Dead Suited

by Jean G. Goodhind

  An angry expression clouded Mahon’s face.

  ‘Did it have my name on the back?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then there’s nothing more to be said. I want it back. Now!’

  ‘That’s not possible, sir. The watch is at present in the hands of our forensic people. It was found close to a crime scene. Can you tell us where you were on Thursday the 9th of July?’

  Mahon’s face turned puce.

  ‘What are you insinuating?’

  ‘I’m not insinuating anything, sir,’ said Doherty, his level voice professional and firm. ‘We need to know where you were that night and what your watch was doing lying in the gutter at Beaumont Alley.’

  ‘I lost it of course! The strap broke! This is ridiculous!’

  Honey took a deep breath. To her knowledge the strap had not been broken. She had watched Charlie York taking off his wrist.

  The air was ripe with testosterone.

  ‘The strap of the watch we have in our possession is not broken,’ said Doherty.

  ‘Then perhaps somebody mended it,’ bellowed Mahone. ‘Or perhaps it didn’t break. Perhaps it hitched on something and fell off.’

  ‘In Beaumont Alley. Were you there on the night in question, Mr Mahone.’

  Honey could almost smell the testosterone. The two men were facing each other down, brows furrowed, jaws firmly clenched.

  It wasn’t like Doherty to let somebody get to him. She sensed instant dislike on his part, possibly on Mahone’s part too.

  Honey sighed and shook her head.

  ‘Look guys. This is getting us nowhere. Can we get to the point, please? A watch was found in the gutter and handed to me. It’s a very expensive watch engraved with your name, Mr Mahone. All we need to know is whether you have recently lost such a watch, where you THINK you lost it and can you please identify it to make sure it really is yours.’

  Mahone glared at her from over the ugly lump on the end of his nose.

  ‘Why is this so important?’

  ‘Did you know a man named Nigel Tern?’

  ‘I’ve already admitted I did. I like well fitting clothes,’ he said, his gaze falling over Doherty with ill disguised criticism. Doherty was sporting the usual black leather coat, tee shirt and jeans. As usual he hadn’t had a head to head with his shaving razor for a few days.

  ‘We’re investigating his murder. Your help would be very much appreciated.’

  ‘Will it indeed! And what has this to do with my watch?’

  ‘I would appreciate you answering the question. Where were you on the night of Thursday the 9th?’’

  Doherty was good at hiding his impatience from people who didn’t know him that well. Honey did know him well. He was getting angry – very angry!

  ‘I would have to consult my diary.’

  ‘Can you do that now?’

  ‘My secretary keeps it for me. Her desk is locked and she has the keys with her. Anyway, I really don’t know what this has to do with me. The man made my suits. He was not my friend, merely an acquaintance.’

  Honey could almost hear Doherty counting to ten. He was marking time, being patient. It wouldn’t last. She had to do something.

  ‘As you already know, Nigel Tern was found dead,’ she said in as pacifying a voice as possible. ‘He had a lot of very wealthy and well connected clients. We know, of course, that you are one of them,’ flattered Honey, smiling sweetly and trusting neither of them would take a swing at each other.

  It was hard to tell whether the flattery had worked. Mahone’s heavy jaw, misshapen nose and dead looking eyes gave nothing away. He might just as well have been carved from a ton of whale blubber.

  ‘I have many watches.’ Mahone’s voice sounded as grim as his expression. ‘Mr Tern’s death has nothing to do with me.’

  ‘We didn’t say it did,’ said Honey, persisting in her sweet tone and smile. ‘But as a customer, and seeing as your watch...’

  ‘Mr Mahone, where were you on the night of Thursday the ninth of July...’

  ‘That is none of your business...’

  ‘Mr Mahone. I am a police officer. It is my business. I would appreciate you giving me this information on a voluntary basis. We would appreciate your help.’

  The carbuncle on the billionaire’s nose seemed to pulsate and redden. Honey suspected his anger would get the better of him. Somehow she would prefer to leave before it did.

  As a civilian it wasn’t her place to ask questions, but there was nothing to stop her from making general comments.

  She turned this way and that as though overawed by the modern decor and over the top lighting.

  ‘This is a lovely place, Mr Mahone. You’re very lucky to live here. How long ago did you come to England?’

  He blinked and looked at her as though he’d just woken up. There hadn’t been much time to do research before charging out here, but Lindsey was quicker than most people in finding things out.

  Gunther Mahone was supposed to be of Russian descent, his fortune based on what he’d managed to squirrel away when the Soviet regime had fallen. Rumour had it that he’d picked his name out of a telephone directory. It certainly wasn’t Russian.

  Doherty showed him the photograph. Gunther barely glanced at it.

  ‘It is not my watch.’

  ‘But it has your name on the back.’ Doherty showed him the second photograph.

  ‘No. You are mistaken. It is not mine.’

  Honey was tempted to exchange a look of surprise with Doherty, but she controlled herself. She knew beyond doubt that he too had controlled himself. The billionaire’s answer was not what they’d expected. They both knew he was lying.

  ‘Mr Mahone, you are saying that you have not lost this watch? May I point out that when I phoned and asked about it, your secretary confirmed to me that you had lost a watch.’

  ‘I suspect it was stolen from me and it was the thief who dropped it.’

  ‘So it is your watch.’

  ‘I don’t want it back. It has been sullied by a thief.’

  ‘Is it your watch or isn’t it?’

  ‘Are you deaf, inspector? Yes. It is mine, but I did not lose it. I did not visit my tailor on the day or night in question.’

  ‘Can you tell me where you were?’

  ‘Yes. I was visiting my daughter’s school. It is a private school. I pay very big fees. I like to know where my money goes.’

  ‘Is that where you lost your watch?’

  The big man shrugged. ‘It could have been. It does not matter. I can buy another. Whoever found it can keep it.’

  ‘The man who found it can keep it?’

  Doherty looked bemused.

  Mahone eyed him over puffy cheeks. ‘That is what I have just said. Now please. I am a very busy man. I will wish you good night and you will leave my home.’

  ‘Mr Mahone, the watch is very valuable. If it was stolen, then surely you would wish to give me the details and I can investigate.’

  ‘I do not know who stole it. Neither do I know where it was stolen. I never noticed it missing. See? I am wearing another one. I have many watches. Very expensive watches.’

  ‘Can you not tell us when you think it might have been taken? And by whom?’

  ‘I have just told you!’

  There was a noticeable rumble in the other man’s voice, like thunder sounding in the distance.

  Honey could almost feel the vibrations of his vocal chords. She also detected waves of anger coming from Doherty. The man was lying. They knew he was lying.

  ‘Mr Mahone. I still cannot believe that you would not have noticed when the watch went missing,’ began Doherty.

  ‘I have told you I have many watches. I can afford to buy whatever watch I want. I make more money in an hour than a policeman earns in a year!’

  ‘I will need to check your alibi. I want the address of your daughter’s school.’

  ‘I will have my secretary ring you. In the morning. Now goodnight. I wish to go to b
ed.’

  Whilst Doherty clenched his fists, fighting to control his rage, Gunther pressed something out of sight, a button beneath the lip of his desk.

  The door opened. The bodyguard appeared.

  ‘See these people off the premises.’

  ‘No matter,’ said Honey, thinking on her feet. ‘A few tests should reveal enough DNA on the reverse of the watch face and strap to reveal who last wore it. I take it your DNA is on a database somewhere, Mr Mahon.’

  The fact was that if there was DNA from the last wearer on the strap and reverse of the watch, it would be Charlie Yorks’.

  ‘Get out!’

  Mahone’s voice was laced with anger, his eyes black with menace.

  Half way to the door, Doherty turned back round to face him.

  ‘We’ll wait until we have the DNA results and come back to you.’

  ‘I will not see you. I will give instructions that you will not be allowed in.’

  ‘Then I will have to insist that you come down to police headquarters to be formally interviewed. I would suggest you come by taxi. Bath traffic wardens are not very keen on limousines taking up space in no waiting zones.’

  Mahone turned his back and headed towards what looked like a wall. At his approach a panel slid open. Once he was through it, the panel slid over and covered the opening.

  Doherty followed the bodyguard out to the car.

  ‘He’s lying,’ said Honey as Doherty started the engine.

  ‘Of course he is.’

  ‘He was there in that alley and it wasn’t to get measured for a hacking jacket. If he had been, he would have claimed back his watch.’

  Raindrops spattered the windscreen. Doherty switched on the wipers.

  ‘He’s not a man who walks far. We have a pretty good chance of finding out the truth. The residents of the flat in Beaumont Alley may have seen something plus I noticed there are a few security cameras dotted round about. There is also the woman Grace Pauling had an argument with. I think both women had a thing for the deceased, though Grace Pauling is saying nothing. It might be nothing, but we’ll call in on the other woman – whatever her name is. As for our friend, Mr Mahon, from the information we have, I know he has more than one car – all very upmarket of course and most of the time he’s driven round by a chauffeur. Limousines do tend to stand out in a crowd. So too do top of the range Ferraris, Porsches’ etc., We might get something – that’s besides the DNA of course.’

  ‘You mean it’s really possible,’ said Honey, excited at the prospect. ‘That’s wonderful! It makes me feel so grownup!’

  ‘You are grownup, Honey. I can vouch for that fact,’ Doherty replied with a mischievous grin. ‘However, we don’t know for sure that Mr Mahon’s DNA was ever taken and kept on a Soviet database. We can hope, but...’ He shook his head.

  ‘We have to nail him,’ said Honey.

  ‘For losing a watch?’

  Honey’s excitement dwindled. Gunther Mahon had lost a watch, but what did that prove?

  ‘He could have lost it at any time,’ said Doherty. ‘We need to speak to Mr Barrington. They have some kind of appointment book there. If Mr Mahon was there during the day, he would be in that diary.’

  She frowned as she thought it through.

  ‘That watch. I don’t believe the thief story. I think he was there in Beaumont Alley.’

  ‘But when and why? Even if he admits it was his instead of this foolishness about it having been stolen, there’s no proving when he lost or had it stolen. He could easily say the thief dropped it and therefore the thief also murdered Nigel Tern.’

  ‘But do you believe that?’

  Doherty shook his head. ‘Of course not. The question we need to ask is what would his motive be for killing Nigel Tern?’

  ‘He sold him an ill fitting jacket?’

  ‘Don’t be facetious.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Edwina Cayford tucked the plaid blanket around Arnold Tern’s legs.

  ‘That’s better. You’ll be a lot warmer now.’

  ‘I can hardly move,’ Arnold grumbled. ‘All you nurse’s are the same. You tuck a man in so tight, he can’t move a thing.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s a good thing,’ said Edwina, fixing him with a wry smile. ‘It gives me chance to keep out of arm’s length, you naughty man!’

  The old man chuckled. His eyes glittered.

  He had been ill for some time, but Edwina wasn’t fooled. She had come to the conclusion that the stronger he got the more he attempted to make up for lost time. A lot of old men got to be gropers as they got older and were convinced they could get away with it just because they were old. Given half the chance his hands would be everywhere. She was thankful she’d never been within his grasp when he’d been younger, but then she’d been younger too. One failed marriage, three kids and she was now without a man and enjoying it.

  Arnold Tern’s eyes were still twinkling. ‘How’s your love life, Edwina my dear?’

  Edwina threw him a knowing look, her smile wiped from her face.

  ‘None of your business, Mr Arnold.’

  ‘Are you saying you don’t have a boyfriend or that you don’t want one?’

  ‘Both. I can do without a man in my life; much too time consuming and demanding. I need to relax when I get home after work whether it’s here or at the hospital. I prefer to put my feet up and watch television.’

  ‘Isn’t there anything or anyone you’d really like to have with you?’

  Edwina grinned. ‘Not a man, Mr Tern. I’d prefer a new television.’ She sighed heavily as she straightened the cushions on the handsome settee, a faraway look in her eyes. ‘Never mind a nice looking man I’d prefer a thirty two inch television with remote control and access to Sky TV. Perhaps a new DVD, but a new TV would be best.’

  ‘I think I’d like to sit in the conservatory a while.’

  Edwina could tell by his clipped tone that he was no longer listening to her.

  She tore herself away from her daydream about a new television and glanced past the old man out into the conservatory. Sunshine and clouds were the forecast for today. The conservatory was presently bathed in sunlight.

  ‘That’s a very good idea, Mr Tern. It looks sunny out there. You should be warm enough.’

  ‘I know that!’

  She was used to him snapping at her like a bad tempered turtle so took no notice. She opened the door so he could wheel himself out, but he didn’t.

  ‘I’m feeling weak today,’ he said, his hands hanging listlessly on his lap. ‘I’d like you to push me out.’

  ‘Just out into the conservatory?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Not over a cliff.’ One side of her lips curled up in a half smile.

  ‘You’re a dutiful woman, Edwina. You wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘You know me too well.’

  Unseen by him, she pulled a face as she wheeled him out into the conservatory.

  Sometimes the old man made her exasperated. Sometimes he made her laugh. He had a dark sense of humour that she’d always taken with a pinch of salt. Just lately she’d wondered if he really meant some of the wicked things he said. His son was a case in point. He’d stated categorically that he’d always expected him to come to a sticky end. What was even worse in her opinion was that he hadn’t shed a tear. Not one.

  ‘Would you like something to read?’ she asked. ‘A cup of tea? Something to eat?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then I’ll go. I need to vacuum and dust your bedroom before I go.’

  ‘I would like my spectacles.’

  ‘I’ll get them.’

  ‘And my mobile phone, plus that newspaper you brought with you this morning.’

  Edwina stopped in her tracks. ‘I thought you didn’t want anything to read.’

  ‘That isn’t reading,’ he said grimly. ‘Reading that rag is nothing but a skirmish with the English language. The printing isn’t too hot either. The pictures are grainy and it’s
full of advertisements for restaurants, hairdressers and flea markets.’

  Edwina sighed. She could have disputed his statement, but he’d taken up enough of her time this morning. There was still some ironing to do and laundry to transfer from the washing machine to the tumble drier.

  After fetching and giving him everything he’d asked for, she left the door to the conservatory slightly ajar.

  ‘Shout if you need me.’

  The laundry needed her attention now, but she would still hear him if he called out.

  Once he was sure he was alone, Arnold Tern put on his spectacles and scanned the advertisements in the Bath Chronicle. It didn’t take long to find a full page advertisement for a supplier of electrical equipment. Placing the newspaper on his lap, he dialled the number. Eventually, after pressing a few buttons that took him to the sales department, he placed his order. Luckily he knew the details of his debit card off by heart. He also knew Edwina’s address off by heart. The one thing he had always had and still held onto despite his age was a formidable memory.

  Edwina took a look in at him shortly after he’d finished his phone call. She was glad to see he was asleep. She could get on with what she had to do without interruption. First on her hit list was his bedroom. It was in need of a good clean and polish and luckily she’d left the vacuum up there.

  It wasn’t her habit to begin upstairs first, but she had more than one reason for going up there.

  Reassuring herself that her mobile phone was still in her pocket, she climbed the stairs. The vacuum cleaner awaited her on the landing. She pushed it along and into Mr Tern’s room.

  After plugging it in, she went back to the bedroom door, poked her head out and listened. All was peace. Mr Tern was still asleep.

  Still feeling a little nervous at what she was about to do, she half closed the bedroom door tiptoed across the floor and sat down in a Victorian nursing chair upholstered in pink velour. The chair was strategically placed in the curve of the bay window. The window let in plenty of light. She had no trouble tapping in the number, but still her stomach churned. She’d never phoned the police about anything. On the contrary, in the past it was usually them contacting her, turning up on the doorstep. She had two sons and a daughter. Her daughter was married and respectable. Her sons, both younger than her daughter, were another matter.