Cold Coffin (16 page)

“Mr. Hampton, it’s Mrs. Maddox here. Listen, I’m sorry I’ve not been able to get out to Ingram’s Green before this, but I’m just on my way.”

“I’m sorry, too,” he said in a doom-laden voice. “But it
is
past the agreed deadline, Mrs. Maddox. I’ve just this second put the phone down from telling the other party that their offer is accepted. So you see ...”

Kate hung up on him without saying a word. Sod the bloody man, sod Jolly Joliffe, sod this job. Sod everything! After that it was damn near impossible to give her attention to the pile of reports on her desk. When her door opened several minutes later after a perfunctory knock, she glared up at the intruder with hostility.

“What do
you
want, Don?”

“No need to snap my head off, Kate love.” Inspector Trotton smirked at her, looking pleased with himself. “I’m the bearer of glad tidings.”

“Oh? What?”

“Case solved,” he said, sliding a file aside and perching on the edge of her desk. “Our little break-in yesterday. We’ve nabbed the chummies responsible. They hadn’t even unloaded the haul from the back of their car, the silly beggars.”

“You’ve been able to identify it as definitely coming from Milford Grange?”

“Sure thing. That woman you sent was able to give us a good description of a number of articles she reckoned were missing, and they tally with what we found in the car.”

“Woman?” Kate said. “Do you mean Mrs. Kimberley? That was quick work. I only asked her just before lunch today.”

“She came with her husband. He said it was a convenient time and that they’d be busy later. She had a good look round the house and made a list for us.”

“Oh, well, I’m glad it’s worked out. Listen, Don, go and ring Jolly. He’ll be at home by now. It’ll be the cherry on the top for his weekend. Never mind small trifles like a couple of unsolved murders.”

“I’ll do that thing.” He slid off the desk, then paused. “You sound really pissed-off, Kate. What’s bugging you?”

Don Trotton wasn’t her choice as a confidant, but he had the virtue of being on hand.

“I’ve just lost the chance of a house over at Ingram’s Green that sounded perfect for me. And all because Jolly wanted to pontificate over a lengthy lunch about comparisons between American police methods and our own. I had a three-thirty deadline on the house and I couldn’t meet it.”

“What filthy luck, Kate. I’m really sorry. I know what it’s like trying to get somewhere to live. I was a hell of a time finding my present place.”

“Well, keep your eyes and ears open for me, Don.” This was a reflex remark with Kate these days. Who knew where a lucky break might come from?

“Sure I will. Well, I guess I’d better go and gladden the heart of dear old Jolly. See you.”

When Tim Boulter arrived from Cardiff half an hour later, Kate was still feeling bloody-minded.

“Where d’you think you’ve been all this time, Sergeant?” she demanded. “DC Glutton arrived back with the Saab ages ago.”

“Well ... I had things to see to, guv.”

“You had a stomach to fill, you mean.”

Colour flamed his face. “From what I hear I wasn’t the only one doing that,” he muttered.

“What did you say?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Well, you’d better get cracking, now you’ve finally condescended to put in an appearance. Trent’s sister is on the way here from Preston. She should be arriving any time now. Have her brought straight in to me.” Belatedly, she asked, “What do you have to tell me about Cardiff? Apart from the quality of the beer.”

Boulter filled her in. “That Saab was definitely driven across the Severn Bridge sometime between one and two on the Saturday morning. And there’s strong eye-witness evidence that it was driven by a woman. Beyond that, mighty little. What happened to the driver once she’d parked at the airport, God knows.”

“If she’s someone living around here,” said Kate, “how did she get back? Especially at that time of night.”

“A second car?” Boulter hazarded. “One driven by someone else, or one that she’d left ready parked at the airport for her to use. It may be she hung around till the morning.”

“Doesn’t help much, does it?”

* * * *

Trent’s sister arrived around seven o’clock, and was brought in to Kate. She was thin-framed, like her brother, with no surplus flesh. A couple of years younger than Gavin, perhaps, she’d lost whatever looks she might once have had. Dark, hollow eyes made her long face look gaunt, and her vaguely mid-brown hair hung lankly. But for God’s sake, the woman had recently had news of her brother’s murder; had interrupted her holiday to drive the long way down south to Oxfordshire.

Kate rose and went round the desk to shake hands with her. “Good evening, Mrs. Chapman. Sit down, won’t you? Sergeant, will you organize a cup of tea for Mrs. Chapman, please?”

Though fairly tall, she looked a small woman seated in the chair opposite, crushed, defeated. Kate told her the circumstances of her brother’s death as gently as possible, then went on, “Did you come straight here? Or did you stop off to book in somewhere for the night?”

“No, I er ... I haven’t yet.”

“Perhaps you’d like us to fix some accommodation for you? Right, I’ll get that seen to. You’re on your own, are you, Mrs. Chapman? I expect your husband had to stay at home to look after the children?”

“Steve
would
have come, he offered to. His mother could have taken Wayne and Peter. But I said no. Better not. He and Gavin never got on, you see, so ...”

“Why was that?” Kate asked.

“Oh, the fault was all on my brother’s side. I don’t blame Steve one bit. He’s just a local government officer, you see, in the finance department, and Gavin ... well, he didn’t think much of that, and he never tried to hide it.” The woman gave a sigh that told of years of split loyalties. “Poor Gavin, he couldn’t help it, I suppose, being so clever himself, but ...” Her voice trailed off.

“So he and your husband didn’t see much of each other?”

“They only met a couple of times since we got married, which is thirteen years ago. At my mother’s funeral, and then at our cousin Angela’s wedding. It was best that way. I visited Gavin on my own now and then, just to keep in touch. Mum would have wanted us to.”

A young WPC came in with two cups of tea on a tray. Kate thanked her, and said, “Carol, would you please book accommodation for Mrs. Chapman? A single room, and she’ll probably want to stay a few more days. Try the Willow Bank guest house. That will be nice and near for her.”

As the WPC withdrew, Kate went on, “Before we go any further, Mrs. Chapman, I’d like to ask if you’d mind if I tape-record our talk.”

“Tape-record?”

“It would be useful. You might tell me something, perhaps a seemingly unimportant little detail about your brother, that could later prove helpful in finding his killer.”

“Oh yes, I see. Well, I suppose that’s all right, then.”

Kate switched on and verbally identified the occasion. “Now, Mrs. Chapman, I’d like you to tell me when you last saw your brother.”

Like most people, Fiona Chapman cast an uneasy glance at the tape recorder before answering.

“It was just a few weeks ago, at half term. The children were away at camp, and I thought it was a good opportunity.”

“How was he then? Did you notice anything different from usual about him?”

“Not really,” she said, frowning a little. “Except, perhaps ...”

“Except, perhaps?”

“Well, Gavin was always pleased to see me. Always. I think I was about the only person he could get on with. I understood him, you see. He was my big brother, and I was terribly proud of him. I knew how hard he’d had to work to get to university, and then all that studying for his degree. A first class degree, it was. Anyway, when Gavin and I got together we used to chat about the old days, when we were kids, and he seemed to really enjoy that. But this last time ... I don’t know, but it was almost as if he was waiting for me to leave. I was only planning to stay for two or three nights anyway, but several times he asked me if it was really okay for me to be away from home for so long.”

“What did you make of his attitude?” Kate asked.

She lifted her shoulders. “I didn’t know what to make of it. I felt a bit hurt, but then I thought maybe I was imagining things. When I was going, Gavin gave me an affectionate hug, just as usual.” She looked at Kate imploringly. “Haven’t you any idea who it was who killed him? I realize he couldn’t have been popular, but I can’t imagine anyone hating him enough to murder him.”

“We have a number of potential suspects,” Kate told her. “But as yet there’s no clear indication of who was responsible. That’s why talking about your brother could be so helpful. For instance, I’d like to know anything he might have told you about the people he worked with at Croptech. The people under him in the lab, say.”

“Well, there was a woman he didn’t like. She was Dr. something ... Millet or Miller, I believe. Gavin said she was a prize bitch, and he reckoned she had an inflated idea of her ability.” Fiona Chapman made a rueful little moue with her lips. “To tell you the truth, I don’t think my brother rated women very highly, especially in the scientific field.”

Kate nodded. “Was there anyone else he mentioned to you?”

“Well, yes, but I don’t remember his name. That last time I stayed with Gavin I remember that he was in a filthy temper one evening over a row he’d had at the lab. Apparently this chap claimed that Gavin was taking the credit for some kind of discovery he’d made. I’m sorry I can’t remember his name.”

Normally, Kate would avoid prompting. But this time she felt it was justified. “Roger Barlow?”

“Yes, that’s right. Why?” Her face changed. “You don’t think he was the one who ...”

“I don’t think anything at this stage,” Kate said. “I’m just gathering all the information I can. But I’d rather you didn’t mention this incident to anyone else. I’m sure I can rely on you.”

“Oh yes, of course you can.”

She’d had enough for now. She looked exhausted.

“I won’t bother you any further this evening,” Kate said. “Tomorrow, if you wish, you can go to your brother’s cottage. Our forensic people have finished now and you should find everything more or less back to normal. However, while you’re sorting things out, if anything in the least strange strikes you, then please let me know.”

“What sort of thing?”

“Well, you might notice that something is missing, for example. It could be relevant.”

“Oh yes, I see.”

“One final point before you go. I’d just like to check whether or not your brother could swim.”

“No, he couldn’t. As a child Gavin was really scared of the water. We could never persuade him to go in.”

“That fits,” said Kate. She stood up. “Let’s go and see if Carol has managed to book you in at Willow Bank.”

Three minutes later, back in her office, Kate immersed herself in the ever-growing pile of paperwork. Finally, at around nine o’clock, when her eyes felt gritty with fatigue, she decided to call it a day. Just at that moment her door opened and Don Trotton stuck his head round. As he wasn’t on the murder squad, she was surprised to see him at Aston Pringle so late in the day.

“Spare a minute, Kate?”

“I was just packing up anyway, Don.”

He came right in. “I was thinking about your disappointment over losing that house, and I’ve got a suggestion. Would you consider renting a flat?”

She was at once interested. “Have you heard of one that’s going?”

“Maybe. D’you know where I live, that big house with the peculiar turrets at Aylingbury, on the Marlingford road?”

“I don’t think so.”

“It’s not much to look at on the outside, but inside it’s very nice. Eight flats in all. Mine is one of the two on the first floor, but there’s one on the second floor directly above mine that’s likely to be vacant soon.”

The thought of becoming a close neighbour of Don Trotton’s didn’t thrill her, but since when had beggars been able to make choices?

“Sounds promising, Don. Can you tell me which agency will be handling the letting? I’ll get along to see them on Monday.”

He shook his head. “No can do, Kate. The thing is, the chap who’s got the flat now has been transferred to the Swindon branch of his firm, and it’s such a long journey each day that he’s looking for somewhere nearer to live. He might be leaving any time, but so far he’s saying nothing about going. You can’t blame him.”

“Would he let me look at the flat, do you think? Then if he tipped me off the moment he gave the landlord notice to quit, I’d be first in line.”

Don looked doubtful. “I wouldn’t want him to think I’d been shooting my mouth off. He mentioned it to me in confidence. Tell you what, though, my flat’s almost identical except that it’s one floor down. How about giving that the once-over, Kate? Then if you like the look of it, I’ll tip you the wink the moment I hear the move is official.”

“Well ...”

“It’ll only take a few minutes. If you’re packing up now, Aylingbury’s scarcely a mile off your direct route home. Drop by and have a drink with me. Or a cup of coffee or whatever.”

Don Trotton wasn’t the best person in the world to be indebted to, she told herself, but on the other hand she couldn’t afford to risk losing a possible home. She’d really wanted a small house with a patch of garden she could cultivate, but a flat would do for the present.

“Okay, Don. Are you off home now?”

“Yep.”

“Then I’ll just freshen up and follow on in a few minutes. Okay?”

“Great! See you.”

There was still a faint rosy light in the sky as she drove to Aylingbury. She identified the house at once from Don’s description. Set in about an acre of ground, the building itself was somewhat forbidding. Institutional Victorian, Kate decided. But one can’t have everything. And the moment she entered the main front door and looked around the spacious entrance hall with a massive stone balustraded staircase, she knew she could enjoy living here.

Don was at the door of his flat to greet her. He’d changed into white cotton slacks, and his pale blue shirt was unbuttoned to reveal a medallion on a gold chain. The gorgeous hunk image, so he fondly imagined. Poor Don!