'Frankly, I'm amazed. I'd have expected you all to fall on her neck weeping tears of joy and gratitude, given the way Jett's career's been going of late,' I retaliated.
Kevin's head seemed to shrink into his shoulders, like a tortoise in retreat. 'Listen, Kate, I said when you started looking for Moira that we were looking at trouble. She was always a manipulative bitch. She loved playing us all off against each other, always had. OK, Jett's been going through a difficult patch in creative terms, but he would have come good again, with or without Moira. He just got this crazy obsession that he needed her. So we all got lumbered with her. She was only through the door five minutes when she had us all at each other's throats. I've told you already. We're not killers. We're putting an album together, that's the number one priority. No one would jeopardise that by making us the focus of all these shitty stories in the press,' he added.
'I thought Neil was controlling the press for you.'
Kevin snorted. 'Might as well try to knit a bed jacket out of a mountain stream as try to control those toe-rags. Neil's done his best, but he's got an uphill struggle on his hands. God knows where they've got some of this stuff from. I mean, one of them's even got some tale about Moira and Tamar being at each other's throats. I've a good mind to sue, except that it would only cause more bad publicity.'
'You'd have a job suing.' I couldn't resist it.
'What d'you mean?' he asked indignantly.
'I don't think you'd have any grounds,' I said sweetly. 'But let's leave that aside for a minute,' I continued. 'Cast your mind back to the evening of Moira's death.'
He butted in eagerly. 'I suppose you want to know what I was doing when Moira bought it?'
I nodded. He nodded. We were like a pair of toy dogs on a car's parcel shelf. 'No problem,' he said. 'I'd been over to Liverpool for a business meeting and I got back around nine. I stuck my head round the TV room door and said hi to Jett and Tamar. Then I nipped up to my office to make a few phone calls. Around ten, I went downstairs and made myself a steak sandwich, then I popped down to the studio for a word with Micky. That must have been getting on for eleven. He was up to his eyes in it, so I left him to it and went back up to the TV room. Gloria was watching Dead Babies on The Late Show, and I sat in for a while. I went back down to the studio about quarter to twelve, and listened to a couple of tracks with Micky, then I hit the sack. Next thing I knew, all hell was breaking loose.'
It was just detailed enough to be credible, if a bit glib. 'You don't have any problem with your memory, do you? Not like Micky?'
'I might be pathetic in your eyes, but I'm not a bloody killer,' he flared up.
This wasn't working out at all as I'd imagined. In my scenario, he was going to probe to find out what I knew then mount a murderous attack when he discovered I had him. Right now, he didn't look as if he could crush a daddy-long-legs.
I took a long swig of my drink and settled back to deliver the clincher. 'Can you explain something to me, Kevin? If you didn't kill Moira, how is it that you knew exactly how she'd been murdered before the police told everyone?'
He looked completely nonplussed. Gotcha, I thought. Prematurely, as it turned out. 'I don't know what you mean,' he said with an air of bewilderment. 'I knew the same time as everyone else. When the police interviewed me.'
I shook my head. 'Not what I've been told. According to my witness, you knew how Moira had died by the time the police released you from the blue drawing room, a couple of hours after the murder.'
'That's not true,' he cried, desperation in his voice. His eyes flicked from side to side, as if checking the escape routes. 'Who told you that? They're lying! They're all lying. They're trying to discredit me.' For the first time, his smart-alec composure had cracked wide open. He clearly hadn't been expecting this at all.
'You're the one who's lying, Kevin. You had means, motive and opportunity. You killed Moira, didn't you?'
'No,' he shouted, jumping to his feet. 'I didn't. You bitch, you're trying to set me up! Somebody's trying to push me out. First Moira, now someone else. Tell me who told you those lies!'
He lunged at me. I pushed myself sideways on the sofa. He crashed into the arm of the sofa, letting out an 'oogh' of pain. But he kept coming at me, yelling, 'Tell me, tell me.'
I couldn't find enough space to use any of my boxing moves on him. He threw himself on me, gripping me by the throat. His paranoia seemed to lend him extra strength. I'd miscalculated. This was something I couldn't handle myself. Red spots danced in front of my eyes, and I could feel myself retching and fainting.
29
I opened my eyes to a huge, out-of-focus face inches from my own, like a sinister Hallowe'en mask. I blinked and shook my head, and realised it was Richard, his face a mixture of fear and concern. 'You all right, Brannigan?' he demanded.
'Mmm,' I groaned, carefully probing my tender, bruised neck. Richard sat down heavily beside me and hugged me. Looking over his shoulder, I could see Kevin's legs. The rest of him was hidden under Bill's bulk. My boss was sitting astride Kevin, looking triumphant.
'Would someone pass me the phone?' he said calmly. 'I need to call the garbage disposal people.' A muffled grunt escaped from the body under him. He obligingly shifted his position slightly.
'On the table, Richard,' I told him, and he went to fetch it. Bill punched in a number and asked for Cliff Jackson.
'Inspector? This is Bill Mortensen of Mortensen and Brannigan. I'd like to report an attempted murder,' he began when he was finally connected. 'Yes, that's right, an attempted murder. Kevin Kleinman has just tried to strangle my partner, Miss Brannigan.'
I wished I could have been a fly on the wall in Jackson's office. The news that someone had actually done what he'd been longing to do since the beginning of the case must have provoked a serious conflict of interest. 'Well, of course it's connected,' I heard Bill protest. 'They were discussing the murder at the time of the attack… How do I know? Because I was listening at the door, man! Look, why don't you just get over here and we can sort it all out then?'
Richard, ignoring Bill's conversation, was fussing over me. 'Thank God we were there,' he kept repeating.
Losing patience, I said, 'It had nothing to do with God and everything to do with the fact that I told you to be there.' They had been my insurance policy; Richard crouching in the conservatory, Bill lurking in the hall. Arrogant I may be, stupid I'm not.
Richard grinned. “I thought that came to the same thing? You and God?'
'They're on their way,' Bill interrupted, saving me the bother of having to think up a witty reply. 'Inspector Jackson doesn't sound like a happy man.' A muffled shout from under him indicated that Jackson wasn't the only one.
It took a couple of hours to sort everything out. They'd made Bill stop sitting on Kevin, and he'd immediately burst into a loud tirade of complaint. Jackson had shut him up briskly and removed him in a police car to Bootle Street nick. By the time he'd taken statements from all three of us, he grudgingly admitted that the assault on me gave him enough to hold Kevin while he made further inquiries into his financial background. I could see the whole episode hadn't improved his attitude to the private sector.
After he left, Richard found a couple of carefully hoarded bottles of Rolling Rock, his all-time favourite American beer. He and Bill toasted each other, boasting cheerfully about their rescue as small boys the world over will do. I poured myself a stiff vodka and said sweetly, 'Don't you think we should save the celebrations for when we've nailed the murderer?'
They stopped in mid-swig and stared blankly at me. 'I thought that was what we'd just done?' Richard said, 'You said Kevin had done it.'
'That's what I said. But now I'm not so sure.'