And even though his access to photographic chemicals meant Desmond Halloran could probably get his hands on cyanide without too much trouble, I reckoned the police weren’t even going to think about suspecting him while they had Simon and Sandra behind bars. Besides, according to Alexis, the Hallorans were supposed to have had an idyllic marriage. No one had an inkling that Desmond Halloran’s Wednesday afternoons were spent in a motel room near War-rington.
The smooching noises had begun again. Then Gail said, “In a year or so, when we’ve got to know each other because of the court cases we’ll be filing against Kerrchem, no one will be surprised when we decide to get married. After all, we’ll have had so much in common.”
Desmond giggled, an irritating, high-pitched whinny. Never mind his murderous instincts, that giggle alone should have put any reasonable woman off him for life. “Talk about coincidence,” he cackled. “I bet those two blackmailers are sweating.”
After that, things got a lot less interesting for me, though Gail and Desmond obviously thought different. There was a lot of kissing and groaning and embarrassing lines like, “Give it to me, big boy.” Then they were grunting like a pair of Wimbledon champions. I pulled out the earpiece in disgust. It’s not that I’m a prude, but it felt like this pair were shagging in an open grave. I sat patiently on the bed, watching the winking red light on the tape machine that told me it was recording. After an hour, I reckoned I’d got more than enough to nail the scumbags.
It was time to go and play at good citizens.
25
I DUMPED ANOTHER ONER ON JANICE’S DESK. “YOU’VE GOT AN office through the back?“ I asked.
She nodded, never taking her eyes off the money. “I’d like to use the phone there for a couple of minutes. I know you’re not suppose to allow customers access to your phone, never mind your office, but if anyone kicks off, tell them I said it was an emergency.” I winked again. Strange how I develop that tic whenever I’m sharing my wealth with the less fortunate.
Janice lifted the access flap at the side of the reception desk and I went through to the tiny office, closing the door behind me. I rang the familiar number of Greater Manchester police and asked for the Stockport incident room. The detective who answered didn’t seem very keen to put me through to Inspector Jackson. He told me firmly that anything I had to say to the boss could equally be said to him. Clearly a man desperate for Brownie points. “I know he wants to talk to me,” I insisted. “He wants to talk to me so badly that he’s had two of his lads sitting outside my house for the last two days.”
“Hold on,” he said grudgingly. “I’ll see if he’s free.”
Jackson came on the line immediately. “At last,” he said grimly. “Why have you been avoiding me, Miss Brannigan? I thought you were very hot on civic duty the last time we spoke.”
“I’m sorry, Inspector, I’ve been a bit busy. And I knew you wouldn’t be very keen to take me seriously since the last criminals I handed over to you weren’t exactly what you were looking for.”
He sighed. “Cut the smartass remarks and get to the beef,” he said. “When are you coming in to talk to me?”
“I rather thought you might want to come to me,” I said sweetly. “I have something I’d like you to hear. I’ll happily play it over the phone, though I don’t know how well you’ll be able to hear it.”
“If you’ve been interfering with my case again…” he said heavily, letting some unspoken threat hang in the air. I wasn’t scared; I’ve been threatened by experts.
“Just listen, please.” I pressed play and held the speaker of the cassette player up to the mouthpiece of the phone. I’d rewound to the crucial exchange where Gail had conveniently outlined the murder plan. I let the tape run for a few minutes, then clicked it off. “The voices you just heard are Grail Morton and Desmond Halloran. I’ve only just made this recording. The pair of them are still in Room 103 at the Warrington Motorway Motel. If you hurry, you might just catch them at it.”
As I replaced the receiver, I heard a splutter of rage from Jackson. Like the man said, I’m into performing my civic duty. I didn’t want him to waste time cursing me out when he should be jumping in a motor and shooting over here, sirens blaring and lights flashing.
I thanked Janice politely for the use of her phone and handed back my room key. I went out to the car park and sat in my car. I don’t know what I was planning to do if they’d left before the police got there, but I didn’t have to make any decisions. A bare twenty minutes after I’d called, a pair of unmarked police cars screamed into the car park. I was impressed. They must have really hammered it.
Jackson jumped out and ran across to my car. He looked as if he wanted to hit me. “They still in there?” he demanded. “Present and correct.” “Wait here,” he commanded. “My pleasure,” I said.
Jackson went back to his officers and the six of them went into a huddle. After a moment, the only woman there peeled off from the main group and walked across to my car. She opened the passenger door and plonked herself in the seat next to me. “It’s nice to be trusted,” I commented dryly.
She grinned. “After the way you’ve been giving him the runaround, just be grateful you’re not cuffed to the back bumper of his motor,” she said. “I’m Linda Shaw, by the way. DC Shaw.”
“Kate Brannigan,” I said.
“Oh, I know exactly who you are, Ms. Brannigan. My guv’nor says you’ve got something for us?”
I watched Jackson lead his troops into the motel. I had a momentary pang of sympathy for Janiee. I hoped the six hundred would be enough to make her feel reasonably cheerful about having been had over. Once they’d gone inside, I took the tape out of the recorder and handed it over to Linda Shaw. “I take it this will come under the heading of anonymous tip-off when the case comes to court?”
“I’d imagine so. I don’t think giving your agency good publicity is high on my guv’nor’s Christmas list. Now, where else would you expect us to go looking for evidence that might strengthen our case?”
I liked Linda Shaw. She spoke my language. None of the bluster or intimidation of her boss had rubbed off on her. Like me, she’d developed her own style, complete with techniques that got quicker results than the heavy-handed approach without alienating everyone along the way. I made a mental note to mention her name to Delia. Any woman trying to make it through the male-dominated hierarchy of the police needs all the help she can get. I stared straight ahead and said, “For it to get as far as murder, this affair must have been going on for a while. I’d have thought the hotel records would indicate how long. So they must have had some means of communication. If I had access to that sort of information, I’d take a long hard look at the phone bills at the Cob and Pen and at DJH Portraits.”
Linda smiled and took out her notebook. As she scribbled a reminder to herself, she said, “You do realize you’re going to have to come back with us and give a full statement this time? Not just about this, but about the Kerrchem sabotage?”
I sighed, resigned to my fate. “I spent yesterday evening in the nick helping the Art Squad and the Drugs Squad with their inquiries. Much more of this, and I’m going to be asking for overtime.”
Linda chuckled. “You’ve got more chance of getting it out of your clients than out of our budget. Listen, would you prefer it if I took your statement?”
Another careerist. But this time, it suited me to go along. “Do you really think Jackson’s going to give up the opportunity to make my life seriously uncomfortable1?”
Linda nodded toward the door of the motel. A man I took to be Desmond Halloran was stumbling toward the car park, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and a policeman on each arm. “I think Inspector Jackson’s going to have his hands full with those two. Just thank your lucky stars that from here on in, you’re a bit player.”