‘How did you -’ He paused. ‘Yes, we did.’
‘Whilst there, did you happen to meet anyone you know?’
He frowned at her. ‘I believe I nodded to one or two acquaintances in the foyer. We often see people we know at the theatre and I can’t be sure.’
Just about believable!
‘You had a meal afterwards?’
‘Yes. At a restaurant in Cornmarket Street. I don’t recall the name.’
‘You reserved a table?’
‘Chief Inspector, I don’t at all like the tone of these questions.’ He caught Kate’s eye, and went on resignedly, ‘No, I didn’t book a table. At that time of night it isn’t usually necessary, and we like to leave our options open.’
‘But they know you there? You’d have been recognised?’
‘Well . . . actually, no. We hadn’t been to that particular restaurant before.’
‘What did you have to eat?’
He appeared to search his memory. ‘Something quite light. My wife had an omelette, I think, and I had some sort of chicken dish. I don’t recall exactly.’
Difficult to check!
‘At what time did you arrive home that night?’ Kate asked.
‘Quite late. About twelve-thirty, I’d say.’
‘And Jillian was there?’
‘Naturally. She’d already gone to bed. Thelma looked in on her, and I called goodnight.’
It was all a bit vague. Maybe the time would come to press him harder, but not yet. She already knew from Jillian that he owned a shotgun, and a check on the computer had shown that he was licensed.
Murdoch escorted Kate and Boulter to the head of the flight of stone steps. Then he paused, and frowned.
‘Chief Inspector . . . Kate, you’re making altogether too much of a trivial disagreement that Sebastian and I had with Slater.’
‘Trivial, Mr Murdoch? In your eyes, Slater had seduced your foolish and headstrong young daughter who was engaged to be married to a man of whom you strongly approve. Furthermore, Slater wouldn’t agree to stop pestering her. I can’t believe that either you or Sebastian Knox regarded it as a trivial matter.’
‘Well, perhaps not. But you’re getting it all out of proportion if you seriously think that we might have -’
‘What I’m doing, Mr Murdoch, is questioning everyone who had any contact with Slater recently, to try and establish what happened on Tuesday night. I’m making no unwarranted suppositions at this stage. I’m bringing no charges.’
Murdoch didn’t look reassured. ‘I suppose I have to accept that.’
‘I’m afraid you do.’
Back in the car, Boulter asked, ‘What do you reckon he’s doing right now, guv? Phoning Sebastian?’
‘That’s my guess, too,’ she said.
* * * *
‘Sebastian, I’ve just had that Chief Inspector Maddox woman round here asking a whole lot of questions.’
‘What sort of questions?’
‘Mostly about that row we had with Slater at the Lythgate Arms.’
‘Oh? What did you tell her, Clive?’
‘Just that we’d gone to remonstrate with Slater over his relationship with Jillian.’
‘That sounds plausible enough.’
‘She wanted to know why I had gone with you. I explained that the idea was to lend extra weight.’
‘Fine!’
‘Then she expected me to provide an alibi for myself for Tuesday night.’
‘Me too. Don’t worry, it’s just police routine. What did you say?’
‘Just that Thelma and I went to the theatre in Oxford.’
‘Nothing wrong with that.’
‘All the same, I can’t help being a bit concerned. I don’t at all like the look of things. She isn’t going to give up easily, and if she goes on probing, God knows what might emerge.’
‘Nothing is going to emerge. I said, don’t worry.’
‘You still haven’t found anything, I suppose?’
‘I’m beginning to think there’s nothing to be found. Still, I’ll keep on looking. Luckily, I have the perfect excuse for a thorough search. Just keep your nerve, Clive. And don’t say any more over the phone.’
* * * *
Kate and Boulter drove straight to Sebastian Knox’s office. They caught him just as he was leaving for the day.
‘I left a message with your mother asking you to contact me,’ said Kate. ‘Why didn’t you do that, Mr Knox?’
He regarded her coldly. ‘I’m not at your beck and call, Chief Inspector. If you wish to talk to me, you can come and find me. As you have done now.’ He gave an impatient glance at his watch. ‘It isn’t a convenient time, though.’
‘We’ve just come from interviewing Mr Murdoch,’ Kate said.
‘I know, he rang me.’ She had to admire his coolness. Most people would have kept quiet about that phone call. ‘Clive was very concerned, naturally, because you appear to be putting entirely the wrong construction on our little brush with Slater.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me when I interviewed you on Wednesday that Mr Murdoch was with you on that occasion?’
‘The question didn’t arise.’
‘Well, I’m asking it now. Why was he with you?’
‘Didn’t Clive explain?’
‘He did. Now I’d like your version.’
‘Oh, it will coincide with his, I’m sure, because it’s the truth. I felt that a few things needed to be said to Slater, and it seemed to me that Clive’s presence might, er . . .’
‘Add weight?’
Knox gave her a patronising little smile. ‘I couldn’t have put it better myself, Chief Inspector.’
‘Actually I was quoting Mr Murdoch.’
‘Then he couldn’t have put it better.’
Kate studied his face searchingly. ‘I can’t help wondering what else you might be withholding from me, Mr Knox.’
His eyes mocked her. ‘Doubtless you’d wonder that, whatever I were to tell you.’
Kate had to leave it there. Knox was too bloody confident by half. Perhaps - or was it a forlorn hope - his very confidence would bring about his downfall.
Which it did. Though in a way neither he himself nor Kate could have foreseen.
* * * *
Kate was feeling tired, and she massaged her aching neck with her fingertips. It was time to think of packing it in for the day. In the Incident Room, many of the squad had gone off duty. There was a limit to the amount of useful investigative work that could be done late in the evening.
A tap on the door. At Kate’s ‘Come in!’ an anxious face appeared.
‘Hallo, Pippa. I’ve just been re-reading that report of yours about the Bletchleys’ cleaning lady. Good, decisive stuff.’
‘Thank you, ma’am.’ But the WPC’s expression remained glum.
‘Something the matter?’
Pippa advanced right up to the desk. ‘Yes, ma’am. There is. I’ve been worrying myself sick about it ever since yesterday. I’ve just got to tell you.’
‘Sit down, Pippa, and let’s hear your problem.’
‘It’s about Martin Denby, ma’am,’ she began, seeming very uneasy.
‘Martin? What about him?’
‘He’s taking a lot of stick from the lads about Tuesday night, and-’
‘Martin Denby’s love life is not a matter for discussion with me,’ Kate cut in sharply.
‘No, I realise that. Only . . . ’
Kate met her eyes. ‘Whatever it is that’s on your mind, Pippa, I think you know perfectly well what you ought to do about it. That’s the reason you’re talking to me now, right?’
‘Yes, ma’am. All the same, I feel so ... so disloyal.’
‘As a police officer, Pippa, your loyalty must be to the Force. Not to individual colleagues.’
The girl nodded unhappily. Her words emerged slowly, each one like a tooth being pulled. ‘Martin told you he spent Tuesday evening with Jillian Murdoch. But you see, ma’am, he couldn’t
have done.’
‘Couldn’t have done? How do you know that? Are you saying he was with you?’
‘Oh no, ma’am, that’s not what I meant.’
‘So explain.’
‘Well, one day last week Martin and I were chatting in the canteen, just because we happened to be at the same table. He told me he couldn’t think what to buy for his mother’s birthday, and he asked if I had any brilliant suggestions. He wanted to get something really special. It was her fiftieth birthday, you see, and the family were throwing a surprise party for her. She lives up near Birmingham, and Martin told me he’d be staying overnight so he could have a few drinks, and he was going to drive back early on Wednesday morning.’
Kate felt a hollow sensation in the pit of her stomach. If Martin had lied to her, it brought Jillian Murdoch right back on centre stage as a suspect. Not only that, the repercussions for Martin Denby’s career as a police officer would be endless. She doubted if he could possibly remain in the Force.
She asked, with minimal hope, ‘What makes you so sure that it was the Tuesday of this week Martin was talking about? You could have misunderstood him, Pippa.’
‘No, I didn’t, ma’am. I know I didn’t. You see, Mrs Denby’s birthday is the day after my boyfriend’s, which was this Monday. That’s why the day stuck in my mind.’ Pippa’s pleasing features were tense and drawn in her insistence. ‘I’m quite positive about it, ma’am.’
Kate sighed heavily. But she knew that her own deep gloom was as nothing compared to the burden of guilt the young police woman was feeling.
‘Listen to me, Pippa. You did the right thing in coming to me. The only possible thing. I’m not going to tell you not to feel upset, because I feel very upset myself. On the other hand, we mustn’t jump to conclusions. The first thing is for me to hear what Martin has to say for himself. There’s always a chance that the party had to be cancelled for some reason. Martin might have decided to post the birthday present, or taken it to his mother on another day.’
But neither of them believed this explanation.
‘He’ll have to know it was me who told you, I suppose?’ the girl asked ruefully.
‘It’s going to come out, Pippa. You must be prepared for that. How many other people have you told about this?’
‘No one else, ma’am.’
Then I think it’s best that you keep it that way. I don’t need to spell out to you what a serious matter this could be, and we don’t want to increase the damage.’
Kate dismissed the WPC and phoned for Boulter to come upstairs. Briefly, she explained the situation to him.
‘Bloody hell!’ he said. The silly young fool.’
‘Get Denby in right away, Tim, wherever he is now. I shall want you here, too, when I talk to him.’
Martin Denby wasn’t on duty, neither was he at home in the police quarters. It was gone eleven before he was finally brought before Kate. The young constable had been given no reason for the summons to the chief inspector’s office, and he arrived looking very pale-faced and anxious.
Kate held up a sheet of paper. This is the statement you made yesterday morning, constable, about Tuesday evening. Do you wish to make any changes to it?’
He was rigidly at attention. ‘No, ma’am.’
‘Are you telling me that you were not present at the party in Birmingham that evening, held to celebrate your mother’s fiftieth birthday?’
Though he must have been half-expecting something like this, Denby looked stunned, totally deflated. But only for a moment. He braced his shoulders and met Kate’s eyes across the desk as if he was prepared to fight to the very last gasp.
‘I only did what I thought was for the best, ma’am.’
‘You thought it was for the best,’ she said ironically, ‘to lie to me about being with Jillian Murdoch on the evening Barry Slater was killed?’
He nodded with dumb obstinacy, then suddenly burst out, ‘Don’t you see, I knew Jilly was innocent. She could no more kill anyone than . . . she just couldn’t. I know her, ma’am, and I know the sort of person she is. Jilly’s no murderer, however bad it may look for her. I had to protect her - I had to.’
‘You appear to have remarkably little faith in the police force to which you’ve given your allegiance. Do you regard the CID as incapable of uncovering the truth?’
‘I ... I just wanted to make sure that you believed her alibi. Things are bad enough for Jilly as it is, ma’am, without this terrible murder thing hanging over her.’
‘You’re in love with her, I take it?’
‘I suppose so,’ he said, then more positively, ‘Yes, I am.’
‘To the extent of jeopardising your whole career to defend her? A girl who’s engaged to another man?’
‘But she can’t marry Sebastian Knox. She mustn’t. He’s totally wrong for her, ma’am.’
‘You’re hoping to marry her yourself, are you?’
The suggestion seemed to take him by surprise. ‘Well, I ... I haven’t got around to thinking about it yet. Not really. Everything’s happened so quickly, you see ... I mean, since I came to this division and got in touch with Jilly again. But I do love her, I know that and -’
Kate nodded her understanding. ‘To get back to Tuesday evening, you were at your mother’s birthday party in Birmingham? You were not with Jillian Murdoch in St Agnes-in-the-Wold? You therefore have no means of knowing positively whether or not Jillian spent the evening at home as she claims to have done?’
‘Her word is good enough for me,’ he said stubbornly.
Kate shook her head wearily. ‘This is a very serious matter, constable. Your conduct is totally indefensible. At this stage I can’t say precisely what action will be taken. Now, get out.’
‘Stupid twit,’ said Boulter scornfully, as the door closed behind him.
‘He certainly is.’ Kate sighed. ‘Love has a hell of a lot to answer for.’
‘Love!’ Boulter’s snort was thick with contempt. ‘It’s all one big bloody con, that’s what love is.’
Kate yawned and stretched. ‘God, what a day this has been. Saturday tomorrow, and everyone else is looking forward to a lovely lazy weekend. Who’d be a copper?’
‘We need our heads examining,’ Boulter agreed with a gloomy chuckle.
Thoughts of home were like siren voices in her head. Not even of being with Richard, not with anyone. Just kicking her shoes off and flopping into a chair with a jumbo-sized whisky. Then bed.
But Pippa’s mention of birthdays had reminded her of something she’d almost forgotten. She slid open a drawer of her desk and produced the gift-wrapped sweater.
‘In case I don’t get a chance tomorrow, Tim. Happy birthday!’
The sergeant was quite embarrassingly grateful, even before he’d opened it. When he did, he shook out the sweater and held it up against his broad chest.
‘This is really terrific, Kate! Thanks a ton.’ He hesitated, then suddenly leaned forward and gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘You shouldn’t have bothered, but it’s really sweet of you.’
‘Come on, Tim. Let’s celebrate with a drink at Willie’s Wine Bar. You never know your luck, I might treat you to a pizza, too.’
Chapter Twelve
Saturday morning, wouldn’t you know it, dawned fine and warm, with just enough haze to promise a glorious day ahead. Kate’s neighbours in the adjoining flat were up and about early, fixing the trailer to their car to take their sailing dinghy for a day at the Cotswold Water Park. With an outward smile for them and an inward curse, she got into her Renault and headed for the delights of the Incident Room.
Reports, reports, and yet more reports. Anything vital would have been drawn to her attention in any case, but she insisted on reading each and every report carefully for the rare nugget of gold that might have been overlooked. Her mind strayed. What was Richard doing at this moment? Having a Saturday lie-in, for sure; a pleasure she might have been sharing with him.
But at twenty past eight her phone ra
ng, and Richard was on the line.
‘I rang you several times at home last night,’ he said accusingly, ‘and got no answer.’
‘No, I was working late.’
‘You weren’t at DHQ, either, and don’t tell me you were still out on enquiries until well after eleven.’
Could that be a touch of jealousy, Kate?
‘If you must know, I was having a drink with Tim Boulter.’
‘Okay. And at lunchtime today you’ll be having a drink with me and Felix at the Wagon.’
‘No can do,’ she said at once. ‘Far too busy.’
‘So you can spare the time to go boozing with your sergeant, but when it comes to your poor aged aunt who depends on you for the one bit of social life that brightens her tedious week, you’re all of a sudden too busy.’
‘Don’t make me laugh. Felix has a fuller social life than I do.’
Then Richard put the knife in by becoming serious. ‘You know damn well how much she values these Saturday lunchtime sessions, Kate, though she’d never say so. You’re the only relative she has left in the world, and you mean a lot to her. You’ve been missing too many Saturdays lately.’
Damn him, every word the truth! ‘I really am too busy today, though.’
‘Too busy to collect the information you asked me to get for you?’
‘Oh, what have you got? Tell me.’
‘It’ll be available at the Wagon and Horses in Chipping Bassett at noon today. If you want it, come and get it.’
‘Bastard,’ she said. But she said it to a dead phone.
Back to the reports. They’d found Slater’s hire car yesterday, left in the parking area of a housing estate. Local residents had been questioned, but no one seemed to have witnessed the Ford being parked there. It had first been spotted on the Wednesday morning, but no one’s curiosity had been aroused, everybody assuming that the car belonged to someone else’s visitor. Forensics might come up with something. Fingerprints, perhaps, or fibres from clothing. Hairs. Mud from shoes. Anything that could be a pointer to the killer - if indeed the killer had ever been in Slater’s car.
‘We can’t be certain it was left there after Slater’s death,’ Kate mused aloud to Boulter, who’d just brought in mugs of coffee for them both. ‘Slater could have left the car there himself, for whatever reason, and got to the scene of his death by some other means. He could have been driven there by the killer himself, either voluntarily or otherwise.’
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