Deadly Deceit

by Nancy Buckingham

‘It was Carlos, one of the waiters. He went outside for a quick fag, and he heard them. He didn’t like to show his face, so he hung back out of sight.’

  ‘To have a good listen, right? I suppose he’d already heard that you’d told Knox about his fiancée and Slater?’

  ‘I think I did happen to mention it.’

  ‘Very well, Cliff. We’ll get the rest from Carlos himself. You’ll be interviewed again by another of my officers and required to make a statement. Meanwhile, if anything occurs to you that you haven’t told us so far, let us know at once.’

  As the door closed behind him, Kate said, ‘You got his measure, Tim. Good work.’

  The sergeant actually blushed. Kate found it endearing the way a little praise from her really got to him; at one time he’d have taken it as condescension on her part. They worked well together and made a good team.

  * * * *

  The waiter, a Spaniard, whose full name was Carlos Molina, turned out to be a very different type from the barman. Slim and dark, smooth-skinned and long-lashed, he was quite a shy young man. He spoke good English with a pleasant manner, but he seemed very nervous.

  Kate kicked off. ‘Now, Carlos, do you know what this is in connection with?’

  ‘Si, madam. It is about that guest getting killed.’

  ‘That’s right. I understand that you overheard a conversation between Mr Slater and another person on Monday evening?’

  He nodded, his soft brown eyes apprehensive. ‘They . . . how do you say it? They quarrel. Very angry.’

  ‘You knew this other man?’

  ‘You mean Mr Knox? Si, I know him. He dines at the hotel sometimes.’

  ‘Tell us what you overheard. From the beginning.’

  ‘It was about seven o’clock, I think. Just before service of dinner commences. I went outside for a little moment.’

  ‘What for?’ asked Boulter.

  The waiter looked startled. ‘Only for one minute. I had no work to be doing at that time. I wanted a ... smoke. Is okay, si?’

  ‘It’s okay, Carlos,’ said Kate. ‘Not very kind to your lungs, perhaps, but that’s your business.’

  Now he looked baffled. She said gently, ‘Carry on.’

  ‘Mr Knox, he was sitting in his car. It looks like he is waiting for someone, and I think I know who is the person he waits for.’

  ‘Because you’d been talking to the barman, Cliff Hoddle.’

  Alarmed now! The young man seemed scared of his own shadow. Kate wondered if perhaps there was something dodgy about his right to work in England. If so, that was someone else’s problem.

  ‘Cliff, yes. He tell me some things. And it is true what he say, because they had big trouble.’

  ‘When did Mr Slater appear on the scene?’

  ‘After one minute he comes from hotel and looks around. Then he sees Mr Knox. Mr Knox, he jumps out of car and they are face to face. I could not hear what they say to start with. Mr Knox very, very angry, but Mr Slater he seems to find it funny. He laughs, and say something that makes Mr Knox angrier still. He shouts, “You leave ...” He say a name, Jeellian. “You leave Jeellian alone, or I will finish you.’

  ‘Those were his exact words? You leave Jillian alone, or I’ll finish you?’

  ‘Si, si. Like that.’

  ‘What do you think he meant by “I’ll finish you?’“

  Carlos gestured helplessly. ‘How can I know what he mean?’

  ‘Was anything else said after that?’

  ‘Mr Knox so angry he could hardly speak words. Then the man who was with him say, “Come on, Sebastian, leave it for now.’”

  Kate took a quick breath. ‘You are saying there was another man present with Knox? A third man?’

  ‘Si, si. I thought I say that.’

  ‘No, you didn’t. Who was he?’

  ‘Excuse I do not know his name. But I see him before. He is here one, two times, to sell wine to the hotel.’ Carlos added with a touch of pride, ‘Wine from Espana.’

  Kate and Boulter glanced at each other.

  ‘Describe him to me, please.’

  Carlos screwed up his face in concentration. ‘He is of fifty years, I think. So tall as me, but. . .’ gestured with his hands apart,’. . . wider. But not a fat man, you understand?’

  ‘Thickset? His hair, describe that.’

  ‘Only little bit of hair. He smooth it across like so.’ Carlos did a fair impression of an agitated Clive Murdoch. He looked very relieved when Kate indicated that he could go.

  Chapter Eight

  Kate was snatching a cup of coffee and a sandwich in a quiet corner of the Lythgate Arms’ lounge bar when Sergeant Boulter joined her.

  ‘Any to spare for me, guv?’

  ‘Why else d’you think I ordered coffee for four and enough sandwiches to feed a football team?’

  He look gratified, but sheepish, as he sat down and poured himself some coffee.

  ‘I’ve got a couple of things for you, guv. That phone number you found in Slater’s room. Guess who it belongs to?’

  ‘Someone we know?’

  ‘Sure is. That guy Blackwood, the one who runs those racing stables. But this is his home number.’

  ‘Good God!’ So maybe Jolly Joliffe had been spot on about the killing being a falling-out between villains. ‘At least this gives us another excuse to go and have a chat with Fred Blackwood.’

  Boulter had helped himself to a sandwich. Lifting a corner to inspect the filling, he took a large bite and found it good.

  ‘Now that’s what I call a nice bit of ham.’

  Kate had another thought. ‘Remember what my aunt said about Blackwood’s wife sleeping around? With a man like Slater involved, maybe it’s her we ought to talk to instead. What’s your other item, Tim?’

  ‘It’s a two-parter, actually, from the car hire firm. Slater paid them weekly, in cash - which is a bit odd these days. And the second odd thing is really odd. First off he told them he was staying at the Market Inn in Marlingford, but the next week he said he’d moved to here. You have to wonder why.’

  ‘Didn’t he like the Market Inn?’

  ‘Who in their right mind would scorn the Market Inn?’

  Kate had to agree with him. ‘To save money?’

  ‘No, I checked. Slater was paying about the same in both places. Slightly more here, in fact.’

  ‘Talk to the manager of the Market Inn and see if he can give you any explanation.’

  ‘I already did. There was no problem that he knew about. Slater didn’t make any kind of complaint. Just announced one morning that he didn’t need to stay as long as he’d thought, and departed. No mention of the fact that he was moving to another hotel in the same district.’

  ‘Hmm?’ Kate sipped her coffee thoughtfully. ‘How about the car? Any trace of it yet?’

  Boulter shook his head, his mouth too full to speak. Then he managed, ‘I’ve fixed a beat sweep for it. Should be hearing any time now.’ Another massive swallow. Boulter’s stomach seemed to thrive on unmasticated food. ‘Slater paid his hotel bills in cash, too . . . both at the Market Inn and at this place. The cashier told me his wallet was always stuffed with twenties and fifties when he settled up with her each week.’

  ‘Well, well. We need to discover the source of all this ready cash, Tim. We’d better follow up that London connection, see what we can learn about Slater there.’ Kate reached out for another sandwich. ‘I was hoping to talk to Sebastian Knox again tonight, but I phoned his number just now and his mother told me he’s entertaining a client this evening. She didn’t know who or where, and didn’t expect him back until late. I left a message that I want to speak to him urgently. We’ve got to get his explanation of why Murdoch was with him when he had that row with Slater.’

  ‘And Murdoch’s explanation, too, guv?’

  Kate sighed. ‘We can’t complain about the lack of leads in this case, Tim. There are almost too many leads.’

  As if to underline that very point, her bleepe
r sounded. Asking Boulter for his keys, she went outside to call DHQ from the car.

  ‘Inspector Trotton wants to speak to you, ma’am,’ the operator told her. ‘I’ll put you through.’

  A click. ‘Incident Room. Inspector Trotton here.’

  ‘Kate Maddox. What is it, Don?’

  ‘I thought I’d let you know that while you’ve been gadding around, things have been happening back at the ranch.’

  ‘What things?’ she asked tiredly.

  There was smirking triumph in his voice. ‘That watch found on Slater’s body. I reckoned with a bit of luck that I could cut through procedures and come up with something useful. So I slipped round the corner with it to a pal of mine in the trade, and he recognised the hieroglyphics that watchmakers scratch on the inside of the case when they service a watch. It was a man in Fordingham, name of Lawrence Allbright.’

  ‘Good. Better get the watch over to Fordingham in the morning and see what this man can tell us.’

  ‘I’m ahead of you, Kate. I reckoned it was worth moving fast on this, so I phoned Allbright, caught him at his home, and talked him into driving over here right away and taking a look at the watch.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘The moment he clapped eyes on that watch, even smashed up as it was, I could tell that he knew it very well. He supplied it in the first place, about twelve years ago, and he’s serviced it ever since.’

  Men had this maddening habit of dragging out a story so they could enjoy their little triumph to the full. Boulter liked to do it, too, on occasion.

  ‘Get to the point, Don,’ she said, with a sigh. ‘Are you saying the watch didn’t belong to Barry Slater?’

  Over the wires, Kate could visualise the smug, self-satisfied smile that would be spreading across Trotton’s handsome face. ‘Remember a guy named Bletchley? Major Bletchley? I believe you were on the spot when he got himself killed in Lisbon recently.’

  ‘You mean . . . it’s Alec Bletchley’s watch?’

  ‘None other. A very valued possession, seemingly.’

  Kate knew that Don Trotton expected her to feel aggrieved at his being a jump ahead of her. He wanted her to show resentment, as he would have done in a reverse situation. But she wasn’t going to oblige.

  ‘Nice work, Don,’ she said enthusiastically. ‘That was a really smart bit of thinking on your part. Thanks a lot.’

  * * * *

  ‘The way it looks to me, guv, is that Major Bletchley’s watch was recovered in Lisbon after you’d left, and returned to his widow. She sold it, and Slater bought it.’ This was the best the sergeant could come up with by way of explanation when Kate returned to the lounge-bar and filled him in.

  ‘No, that won’t do, Tim. If the Portuguese police had recovered the watch, it wouldn’t have been passed on to Heather. Not yet. They’d need to hang on to it as possible evidence.’ Kate shook her head in puzzlement. ‘There’s something very peculiar about this. Why should a valuable watch that gets stolen when a man is murdered in Lisbon turn up here in England on the wrist of another murder victim?’

  ‘It certainly is weird,’ Boulter agreed.

  ‘We’ll have to get to the bottom of it, that’s for sure. Come on, Tim. No time like the present.’

  The sergeant glanced at the handsome grandfather clock against the wall. ‘It’s getting lateish, guv. Almost nine-thirty. You want to go calling now?’

  ‘Sure, why not? Heather won’t be in bed yet. We’ll stop off at the Incident Room en route and pick up that watch. It’s not far out of our way.’

  Dusk was falling as they neared St Agnes-in-the-Wold, laying a soft lilac haze over the bright green fields and trees of early summer. At the Bletchley residence, lights glowed at the windows as Boulter turned into the courtyard and pulled up.

  Heather came to the door before they reached it. She was dressed in a grey velour tracksuit with a bright pink scarf tied around her throat. She seemed almost her old glamorous and bubbly self.

  ‘Kate? What a lovely surprise. Er . . . who’s your friend?’

  ‘This is Detective Sergeant Boulter. I’m afraid, Heather, that this isn’t a social visit.’

  She looked startled, her eyebrows shooting up. ‘Does that mean . . . have you received news from Lisbon? Have they found the man who -’

  ‘No, it’s not that. May we come in?’

  ‘Of course. What am I thinking of?’ Heather stood back to make way for them. ‘Go through to the drawing room, and I’ll make some coffee. Or we’ll have something stronger, if you prefer.’

  ‘Thanks all the same, but we’re rather pressed for time.’

  The TV was on with the sound muted - probably Heather had turned it down before answering the door. Now she switched the set off, murmuring something apologetic about the goggle-box. They all sat down.

  ‘Something rather odd has occurred,’ Kate began, ‘and I wondered if perhaps you could help us sort it out.’

  ‘To do with poor Alec, you mean?’ Heather’s hand fluttered to her lips. ‘Oh, please forgive me, but I still get so upset when I think about it.’

  Nodding sympathetically, Kate took a small buff envelope from her shoulder bag and slid its contents onto her open palm.

  ‘Do you recognise this?’

  Heather studied the battered remains of the gold wrist watch. ‘Should I recognise it?’

  ‘It has been identified by a local jeweller as being the property of your late husband. Apparently, Alec bought the watch from him some twelve years ago and he has serviced it ever since. His markings are there, inside the case. That’s Mr Allbright, in Fordingham.’

  Heather made no attempt to touch the watch. She appeared to shrink from it.

  ‘If ... if it’s Alec’s watch, Kate, how did it come into your hands?’

  ‘It came into police possession in connection with a crime we’re investigating.’ Oh God, need she sound so bloody formal? Kate gestured to the drinks cabinet which stood between two windows. ‘Sergeant, pour a little brandy for Mrs Bletchley. I think she could do with it.’

  She waited until Heather had taken a sip or two before continuing.

  ‘This morning a man’s body was discovered at a disused airfield at East Hadleigh. He’d been shot. We have since established his identity. Does the name Barry Slater mean anything to you?’

  Heather was clearly in a state of shock. It took her a few moments to respond.

  ‘Barry . . . who did you say?’

  ‘Barry Slater.’

  Heather shook her head bewilderedly. ‘Why did you think I might know the name?’

  ‘The point is that Alec’s watch was found on this man’s body. He was wearing it.’

  Heather seemed dazed. ‘How is this possible? I don’t understand.’

  ‘Neither do I, which is why we’ve called to see you. Have you by any chance heard from the police in Portugal that the stolen property had been found?’

  ‘Not a word.’

  ‘Obviously there has to be an explanation of how Alec’s watch came to be on this man’s wrist. The answer could be very important - in fact, vital to the murder enquiry. I was hoping you could throw some light on it for me.’

  ‘I only wish I could. It seems totally incredible.’ Frowning in bafflement, Heather took another sip of brandy. ‘Wait, though . . . yes, it had quite slipped my mind. A few days before we set off for Lisbon, Alec mislaid his watch - the one he usually wore. He wasn’t really worried about it because he was sure it was going to turn up, but in the end he had to take his other watch on the Lisbon trip.’

  ‘I see.’ Kate felt a keen sense of disappointment. She’d been so certain they were on to something significant.

  ‘Alec never liked that second watch so much, for some reason,’ Heather went on. ‘It was a nice one and it kept good time. To be honest I couldn’t really see that it mattered which one he wore. But Alec never felt so comfortable with it somehow.’

  Two sable coats and now two valuable watches, Kate mused.
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  ‘Did Alec report the loss of his best watch to us?’ Kate asked.

  Heather shook her head. ‘As I said, he thought he’d just mislaid it and that it would be sure to turn up sooner or later when we got home. Buried in a drawer, or slipped down the back of the armchair or something. You know.’

  ‘It would appear that the watch had been stolen, then, not just mislaid.’

  ‘I suppose it must have been. Oh dear, I wish Vince would get back. This is so upsetting.’

  ‘Vince is still staying with you?’

  ‘Oh, yes, thank goodness. It’s such a help having him here. I don’t know what I’d do without his support. But he’s just taken delivery of his new car today, and he’s giving it a trial run. I don’t expect he’ll be long.’ Heather gave a fond little smile. ‘You know what young men are like about cars, though, and poor darling Vince has never had a really nice one before.’

  Kate felt rather concerned about leaving Heather alone in her present state, but fortunately the problem was solved when a car drew up in the courtyard outside with a throaty roar. Vince’s cheery voice preceded him across the hall.

  ‘I see you’ve got a visitor, Mum.’ He entered the room and halted, beaming with pleasure on seeing Kate. ‘Hi, there. How’re you doing?’

  His mother said quickly. ‘Vince dear, Kate has come on official business. This is Sergeant, er . . .’

  ‘Boulter, madam.’

  ‘Police business, you mean? What is it, Kate? Something new about Alec?’

  ‘It is, in a way.’

  ‘It’s so strange, Vince dear, so ... so unpleasant. Kate came to tell me that a watch belonging to Alec has turned up on the wrist of a man who was found shot dead near here this morning. Murdered, she says.’

  Vince stared at his mother, looking dazed. ‘I don’t follow, Mum. Who was this man?’

  ‘A complete stranger. At least, I never heard Alec mention him. His name was . . .’ She glanced helplessly at Kate.

  ‘Barry Slater was his name. Perhaps one of you might recognise him.’ Kate signed to Boulter to produce the smudgy photo of the dead man that they’d had faxed from the Met.

  Mother and son looked at it, Heather merely glancing, Vince studying the photo more closely. But both of them shook their heads.