by Frank Smith
‘It will be difficult, as I’m sure you can imagine,’ she said. ‘In fact, I can see myself working those sixteen-hour days again for some time to come. Laura was our prime interface with clients, so we’re going to have to find someone to take her place, and that will not be easy. I only hope we don’t start losing ground again.’
‘Just one more thing then, before we leave,’ said Paget. ‘What can you tell me about the dismissal of Mr Holbrook’s nephew, Tim Bryce? He worked for you, I believe?’
‘That’s right – at least he was supposed to, but he was a problem from day one. Simon wanted him in the firm, but Laura didn’t. She had met Tim several times before he came to work here, and she was not impressed with him at all. I’ve known Tim for several years myself, and in this case I agreed with Laura. I couldn’t see him fitting in here, but Simon insisted, and he is the boss.
‘But Tim took advantage of their relationship. He could twist Simon around his little finger. There’s no denying that Tim can be a charmer when he wants something, but to put it bluntly, he’s a slacker, and there is no room here for slackers.
‘We tried to make it work for Simon’s sake. Laura and I did our best to sort him out, but we were wasting our time. Tim was warned numerous times about his unexplained absences, sloppiness in his work, and his general attitude, but nothing changed. Tim thought he was fireproof. He thought all he had to do was run to his uncle and Laura would be overruled, so when Laura had me dock him three days’ pay, Tim went mad. He went charging into her office and they really had a set-to. I could hear it all in here – Laura’s office is the one between mine and Simon’s – and when she told Tim he was finished here, he really lost it. He said something to the effect that she might be Simon’s wife, but she would soon find out which one of them would be leaving, then went storming off to find Simon.’
Peggy looked at each of them in turn as if to make sure she had their attention. ‘But even Simon can be pushed only so far,’ she said with something like satisfaction, ‘and Tim must have got the shock of his life when Simon told him he agreed with Laura, and held firm.’
A deep-throated rumbling sound and a sudden rush of cold air from overhead made them all look up. Peggy rolled her chair away from her desk, and tissues appeared in her hand as if by magic. She sneezed three times in rapid succession; her eyes watered and she sneezed again. She held her breath, then gradually relaxed and dabbed cautiously at her nose.
‘Sorry about that,’ she apologized as she took another tissue from her sleeve and wiped her eyes. ‘Allergies,’ she added by way of explanation, pointing to a vent in the ceiling. ‘Our air-conditioner is being overhauled, and they keep turning it on and off. The trouble is, they’ve had to take the filters out, and this being March, all the moulds and pollens are in the air.’
She dabbed at her nose again. ‘The work was supposed to have been done six weeks ago,’ she continued, clearly annoyed, ‘but you know what some of these people are like in this town. It’s just one more thing that we don’t need right now.’ Peggy rolled her chair back to her desk and dropped the tissues into a waste-paper basket, then took a couple more from a box in a drawer and tucked them in her sleeve.
‘And we’re not making things any better, are we?’ Paget said as he got to his feet. ‘But we do appreciate your help, Miss Goodwin.’
‘Just one question, Chief Inspector,’ Peggy said as she came out from behind her desk. ‘Is Tim a suspect? I mean seriously?’
‘We have to consider every possibility,’ Paget said ambiguously. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘It’s just that – well, I can’t deny that he and Laura didn’t get on, but I didn’t mean to suggest that things had gone that far. Honestly, I can’t see Tim as a murderer, so I hope you will bear that in mind.’
Peggy followed Paget and Molly into the corridor, shepherding them along as if to make sure they didn’t stray on their way out. ‘Tell me,’ Paget said as they went along, ‘if someone is working overtime or comes in after hours, is there a record of that?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Peggy. ‘We have tight security here. Everyone must sign in and out, and everything is recorded on security cameras.’
‘So no one has their own key, for example?’
‘Certainly not.’
‘Did Timothy Bryce work overtime?’
‘Tim?’ Peggy turned to look at Paget to see if he were joking. ‘We couldn’t get him to do a decent day’s work when he was here, let alone overtime. That’s why he was sacked.’
‘So we wouldn’t find a record of him coming in after hours, then?’
Peggy all but snorted with derision. ‘You certainly would not,’ she said. ‘I check those records myself, and I would have been astonished – and suspicious – if I’d seen Tim’s name on there. Whatever made you think that Tim worked overtime?’
‘Just something someone said,’ Paget said vaguely. ‘And thank you once again. There’s no need to take up any more of your time; we can find our own way out.’
But Peggy Goodwin stayed with them, and made sure she retrieved their Visitor tags when they reached the reception area, where Paget paused to ask one more question. ‘You mentioned the security system. Is it the system designed and installed by the Ballantynes?’
‘That’s right. Why do you ask?’
‘Just curious, that’s all,’ Paget told her.
‘Well, Constable?’ said Paget as they left the building and made their way to the car. ‘Any thoughts?’
‘Quite a few,’ Molly told him. ‘But it may take some time for me to sort them out.’
‘Any more thoughts about Holbrook himself? My own impression was that he took quite a fancy to you.’
‘It was a bit obvious, wasn’t it, sir? I’ve been thinking about that, and I don’t think he can help it. I think he’s one of those men who react automatically whenever a woman appears on the scene. He certainly fancies himself, but then, he is quite an attractive man. I think he expects women to be attracted to him, because he has that little-boy-lost air about him that appeals to some of them even if he is almost past his sell-by date.’
‘But not your type, I take it?’ Paget said as he unlocked the door of the car.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Molly said thoughtfully as she settled into the passenger’s seat and buckled up. ‘It would depend.’
‘Oh?’ Paget turned to look at her. ‘On what, Constable?’
‘Circumstances,’ Molly said evasively. ‘It’s a bit hard to explain, you not being a woman. What did you think of Miss Goodwin?’
Paget wasn’t quite sure whether Molly Forsythe was pulling his leg or not, and perhaps wisely decided not to pursue the matter until he felt more sure of his ground. ‘I can’t make up my mind about her,’ he said. ‘She strikes me as a very intelligent woman, probably very dedicated and loyal to Simon Holbrook. What do you think?’’
‘I think you’re right there, sir,’ she said. ‘They’ve been together a long time so I wouldn’t be at all surprised if there is or has been, shall we say, a close personal relationship between them. In fact, I don’t think Simon Holbrook could work with someone as attractive as Peggy Goodwin without trying it on. On the one hand he did marry Laura, but on the other hand I doubt if that would stop him from playing away from home if he got the chance.’
Returning to Charter Lane, Paget and Molly were about to enter the building when they met Tregalles on his way out. ‘Just on my way to lunch at the Crown,’ he said with a nod in the direction of the pub across the road. ‘They’ve got salmon steaks on today, and Audrey keeps on at me to eat more fish, so I thought I’d give it a try. Like to come? They’ve got other things as well. Steak and mushroom pie, scampi, and there’s always a ploughman’s. And you could fill me in on how you got on with Holbrook while we’re there.’
Paget looked at his watch. He was hungry, and it would be nice to have a change from the bag-lunch that awaited him in his office. ‘Why not?’ he said. ‘It’s been a while since I ha
d salmon.’
‘My lunch is in the fridge,’ said Molly diplomatically, ‘so I’d better get inside before someone nicks it if they think it might be better than theirs. You can’t trust anyone these days. Will you be needing me again this afternoon, sir?’
Paget shook his head. ‘Not this afternoon,’ he told her, ‘but I would like those notes transcribed, with a copy for Sergeant Ormside and Sergeant Tregalles.’
‘Right, sir. I should have them done by three, if that’s all right?’
‘Very good,’ Paget said, ‘and thank you for your comments on the interviews this morning,’ he added with a smile.
‘Hope you found them useful, sir,’ Molly said. She didn’t actually grin, but there was a sparkle to her eyes as she ran up the steps and entered the building.
Tregalles, who had been following the exchange closely, said, ‘Good morning, was it, boss?’
‘Productive, I think,’ said Paget cautiously. ‘At least we gained an insight into the sort of person Laura Holbrook was as well as Simon Holbrook himself.’ He fell into step with Tregalles as they made their way across the road. ‘How about you, Tregalles?’
‘I was beginning to wonder if Bryce had done a runner,’ the sergeant said, ‘and I wasn’t expecting much when I got hold of his mobile number and left a message for him. But he rang me back within half an hour. Said he was in Telford looking for a job. He said he hadn’t come in or called us because he’d had this job interview set up since last week, and didn’t want to miss it, but promised to come in tomorrow.’
‘You’re sure he was in Telford?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Tregalles said. ‘He was there all right. I had him go to the Victoria Road cop shop and ring me from there.’
The conversation lapsed while they stood in the short line-up waiting to place their orders, but once seated at a table with their drinks in front of them, Tregalles couldn’t contain his curiosity any longer. ‘Molly helpful this morning, was she?’ he asked tentatively.
Paget nodded. ‘Oh, yes, very helpful in fact,’ Paget told him as he picked up his drink. ‘Ah! Good! Here comes our lunch.’
Molly Forsythe delivered the transcript of her notes a few minutes before three that afternoon. Fourteen pages, printer perfect. But then, that was one of the advantages of having Molly taking notes; she took them down verbatim in shorthand.
Paget took the time to read them through, pausing every now and then to think about the answers he’d received. He was puzzled by Simon Holbrook’s attitude. Apart from that first night immediately following the discovery of Laura Holbrook’s body, Holbrook had shown almost no signs of grief. Anger, yes, annoyance, irritation, impatience, yes, but not grief. True, people reacted to tragedy in different ways, but Holbrook’s behaviour still seemed odd to Paget. Forsythe had commented on it as well.
He picked up his copies of the rest of the statements and thumbed through them. Moira Ballantyne hadn’t been in yet, he noted, but it triggered another thought. He picked up the phone and called Tregalles’s number.
‘Got another job for you,’ he said when the sergeant answered. ‘Have you ever played badminton?’
Fourteen
Tuesday, March 10
‘Timothy Bryce will be in at ten this morning,’ Tregalles said as he sat down in Paget’s office. ‘I’m assuming you want to talk to the man yourself?’
‘I do, indeed,’ said Paget. ‘So, how did you get on last night?’
Tregalles looked pleased with himself as he opened his notebook. He had spent much of the previous evening talking to members of the badminton club, and some of their comments had been most enlightening.
‘I never thought of badminton as much of a sport before,’ he said with a grin, ‘but after watching them play last night I think there might be something to it. All those women leaping about in their frilly little skirts. Mind you, there are some who shouldn’t be wearing . . .’
He caught the look in Paget’s eye and decided he’d better come to the point.
‘I talked to Bernard Fiske. He’s the chairperson of the club. He was quite cagey at first, but he became quite chatty over a beer – that’s another thing about the club, they have a bar. For one thing, Simon Holbrook has quite a reputation as a womanizer, which didn’t surprise me, although Fiske said he seemed to have settled down – at least for a time – following his marriage last year to Laura. When I asked him what he meant by “at least for a time”, he said there’d been quite a bit of bickering between them in recent months, and he had wondered how long the marriage would hold up.
‘But Fiske said it didn’t stop them from coming. The four of them continued to play together, and Moira was usually there as well, but he said you could tell there was an undercurrent there.’
Tregalles flipped a page in his notebook. ‘So I stuck around for a while and spoke to some of the players,’ he said. ‘Most of them were pretty cagey; some wouldn’t talk to me at all, but there was one woman who was more than willing to talk: a Mrs Jordan, a widow in her mid-forties or thereabouts, and not bad-looking either. She said that she’d heard Laura Holbrook and Moira Ballantyne “exchange words”, as she put it, the night before Laura Holbrook was murdered.’
‘Did she say what it was about?’ asked Paget.
‘She thought Mrs Holbrook was warning Moira off, telling her to stay away from her husband, but when I tried to pin her down – figuratively speaking, of course, boss – she said she couldn’t hear properly because they were in the changing room and people were opening and closing the doors on the metal lockers, which made it difficult to hear.’
‘Not that she wasn’t trying, of course,’ Paget observed drily. ‘Any chance that she’s making the whole thing up to gain attention?’
‘I think there might have been a bit of jealousy there,’ Tregalles conceded, ‘so I’d be inclined to treat what she told me with a certain amount of caution, but I don’t think she was making it up.’ A sly smile crept across his face. ‘But she did make a point of telling me twice that she was a widow, and it was really hard to get used to living without a man about the house.’
Paget raised an eyebrow. ‘Did she, now?’ he said. ‘Did she say anything else of interest? About the case, I mean,’ he emphasized.
Tregalles nodded. ‘Yes, she did. She claims that Simon Holbrook and Moira Ballantyne had something going a year or so ago, and that was after Laura had come on the scene and things were going hot and heavy between her and Holbrook. She said it didn’t last long, but everyone in the club knew about it, except Laura and Moira’s husband, Trevor. She said she and some of her friends were surprised that he’d taken up with Moira, because they had always thought that if Holbrook did settle down, it would be with Susan Chase. But then Laura came along and all bets were off.’
‘It’s a wonder this woman has any time left to play badminton, what with listening to all the gossip,’ Paget observed. ‘Still, if it weren’t for people like her, we would never learn half the things we do. Anything else?’
Tregalles shook his head as he folded his notebook and slipped it into his pocket.
Paget eyed the sergeant thoughtfully. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘if this Mrs Jordan is right, and everyone in the club knew what was going on between Moira Ballantyne and Holbrook, I’m willing to bet money that Trevor Ballantyne and Laura knew as well. And the question that comes to mind, is: why didn’t they say or do anything about it? Or did they behind the scenes?’
‘Don’t know,’ Tregalles admitted, ‘but I don’t see how it would have a bearing on what happened to Laura Holbrook. I could see Trevor killing Holbrook or Moira if he thought the affair had started up again, but he would have no reason to kill Laura.’
‘True,’ said Paget thoughtfully, ‘but Moira Ballantyne might.’
If Paget had been asked to form an image of Timothy Bryce in his mind, based on what he’d been told, it wouldn’t have come within a country mile of the man now facing him across the table.
With his mop
of tousled hair, wide-set eyes and overly generous mouth, Bryce looked younger than his almost twenty-seven years, and whether deliberate or not, the illusion was strengthened by the clothes he wore. The faded jeans, denim jacket with metal fasteners, soft leather boots, and even the diamond stud in the lobe of his left ear reminded Paget of the university campuses where such attire had been almost mandatory a few years ago for students and the younger members of the staff.
Bryce was a tall lad . . . Paget mentally stopped himself. He was doing the very same thing he had questioned in others, and suddenly realized why everyone seemed to refer to Bryce as if he were a boy. He looked like a boy, tall, thin and gangly, all knees and elbows as he sat slumped in the chair, and there was an air of bewildered innocence, almost shyness, in the way he looked from one to the other of the two men. He didn’t look anything like his uncle, but there was a marked similarity in the way they presented themselves to the world, and Paget found himself wondering if it had something to do with the genes or if it was something he’d learned from his uncle.
Timothy Bryce had big hands; strong hands. They were at rest now, clasped together loosely on the table in front of him. Could they be the hands that had held the metal bar used to smash Laura Holbrook’s face to a bloody pulp?
With the recorder in motion and the formalities disposed with, Tregalles settled himself at the end of the table rather like an umpire on the centre line as Paget said, ‘Now, Mr Bryce, I’d like you to tell me in your own words about what took place between you and Mrs Holbrook a week ago last Friday, when you accosted her in the car park. We’ve heard a couple of versions, but I would like to hear what you have to say about it.’
Bryce shifted nervously in his seat, and the lines around his mouth tightened. ‘To tell you the truth,’ he said sheepishly, ‘I’m a bit ashamed about that,’ he said. ‘I’d been out all day looking for a job, and I wasn’t having any luck. I didn’t want to go back home to Sally and say I’d failed again, so I stopped in to have a couple of drinks. Unfortunately, I didn’t stop at a couple, and suddenly it seemed like a good idea to tell Laura exactly what I thought of her.’