by Joyce Cato
It was nearly lunchtime and, with a bit of luck, the conference-goers wouldn’t be at lectures or buying goods from the tables that were set up in hall, so she might just catch him in.
She climbed to the second floor, passed a stuffed roe deer that had been deposited on the half-landing, and knocked on the second door on the right.
It opened after just a few moments, and Ian Glendower stared out at her.
‘Yes?’ he said sharply, his eyes narrowing on the cook.
Jenny smiled mildly. ‘Oh, hello, Mr Glendower, I don’t suppose you remember me? I’m Jenny Starling.’ She held out her hand firmly in the face of his continuing silence and forced him to shake it. ‘I’m the cook here. I wondered if I could just ask you something?’
Ian Glendower frowned. ‘What about?’ he asked suspiciously.
Jenny knew right there and then that she was going to have to be very careful now. ‘Well, actually, it’s about stuffing a tiger,’ she said, with a bright, warm smile.
Debbie Dawkins always enjoyed her lunch hour. It wasn’t that she particularly hated working at the department store, but doing two jobs meant that every free hour was especially precious to her.
Today, she was meeting up with her oldest pal Tracy at a little snack bar just off New Inn Hall Street that had a good reputation with vegetarians. Not that she was that way inclined herself, but it was Tracey’s latest fad, and she didn’t mind giving it a go.
The two friends had just ordered various salads, and were busy gossiping about the latest scandal to afflict an old school friend, when Tracey noticed that Debbie kept staring at someone over her shoulder.
Naturally, she turned around curiously, but saw no one that she knew. ‘What’s so fascinating behind me?’ Tracey, a round-faced girl with untidy blonde hair and widespaced brown eyes, asked with a small grin. ‘Seen someone you fancy have you?’
‘That bloke over in the corner. Talking to the ash-blonde,’ Debbie said, her mouth going dry.
Quickly her friend checked him out and turned back, grinning. ‘Very nice. Bit out of your league though, girl, if you don’t mind my saying,’ Tracey said cheekily. ‘And that woman he’s with is wearing a couple of thousand quid in jewellery or I’m a monkey’s uncle. Think he’s her toy boy?’
‘No, that’s not it,’ Debbie hissed. ‘I think that might be him.’
‘Him? Who?’ Tracey said, then suddenly paled. ‘Oh. You mean him? Bloody hell, Debs, are you serious?’
Of course, Debbie had told her best friend all about the excitement at the college and, since it was all over the news, Tracey had been eager to get the full low down on the college killing. So she knew all about her friend seeing someone leave the murder site at around the time of the killing.
‘Do I look like I’m joking?’ Debbie said, nervously, crumbling away at the bread roll on her side plate.
Tracey felt slightly sick. ‘Oh, Debs, are you sure?’ she leaned forward and reached a hand shakily over the table, stopping her friend from shredding the bread. ‘Act cool, yeah?’ she whispered nervously. ‘I don’t think he’s seen us or anything, so don’t worry. Are you sure it’s him though?’
‘No. How can I be sure, not a hundred per cent sure?’ Debbie said slowly. ‘But it looks awfully like him. I saw him mostly from the back, remember, and briefly, the side of his face, not head on, like now,’ she whispered back. ‘But it really looks like it could be him.’
The scout bit her lip. ‘Or am I just thinking it must be him because he’s the first man I’ve seen that fits? I mean, right sort of hair, right sort of build? I don’t know. Oh, Trace, what do you think I should do?’ she implored.
Tracey’s big brown eyes widened even more as she thought about it for a second or two. Then, ‘You ought to phone the cops, I reckon,’ she whispered, so quietly that Debbie almost didn’t hear her. ‘You got the number of that cop who talked to you? Inspector what’s-his-name?’
‘Golder. No,’ Debbie whispered back. ‘But I’ll call the college, shall I? The switchboard in the lodge will be able to put me through to him. They’ve got an incident room there. You really think I should? What if it’s not him? I’ll feel such a prat, Trace.’
‘Yeah, but on the other hand, what if it is him?’ Tracey responded pragmatically. ‘I mean, they can’t fault you for it, can they, even if it turns out to be a false alarm? I mean, it would be an honest mistake, wouldn’t it?’
Debbie reluctantly phoned the college, and within a few minutes, she was talking to Peter Trent, and telling him where she was and what was happening.
Her friend listened, pale-faced but clearly excited, to her friend’s one-sided conversation.
‘Yes, Sergeant, it really looks like him. But I can’t say for sure. He’s sitting in the back of the café, and it’s a little dark in the corner … What? … Yes, he’s with a woman. Older, dressed really nice, a lady, with pale blonde hair … No, he hasn’t. I don’t think so anyway? Should me and my friend leave? … OK … Yes, we’ll wait outside. Right. Yes.’
She hung up and rose. ‘Come on, we’ve got to wait outside. They’re coming over,’ she whispered down at her friend, who shot up eagerly and grabbed her bag.
It was easily the most exciting lunch Tracey had ever had.
Peter Trent and Trevor Golder arrived about five minutes later. Debbie quickly described to the inspector where they had been sitting, and what the man was wearing, but already Peter Trent was looking through the window. When he walked back to Trevor, he said quietly, ‘The lady is Laura Raines, sir.’
Trevor nodded, thanked Debbie and told her that they would be needing a formal statement later, but for now, she was free to get back to work. He watched the excitedly chattering, but slightly shaken girls, walk away, then turned to Trent.
‘Right then, let’s have them in,’ he said, with quiet satisfaction.
Laura Raines was the first to spot them, and Trevor saw her lean forward and quickly say something to her companion. A moment later, the man looked over at them, clearly going pale and looking alarmed. He saw Laura Raines reach out and put her hand over his and say something urgently.
The man nodded, but licked his lips nervously. When the two police officers arrived at their table, Laura smiled a shade grimly at them.
‘Inspector Golder. I take it you want to speak to me again?’ she asked, her chin coming up in definite challenge.
‘Yes, Mrs Raines. And this is Mr Jenks, I presume? Simon Jenks?’ Trevor said, not letting her get the upper hand. If she thought she could control this process, she needed to know better.
The handsome younger man seemed to flinch, but he managed to nod his head wordlessly.
‘In which case, sir, I really need to speak to you as well. Perhaps you could both come down to the St Aldate’s station with me?’ Trevor asked blandly.
Simon Jenks went even paler than ever and, when he rose, Trevor would have bet a month’s salary that his legs were shaking so hard they felt barely able to support him. He wasn’t surprised when the younger man actually reached out to steady himself against the back wall of the café as he stood up.
He also shot Laura Raines a quick look that Trevor found hard to place exactly. It had an element of pleading certainly. And fear, definitely. Also one of bafflement and, perhaps, a touch of uncertainty? It was as if he was looking to his lover to both save him, and yet, at the same time, he seemed to be trying to understand exactly what it was that he needed to be saved from.
It boded well for an interesting interview ahead, but as they drove the short distance to St Aldate’s, Trevor wasn’t entirely sure that things were going to go quite how he expected them to. There was something about the pair of them that wasn’t quite right – that didn’t quite fit the pattern he was expecting.
And it worried him.
They separated them at St Aldate’s, with Peter Trent taking the widow to one interview room, whilst Trevor took the widow’s lover to another.
Simon Jenks followed the heav
y-set slightly older man into the small room with a feeling of vague numbness, interlaced with rolling waves of nausea. He’d known this moment had to come, but he’d never expected it to come so soon. Or that he’d be taken from an inoffensive little café in the middle of the day, and abruptly thrust into an environment like this.
He looked around the brick room, with its dirty whitewash, high, barred windows and scuffed tiled floor, and it was as if he could almost hear a cell door clang shut. He forced himself to take a deep breath, and very happily accepted the wooden chair that the inspector indicated. He all but fell into it, glad to take the weight off his feet.
He felt curiously light-headed.
He had to force himself to remember what he and Laura had discussed. He had to make sure he got it right. But as he faced the bland-faced man in front of him, he wasn’t sure that that was the right thing to do. He wasn’t sure how much he could trust Laura, that was the trouble. Worse, he was assailed with the terrible, lemming-like compulsion to just tell this quiet, almost friendly-looking man everything that had happened and get it over and done with.
But disaster lay that way, didn’t it? Laura was right: innocent people got sent down for things they didn’t do all the time. Telling the truth was no guarantee that you’d be safe.
Instead, he had to follow the plan.
He cleared his throat. ‘I think I should have a solicitor present,’ Simon Jenks said flatly.
Trevor felt his heart sink. That was the last thing he wanted, but he knew he had to tread carefully. ‘You are, entitled to have a solicitor present, sir,’ he said mildly, ‘but I must point out, that, as of this moment, you’re not being charged with anything. We simply want to ask you a few questions with a view to eliminating you from our enquiries.’
Simon took a shaky breath. Yes. That’s just what Laura had said they’d say. But it was all right for her. She had an alibi.
‘Even so, I think I would prefer to have someone with me who knows the ropes. I’ve never been questioned by the police before, and I realize I might be in a … well, in a rather precarious position. Not that I’ve done anything,’ he said, then abruptly stopped. No, he mustn’t let himself be cajoled into speaking. Laura had warned him about that as well.
Slowly, he leaned back in his chair. ‘I have a number that you can ring.’
Trevor smiled blandly. ‘A local number, is it, sir?’ he asked mildly.
Simon frowned then nodded slowly. ‘That’s right.’
‘Only, with you being from up north, I thought your solicitor might have to come down from Leeds or something, but if you already have someone local lined up … well, I think it’s splendid that you had the forethought to find someone else on the doorstep, so to speak.’
Simon paled even further. ‘Laura … Mrs Raines thought it was a good idea,’ he managed to say faintly.
Trevor nodded. Yes. He was beginning to understand now that in this relationship it was definitely the widow who was the driving force, and the one to be reckoned with. Still, it was the lover-boy who’d been seen at the college leaving a dead body behind him. Trevor, although worried by the less-than-emphatic identification by Debbie Dawkins, was nevertheless sure that the man in front of him was the one with all the answers.
Now all he had to do was get them from him.
‘So, if you’d give me your solicitor’s details, we’ll get him down here, shall we?’ Trevor said with a brief smile. ‘I’m sure we’ll have a lot to talk about, so it’s best we get started. Right?’
In her interview room, Laura Raines had not asked for a solicitor. Indeed, Peter Trent had only basic questions for her, mainly confined to confirming that she knew the contents of her husband’s will, and repeating her movements on the day that her husband died.
Most of it was routine, and a question of playing for time whilst his boss got the chance to learn what Simon Jenks had to say for himself. Trent wouldn’t have been human if he hadn’t felt that he’d drawn the short straw.
Whilst the sergeant was exercising patience, Jenny Starling was in hall, looking at a big black stuffed bear. Since Maurice’s opening speech, it had been left standing with its back to a wall, where it was periodically admired by the taxidermists. Even the scouts serving dinner had grown fond of it. The trolley that had wheeled it in had been put away somewhere, but, as Jenny met the brown glass-eyed stare, she nodded.
OK. It all fitted. The bear. The medication found in the coffee cup, which would turn out to be the same sort as that being taken by Maurice Raines’s ailing mother. There had obviously been something on the mobile phone that had excited the police’s interest, and she could make a good educated guess as to what that would be. So either Laura Raines, or her lover, or both, would be arrested for the murder before long, Jenny supposed with a sigh.
The timing of that morning’s scheduling when Maurice Raines was killed was now perfectly understandable under the circumstances, as was the out-of-character behaviour of one of the main players.
Jenny nodded. Yes, it all fitted. She knew exactly who had planned such a meticulous murder, and she could see quite clearly how it was all supposed to have gone down.
The trouble was, not one bit of that knowledge was going to help her in finding out who had killed Maurice Raines or why.
She sighed, patted the bear on his stuffed paw – after all, it was hardly his fault was it? – and went back to her kitchen.
She still had a main course for tonight’s dinner to arrange.
Simon Jenks’s solicitor arrived promptly. He was somewhere in his mid-forties, with a slight paunch, slightly thinning hair, and wore a pair of narrow spectacles. He asked for and was granted some time alone with his client, and then Trevor was allowed back.
This time he had Trent with him and the interview was formally recorded. The inspector knew from the quick debriefing with his sergeant that he’d got nothing of interest from the widow, and that she was now waiting downstairs in the police station’s foyer, fully expecting her boyfriend to be joining her soon. Peter had not been able to tell whether that was bluff on her part, or genuine belief.
It had been agreed between them that Peter Trent would not, at that point, mention finding the mobile phone, or the text message that had been on it. They wanted to spring that, fully formed, on Simon Jenks and see what rewards it would reap.
Now Trevor smiled gently across at the pale-faced photographer, and ‘other man’ in the Raines’s marriage and arranged his thoughts.
‘So, for the record, sir, could I have your full name, address, age and occupation?’ Trevor began.
Simon Jenks coughed, but managed to clearly supply it all.
‘And how long have you known Laura Raines, sir?’ Trevor began gently.
‘Over six months now.’
‘And you are in an intimate relationship with her?’
‘Yes.’
‘You knew she was married?’
‘Yes. But she told me that the marriage was defunct. Her husband regularly had relationships with other women, and divorce was inevitable.’
Trevor nodded. ‘Ah. I understand that it is Mrs Raines who has the money in that marriage?’
Simon flushed, but said flatly, ‘I never knew that until quite late on in our relationship. And that’s nothing to do with me. I mean, it’s no concern of mine. I run my own business. That is, I’m self-employed.’
‘Yes, we know,’ Trevor said pleasantly.
‘Can we please stick to the point, Inspector?’ the solicitor spoke for the first time.
‘Of course,’ Trevor said mildly. ‘Whose idea was it to spend five days in Hayling Island?’ Trevor quoted the dates, and jotted something down in his notebook.
‘Laura. She said her husband was away, so we might as well have a little holiday too.’
Trevor nodded. ‘Have you ever met Maurice Raines?
‘No.’
‘But you know what he looks like?’
For the first time, Simon Jenks looks conf
used. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked nervously.
‘Had you seen the two of them out and about, say, in Harrogate, where you all live? It’s a small town, you might have come across them together in a supermarkets, or in a restaurant? Or had Mrs Raines shown you a photograph of her husband perhaps?’
‘No, of course not,’ Simon said, after a noticeable pause. No doubt he was trying to see where the policeman was going with this, and failing to do so. From the frown on his solicitor’s face, he was wondering the same thing.
Which pleased Trevor Golder considerably. Things had been feeling too glib by far up until now. He had a feeling that Simon Jenks had been following some prearranged pattern, and he needed to break it up.
‘So, if you had passed Maurice Raines on the street, you wouldn’t have known who he was?’ he pressed.
‘No,’ Simon said, a shade reluctantly, Trevor thought.
‘Tell me about your journey from Yorkshire to Hayling Island. A bit of a long haul, that, wasn’t it?’
Simon nodded. ‘It was, but I took it slow and steady.’
‘You must have left early,’ Trevor prompted.
‘Yes.’
‘But you and Mrs Raines decided to drive separately. If you’d gone down together, you could at least have shared spells behind the wheel, couldn’t you?’ he pointed out.
Simon nodded, looking happier. Obviously, this was a question he’d expected and knew the right answer to give.
‘We wanted to have our own separate cars, Inspector, just in case. I might have had to come back earlier, if a job had come through. Being self-employed, I can’t always pick and choose when I work. It would have meant that Laura could have stayed on for the full five days, if that had happened.’
Trevor nodded. ‘I see. And you went straight from Yorkshire to the south coast? You didn’t detour to Oxford? Bearing in mind that traffic cameras are very prevalent nowadays, sir, if I authorize a search for your car number plate, will I find it present in Oxford on the morning of Mr Raines’s death?’
