Kay’s first impression of Len Simpson was that he was only a handful of cigarettes away from a heart attack.
The man buffered himself against the smooth worn surface of the bar by way of a sizeable belly, layers of skin under his eyes riffling while he watched what was happening beyond his windows.
He picked absently at a ragged fingernail as her officers hurried back and forth from the bar, his thick lips downturned in perpetual disappointment, his brow furrowed as if he were trying to fathom how he was going to salvage his reputation after the night’s events.
His pub seemed to be hanging on to trade with the same grim determination as its owner.
All around her were the telltale signs of a business in decline, no doubt aided and abetted by a clientele who appreciated the privacy rather than the latest culinary trends.
Dust covered the surface of every shelf, cobwebs hugging the knick-knacks that cluttered the spaces between flickering light fittings, and a dirty hearth to Kay’s right looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned since the previous winter.
‘Mr Simpson, this is Detective Inspector Kay Hunter,’ said Barnes.
Simpson removed a toothpick from between his lips and leered at her, a limp hand outstretched in greeting. ‘Well, you’re an improvement at least.’
Kay ignored his hand, and kept her gaze passive as she swept her eyes over the middle-aged couple huddled at the far end of the bar. ‘Can we have a chat in private, Mr Simpson?’
‘I’ve already given matey boy here my statement.’
Barnes raised an eyebrow at the man’s turn of phrase, but said nothing.
‘I’m sure you have,’ Kay said, then beckoned to him. ‘Come on. It won’t take long.’
She led the way over the dusty parquet flooring to a rectangular oak table with four chairs around it, and dragged one of them around to the end for Simpson, settling into another as far away from the landlord as was feasible. She leaned her elbow on the table, then grimaced and lifted it once more, her sleeve departing with a faint sucking noise as old drink stains relinquished their hold.
To her left, a pair of CSIs were processing a round oak table set for two people, and she nodded towards it as Simpson settled into his seat with an ill-disguised sigh.
‘Is that where the two men were earlier tonight?’ she said. ‘Including the victim?’
‘Yeah. We’d only just started clearing the tables after last orders when the first gunshot went off.’
‘What about the glasses they were using? Did you hang on to those?’
He grimaced. ‘Sorry – they went through the washer just before it all kicked off.’
Kay bit back the first word that threatened to slip from her lips, and sighed. ‘Okay. Take me back to when they first arrived. What time was that?’
‘I dunno.’ Simpson tugged his earlobe. ‘About half nine, quarter to ten perhaps. Late. They weren’t here long before closing.’
‘Who ordered the drinks?’
‘The older of the two. Didn’t talk much.’
‘Did you serve him, or…?’
‘Lydia served him. Two pints of bitter.’
‘Just the one round?’
‘Yeah.’ His top lip curled. ‘Glad they ain’t regulars. Took ’em over an hour to drink that one.’
‘Have you seen either of them before?’
‘No.’
‘What about accents? Did they sound local?’
He shrugged. ‘Anywhere south of the estuary.’
‘You told my colleague that they were arguing. Did you hear what that was about?’
‘No. Too busy serving.’
‘What happened when they left?’
‘They got up and walked out after I rang the bell for last orders. I told them to have a good night, but neither of them took any notice.’ Simpson ran a fat hand over his chins. ‘A group of regulars walked out a couple of minutes later and I heard one or two car engines start. Me and Lydia were about to start wiping down tables when we heard the first shot. We all got down on the floor.’
Kay leaned back and peered past Simpson to where Barnes waited beside the bar, his head bowed while he listened to one of the CSIs at his shoulder. She waved him over.
‘Mr Simpson, what time would you estimate you heard the first shot?’
‘I dunno. Pub was empty, so maybe ten past eleven, something like that?’
‘And the next?’
‘Within seconds of the first.’
Kay glanced up at Barnes. ‘What time was the triple nine call received?’
‘Eleven forty, guv.’
When she turned her attention back to the landlord, he was chewing his lip, his eyes darting back and forth over the surface of the table.
‘Anything you’re not telling me, Mr Simpson?’
His gaze snapped to hers. ‘No.’
‘Are you sure? You seem nervous.’
‘Some bloke’s just had his brains blown out in me car park.’ He glared at her. ‘So, excuse me if I seem out of sorts.’
‘I understand that. What I don’t understand is why you waited so long to dial triple nine.’ She pointed to where Lydia Terry was standing next to her husband, pecking at her mobile phone. ‘What were you all doing?’
‘Keeping our bloody heads down. What do you think we were doing?’
‘We’ll need a list of everyone who was in here tonight, both before those two men arrived and after. Names, phone numbers…’
‘Yeah, figured you might.’ He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘Me and Lydia started writing them down before you turned up.’
‘Good.’ Kay pushed back her chair. ‘Please give that to my colleague when you’re finished.’
She ignored the bitter snort that emanated from the man and led Barnes over to an internal doorway leading from the bar to a box-like kitchen.
Turning her back to the grease-slicked stainless steel surfaces of the worktops and gas hob, she folded her arms.
‘What do you think, Ian?’
‘He’s worried about something.’ Her colleague tucked his notebook into his jacket pocket. ‘I thought that when I first got here and spoke to him.’
‘What did Lydia and her husband have to say for themselves?’
‘Martin – he’s the husband – confirms what you just heard from Simpson. Lydia’s obviously shaken up, so I couldn’t get much out of her. I was going to suggest we talk to them both again tomorrow morning. At home, rather than here.’
‘Away from Simpson, you mean?’
‘Exactly.’
‘What about that list of people who were in earlier?’
‘She’s got phone numbers for some of them, so I’ll have Laura go through those.’ He checked over his shoulder before lowering his voice. ‘I recognised a couple of the names, but we’ll need to run the others through the system too.’
‘They’ve got previous convictions, you mean?’
He nodded. ‘Sounds like this place is living up to its reputation.’
‘I thought I recognised the name when I got the call earlier.’ Kay moved back towards the bar. ‘It’s not exactly going to win a Pub of the Year award any time soon, is it?’
‘Not this year, that’s for sure.’