by Faith Martin
He’d been intending to make this particular young man’s acquaintance as soon as possible, and now he wouldn’t have to think up excuses.
Trudy, who’d been watching Duncan closely from the moment she’d walked in, was sure that she’d seen a flicker of disappointment and anger in his eyes over the fact that she wasn’t alone, and she felt a distinctly feminine and near-spiteful pleasure at having put a spoke in his wheel.
When she’d got up that morning, she’d hadn’t wanted to have to lie to her friend and mentor again. Also, she just had a feeling that meeting this man alone again would be a mistake. She was acting purely on instinct – an instinct that she didn’t fully understand, but which warned her that this man was dangerous to her somehow – and it was all making her feel a little uneasy.
‘We could hardly turn down such a kind invitation,’ Clement responded to his opening with a formal smile of his own as they all sat down. ‘After all, it’s not every journalist who’s willing to share his research,’ he said mildly, well aware that the younger man had shot him a keen glance. ‘Shall we treat ourselves to the full English?’ he asked blandly, after giving the menu a quick perusal.
‘Just toast and scrambled egg for me,’ Trudy said hastily.
‘Yes, why not?’ Duncan said, meeting the coroner’s eyes with a level gaze. ‘Sounds like just the thing on a wet and cold winter’s day.’
The same waitress as their previous visit approached and took their orders, her eyes again lingering on Duncan wistfully. All three of them noticed it. Trudy’s lips thinned, Clement’s twitched and Duncan merely sighed.
‘So, what do you know about Thomas Hughes’s argument with his sister?’ Trudy asked crisply, getting straight down to business.
Duncan, realising that all his plans about making this a more personal and friendly meeting would have to be shelved, took her lead. ‘It seems that he didn’t like his sister’s choice for her second husband. You were aware that she was widowed some time ago?’
Trudy nodded, rapidly scribbling away in her notebook.
‘Well, last year, she re-connected with a friend from the old days, a chap called Captain Rupert Burrows. The “Captain” part is purely an honorary title these days, since he’s no longer in the army. He, Mary, and Mary’s first husband all ran around in the same set when they were “up” at Oxford here. Anyway, after she was widowed and returned home from all that gallivanting about abroad, she met up with this Burrows chap again, and they became an item. I believe they’re what’s known as “unofficially” engaged.’
‘Why unofficially?’ Clement asked curiously.
‘Ah, that’s the thing,’ Duncan said. ‘It seems Mary’s big brother didn’t approve of the match.’
‘Why not?’ Trudy asked bluntly. ‘Is there something wrong with him?’
‘Well, nothing that’s very obvious,’ Duncan said, breaking off the conversation and then leaning back in his chair a little as the waitress delivered two plates. The first, Trudy noticed, she put in front of Duncan – naturally – and the second plateful of the full English was given to Clement.
She had to wait a minute for her own order to be set down in front of her.
When the waitress finally left, Duncan picked up where he’d left off. ‘Oh, he’s a few years younger than his intended, but nothing to raise the eyebrows over. And he’s a bit of looker too – you know, one of those fair-haired, blue-eyed boys that seem to make feminine hearts flutter,’ Duncan said with a smile, sawing into a slice of bacon with his knife.
‘And that’s why her brother didn’t like him?’ Trudy asked sceptically.
‘Oh no. Not entirely,’ Duncan said. ‘I asked around a few people in the know, and it seems our Captain Burrows didn’t exactly cover himself in glory in the war.’
Clement, cutting into a kidney and spearing half a mushroom, shrugged slightly. ‘A lot of men didn’t. I take it Burrows must have done something specific to make Hughes take so firmly against him?’
Duncan nodded, making a mental note. There were certainly no flies on this man. From now on in, he was going to have to watch Dr Ryder very closely. ‘Oh yes. It seems he made a bad decision, arrived at under stress. Men under his command died, when, perhaps, they needn’t have.’
‘A court martial offence?’ Clement asked sharply.
‘Oh no, nothing like that,’ Duncan said. ‘There was no question of cowardice. More a lack of judgement, or competence, I think. It’s not always easy to get the truth out of the army,’ he admitted with a wry grimace. ‘Let’s just say that he was shuffled sideways into a desk job and quietly put away where he couldn’t do any more damage.’
Trudy quickly scrambled through her notes. Yes, she’d thought so. ‘When I did background checks on Thomas Hughes, I found out that he’d worked for the War Office in London,’ she said. ‘So I suppose it would have been easy for him to find out all about the scandal, if he’d decided to check up on sister’s beau. Or he might have heard the gossip about it at the time, and then remembered the name when his sister introduced him.’
‘Either way, he definitely didn’t want his sister marrying the man,’ Duncan said firmly. ‘It’s amazing what the neighbours know and are prepared to talk about.’
Trudy looked across at Clement. So that’s what the massive argument had been all about, she mused. ‘Does he have any money?’ she asked quietly.
‘Clever girl,’ Duncan complimented her. ‘And you’re right – not so’s you notice. He’s getting by on his pension and a bit of savings. It’s Mrs Everly who has the comfortable income, thanks to her late husband’s life insurance.’
All three of them digested this for a moment.
‘But Thomas couldn’t really have stopped her from marrying this Captain Burrows, could he?’ Trudy pointed out logically. ‘I mean, legally there was nothing to stop it? This Captain Burrows isn’t married already and can’t get divorced because he’s a Catholic or anything?’
Duncan paused, his fork holding half a tomato hovering just in front of his lips. ‘Oh no, nothing that romantic,’ he teased her.
Trudy shot him a fuming look and turned back to her notes. ‘So, although Mr Hughes might have been against it, there was nothing he could really do to stop them marrying if they were determined to go ahead with it?’
‘Not on the face of it, anyway,’ Clement said. ‘But I get the feeling, from all that we’ve learned about him so far, that Thomas Hughes liked to have his own way. And had a nasty habit of getting it.’
Trudy nodded. ‘Yes. But I got the same feeling from Mrs Everly – that she liked to get her own way too,’ she clarified, as both men looked at her questioningly. ‘And I don’t think she would have let her brother get in her way if she really wanted something.’
‘You think she might have killed her own brother to stop him interfering?’ Clement asked, clearly surprised.
But Trudy was already shaking her head. ‘No, I’m not saying that exactly. I’m just saying, I think she’s going to marry who she wants to, and family approval – or not – can go hang, as far as she’s concerned. She struck me as a strong-minded and confident woman.’
‘I agree,’ Duncan said cheerfully. ‘Besides, I’ve thought all along that this was a man’s crime.’
‘Oh, did you?’ Trudy said archly. ‘And from last night’s newspaper story, you seem to think it was either Godfrey or Kenneth Wilcox.’
Clement, who’d also read the latest story, looked at Duncan Gillingham thoughtfully. ‘You do seem to have someone in your sights,’ he observed.
Duncan felt himself stiffen in alarm, and forced himself to smile and look relaxed. It was one thing to gently manipulate a pretty young girl into doing his bidding, but it had become rapidly obvious that it would be pointless trying the same trick on this wily old duffer.
‘I think there are things going on in that family that we don’t know about, that’s all,’ he said mildly. ‘So, what’s your next move?’ He reached for his mug of tea and loo
ked at them guilelessly.
‘As if we’re going to tell you,’ Trudy snorted.
Duncan looked abashed. ‘Oh come on! I’ve done my bit – saved you some legwork by finding out about Captain Burrows and the little sister. Play fair!’
Trudy, finishing the last of her eggs and toast, pushed her plate away. ‘I’m a police officer, Mr Gillingham,’ she said magnificently. ‘I don’t have to play fair.’
It was, Clement thought, a perfect exit line. It was such a pity he hadn’t finished his breakfast yet, forcing her to remain in her seat.
Duncan’s laughing eyes told the coroner that he appreciated the joke too, and something about his smugness caught Clement on the raw. He didn’t like the way he was treating Trudy – teasing her, complimenting her, and all but flirting with her. Remembering how convinced Sir Basil bad been that this man was only marrying Glenda Fletcher in order to further his own ambition, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was doing the same thing to Trudy.
After all, it was clear (to him at least) that this brash and cocky young man had an agenda of his own, and didn’t care who he trampled on in pursuit of it. Clement didn’t want Trudy’s career to take a hit because of him, when she already had so many things going against her.
Carefully, he speared his fried egg with a slice of fried bread, and said casually, ‘So what does your fiancée make of your latest scoop?’
Chapter 31
As Clement drove slowly down St Giles, keeping a wary eye out for a parking space as he did so, he was careful not to look too closely at his companion.
She had been silent since getting into the car, and it was clear that she was in no mood for social chatter.
He sighed a little, aware that he was feeling just a little guilty – which wasn’t something that happened to him often, and he didn’t appreciate being made to feel like the bad guy. But it didn’t take a genius to surmise that the chances of her knowing about Duncan Gillingham’s engagement to another woman were all but nil, leaving him with no other choice but to make her aware of it.
But had he been too brutal and abrupt about it, he wondered uneasily. He could have waited until they were alone and broken it to her more gently. He pulled into the last parking space and said abruptly, ‘I’m sorry.’
They weren’t words he used very often, and many of his friends had probably never heard him say them.
Trudy, frowning out the window, looked at him in astonishment. ‘What for?’
‘Blurting it out like that,’ Clement said. ‘About Mr Gillingham’s engagement to Sir Basil’s daughter, I mean. I could see that it upset you.’
‘It didn’t upset me,’ Trudy lied automatically, her heart falling to her boots at the realisation that Dr Ryder had been able to read her reaction so easily. ‘Why should it? I’ve only just met the man,’ she heard herself insisting shrilly.
But in truth, the coroner’s words had hit her like a pile driver, making her go momentarily light-headed. And when she’d looked at Duncan for confirmation, the look of anger and embarrassment on his face had made her feel faintly sick.
Which was silly, wasn’t it? After all, what did it really matter? So he hadn’t told her about Glenda Fletcher. Why would he?
‘He’s just an informant, Dr Ryder,’ she said firmly. And from now on, she was going to make sure that she always bore that in mind.
‘Oh well, that’s all right then,’ Clement said, rather weakly. The last time he’d had to deal with young women and their emotions was when his daughter Julia had had her heart broken by a telephone engineer shortly before she left for university. And if he remembered rightly, he probably hadn’t been of much use to her then either!
‘Well, let’s go and see what Angela Calver has to say for herself, shall we?’ he said with some relief. He knew where he was when it came to business.
As they climbed from the car and turned off to walk down Little Clarendon Street, neither of them noticed Duncan Gillingham pull his own car up onto a nearby kerb and then watch them closely.
From the somewhat stilted conversation that had taken place at the café after that damned old man had let the cat out of the bag about Glenda, the reporter had got the distinct impression that the pair of them were off to talk to an important witness. And he wanted to know who it was, and if there was anything in it for him.
He was slightly surprised to see them enter a record shop, but he settled in to wait them out.
Angela Calver was one of two girls in the shop, a tall attractive brunette with big grey eyes marred by a rather hard and cynical expression. About twenty-three or four, Clement guessed, she was older than the other shop assistant, an obvious teenager who was clearly pleased as punch to have found her first job in a record shop. Trudy guessed at once that the younger girl probably spent more time listening to the latest pop records in the booth than actually working.
She wasn’t surprised, therefore, when it had been Angela who’d first approached them, and then rather warily confirmed her name, when asked.
‘What’s this all about then?’ she asked now, eyeing Trudy nervously.
‘Oh, it’s nothing to worry about, Miss Calver,’ Trudy assured her instantly. ‘We’re just conducting routine inquiries. Am I right in thinking that you used to work for Mr Kenneth Wilcox?’
At the mention of the man’s name, she seemed to lose a little colour, and she shot Clement a sharp glance. Then she glanced swiftly around the shop, but apart from a gang of teenage boys over in the back, noisily perusing the latest albums, they had the place to themselves.
‘Yes,’ she agreed shortly.
‘Can I ask why you left?’ Trudy asked. ‘It seems a step down from working as a secretary, to working in a shop.’ Perhaps it was because she was feeling angry with herself for letting Duncan Gillingham almost make a fool of her, but right now she simply couldn’t be bothered to soft-soap Angela along. She just wanted simple and straightforward answers to simple and straightforward questions, and she was going to get them. Or else.
Perhaps their witness sensed something of this uncompromising mood, because Angela suddenly seemed to slump slightly in defeat. ‘I left because I didn’t feel comfortable there,’ she admitted.
Trudy nodded. ‘His current secretary intimated that Mr Wilcox has a nasty habit of getting, shall we say, rather close to his female staff?’ she said delicately.
Angela flushed violently. ‘I’ll say. He thinks he’s some great Casanova, you know the type? He thinks because he’s got a bit of money, and is reasonably good-looking, that he can just …’ She broke off abruptly and shrugged.
Something about the other woman’s ire made Trudy wonder what the specific problem had been. Had Kenneth Wilcox’s advances simply been unwelcome, and she had left rather than allow herself to be constantly pestered? Or had Angela been only too happy to accept them – and more – and then got angry when his interest waned? That would certainly bruise her ego and could make her testimony suspect.
And then Trudy realised that it hardly mattered. Unless his father-in-law had known about Kenneth’s activities, then they were irrelevant. With that in mind, she smiled gently. ‘Do you think the man’s poor wife knew about all his affairs?’
Angela gave a bitter smile. ‘If she did, she turned a blind eye. But I think she must have known.’
‘Did he ever talk about his father-in-law?’
‘Only to complain about him.’
‘Anything specific?’
‘No. Well, something about money, maybe,’ Angela frowned in thought. ‘He wanted Kenneth to invest his money in some scheme or other, and Kenneth didn’t want to. Not that I’m surprised about that! He had other expenses that had to be paid for,’ she added, so viciously, that Clement actually blinked.
Trudy too, tensed, like a gun dog spotting a fall pheasant. ‘Oh? What sort of things?’
But Angela went rather pale, and then shrugged, clearing backing down. ‘I don’t know. Nothing, forget I mentioned it,’ she muttered un
easily.
‘Please, Miss Calver, need I remind you this is a police matter?’ Trudy pressed, her own voice going hard. ‘It’s your duty as a citizen to help us with our inquiries. Now, exactly what did you mean by that remark?’
Angela shot another quick glance around the shop, then leaned closer, lowering her voice. ‘I know he had to pay for some poor kid to have an … abortion.’ She all but whispered the last word.
Trudy drew in a sharp breath. ‘Do you know who?’
‘No, I don’t, and that’s the honest truth,’ Angela said. ‘But I suspect it was probably the secretary before me – or some other poor girl he employed to work in the shop. There was gossip, but nobody was willing to … you know … actually come right out and talk about it. From what I heard, though, the poor girl didn’t want to go through with it – you know, getting rid of it – but that bast … Mr Wilcox bullied her into it. Told her he’d deny it was his, and put it about that … you know, that she was no better than a … well, you know. And she’d never get another job because he wouldn’t give her a reference, and, oh, all sorts of things. In the end, they say she gave in and had it done, but she’s never been the same since.’
‘The poor thing!’ Trudy gasped. ‘Are you sure you don’t know who it was they were talking about?’
‘No,’ Angela said.
Her voice was just a shade regretful, Clement thought cynically.
‘But I think it was some girl with the name of a flower – you know, Violet or Rose, or something.’
Trudy nodded, thinking rapidly. If Thomas Hughes had found out about this, and had confronted Kenneth, then they might finally have a proper motive for murder at last. Alice might have divorced him and taken the kids had she been told about it. His father-in-law would have chucked him out of the house. His reputation would have been in ruins – he’d have been a social pariah, and without doubt, custom at his shop would have fallen away. Given all that, a man might well contemplate committing murder.
