She looked at him steadily. It seemed she had expected what he had planned to drop as a bombshell. ‘Highly imaginative. But also rather dangerous for you, Detective Chief Inspector Peach. I’m sure my lawyers would be interested to hear you repeat these views in a more formal context.’
Peach’s smile contrived to express distaste rather than amusement. ‘Lawyers, eh? A single legal expert not enough for you, when all that is involved is two or three dull and successful shops?’ His fierce revulsion burst out suddenly against the wall of her calmness. ‘All the lawyers in England won’t help you, when we finally expose the rape and prostitution of minors which has been happening in this town.’
Both he and his unlikely looking adversary in the armchair knew what he referred to. Young white girls in the area, many of them still children and most of them from care homes, were being lured into prostitution by Asian men, who selected them carefully and set up rings they could control. The money to initiate this and the ultimate control of the rings came from sources further up the hierarchy. Money from drugs was being used to finance this lucrative colony in a growing criminal empire.
Linda Coleman weighed Peach’s words carefully before she chose to reply. ‘I know nothing of this. It is ludicrous that you should try to connect me with such things.’ The coffee arrived, served with biscuits on a wide metal tray by a slim and elegant Asian girl. Not a word was spoken whilst she was in the room. Their hostess watched the door close behind her before she picked up the coffee pot and poured. ‘I did hear that your wife had been questioning some of our Asian friends about these allegations. I doubt if there is anything in them, but I should hate it if DS Peach came to grief. I’m told she’s a pretty and enthusiastic officer. It would be a pity if anything changed that.’
Percy felt his pulses racing. This wasn’t right for him; this was the kind of apprehension he had intended that Coleman should feel. He had not known that this woman was even aware that Lucy was an officer, let alone that she knew his wife was involved in the prostitution enquiries. He spoke as steadily as he could. ‘That sounded very like a threat to me, Mrs Coleman. Note it down, please, DS Northcott.’
She glanced at Northcott, whose notebook looked tiny in his very large hands. ‘It was nothing of the sort, DCI Peach. It was no more than well-meant concern for a police officer who might move out of her depth and into dangerous waters.’
‘Who killed James O’Connor?’
She appeared not at all shaken by his abrupt switch. ‘I’ve no idea. I should have come forward with the information as a good citizen if I had.’
‘Was your husband involved?’
She smiled. ‘Peter wasn’t even there.’
‘I know that. Was he involved?’
‘What a preposterous idea! Of course Peter wasn’t involved. He scarcely knew Jim O’Connor.’
‘He handles what he calls security for the Lennon group of enterprises. We all know what that means: Peter Coleman deals in violence and sometimes in death. As the Lennon organisation is now planning to control the group of criminal enterprises formerly run by James O’Connor, it is perfectly logical that he should have eliminated the former owner. Or arranged his elimination.’
‘He did neither. Place that on record, please, DS Northcott.’ She savoured echoing Peach’s direction to his bagman, then turned back to him. ‘You have an over-developed imagination, DCI Peach.’
‘My imagination is fine. What I at present lack is the evidence to support it. That will come, in time. So who did kill James O’Connor?’
‘I’ve no idea. I never left the banqueting hall during that comfort break; my neighbours at the table will confirm that for you. I’ve always had a strong bladder, among other things. For the record, I hope the creaking police machine gets a result on this one. I liked Jim.’
Clyde Northcott drove the car down the drive between the immaculate lawns and back to the station at Brunton. He had the good sense to say nothing to Peach, who stared straight ahead with a face like thunder. Eventually Percy said, ‘She’s a dangerous woman, that one. And we made no impression on her. Linda Coleman is going to be a dire influence on Brunton, unless we can nobble her.’
Clyde braked sharply to avoid a Brunton cat which seemed bent on suicide, then waited his moment to pass a learner driver who was exercising extreme care. Only then did he say, ‘She was very determined to let us know that she never left the banqueting hall during that ten minutes when the murder took place.’
‘Indeed she was. And if we check it out with other statements, I’m sure we’ll find it was exactly as she says. She wouldn’t have drawn our attention to it otherwise.’
‘No. Cast-iron alibi. It’s almost as if she knew something was going to happen in those ten minutes.’
‘Good thinking, Clyde. That’s why you’re a DS and not just a DC nowadays. I’ve always said you were more than just a hard bastard.’
It was only Percy Peach who’d ever called him that, but Clyde was much too astute to remind him of it now.
DS Lucy Peach was well aware of the dangers she ran. There was a heavy irony to them, in her view. The police regulations stated firmly that husband and wife should not work together, which meant that since her marriage she had needed perforce to undertake other duties in the CID section.
The nature of these meant that she felt in far more danger than she ever had felt whilst working alongside Percy. Brunton had an Asian population which now constituted almost thirty per cent of the whole. Amongst the tiny lunatic fringe of the Muslim fraternity, there lurked fanatical young men and a few ruthless older ones who directed them. Lucy Peach was ever more heavily involved in the campaign to frustrate these most dangerous forces. The anti-terrorism unit gathered more and more information and made itself more and more effective. Knowledge was power, but it was also a highly dangerous commodity, in this context.
There were also decisions which called for the most delicate of judgements. The policy was to let plots against the state and its citizens proceed as far as possible, as long as they did not risk injury or death to the public. Lucy and the officers who worked with her were aware at this moment of several embryo plots, over which they maintained a watching brief. They wouldn’t move in to frustrate them unless it was felt that the safety of the public was in jeopardy. The reason for this was that they wanted to capture not merely the rabid young males who were prepared to sacrifice their own lives in pursuit of mistaken ideals, but the subtle and even more sinister men behind them who plotted the continuous ‘war against the infidel’ in which these were merely incidents.
It was a delicate balance. You wanted to intervene decisively, but at as late a stage as possible, in order to catch the generals as well as the advanced troops in this malevolent army. Lucy was too junior to take such decisions, but she felt her responsibility keenly. When you were front-line in these operations, it was often you who had to advise on when terrorist planning would actually explode into action. Wrong advice could result in the deaths of innocent people who might otherwise have been saved.
It was almost a relief today to be involved in a different type of operation. Yet she was quickly changing her view about that. The people she was now investigating were almost more hateful than the terrorists, who were at least driven by a mistaken idealism. These people were preying on the young, selecting for their targets perhaps the most vulnerable of all people in a damaged society.
Lucy stared with undisguised distaste into the dark brown eyes on the other side of the square table. ‘You were seen, Mr Atwal. One of our officers was watching you.’
Hostility flashed across the narrow face. He hated being questioned by a woman. He wouldn’t underestimate her because of her sex, but something deep in his breeding said that he should not be forced to answer questions from her, that at least his adversary should be a man.