Cold Coffin (18 page)

“Could you hear what they were saying, Mr. McEvoy?”

“Oh no, I wasn’t close enough for that.” His voice had lost some of its deep sense of shame now that he was discussing the iniquities of others. “They walked over to a car that I hadn’t noticed before because it was parked round at the side of the bungalow, and they drove off in it with the dog.”

“Could you identify the woman?”

McEvoy shook his head. “A large car came by just then, with its headlights full on. I was dazzled for a while.”

“Would the other driver have seen them?”

“No, he couldn’t have, not the direction he was going.”

“You got a glimpse before you were dazzled,” said Boulter. “Was the woman tall or short?”

“About average, I’d say.”

“What was she wearing? Is there anything you can tell us?”

“No, not really. Just that she looked a bit of a ... well, a tart. You know, lots of hair and the way she was dressed.”

“What did you think at the time about where they were going?” asked Kate. “What they were doing?”

“Just that they were up to no good. I mean, a man like that.”

“A man like that?” She let the query hang.

“Well, he’s a gaolbird. Maybe you didn’t know that, but I looked the case up in the reference library. He was sentenced to three years imprisonment for killing a young chap, a pupil at the school where he was a teacher. It all came out at the trial that Jessop and this boy ... filthy stuff!”

“We are perfectly aware of Keith George Jessop’s background, Mr. McEvoy.”

“Oh!” His face fell with disappointment. “Well then ... you know what a depraved character he is. And now he’s carrying on with women. What I say is, if a man’s killed once, then why not a second time and a third time? It stands to reason.”

“My advice to you,” Kate said, “is to keep your opinion of Mr. Jessop very much to yourself. Otherwise, you could end up in serious trouble. I shall probably want to talk to you again, but you can go for now.”

He remained in his seat, looking at her anxiously. “What am I to tell my wife?”

“That’s up to you. Just remember my warning.”

“But ... aren’t I going to be charged?”

“What with?”

Bewilderment. “Theft, I suppose.”

“We have had no complaint made to us about building stone being stolen from Croptech. However, I don’t like people who write vicious anonymous letters, though I’m not proposing to take any action on that issue. For the moment.”

After he’d been escorted out, Boulter returned and said, “I’d call him a prize shit, guv.”

“Agreed. On the other hand, Tim, the police would have a nice cushy job if there were no worse villains than he is.”

“You believe his story, do you?”

“I think he laid his soul bare to us. So, a further chat with George Jessop is indicated.”

“I’ll have him brought in, then.”

“No, we’ll go to him. I want to see how he reacts when we confront him with this. If necessary, we can bring him back with us.”

A hullabaloo of barking greeted Kate and Boulter when they approached Jessop’s bungalow. From inside a sharp order silenced the dog. A minute later Jessop came to the door. No punctilious, God-fearing churchman he! Sunday morning found him slouching around in pyjama bottoms and a crumpled T-shirt. His yellowish-grey hair was still uncombed.

“What do you want now? Can’t you leave a man alone?” His manner was belligerent, but Kate saw a trace of fear in his eyes.

“I’ve a few more questions for you, Mr. Jessop. May we come in?”

“Could I stop you?” he asked, and stood aside.

The front door opened directly into the living room, where the dog, a cross-bred collie, had retired grumbling to an old blanket on the floor. The furniture in the room was minimal, shabby, obviously bought secondhand. Kate was a little surprised by the number of books around, stacked untidily on every ledge and dumped in piles on the floor. But perhaps it wasn’t to be wondered at, given Jessop’s background; books would be a solace for a man denied the more intellectual career for which he’d been trained.

“Perhaps you’d like us to wait while you get dressed, Mr. Jessop,” Kate began politely.

“Why? Are you taking me away?”

“Not for the moment.”

“Then I’ll stay just as I am, for the moment.”

“As you wish.” He hadn’t invited them to sit down, and for this interview Kate preferred the formality of conducting it on her feet. “Mr. Jessop, I want to talk again about Wednesday evening, the night that Dr. Trent was killed. You told Sergeant Boulter that after doing your usual round of the Croptech premises at approximately eight o’clock, you returned here and watched television for the remainder of the evening, going to bed at about eleven-thirty.”

“What about it?”

“We now have evidence that this was not a true account. That in fact you were still up at past midnight, that you had a woman with you, and that you and she left here by car together, with your dog.”

“Who the hell ...”

“Go on, Mr. Jessop.”

“Whoever told you that was lying. I was alone that night. I ... I might’ve gone to bed a bit later than I said. And I did take the dog out for a bit of a stroll last thing.”

“Why didn’t you mention that to Sergeant Boulter?”

“It didn’t seem important. It’s just routine. A dog must have exercise.”

“And who was the woman?”

Jessop glared at her. “I told you, there wasn’t any woman.” He gave a hollow, unconvincing laugh. “I should be so lucky.”

“It’s women you go for nowadays then, Jessop, is it?” asked Boulter.

“You’ve no right to let him talk to me like that,” he said furiously, to Kate.

“It’s a fair enough question in the circumstances,” she said. “What’s your answer?”

Jessop looked as if he’d like to hit her. The dog sensed this too, and gave a low, threatening growl. Jessop gruffly ordered it to be quiet. The interruption had given him a moment’s thinking time.

“If you imagine I had anything to do with those two murders, you’re completely up the spout. Beyond being the one to find Trent’s body, I was in no way involved and I have no idea who killed them. That’s all I’m going to say.”

“That sort of attitude isn’t going to help you,” said Kate in an appeal to reason. “If you’re innocent of these crimes, as you insist you are, then you have nothing to fear from our investigation. But we are intent on discovering the truth about that night. Just the truth.”

“You wouldn’t have such touching faith in British justice if you were on my side of the fence.”

Calmly, Kate reverted to her earlier question. “Who was the woman? You might just as well tell us, because we are going to track her down in the end. We’ll be discreet ... as discreet as we possibly can be. But we have to know who she is.”

“I’m telling you nothing.”

“You still deny there was anyone with you on Wednesday night?”

“I’m telling you nothing. Now will you please leave?”

Boulter was about to object, but Kate checked him with a raised finger. “I’m going to give you the rest of the day to think things over, Mr. Jessop. If you’re not prepared to be straight with us tomorrow, the consequences won’t be very pleasant. Good day to you.”

Boulter asked, as they were driving away, “You want a surveillance put on him, guv?”

“No, Tim. Leave him alone for the time being.”

“You let him off pretty lightly, I reckon.”

“Do you? The mystery woman might take a different attitude, when he tells her about our visit.”

“Think he will tell her?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“And she’ll make him talk, is that your idea?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, I only hope you’re proved right.” His tone said that he knew she’d be proved wrong.

Midday Sunday, Kate managed to get home for lunch. A rare treat! Stonebank Cottage was the one place she could relax. Felix put on cold chicken and various salads, with a bowl of ripe peaches to follow.

“This is my sort of food,” said Kate, helping herself generously.

“I’m glad you appreciate me, girl.”

“Oh, I do ...”

“But?”

It followed logically for Kate to say, “I lost a house over at Ingram’s Green yesterday. Just because I was too tied up to keep an appointment to view. Damn shame, it sounded ideal for me.”

Felix nodded her head, and a few more stray hairs broke free from her loose topknot. She tucked them back absentmindedly, jabbing home one of the pins. “So that’s what put you in such a disgusting mood last night.”

“Mmm!” Kate’s grunt was ambiguous. She had no intention of telling the whole sorry story to her aunt. Don Trotton was best swept firmly under the carpet.

“Something else will come along soon, girl.”

“I’m beginning to wonder.”

Felix took another spoonful of diced beetroot in sour cream. “Pity you had to snap poor Richard’s head off like that.”

“Poor Richard? Huh!”

“Yes, poor Richard. Being a friend of yours, he loses out professionally.”

Kate raised her eyebrows. “Your logic defeats me sometimes, Felix. Elucidate.”

“I shouldn’t need to. Can’t you see that if it wasn’t for your friendship, Richard, as editor of the local paper, would be badgering you to death. Trying to trap you into making an unguarded comment and so on. As it is, he has to keep pussyfooting around you, hoping and praying that he won’t miss out on a big story.”

“Is that what he told you?”

“He didn’t have to tell me. It’s as plain as a pikestaff.”

“Listen,” Kate said crossly, “Richard Gower is first, second and third a journalist. Being a friend of mine comes somewhere around number thirty-three.”

“That’s what you think, is it, girl?”

* * * *

Fiona Chapman was waiting for Kate when she got back to the Incident Room after lunch. There was now a trace more colour in her thin face, as if she was beginning to come to terms with the shock of her brother’s death.

“Come on through, will you?” Kate invited, heading for her office.

“You said I was to let you know if I noticed anything strange at Gavin’s cottage,” Mrs. Chapman began, when they were seated. “I do hope I’m not bothering you about nothing, but ...” She hesitated, looking uncertain.

“You think there’s something missing, do you?”

“Well, no, it’s the other way round, something that doesn’t belong. It’s probably not important and I’m just being silly, but ... as you
asked
me to ...”

“You were quite right to come,” Kate assured her. “What was it you found?”

“It’s this,” she said, opening her handbag and taking out an audio tape in its plastic case. “I was sorting things out this morning, trying to decide what to keep and what to throw out or have sold, and I found this Tom Jones tape among Gavin’s collection.”

Kate took it from her and looked at the label thoughtfully. “What’s so special about this one?”

“Well, it just isn’t Gavin’s sort of thing at all.”

“It could have been a present from someone, couldn’t it? Someone who didn’t quite understand his taste in music.”

“That’s hard to imagine. After all, what friends did he have?”

“Not many, it seems.”

“Virtually none. My brother, as I expect you’ve already realized, was a snob. An intellectual snob. And his snobbery extended to music, I’m afraid. Popular music of any kind was something he just couldn’t stomach. He’d never have desecrated his personal library with a Tom Jones tape. It’s past belief.”

Kate pondered on how significant the find might be. “Could it have been a secret vice of your brother’s? People are sometimes addicted to the very thing they most vehemently deplore.”

“Not Gavin, I’m sure of it. The very lightest sort of music he could ever tolerate would be a Tchaikovsky piano concerto—something like that.”

“So what do you make of finding this tape?” Kate asked. “Have you any kind of explanation?”

“No, I’m totally mystified.”

“Let’s go back to the idea that it was a gift. A gift, perhaps, from someone he specially didn’t want to offend by refusing to accept it.”

“I can’t imagine who.”

“Someone,” Kate suggested, “with whom your brother was on intimate terms?”

Fiona Chapman gave a quick, nervous laugh. “Gavin?”

“It’s often difficult for people to imagine their close relatives in a romantic or sexual involvement.”

“I don’t think so. Not Gavin.”

Kate regarded her thoughtfully. She had no wish to distress Trent’s sister, who already had plenty to contend with, but she couldn’t let the chance go by of extracting a useful clue.

“Suppose,” she said slowly, in a level, non-judgmental voice, “it wasn’t a woman, but another man?”

Fiona Chapman looked up sharply. Not shocked, but deeply surprised. “You mean ... gay? Oh no, I don’t think so. In fact, I’m certain of it.”

“What makes you so sure?”

The worried eyes were shrewd and candid. “I don’t know, but I just am. After all, we spent our childhood together, and I think I knew Gavin better than anyone else could have done. No, Chief Inspector, I’ll never believe that. And not just because I don’t want to. If—and it’s a big if— there
was
any
sexual relationship in Gavin’s life, it would have been with a woman. He’d have had to be really besotted if he actually managed to bring himself to
listen
to Tom Jones with her.” Again that unamused laugh at the very idea of such a thing.

Kate had a thought, and rang for Boulter to come in. She introduced the two of them, then held up the tape.

“Sergeant, Mrs. Chapman found this Tom Jones tape at her brother’s cottage. It isn’t at all in line with his musical taste, and we’re wondering where it came from. Check the fingerprint records and find out what, if anything, was found on it.”

He was soon back, with some interesting information. “All the tapes in Dr. Trent’s collection carried his fingerprints. A couple of them carried prints of one of the cleaners—presumably he’d happened to leave them out and they’d been put away in the cabinet. Or maybe, they’d liked the idea of music while they worked. But that Tom Jones one, in addition to Dr. Trent’s prints, also carried prints of an as yet unidentified person.”