Fergus had, judging by the debris left in the kitchen, enjoyed a hasty but reasonably substantial breakfast. Sukey cleared the table, made some coffee and toast and settled down to read the morning paper. A political scandal and a motorway pile-up shared the headlines while the report on the hunt for Lorraine Chant’s killer had been relegated to an inside page. It referred to the possibility of the deceased’s husband appearing later that day at a press conference to appeal to the public for information. Sukey felt a wave of pity for Arthur Chant at having to face such an ordeal and wondered whether it was under serious consideration or mere speculation on the part of an imaginative reporter. Jim had said nothing about it, only that he was planning to talk to Chant again today. She found herself wishing she could be present at that interview and how much Jim would tell her about it later. There were times when she felt frustrated by the limitations of her job and wished she could become a fully fledged detective. At least Jim discussed his cases with her; once she had spotted a flaw in a suspect’s alibi which he and the other officers on the investigation had missed. She wondered when she would see him again without other people being present.
The last question was provisionally answered just as she was about to step into a hot bath. He called to say that he would shortly be on his way to Marsdean to see Chant, that he hoped to be free at around eleven and could they meet for a cup of tea or coffee in the village? If things didn’t go according to plan he’d be in touch. Three cheers for mobile phones, she thought as she lowered herself into the steaming water, feeling lighter of heart than she had done for several hours.
When Detective Inspector Castle arrived at Hazel House, Marsdean on Tuesday morning, there was a sleek, champagne-coloured Bentley standing outside the front door. He recognised it as belonging to Chant, having noticed it there on his previous visit on the day of the murder. As he parked his own car at a respectful distance, it crossed his mind that it had been left there deliberately to reinforce the impression, given over the telephone when he called to make the appointment, that Chant had pressing matters to attend to once the interview was over.
A thin, elderly woman with snow-white hair answered his ring. She showed no surprise or concern at the sight of his official badge, merely saying in a pleasant Gloucestershire accent, ‘Mr Chant is expecting you, sir. This way if you please,’ and leading him up the stairs into the study. She tapped on the door, opened it in reply to a voice calling ‘Come in’, ushered the visitor inside and withdrew.
Castle’s first impression, as Chant rose to greet him, was of an altogether taller and more commanding presence than the sad, crumpled figure, numbed with shock at finding the murdered body of his wife, whom he had interviewed a few days ago. His face was drawn, and his deep-set eyes under their heavy brows had an almost haunted expression, but his ‘Good morning, Inspector, please sit down,’ was spoken in a courteous but businesslike tone and his manner was that of a man with many calls on his time and important affairs on his mind. It reinforced Castle’s earlier impression and he pitched his approach accordingly.
‘I’m aware that you’re a busy man, Mr Chant, so I won’t take up any more of your time than is absolutely necessary,’ he began.
‘I appreciate that.’ Chant opened a silver cigarette box that stood on a corner of his desk and offered it to Castle, who declined with a movement of his hand. ‘You have no objection if I do?’
‘Of course not.’ Chant lit a cigarette with a matching lighter which he replaced carefully alongside the box. His hands were perfectly steady. ‘As a matter of interest,’ the detective said, ‘were those items on the desk on the day of the… burglary?’
‘You mean, the day my wife was murdered? There is no need to beat about the bush, Inspector, although I appreciate your delicacy. Yes, both these were exactly where you see them now. I am an orderly person, you see. If an ornament or a piece of furniture has been moved only a couple of inches, I notice it immediately. Why do you ask?’
‘I find it surprising that the killer didn’t take them, along with the things he stole from downstairs. They must be quite valuable.’
‘It is surprising, now you mention it. I suppose his thoughts were directed towards finding the safe.’
‘The safes,’ Castle corrected, with emphasis on the final ‘s’. Chant, drawing deeply on his cigarette and exhaling through his nostrils, made no comment. ‘Mr Chant, who besides yourself knows of the existence of that second safe?’
‘So far as I know, only the man who installed it.’
‘And that was—?’
‘A chap called Holland who does odd jobs for me.’
‘That would be Mr Terry Holland, of Exeter Road, Gloucester?’
‘That’s right.’ A slight lift of the eyebrow indicated surprise. ‘How did you know?’
Castle affected not to hear the question. ‘What about Mrs Chant?’
‘No.’ The monosyllable was curt to the point of rudeness.
‘Or your housekeeper?’
‘You mean Mrs Hapwood, the woman who let you in? Of course not. She’s not the housekeeper, by the way, she just comes in two or three times a week to do the cleaning.’
‘I see. We’ve already established that she wasn’t here on the day of the murder. Now, Mr Chant, you told me that you are in the habit of keeping quite large sums in cash in the floor safe. About how much is in it at any one time?’
If the question surprised Chant, he gave no sign. ‘It depends. A couple of thousand, perhaps.’
Is there any particular reason why you need to have so much cash in the house?’
‘I don’t keep it here for long. As I told you, I own a string of amusement arcades. Each manager holds a substantial float in small change to issue to the punters to enable them to play the machines. The notes he receives in return are kept in his safe until I and my assistant come to collect them. For security reasons, we vary the collection times. In daylight hours we pay the money straight into the bank, but an attempt was made to mug us once when we were putting it into the night safe. It was then that I decided to have the second safe installed here.’
‘Enabling you to bank the money at a more convenient time?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And you are absolutely certain that it was empty on Friday?’
There was a hint of impatience in Chant’s voice as he replied, ‘Haven’t I already said so, in my statement?’
‘Yes, sir, but at the time you were in a serious state of shock. It occurred to me that you might have been mistaken.’
‘I was not mistaken.’
‘Then that settles that. Now, sir, I wonder if you can help me on another matter.’ Castle took from his pocket the envelope containing the earring that Sukey had found in Terry Holland’s van and placed it on the desk. ‘Do you recognise this?’
Chant’s face underwent a dramatic change. He crushed out his cigarette with a hand that trembled. Almost reverently, he picked up the jewel and laid it in his palm. His features crumpled and his mouth puckered; his voice was thick with emotion as he whispered, ‘It’s one of a pair I bought for my wife a few months ago.’ Tears welled from his eyes, his shoulders heaved and the envelope slipped from his grasp as he covered his face with his hands. After a few moments he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. ‘Forgive me, Inspector, I—’
‘I’m sorry to cause you additional distress, sir, but I have to ask you… you told us that none of your wife’s jewellery was missing.’
‘She… must have forgotten to put the earrings in the safe. Or perhaps they were on her dressing table. She might have been planning to wear them to the wedding.’
‘Ah yes, the wedding. I take it you have no further information about that?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘I believe she intended to be away overnight.’
‘Just one night, she said.’
‘The officer who searched the bedroom mentioned that she did not appear to have packed an ov
ernight bag. Our original assumption was that she was killed before she had time to do it. It occurs to me that she might have packed it earlier and put it in the car before she was killed. Have you checked, by any chance?’
‘I haven’t been to the garage since… I can’t bring myself to. I don’t even put my own car away.’ Chant’s eyes filled again and he gnawed furiously at his lower lip.
‘Perhaps I could have a look before I leave. If it’s there, it might contain some clue as to where she was going.’ Chant nodded without speaking, spreading his hands in a vague gesture that the Inspector took as permission. ‘Back to this earring, sir. You haven’t seen the other one lying around?’
‘No, I haven’t. Where did you find this one?’
‘In a van which we have reason to believe was used by the killer.’
Chant’s head jerked up as if invisible hands had grabbed him by his thick silvery hair. ‘You’ve traced it?’
‘Actually, we had a tip-off. The van belongs to your handyman, Mr Holland.’
‘Terry Holland!’ A look of concern crossed Chant’s face. ‘Inspector, you aren’t suggesting that it was he who robbed me and then killed my wife?’
‘He reported his van stolen on the day of the murder and so far we have learned nothing to disprove his story. What do you know about him, sir?’
‘Not a great deal. The manager at one of our premises got him to do some repairs after we had a break-in. He did a reasonable job at a fair price, so we’ve used him again, several times. That’s how I came to get him to install the safe. Oh, my God, what does it all mean?’ Once again, the tide of grief became too much for the man to bear.
Castle waited patiently until he had recovered before saying casually, ‘Holland’s not a local man, is he?’
Chant shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea where he comes from. I know he has a wife and child – he mentioned something once about having to collect the youngster from school.’
‘When we questioned him, he had a bundle of notes in his pocket. That’s why I wanted to make certain that nothing like that was missing from your house.’
Castle could not be sure, but he thought he detected a certain tightening of Chant’s mouth and a wariness in his expression as he replied, a little sharply, ‘I’ve already reassured you on that point.’
‘Quite so. By coincidence, the bundle was held together with one of these.’ Castle reached across and picked up a rubber band of a particularly lurid shade of pink, one of a number piled up in a tray on the desk. ‘I’d say it was the same colour, too.’
Chant’s eyes seemed to retreat even further into their sockets as he said, a little too quickly, it seemed to Castle, ‘There’s nothing strange about that, surely. There must be thousands of those knocking about, you can buy them anywhere.’
‘I dare say you’re right. Well, I won’t take up any more of your time, Mr Chant.’ Castle reached forward and picked up the earring. ‘I’m afraid I have to keep this for the time being as evidence, but it will of course be returned to you eventually.’
Chant swallowed hard, then abruptly swung round to stare out of the window. With his back to Castle, he said in a tremulous voice, ‘Inspector, do you really believe that young man murdered my wife?’
‘You mean, Terry Holland? We haven’t eliminated anyone yet but our enquiries are at an early stage, Mr Chant. And I would ask you to treat everything that has passed between us this morning as strictly confidential.’
‘Naturally.’
‘And if I could check your wife’s car on the way out?’
‘Yes, of course. It’ll be locked. Lolly’s keys must be still in her handbag, but I have a spare set here.’ Chant turned back to the desk, took a small leather pouch from one of the drawers and without another word walked out of the room and headed downstairs with Castle at his heels. Outside, he operated a radio-controlled mechanism to open the door of the double garage adjoining the house. One half was empty; in the other stood a silver-grey Mercedes.
Castle peered through the car windows, grasped the handle of the driver’s door and found it locked. Without a word, Chant handed him the key. ‘There’s nothing inside,’ the detective remarked after a rapid inspection. ‘Better check the boot.’
Seconds later, the two men were staring down at a full-sized dark blue suitcase bearing the initials L.C.
Sitting alone in a corner of the Marsdean village tearoom, Sukey was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Several times she noticed the proprietress, a fiercely frowning lady who presided over the counter and dispensed hot drinks, pastries and light snacks to order, shooting disapproving glances at her. Whenever the pale-faced, slightly downtrodden-looking waiter approached the counter with an order, she whispered in his ear and swivelled her rather prominent eyes towards Sukey, who began to wonder whether her explanation that she was waiting for a friend and would prefer not to order until he arrived was being interpreted as suspicious behaviour.
She was on the point of giving up when her mobile phone began warbling. She grabbed it from the pocket of the cotton jacket slung over the back of her chair and spoke in a whisper into the mouthpiece, aware that the chatter had subsided while a dozen or so pairs of ears were cocked in her direction. Evidently, such advanced technology was not often encountered by the establishment’s regular clientele.
‘Where are you?’ she demanded in response to Jim Castle’s greeting. ‘I’ve been here nearly half an hour without ordering and I’m getting some filthy looks from the management.’
‘Got held up. Thought you’d like to know I’m on my way. I’ve no time for coffee, I’m afraid.’
‘Well thank you very much,’ she snapped, but he had already rung off.
His car pulled up outside a couple of minutes later. She could tell the moment he entered that the interview had produced results. He perched on the edge of the chair opposite her like a man with only moments to spare before catching a train. ‘Can’t talk here,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Come and sit in the car for five minutes while I tell you the latest. Let me pay for your coffee.’
‘What coffee? I haven’t had any, I’ve been waiting for you.’
He appeared only mildly disconcerted. ‘Well, like I said, there’s no time now, I’ve got to get back to the incident room.’
‘Sorry… something urgent… another time …’ Sukey stammered apologetically as they passed the accusing stare of the proprietress on the way to the door.
Jim unlocked the passenger door of his maroon Mondeo, waited while she got in, and closed it before climbing into the driver’s seat. ‘This had better be good,’ she said. ‘I could have killed for some coffee, and those cakes looked absolutely scrumptious.’
He gave her a brief account of his interview with Chant, ending with the discovery of the suitcase, in which they had found the dead woman’s passport as well as a substantial part of her wardrobe. ‘I’ll have it checked, but I doubt if it’ll tell us much.’
‘So she was planning to leave him?’
‘Almost certainly. And as if that wasn’t enough, her jewellery was gone. When he checked again he found that all that was left in the safe, apparently untouched, was a pile of empty cases.’
‘Presumably, so that she wouldn’t be missed for a couple of days at least. I wonder where she was really going.’
‘More important, who was she going with?’ Castle wondered. ‘Not Holland, surely?’
‘Why not? Maybe she likes a bit of rough. She was obviously a lot younger than her husband.’
‘And a bit of a sexpot too, according to Mrs Hapwood, the domestic help.’
‘Oh?’
‘She nobbled me as I was letting myself out. Chant was too upset to come down.’
‘What did she say?’
‘She claims the dead woman used to make and receive a lot of phone calls from what she called her “fancy men”.’
‘Fancy men? More than one?’
‘So it would appear. Mrs Hapwood made no secret of the fact that she
used to listen in on the conversations.’
‘You mean on an extension phone?’
‘No, just eavesdropping outside the door. She says Mrs Chant had several lovers at various times.’
‘Anything to suggest who they might have been?’
‘Only that the latest seems to have been the hottest thing so far. Mrs H says she used to fairly drool over the phone to her “Walter Baby”.’
‘Yuk!’ Sukey pulled a face.
‘I went back to ask Chant if he knew anyone called Walter or Wal, but he said not.’ Jim gave a sympathetic shake of the head. ‘Poor chap. If you could have seen his face when he opened that suitcase… I left him in much the same state as the day he found his wife’s body.’
‘You said he seemed uneasy when you asked about the money. Maybe there was some there, possibly quite a substantial sum. Maybe the wife had the safe open to help herself when she was attacked and the killer made off with the lot.’
‘Very possibly. I’m going to have to talk to Chant again. I’m almost certain the money that we found on Holland came from that safe.’ Jim fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the rubber band he had purloined from Arthur Chant’s desk. ‘It was held together with one exactly like this.’
Sukey blinked and held her hands in front of her eyes in a pretence of being dazzled by the vivid, fluorescent colour. ‘Heavens! You could find anything held together by that in the dark,’ she exclaimed.
‘The money, the earring, the van being spotted in the village at the critical time – they all point to Holland being our man. According to Radcliffe, his wife was like a cat on hot bricks while they were waiting for him to come home, almost as if she knew he’d been up to something. And I’m convinced he wasn’t telling the whole truth about where that money came from. I think I’ll send Radcliffe round to have another go at him.’
‘But if he sticks to his story that his van was stolen—’
Death at Hazel House Page 10
