The Kill Call

sympathy in her expression? Surely not pity? God, please don’t let the pathologist be feeling pity for her.
    ‘We all have to be thankful for our blessings,’ said Mrs van Doon. ‘However small they may be.’
       
    Cooper knew from personal experience that Fry’s smile was worse than any verbal threat she might have made. It sometimes reminded him of a snake opening its mouth to reveal the poison on its fangs. Perhaps it was lucky that E Division hadn’t introduced video cameras into the interview rooms yet. Those whirring tapes caught the words being spoken, but not the gestures or the facial expressions.
    ‘So, Mr Massey,’ she said. ‘Do you still say you don’t know whether you meant to kill Mr Clay?’
    Massey was very composed now. All that he had bottled up inside him had come out, and he was facing everything that happened to him now with a quiet resignation.
    ‘I thought about it a time or two over the next few days,’ he said calmly. ‘I wondered whether to go and let him out. I even walked towards the post a couple of times. But it was so quiet, I just turned round and walked away again. I might have let him out, but I didn’t know what to say to him, how to explain it. And as time passed, it became more difficult to explain. After a while, I knew I would never be able to explain it to anyone. I don’t suppose you understand what I’m saying, even now?’
    ‘It’s hard for us to put ourselves in your position, Mr Massey.’
    ‘Yes, I see that. It’s hard for me too.’ He looked from Fry to Cooper. ‘I’m not a killer, you know. Not really. It was, well … sort of circumstances that just came together. The kind of thing I never thought would happen. You just react without thinking when it does happen. It was almost as if I’d been trained for it, had it drilled into me what to do in that situation. I really didn’t think about it. I never thought, “I’m going to kill him.” So I don’t think you can say that I had the intention. Can you?’
    ‘That will be for a court to decide, Mr Massey.’
    ‘I suppose so. What happens now?’
    ‘We’re going to have to charge you.’
    ‘Fair enough.’
    ‘Why did you hate him so much?’ asked Cooper. ‘Was it to do with the death of Jimmy Hind?’
    ‘Of course,’ said Massey. ‘Les had brought his son to the post that night. He was a new observer, learning the ropes. Strictly speaking, there was only supposed to be a crew of three on duty. Les told me not to mention it. But then, a few days later, I saw Shirley. And I saw who she was with. It was Stuart.’
    They both stared at him for a moment, thinking they’d misheard.
    ‘Stuart?’ said Fry.
    Massey nodded. ‘Like I said, Stuart wasn’t supposed to be there. But it was him I saw with Shirley a few days later. And I realized he’d been after her all that time. He was Jimmy’s rival. It was him that left the loose knot on the siren, I’m sure of it.’
    ‘Stuart? Did you say Stuart?’
    ‘Yes, Stuart Clay, Les’s son.’
    Fry stared at him. ‘Mr Massey, Stuart Clay died last year. He had pancreatic cancer.’
    Massey looked completely uncomprehending. ‘That’s not possible. He was there on Wednesday.’
    ‘No.’
    ‘It was Stuart Clay, Les Clay’s son. I knew him – he was with us at the post that night. He killed Jimmy.’
    Cooper shook his head. ‘DS Fry is right, Mr Massey. Stuart Clay died nearly a year ago. The man who visited you was his younger brother, Michael. Here’s a photo of him –’
    ‘That’s him: Stuart.’
    ‘No, it’s Michael. He was eight years younger than Stuart. Stuart would have been your age now.’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Michael had to deal with his brother’s affairs when he died,’ said Cooper. ‘We think that it was when he cleared out Stuart’s papers that he first came across references to the ROC and the post at Birchlow. Then he found other things – there was a cap badge, a photograph of the crew. And, above all, there were a lot of newspaper cuttings relating to the death of Jimmy Hind. That was why Michael came to have a look at the post while he was in Derbyshire. It was part of the process of putting his older brother’s memory to rest.’
    But Massey still wasn’t convinced. It was obvious from the stubborn expression on his face, the distant, unconnected look in his pale, blue eyes.
    For one last time, Cooper produced the photograph of the crew of the Birchlow observer post, Post 4 Romeo. He was confident