by J. R. Ellis
‘You say “probably” – what evidence do you have for any of this? Didn’t anyone try to sue him?’
She laughed contemptuously. ‘I don’t know anything for certain. He was a clever sod. The ideas he stole were always subtly changed so that he, or his solicitors if it ever came to court, could argue that there were significant differences and it was therefore just a question of coincidence.’
‘You seem to have a thorough knowledge of this.’
‘It happened to me years ago and I’ve been conducting a long campaign against him ever since. I try to contact anyone who’s been treated in a similar way. We know what he does, but so far we haven’t been able to pin anything on him.’
‘How many times do you allege that this has happened?’
‘Quite a number. I’ve got a dossier of people who’ve been his victims, and those are only the ones who’ve come forward.’ She stubbed out the remains of her cigarette. ‘Look, I’m going to get a drink; talking about Penrose always sets my nerves on edge. Do you want anything?’
‘Just water, thank you,’ replied Oldroyd.
She went briefly into the house and returned with a gin and tonic, and two glasses of water.
Oldroyd accepted his water before continuing. ‘Surely if what you say about Penrose is true, it would have caused a scandal by now?’
She smiled, implying that he was being naïve. ‘Of course, there are lots of rumours in literary circles, but no one dares make anything public. Penrose would have been on them like a ton of bricks.’
‘What about his publishers? Don’t they mind him using other people’s ideas?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t think publishers give a damn, as long as it’s not too risky and the books sell. And, of course, his did. It gave Penrose a lot of power.’
Oldroyd paused. ‘I’m getting the strong impression that you are very angry and frustrated with this whole situation with Penrose, and I’m wondering if the lack of success in your campaign led you to attack him in a different way.’
She took a sip of her gin and lit another cigarette. ‘Nice try, Chief Inspector, but no.’
‘You were there last night with Charles Derryvale and John Sinclair, having a go at Penrose.’
She smiled. ‘Oh yes. I never missed an opportunity to remind him that I was still here, and would continue to be a thorn in his side. Charles and John were more than ready to give me a hand.’
‘And afterwards?’
‘Came straight back here. My partner, Leo, was still up, and we went to bed shortly afterwards.’
‘And this morning?’
‘Never moved from here. Leo left for work at eight thirty – he’s a solicitor – and I decided to have a working day. I’ve got a deadline to meet for my next novel. It’s called Witches’ Fever. It’s an historical crime novel set over in Pendle at the time of the persecution there. I hope you’ll both read it.’
‘It sounds interesting,’ replied Oldroyd. ‘Do you go to the Royal Baths?’
‘Where he was murdered? No, I don’t go at the moment but I might after this. It will be very interesting to see where he got what was coming to him.’
Oldroyd got up, thinking just how intensely Penrose had been disliked. It almost made him believe, against his better judgement, that many people could have been involved in his murder. ‘OK, we’ll leave it there for the moment. Don’t get up, we’ll see ourselves out.’
‘Do you know,’ she continued, ignoring what Oldroyd had said as she blew out cigarette smoke, ‘I’m almost sorry the old bugger’s dead. I’m going to miss trying to bring him down, and he’ll never pay for his crimes.’
She picked up her notebook and was writing before the detectives had reached the door to the conservatory.
‘What did you make of her, then, sir?’ asked Andy as Oldroyd drove them in his old Saab back to HQ. ‘A forceful character, and seems to have hated the victim. She made no attempt to hide it.’
‘Yes, which may suggest she’s nothing to hide, but then again it could be the old double bluff. She talks up her hostility to put us off the track.’
‘There seem to be a lot of people she could have planned it with too, if she’s telling the truth about this cheating business,’ said Andy, echoing Oldroyd’s thoughts.
‘Again, who knows? We’re going to have to investigate that and it may reveal other people with a motive to get rid of Penrose, whether or not they were working with Esther Stevenson. I’m afraid it looks like another case with plenty of suspects that we’ll have to slowly weed out.’
‘She seems to be big pals with that bloke Derryvale too. They could have formed an alliance.’
‘Indeed. I’m afraid at this stage the possibilities are many.’
‘Sinclair obviously hated the bloke too, so maybe the three of them planned it together.’
‘Possibly, but it all seems a bit too obvious, somehow. There they were at that event causing disruption, having a big public argument with him in the bar, and then next morning he’s murdered. It almost seems as if they were deliberately drawing attention to themselves.’
‘Why, sir?’
‘I’ve no idea at this point,’ replied Oldroyd as he swung the car into the car park at HQ.
‘I can’t see any real connection between any of them and the Baths,’ continued Andy. ‘Admitting to going there now and again means nothing, but they must have had at least one accomplice, because somehow I can’t imagine any of them actually committing the crime. Can you, sir?’
‘I can imagine them planning it, but no, not carrying it out. If we’re not careful, though, we’ll end up with four or five people involved, and you know what I think about big conspiracies.’
‘They don’t work.’
‘Exactly. They usually fall out with each other and someone talks.’
‘Maybe someone will.’
‘Yes, we’ll have to see.’ They arrived back at the office. ‘I wonder how Steph’s doing with Fenton.’
Andy hesitated. He didn’t want to make any comment that could be seen as unprofessional and protective of Steph, but he didn’t like her working with Fenton and his team.
‘I hope he hasn’t got those goons, Cock and Bull, working with him. Those two are a pain in the arse, sir.’
Oldroyd grimaced. He knew all about the two boorish detectives’ histories. ‘Indeed they are, but we’re watching them; another false move and they’ve had it.’ He sat down at his desk and yawned. It was now very late afternoon and they’d been working solidly. ‘Well, it’s been a long day but we’ve done well to interview all those people. Tomorrow we need to—’
Steph came into the office.
‘Ah, Steph, so how’ve you been getting on?’ asked Oldroyd.
‘Oh, fine. It’s an interesting case. I’m not sure I like his style of interviewing but each to their own. How’s the murder case?’
‘Complicated as usual; killer disappeared, lots of suspects with motives but it doesn’t seem likely that any of them could have actually carried out the murder.’
‘Sounds like normal, then.’
‘Yep.’ Oldroyd stretched in his chair. ‘Anyway, you two might as well get off. I’m going myself soon. Lots of things I need to go home and think about.’
‘Take a break, sir,’ said Andy. ‘You can’t work all the time.’
‘You’re right, but great detectives like Sherlock Holmes and myself need to ponder things, often deep into the night. The only difference is that he played the violin, whereas I just listen to my CDs.’
Steph and Andy laughed.
‘One of these days I expect you to turn up in a deerstalker and smoking a pipe, sir,’ said Steph as she and Andy got ready to leave.
Andy had sensed that something about Steph was not quite right.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked as they got in the car and he began the drive back to Leeds. ‘You look as if you’ve been crying.’
‘Oh, well. It’s that time of the month; you know how I tend
to get a bit emotional. It wasn’t easy with Fenton. He had those two idiots with him.’
‘Cock and Bull?’
‘Yeah. Luckily they didn’t come out with us, but they’re a real pain.’
‘I know, but you don’t have to put up with it. I’m sure if you asked the boss, he’d—’
‘Yes, but I can’t go running to him if things get difficult, and I shouldn’t have to. They’re the problem, not me. If the boss moves me, they’ve won, haven’t they? Their behaviour isn’t challenged.’
‘You’re right, but it can’t be easy to deal with it by yourself. Do you want me to do anything?’
‘What? Threaten to go round and beat them up? “Leave my girlfriend alone.” Then I’m like a child who has to have their parents stand up for them.’
‘OK. I’m only trying to help.’ Andy admired her desire to fight her own battles, although he remained very concerned. He didn’t like the idea that three men, one of them her superior, were treating her like this. But it was difficult to see how he could help.
Steph sat in the passenger seat, quietly reflecting on what had happened, and what she was going to do next. The problem with Andy and many other sympathetic men was that they thought mostly in terms of protecting women from sexist behaviour and harassment, and not enough about stopping the behaviour itself.
She didn’t want those pictures made public. Humiliating and embarrassing things like that tended to stick, and people formed opinions based on them. She could put up with some knowing glances and raucous laughter from male officers she had no respect for, but she valued her reputation with Oldroyd and DCS Walker, Oldroyd’s superior, and did not want this to be damaged. Even though it wasn’t her fault, it didn’t look good that she’d had the pictures taken and then allowed them to fall into the hands of other people. But what that disgusting Fenton might have in mind as payment for not showing the photos around made her cringe. She didn’t feel she could tell Andy. His response might be angry and violent, and she couldn’t go to her boss because she didn’t want Oldroyd to know about the photos.
She was trapped in a bad situation, but she had to sort it out herself.
Oldroyd was back in his flat overlooking the Stray. He’d lived alone since separating from his wife, Julia, several years ago. Julia taught in a sixth-form college in Leeds and lived in Chapel Allerton. Some time ago she had told him that she would be considering a divorce if a new relationship she’d started with a colleague from the college worked out. That had been a year ago, but he’d heard no more about it since. He saw his wife occasionally to talk about their family, but she never discussed her private life.
Oldroyd’s daughter, Louise, had just graduated from Oxford with a first in History. She had no real idea what she wanted to do next but she had funding to do a Master’s if she decided to go back to academia. She intended to take a year out first and was currently in London working in a women’s refuge. When she was in Yorkshire, she tended to divide her time between her parents, and Oldroyd was missing having her around. At least he still had his sister, Alison, nearby. She was a vicar in the village of Kirkby Underside, between Harrogate and Leeds.
He sat at his computer, a glass of red wine next to the mouse mat. Due to his continued loneliness, and following a suggestion from his daughter, he had finally submitted to getting involved in something he never thought he would entertain: online dating.
He remembered how he’d started. Louise had coached him along, insisting that lots of people did this nowadays and there was nothing sad or sleazy about it.
‘I just don’t like the idea. How do you know what they’re really like?’
‘You don’t for sure, but what’s wrong with trying? The thing about you, Dad, is that you never go anywhere to meet anybody, so I can’t see what alternative you’ve got if you really are interested in a new relationship.’
He was forced to acknowledge the truth of this. Work dominated his life, it always had, and his marriage had suffered. He felt uneasy about the whole dating thing but he was weary of the loneliness of being single and living by himself.
‘You don’t understand how difficult and awkward it is for someone my age. It’s years since I did anything like this. I’m not used to forming new relationships and it feels like I’m trying to be a teenager again.’
‘That’s rubbish, Dad. You don’t have to be young to be romantic and meet someone new.’
Louise, like her mother, was always very reticent about her own personal life. Oldroyd was hoping that this might be the moment when he learned a bit more, but she didn’t say anything. She was sitting at the computer with Oldroyd and rattling through web pages at the kind of speed that left people of Oldroyd’s generation feeling dizzy.
‘This seems like a good site: Forty-Plus Dating, Leeds and Harrogate. Yes, let’s look at some profiles.’
Oldroyd found it too excruciating to look.
‘There’s one here. Look.’ Reluctantly, Oldroyd peered at the screen. ‘She sounds really nice; interested in classical music and walking. I think you should contact her. You’ll have to send a photograph.’
‘Whoa! Hold on. I don’t know if I’m ready for this yet!’
‘And when will you be, Dad? You’ll just put it off and off and you’ll still be moaning that you’re by yourself. Just do it, OK?’
Oldroyd shook his head at the memory. He’d followed Louise’s advice and exchanged details with the woman, but he hadn’t really found her attractive in the photograph and didn’t take it any further. On the positive side, just getting that far had seemed to break the ice for him and he now felt much more relaxed about contacting people online. However, he’d still not got to the point of actually arranging to meet anybody.
He clicked through various profiles. What was he looking for? The perfect woman? The problem was that he’d always felt that he’d got that in Julia. He’d never wanted anyone else, and even now he still found it hard to accept that he’d lost her. And it was all his own fault. He shook his head. No good going down into self-criticism and self-pity again.
The details kept coming up: ‘Fifty-year-old professional woman, Leeds, enjoys country walking and eating in country pubs. Loves dogs and cats.’ He sighed; it wasn’t much to go on. The walking and dining sounded OK but he wasn’t much of a pet person. The whole business was much more difficult when you were older. It wasn’t like being a teenager and playing the field; you were much choosier, and you didn’t want to waste time seeing unsuitable people.
He was quite relieved when the phone rang.
‘Hi, Jim. How are you?’ It was his sister, Alison. They’d always been close and she’d kept an eye on him since his separation from Julia. She knew the loneliness of the unwanted single life, having lost her husband, David, to cancer several years before.
‘OK. Just got going on an interesting case today: a murder at the Royal Baths. You like to go there, don’t you?’
‘Well, I did,’ Alison laughed. ‘But it might feel contaminated now if there’s been a dead body there! Anyway, typical of you. I ask you how you are and you immediately start talking about work. I want to know how you are, not what West Riding Police are up to.’
‘Yes, all right, good point. Well, if you must know, I’m sitting at the computer looking at internet dating sites.’
There was a pause.
‘Oh dear. Has it come to that?’
‘Ah, you’re like I was. You think it’s sad, but Louise showed me how to do it and she said lots of people meet partners this way.’ It sounded like he was justifying himself.
‘Yes, I’m sure she’s right. If it helps you find someone, it can’t be bad. I don’t suppose it’s any different from those Lonely Hearts columns you used to get in newspapers and magazines. How does it work?’
Oldroyd explained to her what Louise had explained earlier to him.
‘So you put your details and a picture in?’ Alison said. ‘Sounds good. I think Louise is right: you should just get on with it.
I can’t see it’ll do any harm. The worst that could happen is that you spend a whole evening with someone you don’t fancy and who bores you to tears . . . or vice versa!’
Oldroyd had always felt that his daughter and sister had a lot in common in their good-hearted feistiness. He enjoyed having them around to tell him what to do!
‘Anyway,’ continued Alison, ‘I was wondering if you fancied a walk on Saturday. The forecast’s good. We could go up Simon’s Seat. And don’t tell me you’re too busy.’
‘Fine, great idea. I’ll pick you up. What time?’
The walk was duly arranged, and Oldroyd returned to his desultory examination of the dating sites. Was it any wonder that, faced with the difficulty of personal relationships, he sought refuge and consolation in his work? After scanning through profiles for another half-hour, he sighed and shut down the site. He yawned and rubbed his eyes, and then his attention was caught by the screen. A big picture of a chameleon had come on as a screen saver. He looked at the strange creature with deep interest, marvelling how it could modify its colour to blend in with its surroundings. It gave him the beginning of an idea.
On the next day, a Friday, Oldroyd and Andy returned to the Royal Baths. Carol Ashworth was back at work on reception, though under-occupied, as the Baths were still closed to the public. She was spending most of her time answering telephone enquiries about when the Baths would reopen.
‘Good morning, Chief Inspector. Sergeant,’ she said, and smiled at the two men as they made their way down to the baths area past the officer still on guard. Then the phone went again.
Oldroyd paused at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Right, we need to have a really careful look around here. There must be something we’ve missed. The murderer got out of here somehow.’
‘I’ve heard that before, sir,’ replied Andy, remembering previous cases in which murderers had disappeared from a concert hall, and a locked room. ‘Anyway, at least it’s not so hot down here today, now that everything’s turned off, and you can see clearly.’ He was looking at the ornate mosaic floor. ‘This place must have cost a fortune to build, sir. Look at these floors. The Romans used to have these in their villas, didn’t they? I remember learning about that at school, and then we made our own mosaic by cutting up bits of coloured paper and sticking them on to a piece of card.’