Wicked Beauty

by Susan Lewis

  They were all thinking of the men in grey suits and decorated uniforms who populated the remote, shadowy corridors of the Defence Department, those who’d resisted Tim on every level from the day he’d taken office, and who, every one of them, were now retreating far behind the veil of secrecy that shrouded the Department.

  Rachel turned her tormented eyes to Nigel. ‘Do you think there was an affair?’ she said quietly. ‘Tell me honestly. Haynes said …’ She swallowed, and her voice became more strained than ever as she said, ‘Apparently he wasn’t just found in her flat, he was found in her bed, so …’ Her body tensed as a fresh wave of pain closed in on her heart. ‘I don’t think that’s public knowledge yet,’ she said.

  ‘I’m afraid it is,’ he told her, not adding that Tim had been naked too, for she probably already knew that, so wouldn’t need to hear it again. Taking a breath he said, ‘Obviously it looks like there was, but maybe that’s what someone wants us to think. I mean, no one’s been allowed near the crime scene, which I grant you is normal, but how do we know he was in the bedroom?’ He glanced at Robert and Anna, who appeared to be waiting for him to answer the question himself.

  ‘Can you find out?’ Anna said.

  ‘Probably. What about the gun?’ he said. ‘Has it been found?’

  Rachel shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she answered.

  ‘I’ll check. Now back to the phone calls. How many were there, that you know of?’

  ‘Half a dozen, give or take.’

  ‘And what did this foreign voice say?’

  ‘He just asked to speak to Tim, and if not, to Katherine.’

  ‘Did you ever overhear their end of the conversation?’

  ‘No. They always moved out of earshot.’

  He chewed his lip thoughtfully. ‘And where’s the phone now? With the police, of course.’

  ‘They’ve taken just about everything,’ Rachel said. ‘Files, address books, computers. I spoke to Gordon a couple of hours ago. It seems the offices in Whitehall and at the house have been cleared too, and no one’s allowed near them. Not even me. Or probably, especially not me.’ An acute sense of despair swept over her. It was unthinkable that as recently as yesterday he’d been here in this room, discussing the election, and teasing her about some small gaffe she’d made earlier at the polling station. Then last night he’d regained his parliamentary seat, and now tonight, he was … never coming back.

  Anna was looking at her, noticing how horribly pale she had become. ‘Why don’t we resume this tomorrow?’ she suggested. ‘It’s been a long day.’

  Nigel’s eyes closed in dismay. ‘I’m sorry,’ he groaned. ‘I should have realized … I just thought it might help to get you focused, make you feel like you were doing something.’

  ‘You were right,’ she told him. ‘It did help, and we have to do this. It’s just … I’m still trying to get used to the idea that he’s not going to be here … That everything we planned …’ She squeezed her hands tightly together and took a breath to try to get herself past the pain. ‘I think you should know that I’m going to have a baby,’ she said, her voice faltering. ‘Tim didn’t know. I was going to tell him when we were on holiday. If I’d told him last night, when he called, he’d have come home. I know he would. And he’d be alive now instead of … Oh God, Tim, please, please come home,’ she begged, covering her face with her hands.

  As she broke down, Nigel drew her into his arms and held her tight.

  ‘Where is he?’ she sobbed. ‘I want to see him.’

  ‘We’ll find out,’ Nigel assured her.

  ‘Come on,’ Anna said, taking hold of her. ‘You’ve had enough for today, you should try to get some rest now.’

  After they’d gone Robert walked over to the drinks cabinet and took out two tumblers.

  ‘Make mine a large one,’ Nigel said.

  Pouring two generous measures of Scotch, Robert carried them back to the sofa and sat down. ‘It’s a damned peculiar business,’ he commented, almost to himself. ‘Damned peculiar indeed.’

  ‘Do you have any theories?’ Nigel prompted.

  ‘Not really,’ Robert said. ‘I only met the woman a couple of times, but for what it’s worth I never thought there was an affair. Nor did Anna, and she’s usually got an instinct for those things.’ He took a sip of his drink. ‘But naked in her bed,’ he said, shaking his head again. ‘It’s hard to think anything else now.’

  ‘It could have been just a one-night stand,’ Nigel said. ‘The euphoria of winning, mixed with alcohol and the fact she was about to say goodbye.’

  ‘That wouldn’t explain why she killed him,’ Robert pointed out.

  ‘No,’ Nigel responded.

  Robert sighed. ‘You know, what gets me is, naked in her bed or not, I just don’t see him putting everything – his marriage, leadership ambitions, integrity – in jeopardy for the sake of a quick roll in the hay.’

  It didn’t seem very probable to Nigel either, though Tim certainly wouldn’t be the first man who had everything to screw up his own life that way. ‘What about the phone calls?’ he said. ‘Do you have any theories about them?’

  Robert took another sip of his drink. ‘I knew about them,’ he said, ‘because Anna told me, but I’m as much in the dark as you are.’ He shrugged. ‘A man in his position, it could have been anyone.’

  ‘Except they were coming in on his private line, which was a number Rachel thought only she had,’ Nigel pointed out.

  Robert sighed again. He really couldn’t offer any explanation for that, and nor could Nigel, so they sat quietly staring at the muted TV screen for a while, where pictures of Tim were repeatedly being shown as the wall-to-wall coverage continued.

  ‘I dread to think how messy this is going to get,’ Robert commented finally.

  Nigel was about to respond when the doorbell rang. ‘One of my colleagues?’ he said, getting up to look out of the window. Since the sitting room was on the first floor, it wasn’t possible to see down into the porch, but he could hear Lucy dealing with it, then recognizing the voice of one of Tim’s senior aides, he walked over to the door.

  ‘Up here, Gordon,’ he shouted. ‘Is Dennis with you?’

  ‘Yep, I’m here,’ Dennis Callaghan responded.

  Robert was already filling two more glasses by the time Gordon and Dennis came into the room. Both men were in their early fifties, though Dennis was much greyer, and more weathered than Gordon, whose lanky frame never quite seemed to fill out his suit. Both looked in dire need of the drink.

  ‘What a day,’ Gordon groaned, slumping into an armchair. ‘I just can’t get my head round it. One minute we’re celebrating a victory, the next …’ He stared blankly at the TV, as though it were broadcasting some kind of madness that ought to be stopped. Then looking up he said, ‘How’s Rachel? Where is she? I spoke to her a few hours ago. She sounded … Not good. Not good at all.’

  ‘She’s upstairs with Anna,’ Robert told him, handing him a drink.

  He took it, downed it in one go, then said, ‘Before anyone asks, neither of us knew anything about an affair, though I suppose we now have to assume there was one, unless you can tell me what the hell else he was doing in Katherine Sumner’s bed at five o’clock in the morning.’

  ‘Did he leave the party with her?’ Nigel asked.

  ‘We all did,’ Dennis answered. ‘There was a car and driver waiting outside to take him home, as you’d expect, so he gave us all a lift. Gordon was dropped off first, then me, and as far as we knew Tim was going to be next. Katherine lived the furthest away so it made sense she’d be last.’

  ‘Was it his usual driver?’

  ‘No. Martin had the night off, so it was a replacement. The police have been talking to him all day.’

  ‘Have you managed to yet?’

  ‘No. But he was no stranger. He had clearance, and we’ve used him before.’

  ‘What time did you all leave the celebrations?’

  ‘Around four. I g
ot in at four-fifteen, so they’d have been at Katherine’s by four-thirty, a quarter to five at the latest.’

  ‘Was he drunk?’

  ‘He’d certainly had a few. We all had. We were celebrating, for God’s sake.’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘What a long time ago that seems now,’ he said, sounding as exhausted as he looked. ‘By the way, Michael Jarrett’s here. He stopped in the office to use the phone.’

  ‘Michael Jarrett?’ Nigel frowned.

  ‘Tim’s lawyer,’ Robert answered, glancing up as Jarrett let himself in the door.

  After greeting Robert and the others, Jarrett went to help himself to a Scotch. ‘How’s Rachel?’ he asked, his jowly face as strained as everyone else’s. ‘I’ve been trying to call, but it’s impossible to get through.’

  ‘It’s been a madhouse,’ Robert told him. Then because no one else seemed inclined to speak, he said, ‘I don’t suppose you can throw any light on matters?’

  Jarrett bowed his head and stared down at his drink. After taking a generous mouthful he said, ‘Not exactly, but I had a phone call earlier …’ He stopped and started again. ‘It was a bit of a shock, I don’t mind telling you, especially coming right on top of everything else.’ He looked up, then said, ‘I don’t know if Rachel already knows, but … Well, confidentiality and all that, I should tell her first. I’m sure you understand.’

  Chapter 3

  SEVENTY-TWO HOURS HAD now passed since the world had become a place that Rachel no longer wanted to be in. She’d spent most of the time being interrogated by Haynes and Flynn, while DCI Bartle and an ever-increasing team of detectives continued to question everyone who had ever had any contact with Tim Hendon or Katherine Sumner. There seemed to be no limits to the investigation, both at home and abroad, and no new information either. Katherine was still missing, and since no ransom note, or body, or even evidence of any further crime, had materialized, the general opinion all round was now leaning heavily towards an affair that had gone wrong.

  Other than to go and view the body, when she’d all but collapsed to see her handsome, vital husband looking simply as if he was sleeping, as if he could easily be woken up so that they could get on with their lives, Rachel hadn’t left the house. Now she felt that she never wanted to again, for the viewing had taken such a toll on her that the mere thought of the funeral, and all the nightmarish security arrangements – not to mention the grotesque self-interest of those who weren’t sure how much damage it might do them to be seen at the funeral – was filling her with so much dread, she was starting to doubt she had the courage to go. As it was, she hated even coming out of her bedroom, for the house always seemed so full of people all wanting to talk to her, question her, forcing her to go over and over the minutest detail of conversations, meetings, schedules, her and Tim’s personal lives, who his friends were, his enemies, anything he might have said, or done, that could lead to an explanation of what had happened. Then there were those who came to comfort her, to make sure she was eating, sleeping, still breathing even. She knew they were trying to be kind, that she was fortunate to have so many friends who were willing to take care of everything for her, but though she thanked them, and did her best to reassure them, even put on the occasional show of eating to keep them happy, in her heart she longed for them all just to go away. She wanted only Anna and Robert and Nigel, because between them they would find out the real truth of what had happened. As soon as she could she was going to throw herself into this investigation like she’d never thrown herself into one before, because no one, but no one, was going to get away with attempting some kind of spin, or cover-up, or web of lies that would leave a slur on Tim’s name. And they were trying, she knew that already, which was why she so desperately wanted the house to herself again, so that she and Nigel could really get to work. It was all that had kept her going these past few days, knowing that she had a way to sustain herself, a purpose that would bring some sense to this insufferable madness.

  Then Michael Jarrett broke his news.

  She’d known since the day Tim died that Michael wanted to talk to her, but this was the first opportunity they’d had, and now he’d finished she could only stare at him in utter horror and wonder how much worse things could get.

  Her eyes moved to Anna, who was looking equally stunned. They were in the conservatory, where dazzling blades of sunlight were making Jarrett’s fleshy face seem, perversely, more holy than lawyerly, and a breeze, wafting in through an open window, was carrying the clean, invigorating scent of freshly mown grass. It felt like a day for happiness.

  ‘Four million US dollars?’ she echoed, finally.

  Jarrett nodded. ‘In a Swiss bank account.’ Then added, as though it might help, ‘The Dresdner Bank, Zurich.’

  ‘But where did it come from?’ she said.

  His eyes showed his dismay. ‘I was rather hoping you might be able to tell me that,’ he answered.

  Rachel was shaking her head in disbelief. ‘There has to be a mistake,’ she said. She looked at Jarrett. ‘There has to be,’ she insisted. ‘Tell me what this caller said again.’

  ‘He just gave me the account details, told me how much was in it, and that I should inform you of its existence and urge you, for the sake of Tim’s reputation, not to mention it to the police.’

  Rachel turned to Anna. ‘I don’t understand it,’ she said, knowing it was really a case of not wanting to understand it.

  Anna looked at Jarrett. ‘When was it put there?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t have that information,’ he answered. ‘All I know is what I just told you. The call came the day Tim died. About five or six hours after.’

  ‘But who was he?’ Rachel broke in. ‘Did he give a name?’

  ‘I asked, but he just rang off.’

  ‘Then what did he sound like? Was he English?’

  Jarrett looked surprised. ‘Actually no, I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘There was a slight accent, but don’t ask me what. I’m no good at those things.’

  Rachel’s face was draining of colour as she turned to stare out at the garden. She’d hardly slept the night before, and now, hearing this, she felt so depleted of energy she could hardly make herself think. ‘So what are we going to do?’ she said finally. ‘Four million dollars is a lot of money. We can’t just pretend it’s not there.’

  Anna turned to Jarrett, hoping he might have an answer.

  ‘Well we at least have to find out where it came from,’ Rachel cried.

  Anna said to Jarrett, ‘Do you have any theories, or even a wild guess, anything that might give us some kind of clue?’

  He inhaled deeply. ‘I wish I did,’ he said, ‘but I’m as mystified as you are.’ Then after a pause, ‘I suppose the only good thing about it is that you don’t have to declare it – unless you bring it into the country of course. Then you really could have problems.’

  ‘You don’t seriously think I’m going to touch it?’ Rachel protested.

  Jarrett didn’t answer. Clearly he didn’t know.

  Suddenly she was on her feet. ‘OK, I’ve had enough!’ she declared. ‘Enough, do you hear me? I want to know who made that call, where the money came from and how the bloody hell I’m supposed to deal with any of this when he’s not here to answer any damned questions.’

  Though she was close to tears, she wasn’t there yet, and Anna knew better than to try and calm her, for more than anything right now, she needed to work up some anger.

  ‘Well to hell with his bloody reputation,’ she suddenly raged. ‘I’m not damned well covering up for him. Wherever that money came from it didn’t get there legally, so fuck him! Do you hear me! Fuck him! I don’t give a damn any more,’ and thrusting Anna aside she slammed out of the room.

  A ringing silence followed her exit, until finally Jarrett said, ‘Are you going to go after her?’

  Anna shook her head. ‘She needed to do that, and with any luck there’s more to come, because she can’t go on pretending he was
some kind of saint, when it’s plain to everyone that something was happening before he died – and if nothing else this … money confirms that it was a lot more involved than a mere love affair. No, don’t look at me like that because I’m not even going to hazard a guess at what it was – he moved in circles that were far too elevated for me to begin to understand, and frankly I don’t think even Rachel has a full grasp of it all. Who does, when it comes to men at that level, particularly in that field?’

  ‘But he detested that department,’ Jarrett reminded her. ‘He couldn’t wait to get out of it, so it doesn’t seem likely that he’d have got himself involved in anything … untoward that might be going on there.’

  ‘No it doesn’t,’ she agreed. ‘Unless he was staging some kind of brilliant cover-up to throw everyone off the scent.’

  Jarrett filled his cheeks with air then blew out slowly. ‘Robert told me about the phone calls,’ he said after a while. ‘The ones on Tim’s personal mobile.’

  ‘Yes, well, if we knew what they were about, or who’d made them, we might be in a much better position to know why he isn’t with us any longer,’ Anna said. ‘In fact, given the coincidence of the foreign accent, we might even have an idea where the money had come from.’

  ‘The police have all the phone records, I take it?’ he said.

  She nodded. ‘They didn’t waste a second. The whole house was cleaned out faster than you could say Mr Sheen.’

  Jarrett pursed his lips sombrely. ‘So what do you think she’ll do with the money?’ he asked. ‘Will she tell the police?’

  ‘I’m not sure. She’s obviously angry at the moment, but when she calms down … Well, she’s very protective of him, so my guess is no, she won’t tell them, at least not yet.’

  ‘Withholding evidence is a crime,’ he reminded her.