7.50am Saturday 14th December
Marcus Goldman was not in the slightest bit impressed when his home phone went and woke him up early.
‘Yes,’ he growled down the phone, unable to shake the sleep from his head.
‘I would like to speak to Marcus Goldman,’ an equally crotchety voice answered back.
‘You are.’ Marcus sat up in bed and cleared his throat, sensing the serious tone coming down the line.
‘Mr Goldman, I’m DCI Barrett. I appreciate it is early, but I need to speak to you as a matter of urgency. I’m afraid that the body of Dennis Wade was discovered yesterday morning.’
Silence hung in the darkness of Marcus’ bedroom. Suddenly the warmth from his duvet evaporated.
‘Dennis? Dead?’ Now that the accountant was fully awake, Barrett detected a slightly effeminate voice coming from the man.
‘Yes. I understand that you were Mr Wade’s accountant?’
Marcus rubbed his temples, trying to clear the whisky fog that had settled on his brain. ‘I am, yes.’ The information was not being processed as quickly as he liked. ‘What happened to Dennis? Why are you calling me?’
‘It would be better if we discussed this down at the station. Are you able to come in this morning, at say nine o’clock?’
‘I’m not dressed,’ Marcus said picking up his alarm clock and trying to make out the position of the hands in the darkness.
‘You have time.’
Marcus didn’t bother to argue, realising he had no say in the matter.
‘Do I need a solicitor?’ He suddenly felt under threat.
‘Not unless you have done something illegal, Mr Goldman.’ Barrett’s words were spoken with a smile.
‘Of course not,’ the accountant protested.
‘Very well. See you at nine.’ And with that, Barrett hung up.
Marcus put the phone down gently, still trying to absorb the fact that his client and friend was dead. Whatever could have happened that meant the police were involved? He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach and he knew it was more than just a whisky hangover.
Slowly Marcus got out of his large double bed, which he slept in alone, and removed his burgundy satin dressing gown from the hook on the back of his bedroom door. Not yet ready to deal with artificial light, he made his way onto the landing and into the bathroom to shower.
He lived in Pinehurst, one of the finest residential apartment developments in the city. The 1930s building enjoyed communal grounds over which number 12 Grange Court, which belonged to Marcus, had lovely views. The second-floor apartment was light and airy and included an elegant sitting room with bay windows. It was decorated with antiques that he had collected over the years. The dining room had doors that led to the balcony, where he would often sit in the evening after work enjoying a measure of his favourite tipple, usually a single malt, while looking out over the sweeping lawns. In the winter months he took his evening drink sitting in front of the fireplace, while he read the paper and caught up with the news.
The previous night Marcus had entertained a young male guest, something he had done on numerous occasions. His sexuality, although obvious to most, was a secret he guarded. He had been brought up in an old-fashioned household.
While standing in the clean white bathroom, he observed his own reflection for a moment. There were bags under his eyes, set deep into his slender face. The whisky had taken control of him the previous night, as it so often did when he was entertaining. But most of the young, male companions who came to visit were people he’d met while walking along the river late at night. It was a good spot to pick up prostitutes looking for their next buck, in order to score their next fix. But Marcus was not an unkind man. He always treated his guests well and never expected them to do anything they weren’t comfortable with. Still, having to live that part of his life in secret had taken its toll on him, and standing staring at himself he could see that as clear as day.
Wanting to bury the memory of the previous night’s sordid encounter, Marcus ran a tepid shower and stood under the water, trying his best to wash away his sins. Had he known he was going to be spending his morning talking to the police about his dead friend, he would never have visited the river at eleven o’clock the night before.
The water could only wash away some of his guilt, and when he realised he was as clean as he would ever be, he admitted defeat and turned the water off.
Fifteen minutes later he was wearing one of his suits, complete with pocket-handkerchief and tie, and a single drop of coffee had yet to pass his lips.
Flicking on the kettle he checked his wristwatch. He had time to eat his usual breakfast, which consisted of half a grapefruit and a cup of black coffee. But on that morning, he didn’t have much of an appetite, and even more unusual, he realised he wasn’t looking forward to getting into his car. Marcus loved his MG but, on this occasion, he found himself wishing he could go back to bed. It was, after all, one of his days off. Or at least is should have been.
Discarding the grapefruit skin in the food bin, Marcus returned to his bedroom to check his appearance in the mirror one last time before leaving his apartment. It hadn’t yet properly sunk in that his friend of fifteen years had died.
As he got into the driver’s seat of his convertible, he checked his silver gelled hair in the mirror and made sure it was neat and smooth before he started the engine.
He drove through St John’s College Playing Fields, past Magdalene College and across the river, making his way towards Jesus Lane, where his accounting firm was situated. Marcus had decided the detour was worth it. He wanted to gather the paperwork he had on Dennis Wade’s business ready for his meeting with the police. Marcus was nothing if not organised.
As he removed the files from his cabinet and slipped them into his briefcase, a twinge of sadness hit him. Dennis may not have been the most exciting of characters, but he had been a good man – of whom Marcus was very fond of.
Frustrated by the one-way system, Marcus took eight minutes to get from his office to the police station. He arrived at three minutes past nine, much to his irritation.
When Palmer appeared to show Marcus to the interview room he was stuck by the man’s smart attire. Apart from the solicitors who came and went from the station, Palmer was used to dealing with much scruffier people.
Barrett, who was holding a polystyrene cup of steaming hot coffee, joined them in the corridor.
Nerves getting the better of him, Marcus spoke before either of the detectives.
‘Shocking news about Dennis. He was a fine man.’ The accountant sat down and gripped his leather briefcase.
‘Yes,’ Barrett remarked coldly.
‘What happened?’
‘His body was discovered yesterday morning by a colleague in the bookshop. We are treating the death as suspicious.’ Barrett slurped his drink.
‘On my way here, I was listening to the radio. They said it was murder.’ Marcus swallowed hard while Palmer and Barrett shared a glance.
‘Yes. That’s right,’ Palmer admitted.
‘Shocking,’ Marcus repeated.
‘How long have you known the deceased?’ Barrett inquired.
‘About fifteen years. I’ve been his accountant all that time, but I’d say he was more than just my client. I considered him a friend.’ Marcus paused. ‘I can’t imagine anyone who would want to hurt Dennis. So, what was it? An unprovoked attack?’
‘I can’t go into any specific details about the crime,’ Palmer told him, ‘but we suspect the individual responsible knew the victim.’
Marcus felt cold and wished he, too, had a cup of coffee to wet his parched mouth.
‘Can you tell us when you last saw the victim alive?’ Barrett put his coffee down and slowly ran his finger around the rim of the cup.
‘I couldn’t tell you the exact date off the top of my head, but it must have been about two weeks ago. We had regular meetings regarding his accounts.’
‘And did Mr Wade have any financial difficulties?’
‘No, I wouldn’t say so. He was hardly a millionaire,’ Marcus confessed half whispering, ‘but the shop made a reasonable profit and he was able to make a living. He owns the building, you know, so there was no rent on it. Only the usual business rates.’
‘I see.’ Barrett had found himself at another dead end and it had only just gone nine o’clock. ‘Did he have any debts, any enemies, anyone who might want him dead?’ The inspector knew he was clutching at straws, but he wanted to take something from the interview, no matter how small it may be.
Marcus sat back in his chair, looking slightly more comfortable and pondered the question. ‘Not as far as I am aware.’ He put his briefcase flat on the table. ‘I brought his most recent accounts with me,’ he added, gesturing to them, ‘if you would like to see them.’
‘That is very considerate of you, Mr Goldman,’ Palmer said while contemplating whether the man opposite him might be gay.
‘You say you were friends,’ Barrett interrupted, ‘so was there anything going on in his personal life that might have a bearing on the case?’
‘We weren’t that close.’ Marcus looked down at his manicured fingernails. ‘Occasionally we’d have a drink but most of our conversations centred round the bookshop.’
‘What about his relationship with his wife? Were they having any problems?’ Palmer could almost see smoke coming out of Barrett’s ears as a result of his frustration.
‘I only met her once or twice. She seemed like a decent woman. A homely sort.’ Marcus almost sneered.
Women like that were clearly not his type, Palmer thought to himself, if women were his type at all.
‘I didn’t ask if you liked her, I asked you if they had any marital issues you were aware of.’ Barrett was quickly losing control of his temper.
‘No, Detective.’ Marcus looked mildly offended at having been spoken to like that. ‘I don’t believe there were any problems there.’
Silence descended on the room like a fog for a moment while Barrett decided what to ask next.
Marcus spoke up, finding the silence too much to bear. ‘He was a family man, a pillar of the community. People who went into the shop knew him and they liked him. He was respected. I can’t imagine anyone who might have a grudge against him or would wish to do him harm. This whole situation is unfathomable.’ He only stopped speaking when Barrett got up and left the room, disappointed not to have made any developments with the case.
‘Thank you very much for taking the time to speak to us,’ Palmer said, feeling embarrassed that Barrett had left without saying a single word.
‘I am happy to help.’ Marcus extended a languid hand and shook hands with the inspector.
‘If we need anything else we will be in touch. In the meantime, might you leave the files you brought with you for us to look at? Some secrets are well hidden in plain sight.’