‘When you broke the glass on the Ducasse Salle à Manger, you mean?’ said Melissa.
Miss Parkin’s eyes widened. ‘How did you know it was a Ducasse?’
‘Gloria said it was the one on the dining-room door. I saw it when Mrs Bellamy took me to her flat to clean up, after the accident to Mr Foley.’
‘Ah yes, what a tragedy that was. But’ – here a note of admiration crept into Miss Parkin’s voice – ‘I’m surprised … no, impressed, I should say, that you recognised it as a Ducasse. He isn’t terribly well-known.’
‘It was on loan to an exhibition in London recently.’
‘Oh, I do so miss going to London galleries,’ sighed Miss Parkin. ‘I simply can’t afford it these days.’
‘I dare say that’s where Mr and Mrs Bellamy saw the Ducasse paintings,’ Melissa suggested.
Miss Parkin’s lip curled. ‘The nearest they’ve ever been to an art gallery is probably a peep-show on a pier at the seaside,’ she said disdainfully. ‘I can’t imagine where they might have seen it. Would you like some more tea?’
‘Thank you.’ Melissa held out her cup. ‘Was Mrs Bellamy very cross about the broken picture?’
Miss Parkin’s laughter trilled out anew. ‘She wasn’t there when it happened, and so far as I know, she hasn’t even noticed.’ Her pale eyes sparkled with an impish glee. ‘I found a Dutch interior in the spare bedroom and hung it up in its place. I’ve taken the broken one to be repaired.’ She refilled their cups and offered more cakes. ‘Now, tell me how I can help you with your novel.’
Melissa took out her notebook and a list of questions, prepared somewhat hastily in the cause of authenticity. Despite the fact that they were merely a subterfuge, they elicited such a wealth of anecdote and description of people and places, often related with a wicked sense of humour and an occasional slippage of the veneer of decorum, that the time flew past unnoticed. When the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece – doubtless another legacy from a wealthy employer – struck five, Melissa had already made up her mind to set her next murder mystery in pre-war London. Almost, she had forgotten the real reason for her visit.
‘It’s been absolutely riveting,’ she said as she prepared to leave. ‘Thank you so much.’
‘Not at all – I’ve thoroughly enjoyed our chat. Perhaps you’ll come again?’
‘I’d love to. By the way, could you tell me where you took the picture to be mended? I have one or two that need reframing.’
‘Mr Dodson, in Stowbridge. His work is excellent. He repaired this for me.’ She caressed the frame of the rose-bowl study with a small, ringless hand. ‘He’s an old-fashioned craftsman who appreciates good pictures. Not like these places where they do all the work by machinery and don’t know the difference between a cheap modern daub and an old master.’
‘Would you mind giving me his address?’
‘Of course. You can take it from the receipt for Mrs Bellamy’s picture.’ Miss Parkin fetched a slip of paper from a drawer and handed it to Melissa. ‘He’s very busy at the moment; he said he couldn’t have it ready before Wednesday at the earliest.’ Her lips twitched. ‘It will be interesting to know if Mrs Bellamy misses it before then.’
Melissa looked up from copying Mr Dodson’s address, to which she surreptitiously added the date and number on the docket. ‘I get the impression that you have no great opinion of the Bellamys,’ she said.
Miss Parkin cleared her throat. ‘They aren’t exactly the type of person I would choose to work for,’ she admitted. ‘I’ve been accustomed to the genuinely well-to-do, you understand, not the nouveaux riches. One wonders sometimes how such people acquire their money.’ She pursed her lips and gave a knowing nod. ‘Not always entirely honestly, I fancy.’
‘Are you suggesting that the Bellamys are criminals?’ Melissa was suddenly hopeful of learning something significant. Miss Parkin, however, appeared to feel that she had gone too far, and hurriedly backtracked.
‘Oh, dear me, no … at least, it’s just that … well, one reads so often about the tricks these so-called business people get up to. There was a case in the paper recently of a managing director, a most highly respected man, so they said, who was sent to prison for stealing money from his firm’s pension fund. No person of real quality would stoop so low.’
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Melissa agreed politely. It was clear that Miss Parkin’s assertion, reported by Gloria, that Vic Bellamy was a crook, was no more than what Mitch would describe as a ‘gut feeling’. It was interesting, but of no practical use. However, the picture might very well be. She took leave of Miss Parkin and hurried home, eager to pass on the results of her visit to DCI Harris.
‘I think I can help you with your enquiries,’ she told him when he answered the phone.
‘Oh? What enquiries?’
‘Into the Bellamy case.’
There was a silence. Then he said, in his oily sandpaper voice, ‘I thought we agreed there was to be no more amateur sleuthing.’
‘I know we did, but this is something I stumbled on by chance – or rather, Iris did.’
‘Iris? Surely, Mel, you haven’t been gossiping with that old biddy, after what I told you?’
‘I haven’t revealed anything confidential, and please don’t refer to my best friend as an old biddy,’ she retorted. ‘You said there was no proper evidence of Vic Bellamy’s involvement with anything illegal, and I happen to have found some, that’s all. If you aren’t interested …’
‘Of course I’m interested,’ he said impatiently. ‘Stop playing games, Mel. What’s this about?’
‘I’m not telling you over the phone.’ She was determined to make the most of her small triumph. ‘Why don’t you come round for a drink?’
‘I’m in my gardening clothes, and I haven’t eaten yet.’
‘Then go and change, and come to supper. Chilli con carne from the freezer, not exactly cordon bleu, but …’
‘Thank you.’ He sounded mollified. ‘Give me time to get cleaned up, then.’
He arrived an hour later, freshly shaved and casually dressed in slacks and a brown knitted sweater that gave him the appearance of an outsize teddy bear. He had a bottle of Rioja tucked under one arm.
‘A Spanish wine seemed appropriate with the chilli,’ he remarked as he followed her into the kitchen. ‘Where do you keep your corkscrew?’
‘In that drawer, and the glasses are in the cupboard on your left.’
He filled two goblets and handed her one. ‘Cheers!’
‘Santé!’ She took a mouthful and nodded in appreciation. ‘Mm, nice. I hope you don’t mind eating in the kitchen.’
‘It’s where I always eat when I’m at home on my own.’
‘Me too. The Bellamys as well – I have it on the best authority.’
‘Oh?’
‘My cleaning lady’s husband’s aunt, Miss Muriel Parkin. That’s who I’ve been to see this afternoon.’
He listened without interruption while she told her story. When she had finished, she fetched Iris’s catalogue and pointed out the relevant pictures. ‘The owner of Butchers’ Gallery will confirm all those paintings vanished on the way back to their owners, and that colour reproductions were never made of these three. All you have to do is get Mr Dodson to hand over the one that came from the Bellamys’ flat and …’
‘Thank you, Melissa. I do know a little about detective work.’
‘Sorry. I got a bit carried away. But do try and get it back by Wednesday or poor Miss Parkin might lose her job.’
‘I can’t guarantee that, and it might have been better if you’d told me about the broken picture as soon as you realised its significance, instead of rushing off to make enquiries on your own. I warned you not to say anything that might arouse suspicion or start gossip.’
‘But I didn’t. Miss Parkin has no idea there’s anything dodgy about the picture, or that I’ve got any particular interest in it. In fact, if you’d sent PC Plod down to question her, she’d hav
e been far more likely to spread the story around. As it is, she won’t give it a second thought – I think you should be very grateful to me!’ Melissa turned on her most disarming smile; after a moment, his stern expression relaxed and he smiled back.
‘All right, you win. You’re forgiven, provided the chilli comes up to scratch.’
After Harris left, having given a somewhat guarded undertaking to ‘keep in touch’, Melissa thrust what she had mentally dubbed ‘Operation Aladdin’ to the back of her mind. Her novel was approaching a crucial stage; her celebrated sleuth, Nathan Latimer, was faced with a knotty problem which was causing his creator considerable difficulty. For the next two days, she spent so much time in her study that Iris, concerned at her non-appearance, called round to drag her out for a walk, insisting that she needed exercise and fresh air.
Wednesday brought the usual visit from Gloria, bursting with news as she took off her jacket and assembled her cleaning materials.
‘Auntie Muriel’s been found out!’ she informed Melissa. ‘Monday morning, soon as she went up to the flat, Mrs B. pounced on her, wanting to know where her dining-room picture had gone.’
‘Oh dear, was she very cross?’
‘Not so much cross, Auntie Muriel said, more like scared it were stolen. When Auntie explained what had happened – ever so apologetic, she were – Mrs B. seemed that relieved, she never told her off nor nothing. Then she asked for the ticket and said Auntie M. weren’t to worry, she’d collect it herself and pay for it.’
‘That was very kind of her.’
‘That’s what I said, but Auntie M. said, when one of the kitchen staff breaks anything, they gets their wages stopped. She thought it were a bit fishy.’
‘I wonder why?’ said Melissa.
Gloria shrugged, picked up the vacuum cleaner and headed for the sitting-room. ‘Search me. Auntie Muriel’s got a funny way of thinking sometimes. She enjoyed talking to you, by the way, thinks you’re a real lady.’
‘Oh, thank you. I enjoyed it too.’
The minute Gloria had finished her morning’s work and left, Melissa put in a call to DCI Harris. He received the latest intelligence with a flattering interest.
‘That’s a great help, Mel, thank you,’ he said.
‘Did you contact the gallery in London?’
‘I did.’
‘And?’
‘Our enquiries are proceeding.’
‘Can’t you tell me any more than that?’
‘Not at the moment.’
‘I’ll be in Stowbridge tomorrow – it’s my day at college. Why don’t we meet at the Grey Goose for lunch?’
‘So that you can ply me with drink to make me talk? I know your wicked ways.’ He gave a gravelly chuckle. ‘All right, it’s a date – but don’t bank on prising anything out of me. Our enquiries are at a delicate stage.’
‘So, what’s new?’ asked Melissa as she joined Harris at the bar of the Grey Goose.
‘All in good time. What will you have to drink – a St Clements?’ She nodded and he gave the order. ‘What about food?’
‘A chicken sandwich, please.’
He carried their drinks to a corner table. Melissa repeated her question. ‘Did you go to London?’
‘I did.’
‘And the gallery owner confirmed what I said?’
‘Of course.’
‘I’ll bet she was excited when you told her what I’d seen.’
‘Stop fishing, Mel. Ah, thank you.’ A waiter put plates of sandwiches on the table between them. Harris held up his empty glass. ‘Get me a refill, will you?’
Melissa tried again. ‘Did you check on the blue Renault?’
‘Naturally.’
‘But you aren’t going to tell me who it belongs to?’
‘No.’
‘Someone I know? Oh, all right,’ she said hastily as she caught his eye. ‘But you might at least tell me what to look out for, next time I go to Heyshill Manor.’
‘You’re going there again? Why, for God’s sake?’
‘To Mitch’s birthday party on the thirty-first and the performance of Innocent Blood Avenged. It’s Hallowe’en – I wonder if Battling Bess will put in an appearance. Why don’t you come too? I’m sure Mitch will invite you if I ask him.’
‘I’ll think about it.’ Harris finished his sandwiches and took a pull from his second pint. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m sending Sergeant Waters there this afternoon, to question the staff about a different matter altogether.’
‘What’s that?’
‘William Foley’s death. As you were there when the accident happened, I’d like to ask you one or two questions as well.’
‘Go ahead.’
Harris lowered his voice. ‘The result of the autopsy came through yesterday.’
‘And?’
He leaned forward. ‘You can keep this to yourself for the moment – in fact, I shouldn’t really be telling you, but I know I can trust you – the pathologist found heroin in the bloodstream. It points to a substantial overdose.’
Melissa shook her head in bewilderment. ‘I don’t understand it,’ she said. ‘He was completely anti-drugs of any kind.’
‘That’s what his daughter says. She got very angry at the mere suggestion. The report confirms there’s no sign of addiction or regular use, so what we have to do is find out when and how it got into him. Or, what seems more likely, how someone else got it into him.’
‘You mean, you believe he was murdered?’ Melissa put down the second half of her sandwich, her appetite suddenly diminished.
‘It’s very much on the cards.’
‘How soon before death do they reckon he took it?’
‘Half an hour at the most. He’d had one or two drinks, which would have speeded things up.’
‘So he must have taken it at the hotel, during the rehearsal.’
‘It looks like it. That’s why we have to question everyone who was there, and I’m starting with you. How did you come to be on the scene so soon after the accident?’
‘Will was needed on stage. They said he was in the bar, and I wanted to talk to Janice – the bar manager – so I offered to take the message.’
‘Was he there?’
‘No, but he had been.’ Melissa thought for a moment, reliving the scene. ‘As I remember, Janice said he’d left a few minutes earlier.’
‘Who else was in the bar?’
‘A party of hotel guests … they went out after a few minutes to have their dinner. There was Janice, and Kevin, her young assistant … and Vic Bellamy was sitting on a stool, having a drink. We exchanged a few words and then he left as well.’
‘What did you do then?’
‘I stayed on to talk to Janice. She was telling me all about the ghosts. Scared the pants off young Kev.’ Melissa smiled at the recollection. ‘Let’s see, what happened next? Chris Bright came in, wanting to know where Will had got to. He still hadn’t gone back to the rehearsal. Then some other people came in and ordered drinks, and the draught beer had run out so Janice sent Kevin down to the cellar to change the barrels. He didn’t want to go – she’d put the wind up him with her ghost stories – but he went in the end. Half a minute later he was back, having found Will. I was nearest to the door, so I went with him, and saw …’
‘Must have been a shock.’ Harris put a large, reddish hand on hers and she allowed it to remain there, grateful for its comforting warmth. ‘You said something the other day about the cellar key.’
‘It’s kept hanging on a nail in the bar. When Kevin went to get it, it wasn’t there.’ She repeated her account of Vic Bellamy’s reactions while they were in the cellar together. ‘Ken, you remember Mitch talked of suspecting “something fishy” about Will’s death?’
‘I remember. Perhaps I didn’t take it seriously enough, but of course, the report from the path lab hadn’t come through then. Have you any idea what he was driving at?’
‘He told me he believed Vic Bellamy had a hand in it some
how, but he had nothing at all to go on except one of his famous “gut feelings”. It’s another reason why he asked me to stay at the hotel and nose around.’
‘I’ll have something to say to him about that. How dare he put you at risk!’ Harris’s colour deepened with anger.
‘I’m the one you should be cross with,’ she said humbly. ‘I didn’t have to agree to it.’
His expression softened. His hand was still on hers and he began gently tracing circles on the back of it with his forefinger. ‘I’m beginning to think it’s a waste of time getting cross with you,’ he said.
‘Ken, do you think Vic had anything to do with Will’s death?’
He released her hand, his face thoughtful. ‘After all you’ve told me, he has to be a suspect, but we’re up against means and motive.’
‘Surely, the motive’s obvious. He was afraid Foley was about to expose him.’
‘But, according to you, he seemed surprised to think he’d been nosing about down there.’
‘And according to your man’s report, he subsequently suggested he’d opened the cellar door by mistake.’
Harris shook his head. ‘People do sometimes change their ideas on what happened, after reflection. Not that I’m prepared to accept his version without corroboration … but look at it this way. If Bellamy, or one of his associates, wanted to do away with Foley, why do it on their own doorstep, and why choose such an unlikely method? It’s not as if they were dealing with a known user whose supply they could contaminate with a fatal dose. Still, until we can eliminate him, he stays on the list of suspects. In fact, until we start probing more deeply into Foley’s background, he is the list of suspects!’ He drained his glass and stood up. ‘Sorry, Mel, I have to be going.’
He held the door of her car while she got in. ‘I take it you’ve had no more late-night visits?’ he said.
‘You mean, from the likes of Clegg? No, thank goodness. What did you get out of him, by the way?’
‘Nothing much. He’s well known to us as a no-hope gofer who’ll do anything for fifty quid. We traced the bike owner’s last known address, but he’s gone missing. He’s the one we need to find.’
Murder at the Manor Hotel Page 22