Model Murder (3 page)

“You told me that Miss Saxon set off from here on Wednesday afternoon for a few days away. Where was she going?”

He looked slightly agitated by the question. Or was it just that he was still a bit dazed from the shattering news he’d received? “I’m afraid I can’t tell you. Corinne didn’t say.”

“Really? Suppose some kind of problem or emergency had arisen? Wouldn’t you have needed to know how to contact her?”

The admiral turned his head from side to side in firm denial. “It wasn’t necessary. Corinne had been working extremely hard for several months to get the hotel launched and running. She needed a complete break, away from it all.” He paused, almost as if scanning his reply for flaws. “Yes, indeed, she was entitled to that.”

“When did you last see her, sir?”

“We lunched together, here, on Wednesday. In the hotel restaurant, that is. Corinne set out directly afterwards.”

“At what time would that have been?”

“Er, let me see ... it must have been about two-fifteen. I remember she glanced at her watch and said she had to be going. I sent a porter to bring her car round to the front, and when he came to say it was outside, Corinne stood up at once. The man carried her case out, and I walked with her to the front entrance.”

So she’d been driving, in her own car. Where the hell was it now?

“Can you give me details of Miss Saxon’s car, sir? Make, colour, registration number. No vehicle was found at the scene, and I must get my people onto tracing it immediately.”

He frowned. “It’s a Ford, I know that, but I’m not very well informed about the modern range of models. It’s a sporty car, bright red, and it has a fold-down hood.”

“An Escort Cabriolet, then.”

“If you say so. Corinne bought it only last month from the Ford dealer in Marlingford.”

“Can you tell me what she was wearing when she left here?”

“Oh dear! She looked very smartly turned out, but then she invariably did.”

“How about the colour of her clothes?”

He frowned again, then shook his head helplessly.

“Try to visualise her sitting with you at lunchtime,” Kate suggested. “Was her outfit brown, red, green, blue?”

“Green,” he said, nodding. “Yes, I’m sure it was green. Some kind of suit, I think.”

Green fitted with the clothing on the body. “May I use your telephone, sir?”

“Of course.” He gestured to where it stood on the small round table beside his armchair. “You need to press nine first, if you require an outside line.”

Kate got through to Divisional HQ. “Bob, I want a systematic search for a red Escort Cabriolet owned by a Miss Corinne Saxon. She bought it from Brownley’s in Marlingford last month, so you can get the registration number from them. All divisions, and notify adjoining forces just for the moment. But if we don’t come up with something fast, it’ll have to go nationwide. That car has got to be found.”

When she replaced the phone, the admiral said, “You think, then, that Corinne’s car was driven away by ... her assassin?”

“It’s a strong possibility. Are you quite certain, sir, that you really have no idea where Miss Saxon was going?”

“No, no, absolutely no idea at all.”

Wasn’t he being too quick and emphatic with his denial? “Well, if anything occurs to you, please let me know at once. My officers will be asking the members of your staff if she said anything to any of them.”

“They’re unlikely to be able to tell you any more than I can, Chief Inspector.” There was a touch of asperity in his tone.

“We’ll see. How about Miss Saxon’s next of kin? Whoever it is must be informed of what has happened. Can you tell me who that would be?”

The admiral stared at her, as if he’d been put on the spot by her question. “I ... I don’t think she had any relatives ... not to my knowledge.”

“I’m sure there must be someone she regarded as her next of kin. Let’s hope there’ll be an address book in her room.”

“Oh, I suppose that is possible.” He paused, then added, “Wasn’t there anything of the sort in her handbag?”

“Her handbag is missing, sir. We found no trace of it at the scene.”

He looked surprised, and ... what? Relieved?

“Where was Miss Saxon’s private accommodation?” Kate asked him. “I’d like to take a quick look around while I’m here.”

“Er ... Corinne had some rooms on the top floor converted into a self-contained apartment.”

“That will be locked, I presume? Will there be a spare key?”

“I imagine there must be. In the hotel office, I expect.”

“When I was here on the launch day, I remember having Miss Saxon’s deputy pointed out to me, though I didn’t actually meet him. He’ll be in charge of the hotel now, I imagine?”

“I suppose he will be. Yves will have to be informed about Corinne.” He sighed jerkily, and blinked his eyes several times. “This is very distressing. It’s difficult to assemble one’s thoughts. Labrosse, the name is—Yves Labrosse. He is Swiss.”

“Perhaps your steward could take me to see Mr. Labrosse, sir. I’d better have a word with him myself.”

“Oh, well, if you think it’s necessary.” The admiral tinkled a silver bell on the table beside him. The steward entered at once, as if he’d been standing just the other side of the door, listening.

“Ah ... Larkin. Chief Inspector Maddox has brought tragic news. Miss Saxon is dead ... murdered. She was strangled, apparently. It is scarcely believable.”

The man’s reaction was contrived, theatrical. He recoiled half a step, his eyes widening in horror. Was he just covering the fact that he’d had his ear to the door? Or was his prior knowledge more sinister?

Kate cut short his expressions of dismay by saying briskly, “I’d like you to take me to Mr. Labrosse, please.”

The man glanced at the admiral for permission.

“Yes, yes, Larkin. Do as the chief inspector says.”

“I’ll come back and see you later on, Admiral,” said Kate. “We shall need to talk again.”

Outside, walking along the corridor, she asked Larkin, “When was the last time you saw Miss Saxon?”

That halted him in his tracks. “Hey! What’re you getting at?”

“Just answer the question, please.”

“You going to be in charge of this case, then?” he asked, showing as much contempt as he dared.

“I shall be heading the investigation, yes. Well?”

He ruminated, sullenly taking his time. Finally, he said, “About half-twelve on Wednesday. She came along to see if the admiral was ready for his lunch.”

“And you didn’t see her again after that?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Very well,” Kate said, moving on.

The man was uneasy, and she let him sweat. Later, he’d be questioned at length by one of the as-yet-unassembled murder squad. And possibly again by her, if his answers were unsatisfactory.

Beside the reception desk, a door led into an office. Larkin threw it open without first knocking, and a woman working at a word-processor looked up sharply in annoyance. She had a long, rather plain, somewhat horsey face. Large spectacles with downward-sloped lenses, intended to add style, gave her an unfortunately dolorous appearance.

“Look here, Larkin, you can’t just come barging in like this.” She spotted Kate behind him, and modified her resentment. “Oh, what is it?”

“Where is he?” Larkin demanded.

“If you’re referring to Mr. Labrosse, he’s in his office.” She addressed Kate. “Who shall I say wants him?”

“Please inform Mr. Labrosse that Detective Chief Inspector Maddox of the South Midlands Police would like a word.” She turned to the man dismissively. “Thank you, Mr. Larkin. That will be all for now.”

He scowled before departing, though whether at her or at the secretary was uncertain. With her hand on the phone, the secretary asked, “What shall I tell Mr. Labrosse it’s about?”

“Just say that I want to see him.”

Ten seconds later Kate was ushered into the inner room. It was spacious, tastefully furnished in tones of green and beige and brown. There were two desks, both of them large and opulent, but one was larger than the other. The man who rose to greet her had been seated at the slightly smaller desk. She had seen him before at the launch party, but they’d not spoken.

“Chief Inspector Maddox. In what way can I assist you?” He spoke in a rich firm voice that carried only a trace of a continental accent. Smiling with professional charm, he gestured her into a comfortable chair placed a little to one side. “It is not a serious matter, I trust? Is one of the staff in some kind of trouble?”

He was, above all, suave. Around forty—tall and dark and very nearly handsome. His subdued grey worsted suit, if bought off the peg, had come off a very expensive peg. A slightly anachronistic touch was the corner of a whiter-than-white handkerchief showing at his breast pocket.

“I’m afraid it’s a very serious matter, Mr. Labrosse. Earlier this afternoon Miss Corinne Saxon’s body was discovered in the woods at East Dean.”

He jerked to attentiveness. “Her body? You mean that Corinne is dead?”

Kate watched him, noting a complexity of emotions flickering behind the carefully controlled features. “I’m afraid I do. She had been strangled.”

“Mon dieu!
How is this possible? When was she killed? Who could have done it? Strangled, you say. How shocking! How brutal!”

“Perhaps you can help me towards finding an answer to those questions, Mr. Labrosse.”

“That is my wish, of course, in whatever way I can. But I don’t see what you want of me. Corinne set off from here on Wednesday for a brief holiday, but if she was found in East Dean woods she didn’t get far. Who could have waylaid her? For what motive? Was it theft, for cash or whatever else she had on her?”

While talking, his glance had strayed a couple of times in the direction of the other desk. Corinne’s desk, presumably. Was he telling himself that, incredibly, she would never again be sitting there? Or might he be mentally sizing it up for his own occupation?

As with the admiral, Kate did not choose to enlighten Labrosse regarding the motive. “Do you happen to know where Miss Saxon was going? And with whom?”

“But she departed alone, Chief Inspector.”

“That doesn’t mean she wasn’t planning to join up with someone. You haven’t answered the first part of my question, Mr. Labrosse, about where she was going.”

He gestured his two hands apart in apology. “I have no idea where she was going. None at all.”

“Isn’t it surprising that Miss Saxon didn’t say?”

He raised his eyebrows, shrugged his elegantly suited shoulders. “It was her own concern,
n’est-ce pas?”

“According to Admiral Fortescue, she didn’t tell him, either.”

His glance sharpened. “How did the admiral take this terrible news?”

“It was a great shock to him, of course. As I imagine it must be for you.”

“Ah, yes. Indeed, yes. A great shock.” Labrosse had another stab at getting some answers from her. “Have you any theory yet as to who could have done this dreadful thing? And why?”

“The murder investigation has barely begun,” Kate pointed out. “And that leads me to another point. I shall need to set up temporary headquarters. Somewhere as near as possible to the East Dean woods.” Kate regarded him expectantly. “Apart from a few cottages and a pub, there is only Streatfield Park within striking distance.”

Labrosse looked dismayed, appalled. “We couldn’t possibly have a horde of police officers traipsing around the hotel and upsetting the guests. No, no, it’s out of the question.”

“I’m sure you could think of somewhere suitably tucked away. We’d be very discreet, I assure you.” Kate’s tone and expression was challenging. “I take it, Mr. Labrosse, that you meant what you said about wanting to do all you can to help the police in this unhappy business?”

A faint flush coloured his smooth features. “Naturally I do. You have my word, Chief Inspector. However, the matter of making facilities available to you is up to Admiral Fortescue. He is the owner of Streatfield Park.”

“I shall certainly ask the admiral’s permission before we set up our Incident Room. But he’s been in poor health, hasn’t he, ever since the hotel has been open? I imagine that you, as the assistant manager, would be better placed to suggest somewhere suitable that would cause the least inconvenience.”

Labrosse rubbed his close-shaven chin, not looking at all delighted. After a minute’s thought, he said, “Perhaps the two new squash courts could be given over to you. They are removed from the house, situated at the far end of the stable block. We were planning to have them ready for use some time next week, but I suppose that could be postponed.”

“It sounds ideal. Are the toilet facilities there working yet?”

“Oh, yes. And the changing rooms are finished, too. But there’s only one telephone line, and that goes through the hotel switchboard.”

“No problem,” Kate said briskly. “We’ll have our own direct lines installed. I’ll get one of my officers to come and look things over right away. And I’ll square matters with Admiral Fortescue. Now, Mr. Labrosse, I want to take a look around Miss Saxon’s private apartment, which I understand is at the top of the house. I’ll ask your secretary to find a spare key and take me up, shall I?”

“I’ll take you myself, Chief Inspector,” he said, all affability now.

“Thank you, but I have no wish to disrupt the running of the hotel more than is necessary.” In reality, Kate thought that a chat with the secretary might be productive.

* * * *

Corinne Saxon’s apartment, transformed from what had once been attics, was now a super penthouse. Set a little back behind the screen of the house’s balustrade, the large dormer windows looked out past the Grecian urns and gave a clear view of the grounds and most of what was going on therein. Yet the apartment itself was completely private, even with its own roof garden that offered the possibility of nude sunbathing or, alternatively, sitting in the leafy shade of tubbed trees. Luxury was the name of the game here, and Corinne Saxon must have judged she was on to a good thing.

The decor was ultra modern, ivory and turquoise, with billowy-soft, satiny leather sofas and matching armchairs. A few choice pieces of furniture (on loan from the admiral?) were set around tastefully, and likewise several original oil paintings on the walls.