Convenient way to keep his wife out of it and give himself maximum freedom, Swilley thought. She wondered if there had been other reasons in the past for the separation of church and state – women, perhaps? She supposed he had been handsome, in a stuffed-shirt sort of way. And a man with his own business always had a certain attraction.
‘How is it going, the Davy Lane project?’ Swilley asked casually.
Mrs Holdsworth frowned. ‘I don’t know. I don’t really know anything about it. Myra would be the one to ask. It was her idea to begin with.’ She sounded as though she didn’t quite approve.
Swilley wondered if there were bad feeling somewhere in this big happy family. She tried, ‘I expect you see a lot of Myra?’
‘Well, she’s busy, of course. She has her own career.’ There it was again, the slight disapproval. Was it Myra in particular or women’s careers in general? As a career woman, she had to be careful.
‘She does very good things, though, doesn’t she? Important work for children?’
‘She has time for it. She doesn’t have any children of her own. She’d find things are very different when you’re …’ She ran out of steam.
‘In the front line?’ Swilley suggested.
Mrs Holdsworth sighed. ‘It isn’t as easy as she thinks.’
‘You have just the one?’
‘We have a daughter as well, Andrea, but she’s married and lives in New Zealand, so we don’t see her, just a letter at Christmas. She and Charles – well, they didn’t always see eye to eye.’ She sighed again. ‘And Charlie – well, it’s hard being a parent, that’s all I’m saying.’
‘He’s in a facility now, isn’t he?’ Swilley said, sympathetically.
‘A rest home,’ Mrs Holdsworth corrected sharply. ‘It’s like a country hotel, only with medical facilities. Really nice. Leon found it for him – oh dear! Leon. What will Charlie do when he finds out he’s missing? We haven’t told him yet. You don’t think … you don’t think something’s happened to him?’
Slider’s Rule again. ‘Tell me about the Sunday. You saw him on the Sunday as well, didn’t you?’
‘Well, he came over, about five o’clock I think it was. I didn’t really see him. He rang Charles and said he wanted to come over and talk business.’
‘You didn’t see him at all?’
‘Not to talk to. I was upstairs. I have a sitting room up there, my television room. Charles doesn’t like having a television in the drawing room. He says it isn’t civilised.’ That seemed to be a favourite word of his, Swilley thought. ‘He doesn’t care for TV much, anyway. So I watch it upstairs. I was watching the serial when I heard Leon arrive. I went to the top of the stairs and looked down, and he was in the hall. Charles had let him in. Then Charles saw me and said, “It’s business. Go and watch your programme. And shut the door.”’
‘Why, “shut the door”?’ Swilley queried.
‘Oh, so that the sound of the television wouldn’t bother them,’ she said, as if it were the natural thing.
‘And you didn’t go down at all?’
‘It was business,’ she said simply. ‘Charles doesn’t like being disturbed when it’s business.’
Exiled upstairs. Swilley remembered the little face at the window. How easy some women made it for their cheating, manipulative men. But she had seen Holdsworth in the flesh, and thought that perhaps Mrs H was happier in her little haven with the idiot-box for company. It, at least, would never hurt her, or pose questions she couldn’t answer.
‘And what time did he leave?’ she asked.
‘Leon? Well, I don’t know for sure,’ she said, with a worried look. ‘I came downstairs at about seven to see about supper. The drawing-room door was shut and I could hear voices inside, so I knocked and Charles put his head out and said “We’re busy, get yourself something and go back upstairs.” I asked if they wanted anything, and he said he’d sort it out if they did. He said Jack was there and they’d be talking until late, so not to come down again. So I got myself a sandwich and went back upstairs. So I didn’t see when Leon left. Or Jack.’
‘You said you heard voices. Did you hear what they were talking about?’
‘Goodness, no,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t listen.’
‘Of course not. I just thought you might have heard a word or two accidentally, when Charles opened the door.’
‘They stopped talking when I knocked.’
‘Yes, of course, they would. Did Charles say anything the next day about why they’d had a meeting?’
‘Well, he wouldn’t, not to me. He didn’t discuss his business with me. I suppose it was some problem that had come up.’
‘Why do you think that?’
‘Well, he looked tired. And rather worried.’
‘And has he gone on seeming worried?’
She thought about it. ‘No, he seemed to be all right for a couple of days, but then he started worrying about where Leon was, and since that young man from your station came round to tell him that you hadn’t found him, he’s not been himself at all. Very tense and … snappy. It’s preying on his mind, I can see – worrying about poor Leon.’
‘Yes, I’m sure it is,’ Swilley said. ‘So, you didn’t hear Leon leave? Didn’t hear his car start up, for instance? It could be very important, any little clue we have about timing.’
She was shaking her head, but there was a tense, gestational look about her, that suggested there was something on her mind. Swilley tried to think what it might be.
‘You didn’t perhaps look out of the window, and see Leon’s car drive off?’
She shook her head again. ‘But I did hear it,’ she admitted, guiltily. ‘Or I think I did. It was quite late. I’d gone to bed, but I got up to go to the bathroom. That was about half past eleven. And I thought I heard a car start down below. Of course, we have triple glazing here, so you can’t hear very much. I looked down from the landing window as I passed, and there were only our two cars down there, so Leon and Jack had obviously both gone by then. It may have been one of them I heard.’
‘And your husband – where was he then?’
‘Downstairs. I heard him come up a bit later.’
‘He came up to bed?’
She looked down in what would have been a blush in a younger person. ‘We have separate rooms.’
‘I see. And is there anything else you can remember about that night?’ Swilley felt there was something – something she wanted to impart but was afraid or ashamed to. ‘Something you saw? Something you overheard?’
Still she shook her head. Swilley said, ‘Mrs Holdsworth, I can’t impress on you enough how important any little thing might be. It may seem meaningless or trivial to you, but sometimes something like that can be the one link we need.’ Resistance. ‘You do want us to find out what’s happened to Leon, don’t you? After he was so kind to you.’
Now she looked up with tears in her eyes. ‘I’m afraid,’ she said, in a whisper, ‘I’m afraid something bad’s happened to him.’
‘If it has, even more important that we find out. What was it you heard?’ Now Mrs Holdsworth stared imploringly, as if begging to have it guessed, so that she need not be guilty of telling it unprovoked. Swilley had to take a punt. ‘Something you heard when Charles opened the door of the drawing room. Something they were saying inside?’
She nodded, tears in her eyes – tears of relief, perhaps? ‘I didn’t knock,’ she whispered, the awful confession. ‘I heard the raised voices, and I didn’t knock, I stood there and listened.’
‘Anyone would do the same,’ Swilley said warmly. ‘You’re not to be blamed. You couldn’t help overhearing, if they were shouting.’
‘They weren’t shouting, exactly, just talking – heatedly.’
‘And what were they saying?’ Swilley urged.
‘Oh, nothing important,’ said Mrs Holdsworth. Apparently, it was the confession about listening that had blocked her, not what she had heard. ‘Jack said something like, “Why me? Wh
y have I got to do all the dirty work?” and Charles said, “Because I’ve got children and you haven’t,” or something like that. And then Jack started to say something, and broke off, and I …’ She looked ashamed again. ‘I sort of guessed that they knew I was there. I put my hand up to knock, and Charles opened the door so quickly I know he must have been trying to catch me. I … my heart was pounding. I could hardly speak. I said something about supper. I could see from his eyes he was angry, but he didn’t say anything, only told me to go upstairs and stay there. I … I was afraid he’d come up later and … and have it out with me. When I heard him come up, much later, when I was in bed, I heard him open my bedroom door, and I pretended like anything to be asleep. I thought he might wake me up,’ she was almost panting now at the memory. ‘I was trying not to tremble. But he went away and closed the door. I suppose he thought I really was asleep. It was awful.’
‘I can imagine,’ Swilley said. She meant it. She wondered if Holdsworth had been in the habit of hitting his dandelion-headed little wife, or if it was just the other, in some ways worse, brutality of mental torture he used on her. ‘How dreadful for you.’
‘I didn’t sleep very well after that. I was so afraid he’d still come in. But he didn’t. I kept sort of dozing off and waking again, frightening myself.’ Swilley nodded encouragingly. ‘Men can be so …’ She didn’t seem to know how to end the sentence.
Swilley felt there was a tender shoot of trust growing between them. She nurtured it. ‘They have so much on their minds,’ she said – God help me – ‘that I sometimes think, although they don’t mean to be cruel …’
‘Charles does,’ she said abruptly, startlingly. ‘He likes to dominate everybody around him. That’s why Andrea went so far away, all the way across the world, to get away from him. And I sometimes think Charlie’s problems … He was always so harsh with Charlie. Said he lacked ambition. He wanted to be a rock star, you know – Charlie. He took guitar lessons – Charles didn’t approve. He doesn’t like modern music – he says it’s decadent. He wanted Charlie to follow him into business. But Charlie and some friends started up a band. Charles didn’t know. They used to play in secret in their bedrooms. Not here, of course. I don’t know if they’d ever have been any good. But Charles found out, somehow, and …’ Words seemed to fail her as she contemplated the memory. ‘Well, he stopped it. Stopped Charlie, anyway. He found his guitar and smashed it. He kept it hidden in the garage—’ She stopped abruptly, her eyes inward.
‘You’ve remembered something?’ Swilley tried, after a moment.
Mrs Holdsworth looked up. ‘I’m not a traitor. I’m not. I would never … give anyone away.’
‘Of course not,’ said Swilley. ‘But you do want to help find poor Leon, don’t you?’
‘You said, anything I remembered. It was nothing important. Just … odd.’
‘Yes? Anything at all,’ Swilley urged.
‘Well, in the middle of the night, that night, the Sunday night, I thought I heard the garage door opening and then a bit later closing. It’s one of those up and over doors, it makes a sort of rumbling noise. You wouldn’t notice it in the daytime, unless you were listening for it. But at night, when the house is quiet – if you happen to be lying awake …’
‘Did you get up and look?’ Swilley asked.
She shook her head. ‘I was afraid to. I thought it had to be Charles, and if he’d found me wandering about … I didn’t want to bump into him.’
‘I quite understand,’ Swilley said. She thought a bit. ‘I notice your two cars are always out front. You don’t ever put them in the garage?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘There’s only room for one, anyway. Charles says I’m not capable of backing in or out without damaging something. And he likes his Range Rover out front ready to go. He says they’re designed for the open air. And he says cars get rusty if you keep them in garages.’
Swilley had heard that before. There was some truth in it, if you put them away wet and left them there for weeks. ‘Have you looked in the garage since then? Is anything different in there?’
Now her eyes were round with fright. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ve no reason to go in there. I don’t keep anything in there. Charles has his tool bench and so on. It’s his place really. I never go in there.’
What was she afraid of? Swilley wondered. This was not just general wariness of upsetting Charles – how would he know, if she took a look when he was out? No, she was afraid of what she might see in there.
My God, she thought Leon might be in there, didn’t she? His dead body, hung up on a hook, grinning; or stuffed in a cupboard, ready to fall out on her, pantomime style, when she opened the door. Or tied to a chair, gagged, and making muffled appeals for help that she would not be able to respond to. She was clinging outwardly to the belief that Leon was just missing, had wandered off, perhaps, in a fit of amnesia, but some animal instinct regarding her husband, some instinct of self-preservation that made her super-sensitive to him, told her there had been dirty deeds, and that she really, really did not want to find out what they were.
Swilley reached out and laid a hand over Mrs Holdsworth’s. It was icy cold, and it flinched at her touch. ‘Let’s go and have a look,’ she said.
‘No!’ Mrs Holdsworth said quickly, breathlessly. ‘I couldn’t.’
‘You don’t have to come,’ Swilley said, exuding calm and reassurance as she stood. ‘I’ll just have a quick look, just to reassure you. I’m sure there’s nothing in there to be afraid of.’
Mrs Holdsworth dragged herself slowly to her feet, and as Swilley passed her, she fell in behind – perhaps simply not wanting to be left alone. Swilley could guess the way easily enough, knowing which side of the house the garage was on. There was a door in the right rear corner of the kitchen, which led into a utilities room, with washing machine, dryer and a big cabinet freezer. Another door evidently led to the garage. Swilley reached for the door handle and heard Mrs H draw in a sharp breath. She opened the door, sensing the old lady so close behind her, she could almost feel her tremble. And then Mrs Holdsworth let out the breath again, in a rushing sigh of relief.
There was no corpse in there, of course – Swilley knew, within a drawer or two, where Leon Kimmelman’s mortal remains now lay. There was just a big black SUV, with a BMW badge. The front index plate had mud caked on it so that you couldn’t read the number, and there were mud splashes on the bonnet and wings too, as if an effort had been made to make it look natural and accidental. And Swilley was fairly sure that if she walked round the back, she would find the rear plate had been removed.
And now Mrs Holdsworth, who had breathed such a heartfelt sigh of relief, said, in a puzzled tone, ‘What’s Leon’s car doing here? How did it get in here? If it’s here, where can he be?’
Swilley turned to her. ‘I think you had better come with me to the station, and make a statement.’
She looked frightened. ‘Am I under arrest? Have I done something wrong?’
Swilley laid a kindly hand on her cardigan’d forearm. ‘No, no, not at all. There’s no need to be alarmed. We just need to take it all down officially, everything you’ve already told me.’
Also, she thought, we need to make sure you are safe. She could imagine a scenario with Holdsworth coming back and Mrs H, panicked as a horse, blurting out the question – what’s Leon’s car doing in our garage? And the subsequent thwacking noise of some heavy implement making impact with Mrs Holdsworth’s fragile eggshell of a skull. If you’ve done it once, the second time becomes easier.
‘We’ll go to the station, and take your statement, and I’ll make sure you get some lunch, all right?’
And Mrs Holdsworth nodded, her eyes searching Swilley’s face, looking for some sign that she had found someone to trust, someone who would perhaps take over responsibility for the increasingly alarming tangle of her life.
SEVENTEEN
Playing Through
‘Now we can move!’ Porson said, rubbing hi
s hands. ‘Now we’ve got enough for warrants!’ The machinery swung into action. Mrs Holdsworth had been put in the soft room under the care of a woman constable and given lunch while Swilley told Slider the outline of the story. She told it in professional terms, but he could not help perceiving between the lines her indignation at the way the woman had been treated; and feeling it himself.
‘You did the right thing, bringing her in,’ he said. ‘She needs looking after – and not only because she’s going to be an important witness. As soon as she’s eaten, get her to an interview room and get everything down properly. We daren’t risk anything being challenged later for procedural reasons.’
‘But I wanted to be in on arresting Holdsworth,’ Swilley complained. ‘I want to see his face.’
‘I understand, but you’ve set up a rapport with Mrs Holdsworth. She trusts you. She might not open up in the same way to a new face. That’s why I want you to get her statement as soon as possible, before she has time to think about it and get nervous, or start thinking she should be loyal to dear Charles.’
‘Dear Charles. Hah!’ said Swilley. But she saw the necessity, and went to do her duty.
‘And get as much extra information as possible,’ Slider added. ‘Any background could be useful.’
‘It all goes to motive, I know,’ said Swilley.
‘“Goes to”!’ Slider snorted. ‘Don’t give me that American slang.’
Mrs Holdsworth had said she didn’t know where Charles had gone, which was a problem, because if he arrived home and found the place buzzing with police he might do something stupid like go on the run – he had already shown a stupid streak in trying to mow down Slider – and valuable resources would be wasted in catching him.
Shadow Play Page 22
