Dirty Business (The First Acer Sansom Novel), Page 2

Harris cleared his throat. Mrs Harper eyed him, sensing something in it. ‘He doesn’t say much, does he?’

  ‘Captain Harris is just here as an observer, Mrs Harper.’

  ‘Captain? Funny title for a copper.’

  ‘Captain Harris is with the Army.’

  ‘The Army?’ repeated the widow. ‘What the bloody hell has the Army got to do with this?’

  ‘Nothing at all,’ said Tallis, instantly regretting his disclosure.

  ‘Well, if it’s got nothing to do with the Army, what’s he doing here then?’

  ‘It’s possible that one of the weapons used in the shooting was registered to the Army. Captain Harris is really only attending as a matter of procedure, following up a possible line of enquiry.’

  ‘That’s entirely correct, Mrs Harper,’ said Harris, feeling the need to support Tallis’s statement. ‘It’s really nothing more than that.’

  The widow sniffed, clearly unconvinced. ‘Well, don’t ask me where my husband got his gun from; I’ve no idea. I didn’t even want it in the house. I hate them. Look what it did for him.’

  Tallis steered the woman back to Thursday. ‘So, you returned home at about ten o’clock. What happened then?’

  ‘I remember there was a funny smell in the house. Reminded me of firework night when I was a girl. It was just hanging in the air. I called out to Malcolm, but of course got no reply. So, I looked for him. Didn’t have to go far. He was always in his study. God knows what he found to do in there night after night, except drink.

  ‘You know what I saw. Before you ask, I didn’t touch anything. I didn’t even go in, really. I put my head round the door, that’s all. Soon as I saw the mess – they both looked dead to me – I got out and called you lot.’

  Tallis could think of no reason why the woman would lie. In fact, as the attending senior officer of that evening, he had every reason to believe her. Forensic evidence, such as it was, supported her claim. There had been no indication that anyone had disturbed the scene of the shootings. No evidence of a third party involved either.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Harper,’ said Tallis. ‘Before we leave, I will need to take another look at the room, if you don’t mind. Then we’ll leave you alone. For your peace of mind, there doesn’t appear to have been anyone else involved. We think that the ‘crazy man’, as you call him, was acting alone. Of course, if there’s anything else that we do need to ask you about, I take it you’ll be around?’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere. This is my house now,’ she said.

  ‘Right. Good. Oh, one other thing, do you remember whether the front door was locked when you came home on Thursday evening?’

  The woman gave it a moment’s thought. ‘Must have been. Yes, I’m sure that it was. It would have been unusual if it wasn’t and I’d have remembered it.’

  ‘Right then,’ said the DI, getting to his feet.

  ‘Did he die?’ said Mrs Harper. ‘The other bloke.’ She was looking intently at the policeman with an expression that he couldn’t fathom. Was it fear?

  ‘Not yet but the doctors think it unlikely that he’ll live.’ After a moment in which she looked as though she was about to say something and then changed her mind, Tallis said, ‘If there’s nothing else?’

  Mrs Harper regained something of her caustic self. ‘There is one thing: take her with you, will you?’ she nodded towards the WPC. ‘She makes me nervous.’

  The DI glanced at Mrs Watts, receiving what he was sure was a sympathetic look. ‘Of course, if you don’t feel that you need us.’

  The two men gathered up their coats, offered further thanks for their teas and left the room to visit the dead man’s study. The WPC left for the station, glad to be out of that awful woman’s home.

  The room was much as one would expect for a middle-aged businessman with little apparent interest in interior design. There was no influence of Ms Ashley’s floral fabrics; no dainty china ornaments gathering dust; no silver or glass knick-knacks to give the room some points of interest. Both men felt more comfortable for it. The furniture was sparse, heavy, plain and dark. There were some untidy bookshelves, a couple of maritime prints on the neutrally-finished walls, and a large desk, in front of which was spread a sheepskin rug – stained beyond saving with a large quantity of the wounded man’s blood. The room was not orderly but neither was it a pigsty. It just looked lived in.

  The two men stood in silence for a few moments, each busy with his own thoughts: reconstructing, imagining, assimilating. The DI had been here before, thought about it before, but he felt he should give his colleague the courtesy of an opportunity to take a minute for himself.

  Breaking the quiet, Tallis said, ‘The dead man was on the floor behind the desk.’ A spray of dark stains on the wall behind this suggested that something unpleasant had recently decorated it. ‘Sansom, or whoever he is, was on the rug there.’ Tallis indicated the area immediately in front of the desk. The expansive dark stain showing clearly where a man had almost bled to death made this an unnecessary explanation.

  The Captain bent to finger a small crude hole punched out of the back of the antique desk from within. The highly-polished walnut veneer had been ruined by the splintered aperture about the size of a penny.

  ‘Our boys think Sansom was standing here,’ said Tallis, moving to demonstrate, ‘when the dead man fired at him through the desk, probably from the drawer where he kept the weapon. Sansom must have impressed upon the deceased that he meant to harm him. More than likely was already holding his own gun on him.’

  Harris nodded. ‘Makes sense. And Sansom fires back reflexively. Both men lie helpless until the widow returns.’

  ‘If he survives, she’ll have saved his life,’ said Tallis.

  ‘It doesn’t strike me that she’d be very pleased about that.’

  At that instant, both the policeman’s and the soldier’s mobile phones rang.

  When both had finished dealing with the calls, Captain Harris said, ‘Well, Stan, it appears that if the man lying in the hospital isn’t Sansom then he not only bears a remarkable resemblance to him but he also has an identical tattoo.’

  ‘Perhaps you can ask him yourself,’ said the policeman. ‘That was the hospital. He’s regained consciousness.’

  *

  Forty-five minutes later the two men were, once more, striding together through the labyrinth of hospital corridors. In the ISOLATION ward they waited and watched through the glass divide as a doctor and the station nurse attended to their patient.

  When the pair emerged, Tallis said, ‘Afternoon, doctor. What news?’

  ‘He’s doing remarkably well, Inspector, all things considered. He’s strong. To be honest, I didn’t expect him to make it through the first night. But now, well, now I think that, providing he doesn’t succumb to infection and there aren’t further complications, he will probably survive.’

  ‘Can we speak to him?’

  ‘I’ve had to sedate him. You won’t get any sense out of him.’

  ‘Has he spoken?’

  ‘He did say something,’ said the nurse. ‘Before the doctor arrived. I was in there with him. I’m not sure he knows much of where he is. He was delirious. It sounded like he said that they killed them.’

  ‘Can you remember exactly?’ said Tallis.

  ‘He said, “‘they killed them.’” I’m sure of it. He also said a name. It sounded like Allie – probably his wife, Alison.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ said Tallis.

  ‘I noticed it on his wedding ring.’

  ‘I don’t remember seeing a wedding band,’ said the policeman.

  ‘It wasn’t on his finger; it was on a thong around his neck. We had to remove it before he went in for surgery. I noticed that it was inscribed on the inside.’

  ‘Well done,’ said the DI. ‘We missed that.’ He gave a sigh of exasperation. ‘Where is it now?’

  ‘I put it in his bedside locker. Would you like me to fetch it?’

  ‘Thank you, y
es.’

  ‘And there was nothing else?’ said Harris.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Tallis. ‘You’ll let us know of any change?’

  ‘Of course,’ said the doctor. ‘But I wouldn’t expect anything within the next twenty-four hours. As I said, we’ve had to sedate him heavily. He’d be a danger to his chances of recovery otherwise. Does a lot of thrashing about. Something that might interest you: from the looks of his feet, he hasn’t been wearing shoes for a good while.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Harris.

  ‘Exactly what I say; his feet are so rough and calloused that I’d guess he hasn’t been accustomed to wearing footwear for some time.’

  ‘Thank you, doctor,’ said the policeman.

  As the nurse handed him the ring, Tallis said, ‘That was observant of you. Perhaps you should have been a copper.’

  ‘And miss all this excitement,’ she said, indicating with a wave of her hand the peace and serenity of the ward.

  The officers stepped out into the corridor and the better light.

  ‘Always Alison,’ read Tallis, turning the ring around under the fluorescent tubes. ‘I remember Records said he had a wife but that she was also dead. Don’t remember a name. Would you be able to find that out with a phone call on a Sunday?’

  ‘I should think so,’ said Harris.

  ‘While you’re at it, could you confirm whether he was on active service or leave when he disappeared? It would be helpful to have some of these gaps filled in.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do. You understand that now we’ve established who he is and that he was a serving officer in the British Army it rather casts a whole new light on things.’

  ‘Exactly what I was thinking,’ said Tallis.

  ‘You can’t use that in here,’ said a passing staff nurse as Harris extracted his mobile phone from his jacket. He smiled back, apologetically.

  ‘Come on,’ said Tallis, ‘It doesn’t look like we’re going to get anything more here anyway.’

  *

  In the hospital car park, Harris wandered off to make his phone call while Tallis smoked and pondered the developments. He should have been on the lake today enjoying some carp fishing, finding some peace and quiet, some respite from all the nonsense.

  But he couldn’t ignore it now. Sansom wasn’t just a job statistic any more. He had become part of his puzzle. The puzzle of his pain. He was the only part that Tallis had and he had fallen into his lap from nowhere – a gift or a curse.

  The agony would never go away. It would always be there, lurking in the depths of his consciousness – the leviathan of his nightmares – waiting to resurface and overwhelm him at the slightest prodding. He discarded his half-smoked cigarette and trod it out.

  Harris returned looking puzzled. ‘Lieutenant Acer Sansom, lately of the Grenadier Guards, was definitely on leave when he disappeared, missing at sea, presumed dead, thirteen months ago.

  ‘He was married to Alison Sansom and they had a nine-month-old daughter, Abigail, both of whom are believed to have perished at sea along with him and the others in the party. I’d say it looks pretty conclusive that it is Acer Sansom lying in there, wouldn’t you?’

  Tallis felt something heavy awake inside him – his leviathan was stirring. It wouldn’t do his ulcer any good. Life – always one step forward, two steps back.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ said Tallis.

  ‘I’ve been instructed to stay on here, at least until tomorrow.’

  Tallis checked his watch. He was in need of a drink. ‘Fancy a pint somewhere?’

  Harris shook his head. ‘Thanks for the offer but I’ve got to arrange somewhere to stay and I’ve got some paperwork I’ve brought with me that’s rather urgent.’

  ‘Right,’ said Tallis, understanding but disappointed. ‘There’s a Travel Inn just round the corner if you’re not fussy.’

  ‘Saw it on my way in. It’ll be fine.’

  ‘I’ll leave you to it then.’

  The men exchanged mobile phone numbers with the arrangement that the DI would call the following day. They shook hands and went their separate ways.

  *

  One hour later a telephone rang in the same county. The man who answered it was, at first, reluctant to bother his employer, who was spending a quiet weekend in the country with his family, his first for some weeks. However, when the caller identified himself and hinted at the reason for the call, he had no hesitation in disturbing him. In turn, the employer, after a brief explanation, told his man to put it through to his study, immediately. He went to his private room, arranged himself behind his desk and, clutching the phone tightly, waited for the line to be connected.

  ‘Hello,’ said the caller.

  ‘Peter?’ said the former Minister for Defence Procurement, Alex Bishop MP. ‘How are you? What’s all this about David?’

  There was impatience in the politician’s voice: an edginess created by the knowledge that the caller was ringing to discuss something about his stepson who had gone missing at sea, presumed dead, thirteen months before.

  ‘Hello, Alex,’ said the Brigadier. ‘Sorry to disturb you at home on a Sunday, but I have some information that I know you wouldn’t want to wait to hear.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Apparently, someone who was on the same trip as David has turned up alive.’

  The politician’s knuckles stood out white against the red of the handset.

  ‘Alex?’ said the caller.

  ‘Yes, I’m here, Peter, sorry. Please continue.’

  ‘Look, I know that this must be a bit of a shock for you after all this time,’ said the Army officer.

  ‘It’s OK. I’m OK. What can you tell me?’

  The Brigadier explained that Acer Sansom, a Lieutenant in the British Army and one of those reported missing at the same time as the politician’s relative, David Bishop, had been found, positively identified, and was lying in a hospital bed in Hampshire with a life-threatening gunshot wound. The police also wanted to speak to Sansom regarding the death of another man found with him. The politician sat in stunned silence.

  ‘Alex?’ said the caller again.

  ‘Peter, you were right to call me. Thank you. What else can you tell me?’

  ‘We have a man down there liaising with the local constabulary – arrived today. It’s still touch and go whether Sansom will survive – gut shot at close range. Details of how he came to be where he is are a complete mystery to all. The only person who could shed some light on it is dead, courtesy of a bullet to the head from Sansom. It’s a mess.’

  ‘Is it public knowledge?’ said Bishop.

  ‘Not who he is. Not yet. According to our chap, they only became certain of his identity today.’

  ‘Can we keep it that way?’

  ‘Leave it with me, Alex. I’ll see what I can do. It shouldn’t be a problem for now.’

  ‘Thanks again, Peter. Can you keep me fully updated about any change in the man’s condition?’

  ‘Of course. No problem.’

  Bishop gently replaced the receiver, sat back in his chair and stared out absently over his garden through the French windows. Information and options churned over in his mind. He retrieved a notebook from his desk, found the number that he needed and dialled. It was picked up almost immediately.

  ‘Justin? Alex Bishop. Sorry to trouble you on a Sunday, but I have something rather urgent and personal that I need your help with.’

  *

  At nine o’clock that evening, Captain Harris, engrossed in report writing, received a phone call from his Commanding Officer instructing him to attend the Royal South Hampshire Hospital in two hours’ time and supervise the collection by British military personnel of patient/prisoner Lieutenant Acer Sansom, who was to be transferred to an undisclosed Ministry of Defence location.

  Half an hour later, Detective Inspector Tallis received a call from his Superintendent. He too was advised that Hampshire County C
onstabulary was transferring responsibility for Lieutenant Sansom as of eleven o’clock that evening, when the Army would be collecting him from the hospital.

  Tallis’s spirits sank. No amount of protesting or reasoning would influence his superior officer. Confidentially, he was told that the decision to move the soldier had come from so high up that those responsible for it were obscured by cloud.

  Two minutes later, Captain Harris’s mobile shrilled again.

  ‘Harris’.

  ‘Simon? Stan Tallis here. Mind telling me what’s going on?’

  ‘You’ve been told then. Look, Stan, believe it or not this is as much of a surprise to me as it must be to you. I just follow instructions, do what I’m told.’

  ‘And they’re collecting him tonight?’

  ‘About eleven.’

  ‘Christ, they don’t hang about do they? Have they considered his fitness for travel?’

  ‘Someone’s certainly impatient to have him back in the fold.’

  ‘Mind if I come to see him off? I’ve got something for him.’

  ‘Be my guest. I’ll be there about ten-thirty.’

  *

  For the third time in twelve hours, DI Tallis and Captain Harris found themselves together in the ISOLATION ward. There had been no change in the condition of the patient/prisoner. The two men sipped coffee from cardboard take-away cups – a peace offering from Harris – as they awaited the arrival of the military.

  ‘When will I be able to talk to him?’ said Tallis. ‘What guarantees can you give me about that?’

  ‘I’m sure that as soon as he recovers and the Army have got what they want from him, you’ll have an opportunity to finish conducting your enquiries.’ Tallis gave an exasperated look and the soldier saw desperation in the policeman’s eyes. ‘It’s out of my hands, Stan,’ he said.

  ‘And what do I tell the widow?’ said Tallis, clutching at straws.

  ‘The truth: the Army claimed him back to provide the best medical care for one of their own to ensure his recovery so that he could account for his actions. In any case, I don’t imagine her being too bothered, do you?’ Tallis snorted.

  Harris continued: ‘Look, Stan, you know as well as I do that there’s certainly nothing to be done about it now. There’s obviously more to this whole business than meets the eye. Someone influential wants Sansom where they can keep an eye on him.’