‘An’ you swallowed every word of what the lyin’ sod told you,’ sniffed her aunt contemptuously. ‘Won’t you never learn?’
‘It wasn’t all lies,’ Brenda protested. ‘He did what he promised. He’s running a legit business, and we’ve got a lovely home and know all sorts of posh people.’
‘You told me you couldn’t stand the toffee-nosed lot.’
‘Some of them are OK.’
‘Knew all along there was something else behind the flit,’ muttered Auntie Gwen. ‘Said so at the time. You was just too blind – an’ too soft in the ’ead – to see it.’
Brenda sighed again, but said nothing. In those days she had still been under Charlie’s spell, able to forgive if not to forget. Secretly keeping in touch with her aunt after their hasty move had been her one act of defiance. She stared out of the window into the distance. Earlier, the trees had been hidden under a veil of haze. Now they were clearly visible. That was how things had been in her life. Only in her case, it was the unpalatable truths that had emerged, inexorably, from the mists of self-delusion.
‘What about Terry – ’ow’s ’e doin’?’ asked Auntie Gwen after a pause.
‘OK, I think. But he’s different. He’s turned real hard. He threatened Charlie and guess what he done… did, just before he left. Picked him up like a baby and chucked him in the pool.’
‘Get away!’ Auntie Gwen nearly choked on her cigarette smoke as she broke into gales of wheezy laughter.
For the first time, Brenda saw the funny side of the episode and joined in, but it was not long before her own mirth turned into hysterical weeping. ‘Beat me up something rotten once he got out of the water,’ she sobbed. ‘Said it was all my fault Terry found us.’
‘Spiteful bleeder!’ Auntie Gwen gave the heaving shoulders a consoling pat. ‘Wonder ’ow ’e did manage it, though,’ she mused.
Brenda stopped crying and dried her eyes. ‘I dunno, just got lucky, I suppose. Spotted Charlie in a pub or something and followed him. What’s it matter?’
‘You can’t go on like this, girl. Why don’t you just leave ’im?’
Brenda made a helpless gesture. ‘Where do I go? No, don’t tell me to come back here… I couldn’t, honest. It’d be like living in a cage, and the family’d laugh and say it served me right… I couldn’t face it.’
‘What about those posh friends of yours?’ A sly look crept over the old woman’s face. ‘Can’t you find yerself a rich fancy man among that lot?’
‘It’s a nice idea, but—’ Brenda thought fleetingly of Steven Lovett before adding, ‘none of them’s as well loaded as Charlie.’
‘So back you goes for more punishment.’ Auntie Gwen stubbed her cigarette out as viciously as if the face of Charlie Foss was painted on the bottom of the ashtray instead of a picture of the Brighton Pavilion. She lit another, coughed, and croaked, ‘You always was wet as a duck’s arse.’
‘It’s not all bad,’ Brenda protested, almost believing it. She glanced at the clock on the tiled mantelpiece. ‘I must be going or I’ll miss my train. Here, let me give you this.’ She opened her purse and took out some notes. ‘Take it, I can spare it.’
Her aunt said, ‘I thought you was still ’elping out Ivy Palmer’s boy,’ but her gnarled fingers closed greedily over the money.
‘Not any more – he’s got a job.’
‘Doin’ what?’
‘I dunno, do I? I haven’t seen him lately.’
‘You ’eard Ivy was dead?’
‘Yes, I heard. I tried to get Charlie to cough up for her funeral, but he said it was nothing to do with him. You know he always said the kid wasn’t his.’
‘Well, we know who to believe, don’t we?’
‘I guess so. Well, goodbye, Auntie. See you again.’
‘Believe it when it ’appens.’ It was the old woman’s invariable response.
During the train journey back to Cheltenham, Brenda Foss concentrated on thinking herself back into the persona of Barbie Bayliss, married to Hugo, Managing Director of Bodywise Systems Ltd. By the time the taxi dropped her at The Laurels she had succeeded in pushing all thoughts of her London visit to the back of her mind.
Fourteen
At about the same time as Barbie Bayliss was getting off the train at Cheltenham Spa station, Sergeant Radcliffe informed DI Castle that the manager of the Gloucester branch of the Western Building Society had asked to speak to a senior detective.
‘Any idea what it’s about?’ asked Castle.
‘No, Guv. The lady says it’s confidential – won’t speak to anyone lower than a DI.’
Castle sighed. He had only just returned to his office from the Lorraine Chant incident room, where a considerable time spent sifting through reports of the house-to-house enquiries had added little to the information previously gathered. Because the three dwellings comprising the enclave known as The Hill had been built on clearings in a small area of established woodland, visitors and residents alike could come and go in virtual privacy. Whereas anyone approaching along the main road from Gloucester would normally drive through the centre of Marsdean to reach The Hill, anyone wishing to do so unobserved could use a narrow lane skirting the village from the opposite direction. This route led past only a handful of dwellings, most of them owned by commuters and empty during working hours. Although one or two reports of cars seen approaching The Hill might be worth following up, if only for elimination, the one firm sighting during the crucial period was that of Terry Holland’s white van. Unfortunately, no one had been able to give anything approaching a recognisable description of the driver.
Castle studied the business card Radcliffe had given him with no particular enthusiasm. Previous experience of people who considered their business too important, too delicate, or merely too complicated to be dealt with by the lower ranks had taught him that in most cases the significance of what they had to say varied inversely with the amount of fuss they made. He had the feeling that Ms Katherine Percival would be no exception, but could think of no valid excuse to avoid talking to her.
‘All right, I’ll deal with it,’ he said resignedly. ‘Then I’m off to get something to eat.’ For some reason, his thoughts turned to Sukey. He had hardly set eyes on her since their conversation of the previous morning. Around midday he had received a message that she had been trying to contact him, but he had been too busy to do anything about it. Not that it would have been possible to discuss anything personal but he felt a sudden, illogical need to hear her voice, to be reassured that everything was all right with her. He made up his mind to call her at the first opportunity, when he was away from the station, after he had listened to whatever Ms Percival had to tell him.
He was expecting an aggressively businesslike personality, but instead found himself shaking hands with a slim, well-groomed brunette with a gentle voice and a friendly smile. She was neatly dressed in a light grey coat and skirt over a grey blouse patterned all over with the initials WBS in tiny blue characters. He showed her into an interview room and offered her a seat.
‘Can anyone overhear us?’ she asked as he closed the door behind them.
‘I assure you, anything that passes between us will be entirely confidential,’ he said, taking a chair opposite hers. ‘Unless, of course, you have reason to believe that a crime has been committed.’
‘That’s the trouble. There may be nothing to it. Just the same, I decided it was my duty to report it.’ She fiddled with the clasp of her dark blue leather handbag.
‘Report what?’ prompted Castle, as she appeared uncertain how to continue.
‘The fact is, all our staff were recently instructed by Head Office to bring to their manager’s attention any case of unusually large sums of cash being deposited in one of our customer’s accounts – especially where only comparatively modest amounts had previously been put in or drawn out.’
Castle nodded. ‘That’s right. It’s part of a national effort to crack down on money laundering through banks and
building societies, particularly by drug dealers.’
‘Yes, so I understand.’
‘Has something like this occurred in your branch?’
‘No, in our Cheltenham branch. The manager there telephoned me to say that a customer went in today and deposited five thousand pounds in cash, mostly in fifty-pound notes, into an account which is held here in Gloucester.’
‘I take it this person was a stranger to the Cheltenham staff?’
‘The employee who dealt with him couldn’t remember seeing him before and our records show that all previous transactions, both in and out, have been made in the Gloucester branch.’
‘How long has the account been open?’
‘About a year. The holder uses it principally for business purposes. Deposits are mostly in cash but occasionally by cheque. When Mr Merrivale told me the amount of the deposit, I was very surprised as no previous transactions on the account have been for more than a hundred pounds or so either way.’
‘Can you give me some idea of the man’s line of business?’
Ms Percival hesitated for a moment, as if asking herself whether this was confidential information or not. Then she said, ‘I can’t give you full details, you understand—’
‘Quite. I’m only trying to establish the type of person he deals with.’
‘Well, I don’t see why I shouldn’t tell you that. He sometimes draws cheques payable to builders’ merchants – all well-established and respectable firms, so far as I’m aware.’
‘And that’s all you have to tell me?’
‘Well… yes.’ She gave a nervous cough, covering her mouth with one hand, before hurrying on. ‘I thought perhaps, if you spoke to the employee who handled the transaction, and got a description… and perhaps saw the film from the security camera… you might recognise the man. I thought it possible – I mean, he could be a known criminal, someone you suspect of dealing in drugs, for example …’ Her words trailed off as she caught Castle’s eye. Faced with his unrevealing stare, she began to flounder. He could see her mentally asking herself whether she wasn’t making something out of nothing. ‘I suppose he could have got the money selling a car, or maybe won it on a horse,’ she finished lamely. ‘I’m sorry if you think I’ve been wasting your time.’
‘Not at all,’ Castle assured her. ‘It’s quite possible, of course, that the man came by the money honestly, but you did the right thing by telling us about it. Will the employee in question be at work tomorrow morning?’
‘Yes. Her name’s Donna Jupp. I’ve written it down for you.’ Ms Percival took a slip of paper from her bag and handed it to him.
‘I’ll send an officer round to have a word with her. What would be the best time?’
‘I suggest nine o’clock, that’s half an hour before the branch opens for business. I’ll telephone Mr Merrivale first thing and let him know.’ She stood up and held out her hand. ‘Goodbye, Inspector, and thank you for listening to me.’
Castle went back to his office and wrote up the interview. Then he sat for a few moments chewing the end of his pen and considering the facts. A man whose account was held in Gloucester had used a different branch to deposit an unusually large amount of cash. A number of his regular dealings were with builders’ merchants. Terry Holland was a jobbing builder and he lived in Gloucester. And although Arthur Chant had been adamant that no cash had been stolen from the safe that Holland had installed in his study, Castle was by no means satisfied that he was telling the truth. Coincidence? Probably. There must be scores of men in and around the city running similar one-man businesses. Just the same, it was worth looking into. He instructed DC Hill, who was just going off duty, to be at the Cheltenham branch of the Western Building Society the following morning at nine on the dot and to ask for Donna Jupp. Then he left the station and made for a small cafe in Westgate where he regularly ate. On the way, he stepped into the doorway of a deserted shop and called Sukey on his mobile phone.
‘Sorry I couldn’t get back to you earlier,’ he said when she answered. ‘Is everything OK?’
‘Oh, Jim!’ she said, and from her tone he knew that something was up.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I can’t talk about it now. Can you come round this evening after my shift finishes… say about half-past ten?’
‘Sure.’
‘Bless you!’ The relief in her voice and the knowledge that it was to him that she had turned with her problem gave him a warm feeling, even while it increased his anxiety. He tried to imagine what the trouble might be and concluded it was probably something to do with Fergus. He went into the cafe and ordered steak and kidney pie and chips.
When he got back to the station, he went in search of Sergeant Radcliffe and gave him a brief account of the interview with Katherine Percival. ‘It might have no bearing on our case but you never know – it’s time we got lucky.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Holland is probably at home now, watching the telly. I think I’ll go and have a word with him.’
‘You aren’t going to question him about the cash, Guv?’
Castle shook his head. ‘Not directly, not until – and unless – we get a positive connection. I’ll play it softly-softly for the time being, see what I can tease out of him. I’ve got the photographs of the stuff that was pinched from the Chants’ place – they’ll be my excuse for calling. Maybe our Terry’ll recognise some of it.’
‘Hardly likely to admit it, is he?’
‘No, but he might show some reaction. Straws in the wind and all that.’ Castle heaved a sigh. ‘It’s a pity our anonymous caller never came back to us. I’d give a lot to know whether Holland really has got form.’
Radcliffe grinned. ‘Ask him when his birthday is, then you can run a check on the PNC,’ he suggested with a twinkle. ‘Say you’d like to send him a card, in appreciation of his kind cooperation!’
By half-past six, Barbie had everything prepared for the evening meal. She never began the actual cooking until Hugo got home; he’d made it clear from day one of their marriage that he hated food that had been kept hot in the oven. Straight from the pot to the table, that was how he wanted it. She poured a gin and tonic and took it into the sitting room, opened the sliding door and stepped out onto the patio. After the polluted atmosphere of London, the air was sweet and fresh in her nostrils.
At a quarter to seven she called the office of Bodywise Systems but got no reply. At a quarter past she poured herself another drink before calling Steven Lovett at his home in Battledown.
‘Steve? It’s Barbie Bayliss.’
‘Barbie! I’ve been trying to contact you. I left a message on the answering machine. Didn’t you get it?’
‘Hugo’s the only one who uses that thing. Is something wrong?’
‘I don’t know. There’s been a report of an intruder in your house.’
‘What? How do you know?’
‘A police officer came round to the office this morning, looking for Hugo. I explained that he wasn’t expected in the office today. When I asked what it was about, I was told there had been an emergency call from a woman who’d seen someone acting suspiciously at The Laurels, gone to investigate and been attacked.’
‘What woman? What did she look like?’
‘I’ve no idea – why do you ask?’
‘A youngish woman came to the door this morning, just as I was leaving the house. She said she’d arranged with Hugo to take some photographs of the garden, but I told her I knew nothing about it. I said he’d gone out and she’d better phone the office to make another appointment.’ There was a pause, during which Barbie tried desperately to figure out what it all meant. She experienced a creeping fear that something was terribly wrong. A tinkling sound nearby made her heart thump until she realised that it was the ice vibrating in her glass. She took a gulp from her drink, tightening her grip on the tumbler in an effort to steady her shaking hand.
‘Barbie?’ Steven’s voice sounded anxious. ‘Barbie, are you there?’
/> ‘Yes, I’m here. Did the police come to the house?’
‘Yes, but they didn’t find anything – or anyone. They said they’d like a word with Hugo or you, but I couldn’t tell them when either of you’d be available. Maybe they’ve been trying to get in touch. Why don’t you check the answering machine?’
‘I’ve never used it. I’m not even sure how the thing works.’
‘And you haven’t seen Hugo?’
Barbie felt the fear all about her, cold but intangible. She drew a deep breath before whispering, ‘No.’
There was a pause. Then Steven said, ‘I think perhaps I’d better come round.’
‘Yes, please do.’
It was Steven Lovett who led the ambulance crew to the sauna, where he and Barbie had discovered Hugo lying slumped on the floor. Barbie had almost passed out at the sight and he’d had to carry her back into the house and lay her on the couch. While waiting for the ambulance to arrive, he fetched her some brandy. ‘Just lie there quietly and leave everything to me,’ he said. ‘If he really is dead, I don’t think the paramedics will move him until he’s been seen by a doctor.’
She gave him a grateful glance as she took the glass from him, holding it in both hands and taking quick, nervous sips. ‘Give them Dr Frayle’s number, he knows Hugo’s history,’ she said. ‘It’s on a pad by the phone.’
When the doctor arrived, he shook his head sadly as he knelt by the body saying, ‘I warned him something like this could happen, but he wouldn’t listen.’ He glanced at his watch and made a note of the time. ‘I’m afraid I’ll have to notify the police.’
Death at Hazel House Page 14