‘I was in the pub getting pissed. When I got there I said to the doctor, “Can you put a couple of extra stitches in down below, she’s never been very tight.”’
Rogers let out a cackling laugh, Parriam joined him.
Jacqui slapped Rogers on the arm and scowled in mock outrage.
‘Bloody chauvinist’ she said, grinning.
Parriam was shaking with laughter. ‘I must remember that, Graham’ he chuckled.
Then, in one fluid movement, he spun the .357 around, pushed the barrel into his mouth and pulled the trigger.
Fourteen
James Talbot paced back and forth across his office, occasionally stopping to look out of the window, gazing down on the streets which led into New Scotland Yard.
Every now and then he would walk back to the desk and take a square of chocolate from the bar of Fruit and Nut he’d broken up. He chewed thoughtfully, seemingly oblivious to the gaze of Rafferty who watched his superior as he paced.
‘Was the gun his?’ Talbot asked, turning back to his desk, peering at a collection of ten by eights which lay there.
‘Everything was in order’ the DS said. ‘The certificate of purchase was in the carrying case, so was his FAC
Talbot picked up the first picture.
It had been taken by a police photographer less than ten minutes after Neil Parriam had shot himself.
The body was still upright in its seat, the gun still clutched in one fist.
It looked as if the wall behind Parriam had been coated with red paint.
‘There were at least four witnesses who saw him do it’ Rafferty said. ‘No question of foul play, the autopsy
report backs that up anyway.’ Rafferty jabbed the manilla file beside the photos.
Talbot looked at the second photo.
It showed a rear view of the dead man’s head.
The exit wound was large enough to accommodate two fists; a gaping hole which showed the full extent of the damage wrought by the heavy grain bullet.
‘There were powder burns on his lips and tongue’ Rafferty added. ‘The bullet took out three of his back teeth on its way through.’
Talbot chewed another square of chocolate.
‘One of the ambulance men pulled part of it out of the wall behind where he was sitting’ the DS added.
‘Any family?’ Talbot asked.
‘A wife. She’d just found out she’s pregnant. Apparently Parriam was over the moon about it.’
‘So happy he blew his brains out’ Talbot mused, looking at a third photo. ‘Has official identification been made?’
‘They took the body to Guy’s. His wife identified it. They’ve taken her back home now, she’s sedated.’
‘I’m not surprised.’
‘She left his personal effects at the hospital.’
Talbot looked puzzled.
‘He was carrying a wallet, credit cards, that sort of shit’ Rafferty elaborated.
‘I’m not with you, Bill’ the DI muttered.
‘He had a pocket diary with him too: one of the uniformed men at the hospital went through it - don’t ask me what he was looking for.’
‘And?’
Rafferty ran a hand through his hair.
‘There weren’t many entries in it, but one of them caught his eye and he called me. He’s a good man. Observant. He was on Euston the same day we pulled Peter Hyde off the tracks, that’s why the entry in the diary made him sit up.’
‘Bill, what the fuck are you talking about? Are you trying to excuse the actions of one of our men who went through the private belongings of a dead man because he had nothing better to do?’ Talbot snapped.
‘There was an entry in the diary for two weeks ago. It said “Call Peter at Morgan and Simons”. Morgan and Simons is the firm of accountants that Peter Hyde worked for. Parriam knew him.’
Talbot stopped pacing and looked quizzically at his companion ‘So what?’ he said, finally.
‘Jim, two men commit suicide within days of each other, both for seemingly no reason and now we find out that they knew each other. Doesn’t that strike you as strange?’
‘One entry in a diary doesn’t make them bosom buddies, and even if it does it still doesn’t prove a link between the two suicides.’
‘It’s a hell of a bloody coincidence though.’ ‘Yes it is. But that’s all it is, Bill. A coincidence.’ The two men locked stares, then Rafferty took a defiant drag on his cigarette. He inhaled then blew out a long stream of bluish- grey smoke, watching it dissipate in the air.
‘So that’s it’ he said. ‘End of story?’ ‘What the hell else do you want me to do?’ Rafferty didn’t answer. ‘I suppose you’re right’ he conceded finally.
‘You know I’m right. If I thought it was worth investigating we’d be on the case now, but what are we going to
look for, Bill? Why they killed themselves? No one but Hyde and Parriam is ever going to know that. Fuck knows what made them do it, but then again I’m a copper not a psychiatrist. I can’t read minds. Especially dead ones.’
Rafferty nodded slowly.
‘Fancy a drink?’ Talbot asked.
‘Are you buying?’
Talbot nodded.
Rafferty got to his feet. ‘Let’s go then.’
As they left the office, Talbot glanced back at his desk, at the photos of Neil Parriam.
One was a close up of the dead man’s face, eyes still staring wide. The corners of the mouth were turned up slightly. Talbot could have sworn Parriam was smiling.
Fifteen
‘I tried you twice earlier on but I couldn’t get an answer,’ said Phillip Cross.
Catherine Reed continued gazing at the screen of the word processor, scanning what she’d already written. It flickered there in green letters, almost accusingly. She waited a moment longer then pressed Delete. The screen went blank.
‘Sorry, Phil, what did you say?’ she asked, the phone balanced between her shoulder and ear.
‘Jesus, are you listening?’ Cross chuckled.
‘I was working on something; I was miles away. Sorry.’
‘Was it the guy who blew out his brains in that gun club in Druid Street?’
‘No, I didn’t cover that. I’ve been at the Dorchester most of the day.’
‘Nice work if you can get it. What happened?’
‘Some visiting Arab ambassador went ape-shit and strangled one of his wives, or tried to, according to some of the staff I spoke to. She’s in hospital.
I’ve been tearing around like a blue-arsed fly trying to speak to doctors, nurses and Christ knows who. The embassy guys and security were pretty jumpy.’
‘What did you hear about the suicide?’
‘Put a gun in his mouth, didn’t he? Did you take the pictures?’
‘No, Porter covered it. I’ve been in Croydon Cemetery today.’
‘What for?’
