Death at Hazel House

by Betty Rowlands

  ‘It’s all right.’

  ‘No, it isn’t. I was a bit off to you as well, but you see, I thought at first… I mean, I know he sometimes …’

  ‘Let’s just forget it, shall we?’

  ‘No, you did a job and you should get paid for it. Fifty pounds, you said?’

  While she was speaking, Mrs Bayliss had taken out a wad of money held together by an elastic band. She pulled out a single note and offered it to Sukey. ‘Here – you’re sure that’s enough?’

  ‘There’s no need to give me anything.’ Sukey felt acutely embarrassed. She had mentally written off the money, but it had seemed that no one really believed her. ‘That isn’t why I came here, honestly.’

  ‘Take it, please!’ Mrs Bayliss thrust the note into Sukey’s pocket. ‘I’m not short, and a deal’s a deal.’

  ‘Well, if you insist. Thank you. Would you like a receipt?’

  ‘No, that’s OK.’

  ‘Right, well, if you want extra copies of any of the pictures, let me know. I still have the negatives. The club has my address – you can get it from Rick.’

  She glanced across at the red Metro as she spoke. ‘Is that his car?’

  ‘Yes, why d’you ask?’

  ‘I don’t remember seeing it in the club car park, that’s all.’

  ‘I don’t think he’s had it long.’

  ‘That accounts for it.’ Sukey held out a hand. She thought how small and fragile the other woman’s seemed as it rested briefly in her own. ‘Goodbye, and thank you once again.’ She went back to her own car and headed for home. In spite of the odious Auntie Gwen and her unpleasant insinuations, she thought the visit had passed off reasonably well. As a bonus, she had fifty pounds towards Fergus’s school trip.

  She was halfway home before it occurred to her that the elastic band holding Mrs Bayliss’s wad of notes together was of the same lurid colour as the one Jim Castle had filched from Arthur Chant. And there was something else that struck her as odd. The forename of the late Mr Bayliss, according to his business card, was Hugo. So why had both his widow and her aunt referred to him as Charlie?

  Twenty-Two

  At approximately the same time as Sukey arrived at The Laurels, DI Castle and DS Radcliffe emerged from another fruitless interview with Terry Holland. A night in a cell had done nothing to weaken the man’s intransigence. He persisted with his claim that his van had been out of his possession all day on the Friday of the robbery and murder at the Chants’ house, that he had never had occasion to pay a second visit there nor stolen any money from the safe. As to the source of the five thousand pounds, he stubbornly refused to add to his original assertion that it was ‘money owed to him’. On the matter of his fingerprints on the necklace, he would say nothing at all.

  ‘As things stand, all we can charge him with at present is handling stolen property,’ Castle said wearily. ‘I guess we’ll have to bail him while we carry on with the enquiries. Yes, what is it?’ he asked as DC Hill entered with a sheet of paper in his hand.

  ‘I don’t know if this will help us, Guv, but I’ve been speaking to the manager of a firm in London that imports toys and stationery. He remembers a line of novelties in bright fluorescent colours which included elastic bands with matching pencils and erasers. Says the stuff never caught on; the multiple stores weren’t interested and the firm only shifted a small quantity – mostly to corner shops, newsagents and the like – and there were no repeat orders. He’s just faxed me a list of outlets in the county where they did manage to sell a few. There’s only a handful of them, and only one actually in Gloucester – here.’ Hill pointed to the last customer on the list, with an address in a street not far from the police station. ‘Mrs H. Patel, Cathedral News.’

  ‘Just round the corner from Arthur Chant’s office,’ Castle observed. ‘I was planning to give him a bell in a minute. I think I’ll make it a personal visit, after I’ve made some enquiries in the shop. Good work, Hill.’

  In addition to magazines, newspapers, cigarettes and confectionery, Cathedral News stocked an extraordinarily varied collection of snack foods, canned drinks, greetings cards, toys, games and novelties. The proprietor was a tiny, grey-haired Indian woman dressed in a colourful sari. When Castle entered and showed his warrant card she examined it closely, her bright dark eyes darting from the photograph to his face and back again. Then she gave a quick nod and said in a soft, lilting voice, ‘How may I help you, Inspector.’

  ‘I’d like to know if you have any of these in stock,’ he said, holding up the two elastic bands he had obtained from Arthur Chant’s office and Terry Holland’s living room.

  She gave an instant nod of recognition. ‘I have indeed, Inspector. Too many. My husband bought them for the Christmas trade and most of them are still here.’ She bent down and took from a shelf under the glass-fronted counter a box containing half a dozen round objects the size of tennis balls in a variety of fluorescent colours, each made up of dozens of elastic bands. ‘Here, you see… we have sold only five out of a box of twelve, and only one of the pink ones. We thought people would buy them for their children’s stockings but as you see, they were not popular.’ Beneath the sari, her shoulders lifted and fell and her smile came and went like sunshine amid passing clouds.

  ‘I don’t suppose you remember who bought the pink one?’ said Castle.

  The smile became radiant. ‘Yes, Inspector, as it happens I do remember. It was only a short time ago – a lady who comes in quite often for newspapers and cigarettes bought it, to brighten up her desk, she said.’

  ‘Do you happen to know where she works?’

  ‘I regret, no.’

  ‘Can you tell me what she looks like?’

  ‘Indeed I can. She is quite young and pretty, with blonde hair, very long.’ Mrs Patel supplemented her words and her smile with flowing movements of her small delicate hands, setting off a musical jingling from the bangles at her wrists.

  ‘Thank you very much, you’ve been most helpful,’ said Castle. ‘By the way, I’ll take this.’ To Mrs Patel’s almost palpable delight, he bought a ball of fluorescent pink elastic bands. With renewed thanks, he left the shop and headed for the offices of Chantertainment.

  Arthur Chant’s blonde receptionist was speaking on the telephone when Castle entered. If she recognised him from his previous visit, she showed no sign, merely giving his warrant card a perfunctory glance and waving him to a seat. When she put the phone down she turned to him with raised eyebrows and said, ‘If you want to see Mr Chant, he’s out at the moment.’

  Castle got up and strolled over to her desk. ‘When will he be back?’

  She glanced at her watch. ‘He said he wouldn’t be long. Do you want to wait?’

  ‘I’d like a word with you first, Miss…?’

  ‘Watkins – Penny Watkins.’

  ‘Tell me, Penny, do you remember buying one of these?’ Castle took the ball of elastic bands from the brown paper bag in which Mrs Patel had insisted on wrapping it and placed it on the palm of his hand.

  Penny giggled. ‘Do I? It caught my eye when I went to Mrs Patel’s for cigarettes one day. I thought it was a fun sort of colour; I used to leave it on my desk at first, but I got so many cheeky remarks from people coming into the office that Mr Chant told me to keep it out of sight.’ She screwed up her mouth and gave a knowing look that was almost a wink. ‘He can be a bit – you know – prissy,’ she confided.

  Castle gave an understanding nod. ‘Have you still got it?’ he asked.

  ‘Sure.’ She dived into a drawer, fetched it out and plonked it on the desk. Castle could imagine what it might suggest to a certain type of mind. ‘Your ball’s a lot bigger than mine,’ she said and giggled again.

  ‘So it is,’ he replied with a straight face. ‘You must use a lot of elastic bands.’

  ‘Not me, him.’ She indicated the door of Chant’s office with a flick of her blonde mane. ‘He asked for some to use at home, so I gave him a handful.’

&nbs
p; At that moment the outer door swung open and Chant himself entered. He appeared less than delighted to see his visitor. Penny hastily reached for the ball of elastic bands, but Castle was there before her. ‘I’d like to borrow this for a few minutes, if you don’t mind,’ he said.

  ‘Inspector, what are you doing here?’ Chant demanded.

  ‘I was having a word with Miss Watkins while waiting for you to come back, sir,’ Castle replied. ‘I’d be grateful if you could spare me a few minutes.’

  ‘He was shaken but not stirred into making an admission,’ was Castle’s verdict on returning to the station. ‘I told him we’d made an arrest and would shortly be charging our suspect, but only with a comparatively minor offence. I want him to believe his wife’s killer will get away with it unless he comes clean about the cash.’

  ‘It might still work,’ said Radcliffe. ‘Now you’ve as good as proved it came from his safe.’

  ‘I’ve proved it to my satisfaction and I made no bones about it, but he’s shrewd enough to know that the evidence we have at present is unlikely to be strong enough to convince a jury. I’ve left him to examine his conscience, so let’s have a coffee and then we’ll have another go at Holland. No, on second thoughts Andy, you and Hill have a go at him. Maybe a change of tactics will catch him off guard.’

  ‘Right, Guv. By the way, Sukey was trying to reach you earlier. Said it might be important and could you call her at home.’

  ‘OK, I’ll do that first. See you in the canteen in a few minutes.’

  When Sukey told him about her visit to The Laurels to hand over the photographs, Castle felt only a passing interest, but he sat up when she mentioned the elastic band that secured the roll of money in Mrs Bayliss’s handbag. ‘Maybe Chant and Bayliss had some sort of scam going,’ he speculated. ‘It could explain Chant’s reluctance to admit to having all that cash in his safe. If that’s the case it’s probably outside the scope of this inquiry, but it’s worth bearing in mind. And meanwhile, if our guess is correct, Bayliss has been screwing Lorraine Chant. I wonder if her husband knows about that.’

  ‘And I wonder if he’s heard Bayliss is dead?’ said Sukey thoughtfully. ‘Oh, one other thing.’ She told him about the anomaly concerning Bayliss’s forename and immediately something clicked in his brain.

  ‘That’s it! I had a feeling there was some point I’d overlooked,’ he exclaimed. ‘I remember now, I heard Mrs Bayliss referring to “her Charlie”. I’d forgotten the name on his business card was Hugo and it didn’t register at the time.’ Castle’s brain slipped into a higher gear as he remembered something else. ‘You didn’t by any chance find out her first name as well, did you?’

  ‘She had a ghastly old aunt there – Auntie Gwen, she called her – who addressed her as “Bren”. I presume that’s short for Brenda.’

  ‘And the office manager, Steven Lovett, called her “Barbie”, so it looks as if both the Baylisses adopted different names. Now, I wonder—’ Castle broke off as his mind began considering various possibilities.

  ‘It sounds as if you think it’s important,’ said Sukey.

  ‘It might be.’ He told her about Terry Holland’s old associate, Charlie Foss, for whom Rita Holland had expressed an almost paranoid dislike and mistrust and who was believed to be living not far away. ‘This could put a whole new slant on the case, Sukey. Thanks for letting me know.’

  ‘I hope it turns out to be useful. I’m on duty at two o’clock and I’ll be going straight to the morgue to get Bayliss’s prints.’

  ‘Right. Ask Fingerprints to give them priority and let me have the result as soon as you get it.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘Incidentally, I understand the pathologist is still not happy about the cause of death. Maybe you’ll pick up some details when you’re at the morgue.’

  Castle put the phone down and headed for the canteen and his delayed cup of coffee, but he had barely reached the door before Reception rang to tell him that a Mr Arthur Chant was downstairs and wanted to speak to him on a matter of great urgency. He felt a surge of triumph. His persistence had paid off the case was virtually in the bag. Chant was about to admit to having a large sum of undeclared cash in the house, cash that had been stolen on the day of his wife’s murder. Armed with this new evidence, he would be in a position to charge Holland with the robbery and the killing. In a state of high optimism, he went downstairs.

  It was immediately apparent that Chant was under considerable stress. His face was ashen and there were beads of sweat on his upper lip. When he entered the interview room he collapsed rather than sat down on the chair Castle indicated and began knotting and unknotting his hands in an apparent effort to control their shaking. He seemed to be a crushed and beaten man. It was understandable; having lost his wife in the most tragic of circumstances, he now stood to lose a hefty slice of his fortune as well.

  Castle sat down at the other side of the table and took out his notebook. ‘You want to make a statement, sir?’ he prompted after several seconds of silence.

  Chant drew a deep breath and said, ‘Inspector, am I right in believing that the man you are holding in connection with my wife’s death is Terry Holland?’

  ‘Our suspect’s name has not been officially released,’ Castle replied.

  ‘But can’t you tell me unofficially?’ The man’s expression was abject, like a dog pleading not to be whipped.

  Castle was intrigued. It was not the first time that Chant had shown concern about Holland and he seemed to be giving out strong signals that he would prefer the prisoner to be someone else. It would be interesting to find out why. Leaning across the table, he asked, ‘Does it make a difference?’ There was no reply. He decided to take a shot at random. ‘Supposing it was another man – Hugo Bayliss, for example?’ Bullseye! thought the detective on seeing the other man’s body twitch as if he had been given an electric shock.

  ‘What do you know about Bayliss?’ Chant demanded harshly.

  ‘We have reason to believe that you and he have had business dealings.’

  ‘Business dealings!’ Chant’s tone was bitter. ‘I gave him the contract to install the swimming pool and sauna that my wife wanted and ever since then, he and she …’ His voice faltered and he seemed to be on the verge of tears, but with an effort he recovered. ‘Bayliss was her lover,’ he said miserably. ‘She was going to leave me for him.’

  ‘We suspected as much,’ Castle said quietly, ‘but the man we are holding is not Mr Bayliss. As a matter of fact, Bayliss is dead… and there is some doubt about the circumstances.’

  ‘Dead?’ First disbelief and then a flicker of savage pleasure passed over Chant’s tortured features, followed by an odd blend of wariness and curiosity as he added sharply, ‘What sort of doubt? Are you saying he was murdered?’

  ‘Nothing has been ruled out at this stage. For the moment, all I can tell you is that the cause of his death has not yet been established. Now, sir, will you please come to the point and explain why you are here?’

  Chant groaned and clutched at his temples with both hands. Every line of his body seemed to sag and shrivel in despair. For the second time, he was on the point of breaking down. ‘You’re holding Holland… it must be Holland,’ he muttered. With his eyes fixed on the table as if he were talking to himself rather than Castle, he went on in a low voice, ‘If it was Bayliss, I’d let him rot in jail for the rest of his life and never say a word, but not a decent, hard-working chap like Holland… no, I can’t let that happen.’

  Castle stared at him in bewilderment. ‘Mr Chant, what are you saying – what are you trying to tell me?’

  With a sudden, determined movement, Chant straightened his shoulders, sat up and looked the detective full in the face. ‘Inspector, I wish to make a statement,’ he said, and the voice that had been threatening to fail became strong and resolute. ‘You must release Terry Holland at once. I am here to confess to killing my wife.’

  Twenty-Three

  ‘I had a h
unch all along that it could be Chant,’ said the Superintendent with a distinct trace of smugness. Castle felt his hackles rising, then told himself he had only himself to thank. He had shown a certain obsessiveness in his pursuit of Holland. Still, that individual wasn’t out of the wood yet. He still had quite a few things to explain, even if Chant’s confession turned out to be genuine. Meanwhile, the Superintendent continued to pontificate. ‘Nine times out of ten in these cases it’s the husband… or the boyfriend or whatever. Didn’t I say so, right at the outset?’

  ‘You did indeed, sir, and for that very reason we went over Chant’s original statement with a toothcomb,’ Castle replied. ‘Looking back, I’m amazed at how he kept it up. He had it all worked out and he never put a foot wrong – he must have a brain like a computer.’

  ‘So what’s his story now?’

  ‘He says the part about going home to fetch the file he’d left behind is true, but he didn’t stay for an amicable cup of coffee with his wife. Something about her manner made him suspicious. He claims he had his doubts all along about the wedding she was supposed to be going to, thought it might be cover for a dirty weekend with Bayliss.’

  ‘He knew she was having an affair with Bayliss?’

  ‘So he says. That part of the interview was pretty harrowing. It seems she was something of a nympho and he… well, to put it delicately, he admits sex has never been his strong point.’

  The Superintendent examined his fingernails and said, ‘That’s enough to damage any man’s self-esteem.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Well, the next part of his story will have to be checked on the ground, but he claims that when he left the house, ostensibly to go straight back to his office, what he actually did was back his car through a gate into a field adjoining his garden, out of sight of the house. The field belongs to a local farmer and one corner of it separates Chant’s property from his neighbour’s. No one reported seeing him there, but as both gardens are well screened by trees it sounds feasible.’