Model Murder (21 page)

Kenway stared at Kate in dismay. “But ... that’s where I was, all yesterday morning. At home. Except for when I slipped out to the post. Liz will tell you, and you have to believe her, I was decorating the room that’s going to be the nursery when the baby arrives.”

“You wouldn’t have needed to be away for very long to kill Labrosse,” Kate observed. “You could have been here to the hotel and back home again within an hour. It could even be possible that your wife didn’t realise you were gone, if she was busy in the shop. Let’s have the truth, Mr. Kenway. Did you have some disagreement with Labrosse, and come here to have it out with him? You quarrelled, and in a fit of rage you struck him? Perhaps you hadn’t meant to kill him. Is that it?”

“You’ve got it all wrong. Completely wrong. I’ve never even been to the hotel. He thought ... we both thought it best for me not to be seen there.”

“But you could have come just this once. And very likely you were seen by somebody. We shall soon know, when we ask a few more questions among the staff and guests.”

Kenway was shaking his head vehemently. “No, I wasn’t there, I tell you. I wasn’t there. I didn’t quarrel with Yves, why should I? And I certainly didn’t kill him.”

“Can you be so confident you didn’t leave any tell-tale trace of your presence in Labrosse’s room that our forensic experts can match up? What about fingerprints? However careful you might have been, it’s easy to overlook something you touched. You wouldn’t have been wearing gloves, would you, if you didn’t set out to kill him? We shall need to take your fingerprints for comparison, of course.”

“Do whatever tests you like,” he cried, wild-eyed with anguish, “but you won’t find any traces of me. Because I wasn’t there. I’m telling you the truth, Chief Inspector. I admit to handling that stolen stuff for Labrosse, I won’t try to deny it, but I didn’t kill him.”

Kate was feeling less confident by the minute that she’d found her murderer. And, curiously, she wasn’t all that disappointed. Kenway was a weak man, but he’d had a rough ride with Corinne. Perhaps he could still find happiness in his second marriage, if he and Liz could survive their present problems. Bloody fool to get entangled with a man like Yves Labrosse.

“That money you sent Labrosse,” she said. “Do I gather it wasn’t the first payment of its kind?”

“There’d been two lots before that. One for roughly the same amount, a bit over two thousand, the other just under.”

Hmm! In the search of Labrosse’s room there had been no trace of that sort of money. A secret bank account in Zurich?

“Those amounts were a fifty-fifty split of the proceeds, right?”

“No, I had to send Labrosse two-thirds of what I got for the stuff, because he had to share with another man. So it was a third each.”

Kate leaned forward. “Who was he, this third man?” She wondered, fleetingly, if Labrosse had been up to a new twist on his old “ghost employee” racket, by inventing a fictitious partner in crime in order to gather in the lion’s share of the proceeds for himself.

But Kenway said, “It was a chap named Larkin. Admiral Fortescue’s personal servant.”

Well, well!
Kate and Boulter exchanged glances. “Where did Larkin fit into the scheme?” she asked Kenway.

“He was the one who first told Labrosse about the stuff in the attics. Corinne and the admiral had decided between them which things were to be used to furnish the hotel and which were to be locked away for safety. That was all done before Labrosse arrived at Streatfield Park. The attics used as storerooms had special security locks fitted, but Larkin was able to get hold of the admiral’s bunch of keys whenever he wanted so that Labrosse could select one or two items to pass on to me. Not too many at any one time, because of the difficulty of smuggling things out of the hotel without being seen. Besides, I wouldn’t have wanted to handle too much hot stuff in one go. Safer altogether to do things bit by bit.”

Kenway gave no sign that he was aware of the bedmate relationship between his two fellow conspirators. Kate asked, “Have you ever met this man Larkin?”

He shook his head. “I told you, I never came to the hotel. Anyway, there was no reason why he and I should meet.”

Could Kenway be lying? Had he and Larkin sided together in a confrontation that resulted in Labrosse’s death? But Kate doubted that. Rather, with this new evidence about the theft of antiques, it strengthened the probability in her mind that Larkin had killed Labrosse. Kenway really had no motive that she could discern ... except the long shot that he had killed Corinne, and that Labrosse had somehow found this out and was blackmailing him. Thin!

Besides which, she had a strong gut feeling that she was looking for two separate perpetrators. Her money was still on Adrian Berger as Corinne’s killer. And now, again, Larkin seemed the best candidate for the Labrosse murder. But there had to be a link between the two ... somewhere, somehow. There had to be.

Get on with it, Kate.
Gut feelings were all very fine, but they needed the back-up of good, hard, solid evidence.

“You have insisted, Mr. Kenway, that you were not responsible for the murder of either Labrosse or your ex-wife. Very well, if I accept for the moment that you’re telling the truth, do you think it’s possible that either Labrosse or Larkin—or perhaps both of them acting together—could have killed Corinne? Maybe she discovered about the stuff being stolen from the attics, and they decided to silence her.”

Kenway didn’t reply; he looked deeply thoughtful. Was he giving serious consideration to the scenario she’d put to him? Or was he wondering if this offered him an escape route?

Boulter prodded him. “Well, Mr. Kenway, what have you to say about that suggestion?”

“I couldn’t say about Larkin, one way or the other, but I don’t think it could have been Labrosse.”

“What makes you think that?” Kate asked.

He looked ... puzzled. “Well, I can’t be absolutely sure, of course. But the point is, the afternoon Corinne was killed, Labrosse and I had arranged to meet at a spot near North Chapel. He brought me two bronze figurines and a silver snuff-box to sell. But Yves couldn’t tell you the truth about that, of course, when you asked him to account for his movements that afternoon. And neither could I.”

“What time did you meet him?”

“At two o’clock.”

“And you parted when?”

“We must have talked for about ten minutes. Longer, probably. We were discussing which sort of items were best for him to take next. Things that would fetch a good price, and that I could dispose of without too much risk.”

“Where, exactly, did this meeting take place?”

“It was at an old quarry that’s not used now. There’s room to park a couple of cars out of sight from the road.”

Kate stood up and crossed to where a large-scale map of the locality was blue-tacked to the wall.

“Come here, Mr. Kenway, and show me the exact spot where you and Labrosse met that day.”

Kenway studied the map, getting his bearings, then stabbed his finger.

“Just there.”

Kate ringed the spot. “Corinne Saxon was killed here,” she said, pointing to where a black cross had been drawn. Indicating another cross, she went on, “And Streatfield Park is here. Labrosse’s most direct route back to the hotel would have taken him along the lane through East Dean woods. He left you at, say, ten or fifteen minutes past two, and I remember it was established that he arrived back at the hotel at approximately three o’clock.” She glanced at Boulter. “He’d have had time, all right. Remind me, Sergeant, what was Labrosse’s alibi for Wednesday afternoon immediately prior to his arrival back here? How come we were satisfied with it?”

Boulter scratched his nose. “He’d been to Gloucester on business for the hotel. Suppliers of catering equipment, I think it was. On his return, he went via Buriton and called in at the market garden that provides a lot of the hotel’s veggies. We checked that, and the timing seemed okay. Labrosse was well-known there. He was always popping in to see what produce was ready for cutting.”

“But he wasn’t there, was he? Not at the time he told us.” Kate frowned as she went on, “I know old Mr. Loxon at the market garden. I buy stuff from him myself. A charming old boy, but he’s eighty if he’s a day. He thinks of nothing but his free-range poultry and his muck-and-magic vegetables, and I can’t imagine he’d be very precise about the exact hour of the day. If someone planted the idea in his head that they’d been with him at a certain time on a certain day, he’d be likely to accept that. Specially a good customer who saw him regularly.”

Black mark, Kate. Why didn’t you spot this weakness?

“Get someone to have another chat with Mr. Loxon, Sergeant, and see what they can winkle out, We’ve got to get this cleared up.”

She waved Kenway back into his chair and sat down herself. “Did you and Labrosse meet at any time since that afternoon?”

“No, we didn’t meet. But he phoned me last Friday afternoon to tell me that Corinne had been found dead. He thought I ought to know, so that I’d be prepared in case the police came to see me. He said he didn’t think it likely, but if they should start asking awkward questions about my exact whereabouts at all times since Corinne had last been seen alive—which was two-fifteen on Wednesday afternoon, he told me, when she’d set off from the hotel on a few days’ leave— then on no account must I mention anything about my business arrangement with him, and let out that he and I had met at the quarry that afternoon.”

“I see. Which means, Mr. Kenway, that you already knew about Corinne’s death when we came to see you on Saturday morning. Your arrival home waving a newspaper that carried the story of the murder was just so much eyewash. I was suspicious at the time, but your wife seemed genuinely surprised. How come you hadn’t told her the previous day, after Labrosse phoned you with the news?”

“It ... it was difficult. Liz was out when Labrosse phoned. She’d gone to the clinic, about her pregnancy. When she arrived home she was telling me about what the doctor had said, about her having to rest more because her blood pressure was up. Liz was very upset. It just didn’t seem the right moment to tell her about Corinne, and I kept putting it off. Then next morning, well ... the truth is I went out early in the hope that Liz would hear it herself on the radio ...”

“All right, all right, I get the picture.” Kate leaned back in her chair. “Tell me, did you know about Labrosse’s history before he took the job at Streatfield Park?”

“Well, only that he came from Switzerland.”

“You didn’t know he had a criminal record there? That he’d spent some time in gaol?”

“I had no idea. If I’d known that ...”

“... you’d have been more cautious about getting involved with him? I’m quite sure you would. Does your wife know about your dealings with Labrosse?”

“She does now.”

“Now?”

“Well, I had to tell her. After you questioned me about where I was on the afternoon Corinne was killed, Liz wanted to know what I’d really been doing. She kept on and on at me until in the end I gave in. I didn’t want to tell her, but it was better than having her think I’d killed Corinne.”

“Your wife must have had her suspicions when the police turned up and started questioning you about Wednesday afternoon. Why do you think she was prepared to give you an alibi?”

Kenway looked at her levelly, and she detected an upsurge of pride in the man.

“Because she loves me, that’s why.” Suddenly he was beseeching. “Please, you mustn’t be too hard on Liz. She was only trying to protect me. And ... there’s the baby to think of.”

Now he says it!

“I very much doubt that we’ll find it necessary to bring any charges against your wife,” Kate said tiredly.

She could have added, rubbing it in, that the poor woman would have more than enough trouble to contend with as a result of her husband’s stupidity. But she didn’t. The weak were supposed to be protected, weren’t they?

“What now, guv?” asked Boulter, returning to Kate’s office after he’d arranged for Paul Kenway to be driven home. “Larkin again?”

“First things first, Tim. I came out this morning without any breakfast, and I’m ravenous. Let’s have coffee and a sandwich while we recap on what we’ve picked up from Kenway.”

The sergeant’s face broke into a happy smile. “So the guv’s got a metabolism just like the rest of us. You make me wonder, sometimes, the way you can keep going for hours without sustenance.”

“When ten minutes is
your
limit?”

Grinning, Boulter picked up the phone and got through to the hotel kitchen. He launched into a detailed discussion about the filling of the sandwiches, then caught Kate’s eye and said hastily, “Whatever you’ve got will be fine.”

While they waited for the food to arrive, Kate ventured, “How are things at home now, Tim? Any better?”

Mind your own bloody business, said the sudden scowl on his face. But deeper down, it seemed, he had a need to talk.

“Couldn’t be more civilised. Julie and I are hardly on speaking terms. At least it’s better than screaming at each other. She’s threatening to go off again next weekend. What the hell does she expect of me, that’s what I want to know. Am I supposed to tell my DCI to get lost when she needs me to stay late?”

“It must be hard for Julie to understand the demands of this job.” Kate saw his jaw harden, and knew she was perilously close to the line she must not cross. “Can we forget rank for a minute? Can I speak to you as a friend? As a woman?”

He shrugged, saying nothing.

“Listen, there’s a limit to the amount of oneself we can give to the job. When we’re on a case like this, okay, we all have to be ready to work most of the hours God sends. But when you do get home, Tim, be a husband and father. Forget about work. Put it right out of your mind.”

“How can I? Do you?”

You walked right into that, Kate.
She thought of Felix, who’d shrunk from bothering her with a personal problem because she was engaged on a murder enquiry. Of course she’d have dropped everything, temporarily, to go to her aunt’s aid. But Felix hadn’t been prepared to make a claim on her. That had to say something about Kate’s own attitude.