“You’re the one who’s clever with tape-recorders,” said Kate.
“Oh?” Alison’s expression changed momentarily. “Figured that out, did you? I suppose you’ve had a chat with the dear old Bertrams. Neat, don’t you think?”
“You could call it neat, like everything else you’ve done. And by the way, there’s no one listening to this conversation. It’s just between you and me.”
“Oddly enough, I believe you. Do tell me, Kate, what put you on my trail?”
“The name Axfield started me off. I saw it in a proof copy of the Troubadours’ programme for King’s Rhapsody, and it clicked. An unusual name, and I remembered it as belonging to a certain widow who’d sold her farm to Belle Latimer’s father for a rather good price some years ago.”
“Very astute! And what did you deduce from that, Kate?”
“Once I’d established that you were in fact Mrs. Kathleen Axfield’s daughter, I began to think of reasons why you might hate Belle Latimer enough to plan her death.”
Alison regarded her ironically. “So what brilliant theory did you come up with?”
Throw it all at her, Kate.
“You’d hate Belle if you considered you had equal right to the Stedham fortune. And you did think that, didn’t you, Alison, because you were Sir Peter Stedham’s daughter, too? I’m right, aren’t I?”
Kate had been thinking she would never pierce this woman’s armour of smooth self-control. But at last she’d scored a hit. Even so, Alison instantly regained her poise.
“You’d have difficulty proving that. And even if you could, where would it get you?” Kate could detect an underlying rage in her voice when Alison added, “It’s no crime to be illegitimate. Just damned unfair.”
“You hated Belle Stedham, as she was then, right from when you were both children and she had so much and you had so little. Right? You had to muck out and groom the ponies that Belle rode so elegantly. Did she make life hell for you, Alison?”
“The little bitch! She loved giving orders, even then, and she was always looking for something to complain about.”
“Yet you and Belle were half-sisters. That must have really cut deep. How did you find out, Alison? When?”
She sketched a “what the hell does it matter now?” gesture, and Kate read the signs. Often, with lawbreakers, there came a point when it was a relief to talk. It was almost therapeutic, like an act of cleansing.
“It was after my mother died, I found some letters. It came as a shock, I can tell you, I’d never had the least idea before. She was Stedham’s mistress for years, apparently, from way before the time I was conceived to long past the death of my supposed father. Whether Arnold Axfield realised what was going on, whether he knew that I wasn’t his child, I don’t know. He was a strange man and never had much to say, either to me or anyone else.”
“And your real father? How did he behave towards you?”
“Stedham was nice enough to me sometimes, but in a very patronising way. I remember one day when I was in the stable yard, he stopped to have a chat with me, asking how I was getting on at school and so on, and he seemed interested in what I had to say. I thought what a really nice kind man he was. Then Belle came flouncing up, demanding something or other, and he just walked off with her leaving me stranded in mid-sentence.”
“He paid your mother a very good price for Bramble Farm,” Kate observed. This was a deliberate provocation.
“It was peanuts to him. He was worth millions. Millions!”
“Every last penny of which Belle inherited when she died.”
“My God, the injustice of it. Damn him! I hope he’s rotting in hell.”
“Did Belle know the truth about you? Did you ever tell her?”
“And have her gloat? Not likely.”
“So you took your secret revenge by starting an affair with her husband?”
“Christ!” Alison was visibly startled. “You have been doing a lot of digging. Matthew and I were always so careful.”
“Not careful enough. You were seen together in a pub over near Cheltenham by someone who recognised him. And your neighbours knew that a man was visiting you secretively.” Kate screwed up the pressure still more. “Did you hope that once you’d disposed of Belle, Matthew would marry you? And by that means you’d finally get your hands on the fortune you thought you deserved?”
“Why not? Why shouldn’t I? And I’d have made him happier than she ever did. Matthew loves me.”
Coming here to confront Alison, Kate hadn’t fully decided on her tactics. She’d just had a conviction that if they talked long enough she’d eventually find a way of breaking her. Now she realised she’d been handed a valuable weapon.
“Matthew really spread his love around, didn’t he?” she said, almost as a throwaway. “Belle, you ... and Monica.”
“Monica?” Alison was suddenly tense, her large brown eyes staring.
“Evidently you didn’t know about the girl-friend in London. She was having drinks with Matthew in his hotel, prior to spending the night with him, as usual, at the very moment you were busy killing his wife.”
“No!” There was disbelief, there was rage; but above all there was bitter pain in Alison’s protest. A woman betrayed could always touch a vein of sympathy in Kate, but she mustn’t let it deflect her from her objective.
“It’s absolutely true,” she told Alison. “Every word. Matthew has admitted it, and so has Monica. Their affair had been going on for months, apparently. In fact it was the real reason for his regular jaunts to London.”
The hush in the room was disturbed only by Alison’s tortured breathing. At last she muttered brokenly, “Matthew said ... he said that he wanted to marry me more than anything in the world. So ... I made it possible. Oh yes, winning him from that bitch Belle was sweet revenge, and winning her fortune would have been sweeter still....”
“But Belle changed her will. A kind friend told her, you see, that her husband was involved with another woman, though Belle didn’t realise that the other woman was you.”
“So that was why.” Alison lifted her head to meet Kate’s gaze, and there were tearstains on her cheeks. “But even so ... even without Belle’s fortune, I would still have wanted to marry Matthew. We were good together; we suited each other. I came to love him. And I thought he loved me.” She sank into a chair, covering her face with her hands. “How could Matthew have cheated on me, even on that night, while I was ... ?”
Kate went to the front door, opened it, and beckoned to DC Todd, who was waiting beside the car. He came hurrying across the road.
“Mrs. Knight is ready to make a statement,” Kate told him. “I want you to take it down. Caution her, please.”
It had been Kate’s intention, at this point, to take Alison back to the police station to record her statement in proper form and have her charged with murder. But, as things were, she felt this would be too risky. During the few minutes they were driving to Chipping Bassett, Alison would have time to reflect; and she might decide to withhold her further co-operation. Even the giving of the caution could prove to be a dangerous hiatus, but this step was essential if the information obtained were to have any legal validity.
To Kate’s relief, it seemed that Alison was so far into the luxury of confession that she didn’t want to pull back now. Once the brief formalities were over, it all came pouring out once more. It was almost as if she were boasting of her cleverness, her ability to plan ahead, and her careful attention to every detail. Painstakingly, DC Todd took everything down, question and answer.
On the matter of using Richard Gower’s car, Alison said, “One morning when Marlene Harper brought my coffee over to the estate office, she happened to mention that Mr. Gower was coming for lunch with Mrs. Latimer that day, and later I heard his car arrive. I was idly watching from the office window and I saw him go forward and shake hands with Belle. I realised that he hadn’t taken the key out of the ignition, and this was my chance. His Volvo was just t
he sort of car I needed, a good solid hunk of metal which wouldn’t be likely to show any impact damage. No one was around, so I strolled over and pocketed his bunch of keys. Then I had a duplicate made at that hardware shop in West Street. It only took five minutes.”
“After which you drove back to Hambledon Grange and replaced the bunch of keys in Gower’s car? You weren’t due to go back there in the afternoon, but I presume you counted on the fact that no one would question your presence?”
“That’s right. So then it was just a matter of choosing the best evening to kill Belle while she was out walking the dog. I knew just the right spot, because she always went exactly the same way. Always.” Alison’s tone became bitter. “An essential part of my plan was that it should be on one of those days when Matthew was staying overnight in London, so he wouldn’t be suspected. Oh God, what a pathetic little fool I was!” With an effort she pulled herself together. “Anyway, during the morning of that Tuesday I phoned Richard Gower at the Gazette office, impersonating a man, and promised him a real scoop. But I said it had to be in secret and suggested I went to his home that evening. If he hadn’t agreed, I’d have had to shelve the whole thing and work out some other plan. But I did get him to agree in the end, which meant that he’d be safely pinned down at his flat. So I was all set to go. I had a bit of a scare when I went to take his car from where I knew he always left it outside Borough House. Someone, one of his neighbours, I suppose, drove up and went inside. But I kept my head well down and luckily he didn’t notice me. After that everything went smoothly, according to plan.”
“Yet even you couldn’t plan against the chance of being seen when it was too late to call things off,” said Kate. “After the killing you stopped at a quiet spot near a call-box to check the car for damage. Then you phoned Gower’s number to make sure he was still at home so that it was safe for you to replace his car.”
“How in the hell did you ... ? It must have been those two old boys in the greenhouse, damn it. I didn’t think they’d noticed me, they were nattering away so hard. You’re clever, Kate ... cleverer than I gave you credit for.”
“Now let’s turn to George Prescott. I know that you must have killed him, but I’d like to know why.”
“Why should I tell you?”
“Because you want to tell me, Alison. Because you need to tell me.”
There was reluctant admiration on her face. “I guess you’re right at that. Well, George brought it all on himself. He’d found out about Matthew and me ... he overheard a phone call I made from his office one lunchtime when I thought I was the only one there. He said nothing at the time. But later, when he thought he could make use of me, he used it as a threat.”
“He suspected that you killed Belle?”
Alison scoffed at that idea. “You credit dear old George with too much imagination. No, he just knew it would be inconvenient, to say the least, for it to emerge during your enquiries into Belle’s death that Matthew and I had something going. George was in one hell of a mess with his gambling losses— probably worse than you ever suspected. He’d been dipping into money belonging to his clients to cover himself. But he’d never dared touch any of the Hambledon estate money—he knew that Belle watched everyone she employed with an eagle eye. Now that she was dead, though, George realised that with my co-operation he could help himself in a big way. So he started wielding the big stick, threatening to give the game away about Matthew and me if I didn’t play along. He’d always had the crazy idea that one day he’d really hit the jackpot and be able to put everything right. But I knew the odds were he’d go on losing and losing until the whole thing blew up. Which would have put me in a spot, too.”
“So you decided to kill him and make it look like suicide?”
“It seemed the best solution. And since George seemed to be on your suspect list for Belle’s death, I thought you’d accept that he’d killed her and stop looking any further.”
“Where did you get the cyanide?”
“That was no problem. Radleys over at Great Bedham have a lot of the stuff lying around. As I did the books for them, I had a free run of the place. George used to call there, too, once in a while, and if you’d accepted his death as suicide you’d have found that he could have got hold of cyanide almost as easily as I did.”
There was a firm that needed tighter security!
“How did you persuade Prescott to take the poison, Alison? Did you know that he’d be working late that evening?”
“No, I got him there specially. I pretended that I was ready to do what he wanted, and I suggested that we meet at the office late that evening to discuss ways and means of milking money from the various Hambledon estate accounts. George had already been drinking before he arrived and it was easy to get a couple more whiskies inside him, by which time he was pretty groggy. When I handed him the one laced with cyanide, I proposed a toast to our success, and the poor fool tossed it back in one swallow. He was dead even faster than I expected. After that I did a simple clearing-up operation, washed my own glass, and typed the suicide note.” She gave Kate a puzzled glance. “Where did I go wrong? What put you on to the fact that it wasn’t suicide?”
“Instinct. It just didn’t feel right for suicide. But it was George Prescott’s vanity that clued me in. He was very proud of his handwriting, I’d noticed. Too proud, it seemed to me, to leave his final message to the world in typewritten form. And when we started probing, we couldn’t find any of his fingerprints on the typewriter—only prints from Marigold gloves.”
Alison inclined her head. “Smart.”
“It was your vanity, too, Alison, that helped me reach the truth.”
“Mine?”
“Your vanity in keeping your professional stage name for the Troubadours.”
Alison laughed dryly and turned to the rapidly scribbling DC Todd. “This woman is clever, my young friend, bloody good at her job. If any bastard tries to tell you that DCI Maddox slept her way to her promotion, you can tell him better. Hey, don’t stand there blushing, get it all down on paper.” She swung back to Kate. “Well then, what now?”
Totally ignoring the unwanted vote of confidence, Kate said, “You’ll be charged with the murders of Mrs. Belle Latimer and Mr. George Prescott.”
“For which purpose you’ll want me to accompany you to the police station. Yes?”
“That’s right.”
Alison glanced around her attractive little living-room with an expression of regretful farewell on her face. “It looks as if this cottage will be coming on the market soon. Why don’t you make an offer for it?”
Kate shuddered. “I don’t think so, Alison.”
“Pity. It would suit you as well as it’s suited me. We’re a lot alike, you and I. We’re both prepared to fight for what we want.”
“Except that you don’t care who gets hurt in the process.”
A shrug. “Have it your way. God, I need a smoke.” Alison went to where her handbag rested on a bookshelf, unzipped it, and took out a packet of cigarettes. DC Todd, with automatic good manners, slid a lighter from his pocket and stepped towards her.
Kate’s mind switched to fast forward. Never before had she seen Alison smoke, neither was there the faint but betraying smell of stale tobacco that always permeated a smoker’s surroundings. Alison Knight was a planner, who allowed for every eventuality ... even the final eventuality of her crimes being discovered.
As Alison raised the cigarette towards her lips Kate lunged forward, shoving aside the astonished DC Todd. She brought her hand down in a sort of karate chop on Alison’s right wrist. The “cigarette,” in falling, struck the stone hearth and shattered ... a thin white glass tube. At once the air was tainted with the now familiar smell of bitter almonds.
“You bitch!” Alison screamed, dropping to her knees and scrabbling to get at the spilled cyanide. She was in a frenzy now, and it took both Kate and the hefty DC to restrain her.
* * * *
“You look terrible,
girl.”
“I feel terrible.” Kate roused herself and sat up in bed, suppressing a yawn as she looked up at her aunt.
“I’m not surprised. You had a few too many in the Wagon and Horses last night. Had to get a taxi home, didn’t you?”
“A sensible precaution, that’s all. I wasn’t too far gone to notice that you’d made inroads into the bottle of malt I gave you. My drinking was necessary, I’ll have you know. The lads expect to be stood treat by their guv’nor at the end of a case. And why not, when they’ve all been working so damn hard?”
Felix thrust a cup of tea at her. “Here, get this down you, girl. It’s half past eight.”
In the saucer were two aspirins. Kate swallowed them gratefully.
With her car still in the town, Kate chose to walk to the Incident Room. It helped to clear her head, and by mid-morning she was feeling distinctly more human. Tim Boulter came to her office, and Kate was glad to see he was smiling. He’d been more than somewhat miffed at having missed those final dramatic moments at Alison’s cottage, and she still felt a bit guilty about excluding him.
“Just had a phone call, guv. From Linda West. She’s found the missing emerald ring at the back of a drawer in Belle Latimer’s bedroom, would you believe?”
“No, Tim, I would not believe.”
His smile broadened. “Several other items, too, that we knew nowt about. A gold hunter watch, some earrings, and a silver snuffbox. It seems she’s handed it all over to her new boss, Stedham, but she deemed it necessary to phone and inform me. Just to prove what an honest, upright citizen she is.”
“You must have frightened Linda more than you knew. Congratulations.” On an impulse, Kate went on, “Tim, we didn’t really get a chance to talk last night, with all the crowd there. D’you fancy a quiet drink at lunchtime to wind things up?”
“Sure, guv, that’d be great.”
“How about asking your wife to join us? Yesterday morning I hardly did more than just say hello to her. I’d like to meet her properly.”
Murder in the Cotswolds Page 20
