No trace bak-8

by Barry Maitland

  ‘Chief? We’ve just heard from the hospital. Lee passed away less than an hour ago.’ Then he repeated himself as if he still couldn’t come to terms with it. ‘She’s dead. She never regained consciousness.’

  After thirty minutes Kathy rang the bell on Reg Gilbey’s front door. It was opened by Tom Reeves.‘Hi.’ He grinned at her, winked and nodded back with his head to indicate that they could be overheard.‘Come on in.’

  Sir Jack Beaufort was waiting for her in Reg’s dining room, sitting on one side of a polished pine dining table. The chair opposite him had been pulled out in preparation for her, and Kathy had the unnerving impression of a courtroom, the judge behind the bench and the witness -or was she the accused?-facing the court for interrogation.

  Beaufort rose to his feet and offered his hand across the table, shaking hers briefly and indicating the vacant chair. ‘Coffee, Sergeant?’ he asked curtly.

  ‘Thanks. Black, no sugar, please.’

  ‘I know,’ Reeves said, and left the room.

  ‘He likes you,’ Beaufort said.‘He speaks highly of you. That’s what persuaded me to speak to you.’ He cleared his throat, as if offering Kathy a chance to say something, but she remained silent. His gaze was steady and unblinking, and despite herself she felt intimidated.

  ‘You look uncomfortable,’ he said softly. ‘Please don’t be. I’m not a monster, you know. My colleagues used to call me “Jocular Jack” behind my back, on account of my sense of humour in court.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, indeed. Reg Gilbey told me about your interview with him yesterday. He was quite upset about it.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘We often forget, don’t we, in our line of work, how distressing our ways can seem to the lay public when they experience for the first time what is commonplace to us?’

  ‘I assure you that we complied with the rules laid down in PACE.’

  Beaufort waved his hand dismissively.‘I never doubted it. But still, just the idea of being questioned like a criminal would be enough to throw someone like Reg into confusion.’

  ‘He didn’t seem confused to me.’

  ‘He’s desperately worried that he may have given the impression that he felt guilty, or had something to hide, about the encounter with the Rudd child that he described to you. As he said, I was there that afternoon, and I can assure you that there was absolutely nothing untoward about it. The little girl was perfectly happy and Reg behaved impeccably towards her. That’s really what I wanted to tell you. Ah, Tom, well done. Biscuits too!’

  Reeves came in with a tray, put it on the table between them and left again. Beaufort fussed over the milk and sugar, humming softly to himself as if content to have completed his business. Kathy watched him, pretty certain that he had not.

  ‘Don’t you find police work very stressful, Sergeant?’ he asked conversationally.

  ‘It can be, yes.’

  ‘Especially a case like this. The thought of that missing child, the demands on you to come up with a result…

  I imagine the pressure must be almost overwhelming for the person leading the team, the senior investigating officer.’

  Brock, Kathy thought, that’s what this is about.

  ‘You’re SIO’s getting on a bit, too, for such a role, isn’t he?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. The important thing is his experience. That’s what gives him the edge. It’s what gives Special Operations the edge.’

  Beaufort smiled.‘Very loyal, as you should be. But I must confess I’m not convinced. I’m pretty experienced too, at judging men and their patterns of behaviour under stress, and it’s my humble opinion that your chief, and perhaps SO1 also, has been overstressed for too long. I would say that he is in the process of having a breakdown.’ He held up his hand as Kathy started to protest. ‘I know, it’s none of my business, and I hope it won’t go beyond these four walls. I’m just expressing a personal opinion, and perhaps offering a little insight for you to think about, because I know that, deserved or not, the team tends to be identified with the actions of its leader. Did you know that DCI Brock called at my house recently and behaved in a quite threatening way to my wife and myself?’

  Kathy felt a jangle of anxiety.

  ‘Of course, I know of his tremendous professional reputation,’ Beaufort went on, ‘and I imagine it was an action out of character, born of desperation, no doubt.’

  He sipped fastidiously at his coffee and nibbled the corner of a biscuit.‘These are stale. Reg isn’t a great one for housekeeping. Why he never married I can’t imagine. Hm.’ He laid the biscuit and cup to one side.‘There is one other thing that bothers me, Sergeant, and I don’t mind if you do pass this on to DCI Brock, if you feel it relevant. The man Wylie you’ve arrested is known to me. He is an extremely devious and evil character, and I am quite sure he will try to exploit any weakness he perceives in those against him, including offering false information. I should hate to imagine that DCI Brock’s opinion of Reg Gilbey, or of me for that matter, would be influenced by a character like that. Have committal proceedings begun?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Really?’ He frowned.‘There’s no doubt, I take it, about his guilt?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so.’

  ‘Then the sooner he’s put away the better. Well now,’ he brushed his fingers together and rose to his feet, ‘it’s been most pleasant talking to you, Sergeant. I’m obliged to you for giving me your time. Now I’d better return to the master upstairs. You’ve seen the portrait, haven’t you? What do you think of it?’

  ‘It’s very strong.’

  Beaufort seemed pleased with the reply.

  ‘Did you ever see Tracey again,’Kathy asked,‘after that day she called here?’

  ‘I believe I may have seen her in the square.’ His voice had become cool.‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘We ask everyone who may have seen her. Did you notice anyone watching her?’

  ‘Ah, I see. No, I’m afraid I can’t recall anything. I wasn’t really looking, you see.’

  ‘When would this have been?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Two or three weeks before she disappeared? Now, if you’ll excuse me, Tom will see you out.’

  While he went back upstairs to the studio, Kathy looked in on Tom Reeves in the kitchen. He put down the book he was reading and closed the door quietly behind her.‘How did it go?’

  ‘All right. I think I got the message.’

  ‘Am I allowed to ask what it was?’

  ‘Lay off Reg Gilbey and beware of my boss. The same message you gave me.’

  ‘Not at his bidding.’

  ‘He happened to mention that he saw Tracey Rudd a couple of times before she disappeared. Do you remember that?’

  ‘No, I’m pretty sure I never saw her. Maybe he bumped into her at the gallery.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Well, I assume Rudd took his kid down there, and the judge calls in now and again.’

  ‘Yes, the owner mentioned he has dinner in the restaurant.’

  ‘And he checks out the exhibitions. He looked in there this morning, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘What, with all those school kids?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Reeves laughed. ‘He had some bone to pick with the owner. Seemed rather annoyed.’

  ‘Do you know what about?’

  ‘No idea. Why, are you spying on him?’

  ‘Of course not. How’s old Reg today?’

  ‘He didn’t seem too bad. From the bottles I found in his waste bin I’d say he had a boozy night and it must have restored his spirits. He was ready to get back to work this morning, at any rate.’

  ‘I’d better get going.’

  ‘Okay. You may not be seeing me much longer.’

  ‘Oh. You moving on?’

  ‘Yeah. This job’s okay for overtime, but it’s dead boring really.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘Back to CID for a spell. Listen, you
didn’t think I was telling you that stuff because the judge told me to, did you? I mean, he did ask me to pump you about the case, but I said you wouldn’t tell me anything anyway.’

  ‘What did he want to know?’

  ‘Oh, who your suspects were for the old lady’s murder, and what the pathologist had to say about Dodworth’s death.’

  ‘Just out of idle curiosity, do you think?’

  ‘No, he seemed more insistent than that. I assumed he was wanting to reassure Reg.’

  ‘Hm. Well, I’d better go.’

  ‘Listen, if I can help at all…’ He suddenly seemed embarrassed, and shrugged.‘Whatever.’

  Kathy smiled at him, realising she’d be sorry not to bump into him again. ‘Thanks. I don’t suppose you’ve come across anyone called L. Sterne, have you, Tom?’

  ‘Lawrence Sterne,’ he said immediately.‘Wrote Tristram Shandy.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘Oh, eighteenth century.’

  Like Henry Fuseli, Kathy thought. But that couldn’t be it.

  ‘Why? Looking for something to read? Try this.’ He handed her the book he’d been reading. She took it and saw from the cover that it was a crime thriller.

  ‘It’s good. I’ve just finished it. I was checking some of the early clues I’d missed.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll try it, when I get some time. Better write your name in it, so I don’t steal it.’

  He grinned and wrote. Afterwards she saw he’d put his phone number as well as his name.

  Brock looked up as the guard tapped on the door. ‘Prisoner’s ready to see you again, sir.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He followed the man down the corridor and waited while he unlocked the door to the interview room. Wylie was sitting alone, looking sullen and thoughtful.

  ‘Where’s your lawyer?’ Brock asked. It was only on hearing the tightness in his own voice that he realised how much the news of Lee’s death had shaken him. He looked down at the pale blob of Wylie’s face and felt an overwhelming urge to bury his fist in it. Instead, he was obliged to wheedle and cajole and talk to this monster as if his needs and thoughts were really worthy of consideration.

  ‘I sent Russell out to get some air. He needs to relax more. Sit down, I want to talk to you, off the record.’

  Brock knew that he ought to stop this, walk out and calm down, but instead he took the seat.‘I’m listening.’

  Wylie waved towards the tape recorder. ‘I want that kept off.’

  Brock nodded.

  ‘The emails won’t help you with the girls. They contain personal stuff, to do with business, that I don’t want getting out. That’s number one. Number two: I got slapped around last night; they told me it was just the beginning. I know who ordered it. I want out of here. I want the charges dropped or I want bail.’

  Brock watched him become more agitated as he spoke, fidgeting with his fingers, tapping his foot beneath the table.

  ‘And in return?’

  Wylie leaned across the table and whispered, barely moving his lips,‘I’ll give you the judge.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘He took the girl, the third one, Tracey.’

  Brock remained motionless, but inside his chest he felt his heart hammering unnaturally fast.‘Go on.’

  Wylie shook his head. ‘That’s all I’ll say. I’ve got pictures.’

  ‘Who hit you?’

  ‘I got bumped. It was a warning from him, of course. Christ, he killed the old woman, and now this other bloke.’

  Brock sat back, wondering if the man’s panic was genuine. He was inclined to think it was.

  ‘Well?’Wylie demanded.

  ‘I’ll need a lot of convincing. I won’t have you released, but I can move you away from here, to somewhere you’ll be safe.’

  Wylie chewed his lip.‘All right. Do it straight away. My brief’ll contact you after that.’

  The girl at the entrance desk of the gallery was distracted by the winding snake of school students when Kathy arrived.‘Sorry,’Kathy said.‘I can see you’ve got your hands full. I want to see Mr Tait.’

  ‘He’s in his office, I think. Do you want me to ring…’

  ‘Don’t worry, I know where it is.’ Kathy smiled brightly and continued past the scrum in the hall down the corridor that led to Fergus Tait’s office. She knocked at the door, and Tait opened it.‘Ah, Sergeant, what can I do for you?’

  ‘I’d like to have another look in Stan Dodworth’s room, if that’s all right.’

  ‘Again? Your people were there yesterday. They have the key.’

  ‘Oh, of course. I should have realised.’

  ‘Not to worry. If you won’t get me into trouble, I’ll confess that I have a spare. You can use that.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Are you any closer to some answers, might I ask?’

  ‘There’s not a lot I can tell you.’

  ‘Ah, only I paid a visit to Gabe this morning and he’s in a bad way. He’s worked himself up to such a pitch. I’ve never seen him so frayed, coming apart at the seams, pale as a ghost. Poppy’s very worried about him.’

  ‘I’ll go and see them when I’ve finished here.’

  ‘Today’s will be the sixteenth banner. We’re running out of space. Don’t call me a cynical businessman if I say that it would be a great relief to everyone concerned if you could wind this thing up before too long.’

  ‘We’re doing our best.’

  ‘Of course. I’ll get you that key.’

  While he searched in a drawer of his desk, Kathy said, ‘I spoke to Sir Jack Beaufort just now. I believe he was in here earlier, wasn’t he? Did you manage to sell him something?’

  Tait raised his eyebrows.‘No chance of that. He was mad because I told you about selling him that painting of Betty’s. Goodness knows why he was so upset. Told me in no uncertain terms not to gossip about him. Gossip! I ask you.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve ever come across a little oil painting that Tracey Rudd did, have you? A self-portrait.’

  Tait looked at her in surprise. ‘Tracey? No, I’ve never heard of that.’

  In Stan Dodworth’s room she found that the gruesome contents that would be of interest to the coroner had been removed. There seemed little chance that the searchers would have overlooked a painting of a child’s face, but Kathy searched anyway, without result. Later, she would check the inventory of items the police had removed, again without finding any reference to it.

  23

  He’s on something, no doubt about it. I’m Colin, by the way.’ The officer closed the front door behind Kathy and turned to face her, speaking with voice lowered. He was wearing a protective vest over his uniform shirt and tie, and a 9-mm Browning was holstered on his right hip, yet he looked like a boy, barely old enough to be out of school. ‘Doesn’t look as if he’s slept for days, and he’s getting to the jumpy stage, I reckon. I told the lady we should get a doctor to check him, but she said he won’t hear of it.’ ‘Has he been giving you any trouble?’

  ‘No. He stays up on the top floor most of the time, working. At least he’s safe up there.’

  They climbed up the stairs to the main living floor, where Poppy was sitting by the big windows overlooking the square. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘I saw you coming.’ Her voice sounded distant and vague.

  ‘How are you?’ Kathy asked.

  ‘Oh… not bad. Bit tired.’ She gazed blankly out at the skeletal branches in the gardens silhouetted against the grey sky.

  Kathy wondered if this distraction was the result of a night in bed with Gabe, but then noticed the slightly uncoordinated hand movement as the magazine on Poppy’s lap slid to the floor. ‘Have you been taking medication, Poppy?’

  ‘What?’Poppy slowly turned her head.‘Oh, Gabe gave me something to relax me, that’s all. He says I’m too wound up after what’s happened. God, you should see him! He’s on three packs of fags a day now.’

  ‘Has he been taking pills too?’

  ‘I
don’t know. Probably. Can’t blame him, can you? Poor Stan. Poor Betty. Poor Tracey.’ A tear began to trickle down Poppy’s pale cheek.‘Gabe says it’s finished now, but it isn’t, is it?’

  ‘Why don’t you lie down and get a bit of sleep?’

  ‘Yes, I might do that.’

  ‘Colin here will help you down the stairs while I talk to Gabe.’

  ‘Right… Don’t be cross with him about the pills, Kathy. He’s doing the best he can. He doesn’t show it much, about Trace and everything, but that’s just his act.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’

  Kathy watched the young constable take hold of Poppy’s arm and help her to her feet. Her legs seemed rubbery and he had to support her to the stairs.

  ‘Can you manage there, Colin?’ Kathy asked, and he grinned and nodded. They disappeared and she took the stairs up to the studio. As she pushed open the door a cloud of cigarette smoke billowed out to meet her. Gabe was on his hands and knees on the floor. He was wearing a stained T-shirt and boxer shorts, bare feet, white curls all over his face, and looked like a shipwrecked soul crawling out of the sea. He lifted his head towards her and stared through red-rimmed eyes without a glimmer of recognition.

  ‘Gabe? It’s me, Kathy Kolla, from the police.’

  ‘Oh… yeah.’ He got laboriously to his feet and pushed the hair out of his eyes. His chest was heaving with quick, shallow breaths.‘Sorry, concentrating.’

  Kathy saw that he had been crawling across a long roll of plastic, scribbling red pencil marks on what looked like a draft print of another banner.

  ‘Yesterday’s number fifteen. Liberty and Justice, remember?’ His words were slightly slurred.

  She saw the two figures dangling from a gibbet. ‘Yes, I remember. How are you feeling?’

  ‘On fire… drowning.’

  ‘You should get some rest. I’m going to call a doctor to look at you.’

  ‘NO!’ The sudden violence of his shout made her start. ‘I mean, no, please. Maybe tomorrow, but I haven’t got time just now. When I’ve finished this I’ll be able to sleep, then everything’ll be fine.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Really. Absolutely.’ He reached for a mug of something and took a gulp, then for the pack of cigarettes beside it. ‘They never found Dave, you know.’ He blew smoke.