Killing Time (23 page)

‘On that subject?’

‘Mostly. It spread, as quarrels tend to, but it had its roots firmly in the Pomona Club. It ended with me giving him an ultimatum, and him telling me to go to hell, because he didn’t need me. And he said if he got out of the Pomona Club, it would be for his own reasons, and he’d get right out of my life at the same time.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Hart, in response to Grisham’s look of appeal.

‘It was like having a bucket of cold water thrown over me. I stopped shouting and tried to placate him. I begged him not to say things like that. I said things should be whatever way he wanted. Well, he calmed down, and after a bit I thought the best way to make things up would be—’

‘To go to bed.’

‘Yes. Yes. But it wasn’t like before. I was – I was angry with him. I wanted him to admit that he
did
need me, that it wasn’t all on my side. But he wouldn’t. In the end it was – rather horrible.’

Hence the rough sex. Slider could imagine it, rather more graphically than he liked. Grisham was afraid of losing Paloma, and fear made him angry. The one situation where he felt he had control was between the sheets, and he was going to prove he was master.

‘So what happened after?’ Hart prompted after a tactful silence.

‘He left early. I’d arranged everything so that we could have a long time together. I begged him not to waste it, but he wouldn’t stay. He looked at me so coldly.’

‘And afterwards—?’

‘Afterwards, after he’d gone, I wanted to punish him.’ Grisham’s voice was very quiet, and Slider was almost holding his breath. He had come to find out the cocaine connection and what exactly Jay Paloma had done on his last full day of life; but something else was coming, something unsuspected, and if Grisham were disturbed in any way he might realise what
he was doing and shut up. ‘I didn’t want him hurt, you must understand that. Not hurt, just frightened.’

‘Right, just frightened,’ Hart agreed.

‘To punish him for frightening me. And to make him see he couldn’t leave me. After he left I had a lot of drinks rather quickly, and then I went out, I walked around – up and down the Embankment for hours – thinking what to do. And then I went to the Pink Parrot.’

‘Yeah, ’course.’

‘There’s a man there – a sort of bouncer, I suppose, though he’s always smartly dressed and carrying an expensive mobile phone. I suppose he might even be more of a manager than a bouncer. But he’s huge, absolutely huge.’

‘Yeah, I know. Jonah Lafota.’

Grisham blinked. ‘You know him?’

‘We’ve got him tucked up in custody, back at the station.’

‘Ah.’ It was a long, terminal sort of sigh. ‘Then you know all about it.’

‘From his end. Not from yours. You asked him to go and give Jay a smacking for you, did you?’

‘No! I made it very clear I didn’t want him hurt in any way. I gave Jonah money. To tell you the truth, even at the time I didn’t really think he’d do it. He knew I was drunk – good God, it was obvious to anyone. He took the money and just grinned at me, as if he found the whole situation highly amusing.’

‘Did he know about your relationship with Jay?’ Slider asked.

‘He’d seen us there together, in the Pink Parrot. And I expect Jay had told him. Anyway, I had another drink or two, and then I went home, and fell asleep like the dead. And the next morning, I thought it must all have been a horrible dream, except that I had a terrible hangover, and the money had gone all right. My anger was gone too. I just felt miserable. I didn’t want Jay frightened, I just wanted him to come back to me.’

‘Didn’t you try to get in touch with Jonah?’

‘Well, no.’ Grisham looked a little dazed. ‘In the clear light of day the whole situation was farcical. It never occurred to me for a moment that he’d do anything. I wouldn’t have known where to find him, in any case, except at the Pink Parrot, and that’s closed during the day. I did think about giving a ring in
the evening, just to ask if he’d put the money away safely for me until I could collect it, but I realised that would only make me look more ridiculous.’ He looked at Slider, pleadingly. ‘I was quite sure he wouldn’t do anything. I mean, why would he, even if he did think I meant it?’

Yes, why, Slider thought.

‘In the afternoon I telephoned Jay’s flat. I wanted to make it up with him. He didn’t usually bear grudges. I thought I might even tell him about my little adventure, as a sort of joke. I thought it might amuse him – or at least prove how much I loved him. But there was no answer, so I supposed he’d gone out.’

‘What time was that?’ Slider put in.

‘I left it until the afternoon, because he doesn’t usually get up until about half past twelve. I telephoned at about half past one, but there was no answer. I was busy then for some time and couldn’t get to a telephone, but I called again at about half past four, and again at six, but there was still no answer. After that I couldn’t ring again because I had to go to the House – there was an all night sitting – but in any case I knew there’d be no point, because he leaves for work at about half past six.’

‘Didn’t he usually put the answering-machine on when he went out?’

‘Yes. I did wonder about that. But he might have guessed I would ring, and didn’t want me to be able to leave him a message.’

‘Yes,’ said Slider thoughtfully.

‘And then the next day I saw it in the paper—’

‘Yes,’ said Slider again.

Grisham looked at him greyly. ‘Can you tell me what happened? There were no details in the papers. I keep thinking – wondering—’

‘We’re still trying to find out exactly what happened,’ Slider said. ‘Jonah Lafota apparently went to the flat on Tuesday night, kicked the door in, and killed Jay Paloma with a single blow from some heavy instrument. There doesn’t appear to have been any struggle, so it must have been quick. I doubt whether Jay had time to realise what was happening.’

‘He killed him,’ Grisham whispered.

‘We have Lafota’s fingerprints inside the flat, and we have a
witness who saw the door being kicked down by him at half past eleven on Tuesday evening—’

Grisham sharpened. ‘But he should have been at work at that time. Why wasn’t he at work?’

‘We don’t know. I’m afraid there’s a great deal we don’t know yet.’

‘But he’s dead,’ Grisham said. ‘Jay is dead. That’s the bottom line.’ He rubbed his face with his hands, looking desperately tired now. ‘What’s going to happen to me, Inspector? Am I going to be arrested for murder? I never meant him to be hurt, I swear it. Will that make any difference? Mitigation, or whatever it’s called. I loved him. I never meant him to be hurt.’

‘It will be taken into consideration,’ Slider said circumspectly. ‘And the fact that you have co-operated with us, and haven’t tried to hide anything, will tell in your favour.’

‘Co-operated,’ Sir Nigel said blankly. He shook his head slowly. ‘I’ve been the most God-awful fool. And I’m responsible for Jay’s death – I can’t get away from that. I almost wish we hadn’t abolished hanging. I ought to pay the penalty. It would be a relief, in a way.’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I loved him so much.’

Slider could only take so much. ‘I don’t think it would be a relief to your wife and family to see you hanged.’

Grisham snapped out of it, though it was the frayed snap of very elderly celery. ‘You’re right. I must think of Annie and the children. I suppose there’s no way of keeping any of this quiet? I don’t want to escape my punishment, but the scandal would be a punishment to them, too, and they don’t deserve it.’

You should have thought of that a long time ago, Slider thought, but not being one to kick a man when he was down, he didn’t say it. ‘That’s not in my hands,’ he said instead.

‘Are you going to take me away?’

‘I don’t think that will be necessary. You aren’t intending to run away, are you? What I’d like you to do is to make a full statement of everything you’ve just told us, with some extra details about times and dates that I’ll ask you about. Then we’ll leave you alone for the time being. Later it will be necessary to interview you again, perhaps here, perhaps at a police station, and the question of charges will arise. Your fullest co-operation will be in your best interests; and I’m sure
I don’t need to advise you not to talk to anyone about any of this.’

‘No,’ Grisham said. ‘You can be sure I’ll keep my mouth shut.’

‘Now I expect you’d like to have your solicitor present while you make your statement, wouldn’t you?’

Grisham gave a faint smile. ‘I imagine Roger’s already on his way here. Roger Tagholm is my solicitor. Annie wanted me to call him when you first arrived, and I don’t know my Annie if she didn’t call him as soon as the library door closed behind us.’

Slider found Joanna by Atherton’s bedside. Their heads were close together in absorbed conversation, but first Atherton looked up, and then Joanna turned her head and saw him, and they both smiled. ‘It’s the man himself,’ Joanna said.

‘Shall I leave?’ Slider asked plaintively. ‘You looked so cosy when I came in, I wouldn’t want to be in the way.’

‘We were just talking.’

‘What about?’

‘Jim has this theory that everyone in the world is a character out of
Winnie the Pooh.’

‘What I said,’ Atherton corrected her, ‘was that the characters in said book are such archetypes that you can categorise all the people you know by them.’

‘That’s what I said,’ Joanna objected. ‘And we were just arguing about which character
he
was.’

‘I’m Christopher Robin,’ Atherton said quickly. ‘The wise outsider, the adjudicator who takes no part but sees all; the Great Narrator.’

‘Also known as God,’ Joanna said sarcastically. ‘Whereas I said—’

‘He’s Piglet,’ Slider said.

She looked delighted. ‘Yes! You see it too!’

‘I shall sulk,’ Atherton said. ‘I won’t be Piglet. Joanna’s Rabbit, of course—’

‘You swine!’

‘But you, Bill,’ he went on solemnly, ‘are hard to define.’

‘He’s Pooh Bear, living under the name of Slider,’ Joanna said.

‘But with just a touch of Eeyore, do you think?’

‘Is this the best you can manage by way of intellectual exchange?’ Slider asked.

‘From where I’m lying, it’s a Socratean Dialogue,’ Atherton said. ‘Do you know what the absolute worst thing about being in hospital is?’

‘I’m sure you’d like to tell me.’

‘It’s the relentless baby-talk. At some point in history all the medical staff jointly decided that they could cope with the revoltingness of sick people if they treated them like subnormal seven-year-olds. “We’re just going to pop you down to X-ray and take some pictures of your tummy.”’ He made a sound of disgust. ‘They all do it. It’s always “just”: we’re
just
going to do this or that – we’re
just
going to cut your leg off – as if that makes it better. And “pop”. Everything’s “pop”.’

‘Pop?’ Slider enquired mildly.

‘Pop you down to theatre. Pop you into bed. Pop this thermometer in your mouth.’ He assumed a whining falsetto. ‘“Would you just like to pop yourself over onto this trolley for me?” No I bloody would not!’

‘You’re feeling better,’ Slider concluded. ‘Your word-sensitivity’s returned.’

‘It never went away,’ Atherton said. ‘I just hadn’t got the energy to talk about it. How’s the case coming along?’

Slider frowned. ‘I’ve got a whole lot of new information.’

‘You don’t seem too happy about it.’

‘Because it doesn’t make
sense,’
Slider said resentfully. He told them about Grisham. ‘It looks like another couple of loose ends tied up, but it just makes things worse.’

‘But you’ve got this Jonah bloke already, haven’t you?’ Joanna said. ‘You thought he did it, and now Grisham says he paid him to do it. What’s the problem?’

‘As Grisham himself said to me, why should Jonah do it?’ Slider said. ‘Look, a man comes up to you in a club and shoves a wad of banknotes in your hand and asks you to go round and frighten a friend of his – why would you do it?’

‘For the money,’ Joanna said.

‘A couple of hundred?’ Slider shook his head. ‘Not worth the risk, especially if you’re working for Billy Yates. Besides, you’ve already got the money. The man’s tired and emotional, and you’re four times the size of him. If you want the cash, you’ve
got it. You don’t have to do anything for it. It’s very unlikely the bloke will ever come back asking for it, and if he does, you’ve only got to smile menacingly and say you don’t know nuthin’ ’bout no money. What’s Grisham going to do?’

‘You’re assuming Jonah’s bright enough to think of all that,’ Joanna said. ‘What if he’s really, really dim, and just does what he’s told?’

‘If he’s merely obedient, why
kill
Paloma? That’s just crazy.’

‘He could have been drunk. Or lost his temper,’ Joanna said.

‘Or just over-enthusiastic,’ Atherton said. ‘You said he’s huge – maybe he doesn’t know his own strength.’

‘Or maybe he’d always hated Paloma and was glad of the excuse,’ Joanna added.

‘And another thing,’ Slider went on, ‘where do the poison pen letters come in?’

‘Maybe they never existed. You never saw any. Maybe Paloma just made them up.’

‘But he was afraid of something,’ said Slider. ‘Maybe there weren’t any poison pen letters, but he was afraid of something.’

‘Maybe this, maybe that,’ Atherton said sleepily. ‘Anything’s possible. Maybe Jonah didn’t kill him.’

‘Thanks,’ said Slider. ‘You said you were going to solve this case for me from your bed.’

‘I can’t make bricks without straw. Bring me more facts.’

‘Facts,’ Slider said crossly. ‘What are facts? You think you know something, and then you turn it round another way and it means something entirely different.’

‘Nothing is what it seems, and reality is up for grabs,’ Atherton said sympathetically.

‘That reminds me,’ Joanna said, ‘did I ever tell you my favourite Bob Preston story?’

‘You have so many,’ Slider said. ‘Go on.’

‘But this is a true story. You know Bob Preston, who used to be our co-principal trumpet? Right, well, Bob studied composition at university, and for his finals he had to write an original piece of music which would be marked by his professor. His professor was—’ She named a famous English composer. ‘He was so brilliant he scared the shit out of Bob, though he admired him tremendously. Anyway, when it came to it, Bob couldn’t write a note, hadn’t an original thought in his head. Complete
blank. He was in despair, because everything depended on this composition. Then a street-wise friend gave him a tip. “Take a piece of your professor’s own music,” the friend said, “turn it upside down and write it out in your own handwriting. Your prof won’t recognise it, but it’ll fit his brain patterns well enough for him to think it’s good. He’ll love it, he’ll give you top marks.” Bob thought this was a brilliant idea, so he got hold of a Fantasia which he happened to know his prof was particularly proud of. He turned it upside down and wrote it out – and discovered that what he had was the first movement of a Sibelius symphony.’