‘If you son is really innocent, Mrs Knox, then the sooner we talk to him the better for everyone. As a solicitor he must have faith in the due processes of the law. Otherwise he negates the whole purpose of his profession. We in the police have to pursue our investigations without prejudice. But an innocent man has nothing to fear from us.’
Mrs Knox was shaking her head, rejecting all this. The poor woman had to cling to her belief in her son. Accordingly, she had worked out an explanation for his disappearance that would allow her to do this.
Kate said quietly, ‘The guns, Mrs Knox.’
Wordlessly, she led the way back downstairs. In a lobby off the hall, the pair of shotguns was housed in a stout, glass-fronted mahogany case fixed to the wall. It was securely locked.
‘I don’t have a key,’ Mrs Knox said. ‘Sebastian is always very careful with his guns.’
Kate nodded. ‘Nevertheless, I shall need to have them examined. I’ll arrange for a locksmith to call round. He should be able to open that case without causing any damage.’ Examining the guns was a procedure Kate couldn’t dispense with, though she doubted it would prove anything one way or the other. If Sebastian had used one of the pair to kill Barry Slater, he’d have cleaned it carefully before replacing it in its case.
At the front door, Kate turned back, sympathetically. ‘I understand how worried you must be, Mrs Knox. Wouldn’t it be advisable to have someone here with you for the time being?’
‘Not at all,’ she replied coolly. ‘I prefer to be alone.’
And, Kate hazarded silently, you wouldn’t want anyone else around who might answer the phone if Sebastian should ring. Perhaps Mrs Knox was expecting a call at any moment. Perhaps she knew exactly where her son was. But Kate felt sure that, if she did, no amount of pressure on this woman would persuade her to reveal his hiding place.
She wondered, fleetingly, if it would be worth trying for permission for a phone-tap on the house. Decided not. The chances of it being granted were virtually nill.
* * * *
Kate struck lucky. Before returning to Marlingford, she decided to drive round and see whether Sebastian’s secretary was back yet from lunching with her friend.
At first Kate thought she must have come to the wrong address. It was a delightful cottage on the outskirts of Wynchford . . . old stone walls covered with white and yellow roses in bright bloom, a neat hipped roof, a welcoming garden all around. As Miss Fittleworth had formerly been Knox senior’s secretary, she probably wasn’t a young woman. But even in the distant days when house prices bore some connection with reality, she’d have been lucky to afford a place like this on a secretary’s salary. Could have been inherited, of course. |
The woman answering the door was into her fifties. A trifle on the plump side, she was trim and neat, the prototype of the loyal secretary to a professional man. But when younger, Kate guessed, she’d been very attractive. Her eyes, a little faded now, were a clear blue and widely spaced in her oval face. Drifting out from a room behind her came the strains of a Beethoven piano concerto.
‘Miss Fittleworth?’
‘Yes?’ Politely enquiring.
‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Maddox. I’m making enquiries about Mr Sebastian Knox. Perhaps Mrs Knox has telephoned you?’
‘No, I’ve been out. I only got back five minutes ago. What’s it about? Is something wrong?’
‘Perhaps I could come in, and I’ll explain.’
‘Yes, of course.’
She led the way to her living room, switched off the music and gestured Kate to a chair. French windows were thrown open on to a diminutive patio, and a small lawn lay beyond it surrounded by shrubs. A black and white cat, dozing on a sun-lounger, opened one eye a slit to survey Kate scornfully, and shut it again.
‘I don’t understand, Chief Inspector. Why should you want to ask me about Mr Knox?’
Kate observed her closely as she said, ‘You haven’t heard that he has disappeared?’
‘Disappeared?’ Though seemingly a placid woman, she wasn’t in the same tight control of her feelings as Sebastian’s mother had been. ‘What can you mean?’
‘He hasn’t been seen since yesterday afternoon. Hadn’t you heard?’
Miss Fittleworth shook her head bewilderdly. ‘But . . . it’s not possible. Have you spoken to his mother? She and Mr Knox were going out for dinner yesterday evening. I reserved a table for them at the Trout Inn in Steeple Haslop.’
‘So Mrs Knox told me. He went out after lunch and didn’t return home for the dinner date. Nor has he been home since, according to his mother.’
‘Oh, dear.’ Her plump features were tightened in worry. ‘Has there been an accident, do you think?’
‘No accident has been reported to us. Miss Fittleworth, are you aware that the police have had reason to question Mr Knox recently?’
‘He did mention it to me, because he thought I might get to hear of it from some other source. Something to do with the man whose body was found at that old airfield at East Hadleigh. But Mr Knox explained to me that it was all a misunderstanding.’
‘I see. Did you know the man who was murdered, Miss Fittleworth? Barry Slater?’
‘No, not at all. I recognise the name, from it being in the paper.’
‘But you hadn’t heard it before?’
‘Definitely not. Chief Inspector,’ she went on agitatedly, ‘am I to understand that you really think Mr Knox may have had something to do with that man’s death? If so, please disabuse yourself of the idea. He just isn’t that sort of person.’
‘Why do you think he has disappeared?’
The secretary shook her head again in a helpless gesture. ‘I really can’t imagine.’
‘It isn’t normal behaviour, would you say, in a man who is innocent of a crime?’
‘I suppose not.’
‘What do you think of his fiancée, Jillian Murdoch?’
A pause. ‘She’s a very pretty girl.’
Which spoke volumes. Kate waited, regarding her expectantly, and eventually the secretary continued, ‘Until the other day I’d have said that she’d make Mr Knox a suitable enough wife. She comes from a good family, respected in the neighbourhood. But the whole unsavoury episode concerning the man Slater - even if it was greatly exaggerated - makes me very doubtful about her.’
‘Mr Knox was extremely angry about that episode, wasn’t he?’
‘He was . . . annoyed, I believe. With justification.’
For the first time, Kate detected a lack of sureness. Had the secretary witnessed Sebastian losing control of his temper on occasion? Did she perhaps know that beneath that smooth exterior lay an unstable personality? If so, she’d never admit it to the police. No more than his mother would.
‘I shall heed to see Mr Knox’s offices, Miss Fittleworth. Will you let me take you there now?’
She hesitated. ‘I don’t know what Mr Knox will have to say.’
‘I’ll take full responsibility.’
‘If you insist, then.’
She carefully closed and bolted the French windows. The black and white cat shot open its eyes and glared through the glass, indignant at being shut out. Excusing herself, Miss Fittleworth departed to get ready, and was back within a couple of minutes.
* * * *
The offices of Knox and Knox occupied the first floor of a fine old stone house in the centre of Wynchford. As Miss Fittleworth unlocked the massive street door, Kate noted the plaques of the other tenants ... an accountant, a chiropractor, a secretarial agency.
Inside, everything had been left neat and Bristol-fashion for the weekend. An open door revealed a room for the secretary, with a smaller desk for a clerk. The room used by Sebastian was spacious and comfortably furnished, with two large windows giving a view of the old Wool Exchange across the street.
‘You have a key to the safe, I expect?’ asked Kate.
‘To the strongroom, yes. Not to Mr Knox’s private safe.’
Damn! The
time hadn’t yet arrived for having it forcibly opened.
‘I understand from Mr Knox’s mother that he keeps his passport and other personal documents here.’
‘Yes, they’ll be in his safe.’
Kate tried the drawers of the massive pedestal desk. All were unlocked, and appeared to contain nothing of interest.
‘What happens tomorrow?’ Kate asked. ‘Assuming that Mr Knox has not returned by then?’
‘I don’t really know. I suppose in that event I shall have to consult Mrs Knox.’
She made it sound like a last resort, so obviously no love was lost on her side either.
‘Does Mrs Knox play any part in the practice?’
‘None. But there is no one else to whom I could turn for instructions.’
The secretary had been standing in an unnaturally rigid pose all the while they had been in Sebastian’s office. As if, Kate suddenly thought, she was trying to block the view of something she didn’t want seen. Kate moved slightly to see what it might be. The only thing out of place seemed to be a disconnected white telephone that was perched on top of a shelf of law books. The cord was wound round the instrument with the plug hanging loose. Stepping closer, Kate noticed that the plastic casing of the handset was badly cracked.
‘What’s this?’ she asked.
‘Oh, it’s broken.’ Over-casual.
‘Why were you trying to conceal it, Miss Fittleworth?’
‘Conceal it? What a preposterous suggestion. I just happened to be standing in front of it, that’s all.’ But her colour heightened markedly.
‘How did the phone come to be broken?’
‘Mr Knox . . . dropped it. I rang the telephone shop in Marlingford, and they’re going to deliver a new one tomorrow. They’ll take that one away.’
‘When did this occur?’
‘Er ... on Friday afternoon. I really don’t know why you should be interested.’
‘I’m interested, Miss Fittleworth, because it’s obvious that this phone wasn’t merely dropped. From the amount of damage it’s pretty clear that it was flung down with some violence. I’d like to know exactly what happened.’
‘How can I tell you? I wasn’t here.’
‘Not in the room, you mean? You were outside, in your own office?’
‘Well, yes.’
‘So tell me what you heard.’
‘It was ... a crashing noise.’
‘And how did Mr Knox explain what had happened to his telephone?’
‘Someone had made him cross, that’s all. I don’t know who Mr Knox was talking to. He’d asked for a line and dialled the number himself, you see.’
‘Is that usual?’
‘It happens sometimes. When he wants to make a private call.’
‘I see. Carry on.’
‘I heard him talking to whoever it was, and I could tell from the sound of his voice that he was, well, rather annoyed. Then I heard a crash, and Mr Knox came to the door and said something about having broken his phone and would I order a replacement. “Some people”, he added, “would try the patience of a saint.’
‘And you have absolutely no idea who he might have been talking to?’
‘None at all.’
‘I’ll take this phone with me,’ Kate told the secretary. ‘If you should hear from Mr Knox, or if you get any clue as to his whereabouts, you must let me know immediately.’
Fat chance, Kate!
At least she could now be sure of one thing about Sebastian Knox. The man had one hell of a temper. His mother had been scared of rousing it by making any sort of fuss about his overnight absence; his secretary had first tried to conceal the broken telephone, then tried to make light of what must have been quite a disturbing incident.
The following two days yielded nothing. No reported sighting of Knox or his Aston Martin. Kate interviewed Clive Murdoch again, and Jillian too. Each of them insisted they had absolutely no idea where Sebastian might be. Forensics produced no joy from the broken telephone’s memory facility.
The men and women on the murder squad were kicking their heels. As long as Knox remained on the loose, there was little they could usefully do. Interest waned, morale dipped.
And then came a new development. On Wednesday morning, a report came through of a gruesome discovery made by some workers at the council refuse tip at Pendean. A bulldozer that had been levelling the mountains of rubbish tipped by the constant stream of arriving trucks had uncovered a human arm. Further investigation then revealed the entire body of a man.
Kate, guessing the identity of the victim, took Boulter along so they could see for themselves. A uniformed PC guarded the high chain-link entrance gates to the site. A group of council workers were standing around just inside, uneasy and curious.
In low gear, Boulter drove down the snaking track to where tipping had most recently been taking place, the car bumping and swaying on the rutted surface. He pulled up where a second PC was standing guard, a handkerchief pressed to his nose. The pervasive, overall smell of decay was augmented here by the sticky-sweet stench of human putrefaction. Kate forced herself to take a closer look.
Sebastian Knox had finally turned up.
Chapter Fifteen
‘This is a bad business, Mrs Maddox.’
Superintendent Joliffe was most unhappy. He had been recalled from his midweek golf for a blistering session with the ACC. Now it was Kate’s turn to be in the hot seat.
‘You seem to have got nowhere with the Slater affair. And now, this second murder - I’m not at all sure I can leave the Knox investigation in your hands.’
‘But you must, sir.’
‘Must?’ Jolly looked affronted.
Oh, Kate, where has your tact gone?
‘I meant, sir, the two killings are obviously connected.’
‘Possibly.’ After a moment’s reflection, he conceded another notch. ‘Probably. All the same, I can’t give you much longer. I must have results very soon. Don’t waste your time dreaming up far-fetched theories, Mrs Maddox. Go for facts. Good solid facts. That is the only way to conduct an efficient enquiry, believe me.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Demure. Respectful.
‘Off you go, then, Chief Inspector ... er, Kate.’ He managed a thin smile. ‘I shall be keeping a close eye on each new development. And for heaven’s sake remember that a murder investigation is not a licence to squander public money. So watch your budget.’
Kate could have said a lot in response, but all she did say -thought it cost her dear - was an acquiescent, ‘I will, sir.’
‘On the other hand,’ he added, when she was already at the door, ‘you should bear in mind that the Knox name is highly respected in the neighbourhood. How did the mother take the news?’
‘Badly, sir. She was very distressed, though Mrs Knox is not a person to make an open display of her feelings. Luckily, she has a sister living not far away whom we’ve contacted for her. And I imagine the secretary will rally round, too.’
‘Hmm.’ Jolly gave her a considering look. ‘The secretary - you’ve seen her?’
‘Yes, sir. When Knox first went missing, and again since the body was found.’
‘Well, tread carefully there. We don’t want to stir up any unpleasantness, do we?’
‘I don’t quite follow,’ said Kate.
He gave her a pursed-lips look. ‘Between ourselves, it was strongly rumoured at one time that she was Knox senior’s mistress.’
‘I rather suspected something like that,’ Kate said. ‘With both women, I picked up definite vibes of antipathy for the other.’
And it would certainly be an explanation for that dream of a cottage!
‘That being so,’ she continued, ‘I wonder why Mrs Knox didn’t see to it that she was booted out after George Knox died.’
‘Oh, she did want to get rid of her, or so I heard whispered at the time. But young Knox wouldn’t have it. He said she was far too valuable to let go.’
Or - the thought flashed through Ka
te’s mind - maybe she knew too much? It was an idea that might be worth following up.
Jolly was fingering his chin reflectively. ‘I wonder if perhaps I ought to drop by and offer Mrs Knox my personal condolences. What is your opinion, Mrs Maddox? Do you think that’s necessary?’
Kate guessed he wanted to be assured that such a generous allocation of his valuable time was not required. Screw that!
‘An excellent idea, sir. I’m sure a visit from you would be much appreciated.’
‘Very well.’ The superintendent’s shoulders were squared. ‘It will serve to indicate that we are exerting maximum effort in this case. A number of influential people are going to be expecting us to produce a satisfactory result on the Knox killing.’
Which Kate translated as meaning that if painful economies had to be made, make them in the direction of the Slater killing.
Screw that, too.
‘If that’s all, sir, I’d better get back to work, hadn’t I? I mustn’t risk any pertinent fact getting overlooked for want of my being on the spot.’
Jolly regarded her with frowning suspicion. Patently, he wasn’t at all sure whether or not Chief Inspector Maddox was amusing herself at his expense.
* * * *
Whilst Sebastian Knox had been thought to be on the run, there had been no serious attempt to search for his Aston Martin in the immediate vicinity. If the bird had flown, he and his car were likely to be far afield. Now, though, a massive search of the locality was put in hand.
It was a classic police operation. Painstaking, no stone unturned, no possibility overlooked. Questions were asked all over the district, posters put up, requests made for information on the local radio and in the press. Garages and sheds and barns were checked one by one, lonely woodland tracks were bumped over by searching land-rovers. And every patch of water deep enough to conceal a car was dragged, or probed by divers.
And in the water was where they eventually found it - at a depth of twenty-five feet in a reservoir over by Frensham woods. The Aston Martin was winched out laboriously, and carted off on a low-loader for forensic examination. Which, Kate guessed, would reveal a great deal about the purity or otherwise of the public water supply, and little about Knox’s assailant.
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