‘Don’t do it,’ Marcus had pleaded.
McIntyre had known it was the time to make a man out of his wimpish son-in-law. How his daughter could have fallen for such a man, he never understood.
He thought of Yanna, the first time he had seen her, a rose amongst thorns. There was something about her that attracted him. He knew he had to take her away, to protect her, and she had treated him well, as he had her. And then he had let her go, only for her to die in prison years later.
There was only one man who could have known of her life: Charles Stanford. And if he knew about Yanna and Toxteth, then what else did he know?
He had handed over the keys to Bedford Gardens quickly enough, not once asking why. But then the man had had no option.
Why Stanford was talking now baffled McIntyre. He had to speak to him.
He phoned Grantham. ‘Throw Gareth to the wolves,’ he said.
‘If you’re sure.’
‘I’ve no time for fools.’
‘Samantha will do it.’
‘I knew she would. I’ve one more job for you. Set up a meeting with Stanford.’
‘If you’re seen?’
‘Neither of us has been charged with any crime. I’ve considered being secretive, but that would be suspicious. Make sure it’s very public.’
At eight that evening, McIntyre left his mansion in Grantham’s BMW. The police had no authority to restrict his movements or to follow him. It was clear to Homicide that the man was up to something.
In Brighton, a taxi pulled up in front of Charles Stanford’s house. No one saw it arrive or pull away, except for one small dog and its owner. One could not tell anyone; the other wasn’t interested.
***
Isaac and Wendy sat opposite Samantha Matthews. It was the same room where she had met with Grantham less than twenty-four hours before.
‘I want to make a new statement,’ she said.
‘Your lawyer?’
‘I don’t need him to hold my hand. I took the woman’s car.’
‘Why tell us this now?’
‘Fergus Grantham counselled me. I didn’t kill Liz, not intentionally. It was an accident.’
‘Do we rip up your previous statement?’
‘Not totally. I was confused, wanting to harm the woman, not sure why. And then I’m in St Austell, and there’s a car next to me, the keys in it.’
‘Why not use your car?’
‘I was disturbed, mentally unbalanced probably. Marcus had been found, and I realised how much I missed Stephen and how he had preferred her to me, or maybe it was the other way around. Whatever it was, she had been in the way. I had to continue with Marcus over the years, and then he disappeared. I can’t say I missed him very much, although he was like an old piece of clothing. You don’t want to wear it, but you can’t throw it out.’
‘Had you intended to harm the woman?’ Wendy asked.
‘When I saw her there, I wanted to scratch her eyes out.’
‘What happened?’
‘It was sunny, boats out at sea. It was so tranquil. I just sat down beside her. At first, she didn’t recognise me, but once she did, she was alarmed.’
‘And afterwards?’
‘We just talked for a while; we had a mutual history. It was convivial, but then she spoke about her marriages and how her first husband had died, and the other two had disappointed. Melancholic, that’s what she was. Anyway, we’re talking, not as friends, not as enemies, but something’s niggling her. She started pushing me, and before I knew it, we’re at the cliff edge, not that I was looking. In the end, she fell, almost took me with her.’
‘You could have gone to the police,’ Isaac said.
‘And said what? I had arrived in the village in a stolen car.’
‘You panicked?’
‘Not panicked. I was in shock, I think. I don’t know how but I walked away, got in the car and drove to St Austell. The reality didn’t hit home for a couple of days.’
‘And you expect us to believe this?’ Isaac said.
‘It’s the truth. I’ll admit that I was there when she died and that it was an accident.’
‘Your lawyer’s hand is involved here. Is this his strategy to get you out of a murder charge?’
‘It’s the truth. Charge me with stealing a car, but I didn’t kill the woman.’
Isaac and Wendy left the prison. Wendy had glanced back to see a smile on the woman’s face as they left the room where they had met her. ‘She thinks she’s got one over on us,’ she said.
‘She has,’ Isaac’s only reply.
***
Two men, both getting old, sat in a nondescript pub to the south of London. One was drinking a whisky; the other a half-pint of beer. Neither liked the other, even though their lives had been intertwined over the years.
‘You’ve caused me trouble,’ McIntyre said.
‘No more than you’ve caused me. I had hoped that I would never see your face again, to be reminded,’ Stanford said.
‘You agreed to our meeting.’
‘I had to know what you intend to do?’
‘I protect my own, always have, always will.’
‘Even if the evidence is damning?’
‘Why does it concern you? I would have thought you’d had enough of that.’
‘The screw is turning. Your time is rapidly drawing to a close.’
‘Stanford, you might have been a good barrister once, a mediocre judge, but you’re wrong. Grantham’s as good as you once were. You helped me out then; he’ll help me now.’
‘Marcus Matthews?’
‘What about him?’
‘Why was he in that upstairs room?’
‘I thought we had come here to talk, not to indulge in verbal fisticuffs.’
Fergus Grantham sat over the other side of the room. He watched the two old men, not sure what McIntyre’s plan was.
‘I gave
