by J P Lomas
‘You’ve seen my library, Inspector. I’ve read too many whodunits to think it would be any use hiding anything from the police. Why play the grieving widow one moment and then look like the prime suspect the next when you ask me for my alibi?’
Osborne seemed so enchanted by her that he hadn’t bothered to correct her demotion of him, though perhaps he was just naturally laissez-faire over things like that? Jane certainly hadn’t expected a man as erudite and sophisticated as Simon to be taken in by a woman like this.
‘It’s the truth, Maggie and I spent last night together,’ offered the tanned man standing behind her.
Jane placed Jez Carberry as around 24 or 25. In his chinos, polo shirt and moccasins he looked very much like the dissolute heir to a family fortune – mind you his sugar mummy may well have paid for the clobber; it certainly wasn’t High Street fashion. Tall and athletic he had the build of a surfer, or oarsman. His grey eyes, high cheek bones and soft brown hair were certainly making her own pulse run a little bit more quickly.
‘Was this here?’
‘I’m not a complete bitch, Sergeant. Jez has one of the new apartments down by the canal. It’s also where he runs his business from; he’s not just a pretty face.’
‘And where did your husband think you were last night?’ Osborne had recovered enough of his equanimity to join in the interview.
‘After nearly 10 years of marriage, we’d stopped asking questions. I assumed if I was out for the night he might take advantage of my absence and enjoy a night with Lin.’
‘Lin?’
‘Our maid, she showed you in. I caught the two of them at it last year.’
‘You didn’t think of a divorce?’
‘A little over the top, don’t you think? It’s not as if he was screwing my best friend! We have separate bedrooms anyway – always the secret to a successful marriage to my mind and so if he needed to occasionally get his rocks off with that oriental slut I wasn’t going to go through all the kerfuffle of washing our dirty laundry in the divorce courts.’
‘You could have fired her?’
‘Have you tried finding a good servant today, Inspector? Lin’s been our third maid in five years. If I thought it had been anything more than an old man having a quick fumble, then I might have done, instead I took comfort in Jez.’
‘You don’t seem very put out by your husband’s murder, ‘observed Osborne.
‘I’m not in the habit of crying in front of strangers, but I’m also not going to pretend our marriage was anything other than it was. We had some good years together, but it wasn’t a love affair.’
‘You became his beautiful young wife and he…?’ asked Jane.
‘Gave me some security for the business I was running.’
‘Scandalabra?’
‘He helped me set it up and get it running.’
‘And that was worth marrying him for? You could have gone to a bank!’
The DCS was clearly finding Mrs Mallowan’s disarming honesty as difficult to take as Spilsbury had found Connie Baker’s answers in their last investigation thought Jane.
‘Let’s just say we were like Charles and Diana, we made a good beginning together.’
‘Do you know of any enemies that he may have had?’
‘He must have pissed a few people off; he was a property developer after all. Yet I was under the impression you were trying to find some sort of maniac? The press have been phoning up all day trying to get a quote. Aren’t you supposed to be catching this ‘Rub-a-dub’ killer?’
‘It’s one of the leads we’re looking at.’
‘If there’s one thing I do feel bad about, it’s having cast him as the candlestick-maker in these absurd killings. If it hadn’t been for my shops he wouldn’t have been…’
For the first time Maggie Mallowan appeared upset. Jane watched Osborne watching Carberry console his lover. She wondered what the DCS was making of this performance. Sitting there in his tailored blue suit he seemed more collected than before, perhaps this was because Mrs Mallowan was now conforming to how he expected women to react to tragic news? And yet however charming she found the Super, she still felt he was a little unworldly when it came to women. She blamed the minor public school he’d been sent to. Osborne picked up on Jane’s gaze and waved an elegant hand towards the library door, finding it easy to adjust to his wave-length she left discreetly to ask the maid a few searching questions.
****
Back in the incident room, DC Sandy Clark was frantically trying to contact Jane, when DCI Jordan demanded to know what was going on. Given Jordan was nominally the SIO on the Mallowan murder, Sandy felt unable to prevaricate, although she would have preferred to give Jane first dibs on the information she had turned up. The fact that Jordan was already rifling through the reports on her desk, ensured she had little option but to spill the beans.
‘Connie Baker was in England on the night of the murder, sir.’
The DCI replaced the folder on Sandy’s desk and tried to process this revelation.
‘But we were led to believe she’s living abroad, Spain wasn’t it?’
‘She has a house in Majorca, sir.’
‘Then what on earth was she doing back here?’
‘Her father died suddenly; his funeral was in Hampshire a couple of days before the Mallowan murder. She flew back to Palma on the Friday night.’
‘Good work Cindy!’
Before Sandy had time to correct her boss, Jordan was off in search of Dent with the news. It might be the fillip both of them needed. For Jordan it would show that it was actually his team and not Osborne’s which was in charge of the case, whilst the Chief Constable would be more than delighted with any news which helped support his previous decision to prosecute Connie.
Chapter 23
Having been door stopped by Debbie after the press conference, Jane felt the very least she could do for this kindred spirit was to meet up for a drink. And so over a bottle of Rioja in one of the fashionable wine bars which had sprung up all over central Exeter, they resumed a working friendship last picked over in Exmouth six years before and only supported by an irregular Christmas card or postcard since. The Christmas cards were mostly from Jane (though usually organised by Tim who tended to be better about making sure she stayed in touch with people from outside the force), whilst the postcards had been mainly from Debbie: pictures of Jerusalem, Vancouver, Rio and Delhi had all been pinned to their kitchen cupboards - a host of exotic destinations Jane could only dream of visiting. Although they had managed a fortnight in Spain before Max’s arrival and a brochure on Tuscany had been tickling her fancy over the weekend.
Debbie Rowe had matured into a beautiful, young woman. The biker jacket and jeans were still there, but there was a poise and elegance which made her seem more sophisticated than on their last meeting. Her red hair had now become a fashionable blonde bob and the discreet application of make-up emphasised the fine lines of her face and her sea blue eyes.
‘Well, fuck me! You’ve grown even more gorgeous!’ Jane smiled as Debbie made her belated entrance into Hanrahan’s.
Heads were certainly turning as the free-lance journalist turned a very shapely bottom in their direction, before sliding her long, legs under the table.
‘I would if I was that way inclined,’ Debbie smiled, kissing Jane’s cheek.
‘So London hasn’t corrupted you?’
‘The Armenian man running my local bistro has been given first dibs if ever I find myself getting too lonely up there.’
‘No City boy’s swept you off your feet with his massive mobile and large Rolex, then?’
‘A few had their chance, but I threw them back in the sea after having my fun with them.’
Jane didn’t know if it was jealousy, or admiration she felt at Debbie’s breezy confidence. She had no real reason to be discontent with her life, and yet a chance to rediscover the careless years of her youth sometimes made her nostalgic for a freedom from responsibility sh
e had too rarely enjoyed. Seizing the bottle she filled Debbie’s glass and topped up her own.
‘And how are Tim and the kids?’ Debbie enquired; and felt glad she could use the plural, as the name and gender of Jane’s youngest always eluded her.
‘Tim’s Tim – as ever. Jen’s wondering whether to go travelling, or go to uni. Leo’s now decided he wants to be a landscape gardener and Max is now at the toddling stage – though I suspect it’s the Maggie Murders you’re more interested in, than catching up with family matters?’
Debbie was too good a journalist, as well as having too good a heart to let that remark pass unchallenged. She immediately demanded that Jane showed her all the latest photos of the Hawkins clan, and then made all the right noises about how lovely mini Max looked – even though she could never honestly get that worked up over pictures of other people’s kids (sometimes she feared the maternal gene had been overlooked when she was born). She also remembered the crucial point of complimenting Jane on how quickly she had shed her baby weight. The last part was not even flattery, as Jane looked remarkably well for a career mum with three kids.
Set at ease by Debbie’s banter and enjoying a rare evening out, Jane sipped her wine contentedly, as the bar was bathed in the warm, convivial glow of people escaping the colder days outside and using the excuse of the ever earlier nightfall for a pre-Christmas drink.
‘And what about Shaft?’
Jane looked bemused for a moment, before she realised it was Debbie’s ironic allusion to her own former naivety when asking for an interview with Sobers back in the days of the Kellow Case.
‘He’s up in your part of the world now, left us country bumpkins for the smoke…’
‘I’ll have to look him up sometime.’
‘You’ll never guess what he’s up to?’ Jane sallied.
‘Vicar?’
Jane was baffled – how on earth had Debbie come up with it? She’d been surprised when Derek had told her his intention to enter the Church, but how had Debbie discovered it?
‘You bumped into him in London?’ she ventured.
Debbie smiled.
‘Nah… It’s too big a place for that! He told me once, off the record, that was what he would have done, if he hadn’t joined the police. Glad to find out he did –how’s he enjoying it?’
‘I’ll let you know – I’m meeting him for lunch on Friday; I’ll give him your regards.’
‘Personal or professional?’ probed Debbie.
Jane didn’t feel ready to discuss her reasons for wanting to see Derek and so decided to take the initiative instead -
‘So what does a bright young journalist want to know about the Maggie Murders?’
‘The Butcher, The Baker and the Candlestick-maker will be the headline the tabloids will be running with tomorrow.’
‘Rub-a-dub-dub three men in a pub, ‘smiled Jane finishing her glass, ‘and yes I know it’s tub in the original!’
‘Well one version is actually “Hey! Rub-a-dub-dub three maids in a tub and who do you think was there? The butcher, the baker the candlestick-maker, and all of them gone to the fair!”’
‘The one I was taught was “Rub-a-dub-dub, Three men in a tub, and who do you think they be? The butcher, the baker, the candlestick-maker, turn them out, knaves all three.’
Debbie topped their glasses up.
‘Well, it’s quite common for nursery rhymes to have more than one version.‘
‘They all include a butcher, a baker and a candlestick-maker,’ noted Jane ‘though it’s the final trade which seems so dated today.’
‘I don’t know, so many local butchers and bakers seem to have been replaced by supermarkets nowadays, perhaps they’ll be just as anachronistic as candlestick-makers by the Millennium.’
‘Gerald Mallowan wasn’t exactly a candlestick-maker though, more of a property developer.‘
‘But he was the finance behind Scandalabra. A colleague of mine ran a piece on his wife a few years back. She was in line for one of those Local Business Woman of the Year type awards. He dug up the financial records of the company and found out Mallowan Developments was where her capital came from. They got married in 1980 and she opened her first shop in Exeter in ’82. You could argue his money and support helped kick start the business.’
‘Some of their stuff was supposed to be a little bit saucy too, wasn’t it?’
‘Not if you’ve seen any of the shops in Soho,’ laughed Debbie ‘I think they tried to drum up a bit of a marketing buzz by selling a few risqué prints and some glossy coffee table books with a few tastefully photographed black and white nudes, but nothing to seriously outrage the good burghers of Exeter.’
‘Nursery rhymes always seem to have bits in them about knaves and maids,‘ mused Jane sipping on her wine.
‘The version I know of the rhyme might have been about a satire on sexual mores in the Middle Ages...’
‘A nursery rhyme about medieval sex?’ Jane spluttered, nearly snorting wine down her nose.
‘Well the butcher, the baker and the candlestick-maker would have represented respectable tradesmen in times past. The type of businesses every village would have once had. Good middle class capitalists propping up the so called decent society.’
‘In the days when we still had a society…‘
‘Well Thatcher might think there’s no such thing as society, but in the past businesses like her father’s grocer shop would have been one of the key focal points of most local communities.’
‘Okay, so you’ve convinced me it’s about successful businessmen in the days of Robin Hood and Friar Tuck, but where does the sex come into it and don’t even start me on what Maid Marion might have been doing with those merry men!’ giggled Jane.
‘Well, if those three respectable citizens were going to the fair to see three virgins taking a bath…’
‘Then we’d have quite a scandal,’ finished Jane.
‘Rub-a-dub-dub three maids in a tub…’
‘So it really might be about a sex scandal?’ speculated Jane as she signalled to the waitress for another bottle, ‘although I suppose in those days men did marry much younger girls whom they expected to be virgins and so perhaps we’re just reading too much into it…’
‘What if the ‘maids’ meant underage girls to our killer?’ queried Debbie.
‘Well that would stir up a hornets’ nest! But George Kellow was gay and Calum Baker was disabled.’
‘Now don’t be prejudiced!‘ mocked Debbie ‘The physically challenged also have their vices.’
Jane smiled at the light-hearted rebuke; the boot was on the other foot now.
‘What about if the men were knaves, or corrupt in some other way?’
‘Well there’s a men’s magazine called Knave, it’s one of those top-shelf titles popular with the Dirty Mac brigade.‘
‘I know; I used to write for one of them!’
Jane snorted her wine up her nose a second time. By the time she had recovered she could see Debbie laughing.
‘Girl’s got to make a living somehow!’
‘What on earth did you write?’
‘All those letters supposedly detailing how ordinary men just happened to have ridiculously fantastic sexual encounters with strange, but conveniently stunning and up for it women. You know the type: “I was repairing a washing machine for a bored housewife, when she suddenly smiled at me and asked if I’d prefer to do the screwing in the kitchen or in the bedroom…”
‘They’re made up!’
‘Course they’re bloody made up!’
Jane smiled as she noticed a man in a Santa Claus hat at the bar was giving them a disapproving look. Clearly women were still expected to be seen and not heard in this bar.
‘Maybe it was disapproval of their sex lives? Kellow served time for public indecency back in the Fifties and Baker liked the idea of his wife playing away…’suggested Jane.
Debbie raised an enquiring look.
‘And off the record
the Mallowan’s marriage quite firmly puts the scandal in Scandalabra. Though if you want to try getting that from the scarcely grieving widow, well rather you than me.’
‘So that gives me something to play with. A gay man and a cuckold… Now what if I find out Gerald Mallowan was into underage girls?’
‘You’ve got my number!’
****
Far from discovering that Gerald Mallowan had a dark side, DCI Jordan was finding out that the deceased was in fact a pillar of the community. The only deviant thing about him in the present climate was that he went to church every Sunday. Another pertinent fact was that he also belonged to the same club as the Chief Constable and was on first name terms with him.
Lin Ng, the maid, had been very embarrassed when he tried to verify if she’d ever had a sexual relationship with her employer. Hawkins had reported that there was nothing in it, but Jordan liked to be thorough and brought her down to the station for a more formal interview. He’d also insisted on a police interpreter being present, despite Ng not requesting one. Hawkins might have been convinced by her polite smile and broken English, but he wanted to be sure; even if it had meant a three hour wait to find someone who was qualified to interpret.
He wasn’t usually so bloody minded, but he put it down to his annoyance at Osborne’s decision to allow Hawkins far more leg room in this current case than he thought she deserved. He’d thought of making a complaint to Dent about it; however his reading of the latest station gossip had convinced him it might be a better idea keeping on the right side of Osborne for the moment. Still very much on the right side of forty, Jordan had made his fairly rapid rise through the ranks by knowing which horse to back and which to drop.
The only thing a three way conversation with the maid had brought to light was her illegal status in the UK and propensity for bursting into tears every time he asked another question. The victim’s worst crime seemed to be paying his staff cash in hand and avoiding the payment of tax and national insurance. Well at least he’d help improve the quotas for clearing up crimes, the Chief Constable would be pleased by that and Dent was still in charge for now.
