by Frank Smith
Ballantyne shook his head. ‘No. I dropped him off and drove away.’
‘And now you are suggesting that, instead of going in, he made his way back to the house, killed his wife, then returned in time for you to pick him up again outside the shop. Is that right, Mr Ballantyne?’
Ballantyne squirmed in his seat. ‘I said it’s possible, that’s all,’ he protested. ‘I don’t know that’s what happened, but somebody killed Laura, didn’t they? I didn’t think of it at the time, of course. It was such a shock finding Laura the way we did, that it didn’t occur to me to connect the two things.’
‘Any ideas about how he would get from the shop to the house and back again?’
Ballantyne shrugged. ‘He could have walked; it’s less than a mile. Or he could have used Susan’s car. I suppose it’s possible that he and Susan were in it together, but I really can’t see Susan being involved. But Simon would hardly take a taxi, would he?’
‘There is another possibility,’ Paget said. ‘And that is that Mr Holbrook had arranged to be picked up by your wife, and the two of them went back to the house, where it was she who killed Laura Holbrook. They were her fingerprints we found all over the crime scene, and her clothes that were stained with Laura Holbrook’s blood. Doesn’t that seem a more likely explanation, Mr Ballantyne?’
‘No! No, that’s not true,’ Ballantyne protested. ‘Moira explained all that. Laura was dead when she got there. Moira tried to help her until she realized Laura was dead. Besides, it’s Susan Simon is having the affair with, and that’s where I took him that night.’
‘Even if that’s true,’ Tregalles said, ‘it doesn’t rule out the possibility that Simon Holbrook was having an affair with someone else at the same time. He does have that sort of reputation, doesn’t he, sir? And it has been suggested to us that Simon Holbrook and your wife have enjoyed a close relationship in the past. Perhaps that relationship still exists.’
The grey pallor in Trevor Ballantyne’s face gave way to a rush of colour. ‘That’s not true,’ he whispered. ‘Not true at all!’
‘Not true that they are having an affair now?’ Tregalles asked, ‘or not true that they had an affair in the past?’
Trevor Ballantyne closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying desperately to remain calm. ‘Not true that they are having an affair now,’ he said, opening his eyes and enunciating each word carefully. ‘As for what might or might not have been in the past, it remains in the past as far as I’m concerned, because it isn’t relevant.’
‘Unfortunately, since this is a murder enquiry, we can’t afford to dismiss it quite so lightly,’ Paget told him. ‘As I’m sure you are aware, we look primarily for motive and opportunity, and your wife had both.’
‘But that was over long ago!’ Ballantyne insisted. ‘Besides, you couldn’t even call it an affair. We were going through a bad patch. Moira and Simon were working all hours together getting the security system sorted out, and it just happened. There was nothing to it; it was over in a week.’
‘How do you know that, Mr Ballantyne? Did your wife tell you that?’
‘She didn’t have to. I just knew, that’s all. Everything’s been fine between us ever since.’
‘So how did that make you feel about Simon Holbrook?’ Tregalles asked. ‘Knowing that he was having it off with your wife. I mean didn’t that upset you?’
‘Of course it upset me,’ Ballantyne snapped, ‘but that doesn’t mean that Moira and I couldn’t work through it.’
‘You’ve talked about it, then, have you, sir? With your wife, I mean?’
Trevor Ballantyne’s eyes narrowed. ‘No,’ he said tersely. ‘In my estimation, there are times when it is better not to talk about things like that, and let things work out for themselves.’
Tregalles looked puzzled. ‘And yet you remained friends with Simon Holbrook,’ he said. ‘I don’t understand how you could do that.’
Ballantyne shook his head impatiently. ‘I wouldn’t say we’re friends, exactly,’ he said. ‘It was more of a business relationship. We do have similar interests; we’ve helped each other out with technical problems from time to time, and there’s the badminton, of course, but we’re hardly bosom pals.’
‘Still, it must have made you somewhat uncomfortable at times when the four of you were out together,’ Tregalles said. ‘I mean, if I knew my wife had had an affair with a friend of mine, no matter how brief, I think I’d be watching the two of them like a hawk whenever they were together.’
‘As I said,’ Ballantyne said stiffly, ‘I knew it was over; I knew Moira regretted it, so it was done with as far as I was concerned.’
‘But it must rankle,’ Tregalles persisted. ‘Is that why you came in today? To point the finger in Simon Holbrook’s direction? To suggest that he and Susan Chase were in this together? To divert suspicion away from your wife?’
‘No!’ Ballantyne burst out. ‘That is not why I came. I came here this morning to try to set things right, and tell you what really happened that night. I mean, why would Simon have me drop him outside Susan’s if he and Moira . . .?’ The words dried in his mouth. He clamped his lips together and squeezed his eyes shut as he sank back in his seat. ‘You’re wrong,’ he whispered. ‘You have to believe me. I swear, there is nothing going on between Moira and Simon. Nothing!’
Tregalles and Paget exchanged glances. ‘Let’s hope you’re right, then, Mr Ballantyne,’ Paget said. ‘But I’m afraid that we will be the ones who have the final say on that.’
Trevor Ballantyne’s hand shook when he signed the statement, and his face looked even greyer than it had when he’d first sat down. He put the pen down and slumped back in his seat. ‘So, what happens now?’ he asked nervously ‘Do I have to stay here? Am I to be charged?’
‘Not for the moment,’ Paget said as he picked up the statement. ‘You’re free to go, but you may be charged later. Meanwhile, you are required to let us know if you or your wife plan to leave the area, and I suggest that both of you avoid contact with Mr Holbrook, at least until we’ve had a chance to talk to him. Constable Forsythe will see you to your car.’
‘I don’t believe that anyone can be that tolerant,’ said Tregalles when Ballantyne had gone. ‘Especially when Laura really stuck it to her sister twice. Susan Chase may be one of the nicest people in the world, but even she must have her breaking point.’ He sounded sad; he’d taken quite a liking to Susan Chase.
‘And she was there in the house almost within hours of her sister’s death, helping Simon,’ Paget reminded him. ‘On the other hand, it’s still possible that it was Moira, not Susan, who killed Laura.’
‘Coming round to that view, then, are you?’ Tregalles asked hopefully.
Paget smiled. ‘Let’s just say I’m keeping my options open,’ he said.
Twenty-One
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Peg, I thought I had made myself clear when I said I didn’t want any interruptions,’ Simon Holbrook snapped as Peggy ushered Paget and Molly into his office. ‘I’m sorry, Chief Inspector,’ he continued, not sounding sorry at all, ‘but I really don’t have the time to talk to you today, so come back some other time. Peggy will arrange it. We’re doing bench tests on a new device, and it’s important that I be there, so if you’ll excuse me . . .?’ He picked up a batch of papers and began to come out from behind his desk.
‘Unfortunately, it’s even more important that we talk to you now,’ said Paget firmly. He moved into Holbrook’s path, not blocking him exactly, but enough to make the man stop. ‘We would prefer to do that here, but we can do it at the station if necessary. It’s your choice, Mr Holbrook.’
Holbrook stepped back a pace, eyes narrowed as he studied Paget’s impassive features. Suddenly he laughed, a short, staccato sound that sounded forced. ‘For a moment there, I almost thought you meant that,’ he said nervously, ‘but I really must insist—’
‘And so must I, Mr Holbrook,’ said Paget brusquely, ‘so I suggest that we stop wasting each othe
r’s time and get on with it.’
‘You can’t . . .’ Holbrook began defiantly, then stopped. ‘Oh, very well, then,’ he said peevishly, ‘if it’s that important to you, I suppose I can spare a few minutes.’ He stepped around Paget to thrust the sheaf of papers into Peggy’s hands with such force that she almost dropped them. ‘Take those down to the lab and tell Stan I’ll be down in ten minutes,’ he said roughly. ‘Ten minutes,’ he repeated for Paget’s benefit as he returned to his seat behind the desk and sat down.
Peggy Goodwin’s face betrayed nothing, but her body language more than made her feelings clear. She turned to leave, but Molly stopped her. ‘Your hand, Miss Goodwin,’ she said. ‘It’s bleeding. Do be careful or you’ll get blood on your clothes.’ She glanced around. ‘Can I get you something to put on it?’
Peggy examined her hand. Blood oozed from her little finger. ‘It’s just a paper cut,’ she said, juggling the papers in her hand to dab it with a tissue. ‘Thanks all the same, but I have a dressing in my office.’
‘Now, what’s this all about, Chief Inspector?’ Holbrook said crossly as the door closed behind her.
Paget took his time opening his coat and settling himself in the chair, then glanced across at Molly as if to make sure she was ready to take notes. ‘It’s about why you lied to us about where you were the night your wife was killed,’ he said abruptly. ‘I’d like an explanation.’
Simon Holbrook’s face turned red. ‘I told you, I was at the cinema with Trevor . . .’ he began heatedly, then stopped when he saw the look on Paget’s face. Whatever he had been about to say died in his throat, and Paget could almost see him shifting gears inside his head.
Holbrook coughed and cleared his throat to start again. ‘I see,’ he said quietly. ‘Trevor? Am I right? Been talking to you, has he? I was afraid he might. What did he tell you?’
Paget smiled. ‘That’s not the way it works, as I’m sure you know,’ he said, ‘so please don’t waste any more of my time. I’m giving you the opportunity to explain why you lied, and where you were between the hours of seven o’clock and ten thirty the night your wife was killed.’
Holbrook looked up at the ceiling, blew out his cheeks and said, ‘Honestly, the only reason I didn’t tell you the truth was because I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea. The truth is I had Trevor drop me off at Susan’s – I’m sure he told you. Her security system wasn’t working properly, and since I was the one who’d recommended it to her in the first place, she asked me to take a look at it.’
‘She phoned you at home?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Did you tell your wife where you were going?’
‘She was in bed by that time,’ Holbrook said evasively, ‘and I didn’t want to disturb her.’
‘And because she might not understand, either?’
Holbrook grimaced. ‘That’s true,’ he said. ‘Laura was . . . well, to be honest, she was inclined to be jealous. Not that she had any reason to be, but it was sometimes simpler to, well, leave her out of the loop, as you might say.’
‘And this was one of those times,’ said Paget. ‘Tell me, when, exactly, did Miss Chase make this phone call?’
‘Just before Trevor picked me up. What with all these burglaries of late, and since there is access through the shop to her living quarters above, she was a bit nervous about leaving the problem till the morning, so I agreed to go, because—’
‘That will be quite enough!’ Paget broke in angrily. ‘Can you not get it through your head, Mr Holbrook, that you are a suspect in the murder of your wife? And the more you lie to me, the more convinced I am that you’re guilty. Now, you have one last chance to tell me the truth about where you were that night and what you did, or we will continue this conversation in Charter Lane. Do you understand?’
Holbrook turned pale. He raised his hands in front of him as if he thought Paget was about to attack him physically. ‘All right, all right,’ he said sullenly as he sank back in his chair. ‘But you can’t really think that I killed Laura,’ he said shakily. ‘She was my wife, for Christ’s sake!’
‘With whom you were less than happy,’ Paget countered swiftly. ‘A wife who had taken over the running of your firm, and a wife who was overruling you at work and making life miserable at home. A divorce would have ruined you and destroyed the company you’d built up from scratch, but if your wife died, you’d be in clover. You have lied to me about where you were, and you have signed a statement that is false. How many more reasons do you think I need to arrest you, Mr Holbrook?’
Simon Holbrook, mouth half open, stared at Paget. ‘Look,’ he said weakly, ‘I swear I had nothing to do with Laura’s death. I was with Susan; she’ll back me up. Trevor will tell you; he dropped me off there and picked me up from there later. Honest to God, that’s the truth.’
Paget remained silent, waiting, his expression grim.
‘It is the truth,’ Holbrook pressed on. ‘I’ll admit I lied about what I told Trevor. You’re right, there was no phone call, but I had to tell him something so he wouldn’t be suspicious, so I made up the story about the security system.’
‘Then tell me why, after setting off to see a film with Mr Ballantyne, you suddenly felt the need to see Susan Chase? Why not cancel your night and simply go there?’
Simon looked at him for a long moment before he spoke, and Paget felt almost certain that he was about to lie once more. ‘I needed cover,’ he said with an air of candour. ‘I couldn’t let Laura know that I was going to see her sister, because she would think the worst. You’re quite right, things weren’t going well at work or at home. I had to talk to someone, someone who would understand, and perhaps help me get things back on track with Laura. The tug-of-war that was going on at work I could understand – at least in a way. Laura could run rings around me when it came to business decisions, and there were times when I felt I was losing control of my own business because she was making all the decisions. I didn’t like the feeling, but I couldn’t argue with the fact that what she was doing was good for the business. But what I couldn’t understand was why, when we’d hit it off so well in the beginning, that Laura had gone off me. Believe me, Chief Inspector, I loved my wife. I just wanted things to be the way they were at first. But Susan is her sister, and sometimes Laura would confide in her, so I thought . . .’ Holbrook raised his hands and let them drop. ‘I just thought she might have said something to Susan. I’d been thinking about it all day, and when Trevor picked me up that night, I just knew I had to find out, so I asked him to drop me at Susan’s. That’s the truth.’
Scepticism lingered on Paget’s face. ‘And what did you learn from Miss Chase?’ he asked.
Holbrook sucked in a long breath. ‘Nothing,’ he said as he let it out again. ‘Susan said Laura hadn’t said anything to her.’
‘Hardly surprising, though, was it?’ Paget said. ‘As I understand it, the two sisters were hardly on the friendliest of terms, so why would Laura confide in Susan?’
Holbrook flushed. ‘I suppose that came from Trevor as well,’ he said, ‘but it’s not true. I’ll admit they’ve had their differences but they did talk.’
‘All right, we’ll leave that for the moment,’ Paget said, ‘but I’d like to know what you did with the rest of the time you were together.’
The colour in Holbrook’s face deepened. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said stiffly. ‘What are you implying?’
‘I’m not implying anything,’ Paget told him. ‘I’m asking a simple question. You say Susan could tell you nothing; that Laura had not talked to her, so what did you do for the next three hours? Did you leave the premises at all? Go out for a meal? Did you go back to your house and kill your wife before returning to be picked up by Ballantyne?’
‘We talked,’ Holbrook said defiantly. ‘Susan made tea and we just sat around and talked. We’ve known each other for a long time, and it was rather pleasant to be able to have a relaxing evening for a change. And I did not kill my w
ife.’ He rose to his feet. ‘So, if you’ve quite finished, I have work to do, and I’m running very late.’
‘And we thank you for your time,’ Paget said as he, too, stood up. ‘However, busy or not, you are required to present yourself at Charter Lane within the next forty-eight hours to give us a revised statement. And I should warn you that it is an offence to waste police time, and you could be charged, so you may wish to advise your solicitor.’
The word ‘solicitor’ reminded Paget of a question he’d meant to ask Holbrook earlier. ‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘Who was that gentleman who spoke to you at the cemetery on Friday? Well dressed, driving a Mercedes?’
The question, at least as far as Paget was concerned, was prompted by little more than idle curiosity, but the effect on Holbrook was strange. He stared at Paget blankly, mouth half open before finding his voice. ‘Henry Beaumont,’ he said. ‘Henry is the Research and Development VP in the Drexler-Davies Corporation, UK Division. I used to work for him before going out on my own. He came to the funeral as a representative of the company to offer their condolences, that’s all. Why do you want to know?’
‘Just curious, that’s all,’ Paget told him, truthfully, but Holbrook’s reaction was something to think about.
Peggy Goodwin was either watching for them or Holbrook had called her on the intercom, because she came out of her office to escort them out of the building. Paget had the feeling that she would love to know what had gone on in Holbrook’s office, but she said nothing as she removed their Visitor’s badges and saw them out of the door.
‘Well, Forsythe, you were very quiet in there,’ said Paget when they reached the car. ‘What did you make of it?’
‘I thought you were doing very well on your own, sir,’ Molly said boldly, but smiled to make sure he understood she meant no offence. ‘But seriously, I don’t think he’s telling the whole truth. I have trouble visualizing the two of them just sitting there talking for three-and-a-half hours. I don’t think it’s in Mr Holbrook’s nature to sit that long with a woman without making some sort of move on her. And from what Sergeant Tregalles told me about the way she acted at the house and at the funeral, all we really know is that there are three-and-a-half hours unaccounted for by both of them.’
