Tim felt outraged. “They’d better not let Kate Maddox hear them talking like that. She’d chop their balls off in ten seconds flat.”
They drove on in a moody silence. At the Severn Bridge the sergeant pulled up at the toll gate.
“Who’d have been on the graveyard shift last Friday?” he asked the man in the kiosk, flashing his warrant card. “Just the one, I take it?”
A nod. “I’ll have a look. Oh yes, Charley Blaisdale. Why, what’s up?”
“I want to ask him if he noticed a particular car come through round about 1 A.M.-ish.”
“What, a week ago? Do me a favour, chum.”
“A dark-green Saab,” Tim went on. “F reg.”
“Hey, just a minute. Charley mentioned her when I took over from him. She shot away like a bat out of hell as soon as she’d paid. The stupid cow hit the railing over there and careered away swerving all over the shop. Pissed out of her mind, he reckoned.”
“Tell me where I can contact Charley. I need a description of this woman.”
“You’ll be unlucky, then. In this job you don’t look at the faces.”
The car behind them hooted impatiently. Sticking his arm through the window, without bothering to glance round, Jack Glutton made a rude gesture. Boulter took down Charley’s address. Another lead to be followed that would finish at a dead end. Charley would remember nothing more than they’d got already.
At Cardiff Airport they were directed to where Elwyn Williams was standing guard over his find. He’d long since disposed of the two children, phoning Megan and asking for them to be collected ... to her blind fury at having her “free” Saturday spoilt. Elwyn led the two South Midlands men to the Saab and they strolled around it, noting a dented offside wing. Another job for someone in forensics, checking that the damaged paintwork matched possible traces left on the railing at the Severn Bridge. Boulter had no doubt in his mind about that, though.
“Got anything on the driver for us?” he asked Williams.
The Welsh DC spread his hands. “Wha’d’ya expect? There’s no way of knowing when the car came in, not even which day. The driver might have taken a plane; equally he might have caught a bus out. Or switched cars here. Or just walked away. If you could give us a name ...”
“Can’t. All we know is that it was most likely a woman.”
“Now that really narrows it down,” Williams said sarcastically.
The local forensics circus had already been along and photographed the car from all angles, fingerprinted it and given it a pretty thorough going over. There’d be nothing more to learn by keeping it in situ, Boulter decided, so he told Jack Glutton to drive it back to DHQ at Marlingford.
“I’ll follow on a bit later,” he added. “There’ll be one or two things to attend to here first.”
Glutton winked, a touch ruefully. “Have a pint for me while you’re about it, Sarge.”
“All right, all right. On your way, Jack.”
When he’d driven off, Williams said to Boulter, “I know a little place where the beer’s sheer nectar. Brewed on the premises.”
“Lead me to it, chum.”
In the cosy pub, the two men talked companionably. They were approximately the same age; and both, it emerged, had a couple of kids. Williams explained how it was he’d come to the airport.
“My access day.”
“Divorced, are you?”
“Mmm. A year ago. Bloody women!”
“Bloody wives,” corrected Boulter. “You’re free as air again, then, you lucky bugger.”
“Bad for you, is it, at home?”
“Oh, Christ. Nag bloody nag morning till night. I can’t remember the last time I did something right in her eyes. If it wasn’t for the kids, I wouldn’t have stuck it this long.”
“Well, take my advice and hang on in. If you don’t, you’ll lose those kids. Lose ’em to some slimy git. You’ll end up in a grotty bedsitter, while he helps himself to what’s rightly yours ... bed and board, the lot, all at your bloody expense.”
“It’s a question of how much more I can stand,” Boulter muttered.
“Let me tell you something,” Williams said, in his singsong Welsh lilt. “If I could turn the clock back, I’d stick it out. Has your missus got another bloke already?”
“Not one that I know about,” said Boulter grimly.
“How about you?”
Boulter shook his head, baring his teeth in a humourless grin. “Some of these sexy pieces you see around ... I get so I could rip the clothes off ’em.”
“You mind what I say, now.” Williams sounded quite severe. “Come on, I’ll fill you up with the best fish and chips you’ve ever tasted, before I wave you on your way.”
At the fish bar a few doors along, they sat at a cramped, plastic-topped table. Boulter had a double portion of cod, and extra chips served in a separate dish because they wouldn’t all pile on his plate.
Williams remarked, “I hear you’ve got a woman DCI handling this murder case.”
“Right. I’ve worked with her before.”
“What’s she like? A real old battleaxe?”
Boulter forked up a nice crispy bit of cod and chewed it before replying. “No,” he said at last, as if surprising himself, “she’s okay.”
* * * *
That morning, after Boulter departed for Cardiff, Kate had asked the office manager to telephone the Kimberley residence to say she wanted to see Lady Kimberley again and, if convenient, would be coming along at once. Lord Balmayne had taken the call, and he’d announced his firm intention of being present at the interview. Kate didn’t object to this; in fact, it suited her very well. It would suit her even better, she decided, if the nephew and his wife, Aidan and Paula Kimberley, were also present. Seeing all four together would help to keep the atmosphere informal, which was what she wanted at this stage.
Just as Kate was about to set out for Radlett, a call was put through from one of the house agents she’d been in touch with in her search for a new home.
“Mrs. Maddox, I’ve found just the property you’re looking for. It’s at Ingram’s Green, nicely within the area you specified. A modern house, but built traditionally, and with a small, manageable garden that’s well matured. Two bedrooms, a large living room, kitchen and bath.” He named a price that didn’t make Kate gasp too alarmedly.
“Sounds wonderful, Mr. Hampton. I’m terribly busy just at the moment, but I’m sure I could manage to get along to view it one day next week.”
“Sorry, it’s got to be today. We’ve already had a firm offer, and the owner wants a quick sale as he’s been posted abroad at short notice. I do urge you to view this house, Mrs. Maddox, because I’m certain you’d want to snap it up. You only have to top this offer by a small amount, and it’s yours.”
Kate sighed. Much as she longed to find a place of her own, she could do without this sort of pressure right now. It wasn’t just the time needed to view the property, but all the hassle of dealing with the paperwork that would follow a successful offer. She’d never forgive herself, though, if she let the place go by default; she’d kick herself every time she drove past it.
“All right,” she agreed grudgingly, “I’ll be out there today.” Ridiculously, she almost hoped that the house would prove unsuitable, so as to be a problem off her mind.
“What time shall I tell the vendors to expect you?” he pressed, after giving her the address.
“What time? Oh, I really don’t know at the moment. It’s just a matter of when I can get away.”
“Shall we say some time before three-thirty? After that, I can’t promise the property won’t be gone.”
“All right, then, before three-thirty,” she said, and put down the phone.
Driving to the Kimberley house, Kate’s mind tussled with the problem of how to fit in the house viewing. Even without that, she still had an overloaded schedule. Normally on Saturdays, when she wasn’t engaged on a major case, she and her aunt dropped in at the Wagon
and Horses in Chipping Bassett for a pub lunch—and sometimes Richard Gower joined them. She’d already warned Felix that their pleasant little ritual was out of the question today, but now it looked as if she’d be lucky even to find time to gobble down a sandwich at her desk.
The Aidan Kimberleys, as Kate had hoped, were also there. All four present were standing around sipping a pre-lunch aperitif when Kate was shown into the drawing room.
“Please join us in a drink,” Lady Kimberley invited. “What will you have, Mrs. Maddox? Sherry? Gin and something? Whisky?”
“A dry sherry, thank you.”
“Gerald, my dear, would you be so kind?” she asked Lord Balmayne, with a regal wave of the hand. She turned to introduce her late husband’s nephew and his wife.
Aidan Kimberley was a tall, impressive man; a man, Kate guessed, who was accustomed to dominate. His dark hair, greying about his ears, was loosely wavy, his forehead high, his slatey grey eyes intelligent and penetrating. He was wearing lightweight slacks and a tailored short-sleeve shirt. Consciously dressed for summertime in the country.
Paula Kimberley looked the sort of woman a wealthy, successful man would expect his wife to be. In her twenties, she’d probably been outstandingly attractive, and now in her early forties she wasn’t making a bad job of keeping her looks. She had a long, oval face that was framed by a mass of golden blond hair, and huge almond-shaped eyes. Tallish and slender, she wore a white pleated skirt and peach-coloured silk-knit sweater with considerable elegance. At the moment, though, suffering from the aftermath of flu, she looked pale and drawn, ill-at-ease.
As she shook hands with Kate, her softly mellow voice was laced with self-reproach. “Oh, Chief Inspector, I feel so dreadfully guilty that I wasn’t here with poor dear Vanessa when she most needed me. Of course, at the time—last Saturday—I had no conception that Noah was dead. I thought ... I imagined that he was just delayed somewhere.”
Her husband laid a hand on her forearm. “There, there, darling, you mustn’t blame yourself. Vanessa understands.” Yet despite the gentleness of his words, there was a hardness in his tone. Kate sensed anger between them.
“Yes, of course I understand,” Lady Kimberley concurred, though somewhat unconvincingly.
Kate said, “I gather, Mrs. Kimberley, that you went back to London on Sunday so as to be there when your husband returned from the Far East?”
“Yes, I wanted to make sure our apartment was ready. But of course, Vanessa’s needs would have come first. Aidan would have wanted me to put her first, if only I’d realized it was really serious.”
Her husband was frowning, Kate noted, as if he thought all this self-reproach was a bit overdone. Lady Kimberley, too, was looking thoroughly impatient with it.
“Do let us all sit down,” she said, with an inviting sweep of her hand.
Kate avoided taking a seat in one of the deep sofas. Instead, she chose a higher, tapestry-covered armchair from which she could more easily stay in command of the situation.
“I have various questions to put to you all,” she said, after sipping the sherry Lord Balmayne handed her. “Can I take it that you are happy to speak in one another’s presence and don’t wish to be interviewed separately?”
Head shaking and low murmurs of assent indicated that no one had any objection.
Setting her glass down on a small table, Kate took her notebook from her shoulderbag and became briskly professional. “First of all, I need to establish the whereabouts of each one of you at certain specific times. Most importantly, on the evening of yesterday week, and the evening of Wednesday last.”
She had expected a barrage of horrified protest. Instead, they all seemed shocked into silence. Then Aidan Kimberley said quietly, “I’m sure you understand, Chief Inspector, that it’s somewhat dismaying to be faced with the need to prove one’s innocence in these appalling circumstances. But I for one do accept that the police are obliged to ask these questions. Let me see, last Friday I was still, of course, in Hong Kong ... a fact you can easily verify. On Wednesday of this week I was in London with my wife. We spent the evening at our apartment in Sloane Street.”
“Did you have any visitors?”
“Er ... no, though we do very often have people in for drinks or dinner. But Paula was still feeling groggy from her bout of flu, the poor love.”
“I see. Is there anyone who can confirm this?”
“My wife can,” he said sharply.
“I meant, anyone else?”
“How could there be? I told you, we spent the evening alone.”
“Did you make or receive any phone calls, for example?”
He looked annoyed. “I really can’t be expected to remember. Very possibly. I spend a lot of time on the phone.”
“You telephoned me, Aidan, if you remember,” Lady Kimberley interjected.
He considered a moment. “Yes, of course I did. What time would that have been, Vanessa? Somewhere between nine and ten, wasn’t it?”
“It was just after ten you phoned that night, I seem to recall.”
“And that was the only phone call you made or received?” Kate persisted.
“The only one I can recall just now. If anything further occurs to me, I’ll let you know.”
“Please do. By the way, just for me to be quite clear, when was it exactly that you arrived home from Hong Kong last Monday?”
“My plane was dreadfully late getting in,” he said critically. “We didn’t land at Heathrow until thirteen hundred hours. I took a taxi, and reached the flat just before three o’clock.”
“And you telephoned Lady Kimberley at once, when your wife told you the news about Sir Noah’s disappearance?”
“Naturally I did. I was most distressed.”
Lord Balmayne cleared his throat with a sharp hrrmph. It was an effective way of commanding attention. “Pity you didn’t get in touch with me at the same time, Aidan.”
Kimberley turned to look at him in pained protest. “You move around so much, Gerald, one never knows where to find you.”
“Any one of my staff could have told you where I was.”
When the little spat had subsided, Kate resumed her questioning. “Mr. Kimberley, how well did you know Dr. Gavin Trent?”
“How well? I’d met him once or twice, at this house, but beyond that I didn’t know the chap at all.”
Kate raised her eyebrows. “Even though he was your uncle’s deputy at Croptech? I understand that you have a half share in the firm.”
“That’s true, but I’ve never had any hand in the running of things there. I always left all that to my uncle. Though now, of course ...” His sentence was left hanging.
“I was hoping, you see, that you might be able to suggest a reason why somebody should have wanted Dr. Trent out of the way.”
The puzzlement on his face darkened to anger. “I thought you were here to discuss the tragic death of my uncle, Chief Inspector.”
“The two deaths, I believe, are closely linked.”
A strangled gasp came from Lady Kimberley. But she said nothing, just sat staring at Kate with horrified eyes. It was Lord Balmayne who spoke.
“Have you any foundation for that theory, Chief Inspector?”
“It would be too great a coincidence, sir, if it were not so.”
“But you have nothing to link the two deaths beyond the mere fact of coincidence?”
“Not at the moment, no.” She returned her gaze to the other man. “Well, Mr. Kimberley, can you think of any possible explanation for Dr. Trent’s murder?”
“Absolutely none. How could I know anything?”
“And you, Lord Balmayne?”
“Good heavens, no. As far as I know I never even met the fellow.”
Kate turned to Mrs. Kimberley. “Now perhaps I could have details of where you were.”
The question was greeted with a look of shock and sheer amazement. “My husband has already told you that we were at home alone.”
“Not
Wednesday. I was referring to last Friday.”
“Last Friday? Well, I was here—at our cottage, I mean. You know that.”
“You didn’t go out at all?”
“No, I didn’t.” Paula Kimberley seemed to think this required an explanation. “I was doing some of my packing, you see, ready to return to London. I’d spent most of the month Aidan was in Hong Kong here, so I had a fair bit of stuff with me. Besides, although I didn’t realize it then, I was already sickening with flu. I was in no mood for seeing other people.”
“I understand. Can you remember any phone calls?”
She began to shake her head, but her husband intervened. “I phoned you, darling, from Hong Kong, to confirm my travel arrangements.”
“Oh yes, of course you did.”
“What time would this have been, Mrs. Kimberley?”
She looked vague, and her husband helped her out once more. “It was first thing Saturday morning Hong Kong time, about 7 A.M. That would make it about 11 P.M. British time. I wanted to catch Paula before she went to bed.”
His wife’s face cleared. “Yes, that’s right, Aidan. Just a few minutes after eleven. I remember now. I was watching ‘Newsnight’ when you phoned.”
Kate scribbled down a note. “I take it that you also had met Dr. Trent, Mrs. Kimberley?”
“Why, er ... yes. On the same occasions as my husband did. And I saw him once or twice in the village and so on. Just to say hallo to.”
“Do you know the Tillingtons at all?”
“We went there to dinner once,” said her husband. “They’re too pompously formal for my taste. We never returned the invitation.”
“But you know them quite well, Paula, don’t you?” put in Lady Kimberley. “I recall running into you and Marjorie Tillington having lunch together in Marlingford. I rather gathered that you saw a fair bit of each other.”
Paula frowned at her. “We have a few things in common, that’s all. She’s interested in interior design, too.”
“You’d never think so,” said Kimberley with a scornful laugh, “to judge from that ghastly house of theirs.”
“That’s all her husband’s choice, darling. The judge is a lot older than she is, don’t forget, and he’s a man of very fixed ideas. But I only know Marjorie Tillington slightly. She’s not what I’d call a friend of mine.”
Cold Coffin Page 11
