Daisy in Chains(80)

CLIFTON OCCUPIES THE high ground – geographically speaking, if not morally. It stands on the east of Avon Gorge, overlooking the river and much of the city, but its grand Georgian terraced houses were built on the profits of tobacco and slavery. Number 12 Goldney Road is a four-storey, end-of-terrace property, occupied by Oliver Pearson, his wife Lisa and their two young children.

Like her husband, Lisa Pearson is a registrar at the Bristol Royal Infirmary. She has been on maternity leave since her oldest child, a three-year-old daughter, was born. The couple admit Maggie into their home without enthusiasm.

‘Hamish is wasting your time,’ Oliver Pearson is telling her now. ‘Chablis?’ Without waiting for an answer he pours wine into a glass the size of a goldfish bowl. It isn’t intended for her, though. He raises it to his lips in the manner of someone who has been looking forward to his first drink for some time.

‘Thank you, but I came by car.’

‘Lisa?’ He holds the bottle up as his wife, all honey-blonde hair, hockey thighs and active breasts comes back into the room. She holds a baby against one shoulder and barely looks at her husband. ‘It would be quicker to put it in a bottle and give it straight to Ludo.’

She empties the last few drops from a toddler’s cup into the sink. ‘Coco wants you to kiss her goodnight, by the way. If you can remember where her bedroom is.’

Pearson’s face tightens. He hasn’t offered Maggie a seat, or to take her coat, and she is hovering, uncomfortably, in the middle of the room.

‘Hamish was best man at your wedding,’ she says.

A surly nod. ‘That’s right.’

‘And godfather to Coco,’ Lisa says. ‘I can’t tell you how that goes down at mother and toddler groups.’

‘You must have good reason to believe your former best friend guilty of three murders, Mr Pearson.’

‘Four murders.’ Lisa Pearson’s eyes go from Maggie to her husband.

‘Mr Pearson?’

‘Justice in this country is weighted in favour of the guilty.’ Apart from the glass in his hand, Pearson looks like a pontificating school teacher. ‘Far more guilty people go free than innocent people are wrongly convicted. If Hamish was found guilty, it would have been for good reason.’

‘That’s an argument I would expect from a perfect stranger. You were his friend.’

‘So?’

‘So you would have an informed opinion on whether or not your former friend is capable of killing three women.’

‘Four.’ Lisa, on the periphery of the conversation, is not going to be left out of it entirely.

‘So was he?’

Pearson sniffs loudly. ‘What do you want me to say?’

‘I want you to tell me why you think Hamish Wolfe capable of killing three women.’

There comes an audible exhalation from the far side of the room. ‘Am I the only one in this room who can count?’

‘Does he have a history of violence? Did you see him mistreat women? Was he abused as a child? Did he show any signs of a mental disorder? You’re a doctor, you’d spot a problem in someone you knew well. Was he on medication? Did he seek counselling? Did he ever say or do anything that made you question, in any way, his mental stability?’

‘Whoa!’ Pearson puts his glass down and holds up both hands. ‘You’re not in a court now, love. You’re in my house. Have you spoken to the others? Warwick? Chris? Simon?’

‘No, you were the only one who would take my call.’

‘More fool you,’ snaps his wife. ‘Anything for a bit of attention.’

Pearson’s head whips round as though someone has slapped him. ‘Well, I get precious little in this house.’

Maggie speaks quickly to get their focus back on her. ‘I intend to get Hamish’s conviction overturned and my best chance of doing that is to find alternative suspects. I have four in mind, so far, Mr Pearson, and you’re one of them. Let me tell you what I think happened in Hilary term, in the year 1996.’

Pearson seems to hunch down, like a fighter getting ready to charge. ‘I think I want you out of my house.’

‘I think the videotapes you were making to supplement your beer fund got a little bit too adventurous. I think—’

‘Videotapes? What the hell is she talking about?’

‘You’re leaving. Now.’

Maggie stands her ground. ‘I don’t know how much you know about IT, Oliver, but nothing ever disappears from the internet, not completely. If any of those videos were ever posted, even decades ago, there are companies who can trace them. They’re not cheap, but I’m not working to a budget.’

‘Out.’ He strides ahead, making for the front door.

She follows, nodding a goodbye to Lisa Pearson and the baby, neither of whom respond, and leaving her card on the side table by the door. ‘I’m staying at the Hotel du Vin in the town centre. I’ll be here till eleven o’clock tomorrow.’





Chapter 82


THE ENGLISH CHAIN, Hotel du Vin, specializes in contemporary design in quirky old buildings. The Bristol hotel, in an old sugar warehouse, is three floors of rigid leather furniture, roll-top baths and bed linen so crisp and white it could be made from freshly milled paper. Wine bottles, all of them empty, are everywhere, as though the hotels are permanently recovering from the best party ever.