Go Not Gently

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I felt guilty. They knew I’d taken the tablets. Homelea had complained about me.

I took the police officers into the kitchen. Ray made himself scarce and went to join the children in the lounge.

There were two of them, plainclothes. A thick-set man with blue-black hair and very white skin, and a younger woman with a dark brown ponytail and a horsy face.

‘I’m Detective Inspector Crawshaw,’ said the man, ‘and this is Detective Sergeant Bell.’

She flipped open her notepad. He established my name, address and occupation. Not a twitch when I said I was a private investigator.

‘What’s it all about?’ I asked.

‘We’re investigating a serious crime and we think you may be able to help us with our enquiries. We’d like to ask you a few questions.’

He’d obviously done the public relations training. Lots of eye contact, a direct approach yet still managing to ignore my question.

‘Do you know a Mr James Achebe?’

Oh, no. My guts clenched. Something was terribly wrong. A serious crime, they’d said.

‘Yes, he’s… he was a client.’

‘When was this?’

‘I finished that job last week.’

‘And what was the nature of the work you did for him?’

‘I guarantee confidentiality to my clients.’

‘Yes, but in this situation,’ he snapped, momentarily losing it. Then he reeled back in the modern management style. ‘I’m sure you appreciate that there are certain situations where the right of client confidentiality no longer takes precedence.’

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘but seeing as I don’t know what this situation is, what this serious crime is or who might have committed it I’m hardly in a position to judge really, am I?’

He sighed briskly. Tried another approach. ‘When did you last see Mr Achebe?’

I thought back. ‘Thursday last week.’

‘A week yesterday,’ he glanced at his watch and did the arithmetic, ‘the twenty-fourth?’ I could never do that. I hadn’t got a watch with a date on for a start.

‘Yes.’

‘And you’ve not seen him since?’

‘No.’

‘Nor spoken to him on the phone?’

‘No.’

‘Has he communicated with you in any way? Sent letters, left messages?’

‘No, nothing.’ I tried to keep the defensive note from my voice but I was beginning to feel under suspicion myself.

Ray appeared at the kitchen door, the kids leaning close to him. Eyes agog at the police in the kitchen.

‘We’re going for chips,’ said Ray. ‘You?’ I nodded.

‘He’s not a policeman,’ said Tom scornfully, ‘he hasn’t got a hat.’ Ray ushered them out.

‘We need to know the nature of the job you did for Mr Achebe.’

‘But I’ve already-’

He interrupted. ‘You should be aware that Mr Achebe is being held in connection with enquiries into the death of his wife, Tina Achebe.’

‘Oh, Jesus!’ Tina, slight and smart in the check jacket. Jimmy, his whole body tense as he heard about her rendezvous at the hotel. ‘Oh, no. When did this happen? How did she…?’ A gunshot wound to the head? Or maybe suicide? Devastated by Jimmy’s newfound knowledge, wrists emptying in the bath, tablets by the bed, feet dangling.

‘Why did James Achebe hire you?’

I took a deep breath. ‘He was worried about his wife, about Tina. He thought she was keeping something from him.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘She wasn’t at home when he thought she would be. She lied about whether she’d been in or out. That sort of thing.’

‘Go on.’

‘I watched the house. One day I followed her. She went to town. To a hotel. She booked into a room. A man joined her there.’

‘And?’

I shrugged. ‘They were there for an hour or so then he left. A while later she left as well. Went home.’

‘When was this?’

‘Wednesday, the day before I saw Jimmy, Wednesday the twenty-third.’

The doorbell rang. I jerked in my seat with the shock of it. Feeling ridiculous I excused myself for a minute.

It was Sheila, complete with a blue Manchester Van Hire van stuffed full of gear.

‘Sheila, I’m sorry,’ I blurted, ‘I’m in the middle of something. I’ll have to leave you to it. Ray should be back soon, he’s just gone for chips.’

‘Don’t worry,’ she grinned. ‘Malcolm’s giving me a hand. We’ll just get on with it.’ Said Malcolm emerged from the far side of the van and gave a friendly wave.

Back in the kitchen Sergeant Bell had obviously been checking her notes. She riffled through her notebook to find her place. Inspector Crawshaw took up where we’d left off.

‘You last saw Mr Achebe on the Thursday, the day after you’d followed his wife to this hotel?’

‘Yes. I had to tell him what I’d found out.’

‘How did he take it?’

‘Like anybody would. He was hurt, upset.’

‘Did he give any indication of what he was going to do about it?’

‘No.’ Jimmy hadn’t threatened to kill her. Something I’d heard so many times in marital work. ‘He was hurt, like I say. She was very important to him. When he came to see me, I got the impression he really wanted the marriage to work. Not like some people who’ve already had enough and just want proof for ending the relationship. When did she die? Was she killed or was it suicide?’

‘We’re not in possession of all the facts yet. Mrs Achebe’s body was discovered yesterday morning. Suicide is most unlikely. The man you saw meet Mrs Achebe, can you describe him?’

Murder then. ‘I’ve got a photograph – well, I gave the prints to Jimmy…to Mr Achebe.’

‘And the negatives?’

‘I’ve got them at the office.’

‘We’d like to take them away with us.’

‘Now?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s round the corner,’ I said, ‘walking distance.’

He stood up. ‘Right, then.’ Sergeant Bell closed her book.

We walked along the road and met Ray, Maddie and Tom coming the other way. I felt embarrassed. Maddie ran to me.

‘Mummy, Mummy. We’ve got chips.’

‘I know. I won’t be long. I’m just popping round to the office for something.’

‘Can I come?’ Maddie clamoured.

‘No, you get the chips ready for me. Sheila’s moving her stuff in.’ I thought she’d throw a tantrum but the news of Sheila defused it and she turned to Ray.

The police followed me downstairs in silence. I retrieved the negatives from the file in the cabinet and handed them over. There was just one strip of shots. ‘There’s a couple of Tina and some of the man.’

Crawshaw held the strip up to the light and squinted, grunted. Slipped them into their envelope and pocketed them.

I walked back home in more awkward silence. It was a relief to say goodbye to the police.

‘We’ll be in touch if there are any further questions,’ Inspector Crawshaw said.

Inside I fielded questions from the children about the police visit, ate my chips and tried to be welcoming to Sheila. What did she think of Manchester?

‘Oh, I love it. I was down in Bury St Edmunds before, small town, so it’s a complete change. I love the theatre and the galleries.’ Flipping heck, when had I last been to either? ‘And there’s some superb concerts. I’ve been to the Royal Northern College a few times. There’s such a lot going on I could spend all my time going out if I’d the money. I never expected it’d be like this.’

‘Still thought we were in clogs and shawls?’

She laughed. ‘Well, not quite. But, the rain, I can’t believe it rains as much as it does, I thought that was part of the myth too.’

‘No, that bit’s true.’ I sorted my remaining chips into edible and not. The ones I rejected were mainly those vicious little sharp bits designed to choke you. ‘People don’t realise. It’s like when they were laying the tram lines. The firm that got the contract were outsiders. About a year after they’d laid it all the lines on Moseley Street started coming unstuck. They had to do it all again. Claimed they’d no idea it would rain so much.’

‘Oh, that’s awful.’

‘And when the Velodrome first went up the roof leaked. Probably be the new Concert Hall next,’ I said.

‘I hope not,’ she said, ‘I intend to be a regular there.’

‘On a student grant?’

‘An occasional regular, then.’

Later I rooted out the evening paper. Tina Achebe was the main story, whole front page. Despite all the ‘Gunchester’ stories a murder is still big news in the city.

There was a photo of the house in Levenshulme, quotes from a neighbour who had heard arguments on the Wednesday night and Thursday morning and had alerted the police when she couldn’t get an answer from the house. The report said there were signs of a violent struggle but there was no detail about the cause of death. There was a grainy photograph of Tina and Jimmy posing formally in front of some blossom trees. Where did they get the photo from? No charges had been brought, the report said, but Mr Achebe was assisting police with their enquiries.

I had a bath, tried to relax. All the while images of Tina and Jimmy churned round my mind. And I struggled to convince myself that whatever had happened I couldn’t be held to blame. I’d just been doing my job. There’d never been any atmosphere of violence around Jimmy. I wouldn’t have taken the work on if I’d sensed anything like that. It was a losing battle. In bed I lay awake far into the night waiting for exhaustion to release me.