by Faith Martin
Whilst he still could.
Chapter 8
The next morning, Godfrey Hughes collected his milk and papers from the communal back door of the converted Edwardian house in Oxford where he maintained his small but comfortable flat. Once back upstairs, and over his usual cup of black coffee and round of toast, he turned reluctantly to the Oxford Tribune, and saw with horror that the family were again featured on the front page.
Quickly, and with a growing feeling of nausea, he read how the police had been forced to admit that they were now conducting a more thorough investigation into his father’s death, and how they expected to see the results of this activity soon.
A perennial bachelor, Godfrey was tall, as his father had been, standing at nearly six feet, and was rather lean with it. He had a head of thick auburn hair and brown eyes, and was looking rather pale and out of sorts that morning.
With a ‘tcha’ of distress and dismay, he threw the paper down and checked his watch. As he’d expected, he still had plenty of time before he had to be at St Swithin’s College, a non-affiliated college where he taught foreign students English language and culture.
He had planned a lecture that morning about the latest offering of so called ‘art’ from the world of English cinema, but could drum up little enthusiasm for it.
Instead, his mind went back to his father. Or, more precisely, to his father’s last will and testament.
Oh, he knew what was in it. Or rather, he knew what his father had said was in it, but as all of Thomas’s children knew to their cost, you could never actually trust what the old man said – not 100 per cent anyway. He’d often lie about things, if it were more convenient for him, or if he thought the results of a lie would prove entertaining.
So it was always just possible that his father might, in fact, have left his oldest son more than the modest pension that he had claimed had been set up to provide for him. But in his heart of hearts, Godfrey didn’t think so.
After all, the old man had made no bones of how he felt about Godfrey’s failure to marry and produce grandchildren. What’s more, he’d always sneered over Godfrey’s one true passion in life, laughing at him for spending nearly all his salary on his ‘pathetic little hobby’ as he’d termed it, and vowing that the ‘Hughes’s good money would never be allowed to be wasted on such piffle.’ Hence the provision of a mere pension, instead of a lump sum.
Restlessly, Godfrey got up and walked to the window and looked unseeingly out at the city’s roads and traffic.
He would like to have more money to spend – and he didn’t see why he shouldn’t have it. After all, he was the oldest, and traditionally, the older son was supposed to inherit, wasn’t he?
Of course, Alice deserved her fair share too, he mused, not wanting to think of himself as being ungenerous. She’d been the one forced to live with the old man, being all but blackmailed into looking after him, with the promise of that nice big house in leafy Headington as the ultimate reward.
And Matt, with his three children, there was no doubt he could do with some more money too.
As for Caroline … Well, she’d really all but made sure that she would be written out of the will with her militant attitude and obvious contempt for her father; the old man really did so hate to be thwarted. My, but some of the arguments after Mother died had been really fierce and wonderful to watch, Godfrey mused, his lips twitching with a smile of remembrance. In a way, Godfrey rather admired his little sister for her gumption, even as he disdained her silliness.
Still, with her out of the picture, there was all the more money to go around for the rest of them – well, with any luck.
Godfrey sighed. He’d just have to wait and see what the old family legal eagle had to say for himself when the will was finally read.
But if he really only did come in for a modest pension … Well. Something would just have to be done about it, that was all. And Godfrey, who knew himself to be the cleverest of all Thomas Hughes’s children, had a very shrewd idea of just what that something might be.
Chapter 9
Kenneth Wilcox worked in Cowley where he owned and ran a large electrical goods store, in a prime spot on a busy main road. Although nowhere near as wealthy as his now deceased father-in-law had been, he was obviously a successful businessman in his own right – but Clement couldn’t help but wonder what the dead man had thought about his son-in-law’s meagre empire.
He had a feeling that the dead man wouldn’t have been that impressed – and had probably not kept his opinions a particular secret from his son-in-law.
On the way through the shop, Trudy paused to admire the new wireless sets and record players, and wondered if she could save up enough money to buy her own record player for her bedroom. The one in the living room tended to be commandeered by her parents, and although she didn’t mind their music (a lot of Glen Miller and other war records) she didn’t always want to listen to it. Right now, she rather liked Elvis Presley’s latest number one hit – ‘His Latest Flame’. If she had her own player, she could start collecting her own selection of 45’s and 33’s.
But once she’d paid for her driver’s licence …
‘Is there a problem, officer?’
Trudy jumped a little, flushing a little over being caught out daydreaming, and turned to face the salesman who had silently approached them. He was looking warily from her to her companion, and was clearly not quite sure how to treat them.
Clement smiled amiably. ‘We were wondering if the owner was in. Mr Wilcox?’
‘Oh yes.’ The salesman’s face cleared with relief. ‘Right this way. I hope there’s nothing amiss?’ He was a tall, slightly worried-looking man in his early thirties. Neatly dressed in a suit and tie, he wore the tight look of someone who constantly feared trouble or disruption. ‘They’ve had one or two break-ins near the motor works recently – mostly newsagents and off-licenses though. Young hooligans wanting cigarettes and booze, I think. Surely they’re not targeting other retailers now?’
‘Oh no sir, it’s nothing like that. It’s a private matter with Mr Wilcox,’ Trudy said, before adding craftily, ‘He’s a good boss, I take it?’
‘Oh yes. Very. He likes to keep a well-ordered shop,’ he said with satisfaction.
‘Worked for him long, sir?’
‘Since I left school. My word, that must be more than twelve years now.’ The shop assistant looked almost bewildered by this.
Trudy nodded. ‘And the shop’s doing well?’
‘Oh yes. Nothing wrong here at Wilcox Electrical,’ he said a shade stiffly now – as if she’d just offered some sort of personal insult in questioning the shop’s profitability. ‘The office is just through here.’ So saying, he pushed open a door and led them through a short, narrow corridor to the end door in a series of three. This, he pushed open. Inside was a small anteroom lined with filing cabinets, with space for one small desk and a chair, which was currently unoccupied. ‘Oh, it looks as if Mr Wilcox’s secretary has just stepped out,’ he said, as if such a thing might be a hanging offence.
He crossed the room to a plain wooden door sandwiched tightly between two filing cabinets and tapped on it. He then pushed it open without waiting for a response, and said around the opening, ‘Mr Wilcox, a police lady and a gentleman to see you sir.’
He moved back and let them through, then shut the door quickly behind them, no doubt hastening to get back into the shop. Trudy had the feeling that he would be kicking himself for some time to come if he missed a customer or the chance to make a sale.
‘Sorry about Albert,’ Kenneth Wilcox said, rising from behind his desk. ‘He can be a bit abrupt sometimes.’ His eyes lingered on Trudy in her smart uniform, and then reluctantly turned to Clement.
He obviously recognised him from the inquest, for a slightly rueful look crossed his face. ‘Please, have a seat.’
Trudy noticed that Kenneth Wilcox was looking at her legs as she sat down and crossed them neatly at the ankles. She didn’t
know whether to feel amused, flattered or annoyed.
He was a good enough looking man, she supposed, maybe fifty years old but looking handsome on it, and was built sturdily – due mainly to muscle rather than to fat. He had probably been a rugby player in his time and with his head of full sandy-coloured hair and bright blue eyes, she could well imagine that most women would find him attractive. From the way his eyes had run over her figure the instant she’d stepped into the room, he clearly found the opposite sex equally as appealing.
She wondered what Alice Wilcox thought about that. She coughed slightly, and had the satisfaction of watching him start a little in his chair, and quickly transfer his gaze from her legs and back to the coroner.
‘I take it this is still about my father-in-law?’ Kenneth opened the proceedings flatly.
It was, Trudy thought, rather an odd way to put things. It sounded to her almost as if he blamed the dead man for making so much trouble for everyone.
‘I’ve just been reading this piffle in the papers,’ he carried on coldly. ‘I must say, I think the Tribune has gone downmarket in the last few years. Too ready to pander to people’s baser instincts, rather than report the actual news, if you ask me.’
‘Yes sir,’ Trudy said, but not necessarily in agreement. Her dad had always read the Tribune. ‘And you’re quite right, we have been tasked with taking a second look into the circumstances of your father-in-law’s death. When questions are raised, no matter how, er, nebulous, shall we say, the police are obliged to take an interest. But I’m sure we’ll soon have the matter cleared up,’ she added with a bright smile.
Her tactics worked, for she sensed the other man relax slightly as he responded both to her smile and to her unspoken promise that they were somehow in this thing together, and that nobody was taking it seriously. People often opened up, Trudy had discovered, when they thought you were on their side.
‘Yes, well, I suppose that’s only right,’ Kenneth conceded with a sigh. ‘Not that we, his family, really need this complication, mind you! It was awful enough as it was, without … Well. What exactly can I do for you?’
He looked at Trudy as he spoke, and Clement, well aware that she now had him eating her out of her hand, was happy to take a back seat and simply sit and watch.
‘Well sir, let’s take these newspaper allegations in order, shall we?’ she said, deliberately letting her voice sound weary. As if to say, she knew it was all so much pie-in-the-sky, but she had to be seen to be doing her duty. ‘I have to say, I’ve investigated the business affairs of your late father-in-law and I can’t see anything that suggests that something actually criminal may have occurred.’
‘I should think not,’ Kenneth said shortly.
‘Although, I thought I did detect a certain … wariness, shall we say, on the part of Mr Hughes to risk his own money in one or two of his more speculative ventures. But then I daresay that was just sound business sense on his part.’ Trudy was careful to keep her voice admiring rather than accusatory, but she wanted to present Kenneth with the opportunity to speak ill of the dead man if he so wished.
‘Yes. Well.’ Kenneth shifted a little uneasily on his seat. ‘Between you and me, the old man could be a bit on the fly side. Oh, I’m not saying he did anything illegal, obviously, but he dedicated his whole life to making money. And he didn’t much care how he did it. Er, not that I would say as much in front of my wife, you understand?’
‘Naturally not, sir. I’m sure your wife was very fond of her father.’
‘Oh yes. Yes, she was,’ Kenneth Wilcox said, rather too firmly for Trudy’s liking. In her experience, when people said something too vehemently, it usually meant that they weren’t too sure of things themselves.
She made a mental note, when they spoke to Alice, to try and draw her out on her true feelings for the dead man.
‘So, perhaps the Tribune might just have a little something after all,’ Trudy continued, ‘when they suggest that many people might have had a bone to pick with Mr Hughes? If they invested in some of his latter schemes, and lost their savings, perhaps?’
Kenneth sighed and shrugged. ‘Perhaps so. I never really took much notice of his dealings after he sold up his companies and semi-retired.’
‘Did you invest in any of these later enterprises sir?’ she asked guilelessly.
‘That I did not,’ Kenneth snorted quickly. ‘No matter how much he—’ He broke off, as if suddenly aware that he was not being very discreet. But Trudy was looking closely at him and she saw him squirm a little under her acute gaze. ‘The thing is, I recently came into a small inheritance, and I’m planning on opening another shop in Cornmarket Street with it.’ He paused after his mention of Oxford’s main shopping street. ‘And Thomas … my father-in-law had been trying to get me to hand it over to him. He wanted it as start-up capital for some mad scheme or other. In the end, I had to be quite firm with him.’
‘Oh dear. That must have caused certain amount of tension,’ Trudy commiserated. ‘Especially since you and your wife actually lived in the same house as the man. That must have made it somewhat awkward. Was he very angry with you about it?’
Kenneth blinked, and, watching him, Clement could almost see the exact moment that the man began to finally understand that he was actually being interrogated by the police – and very successfully at that.
Wilcox swallowed hard and sat a little straighter in his chair. ‘Well, naturally, it wasn’t an ideal situation. But you mustn’t get a false impression of our family, er …’
‘Constable Loveday, sir,’ Trudy said, suddenly realising that she’d failed to identify herself properly earlier.
‘Oh, yes, Constable, er, Loveday,’ Kenneth said, somehow having difficulty getting out her last, rather distinctive and unusual name. In his seat, Clement (who hadn’t failed to notice the man’s wandering eye) had to hide the smile that wanted to cross his face.
‘You were saying something about your family, sir,’ she prompted him helpfully.
‘What? Oh, yes. Well, it’s no use denying that Thomas could be a hard man to get along with sometimes. But I can assure you, we were all used to his little ways.’
‘Yes sir, I’m sure you were,’ Trudy said stolidly. For the first time, she allowed her disbelief to show. ‘But it’s true to say that, at the time of his death, you and Mr Hughes were not on the best of terms?’
Unexpectedly cornered, Kenneth flushed rather painfully. ‘Now look here, I hope you’re not suggesting that … well, that I had anything to do with that blasted fire?’
‘Of course not, sir,’ Trudy said neutrally.
‘Good. Because let me tell you, I didn’t,’ Kenneth said, with some heat. ‘It had to have been a freak accident, that was all. I didn’t even know he was in the shed until we all realised that he was nowhere to be seen around the bonfire. It was dark in the far corners of the garden, and there were so many of us milling about, it was all but impossible to keep track of the comings and goings of any one specific person. The kids were running riot and making a lot of noise! And besides,’ he added, a look of crafty relief crossing his face as an idea suddenly occurred to him, ‘I wasn’t the only one on the outs with the old man at the time. If you really want to talk to someone who had reason to be angry with him, you should go and talk to Mary.’
Trudy blinked, feeling totally wrong-footed. She thought she knew most of the people in the Hughes case, but as good as her memory was, she couldn’t think who he meant.
She cast a quick, desperate look at Clement, who said affably, ‘Who would that be, Mr Wilcox?’ helping her out.
‘Mary Everly – Hughes, that was. Thomas’s sister,’ Kenneth explained impatiently. ‘She was there that night too, you know. Alice invited her, I think, since her father “forgot” to do it.’ He said the word ‘forgot’ with heavy emphasis.
‘Did your wife’s aunt usually attend the family’s bonfire night celebrations, sir?’ Trudy asked, relieved to be back on track.
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��Oh yes. As kids who’d grown up together, Thomas and Mary would have attended the bonfire parties given by their parents, you see, and Thomas was a stickler for keeping up the old traditions. Oh, there might have been a few gaps – during the war and what have you – when the annual party wasn’t held, but as a general rule everyone was invited. And this included Mary too, if she wasn’t abroad.’
Kenneth paused for breath, but swept on quickly. ‘Except, this time, a few weeks ago, I happened to overhear them having a right old ding-dong, and I remember Alice saying something about having to ring up her aunt at the last minute, because she thought her father had forgotten to invite her. You ask me, the old man was still mad at her, and didn’t care whether she showed up or not.’
‘It sounds as if the argument must have been a serious one sir, if her brother was still being so cold towards her,’ Trudy pushed. ‘Do you know what it was about, exactly?’
But here Kenneth had to shrug and admit ignorance. ‘No, not really. As I said, I just happened to overhear them arguing, that was all. It was at the house, when Mary had come for tea one afternoon. Alice was in the kitchen, and I was just walking past the open door. I heard Thomas shouting. Well, not shouting perhaps,’ he modified reluctantly, ‘but he did have a very loud voice when he was upset.’
He looked, for a moment, rather grim, and Trudy couldn’t help but wonder how often this man had felt the lash of his father-in-law’s tongue himself.
‘But you may have heard something significant, sir?’ Trudy pressed him.
Kenneth sighed. ‘I got the general sense that Thomas was threatening her, or threatening to do something that she wouldn’t like. I distinctly heard him say that he was “going to put a stop to it” and that he wasn’t happy about what she was set on doing. He went on to call her an old fool who should know better. Which, as you can imagine, didn’t go down any too well with the old girl.’
‘Nothing more, sir?’ Trudy asked hopefully, but her witness gave her a rather shame-faced look.