McLaren walked to the nearest roulette table. Several people were seated around it, talking and drinking and moving their chips, the columns of red, white, and black, dotting the green cloth like confetti left over from someone’s win. The croupier’s voice floated over the conversation at the table. “No more bets, please. No more bets.” The wheel spun and he flipped the ball onto the bowl again. The ball clacked around the roulette bowl as the croupier looked at the table patrons. “Twenty-nine noir. Twenty-nine noir wins. Thank you, sir.” He accepted the tip from the winning player as he pushed the chips toward the man, then started the process again, calling for bets.
McLaren strolled into the manager’s office, introduced himself and asked to speak to the croupiers who were on duty when Marta was at the casino.
The man consulted last year’s work schedule, compared it to who was working now, and told McLaren that of the four croupiers on duty then, two had quit, one was on holiday, and the other man was due in on the hour. “If you’d care to wait…” He indicated a leather sofa along the far wall, facing his desk.
“I’ll stroll around, thanks just the same, maybe play a hand of Twenty One while I wait. What’s the croupier’s name whom I’ll be talking to?”
The manager told him and added that he’d be coming in the employee entrance in the rear of the building. “He’ll be at the first table, closest to the main door, if you miss him.”
McLaren thanked him and left the office. He was halfway through his beer when he decided to try to meet the employee outside. Besides being less noisy, the outdoors afforded less temptation to hurry to his table, less nervousness at being overheard.
He paid for his drink, left by the main door, and hurried around to the back of the building. Deck chairs, garden tables, and clusters of tub plants dotted the lawn, creating restful areas for staff breaks. McLaren eased into a canvas chair, found it sturdy and comfortable, and waited. Ten minutes later his man showed up.
“I wonder if you might remember a particular customer,” McLaren said after explaining who he was. The croupier eyed McLaren, perhaps wondering if this was legal. McLaren sensed the man’s hesitation and tried to put him at ease. “The manager, Mr. Pollard, said you were working that night.”
“Perhaps. Which customer would that be, sir? June of last year?”
“Yes. She was with another lady. Perhaps at your table.”
“You expect me to remember one person out of the thousands who play at my table?”
“You’d remember her.”
“Looker, was she?”
“She won big.”
“How big?”
“Over £253,000.”
The man smiled, as if enjoying a private joke or seeing Marta in his mind’s eye. “Oh, that one. Made a bit of history, she did. She wasn’t at my table that night, but I heard about it. Get with the cashier. She talked to the woman. Still talks about it. She’s on duty now, probably. I’ve got to get to work, mate.”
McLaren thanked him and walked back to the front of the casino. After asking at several stations, he found her.
Yes, she’d been on duty that night. Yes, she still remembered it. How could she not? It had been a huge win, one of the casino’s largest payouts for roulette.
“Do you remember anyone watching her, or following her from the casino?”
“I heard she was killed.” The cashier shook her head. “Real pity, that. Excuse me.”
McLaren stepped aside as a customer came up to change her chips into cash.
“Thank you, sir. Sorry about the interruption. Yes, I remember her. She was pretty and over the moon about her win. I don’t mean I lack feelings for any other murder victim, but this lady seemed to be going through a hard time. Marta, her name was. She was a regular. You get to know their names, you know.”
“What do you mean ‘hard time’? Did she talk to you about something specific?”
“No. But I heard a bit of her conversation with her friend.”
“Were they talking very loudly? Could someone have overheard them?”
“I don’t think it was overly loud. At least, no one hung around them or loitered near the Women’s. They’d gone in there to count their chips. I just heard a bit of their chatter when they came up to me to cash it in. They were talking about buying back something. The other woman said then Marta could sleep easier, so I guess it was a big purchase. Or maybe it was getting something out of hock.”
Buying back her conscience. Or her friendship with Verity. A cheer rose from a group of people standing around a slot machine and a man jumped up, yelling excitedly. “And no one seemed overtly interested in her or followed her?”
“No, sir. I was watching because, as I said, it was a huge payoff. The two ladies talked about her bet, which was straight up on 1. Her friend laughed and said wasn’t Marta glad she had switched from her corner bet of 19, 20, 22 and 23? She’d evidently been betting that combination quite a while. Anyway, as I said, I was a bit concerned about them being alone, without some man with them to protect all that money, but she had her friend with her, and they did look around the room. I guess they were making sure no one was following them.”
McLaren nodded and seemed to be considering something.
“I don’t think they had any trouble in the car park, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Pardon?”
“You thinking someone could’ve gone out another exit and killed her in the car park?” She shook her head. “The police had the same idea and they took the CCTV tape. They couldn’t find anybody on it. Just the two women leaving and a few people arriving. No one approached them.”
“I guess they’d be able to see that.”
“They’ve still got it.”
“What? The tape?”
“Yes, sir. They’ve not released it yet because they haven’t found her killer. I guess they still want it for evidence. You know, in case they find somebody and they need to refer to the tape.”
“Was there any suspicion that the two women did meet someone in the car park?”
“You’ll have to ask the coppers, sir. But maybe the other lady took the money as a precaution. You know,” she said when McLaren looked blank. “Confounding the would-be robber.”
The police are confounded too, McLaren thought as he thanked the cashier and left.
McLaren didn’t leave the area immediately. He walked around the building, studying the exits, the plantings of shrubbery, the location of the CCTV cameras. Was it possible that someone had slipped out of another door, waited for Marta, and kidnapped her? But the cashier had said nothing like that appeared on the security tape. He drew a notebook from out of his pocket and circled the building again, sketching it and the positions of the cameras and security guards. Was it possible that the cameras hadn’t caught everything? Could someone, perhaps knowledgeable with the casino set-up, have purposely waited beyond the camera’s view?
He wandered to a guard stationed at the car park and inquired.
The guard viewed McLaren as though he were planning the heist of the century. “Why do you ask?”
McLaren explained that he was investigating the Hughes murder.
“Well, the coppers have already been over this.” He turned back to the CCTV screen in his small booth and talked to the monitor. “If you want to know something, ask them.”
“But I’m here and I’d like to know your opinion. After all, you work with the security system. I thought you’d know if there were areas that weren’t covered, if it needed improving. You do an important service to your clientele, but if the cameras miss some area, like just outside casino property”
“Look.” The guard exhaled heavily and turned again toward McLaren. He was as bulky as a slot machine, with narrow eyes that seemed to weigh everything they saw before filtering it to his mind. Which probably spun with the rapidity of the machine and came up three lemons just as often, McLaren thought. The guard leaned his arm against the hut’s windowsill. “I don
’t install the things, pal. I just watch the monitor. There was nothing to see that night.”
“Really? No one followed her outside the casino, stopped to congratulate her, even from several yards distant?”
“A few people did that, sure, but they were cleared in court. There was one bloke who spoke to her, but he kept his distance and he walked off as she got into her car. I saw her drive off.”
“But no one else, no one who you or the police would term ‘suspicious,’ then.”
“No. The cops here asked me, and I was asked again at the cop shop. The cops even looked at the tape themselves. Nothing like that showed up on the cameras. Not even walking out of camera range.”
“I realize that, but I thought that if you could tell me how far the cameras record the scene, I could get an idea of where Mrs. Hughes’ killer”
“You hard of hearing or just obnoxious? I told you I didn’t see nothing. I got nothing to do with how the cameras are set up. I didn’t hear a thing that night and no one could’ve conked her in the car park. I would’ve seen that on the monitor. If someone needs aid, I get involved. If they need the RAC to fix a flat tire, I ring ’em up. But other than that”
“Sure. Coffee and donuts till it’s time to leave.”
The man stood up, his eyes mere slits, his lips drawn back. “You bloody”
“A woman was murdered,” McLaren snapped, matching the guard’s voice tone and volume. “And if you don’t care about that, about helping find her killer, you’re as pathetic as the scum who topped her.” He stood there, feet apart, waiting for the man to charge out of his booth, ready for a fight.
Instead, the guard grabbed a pad of paper and his pen. “What’s your name again?”
“McLaren. Do you need me to spell it?”
“I can spell it. B-A-S-T-A-R-D.”
“Funny.”
“I’ve got something else that’ll make you die laughing, matey. You’re barred from coming back here, understand?”
“You can try, but frankly, I don’t think you’ll succeed. Thanks for your time. You’ve renewed my faith in bouncers. All brawn and no brains.” He walked to his car, the guard’s opinion of McLaren following him all the way.
McLaren left the casino and stopped in a lay-by to put a mobile call through to Ian Shard, the police constable who had talked, however nonchalantly, to Herb Millington. As the phone rang, McLaren considered the possibility of someone waiting outside the range of casino cameras and confronting Marta. A winning that large would tempt many people. But if the police hadn’t seemed concerned about that, and Marta’s friend Linnet hadn’t seen anyone following them…He rubbed the back of his neck. Perhaps there was another angle.
If there was, PC Shard couldn’t supply it. “I didn’t work that case, but I know nothing suspicious appeared on the CCTV tape. The lads were vocal in their disappointment. No other car followed her. And it was nineteen minutes later that the next car left the casino after she and Linnet Isherwood.”
“Hardly what I’d call a close tail.” McLaren momentarily closed his eyes, exasperated at the lack of evidence.
“Nothing’s ever easy, is it, McLaren?”
“Not right now. Can you tell me exactly where Marta Hughes’ body was found?” He silently berated himself; he should have brought along the computer notes.
Shard sounded surprised. “You going to look that over?”
Why would you ask that, McLaren wanted to say. Every good detective worth his salt viewed the crime scene. Charts, videos, and photos were as good as they went, but they didn’t replace actually viewing the area. “I’d like to see it. It may suggest something to me.”
The constable hesitated, and McLaren could practically hear Shard speculate if he’d be injuring his career if his superintendent found out. After McLaren’s repeated request, the constable finally relented. “Just outside Elton. On the western end. Before the road splits for Youlgreave and Middleton.”
“Where, exactly? Anything you can point me to?”
There was a grunted, “One second,” the squeak of a metal file drawer opening, a rustle of papers, and a mild oath quickly following several heavy thuds. A chair squeaked. Another second or two of silence, then moments later, Shard sighed into the receiver. “Got it. Just don’t let on you got it from me, understand?”
“Your name won’t come up.”
“See that it doesn’t, mate, or I’ll get the sticky end.”
“Nothing will mar your perfect career, Shard.”
“Well, it better not. My wife’s got used to a roof over her head.”
“I wouldn’t dream of moving her. Let’s have it.”
“Like I said, it’s just before the road branches. But it’s on the Elton side. You know where that ruined stone barn is? It’s on the western side of that. Between the edge of the barn and the road. There are weeds and brambles and such there, so look carefully. You might miss the spot.”
“In that depression,” McLaren said, nodding as he visualized the spot.
“Right. I don’t think you’ll find anything, but I hope you do.”
“Thanks, Shard. That’s at least two of us.”
The town of Matlock lay between Nottingham and Elton, practically in a straight line on a map. The roads were nearly as accommodating, for the A6 ran into and west of it before it snaked northwest into Bakewell. From the A6 at Matlock, Marta could have cut over to Elton using the small road out of Brightgate or gone slightly north to get on the B5057. Either route would have taken her into Elton quite easily and quickly. If she had driven back to Matlock on the night of her disappearance. McLaren hoped he was about to find out.
He had the address of Marta’s brother-in-lawprovided by Alan Hughesand decided this was the perfect time to question the relative. He followed the A6 into the town, turned left onto a major, connecting street, and wound around the western end of town until he turned down the sought-after road. The residence was at the bottom of the cul-de-sac.
Neal Clark was probably forty, McLaren judged as he sat in the front room. Of medium height, he had a superb physique. Not bulging with muscles, but his arms and thighs were well toned, in keeping with his flat abdomen. Works out, McLaren thought. Or heaves car bodies for a living.
“So you want to talk about Marta,” Neal said.
“If you’ve no objections.” McLaren eyed the man, judging if he still hurt from his sister-in-law’s death. “If it’s not too painful a subject.”
“Not my topic of choice, but I’m okay with it. At least it’s not as painful as last year. What do you want to know?”
“I’m trying to ascertain her movements that night.”
“The night she died.”
“We assume so, but without a witness”
“You don’t know exactly when it happened.”
“Had she ever talked to you about any problems she was having, or anyone who might be bothering her?”
“At Noah’s Ark?”
“There or elsewhere.”
“Like, did she have any enemies?” His blue eyes, vivid and nearly mesmerizing in their gaze, seemed to hold the pain of losing Marta, registering what his face didn’t betray. The thin lips were set in a straight, firm line; the eyebrows neither arched in surprise nor lowered in sadness. The face was a mask, shielding the world from his thoughts and ache.
“Something like that, yes. Had she talked to you about a particular person she was concerned about, or any troubles she had? I understand you and she saw each other that day.”
“Yes, for lunch. Here. I don’t mean here in my house. We met in town. We do that fairly frequently. Well, more so after my wife, her sister’s, death a few years ago. Hit-and-run car accident.” He said it slightly slower, the words perhaps hard to speak.
“That explains why she didn’t talk to you at work.”
“Pardon?”
“I was wondering why she needed to stop by your house when she saw you nearly every day at the shelter. But if yo
u met frequently for personal reasons, like talking about your wife’s death, that answers my question.”
“Her sister’s death isn’t something we would bring up at work, no. There’s enough office chatter without adding the intimate details of family. My wife’s death concerns no one but me and Marta. We wished to keep it private, between ourselves, not turn it into a segment for a reality show or a topic for tea time.”
“I quite understand.”
“I don’t work on Fridays, and it’s Marta’s half-day, so it’s a good time to get together. The restaurants are also less crowded than on the weekends.”
“As you said, a perfect time to meet up.”
“Marta spent that Friday afternoon with me until she left to meet a friend in Nottingham. They were going to the casino.” He picked up a chip from the side table and handed it to McLaren. The casino’s logo and name were printed on it.
“Did she patronize the place frequently?” He flipped the chip across his knuckles, as many poker players do while they are waiting for their turn.
“I know she went often, but I don’t know to what extent. We didn’t talk about that, neither that day or any day.”
“What did you talk about that day, if you don’t mind telling me.”
Neal sighed and slumped back in his chair. “I don’t know.” He ran his fingers through his short, red hair, as though kneading his brain. “Yes, I do. We talked about her neighbor and her co-worker. We also talked about Alan’s birthday and would he prefer a small family gathering at their place or should we go some place for the afternoon and evening, like the racetrack or dirt car races. Or maybe biking along the Tissington Trail. I even suggested we try rock climbing at Windgather Rocks near Whaley Bridge, but I think Marta was a bit nervous about that.”
“Alan’s a bit of an adventurer, then.”
“I don’t know how adventuresome he is, but he likes sports and activities like those. Something where he can burn off his pent-up energy.”
“The more physical, the better, then.”
“Exactly. I always thought it odd that he wound up as a banker.”
“Not the type to sit behind a desk?”
Cold Revenge Page 15
