Cold Coffin (21 page)

Bell wrote all this down in his notebook, then closed it with a snap. “That’s that, then. Waste of time, really. Still, it’s given me a trip to London and a pleasant chat over a beer, so I can’t say it was all bad, can I?”

As he strolled towards Warwick Avenue tube station en route for Paddington, Bell composed in his mind the report he’d be putting in for the DCI. The gist of it, really, was going to be that twenty years’ service with a generous and considerate employer could be counted on to buy a very special kind of loyalty.

* * * *

Since Kate’s promotion and transfer to the Cotswold division, she had grown accustomed to being discussed behind her back, to an awareness of mutterings and snide remarks which were cut off abruptly as she got within earshot. But all through Monday morning this seemed a great deal worse than ever before. It disturbed her, the feeling that something was going the rounds at her expense. In the end, she tackled Boulter about it.

“What the hell’s going on, Tim?”

“Going on, ma’am?” That “ma’am” didn’t pass unnoticed by Kate. She held out a temptation to Boulter’s stomach, knowing that it never failed.

“It’s time for a bite to eat. Come on, let’s go across to the Half Moon.”

For once the sergeant didn’t seem enthusiastic about the prospect of food. He was in a decidedly gloomy mood as he walked across the road to the pub with her. Kate ordered a pint of bitter for Boulter and a half of lager for herself, plus a plate of beef sandwiches. They retired to a table in a quiet corner of the bar.

“Right,” she said. “Now spill it, Tim. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

He looked thoroughly ill-at-ease. “It’s nothing to do with me.”

“Maybe not. But you know all about it. The lads are having a damn good laugh at my expense, aren’t they? A lot more so than usual. And I expect you to tell me why.”

Boulter gave an embarrassed laugh. “You ought to be able to figure it out, guv, the way you always seem to come up with answers to everything.”

“Well, this time I can’t.” She added persuasively, “Come on, Tim, tell me as a friend.”

The sergeant peeled back the corner of a sandwich and inspected the contents without interest, closing it again with a sigh.

“It’s Don Trotton,” he finally muttered. Then he burst out accusingly, “What the hell do you expect, getting involved with him like that?”

Kate felt a sick clawing in her stomach. “What are they saying, Tim? What am I supposed to have done?”

“You tell me.” He sounded bitter. “You were there.”

“All right, I will,” she said on a note of cold dignity. “While you were in Cardiff, a chance of a house came up, but I lost it because Superintendent Joliffe held me up and I couldn’t keep the appointment to view. Trotton happened to be around at the time and I let off steam to him. Later, he came back and told me there might be a flat becoming vacant where he lives. He said that his own flat was almost identical, and he suggested that I took a look at his to see if the one like it would suit me.”

“And you went to Trotton’s place?” asked Boulter incredulously. “Just like that?”

“Why the hell not? I realized immediately I got there that the flat wouldn’t be any good for me, since it only has one bedroom. I told him so, and not to be too unfriendly I stayed to have a drink with him. Being Don Trotton, of course, he had to make a pass, and I had to slap him down— hard.”

“That’s not the way he’s telling it,” said Boulter grimly, and bit into a sandwich as if he didn’t relish it in the least.

“Come on,” Kate said, “I’ve got to know the worst. What’s Don been saying?”

Boulter frowned into his beer. “Look, guv, it’s not fair, putting the squeeze on me like this.”

“You reckon it’s fair for me to be slandered?” she retorted. “Not be in a position to hit back? I need to know exactly what story he’s been telling.”

“You won’t get anything on Don Trotton, he’s too bloody smart for that. It’s all nudge-nudge, wink-wink stuff.” And anyway, he was quite plainly thinking, most of what Trotton had hinted at was in all probability true. The thought that her sergeant felt disappointed in her made Kate feel twice as rotten.

“Okay, then, let me guess what Don Trotton is suggesting happened,” she said sourly. “Kate Maddox jumped at the chance to drop by at his flat, and literally flung herself at him the minute she got there. Right so far?”

Boulter shuffled his feet under the table and stared down at his empty glass.

“All right, all right, don’t answer,” Kate said. “We can’t hang about here anyway—we’ve got far too much to get through today. Drink up!”

But getting on with the job was easier said than done. It seemed impossible to make her brain function. Kate was tempted to have a real showdown with that bastard Trotton, but she knew it would be a useless exercise. As Boulter had pointed out, he was too bloody smart to have said anything she could nail him for. She’d end up even more humiliated than ever.

During the afternoon Richard Gower phoned to ask if there was any possibility of their getting together for dinner that evening. Kate was very ready to accept. When he added that he’d picked up a snippet of information she might find useful, it helped square her conscience about knocking off work earlier than she’d planned. It would be wonderful to get out of this hateful atmosphere for a while. To breathe some unpolluted air.

Kate went home just after six to bath and change. This evening she felt an urge to look specially feminine—for her own benefit as much as for Richard’s. She put on a slim-cut dress in shrimp pink silk. Felix gave a whistle when she went downstairs.

“My word, that’ll knock him sideways, girl. Special occasion, is it?”

“I just felt like dressing up a bit for a change. Ah, there’s Richard’s car. See you, Felix.”

Richard drove her to the Old Tithe Barn, a classy restaurant near the Dodford polo ground. “My treat again this evening,” he said as they left the car and walked towards the entrance.

“My God, you must be feeling flush.”

“I just sold six full-page ads to the new supermarket that’s opening in Marlingford. Twice what I’d expected to get from them. So you can indulge your expensive tastes to the limit.”

“I never do come cheap,” she threw back. They grinned at one another.
He’s a really nice guy, Kate, a million miles from that turd Trotton.

The overdone deference shown to patrons of the Old Tithe Barn would normally have stifled Kate. But this evening she felt in a mood to be fawned upon. Sitting over drinks in the intimate cocktail bar, the process of ordering their dinner became a summit conference at which headwaiter and wine-waiter engaged in grave debate.

When they were left alone, Richard said, “You look great tonight, Kate. And even more important, you look relaxed.”

“About time, too. I’ve had a bitch of a day.” She intended him to think she meant with the case.

“I almost hesitate to bring up my little item of news,” he said. “You could do with a complete break from work.”

“Spill it.”

“I went up to London yesterday,” he said. “It was a small get-together with some of the people at my old paper. The City editor is retiring, and he and his wife decided to throw an impromptu for intimates. As distinct from the official office function, that is. I was planning to ask you along, but after the treatment you gave me on Saturday night, it seemed best to skip the idea.”

“Some other occasion,” she said, with a grin of apology.

“Anyhow, the thing is I got talking to Hugh Bradley, the
Monitor’s
music critic. Knowing that I was now down in this neck of the woods, he soon brought the conversation around to our local murders. He’s interested, of course, because one of the victims was Dame Vanessa Logan’s husband.”

“And?” Richard, being a journalist, liked to tell a story for maximum dramatic effect.

“Several fascinating things. Like, for instance, the reason Dame Vanessa suddenly decided to accept Sir Noah’s proposal of marriage after ten years of beseeching on his part. Okay, okay, I’m getting there. At that time she was right at the top of the tree, as you know, but it seems that the word among the
cognoscenti
was that her voice was showing distinct signs of cracking up on her. Before much longer, everyone would realize it and she’d be past history as a prima donna. She decided that a romantic late-in-life marriage would make for a happier retirement.”

“Like that, eh? Then it wasn’t a love-match with Sir Noah?”

“More like an affection match, as far as she was concerned. Hugh reckons she was genuinely fond of the old boy. The chances are, though, that he’d never have won her hand but for the problem with her voice.”

“But Lady Kimberley continued to sing in public. I gather she’s done quite a number of charity galas since her marriage.”

“Not quite the same thing, according to Hugh, as the strain on her voice of regular appearances on the professional stage. Besides, she can be selective about what she sings now, choosing arias that aren’t too taxing vocally. Her technique, plus a benevolent audience, will obscure any weaknesses. Charity appearances offer Vanessa Logan a chance to stay in the public eye without risk to her reputation.”

“So, she isn’t quite the paragon she’d have people believe.”

Richard shrugged. “Who is? Scratch the surface of anyone’s life, and you get dirt under your fingernails.”

“You don’t need to tell me. Still, all this is food for thought.”

“There’s more.”

“Out with it, then,” she said impatiently.

“This is a bit more speculative, Kate. Good enough for a journalist to work on, maybe, but is it good enough for the police? It’s being whispered around in musical circles that Logan’s sore throat the other night was pure myth.”

“That possibility occurred to me, too,” Kate told him. “What’s the theory based on?”

“Shrewd guesswork. She appeared at the theatre around four that afternoon, for a rehearsal. Which in this case merely meant a run-through of the programme with the orchestra. I gather that Logan didn’t give her singing full voice, but this was a rehearsal, after all. There was no mention to anyone of her having throat trouble. Yet a couple of hours later it was announced that she was indisposed and unable to appear.”

She’d been right, then, the sore throat was a fake. Should she believe anything else she’d been told about that Friday evening? Lady Kimberley and Lord Balmayne could have been anywhere during those vital hours, doing anything. The loyalty of the manservant, as reported by DC Bell, could probably be counted on to back up any kind of false alibi.

It was discreetly whispered in Richard’s ear that their table now awaited their pleasure whenever sir and madam cared to make the effort of moving to the restaurant. Richard’s limp was barely noticeable this evening, just adding a hint of mystery. Dressed now in a dark suit, groomed for an evening out, he looked damned attractive.

Seated at their table, he said, “So DCI Maddox has had one bitch of a day. Ditto on Saturday. Sounds as if something’s badly wrong. Want to talk about it?”

Suddenly she felt ready to. “You want me to cry on your shoulder?”

“Why not, if it’ll help?”

“The truth is, I’m in a flaming temper about men.”

“Certain men in particular? Or the entire male sex?”

“Not far short.” She related the events culminating in the sordid episode in Don Trotton’s flat, leaving out the messier details.

“Tacky,” Richard agreed, “and I’m really sorry about your losing the house. But come on, Kate, where’s your sense of proportion? Any woman who’s as attractive as you are must have hit this kind of situation before ... a cocky guy making a heavy pass, and turning spiteful when you smack him down. I’m not making excuses, but it happens. What’s new?”

“What’s new is what followed. All day today I’ve been aware of sniggering behind my back. At lunchtime I pinned down Tim Boulter. I couldn’t make him tell me a lot, but enough to get the picture. Trotton’s been spreading it around that sex-starved widow Kate Maddox leapt at the invitation to visit his flat. That she just couldn’t wait to drop her knickers for him. And all conveyed with the sort of sly innuendo that I could never nail him for. If I dared try, I’d end up the loser second time around.”

“I’d better sort that bastard out for you,” said Richard, in an upsurge of anger.

“No, you keep out of it. That would only make the situation worse. This is my problem.”

“So how are you going to handle it?”

“I don’t know, not yet. But some way or other, you’d better believe it.”

Richard regarded her with warm admiration. “You’ll have me feeling sorry for Trotton in a minute. That guy’s going to live to regret ever tangling with Kate Maddox.”

When later they left the restaurant, it was a beautiful evening. Moonless, but bright with starlight. By mutual consent they strolled on beyond the car park and higher up the lane to a break in the trees. From there they could look over miles of open countryside, with clusters of lights that showed where the villages lay. A greater gathering of lights in the distance was Marlingford.

“Our territory,” Richard mused, standing close beside her. “Yours and mine. Lucky, aren’t we? Don’t let that Trotton business get you down, Kate. None of this ‘I will go sit and weep, till I can find occasion for revenge.’”

“Shakespeare?”

“Taming of the Shrew.”

“Trying to impress me with your erudition, eh?”

“I find it works like magic to have a suitable quote ready for the right occasion.”

Kate managed a flash recall. “Brush up your Shakespeare, and the women you will wow.”

“Cole Porter?”

“Give the man a prize.”

There was hardly a pause. “Kiss me, Kate.”

“Brilliant. I don’t know how you do it.”

“I didn’t say
Kiss Me, Kate.
I said, Kiss me, Kate.”

She still didn’t quite catch on until Richard turned her to face him. Then she went into his embrace with a soft sigh. It didn’t seem a moment too soon.

A Women’s Institute coach outing to Windsor Castle had frustrated Kate’s intention to interview Mrs. Parkes on the Monday. Only too often, regrettably, an important next step in an investigation had to be postponed for some such trivial reason. A police car despatched to her home first thing on Tuesday found the lady in. She arrived at the Incident Room visibly flustered but excited by the importance of the occasion.