Backhand Smash Read online

  Three faces turned expectantly towards the man in the corner of the room. He stared blatantly at them, then said, ‘I don’t think I can do that, dear. I was fast asleep when you came in, and you were kind enough not to disturb me.’

  Clyde couldn’t be absolutely sure, but he though there might be a tiny hint of mischief in Eric Crawshaw’s tone. His features were as open and innocent as those of a child.

  Peach said with more open relish, ‘Perhaps there is someone else who could confirm to us what time you left Birch Fields, Mrs Crawshaw?’

  ‘I don’t think there is. Most people were in couples at the close of the dance. I slunk away on my own, as you would expect.’

  ‘I can’t imagine you slinking anywhere, Mrs Crawshaw. It’s just a pity that no one can confirm your movements at that time to us. Ah well, just routine, as I said.’

  Clyde made sure they were in the car and out of sight as well as earshot before he said, ‘You quite enjoyed that, didn’t you?’

  ‘I suppose I did. We’re not seeing anyone else today, so we had time to indulge ourselves with La Crawshaw. Nice to move amidst the educated gentry, as opposed to the crude yobs we usually have to pit our wits against. Or against whom we have to pit our wits, as Olive would no doubt prefer me to put it.’

  Grammar was a mystery to Clyde and he was content that it should remain so. ‘I’m surprised she was so tolerant with you.’

  ‘Product of state education, you see, Clyde. Not a shirt-lifting public schoolboy like Jason Fitton. People make allowances for deserving lads like me.’

  ‘Interesting that she should be so suspicious on her own account of Fitton and Hafeez. We have all sorts of knowledge that she doesn’t possess, but she has them down as villains.’

  ‘Interesting also that she had the wrong victim in mind. We must have a good look at this Arthur Swarbrick, chairman and bigot.’

  ‘He seems a routine sort of racist to me, after my two meetings with him. I wouldn’t have put my money on him to be either a murderer or a murder victim.’

  Peach watched the Tarmac racing beneath their wheels for a moment, then said with one of his more impish smiles, ‘It might just be Olive’s attempt to divert us, of course, guessing at the wrong victim. Quite clever, if it was.’

  Clyde rose immediately to the bait, shocked by this suggestion about his sponsor and supporter at Birch Fields. ‘You can’t possibly consider Olive Crawshaw to be a serious candidate for murder.’

  ‘Why not? She spoke with real passion when she described her feelings about Jason Fitton. And she hasn’t got an alibi. We don’t even know what time she got home last night. Eric denied her that. He seemed a little odd at that moment. I wonder what she’s saying to him now.’

  ‘Olive didn’t kill Fitton.’

  ‘She has the intelligence and the coolness to plan it and get away with it. I like her, but I’ve liked a couple of other murderers too, over the years. Olive Crawshaw had motive, opportunity and capacity. First rule of detection: don’t rule out anyone with those three until you have the full facts to do so.’

  Peach stared at the road ahead with a thoughtful smile.

  In the house they had left, Olive Crawshaw was serving her husband a cup of tea. ‘I thought you did very well, Eric,’ she said tenderly. ‘It’s a while since you had to talk with policemen, isn’t it?’

  TEN

  Anne Grice was dealing with a situation she had never encountered before. But very few PAs would have had to tackle anything like this, she consoled herself. She was a methodical person who preferred to avoid surprises. She could think on her feet when it was necessary, but she preferred to avoid that. The whole of her training and experience had reinforced these qualities in her: a PA should be calm and organized, especially when chaos reigned around her. Sometimes even your direct employer could be drawn into the maelstrom, but even then you should remain calm; it was part of the service you offered him.

  Bob Walmsley wasn’t panicking, but he was disturbed. That was understandable, with the owner of the firm meeting sudden death over the weekend. The place was full of speculation. People wanted to know how Jason Fitton had died and who was involved. They also had more personal anxieties. What was going to happen to Fitton’s Metals now that its absentee owner had met a violent end? More pertinently, what was going to happen to his employees and to their jobs? Anne knew well enough that an uncertain future was the greatest of all sources of alarm and anxiety.

  So many people came into her office during the first hour of the working day that she had the greatest trouble in insulating the managing director from the excitement outside. That was one of her functions as a PA, but she had never had more difficulty in exercising it. She needed some compromise if she was not to lose out against the chaos. At ten o’clock she buzzed her boss. ‘Mr Walmsley, there are all sorts of speculation out here and on the floor of the works. Rumour is feeding upon uncertainty, as you would expect. Could I bring in a few senior people to see you? Maybe you will be able to offer them some form of reassurance.’

  Bob forced himself to be calm. ‘Yes, I think that would be an excellent move, Anne. I’m waiting for a couple of people to ring me back. Could you bring in a small delegation at half past ten? I might have something a little more definite to report by then.’

  She assembled the group carefully. The sales director, who had endured two difficult years. The research and development chief, who had been frustrated recently by declining funds. The shop steward from the factory floor, who would be able to report to the skilled and semi-skilled workers that nothing was going to happen immediately. The senior driver, who was due to take a delivery out at eleven o’clock and was wondering what he should tell the recipients about future supplies. And she herself, who would represent the office staff and report back to them calmly upon the meeting with the managing director.

  She arranged for five chairs to be set in front of Walmsley’s desk and led her little posse in when she was given the signal to do so at exactly ten thirty. The boss looked harassed, as they would have expected. Anne glanced along the line of chairs and saw that no one was certain as to who should speak. She took the initiative and delivered the formal statement she had planned. ‘We were all very sorry to hear of Mr Fitton’s death. I am a recent arrival, but the other people here knew our owner for a long time. We are both shocked and sorry to hear of his death. It may seem insensitive to raise these matters so promptly, but we are also concerned about what is going to happen next. Most of the people who work here, male or female, have families to consider, so we hope you will not think it insensitive if we ask you to keep us informed of developments and of present thinking about the firm’s position.’

  There was a muttering of approval from the four people who had come with her into the managing director’s office. She’d said the right things, been diplomatic without disguising the real reasons why they were here, thought Bob Walmsley. She was an intelligent and highly capable woman, Anne Grice, as he’d decided within a week of appointing her.

  ‘Thank you for those sentiments. There are a couple of people here who can go back to the time when Jason’s father controlled the firm and was much more in evidence than Jason chose to be of recent years. I understand your concerns and I am doing what I can to allay them. Most of you will know that Jason Fitton had no children. It seems likely that ownership and control of the firm will pass to Derek Fitton’s two great-nieces in Leeds, one of whom was Jason’s god-daughter. I am awaiting a phone call from Mr Fitton’s solicitors which I anticipate will confirm that. As the older people here will recall and I have just mentioned, Mr Derek Fitton was much more hands-on in his control than his son chose to be. I cannot think that the new owners are going to wish to take a more active part in the running of the firm. They would, in my view, be foolish to do so, given the expertise and special knowledge possessed by its workers, not least in this room. I am sorry that I cannot offer you anything more definite than this, but you now know as much as I d
o at this moment.’

  It was a nicely turned little speech, Anne thought, with just the right infusion of flattery at the end, which was probably genuine rather than mere smarm. Bob really did appreciate the qualities of the people who worked for him and he knew his workforce well. She voiced the question she had heard circulating around the works before she brought her group in here. ‘Is there any news yet on how Mr Fitton died? The radio and television said it was being treated as a suspicious death.’

  ‘The chief investigating officer came to see me yesterday. I wasn’t able to help him much, but I suppose he thought that as the senior employee in the firm I might be able to provide useful information. It seems that Mr Fitton died after the summer ball at Birch Fields Tennis Club on Saturday night. I was not at the dance myself, but I think the police are treating his death as murder or manslaughter; they certainly spoke of him as a victim.’

  Even in this small group, there was the tiny frisson of excitement that mention of the greatest crime of all invariably rouses. Anne Grice thought at first that there were no questions from her little group, as people clutched their files and prepared to go back and report to their juniors. But David Browne, the man in charge of research and development, had not moved at all. He was a thin, intense man with thick horn-rimmed glasses which he had not changed for years and a receding hairline that made him look older than he was. He now said abruptly, ‘Do you think there will be an increase in the funds allotted to research and development, Mr Walmsley? Our budget has been pared to a minimum and the firm is going to suffer for that in the coming years unless it is restored. I think you agree with me on this.’

  Walmsley handled this unexpected and rather premature bid for funds and special consideration rather well. He smiled affectionately at Browne, reducing the tension that his plea had aroused amongst the others. ‘I do agree, David, and I shall be putting the case for increased research funding as soon as the opportunity arises. But the answer to your question can only be that I do not know as yet. As soon as I learn more, I promise that you will all share that knowledge. Perhaps we could agree now to meet at the same time on Thursday morning, when I shall bring you up to date with whatever developments take place in the next three days. If you cannot be here yourself, please delegate someone else to attend. Meanwhile, I look to senior people like you to bring as much calm as you can into what is a distressing situation for all of us.’

  He was still sitting at his desk when Anne came back into the room to see what he next required on this most extraordinary of Monday mornings. ‘Could you bring me in the latest auditors’ report on the state of the business and the latest detailed profit and loss figures, Anne? I need to be precisely informed when I speak to the new owners in an hour or so.’

  He was certain to be that, thought Anne, as she extracted the relevant papers. Bob was of the old school: he preferred to be able to refer to papers in front of him rather than reading things on a computer screen. He felt more confident that way, he said. He was a good man, her new boss, as well as competent. He was quite sincere when he said he wanted to safeguard the futures of all the people who worked here.

  She took in the files and he asked her to sit down, because he wanted to dictate letters to alleviate the anxieties of important customers and trading partners. He looked a little drawn and tired, but quite calm. He flicked through the profit and loss accounts, then gave her the first smile she had seen from him in two hours. He leaned back, making a conscious effort to relax in his leather chair.

  He looked her full in the face and said slowly, ‘Life is going to be a little more straightforward for us, from now on.’

  Shirley Swarbrick let the CID officers into the house. She’d studied them closely as they arrived and introduced themselves. There were two of them: a big black detective sergeant who rather frightened her and a detective chief inspector who bounced in as if he couldn’t wait to get moving. Well, at least they’d sent the man in charge of the case, even if he didn’t look very impressive. The senior man was what was appropriate, in view of her husband’s standing and his position as chairman of the tennis club.

  ‘Mr Swarbrick will see you in the living room,’ she announced magisterially. ‘I’m sure that you will have no objection to my presence.’

  ‘We need to see him alone, I’m afraid. If you would like to provide us with a cup of tea or coffee, that would be much appreciated.’

  ‘But I might be able to contribute bits of information that my husband has omitted. He tends to overlook things which a woman notices.’

  ‘Does he, indeed? Well, in that case we shall need to probe his memory. And we may even need to see you alone at a later date, Mrs Swarbrick, depending on how things go. People recall things differently, you see. They even contradict each other on occasions, and that is usually of great interest to us. That’s one of the main reasons we like to speak to people separately.’

  Arthur Swarbrick had appeared in the hall halfway though this. He resolved the matter by saying, ‘In that case I think it would be best if we spoke in my study, gentlemen.’ He led them into a small room at the front of the house and shut the door comprehensively behind them. ‘Women!’ he said, and cast his eyes to heaven, as if hoping that the single word would establish a significant male bond between three very different men.

  Peach sat down unhurriedly in the chair indicated to him and said briskly, ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Peach. You already know Detective Sergeant Northcott.’

  ‘I do indeed.’ Swarbrick masked any antipathy behind a mask of affability. ‘Bad business, this. Bad for the tennis club.’

  ‘And bad for you as the chairman of it, I expect. Won’t help recruitment, will it – a murder on the premises?’

  ‘A murder, Chief Inspector? You’re convinced Jason’s death was that, then?’

  ‘We are, Mr Swarbrick. The official confirmation will take a little time, but we have to get on with things, make an arrest as quickly as we can. That’s why we’re here this morning – not to make an arrest, unless you care to make a confession, but to press forward our enquiries.’

  Arthur volunteered a rather uncertain laugh. The mention of a confession seemed to call for that. He found that the two men who sat with him scarcely smiled. Instead, Peach said, ‘You have a senior position at Birch Fields. You have been around for a long time. You are no doubt well equipped to tell us more than anyone else can about what goes on there.’

  ‘I’m not sure about that.’ Arthur, who’d been determined to be urbane and in control of events before they came, already felt uneasy. ‘I don’t play as much as I used to, and there are no doubt younger members who—’

  ‘Our team is busy speaking to some of them at this very moment, Mr Swarbrick. In particular, to those who attended the summer ball on Saturday night. We ourselves have already spoken with Mrs Crawshaw, as well as with the managing director of Fitton’s Metals.’

  Peach sat back and looked with satisfaction at his shining toecaps for a moment, giving Swarbrick the impression that they already knew many significant facts and that he had better be very careful about what he said this morning. Arthur said nervously, ‘It’s a mystery to me how this could happen at Birch Fields.’

  ‘Is it really, sir? Well, less of a mystery than it is to us at the moment, no doubt, because we have no knowledge of the club and what goes on there.’

  Arthur tried to lighten things a little. ‘That’s not entirely true, is it, Chief Inspector? Your sergeant here has recently become a member of our club. He was present, indeed, on Saturday evening, along with one of our lady playing members, who I understand is now a member of your staff.’

  ‘DS Northcott is indeed now a member at Birch Fields. I didn’t even know he played tennis until quite recently. Dark horse, isn’t he?’

  Peach beamed affably at Swarbrick, who had hoped for a ridiculous moment that this was an allusion to the colour of Northcott’s skin. He said uneasily, ‘I haven’t had the chance to get to know Clyde we
ll, as yet.’

  ‘Really? Well, I expect you will be making every effort to get to know him better during the coming weeks. Assuming that you are not under arrest and held in custody during that time, of course.’ Peach nodded thoughtfully at that possibility, ignoring another awkward laugh from Swarbrick. ‘I understand from Mrs Crawshaw that you welcomed DS Northcott as your newest member on Saturday night.’

  Arthur had been wishing bitterly before they came that he had not snubbed Northcott so decisively at the ball. He was even more embarrassed to find the man now in front of him, watching his every move and assisting in the investigation of a murder. ‘Yes. I didn’t have as much time for conversation as I would have liked. I had to get round as many of my members as I could. It was no more than a formal greeting.’

  ‘Or non-greeting, as the case might be.’ Peach nodded happily. ‘Well, it doesn’t seem to have any bearing on what happened later. DS Northcott hasn’t reported any suspicious behaviour on your part.’

  ‘I should hope not.’ The third of Arthur’s nervous laughs sounded loud in the small, quiet room. They had become progressively more desperate.

  ‘Jason Fitton died in the car park at Birch Fields, probably, but not certainly, in the hour after the dance was concluded – that is, between one and two a.m. yesterday. You saw him during the evening?’

  The man made a simple fact sound like an accusation, Arthur thought. ‘I did, as did lots of other people.’

  ‘Did you speak to him during your original round of greetings? The one in which you spoke to PC Brockman and ignored DS Northcott?’

  Arthur almost contested this. But the man he had insulted was sitting watchfully in front of him, though he had said not a word as yet. He decided just in time that it was better to ignore it. ‘No. Jason did not arrive until later in the evening. At around half past ten, I think. I hadn’t seen him before then.’