‘She was tainted, the victim of human trafficking. Where did you meet her?’ Larry asked.
‘She came into one of my clubs looking for work.’
‘Not according to her. She had seen you with the Romanians who were holding her captive. Do you deny that?’
‘Proof?’ Grantham said.
‘Mr Grantham,’ Isaac said, ‘the McIntyre family and their associates are at an end. Are you going to sink with them?’
McIntyre looked at Grantham; it was not the look of someone he trusted.
‘I’ll grant that Armstrong’s confessed, but Samantha is innocent, so is her father. There is no more to say,’ Grantham said.
‘Not for now,’ Isaac said. ‘But we’ll be back. The vultures are hovering. Who will be next to talk to us?’
Chapter 35
Fergus Grantham considered his options at the wine bar he frequented once or twice a week. It was late at night, and the place, never busy even at the weekend, was unusually quiet. It was an ambience that he enjoyed, the chance to reflect, to consider his life and its possibilities.
He had to admit that men such as Hamish McIntyre had done him well over the years, and the man’s daughter was an added bonus. He was in his forties, still in his prime, a BMW in the driveway, an upmarket flat. He sipped at his Cabernet Sauvignon, an Australian red from the Barossa Valley.
A time to reflect, but that night he was not at ease as much as he should be. It hadn’t been only DCI Cook at McIntyre’s house who had told him to think about his options. He’d been considering the situation for some time. Ever since the change in Samantha, where her lovemaking had gone from mutual pleasure to a combative sport.
He could argue against her guilt, disputing the evidence, questioning the experts, bringing doubt into the prosecution, confusing the jury. As much as he would maintain that she was innocent, there was one unassailable fact: the woman was guilty.
‘If you’re thinking of bailing out, Fergus,’ McIntyre had said after the police had left, ‘you’d better think again.’
‘I’m not, but let’s look at the facts.’
‘Let’s not. You’ll defend my daughter, make sure it’s an unfortunate accident.’
‘Samantha’s not admitted to being in Polperro.’
‘Can you prove she wasn’t?’
‘The evidence is irrefutable. Her case is weakened if she continues to deny it.’
‘Then go and see her, tell her to follow your advice.’
The barman disrupted his chain of thought. ‘You’re not looking yourself tonight,’ he said.
Grantham downed what remained in the glass, ordered another. ‘Not tonight,’ he said.
‘Woman trouble?’
‘What else?’ Grantham said. And her father, he thought. In one gulp, he drank his wine and walked out of the bar.
The next day, he was led into a room at the prison, the metal bars on the windows, the solid metal door, the feeling of despair. A CCTV camera in one corner; a prison officer not far away, Samantha sitting in front of him.
‘It’s good to see you,’ she said.
‘Prison suits you,’ Grantham said.
‘I’ve lost weight. The food is barely edible.’
‘I’ve been with your father. We need to adopt a different strategy.’
‘I’ve missed you,’ she said.
Grantham wasn’t sure if he could reciprocate but said it anyway. ‘I’ve missed you, too.’
A brief touching of hands.
‘How’s my father?’
‘He’s Hamish McIntyre. He doesn’t let anyone or anything get him down.’
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Let me say my piece first before you answer.’
‘I trust you.’
‘If you deny being in Polperro, you’ll lose credibility. The evidence places you there, and you did scrape another car; it can’t be dismissed. And given time, someone will remember you, or a tourist might have taken a happy snap, you in the background.’
‘I wasn’t there.’
‘Samantha, listen to me. Admit that you were.’
‘I stole the car.’
‘You were unhinged after Marcus’s body was found. You weren’t sure what you were doing, and yes, maybe you felt that the woman had blighted your life, destroyed your happiness.’
‘I’m admitting to murder?’
‘While mentally distraught. Don’t worry, I’ll get a couple of eminent experts to testify, quote similar cases.’
‘Do you want me to admit to murder?’
‘It was an accident, that’s what you’ll agree to. You had left London intent on harming the woman, but by the time you got to Polperro, you’d calmed down. You found the woman sitting near the cliff, you became emotional, the same as she did. There was a tussle, and the woman slipped.’
‘Will they believe that?’
‘They’ll not believe anything you say if you continue to deny taking that car and driving to the village. This is the only way.’
‘What do you believe happened?’
‘What I believe is not important.’
‘I’d like to know.’
‘I’m your lawyer. I’ll defend you to the best of my ability. What I think is not relevant.’
‘I’ll make it up to you after I get out of here.’
‘I know that,’ Grantham said. He realised he no longer felt for the woman the way he had before. She was as hard as her father, as ruthless. She acted in the prison as though it didn’t exist, as if her reputation no longer mattered. He’d get her off the charge, first-degree at least.
***
McIntyre could not remember Devon Toxteth; there had been more than a few who had tried to ingratiate themselves with him, others who had tried to extort money, others who had cheated.
Toxteth, according to the police, was interested in extortion. The man’s death did not concern him; after all, it was twenty years ago, the same time as Samantha’s fancy man had met his end. He could remember that vividly, the man pleading
