Time had not been kind to his old adversary. His face looked worn, greyer; the hair was largely gone and he had gained a lot of weight. He could easily pass for a man ten or even fifteen years older. But, beneath the additional layers of fat, Carlyle could still make out the same petulant child. More than anything, it was the eyes. They were the same: dead, and sullen and dangerous.
Looking uncomfortable in his suit and tie, Trevor Miller glanced at his boss and grunted.
‘Of course,’ Edgar smiled warmly, ‘you two already know each other.’
‘We go back a long way,’ Carlyle replied evenly.
‘That’s good,’ Edgar said cheerily. ‘Anyway, Inspector, you now have our full attention.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘We only have a little time, so how can we be of help to you?’
Carlyle looked him straight in the eye. ‘What can you tell me about Robert Ashton?’
Edgar took another sip of water and prepared himself. ‘What happened to Robert was tragic, truly tragic. He always did appear to have a self-destructive streak, but no one thought that he would go that far. I will remember his suicide as long as I live.’
It was a well-rehearsed opening. Bloody Simpson, Carlyle thought, she’s marked their card. This meeting is going to be a complete charade.
‘I attended the funeral,’ Edgar continued. ‘So did Christian here.’
‘It’s not something you are ever going to forget,’ added Holyrod.
‘What was his connection with the Merrion Club?’ Carlyle asked.
Edgar looked slowly around the table before his gaze settled back on Carlyle. ‘We knew him… he was an acquaintance.’ He paused. ‘No, he was more than that; he was a friend. But he was not a member of the club.’
‘So why are former members of the Merrion Club being killed off now, after all this time?’ Joe asked. ‘And what has it got to do with Robert Ashton?’
Carlyle looked at Miller, but the man’s eyes were focused on some imaginary spot in the middle distance and he refused to make eye contact.
Edgar’s smile grew even wider. ‘That is what we are hoping the inspector here is going to tell us.’
Carlyle slowly gazed around the room.
Holyrod stared at a space above Carlyle’s head.
Xavier fought to hide a smirk.
Head down, Murray scribbled notes on his pad.
‘Tell us, Inspector,’ Edgar purred, ‘how is your investigation going?’
‘We are making progress,’ Carlyle replied evenly, ‘but what I need to know from you is whether someone out there could somehow hold your club responsible for Ashton’s death?’
Edgar spread his hands out in front of him. ‘I don’t see how.’ He looked for confirmation to the others, who shook their heads on cue. ‘Robert committed suicide,’ he repeated. ‘That was the official verdict, wasn’t it?’
Carlyle nodded.
‘We had all already left Cambridge by then,’ Edgar continued, ‘but, of course, it was no less shocking for that.’
‘Yet something happened there that is coming back to haunt you almost thirty years later,’ Carlyle said, almost casually. ‘Why don’t you tell me what it was?’
‘We are simply not aware that suggestion is correct,’ replied Edgar stiffly.
Xavier lowered his gaze to the table.
‘What else can you tell me about Robert Ashton?’ Carlyle asked gently. ‘Was he ever… injured in some way by members of the Merrion Club.’
‘No.’ Edgar expressed no hesitation. ‘Never.’
‘I’m not sure that you are being totally open with me,’ said Carlyle, again without any edge to his tone.
Miller, no longer distracted by something on the ceiling, eyed Carlyle angrily, but still said nothing. Edgar leant forward slightly across the desk, the slightest hint of irritation creasing his brow. ‘I’m sorry to hear you say that, Inspector.’ He spoke carefully and slowly. ‘I can assure you that we have offered you, and we will continue to offer you, any and every assistance possible. The very fact that we are here now confirms that.’
The others nodded.
It illustrates that you’re shitting yourselves, Carlyle thought. ‘That is indeed reassuring,’ he said, ‘but it appears that there is still a serious threat to each of you. My job is to try to ensure your safety.’
‘We have plenty of security of our own, thank you, Inspector,’ said Xavier. ‘Mr Miller here is very thorough.’
‘That is good to know,’ Carlyle replied, now looking directly at Xavier, ‘but it doesn’t change the nature of the job that Sergeant Szyszkowski and I are tasked with.’ He turned back to face Edgar. ‘We must always keep an open mind about the possibilities, but it seems that Robert Ashton is the key to all of this. There must be some connection here, and it is very difficult for me to believe that you gentlemen are not aware of what it is or, at least, what it might be.’
Edgar thought for a minute. ‘We are straightforward men, Inspector. What are you suggesting here?’ Frowning, he forced himself to take a deep breath. ‘Do you think there’s been some kind of… conspiracy of silence?’
‘I don’t usually believe in conspiracies,’ Carlyle replied evenly, ‘but cock-ups, yes. You see them all the time. And cover-ups, too. Accidents happen. Things go wrong. People make bad choices.’ Carlyle paused for effect. ‘I know how extremely sensitive an issue this is, and how poor the timing. Therefore we are making strenuous efforts to avoid this business becoming public, as you know. No one wants a media circus.’
‘For which we are very grateful,’ Holyrod said.
‘But’ – Carlyle looked at each of them in turn – ‘I wouldn’t want to see anyone making any more bad choices here, not after all this time.’
‘Is that a threat?’ Xavier bridled.
‘No,’ replied Carlyle calmly, ‘absolutely not. I am simply doing my job. Unfortunately, I have seen a lot of difficult situations made worse by poor decision-making.’
‘Our decision making is excellent,’ Xavier snapped. Edgar gave him a dirty look, but he ignored it. ‘We don’t need any lessons on exercising our judgement from you.’
‘I’m sure you don’t,’ said Carlyle, letting the reproach slide off him. He was trying to sound as humble as possible while resisting the urge to reach across the table, grab that little wanker Xavier Carlton by the throat and squeeze the truth out of him.
‘Do you have an actual theory about what’s going on here, Inspector?’ Trevor Miller lent back in his chair. ‘Or, indeed, any proof?’
Carlyle ignored the question and the questioner. He had rattled their cages enough for now, and decided to back off. He would play the dumb copper looking for leads. Turning back to Edgar, he asked, ‘Could this be about something else entirely?’ He waved his hands in the air in a vague fashion, ignoring Joe’s quizzical glance. ‘Those club members that have died, was there any other connection between them that we may be missing still?’
‘It’s possible.’ Edgar made a face. ‘We will meanwhile put our heads together and see if we can come up with anything.’ He stood up, which was a signal that the meeting was over. ‘In the meantime, thank you for coming to see us. If you need anything else, you can contact us through William’ – he nodded in the direction of Murray, sitting in the corner – ‘or Trevor, of course.’
Before Carlyle could respond, Murray had jumped up and rushed to open the door. Within seconds, they were out of the boardroom and back in the lift heading towards the ground floor. Glancing at his watch, Carlyle saw that their whole session had lasted barely eight minutes.
Back on the street, an extremely well-dressed but heartbreakingly ugly woman walked by, with a massive shopping bag in each hand. Shutting his eyes, Carlyle wondered if that meeting had taken place at all, or if he’d simply dreamt it.
‘What do you think?’ Joe asked.
Hands on hips, Carlyle looked up and down the street. He hadn’t been expecting a blast from the past like Trevor Miller to drop into the middle of an already troublesome investigation, and therefore felt distracted and agitated. Calm down, he told himself, then you can think straight.
He turned to Joe and smiled: ‘I think it’s time for an early lunch.’
