Dead in the Water - Tickler Peter (книги онлайн без регистрации TXT) 📗

He had guessed that the staff wouldn’t leave before four. One or two did exit the building then, but it was only after four thirty that the trickle became more substantial. It trailed off until there was another small crescendo of activity at five. After that it was just an intermittent dribble as the number of cars slowly decreased. But still Mullen remained sitting in his car, both front windows wide open to dissipate the late afternoon heat. It was six twenty-five when Charles Speight finally appeared, laptop in one hand and folders tucked under the other arm. He was wearing what looked like a linen suit over a pin-striped shirt, but no tie. He was not sweating noticeably and that alone caused Mullen a stab of jealousy. He imagined that, unlike his car, CSK’s building had fully functional air-conditioning, not to mention water-coolers on every floor.

Mullen switched on the recording application he had downloaded onto his mobile earlier that afternoon. He hadn’t had a chance to use it in earnest and for all he knew the pick-up might be poor, but it was worth a try. He got out of his car and walked over to the Audi. He was almost within touching distance when Speight looked up.

“Who the hell are you?” Speight might not be suffering from the heat as Mullen was, but he had evidently not had a good day.

Mullen tried a friendly smile. “I’m a friend of Chris’s.”

“Chris?” Speight was momentarily flummoxed.

“The guy who was fished out of the Thames the other day near Sandford.”

Speight pulled open the rear door and tossed laptop and folders onto the seat. “You must think I’m an idiot. You’re a journalist, aren’t you?” He slammed the door and moved to open the driver’s door. Mullen stepped forward and pressed his hand against it.

“I’ll shout if you don’t get out of the way,” Speight snapped. “The security guards will come running.” Mullen looked around. There wasn’t another soul in the car park and only half a dozen other cars remained. As threats went, it was patently feeble.

Mullen held up his phone. “I’m turning this off. Watch!”

Speight watched. There were one or two beads of sweat on his face now.

Mullen lifted his t-Shirt. “You can check me for wiring if you want.”

Speight mumbled something indistinct.

“What did Chris die of?”

Speight shivered despite the heat, but when he spoke he seemed calm. “He drowned. There was alcohol in his blood. He must had fallen in and been unable in his drunken state to get out.”

“He didn’t drink.”

Speight laughed. “So how did the alcohol get inside him? Osmosis?”

“By force, I presume. Had he been beaten? Were there signs he’d been restrained? There must have been marks on his wrists or bruising round the mouth where a whisky bottle had been forced in. Or something!” Mullen could hear the desperation in his own voice.

“Of course there weren’t,” Speight snapped. “I would have noticed. How many years do you think I’ve been doing this?” Speight rubbed an arm across his forehead. “Look,” he continued, “the guy must have had a relapse. Gone on a bender and fallen in the river. He wouldn’t be the first and he won’t be the last.”

Mullen felt the day getting less good. He didn’t want to, but he was finding Speight pretty convincing. He tried a wild change of attack. “Tell me about Janice Atkinson’s death.”

“What?” There was alarm in Speight’s voice.

“Supposedly she got killed in a hit and run.”

“Supposedly? There was nothing supposed about it. She got hit by a car. Her head impacted on the edge of the pavement — it was her left temple if you want to know — and she died soon afterwards. By the time the ambulance got there, she had stopped breathing and the paramedics were unable to bring her back.”

“What bruising or other damage was there to her body?”

“Look, matey, I’ve told you more than I should have.” Speight had recovered his confidence. “If you don’t let me go home right now, I’ll report you to the police. There’s an automatic car registration system here, you know. You will be easy to track.”

“You’ll give Detective Inspector Dorkin a ring will you?”

The mention of Dorkin had a remarkable effect on Speight. His mouth gaped and he stared at Mullen in alarm.

“Pals are you?” Mullen said, confident that he was back in charge of the situation. “Only you didn’t seem so pleased to see him the other night in the Cape of Good Hope.”

Speight licked his lips and looked around helplessly. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Mullen smiled. His right hand was still on Speight’s door, preventing him from getting into his car. His left hand, however, had retrieved his mobile from his pocket and powered it on again.

“Here, if you like I can show you a photo.” It was a bluff, but Mullen doubted that Speight would call it.

“Or perhaps you’d prefer to see this one,” he said, and he turned the phone so Speight could see it.

“What the devil?”

“It’s you and a woman. Don’t you remember you bumped into her at the bus-stop on the way home? Very chatty and smiley. I’ve got two or three others.”

“Look, what’s your game?”

“On the surface they are innocent enough I admit. A casual meeting with a young woman from the office — or maybe she’s from the dentist’s surgery?” Mullen paused. He could see he had scored a direct hit with that one. “Except that if an anonymous friend were to send those to your wife and suggest that you were having an affair with her, I guess it might sow seeds of doubt in her mind.”

“That’s blackmail.” Speight’s anxiety was palpable. “And it’s not true.”

“And you’re not telling me the truth are you? Fragments of it maybe, but not the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. So I’m just doing what I have to do in order to find out exactly how it was that Chris and Janice died. If you’re straight with me, I’ll delete the photographs from my phone here and now and you’ll never hear from me again. And nor will your wife. That’s a promise.”

Speight looked at him. Mullen reckoned that under the suntan he had to be as white as a sheet. “I’ve not lied.” It was the whine of a cowed dog. Mullen knew he had got Speight where he wanted him.

“I wonder what the Reverend Diana Downey would call it?” Mullen saw the surprise on Speight’s face. “You do know Diana, don’t you Dr Speight? Chris went to her church. So did Janice. I expect you know that too. Rather a lot of coincidences if you ask me.” He paused, but only to see the effect of his words on Speight. Then he plunged on. “I expect your friend Diana would talk about sins of commission and sins of omission. But it’s the sins of omission I’m interested in, Charles. What have you omitted? What is it you’re not saying? Or maybe I should ask what it was that you and Dorkin were talking about in the Cape of Good Hope before you flew out of there like a bat out of hell?”

“I need to sit down.”

Mullen considered this. The fact was that Speight didn’t look anxious any more. He looked scared shitless. “Keys?” Mullen held out his hand, took the electronic key from Speight and then allowed him to sink into the driver’s seat. Mullen stood and waited, wedging the door wide open with his body and ready to move fast if Speight did anything unexpectedly stupid.

“Rohypnol,” he whispered at last.

“What?”

“It’s a date-rape drug.”

“I know that.”

“Janice had it in her bloodstream.”

“Are you saying she had been raped?”

“No. Not at all. Obviously when I discovered the drug in her system, I checked. There was no sign of recent sexual activity at all.”

“Was there alcohol in her system?” Mullen’s mind was starting to go to places where he really didn’t want it to. But he had to ask.

“Not a lot. Maybe a large glass of wine.”

“But enough to make her extremely unsteady when combined with rohypnol?” You didn’t have to be a forensic pathologist to know that alcohol and rohypnol were a devastating mix.