by Frank Smith
Charlie sniffed. ‘I don’t know whether she thinks we pinched the damned thing or what, but do you remember seeing a second pillowcase?’
Paget closed his eyes, concentrating, recalling a picture of Monica Shaw’s room. ‘I saw two pillows,’ he said. ‘One, the top one, had a pillowcase on it, but the bottom pillow didn’t. I’m afraid I didn’t think much about it at the time. Mind you, there could have been another pillowcase in a cupboard or somewhere for all I know.’
Charlie shook his head. ‘There wasn’t. I checked the inventory myself. Besides, Miss Wolsey swears both pillows were covered when she left the room that night. So where did the other pillowcase go? What’s more to the point is, does it matter?’
Paget was wondering the same thing. It seemed like such a trivial thing, and yet it might have meaning if only he could think what that meaning was. Somewhere in the back of his mind still lurked the idea that the death of Monica Shaw was somehow linked with what had happened here at Glenacres. But if there was a connection, it eluded him at the moment.
‘Sorry, Charlie. I’m afraid I can’t help you,’ he said. ‘But there is something I’d like you to do for me. Would you have those bits of glass you found on top of Monica’s dressing-table checked against the glass in the photographs of the board of governors in the entrance hall? Or with the photographer who supplied the pictures and frames. See if you can get a match.’
The inspector looked doubtful. ‘They’ve probably chucked it out by now,’ he said, ‘but I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Thanks, Charlie.’
Tregalles stuck his head in the door. ‘Mrs Lucas is back,’ he announced. ‘Just saw her come in, and Lucas has taken off somewhere in his car.’
‘Right,’ said Paget. ‘Let’s go and have a word with her. I think she has some explaining to do.’
According to the information Ormside had on Georgie Lucas, she had been a model and part-time actress before marrying Lucas a few months before James was born. Gossip around the stables was that it had been an unsuitable match from the start.
Jack Lucas lived and breathed horses; Georgie couldn’t stand them. Jack was at least twenty years her senior, down to earth, and jealous. Georgie was a dreamer, a romantic, and inclined to stray from time to time.
Ormside went on to say that the word around the stables was that Georgie had had an affair with someone in town; a married man. The story went that when Jack found out, he said nothing to Georgie, but a few weeks later he caught the man on his way home one night and hammered him into the ground.
‘We spoke to the man in question,’ said Ormside. ‘He was beaten all right; bad enough to be sent to hospital, but he swore he had no idea who did it to him. Insisted there were two of them, but he couldn’t give a description of either. Nothing was stolen, so it was assumed that whoever did it was frightened off before they could finish the job. It’s still on the books, as a matter of fact, but the investigation was dropped long ago.’
Despite Tregalles’s glowing description of Georgie Lucas’s charms, Paget was taken by surprise when she answered the door. Until now, he had only caught a glimpse of her in the car as she’d driven by, but seeing her face to face, he had to agree with the assessment of his sergeant. Tregalles was right. She was indeed beautiful, and he wouldn’t find it hard to believe the gossip Ormside had picked up.
‘I’m afraid Jack’s not here,’ she said, perhaps hoping they would go away.
‘Actually, it is you we wish to talk to,’ Paget told her. ‘May we come in?’
Georgie just stood there for a moment, her eyes blank as if she hadn’t heard. Then, without a word, she turned and led the way inside. She waved in an offhanded way at chairs and sat down herself. Her short skirt slid well above her knees, but she made no attempt to pull it down. Beside her was a tumbler half full of amber liquid, and now she picked it up and swirled it around in the glass before drinking.
It could have been iced tea, but Paget didn’t think so.
It was hard to tell that she was drunk. The hand that held the glass was steady. It was only when he looked closely at her eyes that he could see the puffiness there, and she seemed to be having trouble focusing as she looked from one to the other enquiringly.
‘Well?’ she prompted languidly.
The word caught Paget by surprise. He realized he’d been staring, and he felt his face go warm as he settled himself in his seat.
He explained why they were there, then said: ‘Would you tell us where you were around four o’clock this morning, Mrs Lucas?’
Her eyes clouded, and she frowned as if she felt the need to concentrate on the question. ‘I was in bed,’ she said carefully. ‘Jack will tell you.’ She looked directly at him and Paget felt the full impact of her eyes. ‘In fact, I dare say he has,’ she said, and giggled suddenly. She brought herself up short. ‘Sorry,’ she apologized. ‘It’s been...It’s nerves, that’s all. You must think...’
She broke off and gulped down half her drink.
‘How well did you know Maurice Blake?’
Georgie stared into the glass and gave an elaborate shrug. ‘Since he came here a few years ago, I suppose,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry. Perhaps you misunderstood me, Mrs Lucas. I asked how well you knew Maurice Blake; not how long.’
‘Oh! Sorry.’ She pulled herself upright in the chair as if determined to make an effort and pay attention. ‘I didn’t know him well at all,’ she said, but her eyes slid away to her glass as she spoke. ‘I don’t have much to do with the stables. That’s Jack’s department.’
‘I’d like you to think very carefully about your answers to these questions, Mrs Lucas,’ Paget said. ‘Maurice Blake was murdered, you know. The fire was not an accident.’
Georgie’s mouth quivered, and suddenly her eyes were moist. ‘I know,’ she breathed almost inaudibly.
‘Tell me, where were you the night Victor Palmer was murdered?’ Paget said. ‘The man you knew as Prescott.’
The woman averted her eyes, then looked at Tregalles. ‘I told you I was here - didn’t I?’ She stopped, looked confused, and passed a hand across her face. ‘At least I thought I did.’
‘But you weren’t here, were you?’ said Paget gently but firmly. ‘Where were you, Mrs Lucas?’
Georgie shook her head in denial. ‘I was here,’ she insisted. ‘I was. I was.’ Her face began to crumple.
‘You left the house by the back door,’ Paget went on. ‘Went out of the garden by the back gate and returned the same way. You left just after nine after seeing young James off to bed, didn’t you? And you were gone for some time.’
‘I…’ Georgie finished off her drink and began to get up, empty glass in hand.
‘Please sit down, Mrs Lucas,’ Paget said. ‘I’d prefer you to answer my questions before you have another drink.’
Her eyes flared, and she seemed about to protest, but the fight went out of her as she met his implacable gaze. She sat down again and set the glass down very carefully on the table beside her.
‘Where were you, Mrs Lucas?’ he asked again.
‘I went out for a walk,’ she said sullenly.
‘Where did you go?’
‘I went down the drive, then walked as far as the crossroads and back, that’s all. What’s wrong with that?’
‘Nothing, if that is what you did,’ said Paget. ‘But in order to do that you would have had to either leave by the front door or go around the house if you left by the back door. And we know you left and returned via the back gate. I ask you again: where did you go, Mrs Lucas?’
Her mouth set in a stubborn line. ‘I told you...’ she began, but Paget cut her off.
‘Did you know that your husband was sitting in his car across the road watching both driveways that night?’ he asked harshly.
‘Jack was...?’ Her hand flew to her mouth. Pretence vanished as pent-up tears flowed down her face. She buried her face in her hands and rocked back and forth. ‘Oh, God,’ she moaned
. ‘Oh, God! He’ll kill me if he ever finds out.’ She lifted a tear-stained face. ‘You don’t have to tell him - do you?’ she whispered. ‘Please...’
‘She says she was with Blake the night Palmer was killed,’ said Paget. They were back in the mobile unit, talking to Ormside.
‘And she swears she didn’t know that Lucas was watching the house,’ Tregalles put in. ‘She was sure she was safe because of the darts match. Apparently Lucas never twigged she was having it off with Blake right under his nose. She said Blake wouldn’t have lasted five minutes if Lucas had even suspected there was anything between them. It seems he thought she was sneaking off to see someone in town again. That’s why he waited where he did.
‘But she didn’t dare try that again. Your information was right, Len. Lucas did find out about her and the man she was seeing in town, and he beat the poor sod half to death.’
‘But why would she play the game at all,’ said Ormside, ‘knowing what her husband is like?’
‘I don’t think she can help herself,’ said Tregalles. He looked at Paget for confirmation. ‘At least, that’s the way I read it. She told us straight out that she only married Lucas because of James and what he could do for the boy. She had no money, and Lucas was well fixed, so she agreed to marry him. But since they’ve been married, Lucas hasn’t been all that interested, so she’s gone looking elsewhere. Not that she’d have to look far,’ he added, half enviously. ‘You haven’t met her, have you, Len?’
Ormside grunted. ‘I think you’d better watch yourself, my lad,’ he said heavily. ‘I wouldn’t like to have to scrape you up off the floor after Lucas has had a go at you.’
‘I was just saying...’ Tregalles began, then wisely closed his mouth.
‘If Lucas did know what was going on between his wife and Blake, it gives him a hell of a good motive for murder,’ Ormside said.
‘I’m sure that’s what his wife thought at first,’ said Tregalles. ‘But she insisted that Lucas never moved after he came to bed around midnight.’
‘If she’s drinking that heavily, there’s a good chance she wouldn’t even know it if he did,’ said Ormside.
‘Or she’s too scared of him to say,’ Tregalles added.
‘It would tie the two murders together,’ said Paget thoughtfully. ‘If Lucas knew about Blake and was waiting for him to come through the door that night, he may have struck before he realized his mistake. But he’s not the sort who would give up easily. All he had to do was wait until his wife was sound asleep, leave the house, set fire to the caravan, and slip back into bed. She wouldn’t even be aware of it.’
It made sense. What’s more, it held the added attraction of letting Andrea off the hook - at least as far as killing Palmer went. But she still had some explaining to do; a lot of explaining.
‘But we need proof,’ he went on. ‘There is nothing to show that Lucas knew about Blake. In fact, the evidence we do have tends to show that he didn’t know. We have nothing to connect him directly to the fire unless the lab comes up with something.’
He turned to Ormside. ‘Len, it’s up to you and your people to do some digging,’ he said. ‘Talk to anyone and everyone. See if they can find anything to indicate that Lucas might have known about his wife and Blake. Talk to Penny Wakefield; she seems to know as much as anyone about what goes on around here. And, speaking of Penny, I’d like you to have a WPC talk to Sylvia Gray when she’s feeling a bit better.’ He went on to tell Ormside what Penny Wakefield had told him.
‘If that’s all there is to it, I don’t want to upset the kid any more than she is already,’ he said. ‘Mind you, if your WPC suspects that Sylvia isn’t being truthful, she has my permission to come down on her like a ton of bricks.’
24
Perhaps it would have been better for both of them if he’d sent Tregalles to talk to Andrea, but Paget felt he’d be shirking his responsibilities if he sent the sergeant to do a job he was unwilling to do himself. But now, sitting no more than four feet away from her in one of the hospital consulting rooms, he wished he could be anywhere but here.
He should have had Andrea brought in to Charter Lane for further questioning after hearing what Lucas and Tregalles had had to say that morning. There could no longer be any doubt that Andrea had lied about where she was the night of Palmer’s murder. She’d signed a statement she knew to be false, and she of all people still had the best motive of anyone for killing her ex-husband.
But he couldn’t bring himself to do it - not without first giving her the opportunity to tell him why she’d lied. As he sat there now, so close and yet so very far away, he knew the impossible had happened. He had thought there could never be anyone for him after Jill. When she died, something in him had died as well. But, almost against his will, Andrea had stirred in him long-forgotten feelings, and he’d dared to hope that she might feel the same.
Which was why, despite all the evidence to the contrary, he had searched so desperately for a less sinister explanation for Andrea’s presence at Glenacres on the night of Palmer’s murder. To no avail.
Now, quietly, dispassionately, he told her what Tregalles had found out; told her there was a witness who had seen her at Glenacres the night that Victor was killed.
She’d listened calmly, eyes down and hooded, nodding gently every so often as if confirming what he’d said. Her manner puzzled him. She was too calm.
He stopped speaking, and there was silence in the room. Andrea lifted her head and looked at him.
‘He wanted money,’ she said. She spoke the words so softly that Paget almost failed to catch them. ‘At least, that’s what he said and I believed him, fool that I was. I believed him because I wanted to. I told myself he’d go away; that he would leave us alone, but...’ She dropped her gaze and sighed. ‘But I knew. I knew he would never be satisfied until he’d taken his revenge.’
‘You say Palmer wanted money?’
She lifted her head and brushed a lock of hair away from her face.
‘It was Boxing Day,’ she said. Her voice was normal now, crisp and clear and business like. ‘The day you saw me at Glenacres. I told you the truth about that except for the money. He said he had a chance to get back into business in the south. His old stables were sold to pay for his defence, so he had nothing to fall back on. All he needed was a start. He said he needed two thousand pounds. I told him he could go to hell; he’d get no money from me.’
Andrea looked down at her hands. ‘That’s when he said he thought two thousand pounds was little enough compensation for giving up his daughter.’
Andrea McMillan pushed herself up and out of the chair. She walked over to the window and stood looking out.
‘You agreed to pay him the money?’
She didn’t answer for some time; just stood there looking out across the town, massaging her arms as if she were cold. ‘Yes,’ she said at last. ‘I agreed to pay him the money. It was all I could do to scrape it up, but I managed it, and I took it with me on Friday. I remember thinking all the way out there that I was being silly; it would never stop. And yet another part of me said perhaps he was telling the truth. Perhaps there was a job for him down south. Perhaps he had changed. Dear God, how I wanted to believe that.’
She sighed wearily. ‘He refused to come into town for the money. He insisted that I meet him at the entrance to the stables at ten o’clock on Friday night. Something about him having to do rounds that night - he didn’t explain. I waited, but he never came. I even went part-way up the drive with some idea of finding him, but it was about then that it suddenly occurred to me that he wasn’t coming because he’d found out where Sarah was and had gone to get her. The more I thought about it the more I became convinced that he’d planned it that way. I thought maybe he’d known about Sarah all along. Maybe he’d been planning all this in prison just to get back at me. I panicked. I jumped in the car and drove into the village and tried to telephone Kate to tell her to get Sarah out of there; to just pick her up and go!
‘But she wasn’t there! I rang the number again in case I’d got it wrong, but no one answered. Someone should have been there and they weren’t! I got back in the car and drove like a maniac through the night. I had to find out whether Sarah was all right. I hardly remember anything of the drive. I was so scared. When I got there and found that both of them were gone, I nearly went mad with worry.’
‘But you remembered that the old man who lives on the corner might know where they’d gone,’ said Paget.
‘Yes. Kate had tried to reach me by telephone to let me know, he said, but I must have left for Glenacres by then. But I knew I wouldn’t be satisfied until I’d seen Sarah for myself, so I carried on down to Kate’s mother’s. Of course, everything was all right, and I needn’t have worried, but I didn’t know that until I got there.’
‘You say you went part-way up the drive,’ Paget said. ‘Did you go up as far as the red barn?’
Andrea shook her head firmly. ‘No. I only went a few steps up there when, as I said, it occurred to me that Victor might have gone after Sarah.’
‘But you are familiar with the barn? You do stable your horse out there, and I imagine you’ve been inside to the yard office?’
‘Of course. I’ve been in there a number of times.’
‘But you say you didn’t go there that night?’
Irritation crept into her voice as she said: ‘I told you, no, Neil.’
‘And you didn’t see Victor that night?’
‘No.’
‘Alive or dead?’
Anger flared in her eyes. ‘No,’ she said curtly.
Paget drew in a breath and let it out again slowly. ‘Andrea, did you see anyone while you were out there who might corroborate your story? Did you stop anywhere? Talk to anyone?’ He realized he was almost pleading with her now, for what she had told him could do her nothing but harm. Andrea McMillan had admitted earlier that she would have done anything to keep Victor Palmer away from her daughter. She had now admitted being at the stables at the time the pathologist said Palmer was killed. She knew her way around the inside of the barn. She’d probably seen the pitchfork there...