by J M Gregson
Lambert said, ‘It is almost five days since we last spoke to you. Have you recalled anything else about that night which now seems to you significant?’
‘No.’ The denial came a little too quickly, but she had more things to think about than timing.
‘And you’re sure you didn’t see anyone else but Michelle Nayland, from the moment you left the restaurant until you discovered the body?’
It was an opportunity to divert suspicion from herself, to bring others into the equation; even to help Michelle, perhaps. Put someone in the frame: that was what the police called it, wasn’t it? But there was no need for that, if you weren’t guilty. Stick to what you’d said all along: anything else would only arouse suspicion. ‘I can’t be certain that Michelle was the only one. What I said is that she’s the only person I can recall seeing; I had no idea at the time that it was going to be important. And of course I had no idea who was in the gents’ cloakroom when I went down there, or who might have gone in there whilst I was in the Ladies.’
Lambert nodded slowly, seeming to digest things, to check them against the sum of his knowledge, without once taking his grey eyes off her face. It was most unnerving. Eventually he said quietly, ‘Is there anything you would wish to add to what you told us on Friday night, Mrs Moss?’
‘No. I’ve just told you all I—’
‘About your relationship with the deceased, for instance?’
‘No.’ It was coming, then. She told herself that she had always known it must, that she must let them make the running, if she was not to give away more than they already knew.
‘What is your salary for the work you do here?’ He looked round the neat kitchen with its stainless-steel implements, its industrial microwave, its fast food ready for the modest lunchtime demands, as if minimizing the work she did.
Joanne found herself saying, ‘My salary is my own business. It is no concern of anyone, except myself and the person who chooses to pay it to me.’
‘In a normal situation, yes. In a murder inquiry, emphatically no.’
She had known this must come out. She went through the ritual of resistance. ‘I’m paid a generous salary. I’m good at what I do.’
‘No doubt. Good enough to warrant more money than anyone else on the staff? Five thousand more than Mr Pearson, who runs the whole enterprise?’
‘Perhaps not. But I support myself, Chief Superintendent Lambert. It was not my decision to raise my earnings. You cannot blame me for taking whatever salary was offered to me.’
‘Patrick Nayland seems to have been a shrewd businessman, well aware of the rates necessary to recruit efficient staff. Can you account for the fact that you are paid twice as much as any other member of staff?’
‘No. It wasn’t my decision. I admit I was surprised to get such a rise in salary when I became full-time, but—’
‘You were having an affair with Patrick Nayland, weren’t you, Mrs Moss?’
‘That’s my business.’ She snapped it out primly, trying to buy herself time to think. She hadn’t expected it to come out like this, to hear Lambert’s blunt, almost contemptuous challenge ringing in her ears as she tried to marshal her resistance.
‘And our business too, Mrs Moss. You must see that, in the circumstances.’
She shook her head dumbly, unable to discover the words for further defiance.
‘And the fact that you chose to conceal this relationship, when specifically asked to declare any such allegiances at our first meeting, is now of great interest to us.’
They had declared the affair as fact now, when she had never admitted to it. They must be very sure of their ground. ‘Who told you about this?’
‘You would not expect us to reveal that.’ A grim smile. Triumph, she thought. But not complacency. They hadn’t got her for the murder of Patrick, only for having an affair with him. She said defiantly, ‘There’s no law against it. I’m a free woman.’
Lambert did not point out that Patrick Nayland had not been a free man. He wasn’t getting into that. He said patiently, ‘We’re investigating a murder. It could be said that you’ve obstructed the police in the course of their enquiries. I’m not particularly interested in pursuing that line, at the moment. I’m interested in the reasons why you chose to conceal information which may have a vital bearing on this death.’
‘It doesn’t. And it’s natural I shouldn’t want my affairs blazoned all over the newspapers, with a grieving widow and her daughter around.’ That had come out spontaneously, and Joanne thought it sounded better than the stuff she had carefully prepared.
Lambert ignored her. ‘How long ago did this affair start?’
‘It’s been serious for two years.’ That was precise enough. She could be even more exact if she wanted to be, but that would show how deeply the passion had bitten.
‘Did Mrs Nayland know about it?’
‘No one knew, as far as we were aware.’ Except Alan Fitch: she made that reservation to herself, but saw no reason to tell them of it. ‘I’m not proud of taking away a woman’s husband.’
Except that you hadn’t taken him away, had you? thought Lambert. There was a saying that the wife always won out in the end, if she wanted to. And the cool, well-organized Liza Nayland was still very much around.
Lambert said, ‘Other people did know, Mrs Moss. They always do, if an affair lasts very long, however discreet you think your behaviour is. In the light of that, I ask you again: how sure are you that Mrs Nayland was completely ignorant of the situation?’
‘She didn’t know. Pat was sure of that.’
‘Because if she did know, it would make her a candidate for this murder, wouldn’t it?’
He was watching her closely, studying her reaction, she supposed. She was amazed to find that she was quite enjoying the situation. ‘It would, wouldn’t it? I hadn’t thought of that. If Pat had—’
‘So how sure are you that Mrs Nayland didn’t know about the situation?’
She took her time, as if digesting a new idea. She raised a ringless hand to move the strand of dark hair which had strayed towards her eye. ‘Pat said he was sure she didn’t know. I’ve hardly met the woman, for reasons which I trust are obvious. All I can say is that she’s never been in to confront me.’
‘This looks very like a crime where passion was involved. Where a man was killed in an impulsive fit of rage or jealousy.’
She was conscious of Lambert studying her closely, even of the possibility that he might be setting a trap for her. But they didn’t do that, did they, these people? Not when they were facing someone who was completely innocent? Joanne had again that strange, unexpected feeling of excitement, of playing a game for high stakes which was still a game. ‘Yes, I can see that. If you stick a knife repeatedly into someone, it’s likely to be on impulse rather than pre-planned, isn’t it? And of course there’s—’ She stopped abruptly, her hand flying in horror to her mouth, as if to still the indiscretion on her lips.
‘There’s what, Mrs Moss?’
Her voice was low now, scarcely more than a whisper. ‘Not what, Superintendent. Who. I was thinking of what I’ve already told you. That the only person I saw immediately before I found Pat’s body was Michelle Nayland.’
‘And a daughter who feels that her mother has been wronged might well have killed on her behalf? It’s a possibility we have considered, Mrs Moss. Until we know for certain what has happened, we have to consider every scenario.’ He was calmness personified. She wished he would take his eyes off her face, if only for a moment. He did not even seem to need to blink.
‘Who told you that I was Pat’s mistress?’ She wanted to know that; wanted to know who, under pressure like this, had known about her and blown the gaff to these two. Somehow, she knew that it would have been to these two, not to one of the lesser lights in the team who had been taking statements from all and sundry around the place. Had someone been trying to implicate her, to plant the suggestion that the mistress might have killed, if she wa
sn’t having things her own way?
Not many people cared for that old-fashioned noun ‘mistress’ nowadays. Lambert smiled at her, looking as hard as ever into her face, trying to work out exactly what was going on behind the smooth brow beneath that glossy dark hair. ‘You wouldn’t expect me to reveal our sources of information. Have you decided yet who you think killed Patrick Nayland?’
It was one of his sudden switches, endeavouring to catch her off guard, to lead her into some indiscretion. She wasn’t going to be caught out like that. She said boldly, ‘No. But I don’t have to pretend I’m indifferent any longer, do I? I was in love with Pat. I want you to get the bastard who killed him, and put him away for a long time. If I get there first, he’ll wish he’d been arrested, I can tell you!’ Her voice rose in a sudden fury on the last sentence.
Lambert did not rise to the suggestion, did not even warn her against taking the law into her own hands. He said dryly, ‘So the sudden rise in your salary no doubt dates from the time when you established a serious relationship with Mr Nayland.’
Another of his switches, away from the emotion of her feelings about Pat’s death to the area she thought he’d finished with. She said limply, ‘My salary was sharply increased when this job warranted a full-time Catering Manager. But I suppose that was about the time when I became Pat’s mistress, yes.’
‘A salary which was comfortably higher than that earned by the General Manager of the whole enterprise,’ he reminded her again.
Damn the man, she thought. He made it sound like prostitution, as if she were being paid for her services in places other than this neat, well-equipped kitchen. But probably he was trying to rile her: people revealed much more of themselves when they were annoyed. She made herself smile as she said, ‘I can’t help it if Pat wanted to pay me more. All right, I recognize that he was paying well above the rate for the job, but he wanted to do it. He said we were going to be married eventually, so the money was staying in the family firm, really!’
‘You were planning marriage?’
He had raised his eyebrows as if that surprised him, the insulting sod. But the important thing was not to let him rattle you. ‘It was on the agenda, yes. I was leaving it to Pat to decide when was the right moment for it to happen.’
He looked at her quizzically at that, as if he had not known women in her situation to be as patient as that. But he couldn’t know what had passed between them in the privacy of her flat, could not know the softly spoken discussions they had had in bed after sex, could he? Never would know now, with Pat dead. And in this matter at least, no one else could stick their oar in. He could know only what she chose to tell him. She said, ‘I didn’t wish to hurt Liza Nayland or her daughter any more than was strictly necessary. I’ve been through a divorce myself, don’t forget.’
Lambert nodded two or three times, pausing as if to evaluate what she had said. Then he said quietly, ‘So you were and are quite convinced that Mr Nayland was serious in his intentions towards you.’
She felt herself reddening, tried to keep the anger out of her voice as she said to him, ‘Of course he was serious! Do you think I wouldn’t have known in an instant if there was anything phoney about the plans we were making together?’
He was not at all embarrassed. In an ordinary conversation, a man would have been rushing to apologize for the suggestion he had made, to rescue himself from a gaffe before it became a social disaster. But this was no ordinary conversation, and she should have adjusted to that by now. He raised an eyebrow at her reaction, then said, ‘We only know Patrick Nayland through other people’s impressions of him. We have had to build up a picture in the last week from what the people who lived with him and worked with him have told us. He has not emerged to us as a man who went in for lasting sexual relationships, as a man who would give up his marriage for an affair. You are giving us a different picture: we have to weigh your view against other people’s recollections of a man who cannot speak for himself.’
So other people had been yapping, had been mouthing off about things they knew nothing about. She wondered who. But she mustn’t be diverted into that now. She must give all her attention to this man with the long, lined face and the dutiful dolt at his side, who watched her and made an occasional note. ‘I was closer to Pat than anyone. My view should count for more than these others you have spoken to. And I can assure you, he was very serious about me!’
‘He was a reformed character, then.’ For the first time, and then only for an instant, he took his eyes off her and looked at Hook beside him, as if the two were mentally comparing notes.
She wanted to flay his visage with her nails, to tear away the smugness with which he seemed to be treating everything she said. But she controlled herself, trying not to reveal the effort that cost her. ‘I’m not a fool, Superintendent. I knew Pat had a certain reputation for the way he treated women. I was cautious at first, even fended him off. But he convinced me that he was serious. And I am not an adolescent girl. As a divorcee, you get lots of offers from men who spot a bit of spare, who think you must be desperate for sex. You have to learn to look after yourself. I have acquired a certain judgement in these things.’
It was a good argument. Convincing even, except to policemen who had learned to be cynical about such protestations. Love, even infatuation, could soon unbalance judgement. ‘So you are quite certain that once Mr Nayland had begun a serious affair with you, he made no other sexual advances.’
She let herself go now. ‘Of course I’m sure of it! Do you think that if Pat had put his hand up anyone else’s skirt, I’d still have been there for him? What kind of woman do you think I am?’
Lambert was not at all put out. He smiled at her and said, ‘We are still finding that out, Mrs Moss. Because, as I have to remind you, you concealed a considerable amount about yourself at our first meeting. We now find you are a spirited woman, with the kind of reactions you have just declared. A woman who might even have killed a man, if he had been telling her less than the truth about his intentions.’
It was stated so calmly that it took a moment for her to realize that he was giving her a motive for Pat’s murder. She told herself that it was natural enough, that she had expected this from the start. She had not expected it to be so baldly and calmly stated. She tried not to show how shaken she was feeling as she said, ‘I suppose it’s logical for you to examine such possibilities. I can only tell you again that I had every confidence in Pat, in his intentions, in our future together.’
She felt her breathing uneven, shaking her whole body. She expected that he might press her further on this, but he merely nodded two or three times. It was Hook who said, ‘You clearly knew much more about Patrick Nayland and his plans than you were prepared to reveal at our first meeting with you. What can you now tell us about his relationship with his General Manager?’
She looked into the weatherbeaten countryman’s face, found the blue eyes watching her as keenly as his chief’s had before him. She was trying to determine what her tactics should be now, with the transference of attention from her to others, but she found it difficult to think as clearly as she wished to under the intense scrutiny of these two pairs of unembarrassed, acutely interested eyes. ‘Chris Pearson? Pat trusted him. They got on well together. Surely other people must have told you this?’ She waited for a comment, for some snippet which would offer guidance to her, but they gave her none. ‘They didn’t have many disagreements.’
‘But they had some.’ Hook made it a statement, leading her on, implying that she had started on something here.
She couldn’t think how he had contrived that; perhaps he was rather more than the dutiful dullard she had decided upon. ‘Occasionally they disagreed, yes. Usually it was when Chris wanted to push ahead too fast. Pat said it was easy to have grandiose plans, when you weren’t spending your own money.’
‘Mr Pearson wanted to stretch the course from nine holes to eighteen, didn’t he?’
They knew about that
then. She wondered who had told them, how much else they knew about the personalities involved, how people had spoken to this inquisitive pair about her.
Then she remembered with a shock that she had told them herself. It was a reminder of how very careful she needed to be now. ‘Yes. Pat planned to expand too, but Chris was more impatient. Pat said he wanted to see a healthy profit from the nine-hole set-up before he moved on to eighteen. That the project must generate its own income for expansion.’ She brought out that phrase from the past and could almost hear Pat saying it.
‘And this was one of their major sources of disagreement?’
‘Yes. As a matter of fact, I heard them having a bit of a row on the day before Pat died. I imagine that it was about that.’
‘But you aren’t certain.’ Hook’s tones were as slow and measured as earlier; he gave no sign of his excitement, no clue that they had heard nothing of this dispute until this moment.
‘No. I heard raised voices in the office whilst I was working in here. I remember it clearly because Chris was shouting at Pat. I don’t think I’d ever heard that before.’
‘But you don’t know what they were arguing about.’
‘No. The dispute went on for about ten minutes, I suppose, and they both looked pretty heated after it was over. But neither of them spoke to me about it afterwards. Pat would no doubt have told me in due course, but I didn’t see him alone again before he was killed at Soutters.’ She hadn’t meant to say all that, but it was out before she could stop herself, and she had delivered the words without breaking down.
‘Did anyone else have a reason to want Mr Nayland out of the way?’
