London Calling - James Craig [119]
‘I suppose so,’ said Carlyle vaguely, the truth being that he had never set foot inside St Martin’s before.
‘You should get to know your neighbourhood,’ Holyrod chided him. ‘This is one of London’s finest baroque churches. During the First World War, it was a refuge for soldiers on their way to France. More than 6,000 homeless people still take refuge here every year.’ The mayor paused, pleased that he had remembered so much from his recent meeting with the vicar of St Martin’s, who, for a man of the cloth, had made a surprisingly slick pitch for city funding.
‘That’s very interesting,’ said Carlyle, ‘but it wasn’t really a history lesson I was after.’
‘So, what exactly did you come for?’ Holyrod asked, barely trying to conceal his obvious contempt.
‘The truth.’
‘Ah.’ Holyrod raised his eyes to the heavens. ‘That’s tricky.’
Carlyle waited for a stray tourist to wander off out of earshot. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about Susy Ahl?’
An expression blending confusion and resignation crossed Holyrod’s face.
‘We’re in church now.’ Carlyle was a devout atheist, but Holyrod might have a different take on the meaning of life, so an appeal to a higher authority was always worth a try. He nodded back towards the entrance. ‘The current thought for the week is “The truth will set you free.” I’m not taking any notes now. This conversation is just between us.’
Holyrod gave no indication of being spiritually inclined, however. ‘I don’t recognise the name.’
‘She was Robert Ashton’s girlfriend.’
‘Ah, yes.’ Holyrod nodded. He raised his hands in a gesture maybe supposed to signify sincerity. ‘I’m with you now. I am aware of the person you are referring to. Her name never registered because I don’t know that I ever actually met her.’
‘I suppose that’s progress,’ said Carlyle.
‘Why do you ask, anyway?’ A sly smile crossed the mayor’s face. ‘Is she a suspect? Have you arrested her?’
‘The investigation is proceeding.’
‘I’ll take that as a no, then. If she’s your woman, I would suggest that you just get on with it, Inspector.’ Holyrod finally stopped staring at nothing in particular and turned to face Carlyle. ‘That is your job, after all.’
‘Is what she claims happened to Robert Ashton true?’
‘What did she say?’
‘That he was brutally raped, and driven to suicide.’
‘Do you really believe that?’
Carlyle shrugged. ‘It’s not my job to believe anything.’
Holyrod dropped his pseudo-patrician demeanour and showed the hard-faced soldier that still lived underneath. ‘Either way, it’s not much of a defence for committing multiple murder, is it?’ He affected a shrill, girlish voice: ‘My boyfriend was on the wrong end of some rough sex.’
Carlyle looked at him, nonplussed.
‘What happened to Ashton wasn’t exactly unique,’ Holyrod resumed his normal tone, ‘even if it did drive him to kill himself. Which, of course, is a matter of complete conjecture and speculation on your part. It might get your woman some extra counselling, while she spends the rest of her life in jail, but that’s about it.’
My woman? thought Carlyle. ‘That’s an interesting perspective on things,’ he persisted. ‘It’s not quite how Ms Ahl explains it.’
‘I’m sure it isn’t.’ Holyrod now threw his hands open wide. ‘Come on, Inspector. When you get to our age, it doesn’t count for much, one way or another. What about all the shitty things you got up to at university, yourself? The things that still make you embarrassed today?’
‘I didn’t go to university.’
Holyrod started to reply, but thought better of it, making do with a look that said: I’m finished wasting my time here. He stood up. Carlyle did the same. This time, the Mayor put his hand on the policeman’s shoulder and gripped it firmly. ‘What you’ve got to remember is that she wasn’t there.’
‘No, but—’
‘Neither were you.’
‘No—’
‘And neither was I.’ Holyrod let go of Carlyle’s shoulder, which began throbbing slightly. ‘Not for the meat of the matter, anyway.’ He smiled. ‘Whatever happened, I was not a party to it. Neither, for that matter, was