Blunt Force

by La Plante, Lynda

  Spencer cleared his throat. ‘You are collected from here, is that right?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s quite a problem with the wheelchair in a normal taxi getting in and out. But Mandy organised transport from day one. I’m ready and waiting, and Farook is always on time. Farook is as strong as an ox, because I’m quite heavy. He lifts me into the back of Mandy’s car. He takes good care of me. We get to Mandy’s and he lifts me out and carries me into her house and up the stairs. Farook undresses me, even though I don’t really need it. He’s the one who gets me ready, then I have the fun and games.’

  ‘On the Monday that you know Charles Foxley was murdered, can you tell me what time you went to Miss Pilkington’s? And did you see Charles Foxley when you were there?’

  Michael frowned, and for the first time he seemed irritated. ‘I just told you, I have never seen him or met him. I also told you that Mandy doesn’t like her clients meeting each other. She does it for a reason, to protect our privacy, all right?’

  ‘Yes, of course, I’m sorry . . . So this was your normal time?’

  ‘I was collected at five p.m., my usual collection time.’

  ‘And what time did you leave Miss Pilkington’s?’

  Michael frowned, then he pursed his lips. He started to speak, then stopped. There was a slight sarcastic smile when he replied.

  ‘I don’t wear a watch, for obvious reasons. So I’m trying to piece together the exact time for your investigation.’ He leant back in his wheelchair and moved slightly from side to side with eyes closed. ‘OK, on that Monday, the pick-up was at the usual time. I remember I asked for the waterbed, and I also asked for a particular girl who I’ve had sex with before. She often brought another girl, and so at that session I had two girls on the waterbed, then I was massaged, ah . . .’ He gave a strange chuckle. ‘You should try it; these girls really know what they are doing.’

  Spencer smiled. ‘Thanks for the recommendation. Do you remember what time you got home?’

  ‘As I just said, I had quite a lengthy session – a full hour. There was only one thing that was different. I always need Farook to bring me down the stairs and put me in Mandy’s car. I remember now that I did have to wait a considerable time for him that day. So it may have been anywhere between six thirty and seven p.m. He was apologetic and seemed out of sorts. Anyway, he took me to the car as usual. I remember I asked if he was OK, and he didn’t answer. He was never very chatty anyway, but he asked . . .’ He paused.

  Spencer waited.

  ‘Listen, I don’t want to get this guy into trouble, all right, because he’s a very decent bloke. He’s hard-working, he’s an honest family man, and if he earns the odd extra quid here or there, that’s not my business. But . . . he asked if I needed anything.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Sometimes he would supply me with a bit of coke and, like I said, I don’t want to get this man into trouble – not to mention me; I’d be out of here if they found out, it’s strictly against the rules – but sometimes I got a few tabs.’

  ‘Are you saying he was actually dealing stuff to you?’

  ‘God, you do like me to repeat stuff to you three or four times, don’t you? I just told you. He never pushed it, it was just that occasionally he had a bit of gear, he knew a few people . . . I’m not a regular user, and as I said I don’t want it ever getting out as it could cause me a lot of problems.’

  Spencer nodded. ‘OK. Can you be a bit more specific about what time you got back to the care home?’

  Michael sighed in irritation. ‘Maybe some time after seven? I can’t be more specific than that.’

  ‘Did you see Farook at all between him bringing you to Miss Pilkington’s and then taking you home again?’

  Michael gave a barking laugh. ‘No! I had a lot more on my mind. How it usually went is, he would wait outside or be sweeping up, doing odd jobs. He was a full-time employee.’

  ‘So you didn’t see him between five thirty p.m. and the time he collected you?’

  ‘There you go again, asking me to repeat myself. No.’

  Spencer stood up. ‘Thank you very much for your time, Michael, I appreciate it. I’m sorry if I’ve made my questions repetitive. I’ll show myself out.’ Spencer opened Michael’s bedroom door.

  ‘Look, I hope I don’t get him in trouble. He’s a lovely man with a beautiful daughter. His wife is very religious and I probably shouldn’t have said what I said.’

  Spencer nodded but didn’t reply. Like Jane, he had a gut feeling that he was getting closer to something, he just didn’t know what.

  *

  The Montgomery house was in Notting Hill Gate, just off Ladbroke Grove. Jane could see it had to be worth millions. It was a four-storey Georgian property with pristine white steps and a black front door. The windows had beautifully decorated window boxes and beside the front door were two ornate planters. When she rang the door, a maid answered wearing a black dress and neat white apron.

  ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Tennison.’ Jane showed her ID card.

  The young girl glanced at it, stepped back and ushered her into a hallway lined with elegantly carved mirrors. She was shown into a drawing room with silk drapes, an enormous white marble fireplace and another elaborate mirror. The carpet was so thick it felt like she was sinking into foam.

  Two huge sofas dominated the room and between them was a glass-topped coffee table stacked with art books. Jane waited for at least five minutes before a petite woman entered wearing a smart tailored suit and a white blouse with a large bow at the neck. She had silky hair, cut short in a page-boy style, and wore flawless make-up. She walked towards Jane with her hand out.

  ‘I’m Penelope Montgomery.’ Jane shook her hand, introducing herself and again showing her ID card.

  ‘Do sit down.’

  Jane had been rehearsing how she should broach the subject and had decided the best way was to be as direct as possible.

  ‘Firstly, thank you very much for seeing me at such short notice. I appreciate it. I’m part of a team investigating the murder of Charles Foxley.’ There was no reaction. It was as if Mrs Montgomery knew what was coming and had rehearsed her response. ‘I believe your daughter, Annalise, was at one time employed as a model at Mr Foxley’s model agency, KatWalk?’

  Mrs Montgomery crossed her perfect legs and pulled at her tight skirt. ‘My daughter is not a model. She is only seventeen and is hoping to go to art school. As for being employed in a professional capacity as a model, that is simply untrue.’

  ‘There must be some confusion. We have a professional photograph of Annalise from the KatWalk agency’s files.’

  Mrs Montgomery pursed her lips. ‘No, I’m afraid that is not right. Annalise did have some photos taken by a professional photographer for her fifteenth birthday; in fact, if you turn and look at the piano, there is one over there. But they were not for professional purposes. She was just a teenager celebrating her birthday.’

  Jane was slightly nonplussed. She got up and walked over to the baby grand piano. Sure enough, there was a photograph of a beautiful young girl in a heavy silver frame.

  ‘It’s a lovely photo,’ Jane said. ‘Is it possible for me to speak to her? Is she here?’

  ‘I’m afraid it is not possible to talk to her. Anything you need to ask, you can ask me.’

  ‘Do you know Julia Summers?’

  ‘She’s one of Annalise’s school friends. They used to know each other quite well.’

  ‘Are they still friends?’

  ‘My daughter has lots of friends. It’s hard to keep track sometimes. But I believe they parted company. You know how teenagers are.’

  ‘Did your daughter go to any of the film premieres that Mr Foxley’s company organised?’

  ‘I very much doubt it. I wouldn’t think they were at all suitable. In any case, her father would never have allowed her to stay out late for such a thing. So, no, I don’t think my daughter would ever have gone to a fi
lm premiere. It is not the world she mixes in. As I said, she is hoping to be an art student. She’s working on her portfolio.’

  ‘So, does she live here with you?’

  ‘Yes, she does.’

  ‘But she’s not at home now?’

  ‘I think I made it very clear to you that I do not think it is necessary for you to speak to my daughter. I have clearly stated she wasn’t present at any premiere.’

  ‘Did she know Charles Foxley?’ Jane persisted.

  Mrs Montgomery uncrossed her legs and began to clasp her hands nervously. ‘I’m aware of the terrible thing that happened to him. I mean, it’s been in all the papers. It’s terrible. But I have never met him and I’m sure Annalise doesn’t know him. I really don’t understand why you are persisting in asking me questions I can’t help you with.’

  ‘Mrs Montgomery, I think there may be some questions that only your daughter can help me with. I understand you’re being protective, but I simply want to ask her a few questions.’

  ‘There is a reason I’m guarded about my daughter. She is suffering with anxiety. I may appear over-protective but it is a necessity. Annalise has been depressed and we have been very concerned about her wellbeing. If my husband was here, I think he would refuse to even allow this conversation to continue.’

  Jane had been making notes but she now snapped her notebook closed and pulled the elastic band around it before placing it back in her handbag.

  ‘I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. But as I said, this is a murder inquiry . . .’

  Mrs Montgomery stood up abruptly. ‘I really would like you to leave now. I am not going to answer any more questions. If you do wish to speak to me, my husband or daughter, then we will arrange legal representation.’

  Jane stood up. ‘I’m sorry you feel this way. I would hate to have to subject either you or your daughter to being brought into the station to answer questions when it could be very easily accomplished here.’

  Mrs Montgomery’s voice increased in volume. ‘I am not saying another word. I want you to leave now, please.’

  Jane persevered. ‘If your daughter is at home, why won’t you let me talk to her?’

  ‘Get out of my house!’ she almost screamed.

  The maid rushed into the room.

  Jane held up her hand. ‘There’s no need for you to get upset. I’m leaving.’

  Mrs Montgomery and the maid followed. As Jane got to the door, the maid stood back and the front door opened. A tall, austere-looking man in an immaculate pinstripe suit with granite-grey hair walked in holding his briefcase out for the maid to take.

  ‘I got here as soon as I could, darling. What on earth is going on?’

  Mrs Montgomery started crying. ‘This woman’s a police officer . . . She’s asking questions about Annalise and that man . . . Charles Foxley,’ she said between sobs.

  Mr Montgomery took his wife by the shoulders and kissed her cheek. ‘Go and sit down, darling. Just do as I say – go and sit down and get yourself a drink.’

  He turned to Jane. ‘Who are you?’

  She took out her ID card. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Tennison.’

  ‘Well, Detective Tennison, you’d better come into my office.’

  He walked down the hallway without waiting for Jane, opening a polished mahogany door. He stood to one side and gestured for her to go in. He closed the door and walked over to a carved desk, indicating for Jane to sit in the chair opposite him.

  ‘Now, Detective Tennison, why don’t you tell me why you are here? You have obviously upset my wife. I’d like to know everything that’s been said and everything she has told you.’

  Jane repeated their conversation almost word for word. He listened attentively, frowning.

  ‘Can I just get this clear, Detective Tennison? You wish to question my daughter regarding your investigation into the tragic murder of Charles Foxley? Firstly, I cannot see any connection. I am aware that my daughter was at school with Max Summers’ daughter, and I believe they have remained friends. I am also aware of Max Summers’ financial affairs, not that I am a close friend in any way, but I have been in business with him on various investment opportunities. However, I was not connected with, and had never met, Charles Foxley. Regarding the real reason you are here, I think it would be prudent if you could get to the point, as I suspect there is some kind of agenda that you have not yet mentioned.’

  At that point his desk phone rang. He excused himself and answered it. He listened for a brief moment, then apologised, saying that he would need to take the call but would make it quick. Jane watched him closely as he spoke in fluent German to the caller, appearing to be discussing some transfer of funds and the tax implications. He exuded relaxed confidence, and although on first appearances he seemed austere, he was in fact a rather good-looking man. Jane caught herself musing that of late she had also found the middle-aged Darren McDermott very attractive and at one time she had even considered DCI Tyler to be rather handsome. She wondered why she was feeling attracted to more mature men. She certainly wasn’t interested in having a father figure – on the contrary, what she really needed was to get laid.

  ‘Sorry about that . . .’

  Jane was startled out of her reverie.

  ‘As I was saying, could you please get to the point? I have no intention of allowing my wife and daughter to be interviewed at a police station.’

  Jane hesitated. Montgomery stared directly at her.

  ‘I feel certain that if I was allowed to have a private conversation with your daughter, this need not be taken any further,’ Jane replied.

  ‘You must understand that she is still a minor. I insist on being present when you talk to her.’

  Jane shifted in her seat, becoming slightly embarrassed. She knew that their daughter had lied to them and that if she could talk to Annalise herself, that might not have to be revealed.

  Montgomery leant back in his desk chair as Jane cleared her throat.

  ‘I believe that your daughter’s friendship with Julia Summers may have led to the situation I am here to talk to her about. Miss Summers was working for Charles Foxley’s modelling agency. We know for certain that at one time your daughter was on their books—’

  ‘Absolute rubbish! There is no possible way I would ever allow my daughter, who has only just turned seventeen, to do that. There has to be a mistake. She has never expressed any desire to be a model, although she is an extraordinarily beautiful girl. She is academically very bright and is determined to go to art college.’

  Jane persisted. ‘She may not have admitted to you, or to your wife, that she had sent her photograph and particulars into the KatWalk agency. But we do have evidence that her photograph was with the agency. I am here to make inquiries about an incident that may have occurred relating to her work there.’

  He pushed his chair and stood up. ‘Please wait one moment.’

  He walked out and Jane heard him call out for his wife. She could then hear fragments of their conversation: ‘Annalise has been silly . . . she’s lied to us . . . No, I think it would be best for her to come down and talk to Detective Tennison.’

  Ten minutes later Montgomery returned to the room and sat down. ‘Annalise will be joining us in a moment. I would like you to be completely honest with me, Detective Tennison. It is very distressing that our daughter has lied about this modelling thing, but I need to know, before she comes to talk to you, the consequences of any connection she might have to your investigation.’

  Jane took her time considering how she should phrase it. ‘Your daughter is not a suspect in our investigation and I have no reason to think she has broken the law, but I believe she knew the victim and may be able to assist our inquiries.’ She made it sound as official as she could, but the truth was she was on a fishing expedition that had not been sanctioned by anyone.

  There was a light knock on the door. Jane had seen the photograph of Annalise on the piano, but she was far more beautiful in t
he flesh, and if she looked like a model, it wasn’t the Twiggy type. She was at least five foot eight, with quite broad shoulders. Even though she was wearing a baggy tracksuit, it was clear she had a voluptuous figure.

  ‘Now, don’t be frightened, darling, just come in and sit down,’ Mr Montgomery beckoned.

  Annalise, head bowed, shuffled into the room.

  Mr Montgomery fetched a hardback chair for his daughter to sit down. He rested his hands on her shoulders and lightly kissed the top of her head. ‘Everything’s all right . . . I’m not angry, and nor is your mamma. Just answer Detective Tennison truthfully and there will be no repercussions.’

  Annalise had thick, wavy, strawberry blonde hair that fell below her shoulders. She kept her head bent forward so it was hard for Jane to read her expression.

  ‘Hello, Annalise. Now, can you tell us about Julia Summers and how you got involved with KatWalk?’

  Annalise had a very soft voice with a slight lisp. ‘Well, Julia told me that it was sort of a joke and that if I gave her a photograph and my contact details, she would take it into the agency.’

  Annalise hunched her shoulders, bending further forward and hiding her face even more.

  ‘I mean, I didn’t want to be a model . . . Besides, I’m not even the right shape for a model, but Julia said that wasn’t the point . . . She told me that if they liked me I could be at a premiere with lots of stars and producers and directors. She said it would be great fun, and that there were cast and crew parties – but the best part was that I would be allowed to buy an evening gown and they would provide a taxi to take me there and bring me home afterwards.’