(2011) Only the Innocent

by Rachel Abbott

  ‘Good God,’ he whispered out loud to himself. Now he didn’t know what to think - but whichever way he looked at it, he couldn’t come up with any way of putting an acceptable spin on his discovery.

  *

  Stella was in the kitchen, busy making dinner for them all. She found chopping vegetables very therapeutic, and was locked in her own world when Becky returned from Annabel’s.

  ‘What a delicious smell, Stella!’

  Stella looked up and smiled. Becky didn’t fool her with her innocent air, but she was a nice girl and just doing her job.

  ‘Will you be joining us for dinner, Becky?’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, but I don’t want to intrude so I’ve brought a sandwich with me. I’m staying at a B&B down the road so that if there are any developments I can be back with you at any time during the night.’

  ‘You’re not intruding at all. You’re more than welcome.’

  ‘Thanks, but all the same I don’t think it’s the right thing to do. Laura’s got you and Imogen for support, otherwise of course I wouldn’t leave her on her own.’

  ‘What about Tom? Is he still around?’

  ‘No. He had a phone call, and he needed to get back. I saw him for just a couple of minutes before he left. Something’s come up. I’m waiting to have a quick word with Laura to explain why he’s gone, and then I’ll get off too. I gather she was in the middle of answering some questions for him, but I’m sure they’ll wait. She’s lucky to have you looking after her and making sure she eats properly.’

  ‘Well, Laura’s a really good cook herself so I can’t just serve up a plate of egg and chips. Anyway, she needs to get her stamina back. She wasn’t always so thin, you know. She used to be really curvaceous. Laura Kennedy and Imogen Dubois - they were every young boy’s dream at one time. They could just pick and choose. But Will was always the one for our Imogen.’

  Stella continued to chatter, but looking at Becky’s face she could see that she was miles away and was looking distinctly preoccupied. Given that it couldn’t possibly have anything to do with whatever she’d been saying, she left Becky to her thoughts, and continued preparing the meal.

  ***

  The girl no longer kept watch from the window. Her strength was fading fast. She’d started to ration her water days ago, but now it was nearly gone. She couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten anything, and her thin body had precious few reserves to draw on.

  She couldn’t believe he had left her for so long. He’d said he was going to teach her a lesson, but when he left her with meagre supplies of dry biscuits and water she had thought he would stay away for two, or perhaps three, days. But not this long.

  She was so cold. She wrapped the thin silk of the cream negligee around her skeletal form, and tried to huddle under the bed covers. She wanted to remove the stockings - the suspenders were biting painfully into her flesh. But she needed the warmth. And she was scared to go to sleep. Scared of the dreams. She knew she was becoming delirious.

  It was such a dreadful feeling, and it was happening with increasing frequency. She felt awake, but she was strangely unable to respond to stimuli around her. She was sure somebody was in the room with her. She could feel his presence, but she couldn’t force her eyes to open or her body to function. And then she knew with certainly that he was standing at the end of the mattress where she lay. He advanced, slowly, slowly towards her, looming over her. She tried to lift her arm to push him away, but her limbs wouldn’t obey her commands. She tried to scream, but couldn’t make a sound. Finally she awoke, her body bathed in a cold, cold sweat, scared to look at whatever was waiting for her.

  In a rare moment of lucidity she recognised the source of her fear. It was nothing more sinister than a long red wig, sitting on its stand on a distant chest of drawers.

  Then the delirium returned, and she sank back into the abyss of her terror.

  CHAPTER 26

  Tom was disappointed that he hadn’t been able to complete his conversation with Laura. He’d still not had a chance to ask her about Danika either; there were just too many interruptions. He’d received some interesting news though. The family that Mirela Tinescy had been staying with had been interviewed, and they backed up Danika’s story. Mirela had definitely left a note saying that she’d been offered a big opportunity when she left them. But it appeared Danika had misunderstood one important thing. Mirela’s letter had never stated what type of opportunity. Tom remembered that Danika had heard all of this from Mirela’s replacement, and this new Allium girl had clearly jumped to the conclusion that this opportunity could only have been related to prostitution. But what if this was something completely different? What if the big opportunity involved killing Hugo Fletcher in return for a large wodge of cash?

  It was a good theory, but that wasn’t what had him racing him back to the office. He’d had people crawling all over Hugo’s will in the last few hours, and it had revealed something unexpected and potentially exciting.

  As soon as he walked in the door, there was a shout.

  ‘Boss, you need to see this! We need to get Jessica Armstrong in here. With what Hugo’s left her in his will, there is no way she was just his PA.’

  Tom took the piece of paper being waved in the air. He read the marked paragraph and opened his eyes wide in astonishment.

  ‘Bloody hell - that’s more than his wife got! No wonder Brian Smedley was looking so uncomfortable. Okay, I take your point, we do need to see her. But I’d like us to do some more checking before we drag her in. We need lots of background - bank accounts, credit cards, lifestyle, you know the score. Let’s get that together, see where we’re up to in the morning, and then get her in. I can’t imagine she’s going anywhere, or she’d have gone already. Everybody happy with that?’

  Clearly everybody wasn’t, as they’d been excited about possibly getting a result, but it made sense, and whilst he felt guilty about crushing their enthusiasm, they needed to do this right.

  ‘One more thing,’ Tom said. ‘Becky phoned to say that Laura’s checked the wig box. Only three can be accounted for, although Laura has come up with plausible reasons for where the other two could have gone. And of course they could have been thrown or given away. But somebody who had access to the house could also have taken one, and this could be our murderer. The fact that there were, at one time, five hand-made red wigs but now there are only three is too much of a coincidence. Let’s get thinking and see if we can come up with any ideas. Any questions?’

  There weren’t, and Tom was left to reflect on some of the day’s more unlikely discoveries and where they were leading.

  *

  ‘She lives in bloody Lowndes Square! Have you any idea how much apartments there cost? Bleeding millions!’

  This was the news that greeted Tom as he walked into the morning briefing. Clearly, this had to be about Jessica.

  ‘Hang on, guys. She comes from a wealthy family. What else have we got?’

  Tom took a sip from his strong black coffee. Despite an early night, sleep had been elusive. Every time he had started to drop off, an image of Kate’s pleading face had sprung into his mind, oddly replaced as he drifted into sleep by a picture of Laura, laughing at Hugo’s abject cruelty. So he needed a kick start, and he hoped the coffee would do it.

  ‘The apartment cost nine hundred thousand. She bought it two years ago, and she’s got a whopping seven hundred thousand pound mortgage. Can you imagine that!’

  Ajay seemed incensed that somebody like Jessica should live in such luxury.

  ‘Do we know what she earns?’ Tom asked.

  ‘Yep - a generous but not Lowndes Square generous, seventy thousand. For a bloody secretary!’

  ‘Okay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Whatever we think about her finances, it doesn’t make her a murderer. We need to know how she pays her mortgage - there might be a reasonable explanation - and we need to know why Hugo left her so much money in his will. You never know, he might ha
ve just been feeling particularly generous.’

  Ignoring the various expletives and mutterings from his team, Tom continued.

  ‘What I’m most interested in is the fact that the terms of the will effectively gag Jessica in the same way that Annabel has been gagged. One derogatory remark about Hugo, and she loses the lot. So what does she know? What is worth more than half a million pounds?’

  He looked around the room, but clearly nobody had the answer.

  ‘Okay - let’s bring her in.’

  *

  An immaculate and clearly expensively dressed Jessica was shown into the interview room. Her light brown hair was sleekly tied back from a rather hard and angular face with a sharp nose and thin lips. Her imperious manner rubbed Tom up the wrong way even before he started to question her, but of course, he had to be polite.

  ‘Jessica, thank you for agreeing to answer some questions. I understand that you don’t want any legal representation, but if you change your mind at any point, just let me know.’

  Jessica looked vaguely startled by the suggestion.

  ‘Why on earth would I need legal representation? I’m simply here to answer questions about Sir Hugo, I presume?’

  Tom couldn’t bring himself to offer reassurance.

  ‘No, that’s not why we asked you to come in. We’ve been looking at your lifestyle, and we’ve looked at your earnings. The two just don’t correlate, I’m afraid. We need to understand how you can afford to live in Lowndes Square given your current salary.’

  Jessica gave a theatrical sigh, clearly meant to signify her boredom. She closed her subtly made up eyes as if this were the most ridiculous question she had ever been asked.

  ‘Really, Inspector, you must realise that my parents are very wealthy. Money is no object to them at all.’

  Tom really didn’t care about titles, but on this occasion he wasn’t prepared to overlook what he was sure was an intentional slight.

  ‘It’s Chief Inspector. And of course we know about your parents, but we also have access to your bank details, and there is no evidence of any money coming from that source. The only money coming into your account is your salary, which after tax and deductions is used almost in full to pay your mortgage.’

  ‘Well,’ she responded with a superior smile ‘that’s your answer, isn’t it? My salary covers my mortgage.’

  ‘Yes, but Jessica you drive a Mercedes SLK, brand new, and you still have to eat. And even I’ve noticed that your clothes are not exactly your average high street brand. So how, precisely, do you manage all of that?’

  ‘It’s very simple. My father regularly supplements my earnings. I only have to ask.’ Jessica was leaning back comfortably in her chair. She picked an imaginary piece of fluff off her black and white checked skirt.

  ‘So if I went to your father and asked him the question, would he give the answer you’re expecting?’

  ‘Of course he would. Daddy has never been mean where money is concerned.’

  Tom was in no mood to give up.

  ‘By my calculations, just to pay your household bills, buy food, put fuel in the car - which we know by the way is being paid off in twelve fairly hefty monthly instalments - not to mention clothes, holidays and entertainment, you would need several thousand each month. If we asked your father if he gave you, let’s say, in excess of five thousand pounds per month, would he confirm that?’

  For the first time, Tom could see that Jessica was uncomfortable. He used the moment to advantage.

  ‘Did he, for example, pay for your holiday at the Saint Geran on Mauritius last year? Isn’t that the most expensive hotel on the island?’

  ‘Not necessarily. It’s thought by many to have the most class, but there are several good hotels there now.’ Jessica answered, hiding behind her natural arrogance.

  ‘You’re not answering my question. How did you pay for that holiday?’

  ‘Actually, I paid with my bonus.’

  ‘What bonus? Wouldn’t a bonus be paid into the bank along with your salary?’

  Not that Tom had ever had a bonus, but this woman’s haughty tone and condescending attitude were riling him. She answered him with a complacent smirk.

  ‘Sir Hugo sometimes gave me a bonus in cash.’

  Tom banged the palms of his hands on the table, and leaned back with what he hoped she would see as a look of disbelief.

  ‘Are you telling me that Sir Hugo Fletcher, pillar of society, paid his staff on the black? I really don’t think so, Jessica. Try again.’

  Jessica stubbornly refused to say more, so Tom changed direction - for the moment.

  ‘Can you tell me whether you ever went into the apartment upstairs in Egerton Crescent, Jessica?’

  Looking relieved, she returned to her normal slightly supercilious self.

  ‘Of course I did. Sir Hugo used to stay up in London quite a lot, and I always thought it would be nice for him if the drawing room were prepared for his evening - you know the sort of thing - newspaper at hand, lamps lit, all the decanters topped up, ice bucket filled. Just to make sure he was comfortable. I usually only went into the drawing room and kitchen, but sometimes I did take the laundry up to his room. I didn’t put it away though. I wasn’t sure if he’d like that.’

  My God, thought Tom. What was that about her obsession with him being over some time ago?

  Seeing her looking more relaxed, he switched back quickly to his previous line of questioning.

  ‘Did he ever give you presents, Jessica, or was it just cash? Your ‘bonuses’?’

  Jessica looked puzzled.

  ‘He never gave me presents. Why would you want to know that?’

  ‘Would you have any objection if a couple of my colleagues went with you to your apartment and had a look around? We could get a search warrant, but there’s no need if you’re prepared to cooperate.’

  Tom seriously doubted that he had grounds for a warrant, but hoped that Jessica wouldn’t know that. As usual, he underestimated her.

  ‘I suspect that would prove rather difficult for you, Chief Inspector. But I have nothing to hide. Be my guest.’ Jessica opened her bag and withdrew a set of keys, which she proceeded to dangle in front of Tom’s face. She shook them.

  ‘Here you are - take them.’

  ‘We’d like you to accompany us, please.’

  ‘There’s no need. I’ll call my housekeeper and ask her to be there. The apartment is immaculate, and I expect it to remain that way. I would prefer to stay here and get to the end of this somewhat tedious questioning so that I can get back to work.’

  Tom asked Ajay to go and organise the search, and to bring back some refreshments. He didn’t want to upset Jessica too much until the search had been conducted in case she withdrew her permission. But given the ease with which she had acceded to their request, he wasn’t hopeful that they would find anything. She was hardly likely to have left a red wig or a phial of liquid nicotine lying around.

  After their brief break, Tom was determined to wipe the smile of this girl’s face. He took it slowly for a while, but not for long.

  ‘Right, Jessica. You’ve already told us that Sir Hugo gave you money from time to time. What I want to know is how much, and how often.’

  ‘I don’t actually believe that is any of your business.’

  Tom was reaching the end of his tether. He had dealt with some real crooks in his time, but he struggled to think of anybody who he had found as frustrating as bloody Jessica Armstrong. He leaned forward.

  ‘Are you refusing to answer the question?’

  ‘Yes. As I said, it is none of your business.’

  ‘So exactly what was he paying you for, Jessica? Your body, or your silence?’

  Jessica looked stunned. Her eyes filled and she swallowed hard. Tom had clearly hit a nerve.

  ‘It was neither. How dare you!’

  Tom’s patience had passed the point of no return. He pushed his chair back with a loud scraping noise, stood up and marched to
the door, turning as he went out to deliver his parting shot.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, this is ridiculous. Ajay - would you please carry on with the interview, because we’re getting absolutely nowhere.’

  *

  In the end, they had decided to let Jessica go home, with strict instructions to return the next day. Tom thought it would do her good to have a bit of thinking time. Or maybe worrying time.

  The following day some of his irritation had dissipated, but he still needed some answers.

  As expected, nothing of any interest had been revealed at the apartment, but that was inconclusive. She was an intelligent woman, and now that he knew her a little better he was sure she wouldn’t have left a scrap of useful evidence.

  It all came down to the money. Why did men give money to women? Only one reason, as far as Tom could see. She must have been his mistress, but does that mean that she murdered him? It would have been so easy for her - she had ready access to the flat, and her fingerprints were all over anyway. They weren’t in the bedroom, although she did admit going in there with the laundry. But that didn’t mean anything either. She could easily have gone in and put everything on the bed without touching a thing.

  Tom was ready for her. He was not going to be beaten by sodding Jessica Armstrong.

  ‘Okay, Jessica, let’s start from the top. You are being taped, and if we find out later that you’ve lied to us, I will charge you with wasting police time. Do you understand me?’

  Jessica looked momentarily alarmed, but nodded her head.

  ‘You need to answer, Jessica. For the tape. I repeat - do you understand me?’

  ‘Yes’

  ‘Right. When did you buy your house?’

  ‘Two years ago.’

  ‘How did you find the two hundred thousand pounds that was the difference between your mortgage and the price?’

  ‘My father gave it to me. Don’t look like that. It’s true. Ask him if you don’t believe me.’