‘But you don’t think so, do you?’
Donnelly shrugged. ‘The victim’s clients aren’t looking too likely, so I did a little bit more digging.’
‘And?’
‘Okay.’ Donnelly sounded like a mock game-show host. ‘Possible suspect number one – Steven Paramore, male, thirty-two years old, white. Sally had Paulo check local intelligence records and he found this guy, recently released from Belmarsh having just served eight years for the attempted murder of a teenage rent boy back in 2005. Apparently he almost beat the victim to death with his bare hands.’
‘Nice.’
‘After his release he went back to live with dear old mum, whom I’m sure must be fucking delighted.’
‘What’s his address?’
‘Bardsley Lane, Deptford.’
‘Close to Graydon’s flat,’ Sean said.
‘Close enough,’ Donnelly agreed. ‘And he’s a very angry man – served nearly a full sentence because of his bad behaviour inside. It’s also suspected he’s a closet homosexual himself.’
‘Is that what you think our killer is?’
‘What, a homosexual?’
‘No. Angry.’
‘Don’t you?’
‘Maybe. Check him out anyway. In fact, have Paulo check him out – he dug him up.’
‘No problem. Now, moving on to suspect number two: Jonnie Dempsey, male, white, twenty-four years old, an Aussie, works as a barman in Utopia and is known to be a friend of Daniel’s, although no suggestion yet he was anything more, but … Anyhow, he was supposed to be working the night Daniel was killed, only he didn’t show. And he hasn’t been seen since. The manager’s been trying his mobile and home numbers relentlessly, but no joy. Jonnie Dempsey is very much missing. Daniel’s secret lover?’ Donnelly suggested.
‘I don’t know.’ Sean sounded unconvinced. ‘Like I said, this doesn’t feel like a domestic.’
‘Maybe it’s not,’ Donnelly half agreed. ‘Maybe there’s more to Jonnie Dempsey than anyone’s giving him credit for?’
‘Fine. Find him. Check him out. But neither Paramore or Dempsey look like they work at Butler and Mason International Finance, so why are we here? Whose day are we about to spoil?’
‘The guy we’re about to fall out with is called James Hellier.’ Sean noticed Donnelly didn’t have to refer to his notebook to recall the name.
‘And why should I be interested in James Hellier?’ Sean asked, trying to clear his mind of the avalanche of admin and protocol he’d had to deal with since the investigation began. He needed a clear mind if he was going to have any chance of thinking freely and imaginatively.
‘Show me a liar and a man with a lot to lose and I’ll show you a pretty good suspect – Hellier’s both those things.’
‘How so?’
‘Stuart Young told me that Daniel generally liked to play it safe, keep to established, regular customers, so it’s always a wee bit of a surprise when a new guy comes on the scene.’
‘And a new guy had come on to the scene?’
‘Aye,’ Donnelly explained. ‘Only appeared about a week ago. Kept himself to himself, didn’t mix, didn’t cause trouble either, but Young’s pretty sure he had relations of the paying kind with Daniel at least once. He says he saw them outside the club, before they headed off together.’
‘Go on,’ Sean encouraged, listening more intently now, a mental picture of the man they were about to meet beginning to form in his thoughts. Not of his physical appearance, but of his state of mind, his possible motivation, his ability or not to take the life of a fellow man.
‘Okay. Firstly, Young told me he had asked Daniel about this newcomer a few nights after he’d seen them outside together – nothing heavy, just small talk. Daniel told him that the man was called David, no surname mentioned, and that he worked in the City and lived alone somewhere out west. But then things get a little more complicated. You see, Young was working the door the night the newcomer first appeared, when a regular punter came in, a …’ Donnelly quickly checked his notebook again ‘… a Roger Bennett. Now Bennett, who’s known Young for years, sees this newcomer David and makes for the exit sharpish. Young asks him if there’s a problem and Bennett tells him there is, the problem being that Bennett knows our friend David.’
‘How?’ Sean asked unnecessarily.
‘Through work. Bennett works for a big men’s magazine in the West End – you know the type of glossy rag, all cars and tits. Anyway, this new guy’s been to his office a number of times to do their accounts.’
‘So?’ Sean was growing impatient.
‘The problem being, Bennett is gay, as you may have guessed, but he doesn’t want anyone at work to find out. Apparently it wouldn’t go down too well in his office. So he decamps from the club and asks Young to give him a ring if and when David disappears from the scene.
‘No big deal, but I figure if this David’s been with the victim, we need to speak to him anyway. So Young gives me Bennett’s number and I give him a ring and ask him where I can find this David. He tells me he doesn’t have the foggiest what I’m talking about, but when I remind him of the night he left the club on the hurry-up, etc. etc. it all comes back to him and he opens up. And guess what he tells me?’
Sean answered immediately. ‘He’s not called David and he doesn’t work in the City.’
Donnelly froze for a second, a little deflated that Sean had made the leap without needing any more information. ‘Dead right, Bennett reckons that David’s real name is James Hellier and he works for Butler and Mason International Finance. But you already knew that, didn’t you?’
Sean didn’t answer. ‘What you didn’t know,’ Donnelly continued, a satisfied smile spreading across his face, ‘is that, according to Bennett, Hellier also has a wife and a couple of kiddies. Interested?’
‘Hmm,’ Sean replied. He was interested. ‘Like you said, “Show me a liar and a man with a lot to lose …” But this doorman, Young, did he ever see Hellier in the club before that night, or after?’
‘No, but he doesn’t work there every night.’
‘CCTV?’
‘Their system’s ancient – still runs on VHS, if you can believe it. They reuse the tapes after seven days. The tapes from last week are already recorded over, but we can check the current tapes to see if he’s been there any time during the last few days.’
‘Get it done,’ Sean told him as they pulled up outside an old Georgian mansion block converted into exclusive offices. Identical buildings ran the length of the long road, all painted white with black windows, and doors adorned with heavy, shiny brass numbers. Pointed metal railings fenced off the entrances to the basements, curling up and along the short flights of stairs leading to the front door, where visitors were met by pristine brass plates announcing the company within. Only Arabs and the aristocracy could afford to actually live here now.
The two detectives climbed from their Ford and walked across the pavement to the building’s entrance. ‘Here we go, Butler and Mason International Finance. Shall we?’ Donnelly rang the outside security buzzer. They didn’t have to wait long. A female voice crackled back from the intercom. ‘Butler and Mason. Good morning. How can I help?’
‘Detective Inspector Corrigan and Detective Sergeant Donnelly from the Metropolitan Police.’ Donnelly deliberately avoided stating they were from the Murder Investigation Team. ‘Here to see a Mr James Hellier.’ He made it sound as if