DI Sean Corrigan Crime Series: 6-Book Collection: Cold Killing, Redemption of the Dead, The Keeper, The Network, The Toy Taker and The Jackdaw

‘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.

‘It won’t be in my diary,’ Hellier told them sharply. ‘I’m sure you understand why.’

‘But something will be,’ Sean said. ‘A false business meeting, a dinner with clients that never took place. You would have put something in there to cover yourself.’

Hellier studied Sean, their eyes unconsciously locked together. He reached for his iPad with a sigh. His finger slid around the screen and within seconds he found what he was looking for − a false overnight meeting in Zurich. ‘The last time I saw Daniel was a week last Tuesday – eight days ago.’