Model Murder

by Nancy Buckingham

  “It sounds,” said Kate, allowing her mistaken thought to stand uncorrected, “as if you don’t like the idea of my knowing about it. Why’s that, I wonder?”

  Kenway seemed incapable of contributing to this dialogue. After an uneasy pause, his wife shrugged her broad shoulders in a throwaway gesture.

  “Just that it wasn’t a particularly pleasant occasion.”

  “Oh?”

  “Well, you wouldn’t expect it to be, would you? I mean, us two women meeting for the first time.”

  “The first time, eh? How did that come about?”

  “It had nothing to do with her getting killed, so I don’t see what business it is of yours.”

  “Everything to do with Corinne Saxon is my business now,” Kate said calmly. “This is a murder enquiry, Mrs. Kenway. I want to know the circumstances of that meeting.”

  The woman glanced at her husband in helpless apology, then said, “Paul got in touch with her. It was the first time they’d been in touch for years. We’d read in the papers about her managing that fancy hotel so we knew she must be doing all right for herself these days. I thought ... Paul and I thought that it was about time we were let off what he had to pay her each month under the divorce settlement.”

  Kate recalled Corinne’s bank statements and made a stab. “That four hundred pounds a month?”

  “It can’t have meant much to her,” Liz said in a falsely casual tone that didn’t conceal a deep-felt bitterness. “Yet to us, saving that amount would have made the world of difference. Paul’s had a lot of bad luck since the agreement was made.”

  “What sort of bad luck?”

  “Well ... he and another man had set up in business together, dealing in personal computers and stuff like that. At around the time he and Corinne got married, the firm was doing very well. Then Paul discovered that his partner was making deals behind his back and couldn’t be trusted. He agreed to let Paul buy him out, but that meant Paul had to borrow a terrific lot of money. With a huge debt like that the business was no longer making a profit and things were getting difficult. I reckon that Corinne saw the writing on the wall. She made life sheer hell for Paul, and in the end he was thankful to divorce her, even though it meant agreeing to that unfair settlement. Paul and I met soon afterwards, and when I got left this house by an aunt of mine we hit on the idea of running an antiques business from home. Only ... somehow it’s never worked out. People don’t seem to have the money to spend these days.” Her hands slipped to her stomach, holding the bulge protectively. “Now that I’m pregnant, it’s going to be tougher than ever for us.”

  Born losers, the pair of them!

  “But Corinne refused to agree to the monthly payments being stopped?”

  “There was nothing really unpleasant when she came. No quarrel or anything.” Kenway had finally kicked himself into the conversation. Like his wife, he was patently trying to play down the episode. “I just phoned Corinne at Streatfield Park one day and told her I’d like to see her to discuss something. She said okay, and that she’d drop in here when she was over this way. Which she did. Liz and I explained the situation to her, but we couldn’t make Corinne see things our way. She took the line that a legal agreement was binding and she wasn’t willing to release me from it. So that was that.”

  “You felt angry about her attitude, no doubt?”

  “Disappointed, naturally, but ...”

  “No, Mr. Kenway, the chief inspector said angry,” Boulter intervened, coming the hard man. “Angry enough, perhaps, to decide to see her again on your own?”

  He gazed from one to the other of them, a hunted look in his eyes. “You surely aren’t suggesting that I ...”

  Kate decided to terminate the interview. It would do no harm to leave him to sweat.

  “I shall require you to make a formal statement. And you too, Mrs. Kenway. At a police station. Someone will be in touch with you to arrange it. That will be all for now.”

  Husband and wife stood in silence as the police car drove off. In the deep hush, Liz’s voice was low and determinedly challenging.

  “Well, Paul?”

  He gave her an unconvincing smile. “Well what, darling?”

  “Oh, please, don’t pretend with me. I had to cover for you about last Wednesday, and I want to know why the hell it was necessary.”

  “Not necessary,” he insisted, “just helpful. When you told them that I’d been here with you, it seemed a much better idea than just having to say I was driving around looking at antiques, and being unable to prove exactly where I was. So I went along with what you’d said.”

  “For God’s sake, Paul, do you think I’m stupid? Do you really believe I was taken in by your story about looking around the antique shops that afternoon? I knew all along you were lying to me. I always know if you’re lying.” Her voice trembled. “But now I want the truth —however bad it is.”

  His eyes avoided hers. “You surely don’t think that I had anything to do with Corinne’s death?”

  “How am I supposed to know what to think?” she said on a sob. “You’ve been so odd just lately, so mysterious and evasive.”

  “Sweetheart, you’re imagining things.”

  His wife looked up at him, her strained face crumpling in her distress. “Oh, Paul, why can’t you tell me the truth? Why can’t you trust me?”

  “Please, Liz, don’t ask me any more questions. Not now. Give me time to think. Get my mind sorted out. Believe me, there are things it’s best for you not to know. One day, perhaps ... but not now.”

  The bell above the shop door pinged, and in came a forties-something couple. Their smiles were bright with the apology of people who are only intending to browse, not to buy.

  “Good morning,” the man said. “Er ... do you mind if we look around?”

  Liz Kenway took a quick, controlling breath. “Not at all. Please go ahead.” To Paul, she muttered, “You can’t make me forget about this. I’m determined to know the truth. I’ve got to know.”

  * * * *

  On Kate’s instructions Boulter drove her first to Divisional Headquarters. He parked the car in the DCI’s personal space in the forecourt.

  “Be back here in half an hour, Tim.”

  “Great,” he said. “That’ll just give me time for a quick snack.”

  In her own office Kate made a couple of calls to tender apologies about tasks she was having to postpone. Then she set forth for the superintendent’s room.

  Knocking and hearing his brusque “Enter!” she walked in and found Jolly Joliffe on his feet studying a wall chart. Seeing who it was, he promptly stepped to his desk and plonked himself down in his chair. This, Kate surmised, was an attempt to make a point. He’d learned to be wary of her, seeming bewildered by this strange new creature, a female detective chief inspector. Kate had endeavoured (with only limited success) to show that she expected the treatment owed to her rank, not the treatment a well-brought-up man of his generation imagined was due to the weaker sex. The strain of acting towards her contrary to his instincts resulted in Jolly switching unpredictably between favouring her with tea served in delicate Royal Worcester china, and addressing her more abrasively than he might have done a male chief inspector.

  “Good morning, sir,” Kate said in her brightest voice.

  “Aren’t you somewhat tardy, Mrs. Maddox, in coming to report to me?”

  “I’ve been at Ashecombe-in-the-Vale interviewing the dead woman’s ex-husband,” she explained mildly, as she sat down.

  He aha-ed, a wintry smile lighting his lugubrious face. “So that’s the answer, is it? Ex with a grudge! Have you brought him in with you?”

  “The case is far too wide open for that, sir.”

  “Hmph! What else do you have, then?”

  Kate related what little else there was as yet. “I’m very much hoping we’ll get a lead on that missing car soon. That would be a big help. And of course I’m waiting to hear about the post-mortem, and the forensic findings. Hopeful
ly they’ll give us something more positive to work on.”

  “It’s facts I want to see brought to light in a murder enquiry, not a lot of half-arsed hopes and maybes. Solid, indisputable facts. Something we can really get our teeth into.”

  “Absolutely,” she agreed, having a job not to giggle.

  He regarded her with vexed suspicion, scratching the side of his long nose with one finger. Kate returned his gaze with serene optimism. After a few moments of this eyeball contact, the superintendent waved a dismissive hand.

  “Very well, Mrs. Maddox, off you go and get on with the job. And bring me a result with all possible speed, eh?”

  Humour the old bugger, Kate.

  “I will, sir. You can rely on me for that.”

  * * * *

  By the time Kate and Boulter arrived back at Streatfield Park the Incident Room was fully operational. Both uniformed and plain clothes officers plus a few civilian personnel manned the desks and computer terminals. Kate knew that before long information would be avalanching in, all needing to be analysed, stored, and painstakingly cross-indexed.

  “A couple of interesting items have emerged from this morning’s interviews,” Inspector Massey told her. “I’ve put them on top of the pile on your desk.”

  “Right. I’d like to have a briefing of the squad this afternoon, Frank, Four o’clock, okay?”

  In her office, Kate scanned the paragraphs highlighted by Frank Massey on the two top reports. The first concerned some guests, an American couple named Rubinstein. These were the people, she remembered, whom Corinne had accompanied to Bath (and probably the elegant couple she herself had noticed when she’d arrived at the hotel yesterday afternoon to break the news of the murder). Mr. and Mrs. Rubinstein had visited Paris before coming to England, and while chatting with Corinne they’d told her how much they’d enjoyed the city. Corinne said she knew Paris well, and added that she was off there on Wednesday for a few days. Then she’d laughed, and said that as a matter of fact it was a little secret, so she’d rather they didn’t mention it to anyone else. Which neither of the Rubinsteins had done, until questioned by the police.

  “There’s no mention here of any companion,” Kate observed to her sergeant. “I simply can’t believe that she’d be spending time in Paris alone.”

  “Nor can I,” said Boulter feelingly, his eyes going to the Gazette photographer’s pictures of Corinne that were now pinned to the wall. “A shocking waste, if she had been.”

  Kate moved on to the other highlighted report. The hotel receptionist, June Elsted, had spoken of taking a phone call for Miss Saxon late on Wednesday afternoon. The caller was informed that she wasn’t there, and that she’d be away for the next few days. But on Thursday evening the same man had phoned again and asked for Miss Saxon. Both times he declined to leave a message and had been evasive about giving his name.

  “Very interesting.” Kate flicked a glance at Boulter, who was reading over her shoulder. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “You reckon he might have been phoning to check if the body had been found yet?”

  “Could be.” She looked for the name of the interviewing officer. “See if Vic Rolfe is around, will you?”

  Rolfe, she knew from past experience, was a hard-working detective, reliable and conscientious ... but unimaginative. He entered Kate’s office wearing a deeply worried expression on his blunt-featured face, as if he expected a reprimand without quite knowing why he might deserve one. He looked relieved at her friendly tone of voice.

  “Ah, Vic. This report of yours on June Elsted and the man who phoned asking to speak to Corinne Saxon. How did she know it was the same caller both times, if he didn’t give his name?”

  “Er ... she didn’t explain that, ma’am.”

  “Did you get the feeling that she knew the caller’s identity?”

  Rolfe shook his head slowly, the worry back in place. “Maybe that’s what she meant, ma’am. I suppose I should have asked her. I’ll get back to her right away, shall I, and clear it up?”

  “No, leave it. Go and get on with your next interview.”

  Boulter sniffed when he’d departed. “Stupid bugger, I’d have given him a rollicking.”

  “Just remember, Tim, if he was as bright as you are, he’d have been a sergeant by now.”

  “And I’d be a chief inspector if I was as bright as you are, yeah?”

  “What, at your tender age?” she said with a laugh as she picked up the phone.

  “Miss Elsted? Chief Inspector Maddox here. I wonder if you could get someone to deputize for you on the desk for a few minutes. I’d like to have a chat with you right away.”

  “Oh?” She sounded wary. “What about?”

  “If you could just pop over to my office in the squash courts. I won’t keep you long.”

  The receptionist was plainly nervous as she was shown in. Kate invited her to sit down.

  “It concerns the man who phoned asking for Miss Saxon on Wednesday and again on Thursday. It’s important that we trace this person, so I want your help. Did you recognise who it was speaking? Or did you just mean that his voice was distinctive enough for you to be sure it was the same man each time?”

  “Well ... both, sort of.”

  “Please explain.”

  June Elsted was hesitant. “I’d hate saying anything if it turned out that I’d made a mistake. I mean ... Miss Saxon being raped like that, and then strangled. I’d feel terrible if I got someone into a lot of trouble with the police when it wasn’t him at all.”

  “You needn’t worry, we’ll be very discreet. But this is a murder enquiry, June, so you must tell us everything you know that might have a bearing on the case.”

  She nodded, still miserable. “I’m pretty sure it was one of the guests. Well ... one of the past guests, I should say. He and his wife stayed here for a few days a couple of weeks ago. Of course, he could have just been phoning to make another reservation. Perhaps he thought he’d do better going direct to Miss Saxon.”

  “Who is this man?”

  “Mr. Arliss. Mr. James Arliss. He didn’t give me his name on either Wednesday or Thursday, as I told that other detective. But I recognised the voice from when he phoned originally to make a reservation. You see, I entered him in the computer as Mr. Arlith, with a ‘th’ ... that’s what it sounded like. Fortunately, when they arrived it was his wife who came up to the desk while he was giving instructions about the luggage, and of course she said Arliss quite clearly, and I was able to correct the error without her realising that I’d got their name wrong.”

  “What you’re saying,” Kate said, “is that he speaks with a lisp?”

  “Well, yes. But on Wednesday and Thursday the caller asked for Miss Thackthon, like that, and it reminded me of the other man.”

  “You’re certain in your own mind that it was Mr. Arliss, aren’t you?”

  “I ... I wouldn’t want to have to swear it was, or anything.”

  “Yes, I understand. Let’s assume for the moment that it was him. What made you think he might have wanted to make another reservation and imagined he’d do better going direct to Miss Saxon?”

  “Well ... some people always go straight to the top, don’t they?” But she said it evasively.

  “I think,” said Kate, giving her a direct look, “that you can give me a better answer than that.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Tell me,” Kate said flatly. “Come on, now.”

  The silence stretched while the receptionist sat looking cornered, petrified. Boulter shifted his feet and was about to say something. But his preliminary throat clearing was enough to trigger her into a babble of words that came out in jerky little spurts.

  “I ... I don’t want to give you the wrong idea. I mean, it mightn’t really have been how it looked. You see, it was only once I actually ... and even then, well, I can’t be absolutely sure how serious it was, can I?”

  “Just slow down, June,
and explain what you’re saying.” Kate spoke calmly, encouragingly. “There was something going on between Mr. Arliss and Miss Saxon, right?”

  “Yes.” It was said in a whisper. But her voice suddenly gained strength as she continued, and Kate realised she was beginning to enjoy her role as witness. “Well, it was pretty plain that Mr. and Mrs. Arliss didn’t hit it off very well. At meals, they hardly said a word to one another, just acted polite, and they mostly did quite separate things while they were here. The staff all noticed, it was so obvious. Anyway, I several times saw him and Miss Saxon chatting and laughing together, in the bar or wherever. But then, Miss Saxon did that with a lot of the guests, so I didn’t take too much notice. One afternoon, though, Mr. Labrosse was off-duty and Deidre—that’s the secretary—was away sick. Someone phoned to make an appointment to see Mr. Labrosse, so I walked through to the office to check in his desk diary. I had no idea anyone was in there ...”

  “And?”

  “It was Miss Saxon and Mr. Arliss. In a real clinch, they were, and it looked as if they’d been at it for some time. I just stood there in the doorway, completely stunned, and they broke apart. Miss Saxon was furious, and she yelled at me to get out. I just turned and ran. She could be really nasty when she wanted.”

  “Did you tell anyone else about this?”

  “No, I didn’t dare. I mean, if it had got out among the staff she’d have known it was through me, wouldn’t she, and I like my job here. After a few minutes Mr. Arliss came out and he stopped by the desk and pressed a ten-pound note into my hand. He winked at me and put a finger to his lips. But it wasn’t because of him I kept quiet, it was because of her.”

  “I see. Very well, June, you can go now. When you get back to the reception desk, look up Mr. Arliss’s address for me, please, and call me back with it.”

  As the door closed behind her, Boulter said, “Sounds as if we’re onto something with this Arliss guy. Could be he wanted kinkier sex from our victim than she was ready to give him. Shall we pull him in?”

  “I’d really like to take him by surprise before he has time to cook up a good story.” Kate considered. “Thank God it’s Saturday, but I can’t afford a long wasted journey if he’s not at home. He probably lives miles away.”