Close Call by J.M. Gregson Page B

husband had never mentioned this previous acquaintance with Robin Lennox, even to her.
    The man was surly, tight-lipped, cautious. Police officers are used to dealing with such attitudes, but DS Liz Brown had problems of her own to contend with.
    As a newly promoted CID sergeant, she was anxious not to make mistakes. She had been thrilled to be assigned to the team of Chief Superintendent John Lambert, who had acquired almost mythical powers in local police folklore, through a combination of longevity and sustained success as a villain-taker. But now that she was actually working as part of his murder team, excitement had turned to trepidation. The old dinosaur would surely eat her for breakfast if she made mistakes.
    And here was this surly man putting up the barriers against her and making her life difficult. She glanced at the gawky uniformed constable who was standing expectantly beside her in the airless office which had been assigned to them for this interview. No help there. He looked scarcely more than a boy to Liz, and he was watching her expectantly, as if he expected to learn things.
    They were in the rambling buildings of the Ford main dealers in Gloucester, where Mark Gregory was a sales manager. He looked at his watch and said, ‘I hope this won’t take much longer. I’ve a busy schedule to cope with.’
    â€˜It will take as long as it needs, Mr Gregory. This is a murder investigation.’ Liz spoke with a firmness she did not feel, and got a tiny crumb of comfort from the sight of her acned colleague nodding his support.
    â€˜And I’ve already told you I know nothing about this crime. I’ve even offered to prove to you that I was out of the area at the time.’
    â€˜No one has suggested that you killed Mr Durkin.’ At this moment, I’d like to suggest it, you sullen sod, but I can’t. ‘We need to find out all we can about the murder victim. And we expect the public to cooperate with us.’
    â€˜Which I’m doing.’ Mark Gregory became suddenly all sweetness and reason. No point in alienating the forces of the law, especially when they came to you in this unthreatening guise. And he didn’t want them prying too closely into the past.
    â€˜You were a partner of Mr Durkin.’
    â€˜Not for the last three years, I wasn’t.’
    â€˜A former partner. We need to know about those years when you worked together.’
    He resisted the impulse to tell her to go to hell. That would only prolong this. ‘There isn’t much to tell. We established a successful small garage. Built up quite a good reputation. He was in charge of the workshops and servicing, I handled the showroom and car sales. I thought the partnership was working well. But that wasn’t enough for Robin bloody Durkin. He had to control the whole thing. He had to get rid of me.’
    There was already enough of CID in Liz Brown to make her pulses quicken. Usually people were polite, even unctuous, in the face of death. Normally any hostility was veiled, and defences had to be stripped away to reveal the enmities beneath. This man was making no secret of his resentment: that had to be interesting. With a bit of luck, she would only need to lead him on. She said rather lamely, ‘You didn’t part on friendly terms?’
    He smiled grimly. ‘As friendly as they could be, when you’d stopped speaking to each other. He bought me out.’
    â€˜So it was a straightforward business transaction.’
    Again that bitter twisting of the lips, as if he wanted to say much more than he was going to allow himself. ‘In so far as anything was straightforward with Rob Durkin, yes. He said the business needed capital to expand, that I must provide as much as he was prepared to put in or get out. I got out. Not because I wanted to, but because I had no alternative.’
    â€˜But he paid you a proper price.’
    Gregory’s mobile face turned to stone.