‘What happened in Lisbon, Richard, was all a set-up. You and I, the pair of us, were taken for a ride by Heather Bletchley.’
He frowned. ‘You mean, about her husband getting murdered?’
Kate nodded, staring into the depths of her glass. ‘The whole ghastly thing was carefully planned, barring a few last-minute details. When Heather spotted us in the hotel dining room, and further discovered that I was a police officer, she manoeuvred us into inviting her along to the Fado club and thus provided herself with an immaculate alibi.’
‘Good God. Are you saying, Kate, that Heather actually had an accomplice waiting in the wings to move in and kill Alec while she, the obvious first suspect as his spouse, was beyond question with us?’
‘Yes, that’s what I’m saying. Remember that phone call she made at the Fado club, ostensibly to remind the hotel people about Alec’s special diet for breakfast? That’s when she must have given her hit man the go-ahead.’
Richard looked bemused. ‘This hit man - you know who he is?’
‘I know who he was. The man who got murdered at the airstrip here at East Hadleigh two weeks ago. Barry Slater.’
Kate went through the whole story, pulling together the strands that had led her to this conclusion. Alec Bletchley’s watch on Slater’s wrist, Slater’s trip to Lisbon, Heather’s visits to Slater at his London digs. Slater suddenly being in the money.
When she’d finished, Richard was thoughtful for a bit. Then, ‘If Slater killed Bletchley, who killed Slater?’
‘Sebastian Knox, I think.’
‘But you’re not quite so sure about that?’
‘No, I’m not.’
‘And who d’you think killed Knox?’
‘I’m even less sure. We’re still in the realm of guesswork about that. But I’ll get the evidence, Richard. I’ll get it. First thing I plan to do is hop over to Lisbon to try and pinpoint Slater’s exact movements there. Get that end of it all sewn up.’
‘Lisbon, eh? Can I come along? Tomorrow’s press day, but after that. . .’
‘No, Richard, this is strictly business. Tim Boulter is coming with me. We’re off first thing in the morning.’
He nodded, accepting the situation. ‘I’m running a story on the Knox killing, of course, cobbled together out of the measly scraps your press office feeds me. How do I change it in the light of all this?’
Kate met his eyes. I’m not yet ready to go public on any of it.’
Throughout their relationship, their differing professional interests had hung over their heads like a permanent shadow. Richard’s instinct as a newshound was to print whatever would make a good story, regardless of source; whilst hers as the senior investigating officer in a serious crime was to release as little as possible to the media - except when its help was needed in seeking witnesses or information. There had been times - and there would be again - when she and Richard had been in serious conflict about how much he should be allowed to print in the Gazette. But Kate knew that she could always trust him when it really mattered.
‘Okay,’ he said, with a shrug, ‘what about Vince? How much is he involved in all this?’
‘I don’t know, yet, but I just can’t believe he isn’t. We’ve both seen what an unusually strong bond of closeness there is between him and Heather, and Alec had been interfering with that. Now, though, mother and son are happily together again, plus having all Alec’s lovely lolly to play with. Did I tell you about the Alfa Romeo she bought Vince?’ Kate put her hands to her face. ‘Oh God, I feel such a dumb cluck, being conned like that.’
‘I was conned too, don’t forget. I quite liked Heather, for all her silly chatter, and she was a very plausible lady in Lisbon. So you mustn’t blame yourself for being taken in by her.’
‘You were against my asking her along to the Fado club, though, Richard. And if hadn’t, then none of this would have happened. We wouldn’t have been involved.’
‘You mean, we wouldn’t have been involved in quite the same way. But I bet Heather would still have managed to get her husband bumped off, and probably you’d still have ended up working on the Slater case. The hows and whys are academic, really. Anyway, who’s always saying it’s no use crying over spilt milk?’
‘Huh,’ she grunted, and sank into a gloomy muse.
Richard finished the last of his whisky, held out a hand for her glass, and went across to the side table for refills.
‘I wonder if you’re aware, Kate,’ he said slowly, ‘that you virtually cut yourself off from me when you get locked into a major case like this.’
‘Oh, come on. It’s not as if we haven’t seen each other at all these past couple of weeks.’
‘Big deal. Half an hour in my office, when you needed my help, and a lunchtime session at the Wagon with Felix. That’s bloody ten days ago, and since then, nothing.’
Kate, taking her glass back, squinted at him through it. ‘There’s always right now, isn’t there?’
‘So there is. And right now your mind’s skittering around between DHQ and Lisbon and God knows where else.’
All true. If only she could switch off for a few hours. But it was impossible. Darting thoughts about the case would keep intruding at whatever inappropriate moment.
Watching her face closely, Richard could read her thoughts. His expression softened and he bent forward to kiss her on the forehead.
‘Come on, love - bed. Let the poor guy make the most of what’s on offer.’
* * * *
On the plane, Boulter ventured with a chuckle, ‘I bet Don Trotton’s spreading the dirt, guv - you and me dashing off together like this.’
Kate regarded the sergeant levelly. ‘Don Trotton can be counted on to spread the dirt whatever I do, Tim. But he’s going to be a mite more careful in the future, I think.’
Boulter grinned at her. ‘If only I’d been a fly on the wall of your office. I’d have loved seeing him torn off a strip. What did you say to him?’
‘Use that vivid imagination of yours. Ah, here comes our lunch.’
Within five minutes Boulter had cleared his tray of everything edible. He caught the arm of a passing stewardess.
‘That chicken was really great, love, Bit stingy with the portions, though, your catering people.’
She took the hint. ‘I think I can dig out a spare, sir, if you’d like it.’
Boulter gazed into her eyes as if captivated. ‘It only took one look at you for me to know you’d have a heart of gold. Oh, and just bring me another couple of rolls, would you? And some butter. Okay?’
Kate laughed as the girl went off to oblige. ‘You can charm the birds out of the trees when you try, Cuthbert.’
* * * *
At Lisbon airport, the heat met them like a solid wall. A short, portly figure awaited them at the foot of the landing steps, dabbing his brow with a handkerchief.
‘Senhora Maddox.’
‘Inspector Freitas.’
They shook hands warmly. The stiffness between them had gone, together with the disbelief on his part that this woman could really be an English police officer of a higher rank than his own.
‘This is Detective Sergeant Boulter,’ she said.
The two men exchanged nicely-judged acknowledgements. Inspector Freitas asked for their luggage chits, which he passed to a uniformed man who hovered behind them. Then, by-passing all formalities, he led the way through the terminal building and out to where a large black car was parked.
‘When I receive your telephone call, Chief Inspector, I ask myself, what comes now? You are about to inform me, sim?’
‘It’s very simple, Inspector Freitas. After I have, with your permission, made a few enquiries here, I think I shall be in a position to tell you the identity of the murderer of Major Bletchley.’
He looked gratifyingly amazed. ‘That is most splendid news, senhora.’
They had hardly taken their seats in the car when the uniformed man reappeared, bearing their luggage. In moments they wer
e speeding towards the city.
‘You are detaining this suspected person, I trust, ready for extradition to Portugal?’
‘Unfortunately that isn’t possible, Inspector. You see, he too is dead. He himself has also been murdered. In England.’
Kate’s room at the Palacio Palmela was smaller and less impressive than the accommodation she had shared with Richard. Even so, there was space enough for her and the two men to sit comfortably without any feeling of being cramped. The drinks she’d ordered when checking in had arrived with admirable speed. Inspector Freitas sat back in his chair and sipped brandy contentedly.
‘Now, senhora, I am all earholes.’
Boulter choked over his lager, and received a glare from Kate. She launched into her story, keeping it as concise as possible. The Portuguese inspector listened attentively, asking a brief question now and then. A trifle pompous he was, unintelligent he was not. Kate had to admire his quick grasp of her complex recital of events.
‘So, senhora,’ he said gravely, when Kate had done, ‘you have a duplicity of murders, and I have just the singular one.’
The thought of this inequality did not appear to displease him. On the contrary, he had a contented cat-with-the-cream look. After a modest amount of paperwork, he could mark his case file ‘closed’.
‘I remain at your service, senhora. Just inform me, I beg you, in which manner I shall assist you.’
‘Thank you, Inspector. I wish to trace, in as much detail as possible, the movements of this man Slater from the moment he landed at Lisbon airport until the time he departed back to England. I need to know where he stayed, and what he did. I need to be in a position to show that he made contact with Major Bletchley’s wife while he was here in Lisbon, if I am to prove her part in the crime.’
Inspector Freitas said promptly, ‘All facilities of my department are at your disposal, senhora. Also, an automobile and a driver. I will depart now and make the needful arrangements while you and the sergeant refresh yourselves. You will have taken luncheon aboard the airplane, I anticipate?’
‘Not what you could call lunch,’ said Boulter, seizing what looked like a godsent chance.
Kate said firmly, ‘Yes, Inspector Freitas, we did have lunch on the plane.’
‘Then half an hour should suffice? The driver will await your coming in the hotel lobby, to transport you to headquarters.’
When the Portuguese inspector had departed, Kate said severely, ‘You’re a greedy pig, Tim Boulter. And another thing, you ought to be ashamed of yourself for laughing at the man. If the time ever comes when you can speak Portuguese half as fluently as he speaks English, maybe then you can allow yourself a small smile at his quaint phraseology.’
‘Sorry, guv,’ he murmured.
‘So you bloody well should be.’
‘All the same, though . . . earholes?’
Kate kept a straight face for just so long, but she couldn’t hold it. The two of them collapsed into a fit of giggles.
Chapter Seventeen
The speed with which the Portuguese police achieved results was humbling to Kate and her sergeant. If they’d harboured the belief that a Mediterranean-type lethargy would prevail, they were quickly disabused.
Slater, it rapidly emerged, had wasted no time in finding accommodation in Lisbon. Within an hour of landing at the airport, he had turned up at a residencia in the Bairro Alto district, asking if a room was available for a few nights’ stay.
Soon after six that evening, Kate and Boulter went to the address, driven there by the young detective who’d been assigned to them.
The entrance to the residencia was a narrow street door squeezed between a small cafe and a dark little shop selling brassware. The owner of the premises, Senhora Maria Conclaves, was the Portuguese equivalent of a British seaside landlady of the old school. She spoke a little English. Around sixty, and tall for one of her nationality, she was dressed all in black, with a large bosom and a crown of painted black hair. Her wise old eyes, deep-set in her bony face, had seen it all, time and again.
She didn’t react well to the word policia, but led them up the flight of stairs to her domain. Though a clean enough place, it was sparsely furnished - no trace of comfort here. Which suggested that Barry Slater had not been as flush with funds as he later was when staying at the Lythgate Arms.
Helped by the local detective, Kate was able to question the woman. As an aide memoire, she produced a photograph of Slater.
‘Sim, sim, it is he. He sleep here two nights.’
‘Did he tell you anything about himself?’
‘No, a quiet man. He stay in much, sleeping and reading paper books he bring with him. Hardly go out at all.’
‘Why was that, do you think?’
‘He wait here for telephone calls.’
‘There was a telephone in his room?’ Kate asked in surprise.
She received a contemptuous look. ‘Nao, nao, but there is one in the lobby. He ask specially before he take room if there is telephone, and that he will be summoned if call comes for him. Very important this, he say.’
‘How many calls were there for him, all told?’
‘Two, I think.’ She considered a moment. ‘Yes, that is right, two.’
Kate asked her to relate whatever she could remember about them.
‘The first time, just after he arrive, he eat almoco . . . (Lunch, the detective supplied) . . . at the cafe next door. He go there for his meal, asking to be fetched if telephone call come. I have to go for him, it is not good, I have not the time.’
‘Very annoying,’ Kate agreed. ‘Who was the caller?’
‘How do I know who the caller was?’
‘Man or woman?’
‘Ah, woman. English, not Portuguese. She sound hoity-toity.’ The phrase seemed odd, coming in her gutteral voice. She must have picked it up from one of her lodgers. ‘She say, this woman, “I wish to speak with Mister Slater.” That just. Not a please.’
‘It was this same woman both times?’ Kate queried.
‘Sim, sim, the same.’
How had Heather known where to contact him in Lisbon? But it wouldn’t have been difficult for Slater to leave a message for Heather at the Palacio Palmela the moment he was settled, giving her the residencia’s phone number. They’d probably worked out some sort of safeguard in advance, such as him pretending to be a shop or something, in case Alec should intercept the message.
‘What happened after he’d talked on the phone?’ Kate asked. ‘That first time.’
Senhor Conclaves knit her brows, recollecting. ‘He say to me, “More telephone may come any time. Be sure you call me.” He must pay extra for this, I tell him, and he say is okay.’
‘Now tell me about the second telephone call. When was that?’
‘The next day, Friday. I am having my supper,’ she said indignantly. ‘I eat late after all work is done, so I had to leave my meal to grow cold to fetch Senhor Slater. I am not pleased. And then he comes knocking at my room to demand key for outside door, because he will not return until very late. I say to him, “You go to Fado, perhaps?”, and he give me a look and say quickly, “Yes, that is it, I go to Fado.” I think perhaps that is not true.’
‘Do you know what time he returned?’
‘No, I do not know. I am sleeping.’
Kate hardly needed to ask the question. ‘This telephone call, was the woman making it from a pay phone?’
When this had been translated, Senhor Gonclaves nodded. ‘Sim. She say, that woman say to me, “Be quick and fetch him. I have no more coins.’“
Kate knew just what must have been said in that phone call.
Then on the following morning, the landlady went on, Barry Slater had settled up with her and departed. Since when, she had neither seen nor heard anything of him.
Kate asked the Portuguese detective to drive them to the airport. On the way, she said jubilantly to Boulter, ‘We could hardly have done better there, Tim. We’ve got more than
I could have hoped for.’
‘Fantastic. Total recall, that old biddy seemed to have.’
‘They need to be observant, in their line of business. Otherwise they’d often be taken for a ride.’ Kate’s sense of triumph ebbed, remembering how she herself had been taken for a ride in a big, big way.
Feeling sickened, she continued, ‘To think that I actually watched Heather make that call to Slater from the Fado club, Tim. She was in a glass-doored booth and I was only yards away. I could even see her lips moving.’
‘But no way could you have guessed that she was giving the go-head to murder.’
At the airport, it didn’t take them long to establish the fact that Slater had left Lisbon for London on the same day he’d checked out of the residencia the morning after Alec Bletchley’s death, which must have happened somewhere around midnight.
‘I suppose this is it, guv?’ said Boulter, regret dampening his joy. ‘There aren’t any more London flights tonight, though. So at least we get to stay one night at that fabulous hotel.’
Kate grinned at him. ‘Here’s another bonus for you. I asked Inspector Freitas to have dinner with us. We’ll make it a celebration and have a slap-up meal at the Palmela. You can have a free run of the menu, how’s that? Superintendent Joliffe can lump it when he gets my expense account.’
The sergeant visibly brightened.
* * * *
Back at DHQ early the following afternoon, a message awaited Kate that PC Denby wished to see her on a matter of great urgency.
‘Leave him to me, guv,’ Boulter advised.
‘No, Tim, I’ll see him. But if he’s got himself into more trouble, I’ll crucify him.’
When Denby came into her office a few minutes later, he was pink-faced and appeared on edge. But there was a determination in his manner as he said, ‘It’s about Mr Murdoch, ma’am. Jilly’s father.’
Kate lifted her eyebrows. ‘What about him?’
‘He’s involved in something very peculiar, ma’am, and I thought you ought to know about it. I mean, considering you’ve been questioning Murdoch in connection with the murders, it might somehow or other be relevant. I don’t quite know how, but . . .’
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