A Certain Justice (24 page)

The brimmed hat made it difficult to see her face clearly, but then she looked up and her eyes met his. They were mild but intelligent, set beneath strong straight brows darker than the glimpse of grey hair under the hat. She was older than he had expected, certainly over sixty. Her face, devoid of make-up, was lined, but the jaw was still strong. It was, he thought, an interesting face but one which might defeat an Identikit to identify from a million others. She was holding herself with a controlled stillness, willing herself to contain the fear and distress which momentarily he saw in her eyes. He saw something else there too. For a fleeting second there was a tinge of shame or disgust.

He said: “I’m sorry we had to bring you back so urgently and, no doubt, so inconveniently. Inspector Miskin has told you that Miss Aldridge is dead?”

“She didn’t say how.” The voice, deeper than he expected, was not unattractive.

“We believe Miss Aldridge was murdered. We can’t know until the post-mortem how exactly she died or the approximate time of her death, but it must have been sometime last night. Could you tell us what precisely happened here from the time you arrived? When was that?”

“Eight-thirty. It’s always eight-thirty. I work Monday, Wednesday and Friday from then until ten.”

“Alone?”

“No, normally with Mrs. Watson. She should have been here yesterday but Miss Elkington telephoned just after six o’clock to say that Mrs. Watson’s married son had been involved in a road accident and was badly injured. She left at once for Southampton, where the family live.”

“Did anyone except you and Miss Elkington know that you’d be working on your own yesterday night?”

“I don’t see how they could know. Miss Elkington rang me as soon as she got the message. It was too late to find a substitute, so she told me to do what I could. Obviously she would make a deduction in the Chambers’ monthly bill.”

“So you arrived at the usual time. By what entrance?”

“The Judges’ Gate at Devereux Court. I have a key to the gate. I take the tube from Earls Court to the Temple station.”

“Did you see anyone you recognized?”

“Only Mr. Burch coming from Middle Temple Lane. He’s Senior Clerk at Lord Collingford’s Chambers. He sometimes works late and when I see him leaving we’ve got used to greeting each other. He said good-night. There was no one else.”

“And what happened when you got to Pawlet Court?”

There was a silence. Dalgliesh had been watching Mrs. Carpenter’s hands. Her body was still but her left hand had been methodically stretching the fingers of her gloves, finger by finger. Now she ceased this fidgeting, raised her head and gazed past him with the concentrated frown of someone trying to recall a complicated series of events. He waited patiently, aware of Kate and Piers sitting equally silent each side of the door. It had only been yesterday, after all. There was something histrionic about this apparently careful attempt at recollection.

Then she said: “There were no lights showing in any of the rooms when I arrived; only a light in the hall. That’s generally left on. I unlocked the front door. The alarm hadn’t been set but that didn’t worry me. Sometimes the last person in Chambers forgets to set it. Everything else seemed usual. There is a secure entry device on the door to the reception and through to the clerk’s office. I know the combination. Mr. Naughton tells me in advance when it’s going to be changed, but they only do that about once a year. It’s easier for everyone if they keep the same combination of numbers.”

Easier, but hardly an effective safeguard, thought Dalgliesh, although he wasn’t surprised. Security systems installed with enthusiastic zeal seldom survived the first six months of conscientious use.

Mrs. Carpenter went on: “Another three doors have similar devices, but most members of Chambers don’t bother to use them. They each have keys to the front door and a key to the outer and inner doors of their rooms. Mr. Langton dislikes seeing security systems on the doors and so does — so did — Miss Aldridge.”

“Did you see Miss Aldridge?”

“No. There was no one in Chambers, at least no one I saw or heard. Sometimes one of the lawyers or Mr. Naughton will work late, and then I leave their rooms till last, hoping to get in when they leave. But yesterday they had all left. At least, I thought they had all left.”

“What about Miss Aldridge’s room?”

“The outer door was locked. I thought, of course, that she’d already gone home and locked up after herself. She used to do that occasionally if she wanted to leave out private or important papers. Of course, it meant that her room didn’t get cleaned, but I don’t think a little dust worries lawyers. Some of them aren’t very tidy, either. You have to get used to their ways if you have the job of cleaning Chambers.”

“And you are sure there was no light visible from the room?”

“Quite sure. I’d have noticed when I arrived. Her room’s at the front. The only light on was the one in the hall. I turned that off when I left, after I’d set the alarm.”

“In what order did you clean the rooms? Perhaps it would be best if you talk us through your routine.”

“I fetched my duster and polish from the cupboard in the basement. As Mrs. Watson wasn’t with me I decided just to go over the floors with the carpet-sweeper and leave the vacuum cleaning. I saw to the carpet in the reception room and dusted and tidied there first. After that I cleaned the clerk’s room. All that only took about twenty minutes, then I went upstairs and swept and dusted the rooms which were open. That’s when I discovered that Miss Aldridge’s room on the first floor was locked.”

“What other rooms couldn’t you get into?”

“Only hers and Mr. Costello’s on the second floor.”

“You heard no noise from either?”

“Nothing. If anyone was inside they had the light off and were very quiet. Last of all I went down to the basement and into Mr. Ulrick’s room. I always do the basement last. There’s nothing down there but Mr. Ulrick’s room, the ladies’ lavatory and the storeroom.”

“Was it your job to clean Mr. Ulrick’s refrigerator?”

“Oh yes, he likes me to clear it out occasionally and to see on Friday that nothing is left to get stale over the weekend. He uses it mostly for his milk, sometimes for his sandwiches and for his Malvern water and ice. If he buys food for his dinner he’ll keep it in the fridge until he goes home. Mr. Ulrick is fastidious about cleanliness and freshness. Sometimes he keeps a bottle of white wine in it, but not often. And, of course, he’s got his pouch of blood stored there ready for when he’s called in for his operation. The blood’s in a plastic bag, rather like a transparent hot-water bottle. I would have had quite a shock if he hadn’t warned me.”

“When did you first see the blood?”

“On Monday. He left a note on his desk addressed to me. It said: ‘The blood in my refrigerator is for my operation. Please don’t touch.’ It was considerate of him to warn me, but it still gave me quite a shock. I thought the blood would be in bottles, not in a plastic pouch. Of course, he didn’t need to tell me not to touch. I never touch papers, for example, even to tidy them, except the journals in the reception room. I certainly wouldn’t touch anyone’s blood.”

Dalgliesh didn’t pause before asking the crucial question and his voice, carefully neutral, gave no hint of its importance. “Was the pouch of blood in the refrigerator yesterday night?”

“Well, it must have been, mustn’t it? Mr. Ulrick hasn’t had the operation yet. I didn’t look into the fridge yesterday. Because Mrs. Watson wasn’t at work I had a struggle to get through the essentials. I knew I’d be clearing out the fridge on Friday anyway. Is there some problem? Isn’t the blood there now? Are you saying someone has stolen it? That’s extraordinary, surely. It wouldn’t be of any use except to Mr. Ulrick, would it?”

Dalgliesh didn’t explain. He said: “Mrs. Carpenter, I want you to think very carefully. While you were cleaning Chambers could anyone already here, perhaps in one of the locked rooms, have left the building without your noticing?”

Again there was that concentrated frown, then she said: “I think I would have noticed when I was cleaning the reception room. I had the door open and even if someone passed down the hall unnoticed, I think I would have heard the front door close. It’s very heavy. I’m not sure about the time when I was cleaning the clerk’s room. Someone could have left unnoticed then, I suppose. And of course, if anyone had been in Mr. Ulrick’s room or anywhere in the basement they could have left while I was cleaning the upper floors.”

She paused, then said: “There is one thing I’ve just remembered. I don’t know whether it’s important. There must have been a woman in Chambers not long before I arrived.”

“How can you be sure of that, Mrs. Carpenter?”

“Because someone had been using the ladies’ lavatory in the basement. The basin was still damp and the soap was lying in a pool of water and was very wet. I’ve been meaning to bring in a soap dish for the ladies’ lavatory. If the users don’t wipe the basin after use — and, of course, they never do — the soap is usually left dissolving in a pool of water beside the tap and it’s very wasteful.”

Dalgliesh said: “How wet was the basin? Did you gain the impression it had been used very recently?”

“Well, it wasn’t a hot night, was it? So it wouldn’t dry very quickly. But the soak-away isn’t working very efficiently either. The water takes a long time to drain. I’ve spoken to Miss Caldwell and Mr. Naughton about getting a plumber, but they haven’t done anything about it yet. I think there was about half an inch of water in the bottom of the basin. I remember thinking at the time that Miss Aldridge must have used the room just before she left. She often worked late on a Wednesday. But, then, Miss Aldridge didn’t leave, did she?”

“No,” said Dalgliesh, “Miss Aldridge didn’t leave.”

He said nothing about the full-bottomed wig. It had been important to ask whether she had opened the fridge and seen the blood, but the less she knew about the details of Venetia Aldridge’s death the better.

Dalgliesh thanked her for her help and let her go. She had sat through the interrogation with the docility of an applicant for a job, and now left as quietly and with as much careful dignity as she had come in with. But Dalgliesh sensed her relief in the more confident gait, the almost imperceptible relaxation of the shoulders. An interesting witness. She hadn’t even asked directly how Venetia Aldridge had died. She had been totally without the ghoulish curiosity, the mixture of excitement and spurious horror so often found in those innocently caught up in murder. Violent death, like most disasters, afforded its satisfactions to those who were neither victim nor suspect. She was certainly intelligent enough to know that she had to be on his list of suspects, at least at this early stage. That alone could account for the nervousness. He wondered which of his colleagues, Kate or Piers, would say how much she differed from the usual image of a London daily cleaning woman. Probably neither. Both knew his dislike of that unthinking stereotyping of a witness which was as inimical to good policing as it was demeaning to the infinite variety of human life.

Piers spoke first. “She looks after her hands, doesn’t she? You wouldn’t guess that she earns her living cleaning. Wears rubber gloves, I suppose. Hardly significant, though, the gloves, I mean. Her prints can legitimately be found all over Chambers. Did you think she was telling the truth, sir?”

“The usual mixture, I think, some truth, some untruth, some things left unsaid. She’s hiding something.”

He had learned to be as wary of intuition as he was of superficial judgements, but it was hardly possible to be a long-serving detective officer and not know when a witness was lying. It wasn’t always suspicious or even significant. Nearly everyone had something to hide. And it was optimistic to expect the whole truth at a first interview. A wise suspect answered questions and kept his counsel; only the naïve confused a police officer with a social worker.

Kate said: “It’s a pity she didn’t open that fridge, assuming, of course, that she was telling the truth. Odd that she didn’t ask why we were so interested in Ulrick’s blood. But if she did take it, then it was probably safer for her to say that she never looked in the fridge than to say that she did and the blood wasn’t there. But if the blood hadn’t been there, then at least we could be certain that Aldridge was dead in her room before Mrs. Carpenter arrived.”

Piers said: “That’s going a bit far. She could have been killed any time after she was last seen and the blood poured over her later. Two things we can be certain of, though: whoever decorated the corpse so dramatically knew where the full-bottomed wig was kept and knew that there was Ulrick’s blood in that fridge. Mrs. Carpenter must have known about the wig and she admits she knew about the blood.”

Dalgliesh turned to Kate. “How did she take the news when you and Robbins broke it to her? Was she alone?”

“Yes, sir. She was in a small top-floor flat, one sitting-room, and one bedroom, I think, but we didn’t get any further than the sitting-room. She was alone and had her coat and hat on ready to go out to shop. I showed her my warrant card and gave her the bare facts, that Miss Aldridge had been found dead, apparently murdered, and that it would be helpful if she could come back to Chambers and answer some questions. She was very shocked. She looked at me for a second as if she thought I was mad, then went very pale and swayed. I put out a hand to support her and led her to a chair. She sat down for a few minutes, but recovered quickly. After that she seemed perfectly in control.”

“Did you think that the murder was news to her? I realize that it’s hardly a fair question.”

“Yes, sir. Yes, I did. I think Robbins will say the same.”

“And she asked no questions?”

“Neither in the flat nor on the way here. She just said, ‘I’m ready, Inspector. I can start right away.’ We didn’t speak on the journey — oh, I did ask if she was all right and she said she was. She sat in the car with her hands folded in her lap looking down at them. She gave the impression of thinking.”

Sergeant Robbins put his head around the door.