Dear Departed (19 page)

Much as Atherton would have liked to resist, he felt honesty in this man, and real affection for the dear departed. Whatever he was, he didn’t think he was First Murderer.

‘You said, “All oboe-players are a bit mad”?’ he queried.

‘Well, it’s playing with a double reed, you see – causes huge pressure on the frontal lobes. They all go a bit barmy in the end.’ Stalybrass smiled and added, ‘It’s a musicians’ joke, that’s all. Well, some of them are peculiar but, then, to a horn-player, anyone who wants to play any other instrument seems peculiar.’

Atherton had heard about oboists being mad from another source – well, from Sue, not to mince matters. He shied away from the thought of her. ‘How has Toby reacted to Chattie’s death?’

‘Well, he was devastated, like the rest of us. Maybe a bit more so, given that he thought she was the one true love of his life. And he tends to be a bit intense anyway, does Tobe. Artistic temperament. He was just sunk in depression at the studio this morning – hardly said a word to anyone.’

‘Is he the jealous kind?’ Atherton asked. ‘Did you keep your affair with Chattie secret from him not to hurt his feelings, or from fear of what he might do?’

‘Fear of what he might do?’ Stalybrass looked puzzled.

‘You see, we aren’t making this public at the moment, but we don’t think it was the Park Killer who did it. We think it was someone who knew her.’

Now Stalybrass looked alarmed. ‘Oh, good Lord, you aren’t thinking Toby did it? He would never do anything like that. Not old Tobes. He’s a bit emotional and, as I said, he’s had a rather sheltered upbringing, so he didn’t understand Chattie the way we would.’

Atherton liked the touch of the little slipped-in ‘we’ – men of the world like you and me, he meant.

‘But he would never hurt a fly. Wouldn’t have the guts, apart from anything else. I mean, if you knew the man – well, it’s laughable to think of him stabbing anyone. He’s really a bit of a dork. And he’s soft – even lets wasps out of the window rather than killing them. He’s just not capable of murder.’

He stopped talking and looked pleadingly at Atherton. Atherton said nothing for a moment. In the eyes opposite he had seen a flash of knowledge, the sudden realisation that the unthinkable was possible. A bit emotional’? Toby had been ‘desperately in love’ and now the woman he wanted would not see him. Atherton thought of the kiss on the cheek and the hair-ruffling at the last interview. A man in that situation might decide that if he couldn’t have her, no-one else should. A man rejected and humiliated and not taken seriously might find that a mixture of anger in with his grief was enough to stiffen the sinews and summon up the blood.

After a moment, Stalybrass said thoughtfully, ‘Killed by someone who knew her, eh?’

Atherton nodded. ‘So, you see, we need to find out all we can about her and her life.’

Stalybrass seemed relieved by this, as though it were letting
Toby off the hook. ‘Well, I’ll tell you everything I know. I was pretty close to her.’

‘Let me get you another drink,’ said Atherton.

It was late by the time Slider got back to the office, but an enquiry at the desk told him that Porson was still on the premises. O’Flaherty, the uniformed sergeant who passed on the news, did it with a sad shake of the head. ‘Got no home to go to,’ he said. ‘Or, at least, not one he wants to be in, wit’ the missus gone. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was headin’ for a crack-up.’

Slider climbed up to the eyrie, remembering, unwelcomely, a previous boss, Det. Sup. Barrington, who had killed himself shortly after Slider had refused an invitation to dinner with him. In the fridge there had been the dinner for two he would have cooked, and nothing else. The loneliness of Barrington’s life as revealed had haunted Slider – not that the Syrup was strictly comparable, for Barrington had had no family and was, in any case, seriously bonkers; but if Porson had asked Slider back, he probably would have gone.

Fortunately there was no chance of that. Porson was reading and taking notes at his desk when Slider tapped politely on the open door, and he looked up with work- and insomnia-reddened eyes, keeping his finger on his place to indicate he was busy and this should be kept short. Slider dredged up his précis lessons from school and gave Porson a short version of what they had learned from Jassy Whitelaw.

‘So you want to alert the Manchester police and get them to go and give this O’Brien a tug, see if Barnes is there?’

‘We’ve got the phone number. We can get the address from that. And we’ve got a photograph of Barnes from his flat we can send them.’

Porson considered. ‘But you don’t know that that’s where he’s gone. It was only because the girlfriend said that was where he was on Tuesday and Wednesday.’ Give the old boy credit, he could fillet a story at the first telling. ‘You don’t even know that’s where he was on Wednesday, either,’ Porson continued. ‘It’s only what he told her. I don’t suppose their relationship was based on trust and veracitude.’

‘It didn’t seem that way,’ Slider agreed.

‘In fact, he could be anywhere in the country. Or out of it.’

‘Yes, sir. But the only lead we’ve got is this friend in Manchester, and I’d like to get hold of Darren Barnes before the trail gets cold.’

‘I don’t doubt you would, but when it comes down to it we’ve no evidence that Barnes had anything to do with the murder.’

‘No, sir, but we’ve got the cocaine against him, and it’s a large amount.’

‘Fair enough,’ Porson acknowledged. ‘On that basis you can ask Manchester nicely in the morning and they’ll do it when they’ve got a minute. But you can’t go getting them out of bed and telling them to drop everything. Nor,’ he anticipated Slider’s next appeal, ‘can you flash Barnes’s picture round the country with a request to apprehend if seen. I’m sorry, Slider, but until you get a bit more to link him to the murder, it’s softly softly. Check with his known associates and family, if any, ask Brixton for help, but you can’t go demanding favours of other forces without a bit more to go on.’

‘I understand, sir.’

Porson raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s late,’ he said. ‘Get off home to your woman, laddie. Leave burning the oil at both ends to the likes of me, without one.’

Slider took himself away before he did the unforgivable and offered sympathy. He went back down to his own room to collect his mac (was it really only this morning that he stood outside Stella Smart’s door in the rain?) and rang Joanna’s mobile. She answered him at once, to the background sound of a car’s engine and radio.

‘I’m on my way home,’ she said defensively. ‘We didn’t even stop for a drink.’

‘I was just going to say that to you. Have you eaten?’

‘Before the last session. What about you?’

‘Some time last year, I think,’ he said. ‘I’ll stop at that all-night deli in Turnham Green and pick up something.’

‘Get enough for two,’ she said. ‘I’ll join you in a spot of supper. I’m hungry again.’

‘You’re always hungry.’

‘This is where we came in,’ Joanna said. ‘See you soon.’

He had only just got down to his car when she phoned him back.

‘I’ve just had Jim call me,’ she said. ‘He said he didn’t want to call you in case you were still with a witness.’

‘You sound as though you didn’t believe him.’

‘He sounded weasely. He sort of invited himself to supper.’

‘How did that happen? I thought you hated him.’

‘No, I don’t hate him. I’m very sad about him and Sue. Besides, I can’t kick his behind unless we’re face to face, can I?’

‘Perhaps not even then.’

‘You know what I mean. Anyway, he said he had something to tell you and he sounded excited, and I was about to say can’t it wait for the morning when he asked if we’d had supper and I – sort of – found myself saying come and join us.’

Slider sighed. ‘I can’t take these late nights like you youngsters. I need my sleep.’

‘Better get used to going without,’ she warned.

‘Don’t remind me,’ he shuddered. ‘So, I’m getting enough supper for three now, am I?’

‘Yes, but Jim said he’d bring wine.’

‘Small mercies, I suppose,’ said Slider.

It was an odd sensation to have the door of Joanna’s flat opened to him by Atherton. ‘I’ve just got here,’ he said. ‘Joanna’s getting the plates and glasses out. Is that the nosh?’

He held out his hand for the paper sack in which the deli, aiming for an American look, had taken to packing its wares. In the background there was a clashing sound from the kitchen. Slider handed over the bag and said, ‘What was so important it couldn’t wait for tomorrow, anyway?’

Atherton raised an eyebrow. Am I unwelcome? I didn’t think I needed an excuse to have supper with my oldest friend.’

‘Oldest is how I feel,’ Slider said, but he left the question unanswered. ‘Can you two manage between you? I want to wash my hands and face and take my tie off.’

When Slider joined them in the sitting room, they were chatting in what seemed a perfectly friendly way, so he assumed that whatever bones Joanna had had to pick with Atherton, she had buried them for the time being. The food had been laid out on the gate-leg table. There was French bread, two kinds of pâté, a thoroughly degenerate piece of Brie that really ought to have been wearing a corset, a large bunch of red grapes,
and three slices of the deli’s own cheesecake. Atherton’s hand was visible in the fact that the lettuce, green pepper and vine tomatoes he had bought had been assembled in one dish as a salad, with dressing: Joanna would have dumped them on the table separate and undressed for picking at. And the wine Atherton had brought was two bottles of beaujolais – Regnié, one Slider didn’t know.

‘So, what was the news you were so excited about?’ Slider asked, as they began. The French bread had been warmed, he discovered – Atherton again.

‘Did you tell him I was excited?’ Atherton asked.

‘Get on with it,’ said Joanna. ‘Spinning it out like that.’

‘All right, here it is – I know who Chattie’s father is. Ever heard of Cornfeld Chemicals?’

‘I thought it was Cornfield,’ Slider said. ‘There’s that logo of theirs—’

‘Oh, yes, I know it,’ Joanna said. ‘I saw something in the paper about them a couple of weeks ago – didn’t read it, because I wasn’t interested, but I noticed the logo: the oval thingy with the picture of a field of waving corn on it.’

‘That’s the one,’ said Slider. Always reminded me of Ovaltine. I could never fathom what it had to do with chemicals.’

‘
I
always read it as “Cornfed Chemicals”,’ Joanna said. ‘You know, like “cornfed beef”.’

‘You see a picture of a cornfield and read the word underneath and naturally you think the name is Cornfield,’ Slider reasoned.

‘Oy,’ said Atherton. ‘You’re spoiling my effect. When I say, “Ever heard of Cornfeld Chemicals?” you’re supposed to gasp in wonder, not witter on about etymology.’

‘What’s insects got to do with it?’ Joanna said.

‘No, that’s lepidometry,’ Slider said.

‘I’ll take my ball away and go home,’ Atherton warned.

‘All right,’ Slider said kindly. Are you telling us that Chattie Cornfeld had something to do with Cornfeld Chemicals?’

‘I’m telling you,’ Atherton said with dignity, ‘that her father
is
Cornfeld Chemicals. He owns the thing. He started it, he runs it, he is the chairman and chief exec rolled into one.’ He used his hands as a balance. ‘Dad – Cornfeld Chemicals. Cornfeld Chemicals – Dad. Am I getting the idea across now?’

‘You mean,’ Joanna said gravely, ‘she was
that
Cornfeld.’

‘At last,’ Atherton sighed, and topped up the glasses. ‘Well, at least I’ve established that we’ve all heard of the company, even if we didn’t pronounce its name right.’

‘Heard of it, yes,’ said Joanna. ‘It’s not exactly a household name but one comes across it. One knows it exists.’

‘Those of us who are able to read further through the paper than the health and beauty hints,’ said Atherton, risking his life, ‘are aware that it is a small company, which nevertheless does some important research in its pharmaceutical division and has come up with some cracking new drugs from time to time. Coprylon, for one, which is used to treat epilepsy. And Nuskin, a sterile artificial skin used post-operatively.’

‘But Chattie’s mother said she didn’t have anything to do with her father,’ Slider said. ‘How did his owning a chemicals company affect her?’

‘I shall tell you,’ said Atherton, magnificently. ‘I had a very interesting talk with Jasper Stalybrass, who knew her pretty well.’

‘The horn-player?’ Joanna said. ‘I know him. I’ve played with him on gigs over the years.’

‘What did you think of him?’ Atherton asked.

‘A bit full of himself, like most horn-players, but okay. A good player. And good company.’ She caught Atherton’s look and realised what was wanted. ‘I think he’s all right, for what my opinion’s worth. He came across as an honest bloke and I’ve never heard anything against him.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ Atherton said. Anyway, he’s been having a sort of affair with Chattie.’

‘“Sort of ”?’ Slider queried, spreading duck pâté thickly over buttered bread. ‘How can you sort of have an affair?’

‘Be accurate, I said having a sort of affair.’

‘All right, what’s a “sort of ” affair when it’s at home?’

‘He said it was like being good friends with sex added, but with no intention of getting any further entangled than they were.’

‘You needn’t say it as if it sounds like heaven,’ Joanna said, with an edge.

Slider flung her a silencing glance and said, ‘Okay, go on.’

‘Well, over that time, they exchanged life stories, and he knew
quite a bit about the Cornfeld ménage. Bolstered by a few dates out of
Who’s Who,
I’m now in a position to give you …’ He paused and then announced in American movie tones ‘… The Cornfeld Story: The Early Years.’

‘Get on with it,’ said Slider.

‘Our story opens,’ Atherton obliged, but in the same voice, ‘in the small Midwest town of Enfield, Middlesex, England.’

Chattie’s father had been christened Heinrich. His parents had come over from Germany in 1936 when he was a year old and, having decided to settle permanently in England, they had changed his name to Henry.