by Mary Birk
The door to the room turned and Moira pulled her hands from the piano keys as if they’d burned her fingers. She quickly got up from behind the piano.
As the door opened, Moira drew in an audible breath, then relaxed. She whispered. “That’s my Aunt Glynnis.”
Glynnis looked amazingly like a young Barbara Ramsey, or an older Moira Ramsey. These women could almost all be one woman, shown at different ages.
Reid felt a click of recognition. He’d seen her before.
Chapter 18
REID CALCULATED that Moira’s Aunt Glynnis was a good fifteen years and oceans of booze younger than Barbara Ramsey. The curvy body topped with a gamine face and short cropped brown hair definitely looked familiar, and not just because she so closely resembled her sister and niece. He delved around in his mind, but couldn’t place where he’d seen the aunt before. Socially, maybe?
Bert Ramsey accompanied his mother over to greet Reid, and put out his hand. “Lord Reid, thank you for coming. We appreciate the fact that you’re handling Father’s death personally. It makes a difficult situation a little easier.”
“I know this is hard for all of you.” Reid shook Bert’s hand, not allowing himself to feel guilty about the younger man’s misinterpretation of why he was personally involved. What Ramsey had been doing had enabled the murder of many innocent people, no matter how removed he might have been from the actual crimes. And their families grieved for them as well. Suddenly, the image of DC Parson’s grief-stricken parents filled his mind. Their only child, dead; their dreams for him, dead; their hopes for a grandchild, dead. No, Reid did not feel guilty.
Bert motioned to the woman standing next to his mother. “This is my aunt, Glynnis Taylor. She’s staying at the house for a few days to help Mum.”
Glynnis Taylor offered her hand to Reid with calm composure. He took it, using the moment to study her face closely.
“We’ve met before.” He disguised his inquiry as a statement, hoping she’d fill in the circumstances.
“Met?” Her eyes twinkled.
He nodded.
“Your memory must be better than mine.” An evasive note in her tone alerted him she was not telling the truth, or at least not telling the whole truth.
He gave her a knowing half-smile, a look meant to imply he remembered exactly the circumstances in which he’d seen her before. He’d remember eventually.
Reid turned his attention to include the entire group, and, after they were seated, started the interview.
To Barbara Ramsey, he said, “Tell me everything you can remember about the last time you saw your husband.”
“I told you, Lord Reid. It was at dinner on Saturday.”
“Yes. I’d appreciate it if you’d go through exactly what happened that night now that you’ve had more time to think about it.”
She plucked at the sofa fabric on both sides of where she sat, rolling the peaks she made between her fingers. “Richard came home from work sometime before dinner. Then we gathered in the drawing room for drinks before going in to eat.”
“Was it his habit to work on Saturdays?”
“Yes.”
“Who all was there?”
“Richard and I, Bert and his friend, and Moira.”
“Did Richard talk to you about his day?”
She looked blank. “I don’t think so. Bert, do you remember?”
For the first time, Bert Ramsey’s impatience with his mother began to show. “Father almost never talks about work at home, and never to Mother.”
Reid held up a hand to stop Bert from interrupting his mother again. “Did your husband say anything about planning to go out later?”
Barbara Ramsey’s eyes slid over to where the drinks table was set up. “I don’t remember anything. Bert, can you get me a small drink, darling?” Her fingers hadn’t stopped their worried attack on the sofa fabric.
Bert ignored her request for a drink.
Reid prompted, “Mrs. Ramsey? What else can you tell me about that night?”
“I had a headache, and Richard took me up to my room. I went to sleep right away.” Her eyes lifted to briefly meet his own. “As I told you yesterday, we have separate rooms. He keeps irregular hours—works late and gets up early. He doesn’t—didn’t—want to disturb me.”
“I see.” Reid couldn’t even fathom wanting to have a room separate from Anne. How had the Ramseys’ marriage gotten to that point? “And you didn’t hear him leave the house?”
“No.”
“Bert?” Reid turned his attention to the young man.
“My girlfriend was here. We went upstairs together, and I didn’t hear anything.”
“Did she stay all night?”
Bert nodded. “I took her home in the morning.”
“What time?”
He considered. “About seven. We went out to breakfast on the way to her mum’s house.”
“Did you notice your father’s car gone when you left?”
“Yes, though that didn’t mean much to me. He works most days, including Sunday, so I just assumed he’d gone into the office.”
Reid got Bert’s girlfriend’s name and contact information. After he finished here, he’d send Harry and Allison to interview her.
“Do any of you know of anyone who might have wanted to harm Mr. Ramsey?”
Barbara Ramsey’s head went up, her nervous plucking stopped. “What do you mean?”
Reid kept his voice gentle, sensing her fragility. “We’re investigating the possibility that someone intentionally killed your husband.”
“You think he was murdered? Not suicide?”
“Not suicide.”
Mrs. Ramsey shook her head. “No, no one.”
Reid looked over at the others. Moira lifted her shoulders in a slight who-knows gesture, but Bert seemed genuinely troubled.
Glynnis Taylor gave Reid a bored look. “I wouldn’t have any idea.”
“I can’t think of anyone who would want my father dead,” Bert said.
Interesting that Richard Ramsey was Richard to Moira but father to Bert, yet neither one was Ramsey’s biological child. “Couldn’t it have been an accident?”
“No.” Reid didn’t explain. “I have a few questions I’d like to ask Mrs. Ramsey privately. Can you let us have a few moments?”
Barbara Ramsey frowned. “I want my sister to stay.”
“I think it would be best if it was just you, Mrs. Ramsey.”
She hesitated, but the younger woman said, “I’ll be right outside. You’ll be fine.” Glynnis gave her sister a quick embrace and turned to go.
Moira, obviously miffed at being dismissed, sauntered over to refill her glass before leaving. Bert sent his sister a disapproving glance, but stood by the door waiting for her. After making her drink, Moira gave a dramatically exasperated huff, and exited through the door being held open by her brother.
Alone now, Barbara Ramsey darted a look at Reid. “It’s such a relief to me that he didn’t kill himself. All night I laid awake wondering if anything I did made him so unhappy that he wanted to end his life.”
Reid gentled his voice. “That’s normal. Was there anything in particular you were thinking you had done?”
“Not really.” Her hands fluttered together, then apart. “At least nothing specifically. We weren’t as close as we used to be, but I’m not sure that Richard cared. He had his life and I had mine. I took care of the house and the family. He took care of his business.”
“Ramsey International.” The company Richard Ramsey had built was a huge conglomerate with tentacles in many different industries, from pharmaceuticals to paper goods.
“Yes.”
“Was he having any problems at work?”
“I don’t think so.” She hesitated, then added. “A few years ago, I think the company had some difficult times. Nothing serious, Richard said. Nothing for me to worry about. Just a cash flow problem. He got all of that worked out.”
“With the help of Walte
r Von Zandt?”
“I don’t know much about what happened, but things are fine now.” She rolled her palms along the upholstery of the sofa. “At least I think they are. I haven’t met with our lawyer yet, but I expect I’m taken care of—that things are fine.”
From what Reid knew of Richard Ramsey’s financial situation, things would be more than fine, and someone would be inheriting a great deal of money. Money that could be a strong motive for murder. Reid could not discount the possibility that someone besides Von Zandt had a motive for killing Ramsey. “Did your husband have a will?”
“I think so.”
“Do you have any idea what the terms are?”
“No, but Bert called Richard’s solicitor, and he’s coming over later today to go over things with us.”
“What’s the solicitor’s name?”
She gave a slight I-don’t-know shake of her head. “Bert will know.”
Reid handed her his card. “Here are my contact numbers. I’d appreciate it if you could ask the solicitor to call me.”
She took the card without reading it, and nodded.
Reid changed the subject. “Mrs. Ramsey, was your husband taking any medications?”
She considered, then nodded. “High blood pressure and high cholesterol.”
“How about an anti-anxiety drug?”
“No, he’d never take anything like that. He disapproved of those kind of drugs. He thought people should be able to will themselves out of depression, or anxiety, or anything like that.”
Reid could imagine how that had come up between the couple. Barbara Ramsey must have seemed weak to her husband, and he’d apparently let her know.
“We found traces of a sexual potency drug in his blood. And there was a plastic vial containing the same medication in his bathroom cabinet. What can you tell me about that?”
Barbara Ramsey’s face changed from soft to stone. “Nothing.”
“You didn’t know?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry to have to ask such personal questions, but was he having trouble in that area?”
She shrugged. “He hadn’t touched me in almost four years. He blamed it on me.” Barbara Ramsey spoke, her voice and manner remote. “He didn’t like my drinking. Speaking of which . . .” She went over to the drinks table and poured a tall glass of vodka. She drank half of it without pausing, then placed her hand just beneath her throat. “I hadn’t guessed that there was someone else. But I shouldn’t be surprised, should I?” She looked at him with eyes that seemed half-dead. “Do you know who it was?”
Reid shook his head. “I don’t know that there was anyone else. Just that the drug was in his bloodstream.”
“I’d appreciate it if you would keep that information private. I assume if this was really a murder, there’ll be stories about it in the news.” She regarded him with an intensity that surprised him, coming as it did from a woman who seemed so adrift. “I’m sure you understand better than most how awful the press can be.”
Reid knew all too well the destruction that could be caused by the press on the hunt for a sensational story. He didn’t know if Barbara Ramsey was referring to the stories about Anne and him, or to the ones from years ago about his mother and father. Either way, he never wanted to have to endure the humiliation of having the sordid details of his private life made the subject of other people’s prurient curiosity.
“I’ll do my best to keep the details private. Mrs. Ramsey, if there was another woman, do you have any idea who it might have been?”
“No. I don’t. Maybe it was someone at work, that’s where he spent most of his time.”
Reid saw her glance toward the door through which the rest of her family, including her sister, had just left. He wondered about Glynnis Taylor—a younger, more vibrant version of Barbara Ramsey. Could Richard Ramsey have been dallying with his own sister-in-law?
“Are you thinking of anyone in particular?” Even if a spouse didn’t actually know their partner was having an affair, Reid knew that they often had a feeling about his or her attraction to a particular person.
She gave him a lost look. “No idea. I rarely see anyone from his office. We quit entertaining years ago, and he stopped taking me to office parties. My drinking embarrassed him, he said.”
As painful as he knew this topic must be for the woman, Reid had to persevere. “Another hard question. Do you know if he ever engaged the services of a professional?”
She clasped one hand against her throat, softly kneading her own flesh. “He never mentioned it, but then, I would suppose most men don’t tell their wives if they are visiting prostitutes, do they?”
“Depends. Sometimes they do.”
A canny, cagey look flickered across Barbara Ramsey’s face. “So you think a woman killed him?”
“We don’t know, but with the presence of the drug in his bloodstream, it’s certainly a possibility.” Then Reid remembered the other route that could have been taken, regardless of what the medical examiner had found. For all Reid knew, Ramsey could have decided to try something new. “I know these questions are difficult, but I have to ask them. Is there any possibility your husband could have been meeting another man for sex?”
“Richard? Absolutely not. He disapproved of that, along with a lot of other things. And until the past few years, he was . . . we were . . . active that way.” She made a face, and tears filled her eyes. “In spite of my drinking.” As if the reference had reminded her, she drained her glass, then went over to the drinks table and refilled her glass. “Is that all, Lord Reid? I don’t think I can answer any more questions right now.” Without waiting for him to answer, she crossed to the piano, and put down her glass. Reid heard sobs start to bubble out of her just as her hands hit the keys with a rush. She closed her eyes, and with deliberate movements pounded out what sounded like a funeral dirge.
A movement by the door caught Reid’s eye, and he looked over to see Glynnis Taylor standing there. She gave him a time-for-you-to-leave look, and he knew his visit had come to an end.
They walked to the front door in silence. Before she opened it, she said, “Superintendent?”
“Yes, Ms. Taylor?”
“I wouldn’t waste too much time on this if I were you. Richard Ramsey deserved what he got.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He was a bastard.”
“Indeed? What did he do to you?”
“Nothing. Not to me.”
“To whom, then?”
Glynnis’s shoulders lifted nonchalantly. “He was just a bastard in general.”
Reid waited for her to elaborate. When she didn’t, he asked, “Where were you Saturday night, Ms. Taylor?”
“You want my alibi.” Her mouth twisted in a slight smile. “I was home. I had an early supper and watched telly.” Her tone was arch and teasing.
“Alone?”
“Alone. Alas. Goodbye, Superintendent.”
Chapter 19
“PATTY CADY?”
The young woman turned instantly, her short hennaed hair swinging around her head. Seeing Harry and Allison, she stopped in mid-step, just as abruptly as if she’d put on an emergency brake. She squinted, chewing a mouthful of gum. “Who wants to know?”
Harry resisted the urge to mimic Allison and roll his eyes at the hackneyed expression, and instead flashed his warrant card. “I’m Detective Sergeant Ross and this is Detective Constable Muirhead. We have some questions we’d like to ask you.”
The girl puffed out her cheeks, then let out her breath in a sigh. “About Richard Ramsey, I suppose?”
Harry tilted his head in a nod.
“Not here. It’ll upset my mum. Let’s go across the street.” She gestured to a sandwich shop whose windows featured painted pictures of less than appetizing food. “We can get coffee over there. Let me just tell my mum I’m back from work and where I’ll be so she won’t worry. I’ll meet you over there in a wink.”
Harry and Allison found
a table toward the back that afforded some semblance of privacy and ordered coffee, which arrived at the same time as Patty Cady. Harry saw Allison turn up her nose at the weak-looking swill, and suppressed a smile. She’d gotten spoiled by the excellent brew they’d all gotten used to at High Street.
Patty quickly shed her purple coat and arranged it on the back of her chair. “Mum’s waiting our tea for me, but it’ll hold. What do you want to know?”
“Seems Mr. Ramsey’s gone and got himself murdered, and we’re trying to find out who did it.” Harry felt Allison’s tension next to him, as if she were absorbing into her body every vibration in the air. He wished she’d chill. She was the most intense DC he’d ever seen, desperate to learn everything she could as fast as she could.
Patty’s mouth made a perfect O. “Murdered? We all thought he’d topped himself.”
“Is that right?”
She nodded. “That’s what we heard.”
“Any ideas why he’d want to do that?”
She looked at him blankly. “Me? How would I know?”
“How about any ideas about who’d want to kill him, Ms. Cady?”
The young woman waved away the formality. “Call me Patty.”
“Right. Patty, then. Any ideas?”
She wrinkled her forehead in thought. “Can’t say as I do. Not that anyone loved him—but I don’t know anyone who cared about him enough to hate him. Harmless old fart, to my mind.” She reached for the cup of coffee in front of her and doused it with milk.
Harry took a drink of his coffee, trying to square how a man who’d been shrewd enough to build a business empire as impressive as Ramsey International could quality as a harmless old fart. “What do you mean, exactly?”
Patty shrugged. “I dunno. Just what I said, I guess.” Stirring her coffee, she added two sachets of sugar.
“Can you be a bit more specific?”
She pursed her lips. “He never yelled or anything at anyone. Unless it was about work, he didn’t even pay much attention.”
“Did you see him outside of work?”
“Only with Bert. Like for dinner sometimes, or just when I came over with Bert. Bert’s rooms are at his folks’ house, you know, separate, but no private entrance.”
