He knew he sometimes had a tendency to judge a book by its cover, and for that very reason he had been surprised by DC Abraham. To interpret the man’s natural quietude as weakness was a mistake, Ashworth now knew. When questioned about the use of modern technology in crime detection, Abraham had given strong, measured answers that reflected his own opinions, rather than ones which may have curried favour with his Chief Inspector.
After the relative peace of village policing, the young man would no doubt need to readjust, but Ashworth felt that he would quickly find his feet.
As Abraham left the office, Ashworth reflected on Detective Constable Bedford. Her expression had been sullen, and he wondered what she had been told about his views on women officers. He had deliberately left her until last because he had a statement to make about equality, and DC Bedford’s reaction to that statement could well determine her future within Bridgetown CID.
Holly now sat facing Ashworth. Her first thought had been one of surprise that his battered waxed cotton jacket, which now hung on the coatrack, had been covering a well-tailored suit, staid as opposed to trendy, but smart and reasonably new. She was awkwardly aware of her hands.
‘Well, DC Bedford, I’ll come straight to the point. Have you heard anything about me which bothers you unduly; anything you feel could make our working relationship difficult?’
Holly met his gaze, determined not to avert her eyes. ‘I’m sure you know the answer to that, sir. I’ve heard that you’re not particularly fond of female officers — and that does bother me.’
‘Yes, I imagine that it would,’ Ashworth remarked kindly. ‘And have you seen anything in my manner, so far, to suggest that it’s true?’
The question threw Holly for a moment. Hesitantly, she said, ‘Well, it didn’t escape my notice that you left me till last.’
‘I see. I’ll admit that I don’t like women in CID.’
Holly’s heart sank; her tension soared.
Ashworth went on. ‘There are two reasons, both of equal importance: firstly, society is becoming increasingly violent and I don’t think women should be put in the firing line—’
‘I think I can set your mind at rest on that point, sir,’ Holly broke in. ‘I hold a black belt in judo.’
It was Ashworth’s turn to be taken aback. He considered this thin strip of a girl. ‘Do you now?’ He pursed his lips. ‘I see. So what it really boils down to is — do I consider you to be the equal of, say, DC Whitworth?’
‘Yes, sir, I think it does.’
Ashworth shook his head. ‘I can’t give an opinion yet. Before I can pass judgement on whether you’re equal, inferior or superior, I’ll need a lot more information than the mere fact that you’re a woman and he’s a man.’
Holly felt a warm wetness between her legs, and with it came a tremendous relief which pushed away her tenseness. She gave a tiny sigh of gratitude.
Seemingly oblivious to this, Ashworth continued. ‘There will undoubtedly be times when you feel you’re being passed over, not given your correct place in the pecking order . . .’
Holly was no longer listening for the euphoria which had accompanied the start of her menstruation had now been replaced with an urgent desire to collect her tampons and visit the lavatory.
She forced her mind back to the Chief Inspector.
‘. . . because it happens to all of us, but I can assure you that it will have nothing to do with the fact that you’re a woman,’ he concluded, with the air of someone who had just made a great deliberation.
‘Thank you, sir,’ Holly said hurriedly.
‘Has that put your mind at rest?’
‘Yes it has, sir,’ she confirmed, glad that the interview was over.
‘Good, I hope we can work well together,’ Ashworth said, pushing himself up from his seat. ‘Well, thank you.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Holly bustled towards the door, closing it loudly behind her, and — certain in the knowledge that Messrs Stimpson and Whitworth would put their own interpretations on her dash to the lavatory, and build a whole collection of witticisms around it — she collected her handbag and left the room.
Ashworth, never one to make snap judgements, had to admit that he found DC Bedford a strange young woman. As the interview began he had felt — sensed — her hostility, then she seemed to become almost benignly happy, a state which had been quickly followed by what he could only describe as a nervousness which carried with it an urgent desire to leave the room.
Rifling through the papers on his desk, he came upon the one bearing Holly’s name; the one that Savage had conveniently forgotten to give him the day before. Long ago he had conceded that there were many things about women he would never comprehend, but by the time he had finished reading that file, he knew the reason for the pain that resided in her green eyes.
* * *
Ten minutes later Ashworth’s appearance in what was now termed ‘the main office’ turned the banter into a stony silence.
‘Right,’ he said, ‘bring me up to date with what’s happening.’
Alistair Stimpson spoke up. ‘We’re working on the burglaries, sir. DC Abraham is sorting through juvenile offenders, and DC Whitworth and I are leaning . . .’ a flustered pause ‘. . . interviewing them. Without much joy at the moment.’
‘Nor will there be,’ Ashworth said shortly. ‘Why are you still doing that?’
‘Last orders we were given, sir,’ Whitworth chipped in. ‘Everything’s been on hold — waiting for your return.’
‘Has it now?’
Ashworth walked to where Joshua Abraham was sitting at the VDU, its cursor flashing impatiently. He stood looking at his wall-map for some moments before tapping the VDU’s screen, saying, ‘Useful things, these, for storing information, but personally I find an old-fashioned map far more informative.’ Adding tartly, ‘But of course with a map one has to use one’s powers of reasoning.’
He returned his attention to the map. ‘Forget the juveniles. These villains are fully grown, and my guess is, they live somewhere here.’ He indicated the large council estate to the north of Bridgetown. ‘Now, the red pins indicate the burglaries that took place up to when I went on leave. If DS Stimpson and DC Whitworth would like to fill in the map up to the present time . . .’ he turned to look at the two officers, ‘I’m sure you’ll see the pattern. If not, I’ll point it out to you when I come back. Then a little surveillance this evening should sort out the problem. DC Abraham, if you could find out known offenders living in the area, that could narrow the field.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. Now, the missing person. What’s been done about him?’
‘Nothing, sir,’ Holly replied. ‘The Chief Constable told us to leave it alone for forty-eight hours. See if he turns up.’
Ashworth glanced out through the glass wall of the building and observed the steady advance of angry snow clouds.
‘I’ll overturn that order. We start looking now,’ he said. Then to Holly, ‘I want you to come with me to interview the wife. Give her a ring to let her know we’re on our way.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Ashworth vanished into his office. Some five minutes later he reappeared, struggling into his battered jacket.
Holly, having telephoned Mrs Edwards, had donned her thick black padded anorak and was standing waiting for him.
He gave her a nod and marched to the door. As he was about to leave, he turned and pointed a finger at no one in particular. ‘One other thing,’ he said. ‘There’s something wrong with these offices: this one is too cramped and there’s too much space in mine. I’ll sort it later.’
When they were certain he had gone, Stimpson and Whitworth exchanged a derisive glance. Whitworth began drumming out a rough rock-and-roll beat with both hands on the top of his desk, singing, ‘I know everything, man. I know everything . . .’
The computer bleeped its annoyance at the speed with which Abraham was typing his questions, attracting the atten
tion of the two officers.
Whitworth immediately slowed his beat and crooned, ‘Joshua, Joshua, sweeter than lemon squash you are . . .’
‘Shall we stick pins in the map?’ Stimpson asked amiably.
‘That’s what I joined the force for,’ Whitworth replied.
Chapter 3
Barbara Edwards was in her elegant lounge. She was pacing, wringing her hands, too restless to sit.
She turned to her brother, Dennis Paine, who was reclining on the sofa. ‘But they must have discovered something, Dennis. Why else would they want to see me?’
‘Sit down Babs,’ Paine said irritably. ‘They haven’t discovered anything. They would have said.’
Barbara continued pacing. ‘Something must have happened. Where is he?’
The front doorbell rang, causing her to jump.
‘It’s all right, Babs, I’ll get it.’
Paine opened the door to Ashworth and Holly.
Ashworth produced his warrant card. ‘Chief Inspector Ashworth, Bridgetown CID. We’ve called to see Mrs Edwards.’
‘Yes, yes, come in. I’m Dennis Paine, Mrs Edwards’s brother and Simon’s business associate.’
‘And this is DC Bedford, sir.’
Paine gave Holly a brief glance before saying, ‘I’m afraid my sister’s a little keyed up.’
‘That’s perfectly understandable in the circumstances, sir.’
Paine ushered them into the lounge, where the distraught Barbara Edwards was waiting expectantly. ‘Have you found him? Is it bad news?’
‘Nothing to alarm yourself about, Mrs Edwards,’ Ashworth reassured her. ‘We’re just here to ask a few questions.’
The woman was looking wildly from one to the other, certain that they were concealing something.
‘Look, Babs, why don’t you go and make some tea?’ Paine ventured.
‘I can’t, Dennis, they want to ask me questions about Simon.’
Holly stepped in. ‘Why don’t we go into the kitchen, Mrs Edwards? I can help you make the tea and ask questions at the same time.’
‘Yes, all right,’ Barbara answered absently. ‘It’s this way.’
Dennis Paine indicated an armchair. ‘Sit down, Chief Inspector.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Ashworth settled into the chair and unbuttoned his jacket. Paine stretched out on the sofa.
‘Just a few routine questions really, sir,’ Ashworth said. ‘Do you know of anywhere your brother-in-law is likely to have gone?’
‘That’s a bloody silly question,’ Paine flared. ‘If I thought I knew where he was, I wouldn’t be sitting here.’
‘Mr Paine,’ Ashworth began patiently, ‘I’ve got to ask these questions, and losing your temper isn’t going to help.’
Paine’s look was contrite as he said, ‘I’m sorry, Chief Inspector. This is a great strain.’
Ashworth took a moment to consider the room. The carpets and lavish furnishings must have cost a small fortune; the porcelain figurines, expertly displayed in glass-fronted cabinets, were so obviously antiques. Ashworth now saw the necessity for the elaborate alarm system he had noticed on his way to the lounge.
He looked back to where Dennis Paine was now sitting rigidly on the sofa. He said, ‘That’s all right, Mr Paine. I just want to know if there is anyone your brother-in-law might have gone to see. Someone who he’d rather your sister didn’t know about.’
‘A woman, you mean?’ Paine shook his head. ‘No, I wouldn’t think so.’
‘But you’re not sure?’
‘Well . . . not really. I’ve never thought about it. We go on a lot of business trips, to London, and abroad.’
‘Yes?’ Ashworth prompted.
‘Often our hosts lay on hospitality . . . visits to strip shows and anything else. I’m a single man, Chief Inspector.’
‘It’s not your behaviour that’s under scrutiny, sir.’
‘I’m not my brother-in-law’s keeper, Chief Inspector, I really don’t know.’
Ashworth felt it unlikely that the two men could spend time together without each at least having some idea of what the other was doing, so he had to conclude that Simon Edwards did on occasions avail himself of the hospitality offered.
He asked now, ‘Your business is what, sir?’
‘Fashion wear. Mostly leather belts and handbags for the export market.’
‘Does Mr Edwards have any financial problems?’
‘Is the business broke? I take it that’s what you’re asking?’
Ashworth nodded.
Paine considered the question for longer than Ashworth would have expected. ‘We’re solvent,’ he said slowly, ‘but like so many other businesses, we’ve had a few bad years recently. We’ll survive though.’
‘Sorry to have to ask you this, but is the financial situation acute enough to have caused your brother-in-law any amount of anxiety?’
Holly came in then, with tea in delicate china cups, and sugar lumps in a matching bowl.
Paine, with a great show of gallantry, rose to help, quickly moving a coffee table, and relieving Holly of the tray. All the time, his eyes appraised her.
Ashworth watched him. It was difficult to determine the man’s age. His iron-grey hair suggested years which the almost wrinkle-free face denied, but he could not have been younger than mid-fifties. Somehow Ashworth felt that no woman would be safe from his advances.
Paine continued to stare at Holly until she had left the room, no doubt assessing her ‘entertainment’ potential.
Ashworth found he disliked the man. His oily manners barely concealed an abrasive attitude, and Ashworth sensed that sudden displays of temper would probably be the norm for him. He coughed to bring Paine’s attention back to the matter in hand.
‘Forgive me, Chief Inspector,’ he said, sugaring his tea before settling back on the sofa. ‘Financial worries . . . yes, both Simon and I have them, but not to any great degree. If I needed to raise money, I might have to mortgage my house.’
‘And Mr Edwards’s situation would be the same?’
‘It had better be,’ Paine laughed, ‘because if it’s not he’s taking more money out of the business than I am.’ He sat stirring his tea for a time then asked, ‘Where is this leading?’
‘Just routine questions, sir. Tell me what happened on the day Mr Edwards went missing.’
Once again Paine’s good manners slipped. ‘I’ve already been through that with someone else,’ he snapped.
‘Well, go through it again for me,’ Ashworth said firmly.
Paine’s sigh, as he began, indicated that he was not accustomed to being spoken to with such authority. ‘It was late afternoon on Monday. Simon came into my office and said he’d had a call from one of our exporters in London — Horrocks International. They wanted him to go up to town for a meeting the next morning. Well, I was a little miffed that he had arranged it all without informing me first. And to add insult to injury, he asked me to come here and pick up a change of clothes and his overnight bag.’
‘And Mrs Edwards can confirm that you did this?’
Ashworth feared for the safety of the china cup as Paine banged it into the saucer. ‘Why should my sister have to confirm anything? I’m not under suspicion for any reason, am I?’
‘Of course not, sir,’ Ashworth replied, evenly. ‘I was merely asking if your sister was here when you called.’
‘Oh. No, she wasn’t, actually. She was at a Women’s Institute tea, or something like that. God, the rubbish women fill their heads with.’
Women’s Institute, thought Ashworth; so Barbara Edwards could possibly be known to Sarah.
Paine had ceased to recount, so Ashworth prompted him. ‘And then?’
‘What do you mean, and then?’ Paine snapped as he leant forward to replace his cup next to Ashworth’s, which remained untouched.
Ashworth was fast becoming irritated by this man’s lack of manners, and making no attempt to conceal the fact, he asked curtly, ‘I mean, what happened
then, Mr Paine?’
‘I rang Babs early evening to tell her what had happened, and then at ten p.m. she rang me. I was still in the office. She said she was worried to death because Simon hadn’t been in touch and she’d called the hotel but he wasn’t there, he hadn’t checked in. You see, Chief Inspector, my sister is a little neurotic.’
‘So none of this worried you at the time.’
‘No.’ Paine then looked furtive, as he said, ‘As I told Babs, Simon could easily have checked into another hotel. Rather unwisely, I realise now, I gave her the name of the people Simon was doing business with. In the morning she phoned them, panicked when Simon wasn’t there, and called you in.’
‘And Mr Edwards’s disappearance still didn’t bother you?’
‘Of course it bothered me,’ Paine spat. ‘I was going to wait until later in the day, then phone all of our business contacts and try to locate him.’
‘Did you do that?’
‘Yes, I did. None of them had seen or even been in touch with Simon. The fool must have taken off somewhere. Just wait until he gets back. There — are you satisfied?’
‘No. Far from it,’ Ashworth replied frostily. ‘You seem to be asking me to believe that in this climate of recession, Mr Edwards, on his way to a business meeting, suddenly decides not to bother, and instead, goes gallivanting off, and then doesn’t take the trouble to phone his wife, not even to keep up the pretence. But the hardest thing for me to believe, sir, is your obvious lack of concern for your brother-in-law. You don’t seem in the least bit worried.’
‘Are you calling me a liar, Chief Inspector?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Ashworth replied bluntly. ‘Or something close to it. Try ‘not telling me the whole truth’ — see how that fits.’
Paine chewed on his bottom lip as he considered the situation then, although there was no likelihood of their conversation being overheard, he spoke in a hushed, hurried whisper. ‘This is very delicate. I feel I’m walking a tightrope here.’
‘Could you speak up, sir?’ Ashworth asked, stoutly.
Rather than raise his voice, Paine leant closer to the Chief Inspector. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what it’s like to go to bed with the same woman almost every night for twenty-five years . . .’ His expression indicated that the thought held little appeal for him. ‘. . . but I would imagine it to be monotonous, to say the least.’
THE PRICE OF MURDER a totally gripping British crime mystery Page 3
