The Cold Hand of Malice (18 page)

Paget glanced across at Tregalles. The sergeant took his cue and said, ‘For a friendly chat, that sort of thing, was it, Mrs Ballantyne?’

She frowned. ‘I suppose you could say that,’ she said. ‘I had nothing specific in mind.’

‘And you saw nothing to suggest that someone had broken into the house? Nothing suspicious? There was no other reason for you to go into the house?’

‘No.’ Moira shot a puzzled look at Paget as if seeking an explanation for the sergeant’s questions. ‘I don’t understand what you’re getting at,’ she said, turning back to Tregalles.

‘It just seems odd to me that you would go into the house and go up to Mrs Holbrook’s bedroom for no other reason that to have a bit of a chat, when you say yourself she might well have been asleep. Are you sure there wasn’t another reason, Mrs Ballantyne?’

‘I really don’t know what you expect me to say,’ she said softly. ‘It’s the sort of thing one does on a whim, I suppose. I hadn’t
meant
to go into the house when I went out to post the letter. It was just the fact that the light was on that prompted me to go in. We were friends, and—’

‘Were you really?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I mean,’ said Tregalles softly, ‘
were
you still friends after Mrs Holbrook accused you of having an affair with her husband the day before she was killed?’

The colour drained from Moira’s face, leaving two bright spots on her cheeks, but she remained silent.

‘We need an answer, Mrs Ballantyne,’ said Paget. ‘What was your relationship with Mrs Holbrook at that point?’

Moira closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. She exhaled slowly. ‘All right,’ she said tightly, ‘since you seem to have been prying into our affairs . . .’ She stopped, perhaps realizing that she could have chosen a better word. ‘Laura more or less accused me of having an affair with Simon,’ she continued, ‘but it wasn’t true. If Simon was having it off with someone – and I can’t say I would be all that surprised if he was – it wasn’t with me. And that is why I went into the house; I wanted to clear that up once and for all.’

‘And yet there must have been some reason for Mrs Holbrook to believe that you were having an affair with her husband,’ said Paget. ‘Why do you think that was?’

Moira compressed her lips and shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, ‘but I do know she was wrong!’

‘You said you wouldn’t be surprised if Mr Holbrook was having an affair with someone. Why is that, Mrs Ballantyne? Does he have a history of such behaviour?’

Moira drew a deep, steadying breath. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘I don’t
know
anything for certain, but I don’t think it’s any secret that Simon does have that sort of reputation, and things have been a bit strained between him and Laura recently. But Laura was wrong to think that I was involved.’

‘Strained?’ said Paget. ‘I don’t recall you mentioning that when we spoke to you last week. Would you like to explain that, Mrs Ballantyne?’

Moira sighed. ‘It’s been that way for the past few months,’ she said wearily. ‘I didn’t want to say anything to you before because it’s really none of my business, but there was some sort of friction between them.’

‘How
did
you get along with Laura Holbrook?’ Paget asked. ‘That is before she accused you of having an affair with Simon? You and your husband seem to have enjoyed the company of the Holbrooks; you did a number of things together, and yet I have the impression that your feelings toward Laura in particular were ambivalent to say the least. Is that true?’

Moira eased back in her chair and thought about that for a moment. ‘I don’t know how to answer that,’ she said slowly. ‘It’s hard to explain. You see, it was almost as if Laura had two personalities. She could be charming and gracious, and one of the nicest people you would ever wish to meet, and you couldn’t help but like her. But there was another side to her, a harder side. When it came to business she was like a machine. She knew exactly what she wanted, and she made sure she got it, which is why the company is doing so well today. Simon was thrilled with the results, at least at first, because it allowed him to get on with what he likes to do best. He could spend his time in the lab and not have to worry about the marketing end of things, and the day-to-day running of the office, so he was pretty happy. But it’s been clear for some time, now, that things were getting a bit strained between them. In fact there were times when it was rather uncomfortable being around them when they were sniping at each other.’

‘About what, exactly?’

‘Anything and everything, although I think it was mainly to do with the business. Simon didn’t like the way Laura was taking over. Trevor said Simon told him he felt as if it was slipping away from him and he was losing control. He said Laura had even gone so far as to countermand decisions he’d made, and he was getting fed up with it.’

‘And yet Mr Holbrook himself talked about his wife and what she had done for the company in glowing terms,’ said Paget, ‘and Peggy Goodwin indicated that Mrs Holbrook’s death would be a serious blow to the business.’

‘Oh, I don’t think there can be any doubt about that. Laura saved that business from going under. She poured a lot of her own money into the firm, moved them into new premises, but even that wouldn’t have been enough without her contacts and expertise, so she is going to be missed. But as I said, the woman was like a machine when it came to business. She was spending more and more time away from home, drumming up new business, and that was all she talked about when she was here, and I know Simon was unhappy about that.’

‘Would you say he was looking for a way to end the partnership?’

‘Yes, I think he . . .’ Moira stopped abruptly as she realized the implication. ‘But
not
in the way you’re suggesting,’ she said quickly.

‘In what way, then?’

Moira shrugged helplessly. ‘I don’t know. I only meant to say that I think he was getting a bit frustrated, that’s all.’

‘Did Mrs Holbrook ever say anything to you that would indicate there were problems between her and her husband?’

‘Not really. Well, there was once, about a month ago, when we were having coffee together at the club. She seemed to be a bit wound up, and she’d been pretty short with Simon during the game, so I asked her if anything was wrong. She said something to the effect that she wished Simon would stick to what he did best and leave the running of the business to her. She said she couldn’t understand what his problem was; he had only to look at the bottom line to see how well they had done under her guidance. The trouble was, I don’t think she could see what she was doing to Simon’s pride,’ she concluded.

‘Did you try to point that out to her?’

‘Good Lord, no! Laura wouldn’t have listened anyway, especially if she thought I was taking Simon’s side.’

‘But you did have some sympathy for Simon?’

‘Well, yes, but . . .’

‘Because I understand the two of you were very close at one time,’ said Paget, ‘so perhaps Laura had good reason to think that the two of you had resumed your earlier relationship.’

The Cupid’s bow of Moira’s mouth disappeared into a thin, hard line. ‘You have been busy, haven’t you?’ she said icily. ‘And I resent the implication. I’ll admit we did have a brief, a
very
brief fling – you couldn’t even call it an affair – before Simon and Laura were married, but it was a mistake and one I deeply regret. Simon . . .’ She shook her head as if lost for words. ‘Simon is one of those people you can’t help liking. He’s attractive, he can be fun to be with, and women like him, but there’s no depth to him, no commitment to anything but his work. Laura may well have been right in believing that Simon was having an affair, but as I said before, it wasn’t with me. I made a mistake once, but I love my husband, and I wouldn’t want to do anything to destroy the relationship we have. That’s it. End of story!’

‘Not quite,’ Paget said. ‘You said that once you realized that Mrs Holbrook was dead, your only thought was to get away from the house. All right, fair enough, I can understand that, but why didn’t you call the police as soon as you got home?’

Moira didn’t answer at once. Instead, she looked down at her hands, spreading her fingers as if trying to decide whether her nails needed retouching. ‘I was afraid,’ she said at last. ‘I thought if no one knew I’d been in the house, I could stay out of it. I had blood on my hands, on my coat.’ She shrugged. ‘As I said, I was scared. I know it sounds weak, but I didn’t want to be involved.’

‘Because you might be suspected of killing her,’ said Paget bluntly.

‘No!’ It was more a cry of anguish than negation, then: ‘Well, yes, I suppose that was part of it. I knew that people had overheard her accuse me of having an affair with Simon; I’d gone in to try to have it out with her, and I knew people would probably think the worst.’

‘And why shouldn’t they, Mrs Ballantyne? You admit that the two of you had quarrelled; you
say
there was nothing going on between you and Simon Holbrook, but we only have your word for that. You were involved in an earlier relationship, whatever you choose to call it, and you’ve as good as told us that Simon Holbrook was unhappy with his wife.

‘Looking at it from our point of view, let’s assume, for the moment, that you had never really given up on having Simon Holbrook for yourself, and when it became obvious that he was becoming dissatisfied with his marriage, you saw your chance. But Laura caught on, so you had to do something if you wished to get Simon back.

‘So when you learned that Laura Holbrook would not only be alone that night, but would be half drugged, sleeping off a migraine, you saw your chance. You begged off going to see the film yourself, then you went along to the house, used your key to get in, and went upstairs to Mrs Holbrook’s room. You killed her, then went downstairs, pulled out drawers and tossed a few things around to make it look as if the place had been vandalized. You then pried open the back door to make it look like a burglary, and went home and waited for someone else to find the body. Tell me, what did you do with the weapon?’

Moira was shaking her head. She looked dazed. ‘I don’t know anything about a weapon,’ she said desperately when she found her voice. ‘I can only tell you what happened. I don’t know how you could think that I could do such a thing to anyone.’ She compressed her lips and closed her eyes tightly to hold back the tears. ‘I’ve told you the truth, I swear,’ she whispered. ‘Are you going to arrest me?’

Paget sat back in his seat. It was tempting. Moira’s prints were all over the murder scene; she admitted to being there at or about the time Laura Holbrook was killed; admitted she had blood on her clothes, and they only had her word for it that she and Simon weren’t having an affair.

Which could mean that she and Simon Holbrook had hatched the plot between them, and had used Moira’s husband, Trevor, to give Simon an alibi.

It was very tempting – but it wasn’t enough.

‘No,’ he said, ‘but we will be searching your house and the surrounding area, and we will need the clothing you were wearing that night for forensic examination.’ He looked at his watch and nodded to Tregalles. ‘This interview is terminated at 15.23,’ he said. ‘However,’ he continued as Moira rose somewhat shakily to her feet, ‘I’m afraid we are going to have to keep you here until we have arranged for our people to begin the search. Do you have a mobile phone with you, Mrs Ballantyne?’

‘Why, yes, I have it here. I was about to phone Trevor, though God only knows what I’m going to say to him.’ Moira opened her handbag, but Paget held out his hand as she took out the phone.

‘Sorry,’ he told her, ‘but I’ll take charge of that. It will be given back to you as soon as you get home.’

Moira wasn’t asleep. She was trying to pretend she was, but he could tell. She was lying too still, too rigid – as he was himself. She’d always twitted him about the way he could fall asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow, but she didn’t know how often he’d lain awake, pretending to be asleep. The illuminated hands of the bedside clock stood at twenty minutes to two, and Trevor Ballantyne had been going over and over in his head the events of the past few days ever since coming to bed at eleven.

The police had picked Moira up and brought her back in an unmarked car. Trevor had offered to come with her, but she’d said no, she’d be fine on her own. But she’d looked anything but fine when she returned, accompanied by two plain-clothes officers. A second car arrived moments later, and he’d been handed a search warrant when he opened the door.

There were four of them – three men and a woman. They’d spent more than three hours in the house and garden. They’d examined every piece of clothing, including everything in the hamper waiting to be washed, and they taken away her coat, her shoes, even the underclothes she said she was wearing that night, and he’d felt so damned helpless, because there was nothing he or anyone else could do to stop them.

Moira had rushed to the door and locked it the moment they’d gone, then stood there with her back to it as if barring the way should they decide to return.

‘It’s all right,’ he’d said soothingly. ‘Everything is going to be all right, Moira. Believe me.’

But she’d shaken her head. ‘They’ll be back,’ she’d whispered. ‘They don’t believe me, Trevor. They think I did it. They think I killed Laura. They’re going to arrest me. They . . . Oh, God! What am I going to do?’

She’d pulled away from him when he’d tried to comfort her, and they’d said little to each other throughout the rest of the evening. He’d called their solicitor; explained the situation to him, only to be told there was nothing to be done unless or until Moira was actually arrested and charged.

Now, staring into the darkness, he couldn’t help wondering. The police weren’t in the habit of arresting people without good reason, and Moira had admitted to being in the house about the time Laura was killed; they had her fingerprints, and there was that bloodstain on her coat. So why
hadn’t
she called the police? And why hadn’t she told him that night if she had nothing to hide?