Over My Dead Body

Chapter 5

Ex-Superintendent Lamont was at home reading the Racing Post when Mr Booth Watson QC’s clerk called to inform him that the head of chambers required his presence at ten o’clock the following morning. It was the first time Booth Watson had been in touch since the police corruption trial at the Old Bailey when Jerry Summers, a Detective Sergeant who’d taken one risk too many, had ended up going down for ten years because Lamont had failed to remove a vital piece of evidence that would have got Summers off. Lamont had rather assumed after that particular balls-up, Booth Watson wouldn’t be requiring his services again. Although he intensely disliked the oleaginous QC, the expression ‘Beggars can’t be choosers’ ensured that he would be on time for the appointment.

During the past few weeks, he’d also done a couple of jobs for Mrs Christina Faulkner, and wondered if Booth Watson might consider that a conflict of interest. After he’d checked his bank balance, he decided not to mention his double-dating to either party. Lamont made sure he was sitting in the waiting room of No. 1 Fetter Court at ten to ten the following morning. He was kept waiting.

When the Head of Chambers eventually called for him, he didn’t mention Summers or the key piece of evidence Lamont should have switched, but got straight to the point.

‘I need to know what your old friend Warwick is up to at the moment.’

‘Warwick’s no friend of mine,’ said Lamont, almost spitting out the words.

‘I’m glad to hear that,’ said Booth Watson. ‘In which case it should make your task even more enjoyable. I can tell you that the Inspector and his wife are currently sailing first class to New York aboard the Alden.’

‘A holiday that must have been paid for by his father, because he certainly couldn’t afford to travel first class on a Chief Inspector’s salary.’

Booth Watson knew exactly who had paid for the trip, but satisfied himself with repeating the words, ‘Chief Inspector?’

‘Warwick was promoted following the success of the Summers trial,’ said Lamont, who immediately regretted the word ‘success’, as it produced a scowl on his paymaster’s lips.

‘Can you tell me anything about this new squad he’s heading up?’

‘Unit,’ said Lamont.

The scowl returned; Booth Watson didn’t like to be corrected, even by a judge.

Lamont ploughed on. ‘Warwick has four officers under his command. DS Paul Adaja, who isn’t one of us, DS Jackie Roycroft, she’s already on my payroll, and DC Rebecca Pankhurst, who’s still wet behind the ears. They’ll be joined by DI Ross Hogan, but not before Warwick returns from his holiday.’

‘I don’t know Hogan,’ said Booth Watson. ‘What can you tell me about him?’

‘Tough, resilient, but a bit of a maverick, who’s not averse to taking the occasional risk. He’s been working undercover for the past three years, but Hawksby must have decided to bring him in from the cold.’

‘Why?’ demanded Booth Watson.

‘Needed to bolster the team with a little sharp-end experience would be my bet. So we’ll need to keep an eye on him because maverick he may be, but his loyalty to Hawksby is not in question.’

Booth Watson took his time before asking his next question. ‘Do you think Hogan could be tempted into an indiscretion?’

‘Never. If that man found a wallet on the London Underground stuffed with fifty-pound notes, he’d hand it in to the nearest police station and not expect a reward.’

‘Money may well be the root of all evil, Superintendent, but it’s not the only sin Moses found etched on the tablet he brought down from Mount Sinai.’

Lamont thought for some time before he responded. ‘Hogan’s had on-off relationships with several female officers in the past, and even with a suspect on one occasion, for which he was temporarily suspended. His latest conquest is DS Roycroft, but I’m pretty sure that’s coming to an end.’

‘So, if we could find the right Eve,’ said Booth Watson, ‘he might be tempted to bite the apple.’

‘I’m not a pimp,’ said Lamont acidly.

‘Of course you’re not, Superintendent. But fortunately, I have a client who swims in those particular waters, so you can leave Hogan to me, while you concentrate on DS Roycroft.’

‘Is there anything in particular you want me to find out, when I next see her?’

‘The names of everyone under investigation by Warwick’s new unit.’

‘That shouldn’t prove difficult, but it won’t come cheap.’

Booth Watson opened his desk drawer, withdrew a thick brown envelope and pushed it across the table, confident in the knowledge that if the ex-Superintendent found a wallet stuffed with fifty-pound notes, he wouldn’t hand it in to the nearest police station.

‘I can only imagine what you must be going through,’ said William, as he sat down next to James and placed an arm around the young man’s shoulder. ‘But I’m not convinced your grandfather died of a heart attack.’

‘Neither am I,’ said James, tears streaming down his face. ‘Even if he did, I’d still want to know what was in that flask.’

‘Then I’ll need you to be at your sharpest for the next forty-eight hours, because once we dock in New York the NYPD won’t be interested in what I have to say, unless I can show reasonable grounds for suspicion.’

‘Just tell me what you want me to do.’

‘I need a detailed table plan that shows where everyone was seated during dinner. And, more important, I want you to write down what you remember of the conversation that took place between your grandfather and your uncle Hamish concerning what he was drinking.’

‘That would be hard to forget,’ said James. He gathered up half a dozen menu cards, turned one over and began to draw a rectangle on the back of it. He had filled in the last name by the time Franco reappeared, carrying three pairs of white gloves. He handed one pair each to William and James, keeping the third for himself.

‘What next, sir?’ asked Franco.

‘I want this whole area roped off and the doors locked. No one is to be allowed to enter the dining room unless I say so.’

‘Understood, sir.’

‘I’m off to question Dr Lockhart and Hamish Buchanan. I need to interview them before they go to bed, although I suspect Hamish already has his story well prepared. I should be back in about an hour. Meanwhile, Franco, remember to make sure none of the passengers come into the room.’ He touched James on the shoulder and said, ‘Make your grandfather proud.’

William didn’t need to ask where the chairman’s stateroom was. James had already informed him that his cabin was on deck seven along with the rest of the family, and there were no other passengers on that deck.

When William stepped out of the lift, he was greeted by the eerie silence of mourning. A crew member was standing guard outside a door at the far end of the corridor that William assumed must be the chairman’s stateroom.

The tall, heavyset man opened the cabin door before William had a chance to knock. On entering, he found Mrs Buchanan seated by the body of her late husband, still holding his hand. She didn’t look up.

Dr Lockhart was standing on the other side of the bed. Without a word passing between them, he motioned William towards an adjoining room and closed the door quietly behind them.

‘I’m sorry to intrude on your grief, Dr Lockhart,’ said William, ‘but I need to ask you if there’s any doubt in your mind as to what caused the chairman’s death.’

‘None whatsoever,’ said Lockhart firmly. ‘In fact, I’ve already signed the death certificate, which I’ll hand in to the coroner as soon as we dock in New York. I’m only surprised it didn’t happen earlier. Frankly, Fraser Buchanan was a time bomb waiting to explode.’

‘You may well be right,’ said William. ‘However, there are one or two matters I still have to clear up. Hamish Buchanan claimed the flask he handed to his father only contained a mild sedative that he had been prescribed by you.’

‘That’s correct. One or two of the family, including Hamish, occasionally suffer from seasickness, so I always have something at hand to help them sleep. In any case, everyone saw Hamish and Fraser drink from the same flask, so there’s no reason to suspect that his death was due to anything other than natural causes.’

Once again, someone had delivered a sentence that wasn’t necessary. William wondered what else the doctor had to hide.

‘Do you have any more of that medicine, doctor?’ William asked. ‘As I don’t suppose I’ll be getting much sleep tonight.’

‘Of course,’ replied Lockhart, who opened his leather bag, took out a half-empty medicine bottle and handed it to William. As he did so, William spotted something else in the bottom of the bag that answered a question he would no longer need to ask.

‘I’ll leave you now, doctor,’ he said. ‘I’m sure Mrs Buchanan will be grateful for your company. But before I go, can you tell me which is Hamish Buchanan’s cabin?’

‘Number three. It’s the first door on the left as you go out.’

‘Thank you, doctor.’ William opened the cabin door, stepped back into the corridor and walked slowly across to number three. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

‘Enter,’ said a voice that sounded wide awake.

William walked into the cabin to find Hamish Buchanan seated in a large, comfortable chair, a goblet of brandy in his hand, a half-smoked cigar in the other. There was no sign of his wife.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you at such a late hour,’ said William, ‘but I need to ask you a couple of questions before you go to bed.’

‘No need to waste your time, Chief Inspector,’ said Hamish, not bothering to offer him a seat. ‘I’ve already spoken to my lawyer in New York and he’s advised me not to answer any of your questions until he can be present. He felt sure I wouldn’t have to remind you that this vessel is registered under an American flag. A country in which you have no jurisdiction.’

‘Nevertheless, I do have the commodore’s authority to carry out an investigation into your father’s death,’ responded William. ‘I can’t imagine my questions would worry someone who has nothing to hide.’

‘You won’t get me to rise quite that easily, Chief Inspector, so please leave me to mourn in peace.’ Hamish flicked a piece of ash into an ashtray by his side before adding, ‘My lawyer also advised me that once we enter American territorial waters you will no longer have any authority on board this ship, whatever the commodore says. Therefore, may I suggest you go to bed and try and get a good night’s sleep.’

‘I will,’ said William, producing the bottle Dr Lockhart had given him, which at least produced a flicker of concern on Hamish’s face. ‘Meanwhile, I would ask you to remain in your cabin while I continue with my enquiries.’

‘And if I don’t, Chief Inspector, what will you do? Have me clapped in irons before walking the plank? I don’t think so. Why don’t you run along.’ He raised his glass in a mock toast.

William left, convinced that, like the doctor, Hamish Buchanan had something to hide. But both of them in their own way had made him aware of just how little time he had to find out what that something was. ‘During the first forty-eight hours of a murder inquiry, you only go to sleep if you fall asleep’ was one of The Hawk’s favourite mantras. And then only after you’ve made an arrest.

William quickly made his way back to deck three, where he was pleased to find Franco posted centurion-like outside the entrance to the dining room.

‘Any ideas yet about who the guilty party is?’ whispered Franco as he opened the door.

‘It may just have been a heart attack,’ said William, without conviction.

‘Fraser Buchanan had the constitution of an ox. He’s never had a heart attack in the past that I’m aware of, despite what the doctor claimed. So whatever was in that flask killed him.’

William suspected Franco might be right, but intuition wasn’t proof. When he entered the dining room he found James, head down, writing furiously. William sat next to him and studied the seating plan he’d drawn. He then turned over several other menus one by one and began to read the conversations from earlier in the evening that James had meticulously chronicled. Words had been crossed out, replaced, but the tenor of the conversation was clear for him to see.

He’d reached the back of the third menu when he stopped and reread a paragraph, not twice, but three times.

‘Are you sure about this?’ he asked, pointing to half a dozen lines James had underlined.

‘Certain,’ said James, not looking up. ‘I have no evidence of course, so I can’t prove it. But I’m sure I know where you’ll find the other flask.’

‘I’ve already seen it,’ said William.

They lay back exhausted. It was some time before she spoke.

‘I suppose this can’t go on for much longer,’ Jackie said as she pulled the sheet up to her chin.

‘We won’t have a lot of choice,’ said Ross, as he lit a cigarette. ‘If we don’t end it now, I have a feeling The Hawk will.’

‘I’ll miss you,’ she said quietly.

‘We’ll still be seeing each other every day.’

‘It won’t be the same,’ she said, nestling up against his shoulder. ‘Do you think The Hawk knows about us?’

Ross inhaled deeply before he replied. ‘Of course he does. Nothing gets past that man. Out of interest, how do you get on with the choirboy?’

‘He’s the only person I’ve come across who just might be capable of taking over from The Hawk,’ she said with undisguised respect.

‘That good?’

‘Possibly better. The Hawk already treats him as an equal.’

‘And the rest of the team?’

‘A great bunch of guys to work with. You’re going to have to be at your best just to keep up with them,’ she teased.

‘Anything else I ought to know before I show up next week?’

‘I’ve already briefed you on the five cases we’re working on, and The Hawk’s saved the worst one for you. But you should also know I’m still in touch with Bruce Lamont, and I’m being handsomely rewarded for my trouble.’

‘With whose money?’ said Ross. ‘Lamont is still living way beyond his means, so someone has to be backing him.’

‘William thinks it must be Booth Watson.’

‘What further use would that quilted criminal have for Lamont now that Summers is safely locked up in Pentonville?’

‘Miles Faulkner.’

‘I thought you attended his funeral.’

‘But not his burial it would seem, or at least that’s Warwick’s opinion,’ said Jackie.

‘Not a hope,’ said Ross. ‘If Faulkner’s still alive, Lamont would be the last person Booth Watson would confide in. I suspect he holds that man in the same high regard as the rest of us.’

‘We don’t have any other leads at the moment,’ admitted Jackie, ‘except for Christina Faulkner, who’s a friend of William’s wife.’

‘That woman will only ever do what’s in her own best interests.’ Ross blew out a large circle of smoke, before adding, ‘I wish I was still undercover, because nothing would give me greater pleasure than to nail Faulkner and put all three of them behind bars.’

‘All three of them?’

‘Faulkner, Booth Watson and Lamont.’

‘Not Christina?’ said Jackie, teasing him.

‘She’s not my type,’ said Ross, as he climbed back on top of her.