(2011) Only the Innocent (13 page)

‘Don’t you get on with Jessica?’

‘She’s okay. A bit posh for the likes of me, though.’

‘And how did you like working for Sir Hugo?’

‘It was all right, really. He was a bit up himself, but it was great to tell everybody that I worked for a ‘sir’ - and he was surprisingly good about it when I got carried away in Harvey Nick’s and didn’t get back on time after my lunch. As long as I made the time up, of course. He was better than Jessica, anyway. She gets so cross if we’ve run out of paperclips or anything. Anybody would think it’s the end of the world!’

‘Tell me about his diaries, Rosie. Did he put personal stuff in, or just his appointments?’

‘I have to say he was a real pain about his diaries. He wouldn’t have a personal organiser. I tried to get him a Blackberry, but he wouldn’t have it. He likes things he can touch - or liked, I suppose I should say. So I had his diary on my computer, and then I had to copy it all out - word for bloody word - into his desk diary, which was enormous. A huge leather thing. He had one for every year, with a great big page for each day. There were only ever a few lines on each page - just his appointments. But he kept them for years.

‘Anyway, it’s my job to make sure the two diaries tally, and then each day I have to produce yet another version - a typed itinerary of his movements for the day, with all the phone numbers, addresses, times and types of appointments. He would only use technology when he had absolutely no choice. Computer? “Get thee behind me, Satan”, he would say - and he wasn’t smiling when he said it! He did have a mobile phone though, and he never went anywhere without that - but I had to programme in any useful numbers - which mainly amounted to the office, his home, and a limo service to be honest.’

‘His mobile phone? Where would he have kept that, Rosie? We certainly haven’t found one.’

‘He had a leather document wallet. He kept his itinerary, meeting notes, and phone in it. He wouldn’t put the phone in his pocket because it would have spoilt the cut of his suit, and we couldn’t have that, could we?’

Becky was aware that Hugo’s document wallet had indeed been found, although the itinerary only listed the appointments for the day before his murder. They were being checked, but didn’t seem suspicious. There was definitely no phone.

‘Do you know anything about Sir Hugo that would suggest that he was having an affair, Rosie?’

‘Well, there’s one thing that’s a little odd and it could mean that. But I don’t know. I could be reading too much into it.’

‘Go on.’

‘Every now and again he has an odd entry in his desk diary. It just says ‘LMF’. Sometimes it’s just for one day, sometimes a couple of days, sometimes just an overnight. He won’t tell me what the appointments are, but he won’t change them. Not for any reason at all. When I ask what LMF stands for he just smiles and says it means ‘Leave me free’. But I don’t believe that for a minute, because even I know it’s not brilliant English. He’s more likely to say ‘I’m temporarily unavailable’ or something.’

‘Could the F stand for Fletcher? Perhaps he goes to see somebody in the family with those initials?’

‘Could be - but nobody that I’ve ever heard of. That means nothing, though. He wouldn’t tell me, would he? I thought at first the L might stand for Laura - but I book flights for her, so I know she hasn’t got a middle name.’

‘What about his relationship with Jessica. Was that good?’

‘She worships the ground he walks on. But sadly for her, he treats her like his PA. I’ve never for a minute thought that he fancied her or anything.’

Becky thought for a moment. If they were having a relationship, Hugo could just have been a better actor than Jessica. But this LMF sounded promising too.

‘Did Jessica not know what these meetings were? She seemed to pride herself on knowing everything about Sir Hugo.’ Becky said, unable to resist the small dig.

‘I’ve asked her, and she hasn’t got a clue either. I always thought it might be another woman, but Jessica says it’s none of our business. Perhaps if we’d
made
it our business we’d be able to help you now. Whatever his little quirks, he didn’t deserve to die.’

Sensing that a new bout of tears was imminent, Becky decided to wrap things up.

‘Okay, thanks Rosie. If you do have any other ideas, please do let me know. However trivial you think something is, please tell us. Okay?’

*

Becky recounted both of the conversations to Tom as they made their way from London to Oxfordshire. For most of the journey, Tom had listened intently - when not complaining about Sunday drivers. She’d told him that she was happy to drive, but he had insisted for some reason.

‘You did well, Becky. It’s interesting that the only girl that seems to have gone missing in the last couple of weeks has been found. Perhaps that rules out a theory, but not necessarily. Let’s get the interview with Laura over with, and I need to speak to Imogen too, and then I can go and see the ex-wife - who by all accounts is something of a charmless individual.’

‘I have to tell you, Tom, I don’t like Jessica. There’s something about her that I just don’t trust. We shouldn’t ignore her in all this. She was all over Hugo like a rash, it would seem. We have to check if she was his mistress.’

Tom nodded, but at that moment they swung through the gates of Ashbury Park, and made their way up the drive. They both looked at the grey, gloomy house through the even more gloomy shrubbery. The long approach to the house was bordered with tall trees that disappeared into dense woodland, under planted along the driveway with overgrown rhododendrons which might look pretty in flower, but at this time in October just added to the general dreariness and darkness of the approach. Becky shivered and saw Tom glance at her.

‘You know, Becky, this house gives me the creeps. It should be really beautiful, but everything is so dark. The trees seem almost threatening, and the windows seem lifeless, as if there is nothing but emptiness behind them. It’s got no soul.’

Tom was right. This was definitely not a happy house, and Becky couldn’t think why Laura had never done anything to make it more of a home.

***

The girl woke suddenly from a fitful doze. She was afraid of sleeping properly. She was afraid that something would happen to her whilst she slept - something that she couldn’t control. Unsure of what had woken her, she opened her eyes in panic. Had he come? Was he here, in the room? Or had he been and gone whilst she slept?

But there was nothing. No sign that anybody had been. There was no more food, no more water, and the bed was undisturbed. She was sure that if he’d been, the bed would have been disturbed.

Then she heard a noise. It was a tapping sound, coming from the window behind her. She tried to turn her head, but realised that her neck was locked. She was desperate to turn. Perhaps somebody was trying to get in. Perhaps somebody had found her. What was wrong with her neck?

Her hands went to her throat, and then she felt it. It was the chain. During her sleep she must have twisted her body, and this was the result. The tapping stopped before she was able to turn her head. She cried out with frustration. Finally she freed herself and managed to turn towards the window. But there was nothing there.

She covered her face with her hands, fighting back the tears. Then she heard it again. Relief flooded through her and she uncovered her eyes.

But it was nothing more than a blue tit, sitting on the ledge and tapping away at the window.

Despair swept through her, and so far was she removed from reality that she failed to grasp the fact that no human hand could have touched a window so high above the ground.

Imogen poked her head around the bathroom door, where Laura was still lying in the bath, lost in her own thoughts. She looked at her friend and felt sad when she saw for herself how much weight Laura had lost over the years. She still had a good figure - no doubt many people would say it was an improvement - but personally she thought her previous curvaceous shape was more suited to her vibrant character. Mind you, she thought, perhaps the new body was better matched to the new personality. Would she ever get back to the old Laura?

‘Hey Laura,’ she said softly. ‘I really hate to disturb you honey, but the police are here again. I’m happy to entertain them for a while, particularly the chief inspector, but I know they want to talk to you. How long do you think you’ll be?’

Laura seemed relieved to be roused from her thoughts.

‘I’ll be about ten minutes. Can you cope until then, Imo? Is Alexa still asleep?’

‘Yes and yes. Don’t look so worried, Laura. I know what I can and can’t say. Horrible Hannah has gone for a walk and Alexa is fast asleep. Let’s hope the poor kid stays that way until the police have gone.’

With that, Imogen made her way back downstairs to where the police were waiting in the drawing room.

‘Laura will be a few minutes, so can I get anybody a drink?’

‘Actually, Mrs Kennedy, we’d like to take this opportunity to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind?’

Imogen felt a slight tremor in her stomach, and wondered if everybody felt like this when interviewed by the police. She indicated that the policemen should take a seat on the sofa, and sat herself in what she hoped appeared to be a relaxed pose in a wingback chair next to the fireplace, with her feet tucked under her.

‘I’ll do whatever I can, Chief Inspector, although I’m not sure there’s much I can help you with.’ Tom smiled at her, and she couldn’t help thinking again what an attractive man he was. Not her sort, though; she only had one sort, and he was a stroppy, difficult and principled idiot off in the wilds of Africa.

‘We don’t know much about you, Mrs Kennedy. All we know is that you were married to Lady Fletcher’s brother and you weren’t given a particularly warm welcome when you arrived. Can you explain why that was, please?’

Imogen was relieved that this was such an easy question to answer with honesty.

‘When Laura’s brother and I divorced, it was felt better that I didn’t see Laura again.’

Now the young woman police officer, whose name if she remembered correctly was Becky, decided to intervene.

‘I was chatting a little to Lady Fletcher this morning, and she mentioned in passing that she’d known you since you were both children. Was your divorce so acrimonious that you couldn’t stay in touch with your friend?’

Imogen smiled. ‘I suspect you’re too young to have been divorced, aren’t you? Well, for the record it is very difficult for anybody - family or friends - to stay in touch with both parties. Unless it’s entirely amicable, people feel an obligation to take sides and it’s human nature for family to side with family. Somebody is always, rightly or wrongly, perceived as the bad guy, and in this case it was me.’ Imogen noticed a wry smile on Tom’s face, which she thought was both interesting and revealing.

‘And what about your relationship with Sir Hugo, Mrs Kennedy. Did he think it appropriate for you to break off communication with his wife?’ Imogen nearly laughed out loud.

‘I think he thought it was for the best, yes.’

‘What did you make of Sir Hugo? Did you like him?’

‘I didn’t really know him very well. I met him for the first time at their wedding. That was the first time that any of us met him, in fact. I probably saw him another couple of times, and then Will and I separated.’

She saw that Tom Douglas was watching her very carefully. He was clearly a smart one, and she thought he would know if she lied to him.

‘You didn’t answer my question, Mrs Kennedy. Did you like him?’

In an attempt to disarm him, Imogen beamed at him.

‘Please call me Imogen. I know Laura has asked you to dispense with the formalities. And with regard to Hugo, I wasn’t desperately keen, if I’m honest.’

‘Can you tell me why not?’

Imogen paused to give this what she thought would be the right level of consideration.

‘I didn’t think he was much fun. He was quite serious, and he seemed to want Laura to himself. She was very popular and full of life, and I felt that potentially he would stifle her.’

‘And did he?’

‘Difficult for me to say, really. As I’ve said, it wasn’t long after that before Will and I split up, so I never came here again.’

‘Did you really lose touch completely, Mrs Kennedy? I find it hard to believe that you would rush to the side of somebody you hadn’t seen for several years just because you heard their husband had died. We didn’t even know it was murder at that point. So why
did
you come exactly?’

Imogen took a deep breath, not missing the formal mode of address that he had used. This wasn’t going as well as she’d hoped.

‘I was at the airport when I heard. I was en route back to Canada, and I was watching the news in the British Airways Executive Lounge at Heathrow airport. It came up as ‘breaking news’. Heathrow is pretty close to here, so I raced out and grabbed a cab. Paid the driver extra to get me here as fast as possible. An impulsive decision, but I’d missed Laura so much over the years and I thought I could help her.’

‘You say you were en route to Canada. From where? Can you please tell me exactly where you were on Saturday morning?’

Imogen kept her tone light.

‘Yes. I’d been in Cannes at an exhibition. I work for an animation company in Canada, and was in France promoting our services. It was an important event for us.’

‘I’ve been to Cannes, actually,’ Tom said. ‘It’s quite a place. I presume the exhibition was at the Palais des Festivals. Which hotel did you stay at?’

Imogen knew he wasn’t asking out of idle curiosity.

‘I stayed at the Majestic. A lot of people go for the Martinique, but it gets a bit noisy for me and I prefer a good night’s sleep. The Majestic’s an excellent hotel - not quite so overbearingly smart as the Carlton - and it’s very close to the Palais. I left Cannes around mid-morning on Friday, and drove to Paris. I flew into Heathrow on Saturday afternoon.’

Imogen was conscious that she was probably giving far more information than was strictly necessary.