After she’d finished shooting, Elliott walked her back to her car and leant on the door as she got in.
‘I can do these early morning sessions two mornings a week. Call me if you want to do it.’
He slammed her door shut and walked over to the garage entry gate so she could drive out. He didn’t look at her as she drove past.
Jane just had time to go to her health club in Fulham, have a shower and change into her work clothes. She’d begun to feel less angry about her interaction with Elliott, but she was still angry with Dabs for telling him about what had happened with the Sweeney. She used the health club’s payphone and called Dabs at his home, preferring not to make the call from the station in case anyone overheard. Her privacy had already been compromised enough.
‘Everything all right, Jane?’ Dabs asked.
‘Not really . . . I’ve just finished a session with Elliott, and I have to say that I find him quite difficult to deal with . . .’
Before she could continue, Dabs laughed.
‘Well, he is a bit of an oddball . . . but you couldn’t have a more professional instructor.’
‘I’m sure he is very professional, but my beef is that he knows about my situation at the Sweeney, and I just wish you hadn’t gossiped. I’m obviously very sensitive about what happened. If I thought that you were going to discuss my problems with a stranger . . .’
‘Hey, hang on a second, Jane. All I said is what you told me – that you had a situation when you were with the Sweeney and you wanted to have some gun-handling experience. I’ve never discussed your personal life with him, and I’m just sorry if it’s not working out.’
‘OK, Dabs. Sorry if I jumped to conclusions,’ Jane said. ‘Look, I’m late. I’d better go.’
She put the phone down, feeling more confused than ever.
*
DI Arnold had returned to the station that morning and had brought in a large box of jam doughnuts for everyone, before catching up on developments with Tyler.
Spencer was now munching one as he sat at his desk, checking the morning’s assignments. He was to interview Mandy Pilkington first thing and Jane was to travel to Ascot to talk to Justine Harris. He had still not sifted through all the scraps of papers he had removed from Foxley’s office and was about to tip them out of the plastic bag he was keeping them in when DI Arnold, carrying a bulging briefcase, walked out of Tyler’s office.
‘Morning, guv, glad to have you back. Feeling better?’ Spencer asked.
‘Yes. It was an experience I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemies. They say it’s as bad as giving birth, having kidney stones removed. I just hope that’s the end of it.’
‘I’m sure we all hope so, too,’ Spencer said.
Arnold moved closer to Spencer’s desk. ‘You’re interviewing Mandy Pilkington at Clapham? That could be interesting. What have you got there?’ Arnold indicated the plastic bag full of crumpled paper.
‘I removed it all from Foxley’s waste bin yesterday. I’ve still got to sift through it to see if there’s anything of interest.’
‘Right, well, we want that missing diary, so that has to be a priority. You need to get the secretary, Julia Summers, interviewed tomorrow as well.’
If Arnold was attempting to prove he was up to speed on the investigation, Spencer wasn’t impressed.
Arnold then turned to everyone in the room.
‘Thank you all for your good wishes. I’m off to see my doctor. I know I still have a lot of catching up to do but I shall be back later.’
Spencer said nothing. Nobody else appeared to be concerned that DI Arnold was leaving after only a few hours at the station. He shoved the plastic bag into a drawer and then, with a sigh, took it out again.
If I don’t do it now, I’m never going to do it, he thought.
A number of the crumpled notes had no time or date on them but referenced horse racing bets. There was also a partly typed memo regarding a contract for a film. It appeared to have been written the week before his death. There were numerous receipts from restaurants, one relating to dog food delivery and a torn bank statement for two cash withdrawals of £2,000 and £3,000. There appeared to be no indication of anything particularly suspicious, but Spencer would investigate the cash withdrawals and find out if there was anything significant about the film contract.
*
Jane drove herself to Ascot. On the way there she used her small tape recorder to make a note of things she felt were important. One was to discuss Charles Foxley’s diary with his secretary Julia Summers, as it had not been in the office. She also made a mental note to question Justine about the possibility of her ex-husband having another residence.
Jane approached the driveway of a substantial property that overlooked the famous Ascot racecourse. Large rhododendron bushes grew either side of the drive, which curved around to pass lawns with numerous cultivated flower beds and a central large fountain that looked as if it had not been in use for some time. The rusted cherub at the top of the stone was missing one arm. Parked outside the house was a highly polished BMW, the model at least five years old. There were four wide steps leading up to a pillared entrance and the front door was painted in racing green with a prominent brass letterbox and knocker.
Jane pressed the old-fashioned bell, which chimed loudly inside. She waited a few minutes then pressed it again. Eventually she heard the click-clack of shoes on a hard floor and the door was opened by an elegant, white-haired woman wearing a floral blouse and a blue pleated skirt. Her white hair was tied back into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. She had piercing blue eyes and high cheekbones.
‘Yes?’ she said, curtly.
Jane showed her ID. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Jane Tennison. I believe you were contacted by my superior, Detective Chief Inspector Tyler?’
‘Yes, yes . . .’ She opened the door wider. ‘Do come in.’
Jane stepped into a marble mosaic-floored hallway. There was a large Georgian mirror with a mahogany table placed in front of it with a vase containing a beautiful floral arrangement.
‘I’m Florence Harris.’ She gestured towards a wide staircase. ‘My daughter will be down shortly. I have just taken her breakfast.’
She walked through some double doors, and Jane followed her into a beautifully furnished sitting room. The polished parquet wood floor surrounded a thickly ornate patterned carpet. There were velvet sofas and easy chairs, all in muted greens, with draped silk curtains and Austrian blinds. The bay windows looked out over the front garden.
‘Can I offer you some refreshment?’ she asked, waving for Jane to sit on one of the sofas.
‘I would love a coffee, please.’
‘I won’t be a moment.’
Florence turned and strode back through the double doors. Jane could hear the receding footsteps on the marble flooring. She had a good chance to look around the room with its numerous paintings, carved marble mantelpiece and a variety of silver-framed photographs. She was just about to get up to have a closer look at the photographs when she saw the young girl at the open door. This had to be Clara, as she not only looked like her mother, but also her grandmother. Her eyes were strangely expressionless, and she had long, rather lank blonde hair with unusually pallid skin. The girl was wearing a worn blue quilt dressing gown over pyjamas, with bunny slippers.
Jane smiled. ‘Hello, you must be Clara.’
‘What do you want?’ the girl asked, not moving from the doorway.
‘I’ve come to talk to your mummy.’
‘She’s upstairs in bed.’
‘Yes, I’ve been told. I’m waiting to see her.’
‘I was taken out of school. Do you know why?’
Jane nodded. ‘Yes, I do.’
‘Nobody gives a shit about him anyway.’
Jane was shocked at the venom in the girl’s voice, but before she could react, Florence Harris appeared with a small silver tray.
‘Clara, go to your room now.’
‘Yes, Grandma, no, Grandma, three-fucking-bags-full, Grandma.’
‘That’s enough, Clara! Now go up to your room immediately!’
The child turned slowly and walked casually away as Mrs Harris pushed the door closed with her hip.
‘I’m sorry . . . the poor child has taken this all very badly. But I’m going to take her away for a special girls’ shopping trip to Paris.’
Florence passed the tray to Jane then fetched a small side table and placed it beside her.
‘Thank you very much,’ Jane said, as Mrs Harris moved halfway across the room to sit in a very large velvet-covered chair.
‘Justine’s having a shower and will be right down. I don’t want to speak out of turn, but my daughter is very fragile. You must be aware that after she found out what happened to Charles, she took an overdose. And you probably know it is not the first time my daughter has attempted suicide.’
Jane nodded. ‘Yes, and obviously we are very concerned. It must be a relief that she is now here with you and her daughter.’
‘Well, obviously it is a great relief, with her psychiatric history. And her psychiatrist felt it would be beneficial for Justine to come home into my care. I think discovering what happened to Charles must have been very traumatic, but my daughter also has a very determined streak. She probably won’t stay here very long, but I have Clara for most of her school holidays and will obviously be taking care of her throughout this ordeal. My husband always was against Justine getting married; she was very young and very foolish and didn’t pay any attention to his warnings.’
Jane hesitated, not wanting to put her foot in it. ‘Is your husband still alive?’
Mrs Harris gave a short laugh. ‘Yes, dear, he is very much alive and living in Guernsey with a very common woman with false teeth. We have been divorced for a long time.’
To hide her embarrassment, Jane continued, ‘You said your ex-husband didn’t approve of Charles Foxley?’
‘Good God, no. He didn’t have a pot to piss in, and no career, really. Whereas Justine had already starred in two costume dramas for the BBC, and obviously her father gave her a substantial allowance. Even when he threatened to cut it off, she still went ahead and married Charles. And now look what’s happened . . .’
‘They were married for some time, though?’ Jane said.
‘Yes, and if Justine hadn’t financed his agency, he probably would’ve gambled everything away. But he could turn on the charm, and even though I was as against her marriage as my ex-husband, Charles could be a really delightful man, or really a boy. I don’t think he ever grew up.’
‘Why do you say that?’
Florence turned her face to look out of the window.
‘I believe his business was very successful?’ Jane pressed.
‘Yes, so I have been told,’ Florence said, curtly.
Florence seemed ill at ease, as if she had said too much. Jane finished the small cup of coffee, eager now to have a conversation with Justine. Florence stood up and went over to a silver cigarette box on a beautifully carved round table. She took out a cigarette and lit it with a heavy silver lighter. She remained with her back towards Jane.
‘He could also be a monster. When I say he was boyish, he had rages and temper tantrums like a child. He could be vicious. I don’t think he was ever physically violent, but he was a man full of self-loathing and low self-esteem. He took it out on my daughter. She gave up her career for him, and it was her money, her contacts . . . Without them he would never have had even a modicum of success. Tragically, they couldn’t live with each other and they couldn’t live without each other . . . They tormented each other. That’s why my daughter has tried to kill herself and that’s why I refused to allow Clara to spend any time with him, her so-called father.’ The smoke drifted from her cigarette as she inhaled deeply. ‘I hated him. I know he has been brutally murdered, but I don’t think you will find many people who really care.’
At that moment the double doors opened widely as Justine entered. She looked at her mother.
‘Please leave the room, Mother.’
Mrs Harris stubbed her cigarette out in a large glass bowl and picked up the little silver tray on which she had served Jane her coffee.
‘I suppose you were listening at the door.’
Justine watched as her mother exited the room, closing the doors behind her.
‘So, now you’ve met my mother,’ Justine said, as she walked slowly across the room and sat in the same chair her mother had used.
She was wearing a beautiful black Chanel dress and black sheer tights with soft ballet shoes. Her blonde hair, although similar to her daughter’s, looked freshly washed, healthy and glossy. She wore no make-up and her skin was flawless, her eyes the same brilliant colour as her mother’s. But, unlike Florence’s, there was a washed-out sadness in them and from her expression it looked as if a heavy weight was pressing down on her.
‘What do you need to know?’ she asked, softly, as she lit a cigarette from the same silver box.
‘When did you last see your ex-husband?’
‘I spoke to him early that Monday, but I had not seen him for over a week.’
‘What time was that?’
‘I called him at the office. It was about nine a.m.’
‘How did he sound?’
‘He sounded his usual self. I asked whether or not he would be coming to a parent-and-teacher meeting at Clara’s school and he said he would let me know nearer the date, which is what he always said. Then he always found an excuse not to go. Charles showed little or no interest in Clara.’ She gave a small shrug.
‘Do you know of anyone who would have a motive to kill your husband?’
‘I think you will probably find a number of people. He could be cruel. He controlled a lot of people’s lives and an awful lot of people detested him.’ She dragged heavily on the cigarette, taking the smoke deep into her lungs. ‘I think you could say I was probably one of those people.’ Her voice had a slight quaver to it.
Jane was trying to assess whether Justine was being truthful, or giving a very good performance.
‘Your mother said you and Charles had a love-hate relationship and that although you are divorced, you couldn’t live with or without each other. Would you say that was true?’
‘Not quite. I could live without Charles, but he found it very difficult to live without me. Even though we were divorced, he would never leave me alone. If I formed a relationship with anyone else he would make abusive phone calls and threaten them. No matter how hard I tried, he refused to let me live my life without him. In all honesty, I have wished him dead many times.’
‘Do you know anyone else who wanted him dead?’
‘I just told you. There are many people. We tried at the beginning to salvage our marriage. He could be a very kind and generous man . . . but he was also a compulsive liar. I found out that he had been unfaithful so many times, but I really tried hard to make things work. At one time I even protected him. That was when the rot really set in.’
‘I don’t quite understand,’ Jane said.
‘Charles was a sexual deviant. He frequently used prostitutes, and when I discovered his disgusting and sickening sexual predilections, I couldn’t stand it any longer and that is when we divorced.’
‘You said you protected him?’
Justine got up and stubbed her cigarette out in the same glass bowl her mother had used. ‘Yes, I did. You can probably check it out in police records. There was a prostitute murdered about five years ago. He had been with her and was so afraid it would be made public. So, I lied and gave him an alibi and said he had been with me. That became my weapon to force him to divorce me.’
‘Do you recall the name of the murdered woman?’ Jane asked.
‘No. It happened five years ago. Charles came to me, begging for my help and crying like a child. As I said, I protected him.’
‘Do you know if your ex-husband ever had a
ny other homes, other than your house in Barnes and his flat in Kensington?’ Jane asked.
Justine shrugged her shoulders. ‘Quite possibly . . . but I don’t know about him living anywhere else. In fact, he often used to sleep in his office and invariably found an excuse to stay at the house in Barnes – which always made it incredibly difficult for me to form a relationship with anybody else.’
‘We’ve been unable to interview your ex-husband’s secretary, Julia Summers. Apparently she has a sick relative. Do you know if Miss Summers used to take Charles’s diary with her when she wasn’t in the office?’ Jane asked.
‘I have absolutely no idea. In fact, I only met her a few times, usually when she was at her wits’ end, as Charles was incredibly difficult. He had no notion of time and was always missing appointments – as well as his daughter’s birthdays.’
There was the loud hoot of a car horn and Justine crossed to the window and looked out. ‘I need to rest now.’
The double doors opened and Florence Harris led in George Henson.
‘Darling, George has come to take you home, dear,’ Florence said, looking at Justine.
Jane watched the actress move slowly across the room to rest her head on George’s shoulder.
‘Have you met Mr Henson?’ Florence asked.
‘Yes, we have,’ George said, his arm around Justine.
‘Have you finished your interview, Detective Tennison?’ Florence asked, clearly keen for Jane to go.
The actress in Justine appeared again as she held out her hand and thanked Jane profusely for agreeing to come to Ascot to interview her. ‘Do just let me know if you need to speak to me again about anything.’
Before she could reply, Jane found herself ushered out into the marble hallway, through the front door and down the steps towards her car. She got in the car and slammed the door shut, frowning. Spencer had suggested that Charles Foxley’s office was a nest of vipers and Jane was beginning to feel that the house she’d just left was too.
*
The morning’s briefing was already underway in the boardroom. Jane had hurried to the canteen to grab a sandwich and a coffee before she joined them. Tyler nodded his head towards her as he continued describing the lack of progress. Jane sat next to DI Arnold and whispered to him that she was glad to see he was back. He acknowledged her with a small smile and then concentrated on Tyler, making small notes in an open notebook in front of him. The blackboard had scrawled names crossed out and newspaper articles detailing the murder littered the boardroom table.
Blunt Force Page 11
