The Cold Hand of Malice (26 page)

Susan raised her head; her dark eyes flinty as they met Paget’s own. ‘Trevor!’ she breathed. ‘That’s where this came from, isn’t it? I thought he’d changed, but apparently not. But I wonder if he mentioned
his
little fling with Laura back then, and the way she led him on, then dumped him. She did that with a lot of boys; everyone was fair game as far as she was concerned, because they all wanted the same thing. Unfortunately, Blair, the boy I was going with, was no different, so Laura really did me a favour. Not that he had any better luck than the others, because, as Laura put it so succinctly herself, the first man to get into her knickers was going to have to be rich enough to pay for it. And I must say she made good on that promise when she married Michael Southern.

‘But for your information, Chief Inspector, I am not “most people”, and I don’t know why you think you have the right to pry into my private life. Yes, there was a time when I thought that Simon would ask me to marry him, and yes, I was hurt when he chose Laura, but when I saw how happy the two of them were together, I knew it would have never worked for us. I got over it and moved on, and we’ve all remained friends. As to what happened to the marriage since then, I have no idea. I was just as surprised as Simon when it started to fall apart.’

‘Thank you,’ said Paget, ‘but for
your
information, Miss Chase, we don’t ask these questions to embarrass you; we ask them because we have to look at anyone and everyone who may have had a motive for killing your sister.’

‘I’m sure you do, but I can’t say it makes me feel any better, knowing that you are looking at me as a suspect in the murder of my own sister.’ She looked pointedly at her watch. ‘And it’s time I got back to the shop,’ she said. ‘So, unless you have any more questions . . .?’

‘Just one or two more,’ said Paget blandly. ‘Did you or Mr Holbrook leave here at any time during the evening in question?’

The question seemed to catch Susan by surprise. Her expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes that was hard to read, and for just a moment she seemed uncertain about how to answer.

She shook her head, then frowned. ‘Apart from going down to make sure I’d locked the car, no, we didn’t go out.’

‘Do you remember what time that was?’ Paget asked.

‘Seven fifteen, seven thirty. I know it wasn’t long after Simon arrived. But why are you asking?’

Paget ignored the question. ‘Did anyone phone that evening? Either for you or for Mr Holbrook?’

‘No, and I fail to see the point of all these questions,’ Susan flared. ‘Simon came here to talk. He stayed here until Trevor came to pick him up, and I was with him all the time, and all your questions aren’t going to change that, so I’m sorry, but I have no more time for this.’

‘In that case, thank you, Miss Chase,’ Paget said as he stood up. ‘And thank you for the tea. But I must ask you to come down to Charter Lane sometime tomorrow to give us your statement for the record. We can see ourselves out.’

‘Just give me a minute, if you don’t mind, sir,’ said Molly as they got into the car. ‘Brandy is a lovely dog, but she left quite a few hairs on my clothes.’ She took an evidence bag from her pocket and tweezers from her handbag. ‘I think Forensic might like to take a look at them,’ she said as she began picking hairs off one by one.

‘I don’t understand it,’ Tregalles said later that evening. ‘I mean I should have been the one to follow up with Holbrook after we interviewed Ballantyne, but he took Molly instead. Said he wanted a woman’s perspective on Holbrook and Susan Chase.’

‘So what’s wrong with that?’ Audrey asked. ‘Molly’s a good copper – you’ve said so yourself, so it’s probably a good idea to get a woman’s point of view, especially with someone like this Holbrook chap, the way you say he is with women.’

‘There’s got to be something else behind it, though,’ Tregalles said stubbornly. ‘I mean I’ve always gone with Paget; we’re a team, and he’s never done anything like this before. Do you think he fancies Molly? I mean she is a good-looking gal, she’s ambitious, and . . .’

‘And you are talking nonsense!’ Audrey scoffed. ‘You said yourself you’ve never seen the man so happy as he’s been since Grace Lovett went to live with him. Fancies Molly, indeed! You should be ashamed of yourself!’

‘It can happen,’ Tregalles said defensively. ‘It’s happened more than once that I know of, and Molly is a good-looking—’

‘So you keep saying,’ Audrey said tartly. ‘Seems to me that you’ve been keeping a pretty close eye on her as well. Bit of wishful thinking, is it, love? Reaching that age, are we?’

Tregalles grinned. ‘’Course not,’ he said. ‘And you’re probably right. It’s just that it’s a bit strange, that’s all, and they seem to get on so well together . . .’

Susan Chase put the phone down as soon as she heard the answering machine cut in. She’d left a message earlier; so there was no point in leaving another one. Almost nine o’clock. Surely Simon wasn’t still at work?

She rang his office number. The phone was answered by a security man who told her that Mr Holbrook had left shortly after six o’clock. ‘But Miss Goodwin is still here if you would like to talk to her,’ he’d said, and put her through to Peggy before she could stop him.

She’d met Peggy a number of times, but she didn’t know her well. Simon used to mention her in passing from time to time, but she’d heard very little of Peggy Goodwin since Laura had joined the firm.

‘Peggy?’ she said, ‘it’s Susan Chase. Sorry for disturbing you, but the man who answered put me through before I could stop him. But what on earth are you doing there at this hour?’

‘No rest for the wicked,’ Peggy said, ‘but so much needs to be done now that . . . now Laura’s no longer here, and there doesn’t seem to be enough hours in the day to do it. What can I do for you?’

Despite what she’d just been told by security, she said on impulse, ‘Is Simon there by any chance?’

‘No. He left some time ago. He’s had a stressful day. Is there anything I can do for you?’

‘No. Thanks anyway.’
Careful now, remember who you’re talking to
, a small voice whispered inside her head. ‘It was just something that occurred to me about Laura’s estate, but it’s not important. It will keep till morning. Sorry to have troubled you, Peggy.’

‘No trouble at all,’ Peggy assured her. The tone of her voice changed to one of concern. ‘But how are you coping, Susan? I know how hard this has been on Simon, but it must have been just as hard on you.’

‘It is,’ Susan said. ‘I can still hardly believe it happened the way it did. Work helps, of course, and business has been surprisingly brisk for the time of year. How has business been at your mother’s shop? And how is she? I’m afraid I haven’t been in for ages.’

‘Not too well, I’m afraid,’ Peggy told her. ‘It’s the arthritis in her hands, mainly, but she has an electric wheelchair, now, so that helps a lot, and she manages to stay cheerful with it. But business has been quite good. I know I’m kept busy on the weekends there. Now, sorry, Susan, but I must go if I’m ever to get to bed tonight.’

‘Of course. I shouldn’t be holding you up like this. Say hello to your mum when you see her. And speaking of bed, I think I might have an early night myself.’

Susan put the phone down and looked at the clock. Ten past nine. What did Simon think he was playing at? He’d had all evening to call her, and she’d had the phone switched to the shop while she was down there, so she couldn’t have missed it if he had called.

The suspicion that was never far from her thoughts pushed its way forward. She tried to ignore it; tried to tell herself that all that was in the past. It had to be. She’d waited so long. He wouldn’t dare . . . She closed her eyes. God! If Simon was up to his old tricks again, she’d kill him!

Susan’s mind went into overdrive. Peggy Goodwin? Not very likely, since the woman was still at work. But there was Moira, sweet little butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth Moira, who lived so conveniently just down the street from Simon, and Susan knew for a fact that Trevor Ballantyne would be out of town sometime this week, because Moira had mentioned it the other night. Attending an electronics fair in Wolverhampton, she’d said, and she’d sounded pleased at the prospect of having time to herself for a change. ‘Working and living together twenty-four hours a day can be a bit much, sometimes,’ she’d confided, ‘so I’m looking forward to being able to do what I like, when I like.’

Simon had been there when Moira had said that, and he’d made some remark at the time. It had seemed innocent enough, but was it? Had Moira been telling him quite openly in front of others, that she would be available?

Or was there someone else she’d never heard of?

Susan shivered. She looked at the clock again, and decided to give him fifteen minutes more to return her call before making a move herself.

Simon Holbrook sat slumped in the big leather recliner chair facing the blank screen of the television set in the corner. He had often talked disparagingly of the mind-numbing pap masquerading as entertainment these days, but even it had failed to numb his mind this evening, and he’d turned it off. The neck of the bottle rattled against the glass as he poured himself another drink. Straight whisky, unusual for him, but then, everything had been different since Laura died, and he needed something to dull the senses.

And Paget had him in his sights, he was sure of it. Prime suspect – wasn’t that what they called it? Why else would Paget keep coming back to him? Simon sipped his drink and laid his head back against the cool leather. He’d really made a balls up of his alibi. He should have known better than to rely on Trevor to back him up. But then, he hadn’t expected things to turn out quite like this. And that call from Trevor this afternoon to say that he was sorry, but he’d had to do it for Moira’s sake, was the last straw.

‘Honestly, Simon, I don’t
really
think you did it, and I’m sure the police will get it right, so I don’t think there’s any real harm done. It probably was the same lot who’ve been breaking into houses all over town.’

Bollocks! Stupid little shit!

But he should have erased those emails before the police started poking about, because he had the uneasy feeling that they could come back to haunt him. Not that there was anything in them relating to Laura’s death, but the police might wonder about the timing.

He rubbed his face with his hands.
No need to worry, Simon. The hell there wasn’t!

He leaned his head back, closed his eyes and opened his mouth, trying desperately to control his breathing. The last thing he needed now was for another panic attack like the one he’d suffered earlier in the day. Thank God he’d been in his office and there was no one there to see it, but next time . . . He found the pulse in his wrist and started counting.

Twenty-two. Times four. Eighty-eight. A bit high, but not all that bad, he told himself as he took his fingers off his wrist. His breathing steadied. Simon sat up and poured himself another drink.

He thought suddenly of Moira. What the hell had she been up to that night? She was the talk of the street after the police brought her home and all but torn the Ballantyne’s house apart. Trevor had finally admitted that Moira had been in the house the night Laura was killed, but he wouldn’t say why, and Simon had been afraid to ask Paget about it in case the chief inspector misconstrued his interest.

Paget again. A cold shiver ran down Simon’s spine. Damn the man for prying into things that didn’t concern him. And that question about Henry Beaumont. Was it simply an innocent enquiry, or was it Paget’s way of telling him that he knew more than he was letting on? It was a question that had continued to trouble Simon for the rest of the day, clouding his thinking to the point where he’d had to tell Stan to carry on the tests without him.

And then there was Peggy. He couldn’t fob her off much longer; she knew something was up. He emptied the glass and reached for the bottle.

‘Oh, Simon, Simon darling, what on earth do you think you’re doing? Sitting here in the dark drowning your sorrows? You know you can’t take that stuff. You’re going to have a fearful headache in the morning.’

He blinked his eyes. Susan? He thought at first he must be dreaming, then he smelt her perfume as she came up behind him and put her arms around his neck. He struggled to get up, but Susan held him back and bent to kiss the top of his head.

‘I let myself in,’ she said unnecessarily. ‘I thought you might need company tonight. Hard day, was it my love?’

He grasped her hand. ‘Paget knows about Beaumont,’ he whispered. ‘Did he say anything to you?’

‘Not a word,’ Susan assured him. ‘You worry too much, Simon. He doesn’t know anything, so don’t let him get to you. He’s fishing, that’s all. Now, stop worrying and relax. Everything is going to be all right, so let’s get you upstairs to bed.’

Twenty-Three

Thursday, March 19

It was trying to rain, and the reflection of the ornamental street lights glistened on the wet pavement when Susan let herself out of the house just after five o’clock in the morning. She could have parked within yards of Simon’s house last night – there were still a few spaces open this morning – but she didn’t want anyone to recognize her car, so she had left it some distance away in Tavistock Road and come the rest of the way on foot.

She turned the corner into Tavistock Road, then paused beneath a street light to open her handbag to search for keys. At first, she thought the owner of the car beside her had left the windows open by mistake, but then she saw the glint of broken glass in the gutter. Her heart sank as she looked ahead and saw her fears confirmed. Her own car, together with several others, had received the same treatment.

Susan could feel the rage boiling up inside her as she approached her car and peered through the broken window. Gingerly, she opened the door. More glass fell out, but there didn’t seem to be any other damage. The radio/disk player was still there; even the box of disks that the police were always telling you to hide had been ignored. She gritted her teeth. Just a mindless bunch of yobs roaming the streets late at night with nothing better to do than smash windows for the hell of it. Bastards! It was time the police did something about these roving gangs. Hanging by their thumbs would be too good for them.