“Yes. She went to the cinema and stayed over at a friend’s.”
“What time did she leave the house?”
“Around five.”
“And what time did you say you checked in on your father?”
“When I went up to bed. I’m sure he was still alive at that point.”
“You mentioned that he had Horlicks at bedtime. Who prepared that?”
“I did that night. At around nine.”
“You made it in the kitchen?”
“There’s nowhere else in the house to prepare it. What are you suggesting, Rex?” Phoebe asked in a worried voice.
“I don’t know yet. I still need confirmation that your housekeeper is Dan Sutter’s mother.”
“Well,” Phoebe faltered, “you’ve met her. She’s reserved and a bit dour, but I couldn’t stand to have one of those cheerful women nattering on all day long, and Dad had no patience for idle chitter-chatter. Oh, my goodness,” she exclaimed under her breath. “Do you think it’s safe here?” Rex heard her bolt the bedroom door. “I doubt I’ll get much sleep tonight,” she told him in weary resignation, to which he apologized. “Should I ask Annie to leave immediately, saying I don’t really need her now that Dad is gone?”
Rex couldn’t reliably answer the question of her safety. “Only if you can do so without arousing suspicion,” he advised. Perhaps Phoebe should be more concerned about the son. Was he still in Scotland, or was he in Essex with his sister? Did Annie even have a daughter and grandchildren in Brightlingsea? Pruitt thought her daughter had gone to live in Wales.
“Are you sure she’s not eavesdropping?” he asked.
“She went to bed hours ago. I went to the kitchen earlier for a snack, and the TV was off. I didn’t hear a peep from her room. Anyway, Annie is an elderly woman. What could she do to me? All the same, I’m going to push my dressing table in front of the door. My window faces the street. There’s no easy way for someone to climb up. This is Annie’s weekend off and she usually takes off early on Saturday morning.”
“I almost forgot. You rang while I was having dinner with Alistair and Richard. Was it important?”
“Oh, it was about the stamp album. I showed it to an expert in Knightsbridge. He pretty much agreed with what Christopher Penn told you. So, unless there was something really valuable in the unfinished album … But if there were, I don’t think Dad would have left it out on the desk.”
Rex noticed the clock hands approaching eleven o’clock. He told Phoebe he would try to make it to Canterbury on Sunday. She sounded relieved, and he could only imagine what sort of night she would spend, processing the new information and all its implications.
Thirty
The next morning Rex got up early and called Richard Pruitt from the breakfast table.
“Is your PI talking to the police?” he asked Pruitt.
“No, Adrian Glover doesn’t work with the police,” Pruitt said sleepily, and Rex suspected he had woken him up.
“And why not?”
“He used to be one of them, but he got kicked off the force.”
“How come?”
“He was on the take. He said he wasn’t, though. The point is, he knows how they work, which is useful, and he’s cheap.”
Rex was not surprised, what with those credentials. “Do you mind if I meet with him?”
“Not at all, but not here. I don’t want him leading Sutter to Albany Street, especially as Alistair has been so gracious as to allow me to stay. Do you want his number?”
Rex wasted no time ringing Glover, who was reluctant to meet, until Rex persuaded him he would make it worth his while. After having to wait until the private investigator called Pruitt for authorization to speak to him, he and Glover set up a time and place. Rex hurried to the appointment by George IV Bridge near the life-size statue of Greyfriars Bobby, the nineteenth-century Skye Terrier that had watched over his master’s grave for fourteen long years.
“Thank you for meeting me so early,” Rex addressed the slight figure in a belted poplin raincoat huddled on the bench where they had arranged to speak.
“I don’t sleep much.” Glover had boot-polish black hair combed back with gel and he wore glasses with square frames. A more conspicuous sleuth was hard to imagine in Rex’s opinion.
Gusts of wind whirled litter about their feet and ruffled the feathers of sparrows hopping about in search of crumbs. The PI looked ahead without making eye contact while answering Rex’s questions hurriedly and furtively. Rex felt as though he were receiving classified trade secrets instead of information about the life and habits of Daniel T. Sutter. He asked specifically if the ex-con had ever left Edinburgh prior to his disappearance.
“Some weeks ago he started making trips to London by train. Purchased tickets, once to Victoria and once to Paddington Station. Beyond there, I don’t know. It wasn’t within my budget to follow him further afield than Edinburgh. My client terminated my services before I could write up the report, and just when things starting to get interesting.”
“Do you have those dates for me?”
“I do.”
“And did you bring the phone number I asked for?”
“I did. And remuneration for my trouble?”
Rex slipped him a fifty-pound note, hoping it would end up being money well spent. Glover passed him the telephone number scribbled on the back of a business card headed “A. Glover & Co. Private Investigations. Discretion Assured.”
He then dug into a pocket of his beige raincoat and produced a small diary bound in dark patent leather, which he opened and perused, flipping through the entries. He extracted two pages and handed them to Rex, who thanked him.
“You have no idea, Mr. Graves, how much of my profession consists of just watching and waiting,” said the PI, staring straight ahead of him.
“Not sure I’d have the patience,” Rex remarked, although he considered he had more than most. “Did he ever catch you following him?”
Glover’s rail-thin body stiffened on the bench. “Never,” he said with indignation. “I know that’s what my client thinks, but no. Dan Sutter did go to considerable lengths to cover his tracks, doubling back on buses and darting into alleyways, but I am relentless, Mr. Graves. Relentless. I stuck to him like an invisible shadow all the time he was in Edinburgh.”
As light raindrops began to fall on Rex’s bare head, the investigator pulled a cloche hat from his pocket and covered his uniformly black hair.
Bidding him goodbye, Rex got up from the bench and headed back to Morningside. He popped open his brolly. The drizzle made the steep-stepped roofs and quiet Saturday morning streets all the more grey, and the few people he passed seemed not at all happy to be out and about so early.
He thought Glover a funny wee man and perhaps not altogether trustworthy. The PI had supplied the number of Amber Sutter, now Mason, who lived near Cardiff in Wales in an unpronounceable town or village full of the letters d, l, and y, but Rex questioned whether it was valid information. Consequently, he was somewhat surprised when half an hour later a woman with an eroded but discernible Scots accent answered his call.
“How did you find me?” she demanded when he addressed her by her maiden name.
“I’m an advocate depute at the High Court in Edinburgh. I’m helping someone in a case that might involve your brother.”
“I can’t help you. I’ve had nothing to do with my family in thirty years.”
“I understand you ran away from home when you were a young girl.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Neither my mother nor brother lifted a finger to protect me from my father, and they can go hang now.” The phone went dead in Rex’s ear.
If what she had suffered was true, Rex was glad she had left her past behind her. He was the last person to divulge her whereabouts and would have told her as much if she had
given him the chance.
At least he knew for sure she was in Wales and not in Brightlingsea, where her mother said she visited her and her granddaughters. Glover had confirmed Ann Sutter’s maiden name and the fact there was no other daughter. Annie McBride had been caught in a lie. And where there was one, more were sure to follow.
Next he called Phoebe. “I can come to Canterbury tomorrow,” he told her, “on my way to Brightlingsea to search for Dan Sutter. You said it was a small town.”
“Yes, unless it’s grown significantly since I was last there. But what makes you think he’s in Brightlingsea?”
“The police have been searching for him in Edinburgh and in northwest Scotland with no success. Brightlingsea seems as likely a place as any for him to be staying, since his mother makes frequent trips there.”
“To see her daughter.”
“Whom Pruitt’s private investigator tracked to Wales,” Rex informed Phoebe. “I just spoke to her and she was not pleased to be found. She wants nothing to do with her family. The point is, she’s not in Brightlingsea, and she’s Annie’s only daughter. There’s a lot to explain. I can be there around lunchtime tomorrow, if that suits you? May I bring someone?”
“Your fiancée?”
“My colleague Alistair. If I’m going to look in Brightlingsea, I’ll need a car and someone to help me, so we’ll be driving down. Alistair is already involved in the case.”
“It could be dangerous!” Phoebe lowered her voice, which had been rising in hysteria. “Sutter tried to kill Richard Pruitt, for goodness’ sake. He might attack you.”
“Alistair managed to fend him off last time.”
Phoebe sighed. “Well, by all means bring your friend, and stay as long as you need to. He’s more than welcome and I’d love to meet him. I just don’t like the idea of you going after Dan Sutter. Did you tell the detectives on the case you were going to Brightlingsea?”
“I’ll call them when I’m on the road. I’m leaving very soon, but stopping overnight in Derby to see Helen and break up the journey.”
Phoebe made an “oh” sound and wished him a safe trip.
Thirty-One
At noon, Alistair collected Rex from his house in his silver Jaguar, which was far more comfortable than his colleague’s compact Mini Cooper.
“Road trip!” Alistair crowed from the rolled down car window. He seemed to have warmed to the idea of going after Sutter since Rex had rung him that morning.
“A long run will do her good.” He tapped the outside of the shiny driver’s-side door.
“Did you pack casual clothes?” Rex asked, placing his bag on the leather back seat, where Alistair’s Burberry coat lay neatly folded. This was his colleague’s idea of casual, apparently.
“You told me to and I did. And a weapon.”
“Like what? Your fencing sword?” Rex buckled his seat belt as Alistair put the car in first gear and drove away from the curb.
“You may well laugh, but we all know what a nasty character Sutter is. I borrowed John’s rubber baton to conk him on the head if need be. Some of the mentally ill patients John has to treat can get a bit combative. I would have brought a gun if I could get hold of one, but I’ve never even fired one.”
“We’ll bring the police in if we manage to get him cornered. Thank you for doing this, Alistair. I know it’s short notice, but I had to get my ducks in a row first.”
“Think nothing of it. I wouldn’t want to miss out on a chance to pay Sutter back. And if I stayed at home, I’d only have to babysit Richard. John can keep a loose eye on him. He is a little bit needy is our friend Richard.”
“Well, if we do catch Sutter, he’ll be able to go home. But I can’t promise anything. I’m mainly going on a hunch.”
“Based on some pertinent facts,” Alistair qualified. “That’s good enough for me.
“I still find it odd that Sutter would have taken Judge Murgatroyd’s wig if he murdered him.”
“I imagine he took it as a trophy. Possibly he took things of negligible value so Phoebe would be less likely to notice or, if she did, less inclined to go to the police.”
Rex rubbed his face in his hands and groaned. It was a lot to sort out, but if they could understand Sutter’s motives, they might be able to anticipate his next move.
“Where are we staying tonight?” Alistair asked.
“At Helen’s house in Derby. She’s expecting us. And then on to Phoebe’s.”
“A woman in every port, eh?” Alistair joked as they left Morningside behind and headed towards the A1.
“It’s only two hours from Canterbury to Brightlingsea,” Rex said, ignoring the comment. “I consulted a map.”
“My satnav will give us all the directions we need.” Alistair’s dashboard had as many dials and displays as a commercial jet.
“I still prefer to rely on old-fashioned maps,” Rex argued.
“Well, we can use both methods, old fruit.”
Rex pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and called Helen to let her know that he and Alistair were setting out and when to expect them. She sounded excited at the prospect of seeing them later. He told her not to go to any trouble for dinner. They could go to Poppadoms. He assured her Alistair liked Indian food. Alistair nodded enthusiastically.
He then called Phoebe to say he and Alistair would be arriving in Canterbury the next day as planned. She sounded equally excited. After the calls, Rex nestled his head against the headrest and expelled a relieved sigh at having completed the arrangements.
“Yes, it must be tiring having two women on the go,” Alistair said to rile him.
Rex told him in good humour to shut up and just drive. A classical music CD and an audio book later, interrupted midway by a stop for petrol, they arrived in Derby.
Rex gave directions to Barley Close, which he could find in his sleep, and Alistair compared them to those given by the automated navigator. Both sets of directions matched street for street and turning for turning, Rex keeping slightly ahead of the programmed male voice and declaring victory as they turned into Helen’s driveway. She bounded out of the front door and threw herself into his waiting arms, her cornflower blue eyes sparkling up at him as she chatted with animation.
Next she gave Alistair a big hug. “So lovely to see you again. You made good time in your speed machine. And I just love how it looks in my driveway! Did you at least manage to get some lunch?”
“Stewed coffee and limp sandwiches at a service station. We’re ready for a proper meal and a comfortable bed.” Alistair stretched his long limbs as though to get rid of the kinks and proceeded to open the boot. “We’ll be leaving at the crack of dawn,” he added with a wry grin.
“I only have a single bed in the guest room,” Helen apologized. “I think it’s only six feet and you’re almost as tall as Rex.”
“Don’t worry,” Alistair assured her. “I was a student once.”
“At some posh Oxford college,” Rex interjected, winking at Helen before reaching into the back seat for his own bag.
“I made a quiche, which I’ll pack for your breakfast with a Thermos of coffee, so you can eat on the road to save time.”
“No need for you to get up early, lass.”
“I want to see you off. I insist.”
Once Helen made up her mind, there was little point in arguing, and Rex merely squeezed her with his free arm. The three of them made their way down the path to the front door of her semi-detached home, which greeted Rex with its familiar scent of vanilla from the candles she liked to burn in the evening.
Over and above the joy he felt to be back with Helen, he felt a thrill of excitement. He was half way closer geographically to finding his quarry.
“You will be careful,” Helen murmured in the narrow hallway, nestling her head against his shoulder.
“Oh, aye,” he a
ssured her, kissing her blonde hair. “And don’t forget I have Alistair to protect me.”
“If I don’t die of hunger first.”
“Well, let’s get you both fed. We can leave as soon as you’re ready.”
Dinner at the Indian restaurant proved a joyful affair, Alistair being in fine form and mimicking some characters of his and Rex’s acquaintance. Helen laughed until the tears streamed down her face. Not to be outdone, Rex gave a humorous account of his meeting with Pruitt’s PI, whom he described as an inept master of disguise and felt sure kept a false moustache in the pocket of his raincoat.
As if by tacit agreement, little reference was made to the men’s imminent, semi-clandestine excursion as they tucked into their banquet of Tandoori chicken, Madras curry, and naan bread served on a gold-embroidered tablecloth beneath the glass table top.
However, after Alistair had gone to bed, Helen asked about the case, and it began to consume Rex’s thoughts, even in sleep. At one point, Judge Murgatroyd appeared as a red-bodied spider at the core of a wide black web, its threads extending in all directions. Rex awoke with a start.
He settled back into the pillows, unwilling to relinquish the vestiges of the dream, in the hope of dissecting its meaning. No doubt it held none, his subconscious merely trying to process a surfeit of information. And yet the mystery had begun with Judge Murgatroyd, and everyone Rex had interviewed in the course of his inquiry was caught in the web.
Thirty-Two
An hour’s drive from Canterbury, Rex and Alistair heard on the car radio that a new witness had come forward in the Lindsay Poulson case. This was the first mention in the media of the missing girl in a week, the trail having gone cold since that first day.
Alistair turned up the volume. The man substantiated the first eye witness account of a beige-striped brown van trolling near her school the afternoon she went missing. He had gone to Brussels on business the next day and had only seen the police poster when he returned.
“She’s probably dead,” Alistair said glumly when the news switched to an unrelated topic. “Statistically, it’s unlikely she was kept alive for more than twenty-four hours, and it’s been over a fortnight.”
Judgment of Murder Page 13
