‘Knows you’d have trouble keeping your mind on line,’ she said with a knowing smile.
‘Some women are complimented by admiration,’ Trent replied, trying to sound suitably nonchalant.
‘If they can distinguish that from expectation. Where does she live?’
‘Number ten, Elmers Road. That’s the next one along.’ He pointed in the direction of the street.
They parted. Belinda ignored her car and walked up to the T-junction, turned into Elmers Road. Here, houses were more imposing than in Bracken Lane, many suffering from – or gaining from, depending on one’s taste – the advantage of architectural embellishments.
The bell ring by the front door was set in an elaborate brass depiction of something, although she couldn’t decide what.
Barbara opened the door.
‘Mrs Morley?’ Belinda asked.
‘Yes?’
‘I’m Constable Draper.’
‘You’re here because of poor Eileen ... So sudden and unexpected, that so charming a person should be taken so early ...’
No tears, no sobs to underline her over-expressed distress, Belinda noted. ‘I should like to have a word with you, if that would be convenient, please.’
‘When there’s been such shocking news, I feel ... I feel it is wrong to do anything but grieve.’
Belinda had not often seen fewer signs of grief. ‘I’m afraid it’s necessary,’ she insisted as she edged her way nearer the front door.
‘When I know nothing?’
‘We have to understand the background to her death and you may well be able to help us.’
‘Why?’
‘There is the possibility it was not due to natural causes.’
‘What are you getting at?’
‘She may have been the subject of a fatal assault.’
‘Oh, my God!’ Barbara stepped back, holding onto the door frame in her distress.
‘May I come in?’
‘I ... I suppose so.’ She finally backed away and allowed Belinda access through the front doorway and into her house.
The furnishings of the sitting room were expensive and lacked any sense of personality; professional interior decorator, Belinda judged. She sat on a chair which looked as if the designer had been confused, but was surprised to find it comfortable.
‘I suppose you’d like a drink’ Barbara said.
‘No, thank you.’
‘I’ll have one to try and overcome the terrible news.’
She crossed to an elaborate piece of furniture, pressed a button; bottles and glasses on three shelves came into view. ‘You won’t change your mind, constable? If you like a malt, I’ve some Macallan-Glenlivet which is quite pleasant.’
And sufficiently expensive to impress. Belinda repeated her refusal.
‘As I said, I really can’t think why you have come here.’ Barbara sat, a well-filled glass in her hand.
‘I hoped that was obvious. I understand you were very friendly with Mrs Ansell?’
‘Quite friendly.’
‘You’d rung her several times and had no answer which worried you.’
‘Naturally.’
‘What was your reason to speak to her?’
‘There wasn’t one. I just felt like having a chat.’
‘When your call was answered, you spoke to a policeman, but because he did not have the chance to identify himself, you mistook him for Mrs Ansell’s lover.’
‘That’s nonsense,’ she said sharply.
‘You suggested her affair with him was a tit-for-tat for Mr Ansell’s affair with a woman.’
‘I would never make such a comment.’
‘Constable Trent has quoted what you said to him.’
‘He obviously misunderstood me.’ She stood, went over to the ‘bar’, refilled her glass, returned to sit.
‘How do you know Mr Ansell had an affair?’
‘Not being his confidante, I don’t.’
‘Constable Trent has testified that that is what you said.’
‘Look, whatever he mistakenly thought I meant, I never tittle-tattle. In any case, it’s all in the past and poor, poor Eileen is not with us any more.’
‘We have to understand what happened.’
‘And I always look to the future, not the past.’
‘For once, you’ll have to make an exception.’
‘When you insist like that, you make me feel you’re going to try to arrest me.’
‘Only if there’s cause. When did you last see Mrs Ansell?’
‘I can’t remember exactly.’
‘Whenever it was, did she seem to be reasonably happy?’
‘She wasn’t really what I’d call a happy person.’
‘Did you notice any change in her in the last few weeks?’
‘Well, yes, I did.’
‘In what way?’
‘She became very bitter.’
‘D’you know why?’
‘It was that monkey.’
‘Monkey?’
‘Well, David insisted it was called something else. He told Eileen he’d bought it as a memento of the cruise. She didn’t believe him.’
‘Why not?’
‘Mementoes aren’t his scene. He’d left it on his bed when Eileen and I went up to the bedroom. I picked it up and it smelled of scent that certainly wasn’t Christian Dior’s number something or other ... Did you know that’s the most expensive scent in the world?’
‘No.’
‘Not interested?’
‘No, not really ...’
‘Being a policeman you have to focus your mind on what you people think are much less important matters? Well, anyway, Eileen would never have worn anything so mass market as the scent coming off that monkey. Then there were some blonde hairs on the monkey which couldn’t have been hers.’
‘Why not?’
‘A different shade of peroxide.’
‘So what did you think this added up to?’
‘What any intelligent woman would. He’d been having a few free ones and the girlfriend had hugged the monkey as well as him.’
‘Did Mrs Ansell come to the same conclusion?’
‘Reckoned he’d been having fun on the cruise and was angry.’
‘Cruise?’ Belinda repeated sharply.
‘Yes.’
‘Was he on his own?’
‘Not all the time, obviously. If you mean was Eileen there, the company wouldn’t pay for her as well as for him.’
‘Why were they paying for him?’ Belinda sensed she might finally be about to hear some significant information.
‘They’d been told to prepare a fresh advertising campaign for the shipping company.’
‘What ship was he on?’
‘Can’t remember.’
‘The Helios?’
‘How d’you guess?’
‘Where did the cruise go?’
‘It was only a cheapie: the Mediterranean.’
‘Did Mrs Ansell ever suspect her husband was having an affair before then?’
‘She’d have had to be stupid not to wonder.’
‘Why d’you say that?’
‘She kept the oats locked up. He was bound to jump at the first opportunity.’
‘Their relationship was strained?’
‘Almost broken.’
‘I imagine you’ve a reason for thinking that’
‘Sometime back I was telling her I’d heard a certain gentleman’s idea of pleasure was to ... Doesn’t matter what. And when I chanced to mention that to her, she got all of a twitter and remarked that sex was so demeaning. Of course, I’d guessed how she thought about it when she decided they’d sleep in separate beds. Wouldn’t have been long before it turned into different bedrooms.’
‘Did she accuse her husband of having had an affair?’
‘Yes.’
‘How did he respond?’
‘Denied it, of course. Have you ever met a husband with the courage to tell his wife he’s been
rodding around.’
‘It happens.’
‘I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me.’
Belinda’s response to the inference that she was gullible was weak and, because of her work, wrong. ‘But then I have so little contact with adulterous husbands.’
TWELVE
Belinda walked into the CID general room, spoke to DC Pascall who was writing up some reports on his computer. ‘D’you know if the guv’nor’s in?’
‘Do I not!’
‘Is he beginning to ignite?’
‘In flames. It took me longer to do some work than he reckoned it should and he all but consigned me to the beat.’
‘What’s cropped up?’
‘The PM on Mrs Ansell can’t be carried out yet and we can’t get hold of the husband.’
‘Then I suppose I’d better don asbestos before reporting.’
‘Everything else is delayed, so wait until he’s cooled.’
‘And give him the chance to fire up again?’
She went along to the DI’s room. The door was ajar so she walked in. ‘Just back, guv.’
‘About time.’
‘It’s been a bit of a job getting Barbara Morley to talk in-between drinks.’
‘Well?’
‘Mr Ansell has been on a cruise.’
‘So?’
‘Aboard the Helios.’
Glover showed no surprise. Was she supposed to think that he already knew that? She continued, ‘On-board, he met a woman whom Barbara reckons kept him from being lonely at night.’
Glover fidgeted with a pencil. ‘If Melanie Caine was in the diamond racket and Ansell was the man aboard who looked at her as if he’d just discovered sex ... Phone the hotel and find out if Ansell has turned up yet.’
‘They promised to get in touch with us the moment he did.’
‘Would it disturb you to do as I ask right now?’
Belinda took her cue and left his office. Ten minutes later, she gained slight satisfaction in reporting that Ansell had not returned to the hotel and the staff would have been in touch with her, as requested, had he done so.
As DC Trent had learned, life often kicked one in the nuts. Because he was on night duty, Alan – until now a so-called friend – had seized the chance to ask Christine out for a meal. What on earth had induced her to accept an invitation from a man who preferred cider to real ale, enjoyed poetry, visited art galleries and wasn’t afraid to admit he liked studying birds? He’d asked Christine how could any man waste time watching birds. ‘Isn’t that your favourite occupation?’ she’d replied tartly.
Trent’s bleak thoughts were interrupted by the phone.
‘Park Hotel. You’ve twice asked us to inform you when Mr Ansell returned. He has just done so.’
Trent rang Glover’s home.
His wife answered.’Yes?’
‘Constable Trent, Mrs Glover.’
‘What d’you want?’
Like the wives of officers of senior rank in the armed forces, she assumed their curt authority. ‘May I speak to the inspector, please?’
‘Is that necessary?’
Of course, he was only ringing for the fun of it. ‘I’m afraid so.’
‘He is very tired, so be as brief as possible.’
He hoped Christine would demand to be driven home straight after the meal and not accept a suggestion that they drove down to the coast and watched the lights of passing ships as Alan demonstrated superior intellect by babbling about rusty British coasters with salty funnels.
‘Yes?’ Glover said as a challenge, not a greeting.
‘I’ve been phoned by Park Hotel, sir. Mr Ansell has just returned there.’
‘Anything else to report?’
‘No, guv.’
‘Keep it that way.’
PC Brownley walked up to the reception desk at Park Hotel, explained he wanted to give Mr Ansell a message to prevent the clerk’s imagination moving into overdrive. ‘Wanted to give’ was the ultimate hypocrisy, he thought bitterly.
Moments later, Ansell walked out of the lift, crossed to the reception desk, was directed to where Brownley was waiting. He came to a stop. ‘You want a word? What about?’
‘Perhaps we might go up to your room, sir, and I’ll explain.’
‘Why can’t you tell me now?’
‘I would prefer to speak to you when we were on our own, sir.’
Ansell’s mind ranged over the possibilities which could cause a PC to come to the hotel, failed to approach the truth. ‘Very well.’
The lift took them up to the fourth floor, an electronic card gave access to the room.
‘What’s the problem?’ Ansell asked sharply.
Brownley spoke nervously, certain that the memory of Ansell’s shock and grief would haunt him for days, cause him to look at his wife and perversely visualize the pain of learning she was dead. ‘I am sorry, Mr Ansell, I have to give you some tragic news.’
‘Yes, I know. What’s happened to her?’ he asked harshly, concerned because of Melanie’s telephone call, the frantic demand he return Georgie immediately, the horror in her voice when he had said the monkey was burned, and then the way in which the call had been abruptly terminated. He had recently been living with the certainty that she had been in grave danger.
‘What’s happened to her?’ he asked harshly, convinced of the identity of whom they were speaking.
‘I am very much afraid your wife has died, sir.’
‘My wife?’ Ansell repeated, his confusion obvious.
‘You do understand what I have just said, Mr Ansell?’ PC Brownley, his own confusion considerable, felt he needed to reiterate the gravity of the situation.
‘Yes.’
‘You will understand you should return home as soon as possible.’
Ansell again said nothing.
Brownley’s confusion became suspicion.
The pathologist finished dictating into a recorder, asked the SOCOs if there were any further examinations they required; there was none. He turned away from the table on which Eileen Ansell’s body lay, indicated to the mortuary assistant to reconstruct it so it could be viewed by the husband or relative to confirm identity.
He spoke to Glover. ‘Can’t offer you much, Jim.’ The use of Christian names between pathologist and senior detective had become quite common. ‘There are no signs of trauma, asphyxiation, or indication of disease. With regard to the marks on the neck which were noted, these have become virtually imperceptible. The tissues below provided inconclusive evidence. In my opinion, fingers may have been applied to the neck, but only briefly and without much force.’
‘She wasn’t throttled?’
‘No.’
‘Then what did she die from?’
‘The negatives offer the possibility of overwhelming fear that she was about to be throttled and she suffered from vagal inhibition. A victim in fear of personal injury may suddenly die; there are several reports of a prostitute gripped by the neck, going out in a flash.’
‘Can you say that that’s what was the cause of death?’
‘No.’
‘Then your report is going to state what?’
‘That because of the facts, I can only surmise, not give a firm conclusion.’ The pathologist shrugged his shoulders as he gave what he knew was an unwelcome decision for Glover – indeed for any investigating officer of an unexplained death.
Glover hurried from his car, into divisional HQ, and up to his office. Through no fault of his, he was late. Strict time-keeping by all was one of his demands. As he sat at his desk, Frick entered.
‘Morning, sir. PC Brownley has been trying to ring you from Oxford.’
‘Trying to ring you’ made it obvious his delay had been noted. Frick had a solid nature, accepting criticism without notable resentment or praise with clear pride, yet occasionally he slyly made his thoughts evident.
‘I suggested you phoned him back, sir, so that he made his report directly to you. The number is on y
our desk.’
‘You did not find out if his report was going to be of any use?’
‘He seemed to think it was rather important, but did sound slightly confused.’
‘And you’re leaving me to sort out his confusion. Have you drawn up today’s calendar?’
‘On the desk.’
‘Any movement in naming who’s been flashing around the green in Esley Common?’
‘Not so far. It’s like my first inspector used to say, one can’t make bricks without clay.’
‘The Romans made concrete from volcanic ash.’
‘Very ingenious people.’
As Frick left, Glover picked up the receiver of the outside phone, dialled the number he had been given. He asked to speak to Constable Brownley.
‘Inspector Arnold here, inspector. Brownley is off duty, but has left me with his report. If you’ll give me your number, I’ll fax it to you.’
He thanked the other, replaced the phone, studied the list of current and pending cases and the officers expected to be called to court. More men away from direct duty.
He was brought the fax. He read it once, then again. He stared through the window. Brownley had been surprised by Ansell’s manner. He had not been nearly as shocked as was to be expected. No tears, no mind-shattered cry to be told it wasn’t true. ‘Yes, I know’. Had he steeled his emotions because a friend had already informed him his wife had died? Yet how could such a friend have had the opportunity to do so before Ansell left the hotel in the morning and from which he had been absent until now? Brownley named him bewildered, but not showing the signs of bitter grief which one would expect. It was hardly surprising Brownley had seemed confused. He lacked the knowledge of the background to the case and could only judge by experience.
Glover let his imagination roam. The phone rang. Glover ignored it as he recalled Barbara Morley’s muddled phone conversation from which Belinda had gained reason to believe Ansell had enjoyed an affair on the Helios. Hellan, the bar steward, had mentioned a man who, when drinking at the bar with Melanie, was mentally rogering her. Asked to describe the man, Hellan had failed to do so to any effect. But if her partner had been Ansell, he might have assumed Brownley’s warning of tragic news could briefly have made him think the subject was Melanie ...
Damned by Logic Page 9
