‘You mean that if I wasn’t close to Jim I become a suspect.’
‘I mean that your complete frankness would not only be appreciated but would be much the best policy for you. Any attempt at deception in a murder enquiry would be ill-advised; it would excite suspicion. That much will be obvious to an intelligent man with a Jesuit education.’ This time Peach’s smile had a hint of impish enjoyment.
Dominic O’Connor ran a hand swiftly through his rather untidy fair hair. His brown eyes glittered, but he spoke evenly enough. ‘Jim and I were never close. I could have worked with him — for him — but I had other options. He thought I was a Puritan, I thought he was too much of a Cavalier.’
‘You mean he took short cuts in his business affairs.’
‘I wouldn’t have put it like that. But yes, he was a little too free and easy for my tastes. He made rapid progress, but to my mind he was a chancer. We had different temperaments, I suppose. But he could laugh at me and what he called my caution. He expanded quickly. As you say, he diversified.’ This time it was Dominic O’Connor who gave the word a slight ironic emphasis.
‘You’re an accountant, I believe.’
‘I’m a financial manager in a smallish firm. But the basis of that is accountancy, yes.’
‘But you don’t believe in cutting corners.’
‘I believe in operating within the law. I may not have moved as far or as fast as Jim, but I’m successful in my own way.’
‘I imagine these different attitudes must have led to a lot of tension between the two of you.’
‘You shouldn’t imagine, DCI Peach. You should confine yourself to facts. And the fact of this matter is that Jim and I got on perfectly well with each other. We’d agreed to go our separate ways and we didn’t spend much time in each other’s houses. But our wives got on perfectly well — probably better than Jim and I did. We’ve met up mainly on family occasions, over the last few years, but we got on quite adequately with each other.’
‘“Quite adequately”. That is a strange phrase for brothers.’
‘But well chosen, I think. It implies a lack of passion. You need passion to kill a man the way my brother was killed.’
‘Or a good reason.’
‘All right, or a good reason. As I had neither of these, you can conclude that I did not kill my brother.’
‘So who did, Mr O’Connor?’
‘Surely that’s for you to discover. With the vast range of resources available to the police service.’
‘And the full and intelligent cooperation of those civilians in a position to help us. That’s why I’m asking you who you think killed your brother.’
‘I’ve no idea. I’ve given it plenty of thought, but I’m no nearer to an answer than I was when it happened on Monday night. And before you say that I must have some ideas, I would remind you that we’ve spent some time establishing that I was no longer in close touch with either Jim or his associates.’
Peach gave the tiniest nod to Northcott. The detective sergeant cleared his throat and said formally, ‘Where were you at the time of this death, Mr O’Connor?’
Dominic looked at the dark, unrevealing features as if he suspected a trap. ‘As I understand it, no one knows the precise moment of death. When the interval was announced, I left my chair and moved across the room to speak with my niece, my sister’s daughter. Even you may well conclude that was an innocent mission, since Alison is thirteen.’
Clyde Northcott made a note and remained impassive. ‘And did you then return to your seat?’
Dominic O’Connor regarded him steadily for a moment, his brown eyes alert, assessing. Then he said sardonically, ‘Not immediately, no. I moved around, chatted to one or two people I knew. Then I went to the Gents’ and did the same thing in there. I also had a pee.’
‘How long were you missing from the main banqueting hall?’
‘You mean did I have the opportunity to creep outside and commit fratricide, don’t you? That’s the word for it, you know, in case coppers don’t have a Jesuit education.’ In his wish to score a meaningless point, he’d almost said ‘black coppers’. That showed how carefully you needed to watch your words, that did, he told himself.
Northcott said calmly, ‘It’s a question our team will be asking of everyone who was present on Monday night. Unless we make an arrest before the process is completed, of course. Do you own a firearm, Mr O’Connor?’
‘No. I don’t need one in the sort of work I do.’
‘But you imply that your brother did. Did he carry a pistol?’
‘I don’t know. I think he might have done. I think I would have done, if I’d moved among the people he associated with and the rivals he dealt with.’ For a moment, his distaste for the dead man flared about Dominic’s lips. It was instantly dismissed.
Peach stood up. ‘In the meantime, we’d like you to go on thinking, Mr O’Connor. You’re a shrewd and intelligent man. You also know a lot of the people who were at that function better than any detective. If you have any thoughts, please ring this number: whatever you say will of course be treated in the strictest confidence.’
They’d arranged to meet and this is where it had to be. Steve Tracey didn’t like it, but he wasn’t in a position to call the shots.
The big Toyota saloon drew up alongside the murdered man’s head of security on the top of the multi-storey car park. He’d specified the spot himself. The woman on the other end of the line had gone away to consult, then returned to the phone and agreed to it. They’d determined on the multi-storey, but he’d said it must be on the top floor. Somehow, he felt more public up here; with the open air around him and the sky above him, he must surely be safer. Now he wondered whether that was so.
The window beside the driver slid slowly down. ‘Hop into the back, Mr Tracey,’ the face said with false cheerfulness.
‘No way. You get out and we talk here.’
The big face beamed like that of a man with four aces in his hand. ‘You don’t have a choice, Steve.’ He grinned sideways at the invisible muscle beside him, then repeated, ‘Hop into the back, Mr Tracey.’
Steve opened the door, slid his bulk swiftly over the leather of the rear seat. One down already. But with his employer dead, he didn’t see how he could call the shots.
‘Boss wants to see you. You could be a fortunate man.’
They were the only words spoken in fourteen miles. They drove fast, over the moors on the A666 to Bolton, through the town and into the urban sprawl where it merged into greater Manchester. Tracey didn’t know this area and he was correspondingly more nervous. If they beat him up and pitched him out here, he wouldn’t know where to turn for help. If they shot him, there were plenty of places beneath water or concrete where they could dump his corpse so that it would never be seen again. Strange roads and strange buildings brought the sort of wild fears which you did not feel on your own patch.
He said nothing. They wouldn’t answer his questions and he wasn’t going to attempt any other sort of talk with men like this. They were alien, yet strangely like himself. They were acting under orders and they had no interest in him, unless he prevented those orders being carried out. He knew one of these men and that told him a lot. He thought he knew who they worked for. He wondered whether it was one of the two close-shaven, squat men he could see in front of him who had shot his boss. And then he wondered as he moved off his own patch and on to theirs whether they were going to shoot him.
It was a hut on a building site where they finally stopped. A strange, deserted, sinister place. Silent when it should have been noisy, quiet and motionless when it should have been busy with activity. The gorilla got out of the driving seat and looked at Tracey curiously. Strangely, his thickset shape and unintelligent features gave Steve reason to hope. This was low-level security, the kind of loyal, unquestioning thug he would have used himself for enforcement work, for scaring small people into a resentful obedience. If they’d been licensed to kill him or even rough him up, they’d have done it in a dark alley somewhere, not brought him here.