‘Jean didn’t kill O’Connor.’
‘And why would you seem so certain of that, sir? You’re not confessing to the crime yourself, are you?’
‘Of course I’m not! I’m just certain that it isn’t in Jean’s nature to steal in and kill anyone like that.’
Peach shook his head with one of his sadder smiles. ‘Ah, if only you knew how often we’ve heard thoughts like that, Mr Jacobs. We never know what lurks in the hearts of even those we think we know quite intimately. I only hope that we don’t have to listen to Mrs Parker voicing that notion about you. Does she know about your previous history of violence?’
‘It was in 1989, for God’s sake! It feels as if it was a different person in a different life.’
‘I’ll take that as a no, then.’ Peach’s voice hardened suddenly. ‘Unfortunately for you, it was the same person in the same life. A person who attacked and almost killed someone with a knife. Have you come up with anyone who can support your story that you were nowhere near Dominic O’Connor’s house last Friday night?’
‘No. But the innocent sometimes don’t have alibis.’
‘True. And the guilty never have them.’
‘I was here from around eight o’clock on Friday night. I didn’t kill the bloody man, any more than Jean did.’
‘You were unbalanced about him.’
Brian recognised that word. It had come from Jean. She had used it to him when she’d been exasperated by the extremes of his hatred of Dominic O’Connor. He felt a sense of betrayal that she should also have told these calm and relentless bastions of the law that he was ‘unbalanced’. He said as calmly as he could, ‘Dominic O’Connor had given me good cause to be unbalanced. I didn’t kill him, though. Someone else did that for me.’
‘You could have twisted that cable round his neck. You could have wound it tight and watched him die. You’d have enjoyed that.’
Peach was pushing hard, harder than his normal code allowed, searching for some sort of reaction, some flicker of the face which might reveal even for a split second that the man was guilty. He got nothing. Brian Jacobs said harshly, ‘Your forensic people have examined my car. You’ve no doubt questioned people in the area around O’Connor’s house to try to place me in that area on Friday night. You’ve come up with nothing. That’s because there is nothing. I left the golf club at around half past seven as I told you and drove straight home, without going near the O’Connor house. I didn’t kill the sod, and neither did my Jean.’
It wasn’t politically correct, that ‘my Jean’. You shouldn’t claim ownership of a woman any more. But DCI Peach found he thought better of Brian Jacobs for it, as they drove back to the station. It wouldn’t affect his judgement on whether the man was a murderer one iota.
There was an unexpected message back at Brunton police station. Would the man in charge of the Dominic O’Connor murder enquiry please ring the security service number in Manchester as soon as possible? Technically, that should have been Tommy Bloody Tucker, but the head of Brunton CID had held a media conference on the previous Saturday, and couldn’t be expected to make a weekend appearance in the CID section for at least another year.
Peach rang the number immediately. A man with the rank of commander asked him loftily if he knew of a man called Patrick Riordan. ‘I do indeed,’ said Percy breezily. ‘I had occasion to interview him on Thursday morning in connection with the murder in Brunton of Dominic O’Connor.’
‘That’s the man.’ The voice softened as they became two professionals in pursuit of a common enemy. ‘He committed a terrorist act in Manchester last night. His target had security cover — to whit, one man with a pistol acting as his bodyguard, who was at his side when he was shot. It’s touch and go, but apparently the odds are that the target will survive. Rather better odds than are being offered on Patrick Riordan, whom our man chased and severely wounded before making an arrest. Riordan is currently in Manchester Royal Infirmary, with bullet wounds in lung, chest and shoulder. It’s possible he won’t recover or won’t say anything, but apparently he’s mentioned your man Dominic O’Connor in his ramblings.’
‘Can we speak to him?’
‘We’ve bullied the medics into allowing us to see him for five minutes or so. I thought it might be worth your while joining our man, in case Riordan gives you anything useful before he pops his clogs. Best thing that can happen to the murderous sod, in my view. Three o’clock at Manchester Royal, if you can make it. Ask for Jefferson at reception.’
Scene of Crime and Forensics had not produced a great deal from the examination of the room at the back of his house where Dominic O’Connor had been found dead. The few alien fibres found on his clothing were either from his wife’s garments and thus hardly suspicious or from sources not identifiable. The two hairs which were neither his nor his wife’s might be useful if they provided a match with someone eventually arrested for his murder, but were as yet anonymous. The probability was that they would prove to have no connection with this crime.
There was one tangible and perhaps significant find. DCI Peach dispatched his wife to interview the probable owner of it. He thought it would be interesting to have a woman’s view on the person he had found to be the most enigmatic female involved in this multi-layered case. DS Lucy Peach took DC Brendan Murphy with her to interview Sarah O’Connor, the victim’s sister-in-law and former mistress, who was also the widow of his murdered elder brother.
Lucy had not seen the huge modern mansion where the widow of the elder O’Connor brother lived. She was surprised by her emotions as they drove up the drive and parked in the ample space by the front door. She had been involved for months in the investigation into the recruitment and abduction of care-home girls. She had questioned wretched teenagers about prostitution, rape and sadomasochism. Arrests had now been made and the local people who had driven and financed these vicious things were arrested and awaiting trial. But Lucy could not rid her brain of the thought that the money for this place had come at least partly from that awful trade.
It was possible, even probable, that the woman she was here to see had known nothing about the sources of the income which supported her luxurious lifestyle. Lucy watched the elegant, dark-haired woman closely as she ushered them into the huge sitting room. She looked too intelligent to have known nothing and suspected nothing about the darker areas of her husband’s business empire. Sarah O’Connor seemed to DS Peach like one of those women who took care not to know things which might embarrass her. She’d met a few such people in her years in CID and she didn’t like the breed.
But that was nothing to do with why she was here today, she told herself firmly. DC Murphy could do the talking; she’d listen, observe, and report back to Percy in due course.
Sarah O’Connor crossed her elegant ankles and said to Murphy, ‘I remember you, DC Murphy. You’re the man with the Irish name who’s never been to the emerald isle’
Only the English ever spoke of the emerald isle nowadays, Murphy thought waspishly. He repeated what he had said many times before, working hard not to sound irritated. ‘I’ve lived all my life in Lancashire. My grandmother was Irish, but I never knew her. I’ve never even been to Ireland, north or south.’
‘Nor had I, until I met Jim. I never quite felt at home there, when I visited with Jim. I don’t expect I shall go there much, once he’s been buried. There’ll be a lot of his old friends and rugby mates coming here from Ireland for the funeral.’ She looked round at the expensive furnishings and carpet, then out at the garden which stretched away below the long, low window. ‘There’s only me and my daughter here now and Clare’s away at university most of the time. Neither of us enjoys rattling around in a huge place like this. I shall move quite soon to something smaller.’
She’d already said that to Percy and Clyde Northcott on Tuesday, Lucy noted; she’d read the notes on that meeting before coming here today. The woman was nervous, despite her calm exterior and the cold dark eyes above the confident smile. Brendan Murphy said, ‘We’re here in connection with the death of Dominic O’Connor, not that of James.’