by Frank Smith
Paget slipped a paper napkin beneath his cup to soak up the excess coffee. ‘Take me back to March 12th,’ he said. ‘The day David left the office. I’ve been over the report several times, but there may be something, some little detail that I’ve missed or that you’ll remember. As I recall, he received a telephone call just after two o’clock that day, and he left the office shortly afterwards.’
‘That’s right. I was out at the time, so I didn’t know David had gone until I came back about four thirty.’
‘And it was only when he failed to appear by the following evening that you became concerned?’
‘Yes. David had promised faithfully to go over the invitation list with me, and when he didn’t come, and didn’t answer his phone, I thought he must still be at Bridgnorth. I tried his pager, but when he didn’t answer that, I wasn’t too surprised. He was always leaving his pager in the car.’
The pager, Paget remembered, had been found in the company car.
‘So you went to David’s flat later that evening,’ he said. ‘What time was that? It wasn’t clear in the report.’
Janet thought about that. ‘It must have been after ten,’ she said. ‘I didn’t like to leave before that because of Dad. I wanted to make sure he had settled down. I have a key to David’s flat, so I went in and checked to see if he’d left a message on his phone, but there was nothing. But even then I wasn’t really worried. It was only the next morning that I realized that something must be wrong.’
‘You say you wanted to make sure your father was all right,’ Paget said. ‘Had he had another of his attacks?’
Janet seemed surprised by the question. ‘That was the one I told you about,’ she said. ‘He had the attack that morning.’
‘This would be the morning of the 13th?’ said Paget.
‘That’s right. That’s when he fell. It was about two o’clock in the morning. He was in such a state I didn’t dare wait for the ambulance, so I rushed him over to the hospital myself. They checked him over and rang me to come and pick him up about four o’clock that afternoon. I had hoped they’d keep him in at least overnight, but I suppose they need the beds. So I took him home and made him go to bed. Then I…’ She stopped. ‘I’m sorry, Chief Inspector,’ she said apologetically. ‘I know this has nothing to do with what you want to know, but I worry about Dad. He could have killed himself on those stairs.’
Paget steered Janet Freeman back to the matter at hand, but learned nothing that wasn’t in the original report.
‘I wish I could help you more,’ she said as they left the café, ‘but I don’t know what else to tell you.’
‘You mentioned that you were out of the office when David Gray received the phone call the day he disappeared,’ Paget said. ‘Do you mind telling me where you were?’
‘I was doing some shopping. Why do you ask?’
‘And I believe you said you were gone from lunch-time until about four thirty. Is that right?’
Janet Freeman looked puzzled. ‘Yes, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything.’
They reached the office and Paget held the door for her to enter. ‘Do you know Burbridge Motors?’
She stepped inside and turned to face him, her frown deepening. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘Were you anywhere near there that afternoon?’
Janet Freeman seemed baffled by his questions. ‘I was in the shopping precinct,’ she said. ‘That’s just around the corner. Why?’
‘I just wondered whether you might have seen David Gray while you were out,’ Paget said. ‘We have reason to believe that he went there to meet Lisa Remington.’
Janet Freeman’s face became a mask. ‘No,’ she said shortly, and looked pointedly at her watch. ‘And if that is all, Chief Inspector, I have a great deal of work to do.’ She smiled mechanically. ‘Thank you for the coffee.’
‘Just one more thing, Miss Freeman,’ he said as she turned to go. ‘I’d appreciate it if you could give me a list of the shops you went to that afternoon. And the approximate times you were there. It helps if we know where everyone was that day.’
‘Suspects, you mean,’ she said icily. ‘Why don’t you come right out and say it? You think I might have killed David, don’t you?’
Paget met her gaze head on. ‘To be honest, Miss Freeman, I don’t know,’ he told her. ‘But I will have a better idea once I can eliminate those who could not have done it—which is why I would like that list.’
THIRTEEN
‘OH, CHRIST! You again. That’s all I need. What the hell do you want?’
Sean Merrick glowered at Tregalles through red-rimmed eyes. His shoulder was wedged hard against the door, barring the way.
‘I’d like to come inside and talk to you,’ the sergeant said. ‘About Lisa.’
Merrick’s eyes narrowed. ‘What about Lisa?’ he demanded. ‘Have you found her?’
‘No. That’s what I want to talk to you about.’
‘It’s no good talking to me,’ Merrick snarled. ‘It’s that prick, Foster, you want. He’s the one. He turned her against me. He’s hiding her. I’d like to kill the little bastard!’
Merrick’s hand on the door began to shake. He turned away and limped inside. The sergeant took it as an invitation and followed Merrick inside.
The entrance was in fact the back door, and Tregalles found himself in a large, old-fashioned kitchen. The place was a tip. Merrick was living like a pig. Take-away food wrappers were everywhere, as were crushed beer cans, newspapers, and an assortment of discarded clothing. Pots and pans piled high in the sink looked as if they hadn’t been washed for a month, and the table was littered with dirty plates and cups and saucers.
Through an archway, Tregalles could see what was obviously a workroom. A large drafting table stood beneath an unlit bank of fluorescent lights. Shelves lined the walls, and a cutting table took up one whole side. Fashion books lay everywhere, and fabrics of every colour and texture spilled out of boxes stacked one on top of another beneath the tables. All this Tregalles saw at a glance, but his attention was riveted on the sketches—or what was left of them.
They had been torn to shreds, literally ripped from the walls and scattered about the room like huge pieces of confetti.
Merrick stood there in the middle of the room, swaying slightly as he watched Tregalles. ‘I might as well burn the bloody lot for all the good they are,’ he said peevishly. ‘Christ! It isn’t as if she loves the stupid little bastard. What is he, anyway? A third-rate photographer buried away down there in the country. He’ll never amount to anything. He’s got no talent; no imagination. She’s living a bloody fantasy. Country cottage. Roses in the garden. That’s all it is, a bloody fantasy.’
Merrick raised a finger and shook it at Tregalles. ‘She’ll come back,’ he shouted. ‘You mark my words, she’ll come back.’ He lowered his voice and his lip curled contemptuously. ‘And when she does come crawling back,’ he went on ominously, ‘the bitch’ll pay. By God! she’ll pay for what she’s done to me. She’ll pay for every job I’ve lost; every insult I’ve taken on account of her. It’s her fault I can’t work. Look at it!’ Merrick swept an arm toward the workroom. ‘Nothing! Nothing since she left. I can’t work; I can’t sleep; I can’t even think! And it’s all her fault.’
He swung round to face Tregalles, head thrust forward, chest heaving with anger. His eyes glittered. ‘Oh, yes, my friend,’ he whispered. ‘When she comes crawling back to me, you’ll see. She’ll pay, believe me.’
‘That’s enough of that,’ said Tregalles sharply. ‘I want to ask you some questions.’
‘Sod you and your questions.’ Merrick turned to the fridge and took out a can of beer. He pulled the tab and raised the can in mock salute.
‘To retribution,’ he said softly. ‘You’ll see.’
Tregalles moved swiftly to his side. He took the can from Merrick’s hand and slammed it on the table. Merrick, already unsteady on his feet, fell back against the fridge, eyes wide in shee
r surprise. ‘You cheeky sod!’ he breathed. His mouth twisted into something like a grin. ‘You cheeky sod,’ he said again—and slammed his fist into the sergeant’s unprotected stomach.
* * *
PEGGY OWEN was supposed to be Mike Freeman’s secretary. At least, that’s how it started out, she told Paget. In fact, she worked for Janet Freeman and Frank Porter as well. ‘And, of course, I worked for Mr Gray before he—aahh—left,’ she ended.
Mrs Owen was a widow. Lost her husband five years ago, she told him. Industrial accident. Freak thing; couldn’t be helped. She was short, plump, fair-haired, and fortyish. She had an open face, and a mind like the computer that took up a good part of her desk. She fielded all the incoming calls for the senior members of Freeman Protronics, she told Paget, took dictation, typed their letters, and allotted work to the other members of the clerical staff. She had been with the company since its inception, she said proudly, and there was virtually nothing she did not know about Freeman Protronics and its employees.
Paget mentally rubbed his hands together. People like Peggy Owen were invaluable to a firm—and to investigating policemen. It was his experience that secretaries often knew more about what was really going on than their so-called superiors.
He began by taking her back to the afternoon of March 12th. ‘According to the Missing Person report, you took the call Mr Gray received just before he left,’ he said.
The woman nodded. ‘That’s right. It was a woman who rang, and she asked to speak to David. That’s what she said, “David”. Then she sort of coughed and corrected herself, you know, the way people do when they’ve made a mistake, and she said, “I mean Mr Gray.”’
‘Young voice?’
Peggy Owen hesitated. ‘Not really young,’ she said. ‘Not old either. It’s a bit hard to tell, but I’d put her down as in her late twenties or early thirties.’
‘Did she say anything else?’
‘No.’
‘Mr Gray didn’t have his own line, then?’
They were in Gray’s office, and Mrs Owen indicated the six buttons on the phone, two of which were lit up. ‘This was Mr Gray’s number,’ she said. ‘Four-two-four-nine. The prefix is the same for all of them, of course. But each of the others—that is Mr Freeman, Miss Freeman and Mr Porter—also have the same numbers on their phones so that they can get on the line together if they need to.’
‘And the woman who called in that day used Mr Gray’s line?’
‘Yes.’
‘Had you ever heard her voice before?’
Mrs Owen’s brows drew together. ‘I think I have,’ she said hesitantly. ‘I couldn’t swear to it, mind, but I think she rang Mr Gray once before. It was about a week … No, it would be more than a week before.’ Her brow cleared as she mentally counted backward. ‘It was the Monday. March 4th.’
Paget stared at her. ‘How can you be so sure?’ he asked. ‘You must take a lot of calls each day.’
Peggy Owen smiled. ‘I remember because Mr Gray was just leaving the office and I had to call him back because the woman insisted on talking to him. He was going to McGregor and Speers. We’re designing a new system for them, and they have a meeting every Monday afternoon; their staff and ours.’
‘Did the woman identify herself in any way?’
‘No. But I knew she wasn’t one of our regular clients. That’s why I was a bit surprised when Mr Gray said the call was from Travis Hambledon, and he had to go out there.’
‘But you didn’t question it?’
‘Good heavens, no. She might have been a new girl at T.H. for all I knew. It was just … Oh, I don’t know. There was something about the way she asked for Mr Gray that made me think that perhaps she knew him.’
‘Knew him, Mrs Owen?’
Peggy Owen looked down at her hands and shook her head as if to deny her words. ‘It was just a feeling,’ she said. ‘As if she knew Mr Gray, well, personally, if you know what I mean.’
Paget thought he knew very well what Mrs Owen meant.
‘How long after the call was it that Mr Gray left here?’ he asked.
‘Ten minutes. No more, I’m sure. He told me he was going out to Bridgnorth and might not be back until the following day. He asked me to get him the spare set of keys Mr Freeman keeps in his desk, because he couldn’t find his own, and then he left.’
‘Miss Freeman was out of the office at the time, I believe?’
‘That’s right. When she came back about four thirty, she asked if I knew where Mr Gray was, and I told her.’ A troubled expression appeared in her eyes, and she looked away.
‘What is it, Mrs Owen?’
Peggy Owen remained silent for some time. Some internal struggle had to be resolved. Office loyalties? Personal friendships? Paget waited.
‘Janet was so excited,’ she said at last. ‘You see, she’d just bought all her … night things. For her wedding, if you know what I mean, and she wanted to show them to me. I wanted to feel happy for her, but, well, it’s just that I didn’t want her to be hurt.’ Her eyes grew moist as she looked at Paget. ‘Janet and her father are like my own family, and David Gray was…’
Peggy Owen pulled herself up short. ‘I’m sorry, Chief Inspector,’ she said primly. ‘I shouldn’t have spoken like that.’
Paget smiled understandingly. ‘I wish more people would be as frank with us,’ he said gently. ‘There is nothing wrong with caring for a friend. But tell me, what was it you didn’t like about David Gray?’
The woman shook her head and frowned. ‘That’s just it,’ she said. ‘I don’t really know. There was just something about him. I know it probably sounds silly, but he was too good in many ways. He was brilliant at his job, and our clients seemed to like him, but the way he went after Janet was, oh, I don’t know—so deliberate, if that makes any sense.’
‘I think it does,’ Paget told her. A picture of the man was beginning to take shape in his mind. But he wanted to steer her away from that subject. ‘Who else was in the office when Mr Gray left?’ he asked.
Mrs Owen thought. ‘Everyone, except Jan—’ office protocol reasserted itself ‘—Miss Freeman, of course. Mr Freeman and Mr Porter left just after, but…’
‘What do you mean by “just after”? Mrs Owen?’
The question seemed to bother her, and she looked uncomfortable. ‘A few minutes,’ she said at last, but she avoided looking directly at him.
‘Are you telling me that they followed Mr Gray?’
‘Oh, no. It wasn’t … I mean, no, it was just that something came up and…’ She stopped. ‘It was the car,’ she said suddenly. ‘That’s what it was. Something came up and Mr Freeman wanted Frank to take him somewhere in the car, and Mr Gray had just taken it, so they had to go in Mr Porter’s car.’
‘I see. Did they say where they were going?’
‘No. Mr Freeman went into Mr Porter’s office, then they both dashed out, so there wasn’t time to tell me where they were going.’
‘You say they “dashed” out. Was that because they were trying to catch Mr Gray before he took the car?’
Mrs Owen shrugged. ‘It must have been, mustn’t it?’ she said. Her eyes met his own. ‘You see, we only have the two company cars, and Mr Gray was about to go off in the one, and the other one was in Cheltenham where Mr Parkinson had it for the week.’
‘I see. But Mr Gray had gone by then, had he?’
‘He must have done. As I said, they took Mr Porter’s car.’
‘How do you know they took Mr Porter’s car, Mrs Owen?’
The woman bridled. ‘Because I watched them leave from Mr Porter’s window,’ she said stiffly. Paget remained silent, but his very silence was a question. ‘I was worried,’ Mrs Owen said defensively. ‘Mr Freeman hadn’t been back all that long after his heart attack, and I didn’t like to see him dashing about like that.’
‘Ah, I see. How long were they gone?’
‘Not long. Perhaps an hour at the outside.’ The woman looked puzzled. �
�But what has that got to do with Mr Gray?’
‘Probably nothing,’ Paget confessed. He gathered up his notes and stood up. ‘But one never knows, does one?’ he said with a smile. ‘Thank you, Mrs Owen. You have been a great help to me.’
Peggy Owen returned his smile, but she looked anything but happy as she left the room.
* * *
EMILY TYSON lowered the binoculars. ‘They’ve stopped digging up there,’ she said. ‘They’re shifting all those loose stones around the sheep pen now.’
Tom Tyson grunted. ‘It’ll do them no good,’ he said as he stirred his tea.
Emily’s features became even more pinched than usual. ‘He was up there again this morning,’ she said. ‘I told you he’d go. Like to like, that’s what I say. That’s why he goes.’
‘For God’s sake, woman,’ Tyson burst out, ‘how many times do I have to tell you? He didn’t go up there to…’
Her shrill voice cut across whatever he was going to say. ‘Don’t you blaspheme in this house, Tom Tyson. Haven’t I enough to bear? He must go! I’ll not have him under this roof any longer. As long as he is here, this house is cursed, and well you know it.’
Tyson groaned inwardly. It was getting worse. Much worse. Something had to be done. And soon. Thank God she didn’t know the truth.
* * *
‘THE MAN’S a bloody nutter,’ Tregalles said into the phone. He was speaking to Len Ormside. ‘I had to take him in. They’re holding him for assaulting a police officer for starters. But there’s nothing in his place to suggest that Lisa was ever there. Merrick swears he doesn’t know where she is, but he could have gone back to the cottage the day after she sent him packing and killed both her and Gray. He says he can’t remember where he was after Lisa shot him. Says he got drunk and stayed over at a pub somewhere down the road, but he can’t tell me where or how far down which road. I tried tracing his movements through his credit cards, but there’s no record of him using them that day, and he says he probably paid cash.’