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‘Apparently so. As far as he’s concerned, it happens. If he tried to stop every bit of naughtiness that went on in the club they wouldn’t stay in business too long.’ Sean raised his eyebrows. ‘And young Daniel was apparently subtle about it, didn’t have too many clients, kept it all nice and low key.’
‘If I was a cynic, I might suspect Mr Young was turning a blind eye because Daniel was paying him to do so.’
Donnelly continued. ‘Either way, Young confirms that Daniel was in Utopia on Wednesday night.’
‘Was he with anyone particular?’
‘Afraid not. According to Young, Daniel spent some time with a couple of his regulars, guys who have been going to the club for years.’
‘Have we spoken with them yet?’
‘I spoke with them both myself. I gave Young my number and asked him to phone around the victim’s regular tricks. Amongst those who already got back to me are the men he was with Wednesday night.’ Donnelly flicked through his notebook again. ‘Sam Milford and a Benjamin Briggs. Both seemed pretty upset by the whole thing, both happy to provide samples. Neither great suspect material.’
‘Any other clients been in touch?’
‘They certainly have. The grapevine has been working nicely for me, but they all seem much of a muchness − all very upset, all willing to cooperate. No great suspects yet, but maybe that’ll change when I meet them face-to-face.’
‘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 they had an appointment. It didn’t work.
‘Is he expecting you?’ came the voice through the small metal box. Donnelly looked at Sean and shrugged his shoulders. Time to put a little pressure on.
‘No. He’s not expecting us, but I can assure you he will want to see us.’
Whoever it was on the intercom wasn’t easily bullied. ‘Can I ask what it’s in connection with please?’
‘It’s a private matter concerning Mr Hellier,’ Donnelly told her. ‘We believe someone may have stolen some cheques from him. We need to speak with him before someone empties his bank account.’ The threat of losing money usually opened doors.
‘I see. Please come in.’
The door buzzed. Donnelly pushed it open. They passed through a second security door and into the reception of Butler and Mason, where they were met by a tall, attractive young woman. She wore expensive-looking spectacles and an equally expensive-looking tailored suit. Her hair was hazelnut brown and tied back in a perfect ponytail. Sean thought she looked unreal.
‘The voice on the intercom, I assume?’ Donnelly asked. She smiled a perfect, practised smile that meant nothing.
‘Good morning, gentlemen. If I could just see your identification, please?’
Neither Sean or Donnelly had their warrant cards ready. Donnelly rolled his eyes as they fished their small black leather wallets from inside jacket pockets and presented them flipped open to the secretary.
‘Thank you.’ She looked up at them after examining the warrant cards more closely than they were used to. ‘If you would like to follow me, Mr Hellier has agreed to see you straight away. His office is on the top floor, so I suggest we take the lift.’
Clearly Hellier was doing well for himself. They followed her to the lift where she pulled open the old-style concertina grid and then the lift doors. She stepped inside and waited for them to join her before pressing the button for the top level. They moved silently up through the building until the lift juddered to a halt. She opened the doors and another grid. Sean was losing patience with the charade. They stepped out into the upper reaches of the building and walked along the opulent corridors without talking, the high ceilings providing plenty of wall space to hang portraits of people long since dead. The entire office reeked of money and was much bigger inside than they had expected. Eventually they arrived at a large mahogany door. The nameplate attached bore the inscription James Hellier. Junior Partner. The secretary knocked twice before pushing the door open without waiting for a reply. ‘Some gentlemen from the police to see you, sir.’
James Hellier was as elegant as the secretary. A little under six foot. About forty years old, athletic build. Light brown hair, immaculately cut. He looked healthy and fit in the way the rich do. Good food. Good holidays. Expensive gyms and skin-care products. His suit probably cost more than Sean earned in a month. Maybe two.
Hellier held out a hand. ‘James Hellier. Miss Collins said something about my cheques being stolen, but I really don’t think that’s likely, you see—’
The secretary had already left the office and closed the door. Sean cut across Hellier. ‘That’s not actually why we’re here, Mr Hellier. Your cheques are fine. We need to ask you a few questions, but we thought it best to be discreet until we had a chance to speak with you.’
Sean was studying him. In an inquiry like this a witness could turn into a suspect within seconds. Was he looking at the killer of Daniel Graydon?
‘I hope you haven’t come here to try and obtain client details. If you have, then I hope you’ve brought a Production Order with you.’
‘No, Mr Hellier. It’s about your visits to the Utopia club.’
Hellier sat down slowly. ‘Excuse me. I’m not familiar with that club. The only club I belong to, other than my golf club, is Home House in Portman Square. Perhaps you know it?’
Sean was trying to judge the man. He was sure Hellier was lying, but he sounded remarkably confident. ‘DS Donnelly here’s been making some inquiries at the club. You’ve been recognized.’
‘Who by?’ Hellier asked.
‘I’m not prepared to tell you that at this time.’
‘I see,’ Hellier said, smiling. ‘A silent accuser then.’
‘No. Just someone who wants to remain anonymous for now.’
‘Well, whoever it is, they’re lying. I can assure you I’ve never heard of a club called Utopia.’
‘Mr Hellier, I’ve had all the club’s CCTV tapes from the last couple of weeks seized. As we speak, some of my officers are going through them. They’ll be producing stills of all the people on the tapes. How sure are you that when I look through those stills I am not going to see a picture of you? Because if I do, I am going to start wondering why you’re lying. Do you understand?’
There was a long pause before Hellier answered. ‘Who put you up to this?’ he eventually asked in a calm voice. ‘Who paid you to follow me? Was it my wife?’
Sean and Donnelly looked at each other, confused. ‘Mr Hellier,’ Sean explained. ‘This is a murder investigation. We’re police officers, not private investigators. I’m investigating the murder of Daniel Graydon. He was killed on Wednesday night, Thursday morning, in his flat. I believe you knew Daniel. Is that correct?’
‘Murdered?’ Hellier asked through gritted teeth. ‘I’m sorry. I had no idea. How did it …?’
Sean watched every flicker in Hellier’s face, every hand and finger movement, every sign that could tell him whether Hellier’s shock was genuine. Did he sense any trace of compassion? ‘He was stabbed to death in his own flat,’ Sean told him and waited for the reaction.
‘Do you know who did it – and why, for God’s sake?’
‘No,’ Sean answered as his mind processed Hellier’s performance − and that was what he was sure it was. As polished as it was, as convincing as it was, a performance nonetheless. ‘Actually, we thought you might be able to help us with the who and why.’
‘I’m sorry, but I really don’t see how. I hardly knew Daniel. I know nothing about his life. We had a brief physical relationship, nothing more.’
‘Did he know you were married?’ Sean asked.
‘No, I don’t think so. How could he?’
‘You’re a wealthy man. Did he know anything about your financial circumstances?’ Sean picked up the pace of his questioning.
‘Not as far as I’m aware.’ Hellier answered quickly and confidently.
‘Did Daniel Graydon at any time try to extort money or other favours from you, Mr Hellier?’
‘Look, I think I know where you’re going with this, Inspector … sorry, I can’t remember your name.’
‘Corrigan. Sean Corrigan.’
‘Well, Inspector Corrigan, I think my solicitor should be present before I say anything.’
Donnelly leaned in towards him. ‘That’s fine, Mr Hellier. You can have a panel of judges present, for all I care, but you’re a witness right now. Not a suspect. So why do you need a solicitor? And I don’t know for sure, but I suspect your wife is unaware of your nocturnal activities. And what about the other partners here at this lovely firm? Do they know you have a taste for young male prostitutes? I guess it’s all a question of how much you trust your solicitor to show absolute discretion. And me too.’
Hellier stared hard at the two intruders into his life, small intelligent eyes darting between the detectives, before suddenly standing up. ‘All right. All right. Please keep your voices down.’ He sat down again. ‘I went there once, about a week ago, but please, my wife mustn’t find out. It would destroy her. Our children would become a laughing stock. They shouldn’t be punished for my weaknesses.’ He paused. ‘It may be difficult for you to understand, but I do love my wife and children, I just have other needs. I have suppressed them for more than twenty years, but recently I … I couldn’t seem to stop myself.’
‘When did you last see Daniel Graydon?’ Sean asked.
‘I can’t remember exactly.’
‘Try harder.’
‘A week or so ago.’
‘We need to know exactly when and where, Mr Hellier,’ Sean insisted.
‘Try checking your diary, iPhone, or whatever it is you use,’ Donnelly suggested.
