A Little Learning (20 page)

Lucy Blake could not work out quite why her companion seemed so pleased on the way back to Brunton CID. The morning seemed to her to have produced nothing very new or useful.

Back in the neat, colourful flat, Carmen Campbell was wondering why they had wanted to search the place for pot. He wasn’t straightforward, that Peach. It worried her that she couldn’t quite determine what he was about.

*

Superintendent Tucker had endured an embarrassing Saturday morning on the golf course. He was a twenty-two handicapper, a poor golfer at the best of times. And this had not been his best of times.

He had sliced out of bounds on the second, found the water hazard at the seventh, missed several crucial short putts, and provided a welter of specious excuses which had only amused the opposing pair and added to his partner’s suffering. Finally, he produced an air shot on the seventeenth. Arriving at the green a moment later, he met his partner’s silent but smouldering resentment with the notion that he was ‘unable to concentrate because of this murder of the Director at the University of East Lancashire’.

Tucker normally used his job as his excuse of last resort. His frequently proclaimed post as head of Brunton’s CID section gave him a status which he felt extended above and beyond his fragile golfing prowess. To emphasize how preoccupied he had been with more important things throughout the morning’s trials, he made a great and public show in the bar of having to ring in to headquarters to check on the progress of the investigation.

But there is often a downside to things which seem a good idea at the time. The downside to this one was DI Peach. Percy divined immediately from the sounds of laughter and glasses in the background that his chief was at the golf club. ‘Good round, sir?’ he asked politely.

‘No. Bloody awful. But never mind that, tell me —’

‘Cares of office, I expect, sir. Worrying about what was going on here in your absence. We’ve been working quite hard, as a matter of fact, those of us still here. Muddy underfoot for you this morning, I expect.’

‘Yes. Slipping and sliding about. Lost my stance a few times. Now —’

‘Hope to get a game in myself, tomorrow, at the North Lancs. Drains well up there, you know.’ It was a perpetual cause for the gnashing of the Tucker teeth that Peach, a much better golfer, had been admitted to the prestigious North Lancs Golf Club, while Tucker had been turned down because of his hacker status in the game.

‘Think you’ll have the case tied up by then, do you?’ Tucker’s attempt at sarcasm fell rather flat, in view of the place he was speaking from.

‘Oh, I should think so, sir. I expect you realized we were getting near, when you decided to give yourself the morning on the golf course. We’ve been out frightening the Barbadian girl this morning, sir, as you suggested. Got what we wanted from her. Searched the place as a matter of fact. Didn’t find any drugs.’

‘Searched the place? Without a warrant? Peach, you certainly had no authority from me to —’

‘We can have the Reverend Matthews if you want him, sir. Keeping a Smith and Wesson .357 revolver without a licence. Expect we could arrest him at the end of his Sunday morning service, if you want a high-profile job —’

‘PEACH!’ The members of Brunton Golf Club looked at each other in alarm as Tucker’s scream of anguish reached them from the phone cubicle. ‘You will do no such thing. Is that —’

‘He might have passed the Smith and Wesson on to the fragrant Mrs Carter, of course. Quite possible she might have blown old Claptrap away to play girls on top with the clergyman, I suppose.’

Tucker was already regretting his decision to ring in from the golf club. ‘All I’m asking you is whether there is any —’

‘You’ll be happy to hear the Senior Tutor broke down when we used a bit of third degree as you suggested, sir. Roaming about the campus when old Claptrap bought it, he was, on his own admission. Shouldn’t be at all surprised if Walter Culpepper —’

‘Third degree? I never —’

‘Mind you, sir, I must admit I’d really like it to be your Malcolm McLean. Him being a Mason and all that. My research about it being four times as likely to be a Mason involved in serious crime in Brunton supports the view — and of course it would really strengthen my monograph if I could add a murderer to the figures before it’s published. And McLean being a member of your Lodge and a friend of yours, it would —’

‘Peach! For God’s sake, shut up! He isn’t a friend of mine, not a particular friend, anyway. And I’m quite sure you’re barking up the wrong —’

‘Drugs Squad have got more out of him this morning, I believe,’ Peach confided sunnily. ‘He’s been organizing drug distribution in a big way. Heroin, cocaine, Ecstasy, Rohypnol: you name it, your friend Malcolm has been providing it. He hasn’t been offering Class A drugs around the Lodge, has he, sir? Because that would really —’

‘NO HE HASN’T!’ Tucker saw heads turning towards the booth again and modulated his voice to a strangulated whisper. ‘And get it out of your thick head that he’s in any way a friend of mine. I scarcely know —’

‘He’s coughed on some of the big boys higher up the chain, sir. Being kept in custody for his own protection, now. Of course, the big men in drugs are heavy employers of contract killers, so it might well be that McLean —’

‘It sounds as if this Malcolm McLean might really be your murder suspect. It’s a good thing we already have him under lock and key. In view of that, I think I can safely leave things in your hands until Monday morning, when I shall expect a full report.’ Tucker articulated the last phrases carefully, in a belated attempt to convince any golf club listeners of his authority in these matters.

‘Yes, sir. I see, sir. Of course, we must keep an open mind, as you often tell us. It’s entirely possible that Malcolm McLean may have had nothing at all to do with the murder of old Claptrap Carter.’

Peach rang off smartly. Never give a superintendent sucker an even break.

Twenty-One

The phone call Peach had been waiting for came at two fifteen. It confirmed what he had suspected. Twenty minutes later, in the quaint steep-roofed cottage on the UEL campus, Walter Culpepper relived a vivid moment from the night of the murder for Peach and Blake.

By three fifteen on a gloomy November afternoon, the pair were back again at the flat of Carmen Campbell. This time they refused the offer of any refreshment before they sat down opposite the lithe black figure on the colourful sofa.

‘You covered your tracks pretty well. It’s taken us a while to piece together what happened last Saturday night,’ said Peach. His voice was so quiet, his tone so matter-of-fact, that his adversary did not realize for a moment that she was being accused.

The almond-shaped brown eyes rounded a little in surprise. Carmen kept her voice steady as she said, ‘You intrigue me. But perhaps that is exactly what you intend to do. Are you accusing me of something?’

‘Of murder, Miss Campbell. We shall charge you, presently. But there is no hurry about that. I don’t think you are going to deny it, when we’ve finished here.’

The Barbadian thought quickly: they hadn’t cautioned her, so whatever she said now could not be used against her in any court case. Perhaps this odious little man with the bald head and the jet-black fringe of hair was bluffing; she couldn’t see how he could possibly know enough to justify the confidence he was exuding. She felt the blood pounding in her head, but she was proud of the level of indignation she achieved as she said, ‘Of course I’m going to deny it. The idea that I should kill George Carter is so preposterous that I refuse even to get excited about it.’

Lucy Blake smiled into the smooth, unlined brown face, taking her cue from Peach. ‘Do you deny that you stole a Smith and Wesson revolver from a locked drawer in the desk of the Reverend Thomas Matthews, chaplain to this university? A desk which is standard university issue, like the one in your office, with either the same keys or a lock which a child could pick.’

Carmen tried not to show how unnerved she was, not just by this dual attack but by the younger woman’s production of this first detail. ‘How formal we are this afternoon! Tom Matthews sounds quite impressive, when you give him his full title. Found the weapon, did you, when — at my invitation remember — you searched the place this morning?’

She had flashed the question at Blake, but it was Peach who replied. ‘Of course not. I don’t expect to see the murder weapon again, unless you later choose to tell us exactly which water it lies beneath. We didn’t expect to find the Smith and Wesson this morning. We didn’t find the faintest trace of pot, either, or anything to suggest that you were a user.’

Carmen forced a smile. ‘I told you, I gave the habit up years ago.’

‘I believe you. It was because I thought you were a non-user that DS Blake searched your flat this morning, to confirm that fact.’

‘So I’m now accused of being a non-user of cannabis! Charged with what I considered a virtue! Abstention makes me a murderer, does it?’

‘It helps. It makes it more remarkable that you should be distributing pot among the company so liberally last Saturday night.’

‘I told you, we were all on it. I don’t know where it came from.’

‘From you, largely, according to the other people present at Keith Padmore’s house in Altrincham. Strange that you should have such copious supplies, when you’ve been a non-user for years.’

‘It was a pop concert. A Who revival. The kind where you smoke a bit of nostalgic pot, for old times’ sake.’

‘I see. Except that I don’t think you were smoking anything.’

She shrugged her lissom shoulders. ‘Ask around among those who were there. I thought you already had.’

‘I’m sure you gave them the impression that you were as far gone as anyone. Easy enough to do, once you’ve handed around enough spliffs to make sure no one’s judgement is what it was.’

She knew where he was going now. Peach was sure of that. But she was good: he conceded that even as he watched her so closely. Perhaps her experience in social psychology, her study of people’s reactions in social situations, helped her. She took her time, gave no hint of distress in the bright, open face as she said, ‘I should find it flattering that you think I was the only one not indulging, as everyone else got high on pot. But no doubt you have some mysterious agenda for me.’

Peach was equally unhurried. He paused for a couple of agonizing seconds before he said, ‘Try this one. You waited until you had engineered the situation you wanted: everyone except you out of their minds on cannabis. Then, when everyone thought you were safely in bed, you went outside and borrowed Keith Padmore’s Honda CBR Fireblade.’

She laughed. He had to concede that even in these circumstances it sounded like a genuine laugh. Then she said, ‘900cc, that Fireblade. One of the fastest machines on the road, Keith tells me. So how do you think a woman like me is going to handle that?’

‘With considerable ease and skill, I imagine. You told me the first time we met that you were a biker. Quite a wild one, on your own admission.’

‘That was a long time ago, Inspector Peach.’

‘Old biking skills never leave you, do they? I told you, I used to have a Yamaha 350 myself. I wouldn’t mind a burn on a CBR Fireblade myself. I’m confident I could handle it. Especially at the speeds a discreet woman like you would be using. I’m sure you didn’t risk drawing attention to yourself. Probably didn’t go much above eighty on the forty miles to the UEL campus.’

His chin jutted the challenge to her on the last sentence. For the first time, she was visibly shaken by the accuracy of this absurd, determined little man. She couldn’t face the continuation of his uncannily accurate account of the night she had planned so carefully. She said roughly, ‘And then I went into the Director’s house and shot Claptrap Carter, I suppose. And was back at Keith’s house and in bed by one thirty, with no one there any the wiser?’

She tried to give a ringing irony to her phrases, to underline the absurdity of the story he had framed, but Peach just smiled grimly and said, ‘Exactly so.’

Carmen paused, thought furiously. He couldn’t have witnesses, however well he’d worked this out. She kept her voice level as she said, ‘I’m a psychologist by training, as you know. I’m interested to know what set you thinking on such ridiculous lines.’

Peach smiled, aware she was feeling things out, knowing that he had the boss trump still to play later in the game. ‘You went out of your way to tell me at our first meeting that you had gone to Altrincham by train on this occasion, instead of taking your car as usual. You didn’t strike me as a cannabis user at that time, a fact which DS Blake confirmed by the search of your flat this morning. When I heard that spliffs had been passed around like fags last Saturday night, I wondered if there might have been a reason for that. And I believe that Dr Culpepper, the Senior Tutor at UEL, observed the arrival of your Fireblade on the campus last Saturday night. We confirmed that with him half an hour ago.’ He tried to make that appealing gnome’s complaint about the big motorcycle in the Saturday night darkness sound more like an identification than it ever could be.

She muttered, ‘That sod knows everything that goes on in the place.’ It sounded even in her own ears dangerously near to an admission. She said harshly, ‘So what’s behind this fairy-tale? What reason can I possibly have for blowing away a man who was my lover? For killing the Director who had appointed me to his staff and might well have promoted me, in the years to come?’

‘I don’t believe you were conducting a normal relationship with Dr George Carter. I believe that in effect he forced you to sleep with him.’

For the first time, she looked in two minds. The woman in her no doubt wanted to admit that she could never have fancied that odious man, but she said, ‘I don’t know what you’re on about. I told you when you first asked me about this: it was the fact that he had power which made me go to bed with George.’

‘No. He forced you to sleep with him. He knew something about you which could ruin you, and he took advantage of it to force his attentions on you.’

Peach was icily calm, perfectly confident, and she almost acknowledged what she had known for some time, that the game was up. The arrogance had gone from her own voice now as she said, ‘And what have you dreamed up for this? What dreadful crime had I committed that he was able to use in this fashion?’

Peach shook his head. ‘It’s no good, Carmen. We had the phone call from Harvard this afternoon to confirm that you had never graduated there. Your course was terminated after your conviction in that drug-store raid, wasn’t it?’

‘And you’re assuming that I —’

‘We’re assuming nothing. We checked your application form for your present post at the University of East Lancashire yesterday. We know you claimed a Harvard degree in social psychology which you don’t possess.’

For the first time, that loose-limbed body slumped before them. Her shoulders drooped and she seemed to sink into the big cushions of the sofa as she said dully, ‘That bastard Carter knew about it months ago. He used it to blackmail his way into bed with me last July. It was going to be one weekend and nothing more, he said. But he came back for more.’

‘Blackmailers always do,’ said Lucy Blake softly.

Carmen Campbell glanced at the younger woman, who had been quiet for so long. ‘Carter did, anyway. He was exulting in the power over me which he thought this knowledge gave him. It was an arrangement which could go on indefinitely, he said. I couldn’t stand his slimy paws upon me any longer.’ She looked from one to the other of the two attentive faces. ‘I may have done some things you wouldn’t approve of in my time, but I’ve never sold myself before. I couldn’t stand it.’

Peach nodded curtly. ‘So you committed murder. A murder you planned very carefully.’

She seemed to take that as a compliment. ‘Tom Matthews and I chatted about our backgrounds, as new members of the university, and he told me he had a revolver in the chaplaincy. I didn’t know that he hadn’t a licence for it. I hope he won’t get into trouble.’ She looked up at them, but received no acknowledgement of this belated stab of conscience. ‘I went round to the chaplaincy one day when I knew he was out seeing a student of mine. The desk was exactly the same as mine. I took my own keys and a colleague’s and opened the lock without difficulty. I took the Smith and Wesson and just waited for my opportunity.’

‘Which came last Saturday.’

‘Yes. I was already committed to the concert in Manchester when Carter rang me four days earlier and said his wife was going to be away at the weekend. I explained that I had to go to the concert, or people would be suspicious — he was as anxious as I was to keep our liaison quiet — but I’d join him somewhere around midnight for the rest of the weekend.’

She seemed anxious to talk now, to need only the occasional prompt to display the cleverness of her planning and execution. Lucy Blake said, ‘So you made your preparations with the cannabis.’

‘Yes. I knew Keith and his friends weren’t averse to a little pot. They smoked it like children given sweets.’ She grinned that broad, exciting smile they remembered from their previous meetings, and they believed her. ‘The only skill was to convince them I was smoking as much or more than they were, and that wasn’t difficult — not after their judgement had gone with the first joints.’

‘And no doubt you’d ridden pillion on Keith Padmore’s Honda Fireblade before.’

‘Frequently. I’d even ridden the machine myself, with Keith on the back. I knew he kept his leathers in the utility room of his house. I pretended to go to bed with him, then left him spark out in the bed. The other two were just as far gone in the other bedroom.’

‘So they told us. Keith wasn’t even aware that you hadn’t been in bed with him for the entire night.’

This time she looked at Peach almost as though she resented his interruption. She said defiantly, ‘The roads were quiet, at that time of night. I quite enjoyed the ride. And George Carter was waiting patiently for me, just as I’d told him to be.’ Contempt flashed into her face and her voice at the recollection of that moment. ‘He thought he was going to bed with me. I told him to turn his back whilst I took my leathers off. He liked games like that.’

‘And you shot him through the head, in cold blood.’

‘Carter asked for it! He wasn’t keeping his side of the bargain.’ She nodded, as though she had convinced herself that this was an execution, not a murder. ‘I’d forgotten how powerful a Smith and Wesson .357 is. It seemed to make a hell of a bang in that confined space. But no one came near. I was back on the bike within five minutes. I enjoyed the ride back even more than the one to Brunton.’

At a nod from Peach, DS Blake stepped forward and quietly charged Carmen Campbell with the murder of George Andrew Carter. Peach radioed the arrest car which he had waiting outside and two uniformed officers came inside and took away the athletic Barbadian. She stood as tall and moved as gracefully as if she was going out for an afternoon stroll. Their last view of those wonderful brown eyes was through the glass of the police car.

Peach watched until the car disappeared, then shook his head sadly. ‘She’ll do more damage in the world, before she’s finished, that lady.’

Lucy Blake glanced at him sharply; Percy did not often sound troubled in the triumph of an arrest. ‘But she’ll be convicted for this, surely? She’ll get a life sentence.’