Unnatural Wastage

by Betty Rowlands

  ‘I take it this is the murder weapon?’ Ellerman studied the picture briefly and handed it back. ‘I’ve seen plenty of knives with this sort of handle in India – they’re in all the tourist shops.’

  ‘Do you own one?’

  ‘Do I look like someone who brings back kitsch from oriental bazaars?’

  ‘When I was in your flat yesterday I happened to notice two cushions on which elephants were embroidered with silver threads. They looked to me as if they might come from India.’

  ‘Oh, those.’ Ellerman appeared for the moment nonplussed, but quickly recovered. ‘Frankly I think they’re hideous but my wife – my late wife, that is – persuaded me to buy them. I keep meaning to throw them out, but somehow I’ve hung on to them for sentimental reasons.’

  ‘That’s understandable, sir. Now, with regard to the knife, do you happen to know anyone who owns one of a similar design to this?’

  Ellerman hesitated for a fraction of a second before shaking his head and saying a firm, ‘No. Next question?’

  ‘All right.’ Rathbone put the photograph away. ‘Now, Doctor Ellerman, you have already admitted that you and Fenella Tremaine had your differences. Were they confined to your business relationship?’

  Ellerman sat up straight and gripped the arms of his chair. ‘What are you suggesting?’ he demanded.

  ‘I’m not suggesting anything, sir. I’m merely asking a simple question. Let me put it another way. Apart from your professional disagreements, what was your personal relationship with Ms Tremaine?’

  ‘There was nothing whatsoever about our relationship that you could describe as personal, except that I didn’t like her.’

  ‘She appears to have been a very attractive woman and I’ve noticed you have, shall we say, an eye for the ladies.’

  Ellerman gave a dismissive snort. ‘I can still admire a pretty woman, Sergeant, but Fenella Tremaine was definitely not my type. For one thing, she had a very aggressive manner that made me – and quite a few other people – want to disagree with her even when she was in the right.’

  ‘For example?’

  ‘There was a bit of a problem recently with people lighting a barbecue on their balcony. It happens now and again and it isn’t usually a problem, but on this occasion they were having a bit of trouble which meant there was rather a lot of smoke and some people couldn’t sit on their balconies. Fenella went storming round and told them they were causing a nuisance and threatened to report them to the management. They’re a very nice young couple who’ve only been here a short time and they were really upset and embarrassed, especially as she was delivering this tirade in front of their guests.’

  ‘Not exactly the most tactful way of dealing with the situation,’ commented Rathbone.

  ‘Tact wasn’t her strong point, Sergeant.’

  ‘What would you say were her good points?’

  ‘Well . . .’ Ellerman frowned and thought for a moment. ‘I’m sure she had very high principles and she took pride in her surroundings and often made sensible suggestions for the way the estate is run, but –’ he spread his hands in what seemed to Penny an uncharacteristically helpless gesture – ‘I suppose the kindest thing I can personally say about her is that on the whole she meant well.’

  ‘Thank you for your frankness, sir,’ said Rathbone. ‘Now, I understand you have a residents’ association here – was she on the committee or did she have any official standing?’

  ‘She used to be on the committee; she got someone to nominate her as treasurer a year or two ago but she didn’t get enough support so she resigned in a huff.’

  ‘So who is treasurer?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘I understand that at a recent meeting of the residents’ association you had a disagreement with her that more than one witness described as “rather heated”.’

  ‘Oh, you heard about that did you?’ said Ellerman through his teeth. ‘She was questioning the way the sinking fund is handled in the accounts. It was just nit-picking really; the stupid bitch always had to find something to complain about.’

  ‘Could that be said about your differences here?’

  Ellerman was silent for several seconds. ‘Not really. I have to admit that she does know her stuff when it comes to accountancy; our differences were more about admin, how the department should be run and so on.’

  ‘How well are you getting on with the new managing director – Mr Anton Maxworth?’

  Again Ellerman hesitated. ‘All right so far.’

  ‘And Ms Tremaine?’

  ‘Let’s say she was careful to keep on the right side of him.’

  ‘Doctor Ellerman, I want your honest opinion on what could be a very significant factor in this case,’ said Rathbone. ‘Under the proposed reorganization of the company, it seems likely there will be changes in your department – changes which may mean some of the staff losing their jobs.’ He paused; Ellerman waited impassively for him to continue. ‘If one single person within the company were to be appointed to run the entire department, it appears that you and Ms Tremaine would be the most likely candidates. That’s right, isn’t it?’

  Ellerman nodded. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘And the loser might be without a job?’

  Suddenly Ellerman leaned forward and banged his fist on the desk. ‘It’s obvious isn’t it?’ he shouted, ‘All right, I did see her as a rival, but if you think I killed her just to clear the field for myself you can think again. I’m not saying another word without my solicitor.’

  ‘What did you make of that, Penny?’ asked Rathbone as they made their way back to reception, using the stairs this time as the lift was engaged.

  ‘Well, Sarge, the statements from the paramedics described the knife in Fenella’s back as looking “sort of oriental” and he quite likely overheard them talking about it.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So he was obviously prepared to be shown a picture of it and asked if he recognized it, and his reply came out so pat it was almost as if he’d decided how to answer in advance.’

  Rathbone gave an approving nod. ‘Go on.’

  ‘When you started questioning him about the cushions and went on to ask him if he or anyone he knew owned a knife similar to the murder weapon, he seemed to tighten up. Suppose he was lying and that he does own such a knife? He’s never attempted to hide the animosity between him and Fenella – in fact he made a point of telling us about it before anyone else did – but it was when you as good as suggested that with her out of the way the job was as good as his that he started to lose it. Even if he didn’t kill her, it must have hit him that he’s a prime suspect, which won’t do his chances of promotion much good.’

  ‘Very well put, Penny,’ said Rathbone as they reached the bottom of the stairs and returned to reception. ‘I can see you weren’t deceived by the spot of flattery he threw in your direction!’

  ‘I thought it was a bit pathetic, Sarge.’

  ‘No threat to PC Dandridge of Neighbourhood Watch?’

  She gave a shy smile. ‘Definitely not.’

  ‘Good. Now for Mr Anton Maxworth.’

  ‘Mr Wilkins?’ The man stopped and switched off the machine with which he was vacuuming up odd leaves and scraps of rubbish from the paths round Sycamore Park. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Detective Constable Haskins.’ Mike held up his ID. ‘Could I have a word? I was hoping to catch you yesterday, but you weren’t at home.’

  ‘It was my day off and I spent it with my mother.’ Wilkins stared fixedly, first at the card and then at Mike, before saying uneasily, ‘I’ve told your people everything I know.’

  ‘That was on Saturday, shortly after you discovered Ms Tremaine’s body,’ Haskins reminded him. ‘At the time you were – understandably – in a state of shock. We’re hoping that now you’ve had time to recover you may be able to recall something that slipped your mind at the time . . . something that could help us find the lady’s killer.’

  ‘I’ve been over it
in my mind enough times and nothing new has come up.’

  ‘Just the same, I’d like to run through it with you once more,’ Haskins insisted.

  Wilkins gave a resigned shrug. ‘All right. What do you want to know?’

  ‘It’s a bit public here,’ Haskins objected. During their brief exchange two people had walked by on their way to the car park; each had raised a hand and greeted Wilkins while casting unmistakably curious glances at the detective as they passed. ‘Why don’t we go to your place?’

  Wilkins shrugged, pushed the machine into an open garage that housed among other items the trolley he used for transporting bags of waste, and closed the door. He remained silent as he led the way to his flat, but the minute they were inside with the door closed behind them, and before Haskins had time to utter a word, he said in a hoarse, unsteady voice, ‘I swear to God that I didn’t do it!’ He rubbed sweating hands on his jeans and gazed at Haskins in obvious terror. ‘I can guess what some of them have been saying among themselves and it’s true she gave me a hard time once or twice, but I never laid a finger on her. You must believe me!’

  ‘Take it easy, Mr Wilkins,’ said Haskins. ‘No one’s accusing you of anything, but the fact that you discovered the body makes you a key witness. We need all the help we can get in tracking down Ms Tremaine’s killer. Now, why don’t we go and sit down and talk calmly?’

  ‘If you say so.’ Wilkins led the way into his sitting room and slumped into a chair. ‘OK, let’s get it over with.’

  ‘We have reason to believe,’ Haskins began, ‘that she had, shall we say, differences of opinion with a number of people at Sycamore Park and inevitably there has been a certain amount of gossip. Several witnesses have referred to occasions when she has been heard criticizing various members of the maintenance staff, including you, for the way they carry out their duties. You said just now that she “gave you a hard time once or twice”. Would you like to be a little more specific?’

  ‘She was always picking on me.’ Wilkins stared at his feet. ‘I’d only been here five minutes and she started telling everyone I wasn’t up to the job and the estate didn’t look half as good as when the previous chap was here.’

  ‘Did you get any other complaints?’

  ‘In the early days, one or two people pointed out things that Jeff – the previous caretaker – used to do that I wasn’t doing.’

  ‘For example?’

  ‘Things like sweeping up the area round the skips after the council men had emptied them. I said I thought that was the council men’s job but the people just laughed and said things like “you’re joking”, so I’ve done it ever since.’

  ‘Did you mind being told off for things like that?’

  ‘It wasn’t telling off; not in that case. I was new to the job and they were just being helpful.’

  ‘Did you feel Ms Tremaine was just being helpful?’

  Wilkins raised his eyes. ‘Not at the time,’ he said slowly, ‘and now I come to think of it, she might have been trying to prove something to herself. She’d been here longer than most of the other residents and she acted like she knew more than everyone how things should be done and she upset quite a few people. Just the same,’ he added with a hint of regret in his voice, ‘she didn’t deserve to die in a rubbish skip with a knife in her back.’

  ‘Let’s talk about the knife for a moment,’ said Haskins. ‘Had you seen one like it before?’

  Wilkins shook his head. ‘I never saw the knife. It was one of the paramedics that spotted it. I said that in my statement.’

  ‘All right; I just wanted to be sure. Now, I’d like you to look carefully at this.’ Haskins took a photograph from his bag. ‘This is a picture of the murder weapon, which was shown to the media at this morning’s press conference. Do you by any chance ­recognize it?’

  Wilkins stared at the picture; his eyes widened in mingled astonishment and alarm and for a moment he appeared unable to speak.

  ‘I can see you do,’ said Haskins. ‘Where did you last see it?’

  Wilkins swallowed before replying, ‘In Doctor Ellerman’s flat.’

  SIX

  ‘Good afternoon, Sergeant Rathbone, Constable Osborne! My name’s Anton Maxworth.’ A man whom Penny judged to be in his early fifties stood up and held out a hand across a desk which, in contrast to the one in Ellerman’s office, was of a simple, modern design that looked slightly out of place against the sombre, old-fashioned decor. He was clean-shaven, with a fresh complexion and neatly trimmed dark hair. ‘Sit down,’ he went on, indicating a group of comfortable chairs placed round a low table by the window. ‘Would you like tea or coffee?’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, sir,’ said Rathbone. ‘Coffee would be very acceptable, thank you.’

  Maxworth pressed a button; a woman’s voice answered and he said, ‘Coffee for three, please.’ He took a seat opposite them and said, ‘This is a terrible business. I knew there was some tension between Fenella and Marcus, of course, although they were both careful not to let it get out of hand in front of me – or the other members of the department for that matter.’ He broke off as there was a light knock on the door and a young woman entered with a tray. ‘Thank you Anne; just leave it on the table and I’ll pour.’ She went out and closed the door; Maxworth filled three cups from a cafetière and offered milk and sugar. ‘Now, how can I help you?’

  ‘We understand that certain organizational changes are taking place within your company, pending the removal to new premises,’ Rathbone began. ‘Doctor Ellerman hinted that the department in which both he and Ms Tremaine have been working for some considerable time is likely to be scaled down, but that they were both hoping to be considered for a new appointment as head of department. Is that correct?’

  Maxworth gave a brief smile. ‘Partly,’ he said, ‘that is, I’ve already appointed a couple of people with IT skills to set up a new computerized system to handle the accounts and administration. I’ve also advertised a new post of company secretary who will, of course, have overall charge of the department, and there have been a number of very promising applicants.’

  ‘Has the position been advertised internally, sir?’ asked Penny.

  ‘Naturally. And both Tremaine and Ellerman have applied.’ He paused for a moment to take a mouthful of coffee before adding wryly, ‘Neither of them has been shortlisted. So if he’s the one who stuck a knife in her to make sure he got the job, he was wasting his time.’

  ‘Are you saying you suspect Doctor Ellerman of murdering Ms Tremaine?’ asked Rathbone.

  ‘I didn’t say that.’ A troubled look flitted across Maxworth’s expressive features. ‘It was just a bit of “gallows” humour – and in rather poor taste in the present circumstances I suppose. I assure you, Sergeant, that I have no reason whatsoever to suspect Doctor Ellerman.’

  ‘Could I ask your reasons for not considering either him or Ms Tremaine for the new post?’

  ‘It’s very simple really. Fenella Tremaine did a first-class job in the department but she simply isn’t . . . wasn’t . . . management material. Marcus Ellerman is highly qualified and knows his job backwards, but human relations aren’t his strong point. Ironic, isn’t it? “Human Relations in the Workplace” was the subject of his PhD thesis, but he’s not very good at putting his theories into practice and he’s inclined to rub people up the wrong way.’

  ‘Didn’t someone say that about Ms Tremaine, Sarge?’ said Penny.

  Maxworth’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Someone in this company?’

  ‘No, sir, one of their neighbours in Sycamore Park,’ Penny explained.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Rathbone, ‘and Doctor Ellerman, who also lives there, gave us to understand that she had upset several of them recently.’

  Maxworth raised his eyebrows. ‘I hadn’t realized they were neighbours.’ He got up, went to his desk, called up a file on his computer and began jabbing at his keyboard. ‘So they are.’ He frowned. ‘Sycamore Park,’ he said, almost to hims
elf. ‘I’ve got a feeling I know of someone else who lives there.’ He returned to the table and sat down. ‘No,’ he said after a moment, ‘no one comes to mind. It’s probably irrelevant anyway.’

  ‘Probably,’ Rathbone agreed, ‘but if you should happen to remember, perhaps you’d let us know.’

  ‘Of course. Have you any more questions?’

  Before Rathbone could answer, his mobile rang. He got to his feet saying, ‘Excuse me, please,’ and headed for the door. When he returned, Penny could tell immediately from his expression that the call had been significant. ‘I apologize for the interruption Mr Maxworth,’ he said. ‘I must ask you to excuse us for the moment. We may need to see you again later.’

  ‘What’s up, Sarge?’ asked Penny as the door to Maxworth’s office closed behind them.

  ‘You’ll find out in a couple of minutes.’ Without waiting to summon the lift, Rathbone charged up the stairs to the second floor, banged on Ellerman’s door and flung it open without waiting for a response.

  Ellerman sprang to his feet. ‘What the devil do you mean by barging in like this?’ he demanded.

  ‘Sit down, Doctor Ellerman,’ Rathbone snapped. He opened his briefcase, took out the photograph of the murder weapon and threw it on the desk. ‘I showed you that less than an hour ago and asked you if you recognized it – remember?’

  Ellerman nodded. ‘I remember. What about it?’

  ‘DC Osborne, please read Doctor Ellerman’s reply.’

  Penny hastily consulted her notebook. ‘His reply was, “I’ve seen plenty of knives with this sort of handle in India. They’re in all the tourist shops.”’

  ‘And what further question did I ask, and how did he reply?’

  ‘You asked Doctor Ellerman if he owned one, Sarge, and he replied, “Do I look like someone who brings back kitsch from oriental bazaars?”’

  ‘Right, Doctor Ellerman,’ said Rathbone. There was a hint of steel in his voice that Penny could not recall having heard before. ‘You have already admitted bringing back from India those embroidered cushions we saw in your flat.’

  ‘I’ve already told you; I bought them to please my wife.’