by Jill McGown
‘No,’ said Jonathan.
‘But you had been out before?’
Jonathan frowned, and didn’t answer.
‘You left the house at ten thirty, and you hadn’t returned by eleven o’clock.’
Jonathan stared at him. ‘How do— ?’ He shook his head. ‘ How do you know that?’
Chief Inspector Lloyd smiled. ‘All in good time, Mr Austin,’ he said, his Welsh accent becoming more evident. ‘But it’s true, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. But – but, no, I wasn’t looking for her. Not then.’
‘Perhaps you won’t mind telling me what you were doing?’
‘I … my wife’s car was in being serviced,’ he began.
And he had thought that maybe it would help if he collected it. Stop her being angry with him. Put her in a better mood before he had to tell her about Gordon. What did that have to do with them?
‘Go on,’ said the chief inspector.
Jonathan realised that he hadn’t actually said any of that. ‘ She’d asked me earlier if I could run her over there to collect it and I’d said I didn’t have time,’ he said. Of course he had had time. He just hadn’t wanted to be distracted from his preparations for breaking the news to Gordon.
He looked at Lloyd. ‘She had arranged for it to be left out for her, and I thought … I just went to collect it.’
‘What made you decide to pick it up for her?’
Jonathan put out his cigarette on a saucer, and lit another. ‘ I thought it might make up for my being short with her earlier,’ he said.
‘Short?’
‘I had a very difficult business meeting. I had asked her to leave.’
Lloyd sat down again, and looked at him, his face a little puzzled. ‘So she left the house in a huff?’
Jonathan sighed. ‘Sort of,’ he said. ‘She didn’t like being asked to leave – and as I said, I had been a bit short with her.’
He looked more puzzled than ever. Too puzzled. He should try to curb the over-acting.
‘Did your wife normally attend business meetings, then?’ he asked.
‘No, but this was with a very old friend of hers. And I don’t normally have business meetings at home.’
‘Ah,’ said Lloyd. ‘That would be the gentleman who left your flat at about ten o’clock?’
‘Look, what is this? Have you been watching me, for God’s sake?’
‘No, no, sir. The flats. One of the flats in this building. Nothing whatever to do with you. But the officer did notice all the comings and goings from the building, naturally.’
Jonathan flushed. If he had known someone was out there, watching …
‘Could I have this friend’s name, sir?’ asked the sergeant.
Gordon? They couldn’t think that … Jonathan remembered how angry, how hurt Gordon had been. Blaming Leonora. ‘Gordon Pearce,’ he muttered.
‘Your co-director,’ said Sergeant Drake.
‘One of them. There are a number of directors now.’
‘Ah yes,’ said Lloyd. ‘You’ve expanded very rapidly, haven’t you? New factory – much larger premises.’
Jonathan could contain himself no longer. ‘If someone was watching the flats, then he must have seen Leonora come back,’ he said.
But the chief inspector was shaking his head. ‘It was Sergeant Drake who was watching the flats,’ he said. ‘He went off duty at eleven o’clock. Just before you returned from your first trip out, apparently.’
They didn’t believe him, obviously.
‘You went straight to pick up the car?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where is this garage?’
‘It’s one of the factory units on the old Mitchell Engineering site. Quite close to the Austin-Pearce factory.’
Lloyd nodded. ‘And you went on foot – how long would you say it took you to get there?’
‘Twenty minutes or so.’
‘And what – a few minutes’ drive back?’
Jonathan closed his eyes. ‘I didn’t drive back,’ he said.
‘Oh?’
‘The car wasn’t there. She must have picked it up herself. I walked back.’
‘It hadn’t occurred to you that your wife would have picked it up herself?
‘No. It’s a much longer walk by the roads – I took the shortcut across the Mitchell Engineering land. I didn’t think she would have done that – It’s very lonely.’
‘So you came back, without the car. Then what did you do?’
‘I went out to look for her! Does it matter? Isn’t it what Leonora was doing that you should be concerning yourself with?’
Lloyd frowned very slightly. ‘What do you think she was doing, Mr Austin?’ he asked.
‘I thought she was at her studio,’ he said. ‘In Malworth.’
‘You said that to Mrs Hill,’ said Lloyd.
‘Yes.’
‘But you didn’t think that when you rang Mrs Hill in the first place,’ he pointed out.
‘No.’ Jonathan desperately tried to sort out his thoughts. ‘I did think that, earlier. Or that she’d gone to visit Pauline Pearce. But then I remembered she hadn’t got the car, and I dismissed the idea. That was when I went to get it for her. But when I was talking to Judy I suddenly thought that if she had the car after all, that was where she would have gone,’ he said.
‘So why did you go out to look for her, if that’s what you thought?’ asked Drake.
‘I … I just went out. To see if I could see her car coming.’
‘And you returned a few minutes ago, at midnight,’ he said. ‘By which time your wife had come home.’
Jonathan closed his eyes.
‘Where would she park?’
‘In the garage area,’ said Jonathan. ‘ Her car isn’t there,’ he said, anticipating the next question.
They took the make and number, and the sergeant went into the sitting-room again, leaving the door open. Someone got on to the radio about it, what seemed like hordes of people moved around, flashbulbs went off now and then. People spoke to one another, called to one another. A group of them laughed. Lloyd looked angry, and got up to close the door, but the sergeant came back in.
‘Is your wife on the phone at the studio, sir?’ he asked as he came in, closing the door behind him.
‘Yes.’
‘Did you ring there when you were looking for her?’
‘No. She doesn’t like to be disturbed when she’s working.’
‘Does your wife normally wear a wedding ring, Mr Austin?’
Jonathan frowned. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘And she was wearing it this evening?’
Jonathan was bewildered. ‘I – I imagine so,’ he said.
‘She isn’t wearing it now, Mr Austin,’ said Drake.
‘Did you kill your wife, Mr Austin?’ asked Lloyd, his voice gentle, belying the harsh question.
‘No,’ said Jonathan, turning back to him, unsurprised at the accusation. ‘ No.’ He looked from one to the other. ‘Why?’ he said. ‘Why would I kill her?’
Lloyd sat back a little, apparently at ease. ‘Would anyone want to kill her, Mr Austin?’ he asked.
‘There was …’ His voice trailed off.
‘There was what?’
‘A few weeks ago. She told me some man was pestering her. She – she was quite worried.’
That made the chief inspector sit forward. ‘A man?’ he said.
‘Just before I met Leonora,’ Jonathan said slowly, ‘she was seeing some man. He … he was becoming a nuisance. I think one of the reasons she married me was to make it clear to him that there was no future in it. It was him. That’s all I know.’
‘And you don’t know his name, or what he does for—’
‘That’s all I know!’
‘Why did your wife tell you about him?’
Jonathan shook his head. ‘ Why shouldn’t she? She was worried about him – I’ve told you that.’
‘I mean – did she want
you to do something about it?’
‘No – she …’ Jonathan sighed. ‘I have been adopted as the parliamentary candidate for the Conservative Party in the next general election. My private life has to be free of … well, you know. He had been here, apparently. Once or twice. She said she thought he would have grown out of it by now, but he was just as persistent, and she thought he might cause some trouble. She was warning me.’
He had been prepared for scepticism, but they seemed to be taking it seriously. ‘You should be finding out what Leonora was doing,’ he said, emboldened by that. ‘ Not what I was doing.’
Lloyd sat back again. ‘We do know something of your wife’s movements,’ he said. ‘We’re trying to discover more.’
Jonathan frowned. ‘ What? What do you know?’
‘I saw your wife as I left the estate,’ said Sergeant Drake. ‘At about ten past eleven. Were you waiting for her when she got home, Mr Austin?’
Jonathan couldn’t grasp it all. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t here when she got home.’ He looked up at them, bewildered.
‘When I saw her,’ Drake said slowly, watching Jonathan’s face as he spoke, ‘she was with a man.’
Jonathan frowned. ‘ What do you mean?’ he asked. ‘What do you mean, with a man?’
The young man looked a little uncomfortable.
‘Well? What do you mean?’
Drake coloured, and looked away.
Jonathan stared at him. ‘ She wasn’t with him, was she? He was accosting her, wasn’t he?’ he shouted. ‘Wasn’t he? When you saw her? He was accosting her, and you did nothing!’
‘I – I couldn’t tell if …’
‘You did nothing, and now she’s dead! Why aren’t you looking for him? She was afraid of him, she told me! Why are you wasting your time with me, instead of looking for him?’
‘We are looking for him,’ said the chief inspector, his voice still gentle, still soothing. ‘Did your wife tell you anything more about him?’
Jonathan was still glaring at Drake, who stared unhappily at the formica. Slowly his gaze turned to Lloyd. He knew the name. Lloyd, Lloyd … wasn’t that the man that Judy Hill had left her husband for? So he must have answered the phone.
He shook his head. ‘ I’ve told you all I know about him,’ he said, and looked back at the sergeant. ‘Ask him,’ he said. ‘He saw him molesting her, and he did nothing. And now she’s dead.’
The sergeant got up abruptly, and left the room.
It wasn’t my fault.
That’s all that went through Mickey’s head as he came out of the kitchen into the sitting-room. The doctor was dictating notes to his assistant, the photographer was still snapping away at the devastation, and he thought he was going to be sick again.
‘I’ve given Mr Austin a brandy,’ said Lloyd, closing the kitchen door, ‘ he’s going to go to the Derbyshire.’ He looked at the doctor. ‘I’d rather she wasn’t still here when he leaves,’ he said.
‘I won’t be much longer,’ said the doctor.
Lloyd squatted down beside him. ‘I think he’d just taken off when Drake got here,’ he said. ‘How much can you tell me now? Anything that would help?’
‘She’s been dead less than an hour,’ said the doctor. ‘ But then, you told me that.’
Lloyd grunted.
‘Death due to a single blow to the temple, probably from behind.’
‘Just one?’
Mickey looked at the mess it had made of her. He felt sick again.
‘Just one. One very savage blow. There doesn’t seem to have been a struggle, as such. The indications are that she was trying to get the furniture between herself and her attacker, rather than trying to fight him off.’
Lloyd got to his feet. ‘Look at this lot,’ he said.
The leg of one chair was broken off; a shelf unit had been broken almost in two. The coffee table had a deep indentation in the middle, and the corner was smashed away. One of the scattered tissues clung to the ragged edge; it was folded into a square, unlike the others. Mickey took a closer look, and could just see that it was slightly discoloured. He bent down and sniffed. ‘Whisky,’ he said, looking up at Lloyd.
‘Gordon spilled some,’ Jonathan Austin said, and Mickey turned to see him standing in the doorway. How long had he been there? ‘Sir, do you think you should— ?’ he began.
‘It’s my house,’ he said, and looked again at his wife. But then he went back into the kitchen, closing the door.
Lloyd looked at Mickey. ‘You didn’t hear anything, I take it?’ he said.
‘No, sir. It was quiet.’
The doctor straightened up, and looked at the smashed furniture. ‘She ran out of protection, and he found his target,’ he said, with the cheerfulness of a football commentator.
Mary Alexander came in. ‘I’ve spoken to the next-door neighbour, sir,’ she said. ‘I’ve said someone will be back to take her formal statement. All she knows is that she heard screaming, and’ – she looked at the shattered furniture – ‘all this,’ she said. ‘And someone shouting ‘‘whore’’, over and over again. A man’s voice, she thinks. It was hysterical – she couldn’t be certain.’
‘Which means she can’t identify it.’
‘No, sir.’ WPC Alexander looked at Mickey. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.
Mickey nodded, praying that he wasn’t going to be sick again.
Lloyd glanced at him. ‘If you think you’re going to throw up, go out,’ he said.
‘I’m all right, sir.’
‘The neighbour’s phone is by the window, sir. She says the noises were still going on when she was talking to the station, and that she stayed there, watching. She didn’t see anyone at all.’ Lloyd nodded. ‘She wouldn’t,’ he said, he went that-a-way.’ He pointed to the balcony. ‘By the looks of things.’
Mickey watched as the murder weapon was carefully bagged.
‘Ask Austin where that ashtray was normally kept,’ Lloyd said.
Mickey got the feeling that he was just giving him an excuse to leave the scene, but he was glad of it, and escaped back into the comparative normality of the kitchen, where Austin sat, sipping his brandy, smoking.
‘Mr Austin,’ he said, sitting down at the breakfast bar. ‘ Can you tell me where the tall chromium ashtray was usually kept?’
Austin looked blankly at him.
Oh, God. Mickey took a breath. ‘Did you keep it in the sitting-room, or in here, perhaps? Did you have it in the sitting-room tonight, for instance?’
Austin frowned. ‘What ashtray?’ he asked.
‘About two feet high,’ said Mickey. ‘With a heavy metal base. The kind you find in banks, and—’
Austin was shaking his head. ‘I’ve never seen anything like that here,’ he said.
Mickey stared at him. ‘But—’ he began.
Realisation dawned in Austin’s pained features. ‘That’s what he used, isn’t it?’ he said.
Mickey nodded briefly, and got up. ‘Just … just wait here. Mr Austin,’ he said.
He went back out and told Lloyd, who raised an eyebrow, and turned back to the doctor. ‘Anything else you can tell me?’ he asked.
‘There are indications of a fairly enthusiastic amorous encounter,’ he said, beckoning Lloyd to join him.
With some reluctance, the chief inspector crouched down again.
‘This,’ said the doctor, indicating a mark on the curve of her neck and shoulder, and another on her breast. ‘ The usual sort of thing. Small bruise on her lower lip. But the underclothes are intact, and there’s nothing to suggest assault.’ He looked up from the body, and beamed at Lloyd. ‘But maybe the lady wouldn’t let him go any further, and that upset him.’
‘Mm.’ Lloyd got to his feet again. ‘He’d hardly call her a whore in those circumstances,’ he said, and looked at the closed kitchen door. ‘Her husband might if he caught her at it, though. And Mr Austin reckons he’s never seen the murder weapon,’ he added quietly, almost to himsel
f.
‘Her blouse was unbuttoned,’ said the doctor. ‘Not all the way, just more than modesty would usually permit.’
‘Could that have happened while she was trying to get away from him?’
‘Doubt it. I think the buttons would have had to have come off. I think – for what it’s worth before I’ve done a proper examination – that she called a halt, or they were interrupted.’ He frowned, and looked round. He nodded to a piece gouged out of the plaster in the wall. ‘ But this was a ferocious attack, Lloyd,’ he said. ‘With a weapon from the word go. There are no manual blows. I’d have thought her husband would have grabbed her, if he’d been that angry. I’d have expected some signs of a struggle. But there’s nothing. Just that,’ he said, indicating the terrible injury that had killed her.
Mickey looked, and fled.
Outside, he was sick again. He took deep breaths of fresh air. He was having to make a fool of himself, in front of Lloyd of all people. As if it wasn’t bad enough being back in Stansfield without having to make himself look like a prize idiot into the bargain. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t. But the two images kept swimming into his mind: one of her and the man, one of her lying there. Minutes. Just minutes. It wasn’t his fault. If it was anyone’s fault, it was her own. Because she had been with him, she had been encouraging him. She wasn’t trying to stop him – the doctor was wrong. He wasn’t accosting her, she wasn’t frightened of him – Austin was wrong. He had seen a couple, not someone being assaulted.
And the jogging suit. Oh, God, the jogging suit. Everything else he possessed was sitting in the washing machine, soaking wet. He’d missed the jogging suit, which was just as well, really. If only he’d missed a sweater and jeans. But no, he had to come back looking as though he was on holiday. He’d seen the look that passed between Lloyd and the doctor.
It wasn’t his fault. The colour drained from his face again, but he fought it this time. God damn it, she was with the bloody man, and Lloyd wasn’t even going after him. And if he thought Austin had done it, why was he letting him go to a hotel, instead of taking him into custody? He couldn’t make him out. Sometimes during the interview, he had been convinced that Lloyd thought Austin had killed her; at others he seemed to think he had nothing to do with it. He’d heard about Lloyd’s tactics. Lull them into a false sense of security. Their guard will slip. No point in treating murderers like common criminals. They’re not. They’re uncommon criminals. He was used to Barton, with its hard core of crooks, like Beale. Softly softly was no good there. But this was different.
