‘Would you describe those items as “kitsch”?’
‘To be honest, yes, but Julie liked them.’
‘What about knives with decorative handles?’
‘They’re hardly the sort of thing to appeal to a woman.’
‘No, but some men have an interest in weapons. Doctor Ellerman, I’m asking you for the second time, do you recognize this knife?’
‘And I’m telling you, for the second time,’ said Ellerman defiantly, ‘that I shall answer no further questions without my solicitor being present.’
‘Supposing I were to tell you that we have a witness who claims to have seen a knife identical to this one in your flat?’
Ellerman’s jaw dropped and his normally healthy colour faded. ‘What witness?’ he asked in a hoarse voice.
‘Do you deny owning such a knife?’
Ellerman shook his head, but it appeared to be in disbelief rather than a denial. When he made no reply, Rathbone said, ‘In the circumstances, Doctor Ellerman, I suggest we continue this interview at headquarters. If you wish to contact your solicitor before we leave and ask him to meet us there, you are free to do so.’
‘Am I being arrested?’
‘Not at the moment. Let’s say that we believe you have information concerning the murder of Fenella Tremaine and that you are helping us with our enquiries.’
Ellerman stood up. Every vestige of self-confidence seemed to have deserted him; he even appeared to Penny to have shrunk in stature. ‘I prefer to call my solicitor from police headquarters,’ he said. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll have a word with my PA before we leave.’ He pressed a button on his desk and said, ‘I have to go out unexpectedly. Any messages can wait till I come back.’
At police headquarters Ellerman made a call to his solicitor and was then shown into an interview room and offered a cup of tea, which he declined. Within fifteen minutes a tall, spare, white-haired man wearing heavy horn-rimmed glasses and carrying a briefcase arrived and introduced himself as Jason Pollard. ‘I am Doctor Ellerman’s legal adviser and I wish to confer with my client in private,’ he said.
‘It’s the normal procedure, sir,’ said Rathbone. Penny judged from his curt response that he was irritated by the man’s officious manner. He held open the door of the interview room. ‘Your client’s in here. I don’t know about you,’ he said to Penny as he closed the door behind Pollard, ‘but I could do with a snack and a coffee.’
‘Have we got time, Sarge?’ asked Penny.
‘If they’re ready before we are they’ll just have to wait, won’t they?’ He went over to a vending machine and fed it with coins.
Fifteen minutes later, Pollard emerged, beckoned and said, ‘We’re ready for you now, Sergeant.’
‘With you in a moment, sir.’ Without any show of haste, Rathbone swallowed the rest of his coffee and threw the plastic cup into a bin along with an empty crisp packet. Penny did the same and they followed Pollard back into the interview room.
When all four were seated Rathbone switched on the tape recorder. For a moment Penny thought Pollard was about to object, but all he said was, ‘I’m sure this matter can be cleared up very quickly, Sergeant. My client has assured me that he knows nothing about the death of Fenella Tremaine and that he is perfectly willing to answer any questions you may wish to put to him.’
‘All right, let’s start with the murder weapon, shall we?’ Once again, Rathbone produced the photograph. ‘Doctor Ellerman, you have twice avoided giving me an answer when I asked if you recognize this knife. I am now asking you that question for the third time, and I want a straight answer.’
Ellerman nodded. ‘Yes, I recognize it.’
‘Do you possess such a knife?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where is it?’
‘It’s in my flat.’
‘Exactly where in your flat?’
‘In a glass fronted display case in the living room. It’s with various other knick-knacks I . . . that is to say, my late wife and I . . . brought back from our travels.’
‘You mean “kitsch”?’ said Rathbone with a touch of sarcasm.
‘I told you, Sergeant; Julie liked to have a memento from every trip.’
In response to a glance from Rathbone, Penny asked, ‘How long have you been a widower, sir?’
Ellerman frowned. ‘Is that relevant?’
‘It might be,’ said Rathbone.
Ellerman glanced at Pollard, who gave a slight shrug as if he too considered the question unimportant. ‘Just over six years,’ he said.
‘Were you living in Sycamore Park at the time?’
‘No. We had a house in North Bristol.’
‘Was it your wife’s idea to buy the knife?’
‘No, as it happens it was mine. I was intrigued by the workmanship. It was quite expensive, in fact, not the usual mass-produced junk.’
‘And it has been in your display cabinet ever since your return from your trip to India?’
‘Yes.’
‘So why, when I showed you the photograph, did you deny recognizing it?’
‘I . . . I didn’t want to risk the press finding out that I owned such a knife . . . I didn’t want the publicity.’
‘Because you thought it might damage your chance of promotion?’
‘Yes.’
‘Didn’t it occur to you that the simplest way to prove it wasn’t your knife was to invite us to see it for ourselves?’
‘You might have thought I had more than one – people do sometimes buy these things in pairs.’ Ellerman clasped his hands together and thumped them against his chest in a sudden burst of emotion. ‘All right, I admit I lied . . . I suppose I panicked, but I swear to you I didn’t touch her. I only bought the one knife and it’s in my flat. Why don’t we go there now and I’ll show it to you?’
‘Just what I was about to suggest.’ Rathbone switched off the tape recorder and stood up.
‘It’s in here.’ Ellerman slid aside one of the glass doors of the wall-mounted display cabinet. He reached towards the back of the lower shelf and then withdrew his hand with a muttered expletive.
‘What’s the problem, sir?’ asked Rathbone.
‘It’s not here . . . the bloody thing’s gone! Some thieving bastard must have nicked it and used it to kill Fenella!’
‘When did you last see it?’ asked Rathbone.
‘How should I know? I walk past that cabinet every day without looking inside.’
‘You haven’t shown it to anyone recently?’
‘No. No one.’
‘Who has been in your flat recently?’
‘I don’t do much in the way of entertaining but . . . I suppose the last time was when I invited the committee for drinks the day after the residents’ association meeting. It gave the new members a chance to get to know each other, but the main reason was to settle the query about the accounts that was still outstanding.’
‘That was when you had a rather public disagreement with Ms Tremaine?’
‘That’s right. Needless to say, she wasn’t among the guests.’
‘So it wasn’t purely a social gathering, sir?’
‘Not entirely. As I’ve just said, there were a few points arising from the meeting that needed clearing up. Because of the disagreement the chairman ruled the matter be adjourned for further discussion and this was agreed on condition that residents would be advised of the decision as an appendix to the minutes of the meeting.’
‘Can you remember everyone who came to your flat?’
‘Of course.’ Ellerman opened a bureau and took out a note book. He scribbled some names, tore out a sheet and handed it to Rathbone.
‘Thank you, sir.’ Rathbone handed the note to Penny. ‘Anyone else you can think of? Workmen for example? Do you have a cleaning lady?’
Suddenly Ellerman snapped his fingers. ‘Wilkins!’ he exclaimed. ‘He must have taken it. He does odd jobs for the residents now and again . . . he was in here a few days ago adjus
ting one of the windows. He hated Fenella because he believed she tried to get him sacked . . . he must have seen the knife and taken it. He knew her habits . . . he must have been lying in wait for her and . . .’ His voice rose in triumph. ‘He’s your killer, Sergeant!’
SEVEN
‘Mr John Yardley?’
‘Yes.’
‘DC Pringle.’ Tim held up his ID.
‘Ah yes, you want to talk about Fenella Tremaine.’ Yardley held the door open and stood aside for Tim to enter. ‘Do come in.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Please sit down.’ Yardley indicated one of a pair of armchairs placed on either side of the window and sat down on the other. ‘This is a terrible business,’ he said gravely. ‘Poor Fenella . . . murdered and dumped in a skip like a bag of rubbish. Terrible!’ he repeated with a sad shake of his head.
‘I see from the statement you made to one of our uniformed officers –’ Tim referred to his notebook – ‘that as chairman of the residents’ association you were present at a recent meeting when she had a rather acrimonious disagreement with Doctor Ellerman. Would you care to enlarge on that, sir?’
Yardley gave a slightly rueful smile. ‘Oh dear, that was rather unfortunate, and in a way I felt partly responsible. You see,’ he went on, in response to Tim’s surprised expression, ‘before I retired I was on the board of directors of Maxworth Foods.’
‘Who are also the employers of both Doctor Ellerman and Ms Tremaine?’ Yardley gave a nod of agreement. ‘Yes, I understand you held a senior position there, but that doesn’t explain—’
‘I was the head of the Accounts and Administration department,’ he explained, ‘and shortly before I retired there was a sudden, unexpected vacancy when a senior member of the staff died very suddenly of a heart attack. It couldn’t have happened at a worse time from the company’s point of view; the auditors were working on the annual accounts and the deadline for filing them was fast approaching. Fenella Tremaine had been employed in the department, on the accounts side, for two or three years and was very competent. The chap who died had always spoken very highly of her and in the circumstances, having sought the then chairman’s approval, I took the decision to offer her the job. Only one person objected, and that was Doctor Ellerman.’
‘What were the grounds for his objection?’
‘It was obvious it was personal as they’d had a few disagreements in the past. To be frank, Constable Pringle, Ellerman can be somewhat overbearing at times and I have a feeling he was a bit of a misogynist in matters of business into the bargain. I wouldn’t have described Fenella as a feminist, but she had proved herself capable of standing up to him and I decided to take the risk.’
‘And it was shortly after her appointment was confirmed that you retired?’
‘That’s right, at the next Annual General Meeting.’
‘Were you aware that under the proposed reorganization of the company, she and Ellerman were potential rivals for an important position in the department?’
‘Oh yes, I’m a shareholder as well as drawing a pension, so I naturally continue to take an interest in the company’s fortunes. I recently met the new chairman, Anton Maxworth. A very capable man; the company will do well under his leadership. I must say,’ he added after a moment’s reflection, ‘it never entered my head that either of them would resort to murder to get the job.’
‘So you think Ellerman killed Ms Tremaine?’
‘I didn’t say that.’ Yardley’s response was swift and emphatic. ‘But of course, I seem to have read somewhere that anyone’s capable of murder if the stakes are high enough.’
Tim nodded. ‘It’s true we can’t take anything for granted. Now, sir, at the time of your retirement were you living in Sycamore Park?’
‘No. My wife and I had a house in Clevedon. She died five years ago; I was already finding the garden too much for me to manage – in fact, before she became ill we had been considering downsizing – and so I bought this flat and moved in just over three years go.’
‘Before you moved in, were you aware that both Doctor Ellerman and Ms Tremaine were living here?’
‘No.’
‘Had you known, would it have affected your decision to take this flat?’
‘Of course not – why should it? The place suits me as it’s got all the features I was looking for. I admit it was quite a surprise when I bumped into Fenella a couple of days after I moved in; we’d both been out shopping and came back at the same time. She looked rather taken aback when she saw me.’ Yardley gave a smile, as if amused at the recollection. ‘We haven’t had much to do with each other since, at least on a personal level. As a matter of fact I think she still thinks . . . thought of me as the boss. And she lives . . . lived in the other block. It was some time later that I realized Ellerman lived here as well.’
‘Have you had much contact with him?’
Yardley gave an emphatic shake of the head. ‘As little as possible. Almost up to the time I retired he never lost an opportunity to make some derogatory remark about Fenella. Soon after I moved in here I joined the residents’ association and after a while I became chairman of the committee. Ellerman became treasurer and Fenella secretary and it wasn’t unusual for the two of them to have a spat over something or other – in fact it was almost par for the course. Someone once said a scriptwriter could turn it into a sitcom called the “Fenella and Marcus Show”.’ He gave a wry grin. ‘Ellerman tried at first to get me on his side, but mostly I told him they had to sort it out between them.’
‘And presumably you said the same thing to Ms Tremaine?’
‘Oh, Fenella never appealed to me for support – as I said earlier, she could stand up for herself. She didn’t really enjoy being the secretary though; admin wasn’t really in her line. She’d rather have been treasurer and eventually she resigned from the committee altogether. I can’t say I blamed her.’ He frowned and passed a hand over his forehead. ‘Such a pity she was the one who had to die,’ he said, almost to himself.
Tim cleared his throat. ‘Now, sir, about the run-in they had at this meeting – as chairman, you were presumably involved in some way?’
‘I intervened to rule that the matter of the accounts be referred back to the committee for further discussion. There were other matters on the agenda and at the rate we were going we’d have been there all night.’
‘Was the matter eventually settled?’
‘Oh yes. A new committee was elected and we had a meeting a week or so later and came to an agreement very quickly. As I said, Fenella had already resigned and we agreed to adopt Ellerman’s suggestions. I have to admit that in this instance I was in agreement with him.’
‘Where did this meeting take place?’
‘In Ellerman’s flat.’
‘May I have the names of the other people present, sir?’
‘Of course. Apart from myself and Ellerman there was the new secretary, Jennifer Freeman, who lives at number twenty-five in this block, and two American chaps called Whittington and Worsley who live in the other block – not sure which number. They’re both very amiable types; they turned up once at a previous residents’ meeting when we were short of committee members and agreed to join. They help out with admin jobs like printing off and distributing notices, shoving copies of minutes through letter-boxes, that sort of thing.’
‘That’s very helpful background information, sir,’ said Tim. ‘Now I want to turn to a rather different matter. Our enquiries so far have indicated that from time to time Ms Tremaine aroused some ill-feeling among the other residents because of her habit of complaining; for example, about the way they park their cars or allow their children to ride their bicycles along the paths or kick balls around. We understand she also complained to the management company on these and other matters. Would you care to comment on that?’
‘To be honest, I think in most cases she had a point,’ Yardley replied without hesitation. ‘Not everyone is as considerate of other
people as they could be, and I’ve had occasion myself to chase up the estate manager on matters of maintenance. It wasn’t so much what she said to people, more the way she said it. She had this rather assertive manner, you see, but she was basically a well meaning and kind person. For example, I know for a fact that she used to pick up shopping for one or two of our residents who are housebound. And I recall hearing some of her colleagues at Maxworth’s speak highly of her, particularly the juniors in the department, who used to say how helpful and supportive she could be, especially when Ellerman picked on them if they made a mistake.’
Tim put away his notebook and stood up. ‘Well, thank you very much, Mr Yardley, for being so frank.’
‘I’ve recalled you at short notice because there have been some significant developments,’ said DCI Leach as his team assembled in his office late on Monday afternoon. ‘I’ve considered your brief verbal reports and it’s pretty clear that at least four people may have had a motive for killing Fenella Tremaine. The first to consider is Doctor Marcus Ellerman; apart from his personal dislike of her he’s admitted seeing her as a rival for a new position shortly to be created in the department where they both worked. Having at first denied ever having seen the murder weapon, he was eventually forced to admit that he owned it. When he was unable to produce it he accused the caretaker at Sycamore Park of having stolen it and used it to kill Fenella. Anyone care to comment?’
‘There is one point I forgot to mention, sir,’ said Rathbone.
‘Yes, Greg?’
‘At our first interview with Ellerman we – that is, Penny and I – had a strong impression he was prepared to be questioned about oriental knives and had decided on the line he was going to take. He was self-assured to the point of arrogance until faced with evidence that he possessed the actual murder weapon, when all the bluster went out of him. It may be that his solicitor primed him how to react if he was unable to produce the knife. His display of shock-horror when it wasn’t where he claimed he kept it was pretty convincing and then he immediately went on to accuse Wilkins.’
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