Daisy in Chains(82)
All things considered, that went rather well.
Chapter 83
FOR ONCE HAMISH hasn’t shaved. Dark stubble, almost a beard, covers his jaw and neck and lines his upper lip. He hasn’t showered either. He smells like the Lycra-clad men who run past her in the street, and of clothes that need washing. This is the first time he hasn’t made an effort for her and Maggie isn’t sure how she feels about it. But if he’s starting to take her for granted then maybe it’s time to remind him how much he needs her. She starts speaking almost before his cuffs have been removed, before the guard has closed the door, shutting them in together.
‘No more lies, no more evasions. I want to know what happened the night Ellie Holmes died and Daisy Baron disappeared. I will know if you’re not telling me the truth.’
He rubs one wrist, flexes and bends his fingers. ‘Did the guys lie to you?’
She thinks back to the three men who tried to bully her in the Bristol hotel. ‘Not as such. They rather cleverly avoided telling me anything too much. They blustered. Poured outrage over each other and themselves. They’re hiding something, though. They’re frightened.’
He scratches the side of his neck and inserts his little finger into his ear. ‘Even so, I really can’t believe any of them framed me for three murders. I know these guys. They don’t have it in them.’
She glares. ‘That’s interesting. Because they all think you’re more than capable.’
He looks surprised, then a little hurt. His hands fall back on to the table. ‘Really?’
‘They all think you’re guilty. Oliver Pearson especially, and his wife. There was awe in their voices when they spoke of you.’
He thinks about this for a moment. ‘If they believe me guilty, they can’t be.’
‘No, you’re right. I don’t think any of them are guilty of killing Jessie, et al. I never did.’
A rare flash of frustration clouds his face for a second. ‘Then we’re no further forward. Especially as you seem determined not to think of Pete Weston as a possible suspect.’
Oddly, his annoyance helps to calm her. She takes it as a sign that he is, in spite of the front he puts on, struggling. ‘Hamish, we don’t need to present the Crown with the real killer, even an alternative one. All we have to do is throw enough doubt on your conviction. And those three were guilty of something. Which brings me back to the question you’re trying to avoid. What happened that night?’
His eyes drop to the table. ‘You’re not going to like it.’
‘I like nothing about this whole sorry business. Get talking.’
He peers up at her through his eyelashes. ‘I love it when you’re bossy.’
‘I’m not playing games with you, Hamish.’
He scratches the side of his head. ‘OK, everything James Laurence testified in court was true. My defence did a bloody good job of discrediting him, but he was telling the truth.’
‘There was a Fat Club?’
‘There was. And my seeing Daisy is what started it. I took a lot of banter over her. It’s not always easy, seeing a woman you actually want to spend time with, as opposed to the sort of girl your peers think you should be with. Especially when you’re young and a bit unsure of yourself.’
‘My heart bleeds.’
He pushes himself back on the chair and fixes her with a stare. ‘As my lawyer, you’re really not supposed to be judgemental. You sound more like a pissed-off girlfriend.’
‘Get over yourself. And keep talking.’
For a second he looks uncertain – whether to fight back or do as she says. ‘The other guys started picking up fat girls in bars,’ he says. ‘We went into town, away from the usual student hang-outs. We were looking for women who weren’t necessarily looking for a relationship.’
‘Or who didn’t expect to be taken out to dinner a few times before they put out?’
He gives her a pitying look. ‘We were students. We didn’t do much fine dining. A girl was lucky if we paid for her drinks. Anyway, at first it was just a bit of a laugh.’
‘You were involved too? Even though you had a girlfriend?’
‘I was nineteen, Maggie. I was a good-looking bloke. Sorry to sound conceited, but there it is. Yes, I liked Daisy, but I wasn’t ready to settle down.’
‘So this was a competition? A prize for the most bedpost notches.’
‘Nothing as formal as that. It was just a bunch of dickhead guys pissing around.’
‘Until someone had the idea of recording the encounters for posterity? Who was that? You?’
‘No. It was Simon, from memory. He made a tape. We all watched it. Found it a bit of a turn-on, if I’m being absolutely honest, and that became the next stage. We all bought surveillance cameras, fitted them in our rooms and went into the movie business.’
‘How many films were made?’
He shrugs. ‘I lost track. A few dozen. More, maybe.’
‘Who thought of selling them?’
He is silent. His eyes slip away from her.
‘Was it you?’
‘That’s what the others will tell you. And, yes, it probably was me who said, Hey, guys, you know what, we can make a f*cking fortune out of these babies. But setting up the business involved all of us.’