Page 83 of The Time for Love
They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Martin saw a pair of constables standing with their backs to the corridor wall to either side of the first door along. He slowed and glanced at Curtin. “Walter has no idea who Oliver and I are. In this case, it might be worthwhile for you to introduce us by name.”
Curtin thought, then nodded. “That can’t hurt.” He tipped his head, his gaze on Martin’s face. “How much should we tell him about his brother’s doings?”
Martin rapidly considered, then replied, “Tell him the whole story. He doesn’t sound like the sort who would be silly enough to spread the tale.”
“You’ve got that right.” Curtin continued along the corridor. “In terms of intelligence, Walter is a very far cry from Vince.”
With a nod to the constables, Curtin opened the door and went in. Oliver followed, and this time, Martin was at his heels.
Walter, it transpired, was also a far cry from Vince in appearance. At least a decade older, in build, Walter was a larger but softer version of Vince, but beyond that and a vague similarity in their features, they seemed very different men. Instead of Vince’s clerk-like attire, Walter’s well-trimmed hair, good-quality suit, and neat shirt, waistcoat, and collar gave him the air of a respectable merchant, one careful of his pennies but nevertheless accustomed to the better things in life.
Indeed, Walter had the look of a man who had lived a full and varied life, and the experience of those years was etched in his features, presently set in an unreadable expression. His hard brown eyes held a distinct glint of shrewd intelligence, and while his round, rather heavy-jowled face should have been unprepossessing, somehow, it wasn’t.
While not in any way striking, Walter Murchison was the sort of man one noticed.
They sat in the three chairs facing Walter, who appeared quite comfortable on the stool opposite.
Walter nodded to Curtin. “Inspector.”
Curtin started to nod back, then stopped and, frowning slightly, waved rather curtly at Martin and Oliver. “Mr. Cynster and Mr. Coulter are assisting me in this investigation, the one involving your brother.”
Walter recognized both surnames, but beyond a quick blink, showed little other reaction. Politely, he inclined his head to Martin and Oliver, then refocused on Curtin. “I see. And what is it you believe my brother’s been up to now?”
Between them, briefly yet comprehensively, they described Vince’s recent activities.
As the magnitude of what his younger brother had done became clear, despite Walter’s really rather good poker face, Martin saw chagrin, then anger close to fury and, finally, stoic resignation flow behind Walter’s agate-like eyes.
Curtin concluded with the charges likely to be laid against Vince and his men.
When, that done, Curtin glanced at Martin, Martin nodded encouragingly, leaving it to Curtin to dangle their carrot; he knew Walter better than Martin did. Sitting back, Martin watched Walter with a sinking heart; he had a feeling their approach wasn’t going to work.
Curtin made a good case, playing on what had plainly been Walter’s long-standing habit of protecting his younger sibling.
And Walter definitely considered giving them the name they sought.
However, in the end, Walter shook his head. He met first Martin’s, then Curtin’s eyes. “Understand this”—decision rang clear and firm in Walter’s tone—“if I could save Vince without putting others—others even closer to me—at risk, I would. But in this, Vince has made his own bed, against my stated wishes what’s more, and given the circumstances, there’s nothing I can do for him.”
Walter paused, then continued, “It might interest you to know, Inspector, that I’ve recently decided to…shall we say ‘reinvent myself.’ As a shopkeeper of sorts, an agent for various importers and exporters. There’s money and plenty of it to be made in that endeavor in this town, and I’ve decided that’s to be my new life. My recent meeting with the man in question has only hardened my resolve to no longer play any part in those…circles. To take any hand in that sort of enterprise.”
Walter tipped up his chin. “I promised the missus and the bairns I’d make a clean break, and I have.” He paused, then in a regretful but firm tone, went on, “Not even for Vince would I put my family at risk.” He met Martin’s gaze with unflinching candor. “And believe you me, telling you the name you’re after would definitely put not just my skin at risk but theirs, too, and I can’t—won’t—do that.”
Martin couldn’t argue. Every instinct he possessed was telling him that Walter Murchison was speaking the literal truth.
Walter held his gaze a second longer, then looked at Curtin. “I’m actually sorry I can’t oblige, because I truly would like the man we’re speaking of to be gone. Anywhere—I really don’t care where—but I truly would rather he wasn’t looking to move into Sheffield.”
Walter arched a brow at Curtin. “Now, if there’s nothing else, Inspector, I should be getting on.”
Curtin studied Walter, then shook his head. “No. Nothing else.” They all rose, and Curtin nodded to Walter. “Thank you for coming in.”
Walter blinked, then sighed. “Can’t say it was a pleasure, but…” He paused, then said, “If Vince asks if you’ve spoken with me, tell him I said that he knowingly did this against my wishes and behind my back, and I’m not having him pull me into the briars this time.”
Curtin nodded. “If he asks, I’ll tell him.”
They stood back and allowed Walter to leave first. A surprised constable looked into the room, and Curtin waved him off. “He’s free to go. See him out.”
The constable looked faintly shocked, but hurried off in Walter’s wake. They listened to Walter’s heavy footsteps stumping up the stairs, and Curtin whistled through his teeth. “If I didn’t like the sound of this man before, I’m truly apprehensive about him now.”
Oliver exchanged a weighty look with Martin. “Walter’s reaction to our mystery man does not bode well.”
