OLIVER: “We failed to agree on a forthcoming merger with a larger agency—I was pro, Jim was con—but it was hardly cause for murder, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”
DS SIMMONS: “We’re not suggesting anything at this time.”
DC COATES: “You and True’s wife were lovers at one time, weren’t you?”
OLIVER: “Good God. Has somebody at the agency been gossiping? Our relationship was years ago, before Jim and Andrea were married. In fact, Andrea was actually my live-in partner before she decided on Jim. There’s been nothing between us since.”
ME: Huh!
DS SIMMONS: “Are you quite certain of that, Mr Guinane?”
OLIVER: “Of course I’m bloody certain!”
DS SIMMONS: “Well, we’ll leave that for now.”
ME: No, ask him more. He’s lying!
DC COATES: “A moment ago you mentioned being wired. Was that appertaining to drugs, Sir?”
OLIVER: “What?”
DC COATES: “Do you take drugs?”
OLIVER: “More idle chat at the agency?”
DS SIMMONS: “We’ve learned that your drug consumption was bad enough to cause problems more than once over the years, especially as far as Mr True was concerned.”
OLIVER: “That was a long time ago. I did marijuana, some coke, nothing really heavy. But now I’m clean. When I said wired, I meant uh, wound up. Wired is just a word we use in the game. You know—in advertising.”
DC COATES: “You ever heard of a Ruby Red, Mr Guinane?”
OLIVERcharacter.: “What are you talking about?”
DC COATES: “Ruby Red. Some of my colleagues call it a Rudolph. You know, Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer.”
OLIVER: “What’s your point?”
DC COATES: “Well you see, one of the dead giveaways when someone’s doing a lot of coke is that the tip of the nose can get slightly sore. Not bright, not loud. You see a few celebs with it on television when their make-up’s worn off. Nothing too conspicuous, you understand, just a little redness on the tip. Like on the tip of your nose right now.”
OLIVER: “That’s nonsense! I gave all that up years ago.”
ME: Why are you lying, Ollie? What else are you hiding besides having an affair with my wife?
DC COATES: “Really?”
OLIVER: “You may not have noticed, but I lost a good friend this week. I’ve done some weeping, believe it or not.”
DS SIMMONS: “Why were you arguing with James True last Sunday night?”
OLIVER: “Oh, back to that again, is it? It was trivial, a little difference of opinion between friends. Jim thought I was on cocaine again.”
DC COATES: “Ah, so you are still on drugs.”
OLIVER: “I didn’t say that. I’ve admitted nothing. But look, do you seriously believe I killed my best friend and business colleague? I thought he was supposed to be the victim of a serial killer?”
DS SIMMONS: “It could easily have been set up to appear that way. A copycat murder. If someone wanted another person out of the way without becoming an obvious suspect, why not hide the motive among a series of same-such murders, let the serial killer take the blame. Unfortunately for the guilty party, Mr True’s death was not quite the same as in the previous killings. Not quite the same modus operandi, you see.”
OLIVER: “I don’t understand.”
DS SIMMONS: “In the first three cases, all the victims were dead some time before their bodies were mutilated. Although there was a certain amount of blood spilt because of the mutilations, it hadn’t travelled far. Their blood didn’t gush, for want of a better word. Whereas, in James True’s case the mutilation took place either immediately after death, or, more likely, just before, as far as we can tell. That’s why there was more blood spillage than with the previous three—his heart was still pumping it through the veins and arteries. It hadn’t begun to coagulate.”
OLIVER: “So presumably the killer would also be covered in blood.”
DC COATES: “You… I mean, the guilty party would have had plenty of time to clean himself. All night, in fact. And of course, he could have been wearing covering clothes—a plastic mac, gloves, things that could easily be hidden or thrown away afterwards.”
OLIVER: “Look, are you charging me with murder? If so, I’m saying nothing more without the presence of my solicitor.”
DS SIMMONS: “We’re not charging you with anything, Mr Guinane. At least, not for the time being. But we will be questioning you again in the next day or so, probably at New Scotland Yard, so if you feel you will need a solicitor, then I suggest you contact one as soon as possible.”
OLIVER: “This is preposterous! It’s completely insane!”
DS SIMMONS: “Just make sure you’re available to us, Sir. That’s all for now.”
Finding Oliver and Andrea together in a clinch had devastated me, left me weak (and there was worse to come); now, hearing Oliver more or less accused of my murder left me completely stunned. It wasn’t possible! Not Ollie. Not my best friend. No! Couldn’t be right! Yet… he’d betrayed me with Andrea. There was I, a few days cold, and he was passionately kissing my wife in my own home. How long had their affair been going on? A couple of weeks, a few months—a year? I had no idea, hadn’t noticed any signs. Andrea wouldn’t do this to me. Would she? She’d loved Oliver before me, so maybe the flame had never truly died. Oh dear God, how much more did I have to take? Had she ever been true to me?
I was literally drooping, my knees bent, shoulders hunched; I would have collapsed had I carried the weight of my physical form. I felt drained, my energy dissipated. But the two detectives were leaving and I wanted to hear more from them. I wanted to hear what they had to say to each other when they were out of earshot of the suspect. I followed them from the house, walking close behind as they made their way to their car parked further down the road.
“How did you know about the drugs?” I heard Simmons ask.
“The old Ruby,” Coates replied. His black hair was close-cropped. His frame was stocky and he looked tough, but not quite as hard as his stone-faced companion.
“Come on, Danny. A Ruby? We both know that’s rubbish.” Simmons, his beaky nose as sharp as a hatchet, was obviously impatient with his lower-ranking officer.
“Inside info,” Coates told him. “But I couldn’t let Guinane know about that.”
“You’ve been to the advertising agency?”
“You could say.”
“Without me? We’re supposed to be a team. Shit, we’re supposed to be part of a team.”
“I’ve got a connection, Nick.”
“Don’t be playing silly buggers with me. What about this business between Guinane and True’s wife? Some more inside gossip?”
“Well I wouldn’t call it gossip.” They had reached their car and Coates was fumbling inside a trouser pocket for the key. He was grinning across the roof of the Vauxhall at Simmons.
“Okay, that’s enough, Danny.” Simmons was not at all amused. “You got me to come here after the funeral to talk to Guinane and we’ve had to hang around for hours. I’m not fucking about now—what’s going on?”
“Well it turns out that True’s wife used to be Guinane’s girlfriend before she married True.”
“Yeah, we know that. So?”
“My source tells me the affair took off again shortly after the marriage. And it’s still going on.”
“Christ. Another reason for Guinane to resent his business partner.”
“Right. That and the merger dispute. And, of course, we know that True’s murder didn’t follow the same pattern as the others.”
“What, the weird stuff the first three victims got up to before they were topped?”
“That’s it. Two of ‘em—the men—visited prostitutes before they died, right? Something that apparently was
