‘The police?’ Lovett looked at him in surprise. ‘Why?’
‘It’s routine in any case of sudden death, but it shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll have a word with Mrs Bayliss and tell her not to worry. Can you arrange for someone to stay with her, by the way… your wife, perhaps? She shouldn’t be left on her own.’
‘I don’t have a wife, I’m a widower.’
‘I see. Is there a relative you could contact on her behalf?’
‘I believe there’s an aunt in London, but it’s too late to do anything tonight. I’ll see what else I can organise.’
‘Good. I’ll leave it with you.’ The doctor packed his bag and went indoors to deliver his message.
Barbie had no idea how long she lay on the couch after everyone had gone. The doctor had come with Steven to tell her that Hugo was dead and that his body would be taken away ‘as soon as the formalities were over’. In her slightly befuddled state she could not quite grasp what those formalities were and it came as a shock when Steven brought a policeman to see her and explained gently that he would like to ask her a few questions, if she felt up to it. The officer was very kind and she told him in a weak, unsteady voice how she had been getting ready to go out for the day, that the last time she had spoken to her husband he was standing by the pool drinking coffee while waiting for the sauna to warm up, that when she went to tell him she was leaving he was in the sauna and she had tapped on the glass and waved to him. No, they hadn’t spoken, the cabin was pretty well soundproof. Yes, he had seemed perfectly all right. No, he hadn’t complained recently of feeling unwell, in fact, he’d only just had his regular check-up and the consultant had said he was fine. The officer took the name of the consultant and then went away, expressing his sympathy and saying he hoped it wouldn’t be necessary to trouble her again.
When he had gone she shut her eyes and tried to get her head round what had happened. Hugo was dead – a heart attack, the doctor said. Surely, she should be feeling something, some emotion? All she could think of was that tonight, and every night for the rest of her life, she would be able to go to bed and sleep without having her body plundered against her will.
Fifteen
After a fortnight of dry weather, clouds had built up throughout the afternoon. The light drizzle that had been falling for the past half-hour became a steady downpour as DI Castle turned out of the police station car park and headed for Exeter Street. The traffic was heavy and the usual crawl through the congested city centre was made worse by temporary traffic lights at roadworks. By the time he reached his destination, after taking several wrong turns in a fruitless attempt to find a short cut, his spirits had sunk to a point where he began to believe that the visit would probably turn out to be a complete waste of time. Still, now he was here he might as well go through with it. He locked the car, turned up his collar and hurried through the rain towards the house, noting with relief that the white van was standing outside. That at least meant he wouldn’t have to wait until the owner got home.
His knock was answered by a tired-looking woman whose age might have been anywhere between thirty and forty-five. She had the weary expression of one for whom life was a constant battle. The sight of a stranger evoked only a faint flicker of interest, which quickly changed to apprehension as Castle held up his warrant card.
‘Mrs Holland?’ She nodded. ‘Detective Inspector Castle, Gloucester CID. I’d like a word with your husband.’
‘What about? What’s he done—?’ She stopped in mid-sentence, like a tape that had been cut off before the end. Castle sensed that she had been on the point of adding ‘now’.
‘Nothing that we know of. I’m just making some routine enquiries,’ he said smoothly.
‘You’d better come in.’ Grudgingly, she stood aside just far enough to admit him, then pushed past him and opened a door on the right of the narrow passage. She stood barring Castle’s way as she said, ‘Tel, it’s the police again.’ Her voice sounded shaky. Over her shoulder, Castle saw Holland scrambling up from the floor, where a boy of about ten was kneeling in front of a toy garage. The two had evidently been playing with the dozen or so miniature cars lined up on the worn carpet.
‘Sorry to intrude on your evening,’ said Castle. ‘This shouldn’t take long.’
‘Billy!’ Holland jerked his head towards the door. ‘We’ll finish the game later.’
‘But Dad!’ the boy protested, but his mother took him by the arm and hauled him to his feet. ‘You heard what your father said,’ she snapped. ‘Go in the kitchen.’
‘Can’t I take my cars?’ the child whined.
‘No, you—’ the mother began, but Castle, who had been doing a rapid inspection of the room, stepped past her and intervened.
‘Let the boy take them, I’m in no hurry,’ he said, in his best public relations manner. He picked up one of two small cardboard boxes lying on a chair. ‘Do you keep your cars in here, son?’ The child nodded, took the box and began filling it with toys. Castle squatted down to help. ‘And then you fasten the lid with one of these?’ he continued, holding up a fluorescent pink rubber band. Billy took it from him, again without speaking, and snapped it round the box he held. ‘You chose good bright ones, Billy,’ Castle went on. ‘No risk of losing anything done up with them, eh?’ The boy gave a shy smile. ‘D’you buy them with your pocket money?’
‘No, me dad gave ’em to me. He’s got lots.’ This time Billy turned to his father with a broad, affectionate grin, which was not returned.
‘All the same lovely bright colour?’ Castle went on. He waited for a contradiction, but none came. ‘Well now, as your dad’s got lots, perhaps you can spare me this one.’ He picked up a second band lying beside the other box and dangled it between his thumb and forefinger.
Billy glanced up at his father as if seeking approval. Holland scowled at Castle. ‘Sure you don’t want to pinch one of the kid’s cars as well?’ he demanded belligerently.
‘Now, why would I do that?’ Castle replied blandly. As he straightened up and slipped the band into his pocket, his eyes slid across the room to the mantelpiece, on which half a dozen or so brightly coloured greetings cards were ranged among an assortment of brass and china ornaments. One of the cards bore the legend, 40 NOT OUT in bright red capitals. Castle felt a flutter of excitement. Was he about to get lucky after all?
He turned to Holland with a genial smile as he enquired, ‘Your birthday today, is it? Many happy returns!’
‘No, it was yesterday,’ Billy informed him eagerly. ‘We went to the Pizza Hut for supper and me mum—’
Before the lad could finish, his father took him by the shoulder and pushed him towards the door. ‘OK, that’s enough for now,’ he said sharply. ‘Do as your mum says.’ Reluctantly, with a backward glance at the remaining cars, the boy left the room. His mother hesitated, looking from the policeman to her husband and back again.
‘No need for you to stay, Rita.’ Holland made it sound like a command and, without a word, she followed her son. As the door closed behind them, he rounded on Castle. ‘So what’s this about?’ he demanded in an angry whisper. ‘If it’s Mrs Chant’s murder, I told you, I wasn’t there – I don’t know nothing.’
‘So you said. Just the same, it’s possible you can help us with our enquiries.’ Castle sat down in one of the shabby armchairs and stretched out his legs. He sensed that Holland’s aggressive manner concealed a certain disquiet. ‘How’s business, then?’ he asked conversationally.
The question evidently took Holland by surprise and he avoided Castle’s eye as he sank into the other armchair and replied, ‘Not bad. Why d’you ask?’
‘Just wondered. You mentioned you collect quite a few cash payments from your customers.’
‘Picked up any large amounts lately?’
‘What is this?’ Holland’s face and neck grew red and he glared at the policeman. ‘I told you the other day, I keep my accounts straight.’
‘So you did. Well, maybe we can talk a
bout that some other time.’ From his inside breast pocket Castle pulled out the photographs of the items Arthur Chant had reported missing. ‘Ever seen any of these?’ He handed the prints over, one at a time. ‘Look carefully.’
Reluctantly, as if suspecting a trap, Holland took each print, scanned it briefly and handed it back. Castle saw his eyes flicker at the sight of a picture of a gold necklet with matching earrings. ‘Recognise those?’ he asked.
‘No.’
‘Sorry, thought you did.’
‘Well, you was mistaken.’
Holland held out the photograph, but Castle made no move to take it from him. ‘Have another look,’ he urged. ‘Take your time. It’s a very distinctive design. If it was bought locally and we can track the purchaser down, it would take us a step nearer to Mrs Chant’s killer.’
Holland gave him a sharp look. ‘This is her stuff?’
‘That’s right – didn’t I mention it?’
‘No, you didn’t.’
‘That necklace and earrings… are you quite sure you never saw them before? Perhaps she was wearing them when you went to the Chants’ house to do some work?’
At the suggestion a look of relief replaced Holland’s wary expression and he said hurriedly, ‘Yeah, that must be it.’
‘Ah! I thought you recognised them. Thank you so much.’ Castle put the photographs back in his pocket and stood up. ‘Well, thank you for your time, Mr Holland. I’ll see myself out.’ He paused at the door and turned. ‘Oh, just one more thing. You did say you’d never been in trouble before?’
Holland glared. Once again, he was on the defensive. ‘Who says I’m in trouble now?’ He got to his feet and thrust his face close to Castle’s. ‘You got nothing on me, so clear out or I’ll have you for harassment.’
Castle raised both hands in a placatory gesture. ‘No need to get excited, I just wanted to make sure,’ he said.
The front door had barely closed behind him when Rita came storming out of the kitchen. ‘What was all that about?’ she demanded in a fierce whisper. ‘And don’t start shooting your mouth off – I don’t want Billy upset again.’
‘Whose fault was it he got upset last time?’ Terry hissed back.
She brushed the question aside. ‘You’ve been back to see Charlie Foss, ain’t you?’
‘What if I have? I told you, he owes me.’
‘And I told you, that guy’s pure poison, always was. You know I never liked you working with him and I was right, wasn’t I? Well, wasn’t I?’ she repeated as he remained sullenly silent. ‘What did that copper want?’
‘It ain’t nothing for you to worry about,’ he said insistently, but he knew his voice lacked conviction. Those deceptively casual questions about money and the business over the rubber band… that detective wasn’t just making polite conversation, he knew something. Had the police been tailing him? Had Charlie called his bluff and grassed after all? If that was the case, why not come out and say so? His palms grew sweaty at the thought, but he did his best to reassure Rita. ‘It was about some stuff what got pinched from a house where I done some work – it was all legit, honest,’ he told her. ‘Whoever nicked my van the other day must have done the job, but you know what coppers are like – never take your word for nothing.’
‘You swear it’s nothing to do with Charlie Foss?’ She put a hand on his arm and looked up at him beseechingly. ‘Tel, promise me you won’t go and see him no more – it ain’t worth it, not for any money.’
‘It was my share of sixty grand he made off with, Reet.’ He stared down at her tired, careworn face, mentally comparing her shabby dress and dowdy appearance to the way Charlie Foss’s wife was turned out. His anger at the way he had been treated was like a griping in his guts. ‘I done time for that, and I want my cut. I managed to screw five grand out of him—’
Her eyes stretched. ‘You what?’
‘He’s a posh businessman now, Reet – he won’t say nothing.’ Terry wished he felt as sure of it as he tried to sound. ‘The last thing he wants is for his past to catch up with him.’
‘What past? I keep telling you, he’s never had a record, he’s too smart. Tangle with him and he’ll make dogshit of you. For God’s sake, Tel, what do you use for brains? You can bet your life there’s a catch in what he’s done. They never found the money you stole from the bank and—’
‘The money Charlie stole, you mean.’
Rita passed a hand over her forehead, brushing back an untidy wisp of hair that badly needed cutting. ‘No,’ she said wearily, ‘you stole it, you and Frank.’
‘It was Charlie that got his dirty hands on it – he ripped us off rotten.’
‘You know the jury never bought that story and the police have quite likely been keeping an eye on you since you got out, hoping you’d lead them to it. Suppose they come and search here?’
At this, Terry remembered how smart he had been and the thought cheered him up. ‘Won’t find nothing, will they?’ he said smugly.
‘So what’ve you done with what you took off Charlie?’
‘Put it in the building society, where else?’
She stared at him, wide-eyed and ashen-faced. ‘You bloody fool!’ she gasped. ‘How’re you going to explain it when they check your account?’
He stared back at her in genuine incomprehension. ‘They can’t do that!’ he protested. ‘Bank accounts is private, ain’t they?’
‘If they think there’s hot money in it, of course they can check, you… you prat… you stupid—’ For a moment she seemed to have difficulty getting her words out. Then, forgetting in her fear, rage and frustration about not upsetting Billy, she screamed, ‘Why did I ever take up with a half-wit like you?’ and rushed out of the room, leaving him scratching his head in hurt bewilderment.
Meanwhile, DI Castle went straight back to his office and wrote up the interview. Then he tackled some more outstanding paperwork until it was time to keep his date with Sukey, but all the time his conversation with Terry Holland was nibbling at the back of his mind.
I’m on the right track, I know I am, he said to himself later as he set off for Sukey’s house. Although Holland had admitted nothing, he was certain from the man’s demeanour that he was holding something back. Despite his initial denial, he had admitted recognising some of the jewellery, and his eagerness to accept the explanation that Castle had put into his mouth was definitely suspect. The wife, too, seemed scared witless and had been on the point of letting on that her husband had a record. Well, he knew the man’s date of birth now and first thing tomorrow he’d put Radcliffe onto the job of tracking him down.
Then there was the little matter of the elastic bands – ‘lots of them’, Billy had said – that Castle was sure had been used to secure bundles of banknotes similar to the one found in the pocket of Holland’s overalls. And he was still not convinced by Arthur Chant’s assurance that there had been no money in his safe. Inch by inch, he was getting near to the truth.
Sukey was on her own in the sitting room when he arrived at the little house in Brockworth, although splashing noises and the sound of pop music from upstairs told him that Fergus was at home. She greeted him with her usual warmth, but he could tell that something was worrying her.
‘Have you had anything to eat?’ she asked as she took his jacket.
‘Yes, thanks, but I could murder a cup of tea.’
‘Me too.’ She led the way into the kitchen and filled the kettle. ‘I’m so glad to see you,’ she said over her shoulder as she plugged it in and reached into a cupboard for cups. ‘I’ve… been a bit stupid, Jim.’
He put his hands on her shoulders and leaned his head against hers. ‘Tell me,’ he said.
It all sounded so trivial at first as she ran through the details: her need for extra money to pay for the school trip (if only she’d asked him, he’d have lent it to her like a shot); the offer that had seemed like a heaven-sent opportunity; her decision to undertake the commission despite the risk of being spotted; her
stubborn determination (typical!) not to be put off by unjustified suspicions but to go ahead and take the series of photographs that Hugo Bayliss, the man who called himself Gary, claimed his wife had asked for.
Jim listened in silence as she told her story, breaking off as the water came to the boil for the tea. She made it, poured it out, offered him milk, sugar and biscuits, then sat down at the kitchen table. He took the chair opposite her, reached out and took her hand. ‘There’s more, isn’t there?’
‘Yes.’ She told him of the attack by the helmeted intruder and his grip on her hand tightened. There were questions that, as a police officer, he knew he should be asking, but for the moment he felt nothing but horror at the danger she had been in and thankfulness that she had come out of the incident alive and apparently unhurt.
‘You’re sure you’re all right?’ he said urgently, and then, ‘Does Fergus know?’
She shook her head. ‘It would only upset him. He worries about me.’
‘He’s not the only one.’
‘I know.’ She returned the pressure of his hand, then gave a chuckle and said, ‘But whoever tried to throttle me will have bruised ribs and a nasty graze on his shin for his pains.’
He saw another problem and asked, ‘Did you report it?’
‘Of course I did. I called 999 the minute I was sure Chummy wasn’t on my tail. I gave all the details I could think of at the time and promised to call in to the station tomorrow and make a full statement.’
‘Do they know who you are… what your job is?’
‘Not yet, but I suppose they’ll have to.’ She gave a rueful grimace. ‘I’m in hot water, aren’t I – are you going to report me?’
‘As if I would. Just the same, you know what the official attitude is towards moonlighting.’ Jim played with Sukey’s fingers, his brow wrinkled in thought. ‘I could try having a quiet word with one of my colleagues at HQ – it might not be necessary for it to get back to Gloucester. Unless, of course, you’re needed to give evidence in court. It would have to come out then.’
Death at Hazel House Page 15