Murder in Adland (7 page)

‘Yes, we’ve
just finished the kitchen... one’s house is so much more of a home with an
Aah-gah
,
don’t you think?  My honey-and-tarragon roast chicken from the slow oven
is simply divine.’

Skelgill,
staring vacantly across the greedily expansive artificially stressed oak dining
table, looks like he is ready to put his head in his hands.  However,
salvation comes in the form of a large plate of jumbo scones, which glides into
land upon the great deck, at the head of a squadron comprising china,
silverware, butter, clotted cream and preserves.  He perks up.

‘Not too
early for a spot of afternoon tea, I hope, Inspector?’

She speaks
with an exaggerated military delivery, and an officer-class accent.

‘Very kind,
Mrs Goldsmith – I hope we’re not putting you out.’

‘Must keep
up one’s strength, Inspector – especially after this awful
business.  Dermott and I are simply devastated.  Such a loss to the
industry.’

Elspeth
Goldsmith, however, is evidently not sufficiently devastated for it to have
affected her appetite.  She immediately sits down and sets to, and it looks
like she will give Skelgill a good run for his money.  In appearance, she
bears a striking facial resemblance to her spouse; early indications suggest
she is also his equal in the self-promotion stakes.  Only in circumference
does she noticeably differ, and Skelgill has no doubt already dismissed from
his mind any requirement to ask her the embarrassing ‘underwear question’.

Skelgill’s strategy,
as outlined to DS Jones en route from the centre of Edinburgh, is based on the
premise that Elspeth Goldsmith probably knows more about the company and its
goings on than most.  However, she is unlikely to be forthcoming if she
senses the police have Dermott Goldsmith in their sights.  To this end, he
has decided to leave the latter to stew, while he applies flattery to his wife.

‘I gather
you’re a bit of an advertising whizz yourself.’

‘Oh no,
just a humble housewife.’  Elspeth Goldsmith sends a great wave of false
modesty crashing over them.  ‘I simply offer a little creative direction
now and again.  Before we set up
GT&A
I used to work in one of
the big London ad agencies –
TW&TS
, you’ve heard of them, of
course?  Hard to believe I met Dermott there when he was a mere trainee Account
Executive.’

‘If you
don’t mind me saying so, Mrs Goldsmith, you come across as a pretty capable
individual.’  Skelgill raises his half-eaten scone, as if to indicate that
his assessment extends to her home baking.  ‘Mr Goldsmith no doubt relies
on your judgement in a number of respects?’

Elspeth
Goldsmith’s dark piggy eyes glisten with pleasure.  Perhaps she is
unaccustomed to this kind of praise.  Preening – and brushing crumbs
from her ample bosom, she simpers affectedly.

‘Well,
behind the scenes, naturally, I effectively make a lot of the key decisions for
the company.  You could say I’m Dermott’s sounding board.’

‘Well,
perhaps you could help us in much the same way.’

Skelgill’s
entreaty is plausibly earnest.

‘I should
be delighted to assist, Inspector.  Another scone?’

‘Don’t mind
if I do, madam.’

‘Bother! 
We need more clotted cream.’

She heaves
herself to her feet and pads across to a skyscraper of an American refrigerator.

‘Mrs Goldsmith.’ 
Skelgill evidently decides to keep going while there is momentum.  ‘The
murder of Mr Tregilgis bears all the hallmarks of a bungled robbery by an
intruder – but until we get a clear lead, protocol demands that we
eliminate everybody who was on the inside, so to speak.’

Elspeth
Goldsmith, leaning into the fridge and obscured by its great door, seems
momentarily frozen.  However, as she emerges, the apparent explanation for
her hesitation becomes clear: she is swallowing a mouthful of something, and
indeed as she approaches licks what looks like custard from her lips.

‘I quite
understand, Inspector – I’m a bit of a crime fiction aficionado myself –
so I’m well versed in your procedures.’

Skelgill manages
to resist launching into his usual diatribe about what scant resemblance crime fiction
bears to reality.  Instead, he continues buttering-up, both metaphorically
and literally.

‘Then you’ll
appreciate, madam – more than most – how we have to turn some stones
that would be better left undisturbed.’  He pulls an apologetic
face.  ‘Unfortunately, things tend to come out about innocent people’s
private lives that in the final analysis have little bearing on the case.’

She nods
with enthusiasm, and her jowls follow suit with a small delay.

‘Absolutely,
Inspector – it just can’t be helped.’

Skelgill
assumes a conspiratorial air, leaning over his plate and fixing her with an
inquiring stare.

‘Is it
possible that Mr Tregilgis was having a relationship with one of the females in
the company – Miss Rubicon, for instance?’

Elspeth
Goldsmith raises a finger – and then notices a dab of cream on the nail
and sucks it off.

‘It’s odd
you should say that, Inspector.’  Her voice becomes a little hushed. 
‘Because I’ve had Dermott working on it for the last couple of months.’

‘With any
success?’

‘Apparently
whenever Ivan came up to Edinburgh, Julia always wore more... well,
tarty
clothes and make-up – if that were possible.’  She adds the last
phrase sniffily.  ‘And they spent a lot of time out of the office
together.’

‘What made
you suspect in the first place?’

‘Well, Inspector
– Ivan would always have some excuse for booking into a hotel in town
– that he would be out late with clients, that sort of thing.’  She
waves a regal hand upwards.  ‘We have six bedrooms here – seven if
you include the maid’s room – what possible reason other than if he were
seeing Julia could he have for not staying with us?’

Skelgill
affects a convincingly perplexed expression.

‘I really
can’t imagine, madam – but could it be that Miss Rubicon just was wanting
to impress him with her work?’

‘But,
Inspector – I understand she has no boyfriend – and she has been in
Edinburgh for almost a year now.’

‘Do you
think they were having a relationship during the time she worked in London?’

 ‘Well,
that’s another thing, Inspector.  I was catching up on the
goss
from Mel on Saturday night – that’s Mel Stark in the London office. 
She says there was all sorts of friction between Julia and Krista before Julia
left – the girl was strutting about as though she owned the place. 
Mel thinks Julia got the promotion ahead of her – that Ivan pushed it
through to get Julia out of their hair and calm Krista down.’

‘What did
Miriam Tregilgis think about all this?  I take it you know her quite
well?’

Elspeth
Goldsmith taps the side of her nose.

‘Still
waters run deep, Inspector.’

Skelgill
appears puzzled.

‘Could you
elaborate on that, Mrs Goldsmith?’

‘Talk to
her and you’d think she doesn’t know what’s going on under her very nose
– Ivan – the money – but I don’t believe it.’

‘When you
say the
money
...?’

‘Likes her
lobster thermidor at The Savoy.  And what with the five hundred thousand from
the cross-option agreement, and Ivan’s life insurance – she’s sitting
pretty isn’t she?  Meanwhile we’re left to keep the company afloat.’

Skelgill
raises his eyebrows – it seems that Elspeth Goldsmith is better informed
– ostensibly at least – than her Financial Director husband.

‘And are
you suggesting she’s not exactly upset about losing Mr Tregilgis?’

‘Always
acted a bit aloof, I thought – and never slow to find fault.’

‘Is it possible
she has another man?’

‘Well, not wishing
to spread scandal, Inspector.’  She folds her plump arms and leans
forward, rather indecently exposing her cleavage.  ‘Mel was saying that
Geri, one of the juniors in the London office, has spotted Miriam at the same
gym she uses.  You know – with one of her personal training clients? 
He’s a well-known professional footballer.  Apparently the sessions
sometimes get rather intimate.’

‘When were
they seen together?’

‘It’s been within
the last couple of months.’

‘It sounds
like Mrs Stark is well informed.’

‘Well, like
I say, Inspector – I’m not one to gossip myself – but she’s my eyes
and ears in the London office.’

Skelgill
glances at DS Jones, who raises her pencil to indicate to him that she wishes
to ask a question.  She has been reading a message just delivered to her
mobile.  Skelgill more pointedly turns to her, so that Elspeth Goldsmith
can see that he is handing over the baton.

‘Mrs
Goldsmith, if I could just ask you for a second about your conversation with Mrs
Stark.’

‘Absolutely.’

DS Jones glances
at her notes.

‘You
mentioned in your statement that when the alarm was raised at about three-fifteen
a.m. on Sunday morning, you were together in the hotel bar?’

‘That’s
right – that’s when she was telling me about the toy-boy, so to speak.’

‘And you
joined with the others to see why there was a commotion in the bedroom corridor?’

‘Correct.’

‘Can you
recall if you took anything with you, from the bar?’

Elspeth Goldsmith
strums her fleshy lower lip as she reflects.

‘You know
– I don’t think I was drinking – I was on mineral water by then
– but wait – yes!  I believe I may have done – it’s a
bit embarrassing, actually – but it was a long time since dinner –
we’d raided the refrigerator and found some delicious cheesecake – so I
may have taken the dish with me – and of course I would have lost track
of it while I was trying to calm Miriam down.’

DS Jones
nods and looks to her superior for him to resume.  Skelgill picks up where
she leaves off.

‘How was
Mrs Tregilgis at that moment?’

‘Positively
deranged.’  Elspeth Goldsmith’s eyes widen, and her expression becomes
animated.  ‘Screaming, bloodstained – trying to fight us off like
she was having a night terror.  We all got thoroughly soaked in blood.’

‘What did
you do then?

‘A couple
of the girls and I shepherded her into the bathroom, splashed water in her
face, got her to sit down on the seat of the loo.  Then when she’d
recovered a little we changed her into a hotel dressing-gown and took her into
my bedroom.’

Skelgill
nods.  Then he suddenly looks a little disconcerted and begins to push
back his chair.

‘All this tea,
and talk of loos, Mrs Goldsmith – if you don’t mind I’ll just nip to
yours before we leave?’

Elspeth
Goldsmith, though still seated, manages to affect a little upper-body swagger.

‘There’s a
choice of six, Inspector – the nearest is out in the hallway – but
you must see our new en suite – first floor, second door – we’ve
just had the most marvellous heated marble tiles fitted.’

Skelgill takes
some time to complete his expedition, though it is not the most marvellous
heated marble tiles that detain him, but an extraordinary exhibition of
photographic enlargements that lines the walls of the public areas.  Dermott
Goldsmith with a TV soap star; Dermott Goldsmith with a famous sportsman; both
the Goldsmiths with well-known film director; and so on.  Curiously, there
is an impression that it is the grinning Goldsmiths who are the subject of
these pictures, while the bemused celebrities are muscled into the background.

‘What did
you think, Inspector?’  Elspeth Goldsmith is waiting with DS Jones at the
open front door.  ‘Best part of a hundred pounds a shot.  Not
something you’ll see every day, even in this part of the city.’

‘It’s
certainly a pleasant area.’

‘More than
pleasant, Inspector.’  She sweeps an arm towards the driveway.  ‘This
is Ravelston.’

Skelgill nods
politely, though evidently with insufficient recognition to satisfy Elspeth
Goldsmith.

‘The home
of Scotland’s Great and Good, Inspector.  I grew up in this very house.’

‘I didn’t
realise you were Scotch – your accent sounds more English.’

 ‘Scots,
Inspector.’  Elspeth Goldsmith frowns as she corrects him.  ‘I’m a
MacClarty – I simply went to the right school.  So important, don’t
you think?’

Skelgill looks
like he is grappling with the urge to run away.  It is just as well that
he resists, for he would miss one final nugget of information that Elspeth
Goldsmith wishes to dispense.  She shadows them to their car and lowers
her moon face close to the open driver’s window.

‘Did I mention
Ivan and Krista Morocco?’