dozen houses that have already been sold up to spec in order to pass building regs. The unfinished shells and the rest of the plot are effectively up for auction. He thinks that's what this meeting is about, although he was told by the office staff that it was happening next Saturday." He jerked his head towards the conference room.

"Re: Townsend's visit to the site yesterday. It was unscheduled. As far as Ablett knew, Townsend was in Majorca till the end of next week."

He turned a page. "The guy turned up out of the blue at approximately 13.30. Ablett himself had only just got back from Southampton HQ after being told that no one was going to be paid and the office would be locked from midday. He pulled his three guys off the jobs they were doing and went back to the Portakabin to sort out his personal stuff and close the operation down at his end."

He moved his finger down the page. "Townsend arrived five minutes later. He started a row. Called Ablett a thief.. . said it was his fault the development was on the skids. Ablett stormed out rather than hit him. The reason the business has gone down the pan is because the bank's pulled the rug out and all the suppliers have withdrawn credit facilities.“ He looked up. ”Ablett was so fired up, I'm amazed you didn't hear him inside the room, Guv. According to him, it's Townsend's fault the bank wobbled because he paid too high a price for the land, and now he's trying to blame his workforce."