Deadly Deceit

by Nancy Buckingham

  ‘Never seen him before,’ said Vince. ‘He was murdered, you say?’

  His mother answered. ‘It was on the radio at lunch time, though they didn’t mention his name, I don’t think. His body was found at a disused airfield at East Hadleigh, not far from here.’

  Vince looked stunned. ‘And this chap was wearing Alec’s watch?’

  ‘Yes, isn’t it extraordinary? Not the one Alec had with him in Lisbon, of course, but his other watch, the one he liked so much. Kate brought it with her, all smashed up. Show him, Kate, will you?’

  Kate took out the enveloped again and slid the broken watch onto her palm, holding it out for Vince to see.

  ‘It was identified as Alec’s by a Fordingham watchmaker,’ Heather went on, ‘because it’s got his markings inside the case. So it has to be Alec’s, even though it’s hard for me to recognise it the way it’s been smashed up. I was explaining to Kate that it must be the one Alec couldn’t find a few days before we set off for Lisbon and thought he must have mislaid somewhere in the house. He was planning to have a thorough search for it when we got home again. Only Alec never did come home,’ she added wretchedly. ‘And it never occurred to me to look for the watch - it had completely gone out of my mind. Now, though, it appears that it wasn’t mislaid at all, but stolen. Only I just can’t understand how - or when.’

  Vince was nodding his head slowly. ‘Yes, that’s obviously the explanation, Kate. Poor Alec would’ve been very upset if he’d lived to know this. He really valued that watch. I remember he said once - in the days when we were still on speaking terms - that it was one of his most cherished possessions.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right, Vince, it was. Oh, dear.’

  Kate said, ‘I’d like, if possible, to establish the exact date when Alec first missed his watch. It might be of help to us.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Kate, but I honestly don’t remember. Alec had been getting a bit forgetful and he often couldn’t find things, so I didn’t take it that seriously.’

  Kate nodded. ‘Well, think about it, will you? Some little incident might bring the occasion back to you. We can’t, of course, be sure that this man Slater stole it from Alec. He could have bought the watch from someone else, even perhaps quite innocently. However, Barry Slater had a criminal record, so it’s a fair assumption that he at least knew it to be stolen property.’ She stood up and Boulter rose too. ‘We must be going, Heather. We’ve still a lot to get through tonight.’

  Vince came to the door with them. His new prize possession was parked there on the gravel just outside. A scarlet Alfa Romeo, gleaming immaculately. Vince seemed to think it was an extravagance that needed explaining.

  ‘Alec used to drive a Rolls, but that was a bit staid for my liking. And Mum never used it. She prefers her Cavalier. This little beauty, even with all the trimmings, only cost two-thirds of what the roller fetched.’

  Boulter paced all round it, his admiring eyes taking in every detail.

  ‘Lovely job,’ he declared. ‘Must be a joy to drive.’

  ‘You’re welcome to have a go, next time you’re over this way,’ Vince offered.

  ‘Right. I’ll take you up on that.’

  Kate said impatiently. ‘Come on, Tim, we’ve still got work to do.’

  She could never understand the male obsession with the motor car. In her eyes, so long as a car went, and was draught-free and reasonably unbattered, that was all that was necessary. Her reason for getting a new car each year, now that she could afford it, was to avoid the sort of humiliation she’d suffered on her very first day in the Cotswold division. Her well-used Montego had burst a radiator hose on the drive to Marlingford, with the result that she’d arrived late to take up her new appointment as the very first female DCI in the South Midlands force. Jolly Joliffe had seized upon this gleefully to make snide cracks about women and cars, harping on about her unfortunate mishap throughout his conducted tour of DHQ and sharing a joke with all the lads. It had taken Kate a long time to live that down.

  There was another reason, too, she had to admit. It was rather fun to own a flash new car.

  Back on the road, Boulter said apologetically, ‘Sorry, guv. I got a bit carried away back there. That Alfa is a dream. Quality, style, performance, plus every refinement. He’s got a top-of-the-range CD stereo, car phone, the whole bloody works.’

  Kate laughed. ‘I’ll give you the whole bloody works if you don’t watch your speed. It would look fine for us to get nicked by the traffic boys.’

  * * * *

  Eight o’clock next morning saw a bleary-eyed Kate back at her desk, riffling through an already formidable stack of reports. There was a diffident tap at her door.

  ‘Come in.’

  A young uniformed PC entered. Kate attributed his air of timidity to the incident that had given her cause to remember him. Martin Denby had recently been transferred from Wye Division, Kate’s former division, and on his very first day on the beat in Marlingford he’d given her a sharp reprimand for leaving her car in a no-parking zone. Great had been his embarrassment when she’d shoved her warrant card under his nose.

  He said now, ‘Er . . . could I have a word, please, ma’am?’

  Kate summoned up a smile to show there was no lingering resentment on her part.

  ‘What is it, Martin? You’ll have to make it short. I’m due to take a briefing in five minutes.’

  ‘It... it’s sort of personal, ma’am.’

  ‘Then you should talk to your sergeant, shouldn’t you? Or to your inspector.’

  ‘But it concerns you, ma’am. The case you’re on, I mean.’

  ‘You’ve got some information for me? Right, Martin, spill the beans.’

  The young constable cleared his throat. He was tall and dark, with a somewhat earnest manner. Just now, his long thin face was rather flushed.

  ‘You, er . . . you talked to Jillian Murdoch yesterday, ma’am.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘She . . . she’s very upset because she thinks you didn’t believe her about her alibi for the time of the murder.’

  Kate frowned at him. ‘Am I to understand that you’ve been discussing the matter with Miss Murdoch? Why, constable? You’d better have a good explanation.’

  ‘We’re friends, Jilly and me.’

  On the point of saying that was no justification, Kate paused. She had to be realistic. If Jillian was innocent, it was only natural that the girl would turn to a friend in the police.

  ‘How long has this friendship been going on?’ she asked. ‘You’ve only just come to Marlingford, haven’t you?’

  ‘Jilly and I first met about three years ago, ma’am, when we were both on an Outward Bound course in Wales. We got on really well together, and after the course finished I used to come over this way from Birmingham where I lived then. But it was difficult for us to keep things up. Jilly was studying hard for her A-levels at the time, and one way and another it sort of fizzled out. Then when I was transferred to this division I got in touch with her again.’

  ‘Okay. Why exactly have you come to see me?’

  ‘The thing is, ma’am, I can confirm what Jilly told you. She really was at home on Tuesday night, when Barry Slater was killed. The whole evening. She didn’t go out at all.’

  ‘Really, Martin, how can you possibly know that? Jillian might have convinced you that she’d told me the truth, but no way does that establish her alibi.’

  ‘But it is the truth, ma’am. I know it is, because I was there with her.’

  ‘You were with her! Then why on earth didn’t Jillian tell me that herself when I questioned her?’

  ‘She should have done, I know, and I told her so. But she’d got an idea in her head that it might get me into trouble, with me being in the police, so she pretended that she’d been on her own.’

  ‘That’s stupid,’ Kate said impatiently. ‘There’s nothing to prevent a police officer from having personal friends. You couldn’t possibly have known on Tuesday evening that Jill
ian was going to become a suspect in a murder investigation.’

  Denby nodded jerkily. ‘She wasn’t thinking straight, I suppose.’

  ‘You’re saying that you spent the entire evening at Jillian’s home?’ Kate picked up a ballpoint, and poised it. ‘From when until when?’

  ‘I got there about eight o’clock, ma’am, and I stayed right through until her parents arrived home at just before twelve-thirty.’

  Kate gave him a sharp scrutiny. ‘Considering that Jillian is engaged to another man, weren’t Mr and Mrs Murdoch rather surprised to say the least, to find you there so late at night?’

  He flushed a deeper red. ‘They didn’t find me there, ma’am.’

  ‘Explain!’

  ‘I. . .we suddenly realised that they were due home at any minute. Jilly’s parents don’t like me. They made that very clear those times I came to see her after we first met on the Outward Bound course. It was mostly her folks’ attitude that made it difficult for Jilly and me to keep up our friendship. So I thought, the other night, specially it being so late, that I’d better clear off and not give them any excuse for turning nasty. I got out just in time. I passed their car a hundred yards along from the house. I glanced the other way so they wouldn’t recognise me, and I saw them turn in at their gate. In my rear mirror.’

  It must have been quite some evening, Kate thought, from eight o’clock through until twelve-thirty. And getting out just in the nick of time to avoid an ugly scene. God only knew what Jillian’s parents would have walked in on if they’d arrived home five minutes sooner. The young Miss Murdoch wasn’t at all the demure English rose she appeared to be on the surface.

  Kate glanced at her watch. She was already overdue for the briefing. ‘Very well, Martin, off you go. You do realise, I hope, that all this will have to go down in the case records?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said stolidly.

  She stifled a giggle. One thing about this job - it was never dull.

  * * * *

  Kate wasn’t happy during the first full briefing of the assembled murder squad. She didn’t blame her troops for that, she blamed herself. No doubt they would sense her own lack of direction in this case, which made it much harder for her to enthuse them.

  Too little was known about Barry Slater’s activities while he’d been staying in the district, and who his associates were. So, armed with copies of the dead man’s photograph, the detectives would have to visit every pub and cafe he might have used, every shop and filling station. Needle in a haystack stuff.

  Neither did it help morale that Kate herself was planning an enviable trip to London that morning, but she felt it important to go.

  ‘I want to get a look at Barry Slater’s home address,’ she told them, ‘to help me understand the man. It’s a bedsitter in West Kensington. The Met people are being very cooperative. Sergeant Boulter has arranged with them for a DC who had some contact with Slater in the past to meet me there.’

  The revelation of PC Denby’s involvement with Jillian Murdoch, and his providing her with an alibi for the time of Slater’s death, was greeted with great hilarity and ribald asides. Kate let it all ride. The squad needed a laugh now and again, and Martin and Jillian had brought it on their own heads.

  ‘Denby’s a stupid young bugger,’ Boulter commented afterwards, when he was driving Kate to the station. Time was short, and she’d asked the sergeant to chauffeur her so she could brief him on the things she needed him to attend to while she was in London.

  ‘I wonder if we’re going to discover any more bed partners of Jillian’s,’ she said, and added, ‘She’s not quite the sweet innocent you so fondly liked to think, Tim, eh?’

  ‘Don’t rub it in, guv.’

  Remorselessly, Kate continued, ‘She’s a girl who doesn’t seem to know the meaning of fidelity. If she’s in the habit of sleeping around, it could very well be that Knox found Barry Slater the final straw and shot the bastard. It’s obvious that he has a pretty nasty temper.’

  Boulter swung the car into the station forecourt and stopped right by the entrance to the ticket office.

  ‘Could be the answer, easily. The final straw that drove him to it.’ The sergeant sighed noisily, and spoke words that came from deep in the heart. ‘Women can turn out so completely different from what you imagined they were.’

  Chapter Nine

  The officer from the Met, DC Keith Green, was waiting for Kate at Barry Slater’s London address as she stepped out of the taxi.

  In his early thirties, like Boulter, he was very different in build, being tall and rake-thin, with a long narrow face and prominent Adam’s apple. He had a pleasant smile as he greeted Kate, and to her relief seemed perfectly happy about assisting a female DCI.

  ‘The train was a bit late getting in,’ she said, shaking hands with him. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long.’

  ‘Only ten minutes, ma’am. I’ve been sitting in the car listening to the prospects for Wimbledon.’

  Kate pulled a face at the sky. ‘If this rain keeps up, it doesn’t look as if there’ll be much at Wimbledon this year.’

  The house was one of a row of tall shabby dwellings in West Kensington. Bedsit land. The owner lived on the premises, in a flat on the ground floor. Mrs Kathleen Millard was around sixty, and a lookalike for Harpo Marx. She had a wrinkled face under a wig of blond curls. Dangling earrings didn’t help the picture. Nor did the pink nylon overall she was wearing over trousers.

  Though clearly wary of the police, she was resigned to the fact that they could make things difficult for a woman in her position if she didn’t cooperate. She showed them into her living room, an untidy sprawl, and switched off the TV.

  ‘We want to talk to you about one of your tenants, Mrs Millard,’ the DC began. ‘This is Detective Chief Inspector Maddox.’

  The woman cocked an eye at Kate. ‘You his boss, are you?’

  ‘I’m from another police force, Mrs Millard. South Midlands. DC Green is kindly assisting me.’

  ‘Well, what d’you want? One of my chaps been a bit naughty?’

  Kate said, ‘You had a tenant named Barry Slater?’

  ‘Still have, as far as I know. His room rent’s paid up to date.’

  ‘Barry Slater is dead, I’m afraid.’

  Mrs Millard didn’t pretend shock or sorrow. ‘Dead, is he? How, might I ask? Not just an accident, I’ll be bound. They don’t send chief inspectors round to break the sad news to a landlady.’

  ‘He was murdered,’ said Kate. ‘Shot.’

  Even that didn’t shake her more than a trifle. ‘Well, I’ll be blowed. The poor sod. You’ll be wanting to see his room, I ’spect. Find out who his friends were and all that. Right?’

  ‘That’s about the size of it, Mrs Millard.’

  She sniffed. ‘Not a lot I can tell you. Barry wasn’t one to talk about himself much. Well, none of them are. But we usually had a little chat when he paid his rent money. He was okay, Barry, not like some. He’d give me a box of chocs now and then when he was extra flush.’

  ‘Was that often?’ Kate asked.

  ‘You know how it is with betting men, dear. Ups and downs.’

  ‘Had he been lodging here with you for long?’

  ‘Let’s see. ’bout three years now.’

  ‘When did you last see him?’

  She pondered again. ‘It would’ve been ’bout a month ago, I reckon. Popped his head round my door and said he’d be away for a bit. Didn’t know how long. He had a bag with him, one of those grip things.’

  ‘Can you be more definite about the date?’

  ‘Sorry, love. Oops! Shouldn’t call you love, should I?’

  Kate flicked her hand dismissively. ‘How about the rent? Haven’t you had any since then, or did he pay you in advance?’

  ‘Bit of both. He paid me an extra week in advance when he left, then he sent me some cash through the post. I was surprised, I can tell you. But Barry never did try it on with me, not like some of ’em
do. He liked it here, and he wrote that he didn’t know what his plans were but he wanted to keep the room on for a bit longer.’

  ‘Have you still got that letter?’

  ‘No dear, threw it out, didn’t I?’

  ‘Did you notice the postmark on the envelope?’

  ‘Never thought to look.’

  ‘What visitors did he have while he was living here?’

  ‘Not many. One of his betting pals now and then, he’d bring ’em back for a drink, like. There were a few ladyfriends, of course.’

  ‘Oh? Can you give me any names?’

  She shook the blond wig. ‘He never introduced them to me, love. Probably hardly knew their names himself, they came and went so quick. Liked a bit of variety, did Barry. There was only just the one who was what you might call reg’lar.’

  ‘Describe this regular one, will you?’

  Mrs Millard ruminated. ‘Not a spring chicken. More your sort of age. Real stylish, though. Classy, if you know what I mean, and dressed up to the nines.’

  ‘How often was she here?’

  ‘Every week or so. Mind you, I only ever got a glimpse of her. Straight past me when I let her in, and up the stairs.’

  ‘Hmm? Was Barry Slater specially friendly with any of your other tenants?’

  ‘Not that I knew of. No more than just to pass the time of day.’

  ‘What was Barry’s job?’

  ‘He didn’t have one, not permanent like. Did a bit of this and a bit of that.’

  Kate nodded. ‘We’ll see his room now.’

  Two floors up, with a view of chimney pots and yellow-brick housebacks, it was very much a man’s bedsitter. Little or no attempt had been made to imprint the occupant’s personality on the room. Bed, table and armchair, TV and radio and electric kettle on the shelf. A few paperbacks, thrillers, no photographs, no ornaments. Kate had brought her Polaroid camera and she took several pictures of the dismal room. They’d be helpful in refreshing her memory later, and she’d have them pinned up on a notice board in the Incident Room.

  While DC Green searched the hanging cupboard, Kate took on the three-drawer tallboy.