She shrugged her slim shoulders beneath the lightweight jacket. ‘If you want my opinion, I think Dominic had affairs. I think that is why he had difficulties with his marriage. But that is no more than an opinion. I cannot give you any facts or any significant detail to support that view.’
‘So he was a womaniser.’ Peach waited for her reaction to the word. She frowned but said nothing. ‘Not a good thing, from where we stand. Sex leads to passion and passion too often leads to violent and impetuous actions. But so, in our experience, does success in business. And his work is something you do know about, as you’ve already told us. Very few people succeed in business without making enemies along the way. No doubt you can identify for us some of the enemies Mr Dominic O’Connor made.’
Clyde Northcott flicked ostentatiously to a new page in his notebook and reflected once again on how his senior made bricks from however little straw was offered to him — this woman had said she knew only his working and not his private life and he’d immediately quoted that to make her speak.
But now Jean Parker picked her words carefully; Clyde couldn’t be sure whether that came from a natural caution she had developed with her job or whether she was really trying to hide something. ‘Dominic wasn’t the owner of this business. He was the successful finance manager within it.’
‘He was a partner. He became a partner two years ago. We’ve already checked that out.’
They thought in the pause which followed that she was going to say she hadn’t known about that. But she eventually said, ‘That is a tribute to his efficiency. I don’t think you will find anyone in the firm who will say that Dominic was other than highly efficient.’
Was there a tiny suggestion of bitterness in her repetition of that last word? Peach let the thought hang in the air for a moment before he said, ‘One man’s efficiency is sometimes another man’s dirty trick. Verdicts can alter with where you stand and how actions affect you. We’d like the names of anyone who felt aggrieved by any action taken by Dominic O’Connor.’
She was a surprising woman. They would have expected evasions, after what had gone before. Instead she said abruptly, ‘Brian Jacobs. I’m not saying he had anything to do with this, mind. I haven’t seen him for years. I think he still lives in the area, but I can’t give you an address.’
‘Did he work for a rival firm?’
‘No. He worked here. He did the job that Dominic did, when the firm was smaller than it is now.’
‘And he resented the way Mr O’Connor behaved?’
‘You’d have to ask him about that. I don’t know any details. I hadn’t been here long, at the time.’
Northcott made a note of the name, then asked, ‘Is there anyone else who had a grudge against Mr O’Connor?’
‘No. There must obviously be a whole range of people in other firms who were business rivals, especially after he became a partner here, but I don’t know that any of them would admit to having a grudge against Dominic.’
She came to the door and watched them depart, a slim, composed figure, with shrewd grey eyes and an air of being in total control of her office domain. They were half a mile away in the car before Peach said, ‘Pretty formal in her attitudes, Mrs Jean Parker.’
‘Yes. Goes with the job as a PA, I suppose.’
‘Yes. But she slipped into calling her employer Dominic pretty quickly, didn’t she? I appreciate that office conventions are more relaxed than they used to be, but I wonder just how close the very composed Mrs Parker was to her late employer.’
Back in the office they had left, Jean Parker was examining her reactions to their visit. She should have felt relieved. Instead she found she felt curiously empty, now that it was over. She’d told them exactly what she’d planned to tell them and it seemed to have gone quite well. Now she wanted to ring Brian Jacobs and warn him of what she’d said.
There was really no need for that. What she’d told the CID was what they’d agreed beforehand, no more and no less. It was Brian who’d said that they’d be determined to find out about him, that it was better if they heard it from her lips than dug it up for themselves. He’d planned it and he would handle it, as they both knew he could.
But Jean Parker felt deprived. She would have liked to be at Brian’s side as he saw this through.
They didn’t have much time for reflection when they got back to the police station at Brunton. The station sergeant stopped them at the front desk as they moved towards the CID section. ‘God Squad’s waiting for you in your office, Percy. Catholic priest from St Catherine’s. What you been up to? I told you to keep away from them choir boys!’
Police humour is robust and predictable rather than subtle. Percy smiled sourly. ‘If you’ve been rifling his poor box, George, your best chance is to admit your guilt and go for mitigating circumstances. I’d like to tell him you’ve been working hard and been under stress, but they might have me for perjury.’
When he reached his office, he reflected wryly that he should have learned by now not to form cliched premonitions about occupations. He had been expecting a red-faced and portly middle-aged cleric with an Irish accent. The man who introduced himself as Father Raymond Brice was tall and slim and no more than thirty-five. He had a tanned face and a firm chin and he spoke English with a slight Geordie inflexion. ‘I’m not sure if I should be here at all, DCI Peach. You must send me away quickly if you think I’m wasting your time.’
‘We’re glad of all the help we can get, Father.’
‘I know the family. The O’Connors, I mean.’
‘James or Dominic? They’re both murder victims.’
‘And I knew both of them. I’m here about Dominic, the younger brother. He’s the one I knew well. I know the family — well, husband and wife. They weren’t blessed with children. I suppose that might be a good thing now, with Dominic lying in the morgue.’
Percy decided to save time and take the initiative. ‘We heard earlier this morning that this was not a straightforward marriage. Perhaps you can throw more light on that for us.’
Father Brice looked troubled. He sighed and said, ‘That’s why I’m here. I’m still not sure whether I should be.’
‘You’re worried about whether you should reveal the secrets of the confessional to us?’
The priest smiled and relaxed for the first time since they had arrived. ‘No, it’s not that old chestnut. Modern Catholics don’t use the confessional as much as they used to, which may be a good or a bad thing. We priests still don’t disclose anything revealed to us in that private little cell, which is one of the strengths of the system. If people don’t believe they can trust us completely, they don’t seek absolution for their sins. And forgiveness comes from God, not from us. That’s another illusion many of the public have, that priests can forgive sins. We’re just intermediaries between man and God.’
‘Forgive me, Father, but I know all this. I began life as a Catholic.’
For a moment, it looked as if Father Brice might embark on a mission to retrieve the lost sheep, but something in Percy Peach’s countenance made him think better of it. ‘None of what I have to say here comes from the confessional. I have gathered it from other and less formal contacts. The modern pastor is expected to get to know his flock. I’ve learned quite a lot about Dominic and Ros O’Connor, both from themselves and from other people.’ He sighed. ‘We’re expected to be counsellors as much as confessors, these days.’
‘So what can you tell us?’ Peach tried not to show his impatience with this well-meaning man who had obviously found it difficult to come here.
‘It’s Ros O’Connor.’ The priest’s relief at being pushed to reveal the name was obvious. It made it seem as if the detectives and not he had taken the initiative and given him no option. ‘She’s a good woman, but a woman under stress. I’m not a psychologist and I’m not sure how they would define the word, but I think she’s unstable.’
Peach said quietly, ‘You’d better give us the details.’