This Way Out (25 page)

Yes, she supposed it would be all right if the detectives took a look round Derek's office to see if there was some indication of what he might be doing this week. But she didn't think they'd find anything that would help them; and she was right.

Derek Cartwright wasn't remembered by name at the health club, but both T-shirted supervisors recognized the snapshot that Sergeant Lloyd had appropriated from the family pin-up board in the downstairs cloakroom at the Brickyard. Yes, he came in occasionally on the strength of his company's block membership. In fact he'd been there that morning.

They'd seen much more of him that usual during the course of the past week. On Saturday night they'd been quite worried about him. Saturday? No – p'raps Friday; yes, Friday, that was it.

He'd nearly done himself in on the power-sport equipment. That was something you always had to watch for, middle-aged men trying to prove they were young and giving themselves a heart attack in the process. But this one was very fit for his age.

He'd had a recent assessment, and he'd warmed-up properly, so there was no reason why he shouldn't go through the full routine. But he wasn't merely exercising, he was making himself suffer, and he just wouldn't stop. They'd given him a couple of warnings, and in the end they'd had to haul him off, as much for the club's sake as for his own.

They'd been quite relieved to see him alive and back again on the Saturday morning. He was in again yesterday afternoon, with a heavily bandaged hand – apparently he'd accidentally cut himself. He couldn't swim or exercise because of the hand, but he'd used the sauna and the jacuzzi.

No, he didn't seem to be with anybody on any of his visits. He might well have talked to other people, but they couldn't possibly remember who was there at the same time. Hotel guests were entitled to use the club facilities, so there were always visitors about as well as members. And there was always a lot of chat, especially in the jacuzzi. You can't sit knee-to-knee with a stranger in a hot tub without exchanging the odd word.

Yes, they said, producing the register, everyone using the club has to book in, stating whether they're members or hotel guests. And yes, the hotel does have a photo-copier – no problem.

The shrewdly mature receptionist at the private hotel just round the corner from Derek Cartwright's office was the daughter of the proprietor. She told the detectives that Mr Cartwright had arrived on Monday, asking to take a room for an indefinite period. She had thought it a little odd, because normally he stayed only for the occasional night. He was there last Friday, a most unusual night for him to stay, and he hadn't said a word then about wanting to come back this week.

As a matter of fact, he hadn't looked at all well when he arrived late on Friday evening – both she and her mother had noticed that. He hadn't come down to breakfast on Saturday morning, and he'd seemed very tense and agitated when he paid his bill. For some reason he hadn't used his company credit card, but his own card – most unusual, for a businessman. She'd thought perhaps he had given it to her by mistake, but he said quite forcefully that this was one bill he was paying for himself.

When he came back on Monday night he'd looked even worse, though by that time he had his left hand bandaged so he was probably in pain. And last night he'd come in late, looking dishevelled with drink. Most unusual for any of their guests, and if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes she would never have believed it of Mr Cartwright.

No, she had no idea where he went during the day. Wasn't he at work? She had every reason to suppose that he was coming back tonight, but goodness knows when, or what state he'd be in. Certainly the detectives could take a look at his room – and if they particularly wanted to see Mr Cartwright, she would be only too glad for them to stay until he returned.

Carwright's room revealed nothing of any significance, until the wardrobe was opened. The interior smelled strongly of whisky; clothes had been tossed haphazardly on to the shelves. Stashed away at the back was one half-bottle of whisky, unopened but with the seal roughly broken, and one half-bottle that was empty.

Convinced that Derek Cartwright was a deeply worried man who had been through some on-going crisis ever since Friday afternoon, the detectives decided to accept the owners'daughter's offer. Seated in the hotel's breakfast room, with a pot of tea to keep them going, they worked through the photo-copied pages of the health club register while they waited for Cartwright's return.

Derek had never allowed himself, except in the most general way, to acknowledge the attractions of women other than Christine. His reaction to the sight of Belinda Packer took him completely by surprise.

Embarrassed by the fact that she had quickened his pulse, he decided to behave as though they had never met. After all, he had no reason to suppose that their one brief moment of physical contact on that hot afternoon at the roadside had registered with her as it had with him. Perhaps her averted eyes, as she waited in the garden beside her father's wheelchair, indicated nothing more than indifference; perhaps she didn't even remember him.

‘Excuse me,' he said courteously, not so much ignoring the old man as too intent to notice him, ‘but I was hoping to see Hugh Packer. We have some business to discuss. My name's Derek Cartwright, I'm regional marketing manager for Anchor Life Assurance.'

Belinda lifted her head. As they looked at each other across the wheelchair, almost height-to-height, Derek knew that she did remember. Her blood was rising, suffusing her strong, curved throat and handsome features with a self-conscious red, and she greeted him with artless enthusiasm.

‘Oh – it's
you
.'

‘Yes,' he said. He was staring at the column of her throat, shocked to see that the skin was marred by a scattering of bruises, some fading, one particularly recent and livid.

‘Hugh isn't here.'

‘I know.'

‘I'm so glad to see you.'

The radiance of her greeting temporarily deprived him of his wits. But then a gobble of protest from her father reminded them that they were not alone.

The old man's daughter bent to him immediately. ‘You remember Mr Cartwright, Dad? That day when we took you to hospital to have your wrist X-rayed, and then got stuck in a traffic jam on the way back. It was very hot, and Mr. Cartwright –'

‘Derek.'

She dazzled him with a glancing smile. ‘– Derek kindly helped me move you into the shade. Remember?'

Sidney's single eye indicated recognition. Seeking her further approval, Derek gave him a friendly greeting and asked him about his wrist, even though he knew the answer would be incomprehensible.

‘But what about your own hand?' said Belinda with concern.

Derek was so accustomed to its ache, and had so adjusted himself to the inconvenience of driving with bandages on, that he had almost forgotten about the injury. For the past twenty-four hours he had deliberately blocked its cause out of his mind, and he didn't intend to revive the memory now.

‘Oh, it's just a bad cut.'

‘It needs rebandaging.'

‘Yes, I suppose so.' Looking at the bandages, he realized how grubby and loose they had become. He gave an uncertain laugh, wanting to make the most of the opportunity she was so transparently offering, yet half-ashamed of his willingness to be involved. ‘It's a bit difficult to do, single-handed.'

‘I could do it for you, if you like.'

‘Would you?'

‘Gladly.'

She was gazing at him with an urgency that went beyond attraction. Her pale eyes under their heavy lids had a beseeching look; they seemed to be signalling distress. And no wonder, poor girl, he thought with compassion, glancing again at her savaged neck. That evil bastard Packer –

With a growing sense of elation, he realized that there was no reason for him to feel ashamed of wanting to linger. Belinda was in trouble; she needed help, and needed it more than she knew. He hadn't angled for her attention for his own sake, but for hers. What decent, honourable man could do less?

Belinda left him in the sun-room with a cup of coffee while she took her father elsewhere to give him his lunch. Then she wheeled in the old man for his afternoon nap, and led Derek through the opulent house to a bathroom where she could attend to his hand. Her first touch made him catch his breath, but although the colour rose again under her skin she kept her eyes on what she was doing. Her hands were large but well-shaped, her fingers deft.

‘You're obviously an expert,' he said with admiration as she began to roll off the soiled bandage.

‘I always wanted to be a nurse. I started to train, but then I had to give it up to look after Dad.'

There was regret in her voice, and Derek wondered with alarm if he had misinterpreted her unhappiness. Was it her father who was her real problem? Had her husband planned to get rid of the old man as much for Belinda's sake as for the money? With a new lurch of anxiety, he prayed that Belinda wasn't about to encourage him to go ahead with the killing.

‘Do you very much resent having to look after your father?' he asked apprehensively.

‘I did at first. I missed the company of other girls. And then, I'd grown up to hate Dad's boozy lifestyle. But he was a most affectionate father when I was small, and now that he's dependent on me I see this as my chance to repay him. Oh, I get tired and depressed, and sometimes angry – who doesn't in these circumstances? But I'm not resentful. This is my choice, and I really wouldn't have it any other way.'

Derek breathed again, and Belinda eased the final stained layer of gauze from his hand. ‘Good heavens!' she said, counting: ‘Eight stitches – how on earth did you get such a bad cut?'

‘I was making myself a sandwich. The knife slipped.'

‘Ouch, that must have hurt!'

She covered his scored palm with a fresh dressing, and produced a new bandage. ‘Er – talking of sandwiches,' she elaborated, ‘I usually have one for lunch, after I've fed Dad. Would you like to –? I mean, do stay, if you have the time.' She looked straight at him, blushing again: ‘As long as you're not expected at home, or anything?'

She was trying to discover whether he was married. Elated by the significance of her question, Derek answered without a blink. ‘I'm not expected anywhere. I'm living in a Cambridge hotel at the moment – and I'd love to stay, thank you.'

Well, he'd told her the truth, hadn't he? He wouldn't lie to her, he wasn't that kind of man. All the same, as she rebandaged his left hand he couldn't help thinking it a piece of luck that he didn't wear a wedding ring.

‘Belinda –'

Sharing sandwiches in the sun-room, and keeping down their voices so as not to disturb her sleeping father, had given their inconsequential conversation a kind of intimacy. Derek was reluctant to break it, until she made some reference to her father's diabetic condition and the need to keep his blood-sugar in balance with insulin injections.

With jolting dismay he realized that by coming to Winter Paddocks and making himself known to Belinda he had not, after all, extricated himself from Packer's plan to kill his father-in-law. Derek had thought of it as committing murder. Well, it would be committing murder. But Packer had cunningly arranged it to seem like a straightforward imbalance of insulin: death from natural causes. There would be no suspicious circumstances, and therefore no police investigation.

And if there wasn't going to be a police investigation, it wouldn't matter that Belinda had met him, would it? She couldn't possibly connect him with her father's death, and therefore he wouldn't be able to use this ‘accidental'meeting as an excuse for not committing the murder … Oh God, conplication after complication –

But now, as they walked out into the garden, Derek rapidly devised another stratagem. He had, anyway, intended to warn Belinda against her husband. With luck – for her sake, and for his – he might be able to persuade her to take her father away from Winter Paddocks. Then, on Sunday evening, he could telephone Packer and say that he had tried to do the job, but that the old man had gone. The perfect let-out.

He drew a long breath, and embarked. ‘Forgive me for asking you this, but are you in love with that husband of yours?'

Startled, she turned to him with wide, nervous eyes. Her hand went instinctively to her throat. ‘No! Oh no.'

‘Then for God's sake – Look, I'm sorry, but I've met him several times on business and I think he's a very unpredictable, dangerous man. Why do you stay with him?'

‘Because we're married,' she said.

‘Oh, Belinda!' He could hardly believe that a woman so beautiful could have so little self-esteem.

‘I know what you're thinking,' she said, ‘and it's true. Hugh married me for money, I knew that all along. But I was lonely in this great house, and I needed someone to help me with Dad – and Hugh can be very charming, you know. At least, he often was, to begin with, until he found out that I haven't any money of my own.'

‘And now he's violent with you?'

‘He always has been, I suppose … But more so, lately. He can't bear the thought of having to wait for the money until Dad dies.'

Derek stopped walking. They had reached some stone steps leading down from the terrace to the lawn, and beside the steps was a thicket of lilac bushes, already in full leaf and hinting of colour to come. Presumably this was the shrubbery that Packer had told him to lurk in before swapping the old man's drinking cups.

‘Listen, –' he said, taking her arm to prepare her for the shock. ‘You're absolutely right about your husband. He can't bear to wait, and what's more he doesn't intend to. He's already trying to get rid of your father.'

Her eyes grew even wider. ‘Get rid –?'