by J P Lomas
‘She might just have wanted to be rid of a disabled husband?’ suggested Osborne.
‘Possibly, but their somewhat unusual relationship seemed to work for them and so my money’s on Maggie Mallowan; plus we can place Connie Baker in East Sussex just a few hours after the last fire was set.’
‘She might have had an accomplice?’
‘That’s possible, or even the driving skills of James Hunt, but I think it’s more likely it was just her father’s funeral which caused Connie’s flying visit to England.’
‘Apart from this ingenious theory what else have you got on her?’
Jane couldn’t meet the gaze of his piercing blue eyes.
‘Nothing. We’ve got no physical evidence to connect her to the first two murders and plenty for the third; however that’s all explained by her presence in the running of the business.’
Osborne harrumphed. This was not the breakthrough he needed to get the press and more importantly the Chief Constable off his back. Though at least it was something. Jane was a good copper in his opinion and knew the earlier cases well.
‘Keep digging. If you can find something on her that we can use as leverage I’ll be happy to bring her in for questioning.’
Chapter 27
It was D.C. Sandy Clark who found the connection. Jane’s small team had been working all the overtime permitted to discover whether Connie Baker or Margaret Mallowan was the more likely woman to be behind the murders. She knew the top brass wouldn’t be impressed by Sobers’ theory; they still favoured a serial killer attacking strangers at random and therefore she needed more proof than the abstract ideas of a disgraced detective.
Three unsolved murders in just seven years ensured that at least she was given the resources to keep investigating the crimes. The Devon and Cornwall Constabulary could not be seen to be sliding down the league tables and Dent was vehemently resisting political pressure from the Home Office to bring in officers from outside to oversee the investigation.
If Jane could find a link between the latest crime and the earlier ones, then she could have whatever remained of the budget that DCS Osborne no longer needed for the main investigation into Gerard Mallowan’s murder. With the press, public and politicians all hungry for results, Jane finally had the resources available to keep up a fairly full investigation into the Butcher and Baker killings and their more than nominal links to the Candlestick-maker’s death. For this to her was the essence of the case, the link to Maggie Thatcher being nothing more than an interesting, but distracting gloss.
‘Mallowan’s been married before!’
‘Who to?’
‘A Tony Christie.’
‘Not the singer!’ joked one of the other DCs.
‘Not unless he died in a car crash in 1979 on the A303’.
Jane tensed.
‘When in 1979?’
‘Friday, 4th May.’
‘That was the day after the election…’
All the members of her team had stopped what they were doing; they all understood the significance of the election dates by now.
Sandy continued to read from the report in front of her –
‘He burnt to death.’
There was a collective intake of breath. They listened intently as the detective outlined the circumstances of Tony Christie’s death on the day Thatcherism had begun in 1979.
‘Good work, but how does this work as evidence against her?’ interrupted Osborne.
Osborne’s unexpected entrance seemed to suggest he possessed the type of lucky timing which often attended the successful. He crossed the room to take a closer look at the report on the death of Mrs Mallowan’s first husband.
‘It’s still circumstantial, ‘ Jane sighed, ‘but the coincidences of her having two husbands burn to death on dates associated with victories for Margaret Thatcher seems a strong one.’
‘Is there any evidence to suggest Tony Christie died in anything other than an accident?’
‘He was three times over the limit and his car was seen being driven in a haphazard fashion and at very high speed according to three witnesses who gave evidence at the Inquiry. The lorry driver stated he had no chance of avoiding the car,’ replied Sandy as she read from the Coroner’s report.
Jane was impressed by the thoroughness of her colleague’s work; Sandy hadn’t just announced a chance finding, she had clearly followed it up before making it public to the team. If there was any justice she’d make Sergeant before the year was out.
‘And how does that help support your hypothesis that she killed Kellow and Baker to mask the reasons behind her second husband’s murder?’ Osborne interjected.
Jane thought hurriedly, trying to process the latest piece of the puzzle.
‘Well it is a positive link between her and at least a similar event which connects three of the killings. Her first and second husbands were both burnt to death on election victories for Maggie. The first husband’s death may have been an accident; however the reasons behind that crash may have led her to kill the other men.’
Jane looked anxiously as Osborne folded his face in his hands. There was a hollowness in the way she had expressed her case and yet she felt they were very close to a result, moreover she knew the pressure they were under to not only gain a conviction, but more importantly to gain a safe conviction. It was why she had decided to conceal the information Debbie had discovered from Byrne, as any mention of the Connie Baker trial had become taboo at the station. If she told the DCS that they were making a case partly based on the evidence of a convicted perjurer, then there was no way he was going to back her. She’d been glad that he’d humoured Sobers’ link to ‘The ABC murders’, but telling him anything more than that would have revealed the foundations of sand on which her case rested. They were going to have to play this investigation absolutely by the book.
‘Okay, bring her in and let’s see if we can get something out of her. I’ll organise a warrant to search her house.’
****
Jez was beginning to wonder if he was in over his head. Being interrogated by two senior police officers over his lover’s husband’s death had not been fun; not remotely.
Adding half a can of coke to his tumbler of vodka he sat on his balcony and wished that he smoked.
He knew she couldn’t have done it; they’d been in bed the night he died, but the police and particularly that blonde one had been very good at making him doubt the facts as he knew them. At least in computing there was no room for manoeuvre; things were logical. This is how he would have to think about it - like a programmer and not like the dilettante lover of an older woman.
Finding the drink too weak, he added another few fingers of vodka.
Across the room he could see the angry red eye of his answer phone flashing. It would be his father – he called every Friday. His father didn’t know about her. Would he have to tell him? The age difference between them wasn’t insurmountable, as she wasn’t so much older than he was – twelve years according to one of the files he’d discovered when cleaning her computer. This had revealed she was thirty-six and not just over thirty as she had led him to believe.
Logically, that would make her only nine years younger than his mother and yet he knew logic wouldn’t cut it with his parents, even though his own father was at least a decade older than his mum. The fact that Jez ran a successful business and had his own apartment still didn’t seem to impress the old man. He kept on about Jez overextending his line of credit and kept wanting to know how he financed both the apartment and sports car he was driving.
Well it wasn’t from her. Well not all of it. The banks had been very keen to support his business and getting credit had been no big deal. Sure, she’d given him a few grand here and there, yet that was just in the role of his sleeping partner as she liked to joke.
As far as his parents knew he had been seeing a string of girls since leaving Norwich. This in part had been true, as there was always a girl he could find to take to family events. Th
ose women seemingly unimpressed by his good looks usually changed their minds when they saw the Merc. His largesse didn’t seem to go amiss either, or the expensive gifts he could afford to buy.
He slurped his vodka as he gazed listlessly across the canal.
Some of the girls he introduced to his family he did sleep with and yet they weren’t her. There’d been a Belgian au pair he’d been dating on a semi-regular basis for nearly half a year that had threatened to turn into something more serious. Last Christmas, he could tell that his mum had that wedding planner look about her and yet when Wilma had returned to Antwerp without an engagement ring he hadn’t felt any sense of loss.
He’d tried to hide the other girls from her, but Mags hadn’t seemed to mind. She’d even invited comparisons, having the self-assurance to know she won every time. He had a feeling Wilma’s sudden departure had been to do with the threesome Mags suggested they’d have. Wilma had seemed so liberal at first, yet when she’d returned from the bathroom to find the two of them making a start, or more precisely to find Mags’ magnificent body bestriding his on the lounge floor she’d turned and fled.
Sex with Mags was like surfing the biggest wave you’d ever seen, sex with the others was perfectly pleasant, yet it never rocked his boat in any especial way.
He blushed as he recalled the memory. A further slug of vodka roused his desire for both women and yet he knew it was only Mags that had ever made him feel special. From that first time in Exmouth to this morning’s incredible awakening, she just knew how to please him.
He didn’t feel bad about the husband. Well he did feel bad that he was dead. And to die like that – well that wasn’t good.
He poured more vodka into the coke and wondered if the banana liqueur Steve had brought back from the Seychelles would be the only alcohol left remaining in the flat when this bottle was empty?
He could marry her now. She’d assured him that once her own business was successful enough, then the two of them could be together.
Yet that brought back the problem of his father. He knew when their relationship became public it was going to be bad news – he just hadn’t expected that bad news to form part of a murder enquiry.
And poor Mags! Her husband had been shagging the maid and yet all the press could do was depict the man as a wonderful businessman and pillar of the local community! What hypocrites! The vodka was finally working its magic. Perhaps he should go and see her? And yet he recalled her instructions. They just had to sit it out until the furore was over. Having his picture on the front page of ‘The News of the World’ would not be the best way of breaking the news to his father…
Well now was not the time to worry about seeking his father’s approval, now was the time to worry about where that bloody bottle of banana liqueur had got to!
****
After checking that Leo was back safely from the football; double checking with the Millers that Jen had really gone to their house for the night and ensuring that Tim was watching over baby Max, Jane replayed the interview with Maggie Mallowan in her head. She had no need to wait for a transcript, every syllable and nuanced look was etched into her brain, after all it had nearly finished her career…
Mrs Mallowan had sat with perfect poise and equanimity in the interview room.
‘Do you have any questions for me, Detective Chief Superintendent?’
Jane remembered how Mrs Mallowan had deliberately seemed to ignore her at the start of the interview. It was only when Osborne had seemed oblivious to her charms that she had started trying to rattle Jane.
She cursed herself for being so naïve, the tricks and wiles used by Maggie Mallowan were nothing new, but she deployed them so gracefully and elegantly that they were almost imperceptible at first. A less beautiful woman might have come across as blousy and blunt, but their suspect possessed a beauty which made you want to take her on face value. She was the type of woman even other women couldn’t feel jealous of. When she’d crossed her elegant legs in front of Osborne and coolly asked him if he would like more details of what she and Jez had been up to on the night of her husband’s murder, it should have come across as crass and calculating and yet even Jane had felt the frisson in the air.
The super at least had appeared to be cool enough until she’d said –
‘Public school man, are you Superintendent? And not married by the look of it? Perhaps you would prefer if I spelt it out for you? I know what those places can be like for shy boys like you…’
Jane had seen the blush suffusing his cheeks and had tried to help out –
‘And so you were with Jez Carberry all night?’
‘Do you find that so hard to believe, Sergeant? But then again married sex is so banal, isn’t it? What do you average, sergeant – a quick fumble every other week, or have you also been checking out other avenues for your desires? I saw a nice looking constable on the way in, perhaps one of you two should ask him to take down your particulars?’
She hadn’t bitten that time and had been quick enough to realise that Maggie Mallowan had noticed her own ring, as well as the absence of one on Osborne’s hand, nevertheless the woman knew how to get under the skin.
By then, the DCS had recovered enough to steer the conversation back to the case –
‘We’re not all governed by our carnal desires, Mrs Mallowan…’
‘Well you don’t seem to be Superintendent. But that’s a good public schooling for you, isn’t it? Repress all those unhealthy desires, or else take them out on your fag? I think that’s why my late husband was so attracted to Lin. Probably reminded him of his own public school days; they’re so passive some of these Orientals aren’t they?’
‘And what time did you leave Mr Carberry’s apartment?’ pressed Osborne, not rising to her jibes.
‘Around half past ten. Jez’s boys had turned up for work and however much I might have enjoyed a little more fun, Megadeth is sadly not really my choice of background music for a good morning shag.’
‘And they saw you leave?’ interjected Jane.
‘They saw everything, Sergeant.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘We were coming out of the shower, Superintendent, when the boys let themselves in. Don’t worry, it’s nothing they hadn’t seen before.‘
Jane noticed how she had stressed the ‘they’ and the deliberately provocative way she leant forward. She could tell that Osborne felt irritated; she’d noticed that he had a habit of running a hand through his hair when he was nervous. Maggie Mallowan had a genius for finding people’s pressure points! Well they did say there was only a thin line between what made a great detective and what made a great criminal... Trying to steer the conversation on to ground less comfortable for their suspect, Jane had asked why her husband might have gone to ‘Scandalabra’ that night.
‘I told you earlier, he was shagging Lin.’
‘Lin Ng denies any sexual relationship between your late husband and her,’ countered Osborne with more confidence than he’d shown for the last part of the interview.
‘Well she would, wouldn’t she?’
There hadn’t been much of an answer to that. All they’d received was a cock and bull story about Gerald Mallowan meeting Lin for secret assignations above the shop on every early closing day. It seemed the Mallowans got their money’s worth out of their maid by getting her to clean the shop once a week as well.
They’d been trying for over an hour to find a chink in her armour and yet she had dealt with all their questions effortlessly. The expensively tailored lawyer beside her had had virtually nothing to do to win his large fee for being there.
She had coolly answered all their questions about her relationship with Gerald and had not seemed disconcerted by their attempts to embarrass her when they asked about her lover, or her reasons for marrying Gerald. Although her lawyer had tried to dissuade her from answering, she had candidly admitted that Gerald’s injection of cash into her business had been a motive in marrying him, calmly batt
ing the googly back at them by suggesting that most people married for sex or money.
When they’d raised the manner of her first husband’s death, she hadn’t gone to pieces or looked flustered, but had simply observed he was the one man she’d married for love. Nevertheless, they had pressed on, both firmly believing that they had their woman.
‘Did you vote Conservative at the last election?’
‘As my legal representative is about to tell you, we do have secret ballots in this country, Superintendent.’
Once again, her advocate had hardly had to ripple the creases on his bespoke suit, as his client continued to hold the floor.
‘But would you say you admired Mrs Thatcher?’ pursued Jane.
‘She’s a strong woman and I like strong women. How about you, sergeant? What’s your view on powerful women? I’m sure you must find them more stimulating than the men in your life.’
‘Some might say that Mrs Thatcher is quite a ruthless woman?’
‘It’s funny how people don’t have a problem with strong men, isn’t it Superintendent? Is it just that you public school boys can only cope with mummy and matron?’
‘So, she wouldn’t get your vote?’
‘Nice try, sergeant. But if I went for a politician it would have to be Paddy Ashdown.’
‘You’d vote for the Liberal Democrats?’
‘They’ve the best looking man, Sergeant. Not that there’s much competition, but at least Ashdown has that rugged, action man quality which floats my boat. How about you, does Paddy Pantsdown tick your boxes?’
‘And what about your interest in reading thrillers?’
By the time Jane had asked this question, even she knew it was just a forlorn hope. The expensive advocate had probably been about to shape a withering response, when once again his client negated his need to be there.
‘Not a crime is it? If you’ll pardon the pun,’ she smiled.
‘Did you find ‘The ABC Murders’ an inspirational read?’ flashed Jane.
And yet it hadn’t got under Maggie’s radar; she batted it back to them, as coolly as she had dealt with all their other questions.
