“Colin, I thought you were civil cases only, or I would have called you myself.”

“Josh, Toby sends his regards. I was at his house partying when I got the call. Luckily I’d gone their straight from work, hence the togs. Anyway, if you both agree I will represent the two of you.” We gave our assent.

Colin turned to the CCTV camera and said, “Can I see the officer in charge, please?” Within a minute an untidy man in his late forties appeared and introduced himself as Detective Chief Inspector Terry Coombes. He had short hair which was a mixture of dark and grey, and carried a little extra weight than might have been advisable for his height, which was similar to mine. He wore a suit which looked as though he might have slept in it, although his white shirt was crisp and his tie probably silk. A man not to mess with, I concluded.

Colin rose and shook his hand. “I need a few minutes with my two clients and, as the conversations are privileged, I expect the camera and audio to be switched off, is that clear?”

“Yes, I’ll see to it,” the policeman answered, in a rather surly manner. He departed, closing the door with an ominous click.

***

For the next ten minutes we explained exactly what had happened in relation to Andrew and his part in the blackmail plot. Now Dee was in another room and I was sitting with Colin, opposite Detective Chief Inspector Coombes and a Detective Sergeant Scott. A digital machine nearby was recording our conversation. The DCI introduced us all, stated the time and asked if I was happy that I had been properly cautioned. I accepted that I had been, twice.

I was asked to explain the events surrounding Andrew’s demise, beginning at my visit to his office on Thursday afternoon. As I ran through the story, DS Scott scribbled wildly on a writing pad.

“Mr Hammond, let me be clear here. We don’t want any misunderstandings.” He said the last part looking at my lawyer. “The initial examination of Mr Cuthbertson shows that his lower mandible is broken. It is likely that the blow that inflicted this damage also rendered the victim unconscious as there are signs of a serious concussion in the brain pan. The forensic scientists suggest that, having been rendered unconscious, probably by someone he knew – no defensive marks present – he was pushed over the railing, falling face down in the mud. The marks and abrasions on his back are consistent with the joining piece on the bridge hand rail. Do you have any comment on that, Mr Hammond?”

I was about to answer when Colin gripped my knee under the table.

“Mr Hammond obviously does not want to speculate on the manner of Mr Cuthbertson’s death, as he was not present, but I am sure that for the purposes of this interview he will accept the scientific evidence of how events unfolded.”

I nodded at the appropriate time.

“Thank you,” the DCI said without meaning it. “We are of the opinion that to break a man’s jaw would take a significant blow from a fit man of at least medium height. In fact, Mr Hammond, a man not unlike you. Could I see your hands, please?”

At Colin’s nod I showed my hands palm up. Coombes turned them over to examine my knuckles. The policeman looked closely and set my hands down, thanking me.

“Let the recording show that my client Mr Hammond’s hands displayed no signs of injury, damage or abrasion when examined some seventeen hours after the death of Mr Cuthbertson.” Colin smiled and the policemen scowled.

“Mr Hammond, it is also possible that someone trained in unarmed combat might also be capable of causing such an injury, even a woman. You had Ms Delia Conrad with you when you met Mr Cuthbertson this morning, didn’t you?”

“First of all, Mr Cuthbertson was dead by the time we arrived at the bridge, and secondly Ms Conrad and I were together the whole time and I can assure you that neither of us caused anyone any harm. She will confirm that.”

The DCI spoke whilst looking down at a file in a brown manila folder.

“This is not the first time Ms Conrad has appeared in this station for questioning about an assault on a man.” He looked up to gauge my reaction, and I suppose I registered surprise. Colin interjected.

“Josh, you will recall that the Detective explained that she had been ‘questioned’, not arrested or charged. It would be unusual for a close protection officer to go through her entire career without having to restrain someone. What was the exact outcome in the instance you are referring to, Chief Inspector?”

“I don’t know,” he answered sullenly. “It wasn’t my case.” He closed the file. “I think that will be enough for now, unless you have any comments.”

“You do realise that I have been working closely with the Police in trying to apprehend a blackmailer and possible murderer?” I pointed out.

“Yes, I do realise that. In fact, it’s the acrimony between yourself and Mr Cuthbertson, relating to his alleged betrayal of you, which gives you a motive for his manslaughter or murder. My own feeling is that someone got angry enough with Mr Cuthbertson to punch him so hard they knocked him out, and in their anger they tipped him into the river to teach him a lesson. Perhaps they had no intention of killing him. It may even have been self-defence. A confession at this stage would almost certainly be looked upon favourably when deciding on charges.”

Colin spoke for me. “Thank you Chief Inspector. If we happen to find the killer before you do we will be sure to mention those options to him or her.” Coombes muttered something under his breath.

With that my interview ended and I left the room, to be replaced with Dee, or more correctly, Delia. I wasn’t sure how I felt about her full name.

***

I waited in the corridor for the interview to conclude. I desperately wanted to be in there protecting her, making sure she was comfortable, and then I remembered that she would consider two burly men as no competition and three burly men as a challenge.

It was almost two in the morning when we shook hands with Colin and he noted that his fee invoice would be in the post. I hoped he was joking, as I knew he charged around four hundred pounds an hour and I was already two hundred and fifty grand poorer than this time yesterday.

We took a cab back to my flat, and with late night supplements it came to nearly thirty five pounds. I was dead on my feet and forgot to wait for my change, so the cabbie escaped with a five pound tip.

Inside Dee said she was desperately tired and asked if she could sleep in the bed tonight.

“Of course,” I agreed gallantly. “You’ve been a star today. I’ll take the sofa tonight.”

“No need,” she said, flinging off her shoes. “It’s a double bed.”

Chapter 2 6

Upton Park Tube Station, Green Street. London. Saturday 1pm.

We had taken the DLR from Greenwich up to Bow Road and then we switched to the Tube for the short hop to Upton Park. I had a season ticket for the Legends Restaurant, with seats in the West Stand. It had not been difficult getting another seat for Dee, and it wouldn’t be until West Ham started seeing some success.

We walked along Green Street past the kebab shops and soon the ground came into view. I still got a great feeling as I looked along the road and saw the old stadium with its claret railings and blue roof trim. The twin castellated towers at the entrance, enhanced by West Ham shields, were a bit Disneyworld, but this place was once a field of dreams and the supporters surrounding us hoped that one day it would be again.

On the journey we had been comfortable sitting together in silence. That had given me time to contemplate the events of last night. I would have liked to remember the night as being filled with slow but passionate love making, each of us investigating the other’s body, taking time to feel textures, absorb fragrances and grip one another tightly in ecstasy. Sadly, the reality was that we made love clumsily, quickly, with an urgency that was unnecessary, laughed at our amateur performance and promptly fell asleep.