TWELVE
‘So he’s convinced that Rainbird was murdered,’ said Rathbone when Ashman had left them. ‘I’m beginning to come round to that conclusion myself, but so far we haven’t found anyone with a motive.’ He frowned and nibbled the end of his pen for a moment before saying, ‘This reference to a jumped-up phoney keeps bugging me.’ He made a note on his pad. ‘Right, have either of you come up with anything interesting?’
‘We’ve noticed that the waiter who picked up Bowen’s breakfast tray is another man of similar build to the guy Bowen saw,’ said Vicky. ‘His name’s Mal Carter. He’s been interviewed already, of course.’
‘So talk to him again. And anyone else who fits the description.’
‘That remark Romeo made during a conversation with his father about “a couple of know-it-alls who always seem to have it in for each other” must have been a reference to Rainbird and Bowen, sir,’ said Sukey. ‘That would mean he was present on some occasion when the two of them were there. It’s hardly likely to have been during one of the music sessions, so presumably it was during a tea break while Romeo was either about to do his act or when he’d finished it. So once we know exactly when that call was made we can be reasonably sure during which of Freeman’s events he particularly noticed the constant spats between those two.’
Rathbone nodded. ‘Sukey, you seem to have managed to win Luke Grayson’s confidence. Have a word with him and ask him to treat checking the date when Romeo made that call as urgent. Yes, I know what he said about not adding to the old man’s distress, but this could be crucial.’
‘I’ll do my best, sir.’
‘So, you two, go and update Mike and Tim and then get your heads together to pick out anyone fitting Bowen’s description.’
‘Will do, sir.’
‘And get a move on. Time’s getting short and this event ends after lunch tomorrow. They’ll all be itching to go home.’
Back in the CID office Sukey called Luke Grayson. ‘Is there news already?’ he asked eagerly.
‘I’m afraid not,’ she apologized. ‘I’m just calling to say that my Inspector considers it important to our enquiries that we know the dates when your brother John called and exactly what he said. You said your father logged everything in detail, with the dates, and we’re wondering—’
‘I understand what you’re saying,’ he broke in, ‘but as I explained, it’s going to be very upsetting for Dad so I’ll have to be careful how I broach the subject.’
‘We appreciate that, sir, and the last thing we want to do is add to his distress, but is it possible for you to check in his diary without his knowing – perhaps after he’s gone to bed or having his afternoon nap?’
‘That could be tricky. Can you give me an idea which calls you might be interested in?’
‘The one about someone having bitten off more than he can chew, of course, but also a previous call in which John referred to “a couple of know-it-alls having it in for each other”. We’d like to know if he gave any more details. And if you should happen to come across anything else you think relevant …’
There was a pause before Grayson said, ‘Well, all right – if you think it’s that important I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Thank you very much, sir. That’s much appreciated.’ When she returned to Rathbone’s office he was at his desk. Vicky was already sitting beside him; he nodded briefly when she reported what Grayson had said and beckoned to her to join them. ‘I’ve got something to show you,’ he said. ‘I’ve had a feeling we’ve been missing something so I’ve been running through what we know about our list of possible suspects. They’re pretty thin on the ground; so far we’ve only got Romeo and now this waiter Mal Carter. We haven’t a motive and the only thing we have to go on is that Romeo and Carter fit Bowen’s admittedly vague physical description. However, it occurs to me that there’s one person none of us has thought of. Any ideas?’ Vicky and Sukey exchanged glances and shook their heads. ‘How about Justin Freeman?’
‘Freeman?’ Vicky thought for a moment. ‘Well, I suppose he is the right build, but I seem to recall Sukey and I more or less dismissing him out of hand on the basis that he’s hardly likely to top one of his regular clients. Still,’ she went on, ‘I suppose he might have used the time everyone thought he was checking his equipment to meet Rainbird, bash him over the head, shove him in the water and get back in time for the evening session, but—’
‘Where’s the motive?’ Sukey finished as Vicky broke off in apparent bewilderment.
‘Which is exactly the question I asked myself,’ said Rathbone. ‘All we know about Freeman, apart from what we’ve learned from other people, is the blurb on the programme, including all his qualifications. I’m well aware,’ he went on, a trifle smugly, ‘that you think I do nothing but sit around drinking coffee while you do all the leg work, but it so happens I’ve been doing some research on Mr Freeman and I’ve come up with some very interesting results. Get me another coffee, please Vicky.’
Obediently she went to the machine he had installed in the corner and refilled his mug. ‘Here you are, Guv,’ she said as she handed it over. ‘Don’t keep us in suspense. What have you turned up?’
He opened a window on his computer. ‘I’ve managed to establish,’ he said, a little smugly Sukey thought, ‘some of these wonderful sounding qualifications Freeman claims are phoney. The part about lecturing in Branwell College is genuine, by the way; I checked an old prospectus; it described him as a musicologist and he obviously has a very extensive musical knowledge. And it’s true he has been running these events since his retirement, getting increasing numbers of punters and they’re obviously satisfied as they keep coming back for more. I’ve also checked on a few of the professionals who’ve taken part in his events and they’re all genuine, although none of them particularly well known. It’s when we come to all these degrees from American universities that he comes unstuck.’
‘You mean he invented these universities, Guv?’ said Vicky, pointing to the list of degrees from American universities copied from Freeman’s current prospectus, which he claimed to have been awarded.
Rathbone shook his head. ‘No, he’s not that stupid. The unis are genuine – it’s the degrees that are phoney. A very obliging lady at one of them managed to turn up an application he made to do a course but they turned him down because he didn’t have what she described as “the necessary level of musical expertise”.’
‘Wow!’ said Sukey. ‘So Lance Rainbird had found out and knew he’s a phoney.’
‘And was probably threatening to expose him,’ Vicky speculated. ‘So he got him to agree to the meeting by the lake. I suppose the idea was to get some hush money out of him; Freeman doesn’t strike me as the sort to submit to blackmail and exposure would have ruined his business and made him a laughing stock.’
‘So he picked up the nearest weapon – probably one of those hefty chunks of wood that we saw – and felled him with it,’ said Sukey.
‘That’s what I’m thinking,’ said Rathbone, ‘and John Grayson, aka Romeo, saw what happened and thought he might put the screws on Freeman himself, which meant he had to be silenced as well.’
‘You reckon Freeman tampered with the brake hose, Guv?’ said Vicky.
‘It would make sense. And having killed once, he had nothing to lose. And then Reg Law pops out of the woodwork with another threat and he has to be dealt with as well. So, I think it’s time we had a serious chat with Justin Freeman. I’m thinking that out of consideration to all the music lovers who’ve already put up with a lot of disruption we’ll let them have their party and leave it until tomorrow morning to nick him. That’s subject to DCI Leach’s approval, of course – I’ll have a word with him and get back to you.’ He picked up the phone and indicated with a wave of his coffee mug that they were to wait outside.
‘Well, it looks as if we’ve got this one wrapped up at last,’ said Vicky as they made their way back to the CID office.
�
��I’d like to think so,’ said Sukey, ‘but there’s still something bugging me.’
‘Another hunch?’ teased Vicky.
‘Not exactly a hunch, just an unanswered question. What do you think Romeo meant by “making something out of it”? Surely he can’t have been referring to money? His family were always offering to pay for anything he needed and he always refused. And Luke I know found it hard to believe that he could stoop to blackmail.’
‘Maybe he’d run up some debt that he didn’t want them to know about,’ suggested Vicky.
‘Such as?’
‘Maybe he’d lost money on the horses, or perhaps he’d started taking drugs and needed to pay off a supplier.’
Sukey shook her head. ‘From my impression of John Grayson he wasn’t a blackmailer or a gambler and there was absolutely no reason to think he was a junkie … Anyway, the PM will reveal the presence of drugs, if any.’
‘That’s true,’ said Vicky, ‘but we still don’t know what Law meant by having “done something stupid”.’
It had already occurred to Sukey that he might have been referring to his abortive effort to get money from Harry. She knew it was her duty to report this to Rathbone but before doing so she felt it was only fair to tell Harry, so that he could report it himself.
‘Maybe things will become clearer once we’ve talked to Freeman,’ she said. ‘Ah, here comes the DI – he’s got his coat on so I guess that means we can go home.’
‘We nick Freeman tomorrow morning, as soon as the punters have left,’ he informed them. ‘Before you go home,’ he added over his shoulder, ‘just check on Carter, the waiter. Not that I think he can add anything to what Gunn has told us about Law, but you seem to think he’s worth talking to so get on with it.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Vicky under her breath as the door slammed behind him. She went to the office to enquire if Carter was on duty and came back with the news that he had finished his shift at five. ‘So we can go home as well,’ she told Sukey gleefully. ‘It’ll have to wait till tomorrow.’
When Sukey got back to her flat she found a message from Harry. ‘I’m just calling to touch base. Any chance of seeing you this evening? Love you.’
She went to the freezer, took out a lamb hotpot, put it in the microwave to thaw out and sat down with a glass of wine before returning his call.
‘Hi,’ he said, ‘what sort of a day have you had? Anything exciting to report?’
The subtext of the question was of course, ‘anything you’re willing to share with me?’ and she was careful to keep her voice level as she replied, ‘No further bodies, if that’s what you mean, but the pressure’s mounting; Freeman’s event finishes with a party this evening and they all go home after breakfast.’
‘So no breakthrough yet?’
‘Not exactly, but there is something you should know – or rather, something you have to do. Can you come round?’
‘Try and stop me. I’ll be with you in two ticks.’
‘Give me half an hour while I unwind and have a bite to eat. I’m starving.’
She had just finished her food and put her plate and cutlery in the dishwasher when Harry arrived. ‘So what do I have to do?’ he asked without the usual preliminary hug and kiss.
‘You have to tell me officially what you told me on Sunday evening.’
‘About Reg Law being my mole?’
‘About him claiming to have a story and trying to get money out of you for it,’ she said. ‘We’ve been talking to his friend, Keith Gunn, who said Law had told him he thought he’d done something stupid, but he never got around to saying what it was. I believe he was talking about the call he made to you, offering to sell you a story.’
‘You think he’d learned something that was dangerous to whoever killed Lance Rainbird, that the killer overheard him making that call and made sure he never lived to pass on the information?’
‘I think it’s possible. I haven’t mentioned it because I only learned about this a couple of hours ago.’
‘Well, of course, go ahead and pass it on for what it’s worth,’ said Harry.
‘Thanks. Have a drink and tell me about your day.’ She filled a glass with wine and handed it to him. ‘Cheers! Tell me, has this man they’ve arrested for the murder of that pensioner been charged yet?’
‘Not yet, but the police seem pretty sure they’ve got their man.’ In the absence through sickness of several members of the staff at the Bristol Express, Harry was covering cases that would normally have been assigned to a junior reporter. ‘There has been a bit of light relief, though – oddly enough it concerns a member of the staff at Dallington Manor?’
‘Light relief at Dallington Manor? You must be joking.’
‘No, this is serious – at least for the chap I’m about to tell you about. He has ambitions to become a journalist; he called the office one day, asked if he could speak to a crime reporter and the switchboard put him through to me. He explained that he’d been reading various crime reports in the Express and wanted to know if I’d be kind enough to read a piece he’d written about the case and give him my opinion. It’s not the first time I’ve been asked something similar by a wannabe journalist and they usually turn out to be pretty useless, but this chap sounded quite young and dead keen so in a moment of weakness I said yes. Apart from feeling some sympathy with the guy, I thought there might be a faint possibility that he’d observed something that your lot had missed, but no such luck. It was just a run-of-the mill piece.’
‘And is it any good?’
‘Better than most, but he’s obviously got a lot to learn. I was able to give him some advice and encouragement – his gratitude was quite embarrassing.’
‘He’ll have to grow a thicker skin if he wants to get anywhere in your business,’ she commented. ‘Would you mind showing it to me or have you returned it to him?’
‘I returned the original, but I kept a copy. You can have it for what it’s worth.’ He took a folded sheet of A4 paper from his pocket and gave it to her.
‘Thanks.’ She scanned it briefly and was about to put it aside when she spotted the name under the text and exclaimed, ‘Mal Carter wrote this!’
‘The name obviously means something to you,’ said Harry. ‘What’s his job at the hotel?’
‘He’s one of the waiters,’ she said. ‘It so happens that Vicky and I have to see him tomorrow.’ She tried to sound casual, but Harry wasn’t deceived.
‘He’s a suspect?’ he asked eagerly.
‘It’s just a loose end that needs tying up,’ she said, ‘and no, that’s all you’re going to get out of me.’ Inwardly she felt a twinge of excitement. She was finding it difficult to dismiss the feeling that despite Rathbone’s confidence that he had all but solved the Dallington Manor murders there was an important piece of the puzzle missing – a piece that could widen the list of suspects even further. Could this be it?
‘So you aren’t going to repay me for giving you what might turn out to be a useful little crumb to add to your apparently short list of clues?’
She shook her head. ‘Not a chance. Let’s talk about something else.’
‘If you insist.’ He reached for her and said softly, ‘But is there any need for conversation?’
THIRTEEN
Sukey awoke the following morning after a refreshing, dreamless sleep. With a sigh of contentment she yawned and turned over in bed, half expecting to feel Harry still lying beside her, then remembered that he had slipped away around midnight saying that he had a piece to finish in time for the early edition.
As she got out of bed and pulled on a robe she found herself humming the opening theme of Mozart’s Fortieth Symphony, the one she had heard Justin Freeman introducing on the morning after the death of Lance Rainbird. There’s been all this talk about sonata form, she found herself thinking, as she filled the kettle. Trixie thinks ‘Death in Sonata Form’ would make a good title for a detective novel and Eric was banging on about first and second subjects �
� by which I assume he meant different tunes – and then the closing theme. I suppose the first subject would be Rainbird’s death, then Romeo’s and then poor young Reg. From my limited knowledge of that symphony that’s too many subjects for one movement, never mind the complications in between – not sure how Eric would describe them, variations perhaps, but whatever it is, that’s what we’re struggling with at the moment.
Telling herself impatiently not to waste time on irrelevancies, she ate a hasty breakfast, showered and dressed and went to her computer to bring her report up to date. As she worked, reference to the hotel employee Mal Carter aroused a brief stab of optimism. Could this man, who had caught her and Vicky’s attention solely because of his height and build but had now taken on a new significance in her mind, be in possession of some vital piece of information? Since reading the piece Harry had shown her she had begun to regard him not so much as a possible suspect, but rather as someone likely to be more observant than many. Her increasingly close relationship with Harry had taught her that journalists always kept their eyes and ears open for extra titbits that they could add to their stories to make them more interesting. Was there perhaps a faint chance that Carter had observed something he had not thought to mention to any of the investigating officers but who might now, under careful questioning, recall to mind? If so, it could open up a new line of enquiry. It’ll have to be good to shake Rathbone off Freeman’s back, she thought as she finished her report, saved it and sent it to DCI Leach and DI Rathbone with copies to the other members of the team.
Vicky had suggested they arrive at Dallington Manor no later than eight o’clock, when whoever was in charge of the kitchen might be willing to release Carter for a few minutes to enable them to talk to him. They were in luck; almost all the guests had opted to take their breakfasts in the dining room.
‘They always have breakfast together on the last morning,’ he explained as he followed the detectives out of the kitchen. ‘They’re asked to get their luggage out of their rooms by ten o’clock and in any case I think some of them who haven’t been to one of Mr Freeman’s parties before like to exchange addresses with new friends, find out who is going to the next or subsequent events and so on.’
The Scent of Death--A Sukey Reyholds British police procedural Page 11
