Death Of a Temptress

by P. F. Ford

  He nearly choked over that final word. He was distraught even now, several months after the event. Slater thought it was a very good act. Quite convincing.

  “So what happened after that, Paul?” he asked

  “I didn’t know what to do.” Green sighed. “I thought I’d lose my job, my children, and everything. So, instead of doing the right thing and calling for help, I acted like a coward and sneaked away into the night.”

  He seemed to relive the events of that night, and the consequences of his actions. The tears were flowing in earnest now.

  “I’m so sorry I left her,” he said again. “She deserved better than that.”

  Slater and Norman exchanged looks. They knew he hadn’t just left her, and he must be aware they knew that, so why was he lying like this?

  “I kept looking in the newspapers,” said Green, interrupting Slater’s thoughts. “I was expecting to see her picture and a story. I thought maybe the police would come calling, but weeks went by and nothing. Why is it you’ve only just got to me?”

  “Come on, Paul,” said Norman, wearily. “You know we’ve only just found the body.”

  “You mean she’s been lying there all this time? But it’s been months. Poor Ruby, she must have decomposed by the time you found her.”

  “Alright,” said Slater, sternly. “Let’s stop playing around shall we, Paul? We all know Ruby’s body wasn’t left in the room. It’s been in a deep freeze for months. Now why don’t you tell us the truth and stop wasting our time.”

  Green looked confused. He looked to Melvyn Spencer for support, but Melvyn just shrugged his shoulders.

  “I don’t understand,” said Green. “She was lying in the bed when I left.”

  “Yeah. Right,” said Norman. “Maybe I should tell you what we think happened. It might help you to remember a little better.”

  Green flapped his lips, but no sounds emerged. He looked genuinely baffled, and Slater began to wonder if there was something more to this story.

  “See, we think the story goes something like this,” Norman began. “We think Ruby wanted you all to herself, but you were quite happy having her as your bit on the side. Hell, what guy wouldn’t want a beautiful girl waiting every time he came up to town?

  “Anyway Ruby doesn’t want to wait, so she sets a little trap for you. She gets pregnant, thinking then you’ll have to leave your wife and kids.”

  “Pregnant?” said Green. “She wasn’t pregnant was she?”

  “The thing is,” continued Norman, ignoring Green’s questions. “You didn’t like her holding a gun to your head like that, so we think you decided she had to go. You knew she was allergic to Brazil nuts didn’t you? And you saw that TV show about how someone could be killed by a protein in Brazil nuts that transfers via semen. You screwed her one last time and then watched her suffocate. Isn’t that how it really was, Paul?”

  Green looked as if he’d just been assaulted by a team of mastermind questioners. Confused would be an understatement.

  “Pregnant?” he said, looking desperately from one to the other. “Allergic? Brazil nuts? TV show? I’ve told you what happened. Why won’t you believe me?”

  “I really think this has gone far enough,” stormed Spencer, as if he’d suddenly been awakened from a deep sleep. “My client has been happy to tell you what happened that night, but that’s not good enough for you is it? So now you’re trying to put words into his mouth with some cock and bull story about Brazil nuts! That’s an awfully elaborate way of murdering someone, don’t you think? Paul could easily pay a hit man and not risk being involved at all if he really wanted to murder someone. This whole thing is going beyond a joke. I demand you let him go or charge him.”

  Slater and Norman exchanged a long look.

  “Ok, Norm,” said Slater. “You know the drill.”

  Norman climbed to his feet.

  “Paul Green I’m arresting you on susp…”

  But Paul Green had stopped listening, and looked utterly broken.

  Chapter Thirty

  Once Paul Green had been taken back to his cell, the three detectives gathered to discuss the interview. While Slater and Norman had been in with Paul Green, Biddeford had been sat in the observation suite watching the whole thing.

  “Ok, Mr Observer,” Norman said, smiling. “What do you think?”

  “Honestly?” said Biddeford. “I think he’s telling the truth.”

  “Really?” said Norman. “You’re buying all this ‘I panicked and ran’ crap?”

  “His story sounds perfectly plausible to me,” said Biddeford, sticking to his guns. “And there’s something I think we’ve all missed anyway.”

  “What’s that?” asked Slater.

  “Even the smoothie lawyer had a good point about it being an elaborate way to murder someone when he could easily afford to pay someone to do it for him. And even if he did kill her the way we’re saying, how are we going to prove he did it on purpose? Even if he knew she was allergic, and he seemed pretty adamant that he didn’t know, how are we going to prove beyond reasonable doubt that he knew it would kill her?”

  “Hmm,” said Slater gloomily. “That’s a fair point, but I think it’s the least of our problems at the moment.”

  “Don’t tell me, you believe this guy’s innocent?” said Norman.

  “I do and I don’t,” said Slater. “He’s not denying he was there, or that he was having an affair with her, or even that he’d made love to her, so it’s possible.”

  He was struggling to make his mind up one way or the other, so right now they had Norman saying ‘guilty’, Biddeford saying ‘not guilty’ and Slater undecided.

  “This is not going to help us close this case,” said Norman, stating the obvious.

  “So how about,” suggested Biddeford. “We come at it from the other direction? What if we take what we know, and try to prove it wasn’t Paul Green.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” said Norman. “We’ve got a case here.”

  “Steve’s right, Norm,” said Slater. “There are enough ifs, buts, and maybes, to create plenty of doubt. We need to be a bit more convincing. Let’s take a closer look at the things Green said that didn’t fit with what we wanted him to say. Let’s check some of this stuff out, see if he is telling the truth.”

  There was a knock on the door and a head appeared.

  “Sergeant Slater? Your prisoner wants a word. Says he’ll only talk to you.”

  “Ok. I’ll be right down,” he said, heading for the door. “I wonder what this is all about.”

  “I honestly didn’t kill her, Sergeant,” insisted Paul Green. “I know I was wrong to run away, and I’ll regret that for the rest of my life, but I swear she was still in the bed when I left her. If she was murdered, it wasn’t by me. If her body was moved, it wasn’t by me. I loved that girl. I would never have hurt her. We were planning a future together. Why would I want to kill her?”

  Slater looked at Green’s face. He certainly seemed genuine enough.

  “Ok, Paul. If you want me to believe your story you’re going to have to give me some help. There are some things we believe we know to be true that you don’t even seem to know about.”

  “What things?” said Green.

  And so they talked…

  It was an hour later when Slater returned. He scribbled an address on a piece of paper and handed it to Norman.

  “Norm, can you take Steve with you and go and find our friend Sebastian, the tennis coach? I want you to lean on him and make him feel uncomfortable. See if you can find out what he does for Beverley Green apart from mixed doubles. Paul Green seems to think he likes to play chauffeur. Let’s find out if that’s true, shall we?”

  “You look like you suddenly have the bit between your teeth, “said Norman. “Would you care to share?”

  “I have two phone calls to make,” said Slater. “By the time you come back, I think we might just have collected the missing pieces of our puzzle.”

&nb
sp; “Alright,” said Norman. “We’re on it.” Then, turning to Biddeford as he gathered his car keys, he added, “Come on, Brains, let’s go.”

  Slater watched as they left and then turned back to his desk. Paul Green had given him two phone numbers. Both could provide vital evidence, but which one first, he thought. Eeny, meeny, miney, moe…

  Half an hour later, he sat back and looked at his notes. It occurred to him that they could have checked this out much earlier in this case, but then they had been following where the evidence took them, and it had all been pretty compelling. There had never been the slightest hint of this.

  A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. It opened a little way and a pretty face popped into sight.

  “Ah!” smiled Slater. “PC Flighty. Thank goodness there’s one pretty face in this place. Do come in.”

  “As you well know,” she said firmly. “It’s PC Flight, and flattery won’t get you anywhere. And nor will asking for a date.” She smiled around the door.

  “You know you’ll give in to my charms one day.” Slater said, jokingly.

  “Not in your wildest dreams,” she said, firmly. “By the time that day comes, I’ll be old and wrinkly and you’ll be past it. Dream on, buddy.”

  Slater played his part in the repartee by pouting his mock disappointment.

  “Is that all you came up here for?” he asked. “Just to shatter my dreams?”

  “Actually, I’ve been sent with an urgent message, the keyword here being ‘urgent’,” she said. “The duty sergeant downstairs says you’ve to get down there right now. Apparently some woman’s creating merry hell because you’ve locked up her husband. So the sergeant says, as it’s your problem, you can come down and deal with it.”

  “Is she slim and expensive looking? Possibly dressed for tennis, filled with her own importance, and likes the sound of her own voice?”

  “I haven’t actually seen her,” said PC Flight. “But she certainly sounds as if she likes the sound of her own voice.”

  “Hmm. Yes. I think I know who that is,” said Slater.

  “Well, don’t just sit there,” she said. “He’s under siege.”

  “Alright, alright,” said Slater climbing reluctantly to his feet. “I’m on my way.”

  As Slater descended the stairs, he could hear the commotion he was walking into. It sounded as though Beverley Green’s strident tones were rapidly erasing the duty sergeant’s patience, and he was already resorting to threats to try to control the situation. As Slater entered the room, he clearly heard the sergeant’s booming voice.

  “Any more language like that, madam, and I shall be forced to arrest you for abusive behaviour!”

  The threat was enough to silence her for just a moment. She was standing barely inches away from the sergeant’s desk with her back to Slater as he made his entrance from the far side of the room.

  “Why, Detective Sergeant Slater,” boomed the sergeant, his weary voice heavily laden with sarcasm. “Thank you so much for sparing the time to join us. This ‘lady’ seems to think you have made a mistake by arresting her husband. Perhaps you would care to take her into one of the interview rooms and explain the situation to her, and perhaps you could also explain to her that using the ‘f’ word 10 times a second still doesn’t make her right.”

  He glared at Beverley Green.

  “Here you are, madam. The nice detective sergeant will be happy to listen to your abuse,” he finished.

  With that, he backed away from his desk and walked out of sight behind the partition wall to the rear of the desk. As Beverley Green turned to face Slater, her face full of venom, there was a loud crash from the background as the duty sergeant took his feelings out on a wastepaper bin.

  “Sergeant!” snapped Beverley. “What the f-”

  “Let’s go in here to discuss this, shall we?” interrupted Slater, directing her to one of the interview rooms. “I’ll explain everything in there.”

  “I demand to see my husband,” she yelled as soon as they were inside the room.

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible, right now,” said Slater.

  “What do you mean it’s not possible? I asked you to find out what happened to my sister, not arrest my fucking husband! And now you tell me I can’t see him? Who do you fucking well think you are?”

  “Your husband has said he doesn’t want to see anyone right now,” explained Slater patiently.

  “But I want to see him!” she screamed. “You can’t stop me-”

  “I can,” he interrupted. “Especially if he chooses not to see you.”

  “But I demand-”

  “Do you always get what you want, Mrs Green?”

  “I beg your pardon?” She gasped at his audacity.

  “I’ve already told you, your husband has made it quite clear he doesn’t want to see you, yet you don’t seem to be listening to me. I wonder is that because you always get what you want?”

  She looked as though she couldn’t believe her ears.

  “And while we’re at it,” he went on. “The desk sergeant is right. We don’t give in to your demands just because you know how to use the ‘f’ word. You went to a good school. I’m sure they taught you good manners there, or perhaps you were away that day? Just in case you were, let me make it clear for you. One more ‘f’ word and I’ll arrest you myself. Are we clear?”

  She had been red-faced and breathing heavily from her anger. Now she simply gulped a few times like a stranded fish, but no words came out. The look on her face told Slater she wasn’t used to be spoken to like this, but he didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, far too many people seemed to think it was just fine to swear and curse at the police anytime they felt like it, but this was one occasion when he was going to make sure he didn’t take a load of abuse for doing his job. Especially from this particular woman.

  “Right,” he said firmly, pulling out a chair and sitting down at the table in the centre of the room. “If you sit down and behave yourself I’ll tell you what’s going on.”

  She looked daggers at him.

  “Your choice, Mrs Green,” he said.

  Eventually, reluctantly, she pulled a chair out and sat down opposite him. For the first time she looked around the room.

  “Is this an interview room?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he nodded.

  “Am I being interviewed?”

  “No you’re not,” he said. “I’m just going to tell you why Paul’s sitting in a cell right now.”

  “This had better be bloody good,” she said, clearly trying to assert some sort of authority and regain control of the situation.

  “Oh, I think you’ll find it quite interesting,” said Slater. He steepled his fingers and thought about what he was going to say.

  “There’s no easy way to put this,” he said. “You remember we told you Ruth lived as another person up in London?”

  “You mean that stupid rubbish about her being a high-class hooker?” she said derisively.

  “That’s right. If you choose not to believe it, that’s your affair,” he said. “We know it’s the truth, and so did your husband, Paul.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she shot back, looking horrified. “What could Paul possibly have to do with any of that?”

  “He paid the rent on the flat she lived in,” said Slater.

  “This is ridiculous,” she stormed. “My husband had hardly anything to do with Ruth. He wouldn’t have paid for her flat. I know my husband. He would have told me.”

  “Maybe you don’t know him quite as well as you think,” said Slater.

  “But, but... No. This can’t be true. You’ve got it all wrong.” She was starting to run out of steam and all that was left now was bluster. Finally, even that fizzled out. Now she looked stunned and shocked.

  “I’m afraid Paul was having an affair with your sister, Beverley,” said Slater, gently. “He paid for the flat and he often stayed up there with her one or two nights a week. We b
elieve she got pregnant to try and trap him into leaving you and when he found out he killed her.”

  “Paul’s not capable of any of this,” she said, adamantly. “You must be wrong. How is he supposed to have killed her?”

  “That’s the clever part,” said Slater. “He used her allergy to Brazil nuts to kill her.”

  “But she would never have eaten nuts,” she said.

  “She didn’t have to. Somehow Paul found out it’s possible to pass the protein that killed her through his semen. He had sex with her and she died shortly afterwards. Then he hid the body until he thought it was safe.”

  She looked stunned and said nothing at first, then a look of horror filled her face.

  “Oh my God,” she said. “We watched a TV show where they showed that. I thought he was strangely interested in it, but I never thought for one moment…”

  She sighed heavily and slumped back in her chair.

  “You do your best for people,” she said, sadly. “You think you know them. And then something like this happens. Did he really say he didn’t want to see me?”

  “Maybe he’s just too ashamed to face you right now,” Slater suggested, quietly.

  A few tears escaped from her eyes and slid down her cheeks. Slater pulled a couple of tissues from a box and passed them to her.

  “I’m really sorry,” he said. “It’s not the ending we envisaged when we started this case.”

  He let her sob quietly for a minute or two. When he thought she’d had sufficient time, he decided it was time for her to go. He had things to do and comforting someone like Beverley Green was not one of them.

  “Can I get someone to drive you home?” he asked.

  “No. It’s ok, thank you. My car’s outside and I need to collect the children later.”

  As he escorted her out to her car, he agreed he would go up to the house in a day or two, when they had more information. Then he could fill in the blanks for her. Maybe Paul would agree to see her by then, he suggested.