Murder... Now and Then (25 page)

She smiled. ‘Well, that's a relief,' she said.

‘My sentiments exactly,' said Lloyd, and glanced at the bemused Finch. ‘The Inspector and I worked together before,' he explained, ‘The Met – Kingston Road Division, Leyford. From time to time we were both drafted into a special squad they'd set up to combat kerb-crawling. We worked about a dozen streets – residential areas. Sometimes we did them two nights running, that sort of thing. No pattern, no warning. Just getting told the day before which streets to do.' He smiled. ‘And as a result of our efforts, streetwalkers are not a thing of the past in that particular area of London.'

Finch laughed.

‘And I knew I'd seen Holyoak before,' he said. ‘I just couldn't remember where, and I couldn't make sense of the memory.'

But even as he said the words, he knew that he still couldn't really make sense of it. Because try as he might to fit Holyoak's features to the memory, he couldn't. He sighed, and put it to one side.

‘How did you get on with Mrs Scott?' he asked Judy.

She gave them a brief account of the interview, and Lloyd thought about it. Especially the bit about the police never knocking on Holyoak's door. Maybe Jenny's friend would come up with something.

‘Did you believe her?' he asked. ‘About why he was hitting her?'

‘Hard to say. She won't hear a word against her husband, so I wouldn't rule out her covering up for him.'

‘Her stepfather's murder or his wife's murder? Both?'

A shrug. ‘She couldn't stand her stepfather,' she said. ‘And she's totally loyal to Max. So there would be no contest either time, I shouldn't think.'

‘Even if what she says is true,' Tom said. ‘His reaction was a bit strong. He was threatening to beat her black and blue to get the truth out of her when I saw him.'

‘He had a good try,' said Judy.

Finch bristled. ‘Not when I was there, he didn't,' he said.

‘Well – she says he grabbed her arms, and she bruises easily,' said Judy. ‘ I suppose that might be true. I've got them digging out the statements and interviews and so on from the Valerie Scott murder. Perhaps they'll show Mr Scott in a less favourable light.'

‘Let me see them when you've finished with them,' said Lloyd. ‘In the mean time, I think I'll have a word with our Mr Scott' More movement in the corridor caught Lloyd's eye. He preferred the door he'd had in the first place, through which he couldn't see. This was supposed to encourage the troops, remind them of his presence. It hadn't been his idea. ‘And that,' he said, with a nod, ‘is Anna Worthing on her way back to the interview room.'

Judy turned to look, and turned back, frowning slightly.

‘Finch is having a bit of a problem with her,' he said. ‘Aren't you, Tom?'

Tom nodded. ‘She's no stranger to police stations, if you ask me,' he said. ‘She's saying nothing.'

‘Has she got a solicitor?' asked Judy.

‘When I say she's saying nothing, I mean nothing. She hasn't opened her mouth, not even to ask for a solicitor. I don't know why she agreed to come in – probably thought I'd arrest her if she didn't.'

‘Why don't you see how they're getting on with the security tapes, Tom?' said Lloyd. ‘Mrs Hill can have a go at Anna Worthing.'

Tom complied with relief, and left the room.

Judy smiled. ‘You want me to talk to her?' she asked.

‘Please.'

‘But the book says women are more likely to open up to men,' she said, a mischievous look in her eye. ‘Wouldn't you be better?'

‘I just think you should have a go,' said Lloyd, a touch uncomfortably.

‘So it's true,' she said.

‘What?'

‘A little bird told me that you fancied her,' said Judy.

‘You've been talking to Zelda Driver!'

Damn the woman, thought Lloyd. Thank God Judy wasn't the jealous type. If Zelda Driver had told him that Judy fancied some bloke, he'd have been worried.

‘She's right though, isn't she?' teased Judy.

‘I met Anna Worthing socially,' he said, hearing the defensive tone that he was trying to disguise. ‘That's all. So I don't think I should interview her. Not at this stage. Besides – we really haven't much to hold her on, as I just told Finch.'

‘She lied about where she was,' said Judy.

‘No,' said Lloyd seriously. ‘Finch was very particular about that. Scott lied. She just wasn't saying. And let's face it – unless we have some reason to believe that she stabbed her boss to death, where she went after she left is her business. I've an idea where Scott was, though,' he said.

‘And you're keeping it to yourself?'

‘Till I've spoken to him, yes. She's in interview room one – help yourself. You're the expert at getting the silent ones to talk.'

She sighed. ‘You make it sound as though I use a bullwhip,' she said.

‘Now there's a nice thought,' said Lloyd.

She pulled, a face, then turned her no doubt professional countenance to the door. Lloyd had had time to read exactly one page of the report on his desk when she came back.

‘Confessed already?' he said.

‘This is weird,' she said.

Lloyd raised his eyebrows. He knew it was weird. Until now, Judy hadn't admitted that anything could be weird.

‘I think whatever you've got is catching,' she said.

‘What's up?'

‘I know her. I thought I did when I saw her in the corridor, but I didn't think I really could. I thought it was an association of ideas. But it is her. She looks different too, but it's her all right.'

Whatever it was, it had unsettled Judy to the point where she was positively rambling, and interested him to the point where he didn't even attempt to correct her grammar. ‘ Who?' he asked.

‘I knew her as Annabel, not Anna. In Leyford. On Operation Kerbcrawl. She was a prostitute. She went by the name of Annabel le Sueur, would you believe?'

Lloyd smiled. ‘Did she now? Perhaps I will talk to her after all.'

‘Do you know her?'

He shook his head, smiling. ‘I'm just interested in anyone who uses Joan Crawford's real surname as her alias.' He grinned, a little puzzled. ‘ Have you been reading one of these
Astound Your Friends with Your Memory
books?'

Judy smiled. ‘ Oh, I remember her,' she said.

Like he remembered Holyoak. Except that nagging away at the back of his mind was the fact that he hadn't really remembered him. He couldn't rid himself of the image, and it still had the wrong face. He wondered idly if the deceased really
was
Holyoak. His stepdaughter was identifying him later; presumably she would know.

‘You've got that look on your face again,' Judy said.

He snapped out of it, and looked at her. ‘He just seemed different,' he said. ‘Younger.'

‘He was younger. I'll go and get my bullwhip – there's something very odd going on here.'

‘I told you that,' he said, as he followed her down the corridor to the interview room. A gap of thirteen years didn't account for it. Holyoak would have been in his early forties; the face which he could see in infuriating flashes was someone in his late twenties. He was simply mixing up two memories.

And Finch had been right; Anna Worthing did know her way around a police station. Zelda Driver was right, too, in her way, because there was something about Anna Worthing that he liked, not least her choice of soubriquet. He didn't mind that she had been a prostitute; he hoped very much that she wasn't a murderer.

He pushed open the interview-room door, and looked at Max Scott dressed in what he had been wearing yesterday, a little crumpled now, as he sat at the table. There were moves afoot to do away with the table in between; make it all nice and cosy. And there were times when Lloyd felt that the informal approach would work better. But Scott had been through the mill of a police investigation before; he would be wary whatever they did. Lloyd met with instant hostility.

‘Are you people going to drag me in here every time anyone gets murdered?'

Lloyd shrugged. ‘I think we'll confine ourselves to the ones that are related to you,' he said, going to the tape-recorder, setting it up. At first it had irritated him, this preamble that had to be gone through before he could start asking questions, but he had, as ever, brought it into the act. Sometimes it heightened the tension, sometimes he affected not to be entirely sure of new-fangled gadgets, sometimes he produced a kind of camaraderie with the suspect, man against machine, us against them, the ones who make up the rules.

‘This is what we do these days,' he said, after indicating the time, the date, and those present. ‘We record the interviews. Better idea, really – I can't think why we didn't always do it.' He sat down. ‘Because quite genuine mistakes were made, you know. I mean – it isn't easy, making notes while you're talking to someone – look at the tabloid papers. They get it wrong all the time. And of course, sometimes we wrote up notes of the interview hours afterwards. You can't rely on your memory like that – a case in point,' he said, conspiratorially, leaning towards Scott. ‘My sergeant could have sworn that this morning you said that Zelda Driver dropped you off at Anna Worthing's flat at six thirty, and that she was already there.'

Scott sighed loudly.

‘But what you actually said, apparently, was that you waited outside her door for two hours or more before she came home.' He shook his head. ‘Funny the tricks your memory plays on you,' he said.

Scott stared down at the table. ‘I just didn't want her to have to go through what I went through,' he muttered.

‘How very gallant of you.'

And yet, from what Zelda Driver had said that morning, the gallantry didn't seem so far fetched. She professed to be no admirer of Scott, and yet the picture she had painted was pretty much along the lines of the one his wife had given Judy. Zelda held firm in her belief that he could never have hurt Valerie. Lloyd had got the impression that Zelda even had someone else in mind, but he had been unable to draw it out of her. He might get Judy and her bullwhip to call on Zelda.

But, Zelda notwithstanding, Lloyd pressed on with his theory. After all, Tom had witnessed the man hitting his wife, and threatening her. ‘ My sergeant heard you tell your wife you'd get the truth out of her if you had to beat her black and blue,' he said, employing a tone of voice more suited to asking the man if he would like another cup of tea. ‘Is that right?'

Scott went brick red. ‘I've never done anything like that in my life before,' he whispered.

‘The truth about what?'

‘I … I don't know how much she's told you about that,' Scott said still painfully blushing. ‘Holyoak could have proved that I didn't kill Valerie. I saw him coming in to the flats as I was leaving. But Catherine never told me that that was who I had seen – she let me find out at the opening. I … I just—'

Lloyd shook his head. ‘But you knew the truth about that as soon as you saw him,' he said. ‘What truth were you going to beat out of her?'

He covered his face with his hands. ‘Nothing. I don't know. I didn't know what I was saying. Or doing.'

‘Didn't you? Then how do you account for the bruises? She didn't get them at the time, not according to my sergeant. I think
your
memory's been playing you false, Mr Scott.'

Scott's hands slid down his face as he looked at Lloyd.

‘I don't think you stood outside Anna Worthing's door for two hours,' he said. ‘ I don't think you ever had any intention of going to Anna Worthing. You wanted to go home, according to Mrs Driver. She thought you might do your wife a mischief, and told you to go somewhere to cool off. But I think once she dropped you off, you went home anyway. And I think your wife went home when she left the penthouse. I think you did try to beat the truth out of her.'

Scott dropped his head into his hands, covering his face.

‘Sorry, Mr Scott, but as I explained – we do have the tape-recorder to consider now. I'd like to hear your reply. Did you go home after Mrs Driver dropped you off?'

‘Yes,' said Scott, from behind his hands.

‘And did you continue to assault your wife?'

‘I – she ran away from me,' he said. ‘She got into the car, and drove off. I went back to Anna's, but Anna still wasn't there.'

‘What time
did
Anna Worthing get there?'

‘A few minutes after nine.'

‘What truth were you seeking, Mr Scott?'

He took some moments getting himself under control, then emerged from behind his hands. ‘If I'm not under arrest, I'd like to leave now,' he said, with difficulty.

‘I'm sure you would,' said Lloyd. ‘What truth, Mr Scott?'

‘I want to leave,' he repeated. ‘And unless my wife is bringing charges against me, I don't believe you can keep me here.'

Lloyd tipped the chair on to its two back legs, and terminated the interview, switching off the recorder. ‘ Your wife says she bruises easily,' he said, dropping forward again.

Scott got up to leave; Lloyd waited until he had reached the door before he spoke. ‘ Did you get the truth, Mr Scott?' he asked.

Scott looked at him for a moment. ‘No,' he said, and there were tears in his eyes.

Lloyd sat for a while in the interview room trying to work out what made Scott tick. He was quite prepared to believe that Scott had never done anything like that in his life before, but he had done it this time, and if Zelda and Catherine were painting a true picture of the man, then it had to have been something quite dreadful that had sparked it off. And all right, Catherine could have produced her stepfather as another witness as to Scott's whereabouts at the time of his wife's murder, but still not an entirely independent witness. And Holyoak would have had to remember seeing Scott, which there was no reason to suppose he would have done.