The Naked Room

by Diana Hockley

  Michael Whitby was not overjoyed to be questioned at CIB Headquarters. I had not personally interviewed him at any stage in the case and his sulky expression didn’t inspire any desire in me to do so. He refused to make eye contact as he was ushered into an interview room, along with his legal representation. ‘Forensics have the gear he reckons he wore Wednesday night and fingerprints done, Susan,’ Evan announced, striding briskly ahead of me. I skipped to catch up as he wheeled through the door of the interview room intent on catching his prey.

  Whitby sat quietly beside his older, world-weary solicitor, a marked contrast between the legal and the arrogant, bearded drummer. So-rr-ee, percussionist. Evan started the tape, introduced the session and logged the time before settling beside me. We read Whitby his rights, reiterating that he was there for questioning, but not under arrest. ‘My client understands that, Sergeant,’ said the solicitor.

  ‘What have you got to tell us, Michael?’ asked Evan, in a deceptively mild manner. Whitby exchanged stares with us and looked down his long slim nose. His solicitor half-closed his eyes and waited us out, a game in which he was well-versed. Our quarry shuffled his feet, frowned, cleared his throat and looked irritable. I made eye contact briefly with the solicitor, who raised his eyebrows.

  I had my sarcasm ready to weigh in, when Whitby cracked. ‘I haven’t done anything wrong. If you haven’t got anything on me, then you have to let me go. Isn’t that right?’ he asked his brief, who nodded reassurance.

  ‘We’re wondering what you can to tell us, Michael. We may call you, Michael?’ I asked, icily.

  ‘It wouldn’t do any good if I objected, would it?’ he snapped, hauling himself upright in his chair.

  ‘Did you kill Jessica Rallison?’

  He didn’t turn a hair ‘No.’

  ‘Were you there when she was killed, or after she died?’

  He leaned back in the chair and cast his small, round eyes to the ceiling, a picture of long-suffering forbearance. He reminded me of a particularly well-nourished ferret.

  ‘Of course I wasn’t there.’ He crimped his lips as though trying not to smile.

  I could feel Evan’s anger smouldering in his voice. ‘Michael, you would be well advised to take this seriously. It is a murder investigation, you are in police custody and we don’t have to release you for twenty-four hours. You had a recent relationship with Ms Rallison and we need to question you about that.’

  His eyes widened. ‘I have a concert to play!’

  ‘Well, you might need to cancel unless you can give a suitably substantiated explanation of where you were on Wednesday night, between 6 and 10 p.m.’

  He glanced at his solicitor, who leaned over and whispered in his ear. We waited patiently. I hoped we could match his DNA to something to take that smirk off his supercilious face.

  ‘I was home in bed, Senior Sergeant, with someone.’

  Evan made a note. ‘Name?’

  ‘She’s married.’ I was damned if I could see why any woman would risk her marriage with this foul little creature.

  ‘Name?’ Evan persisted.

  ‘I’m protecting the lady’s good name.’ Whitby sneered piously.

  ‘She has a good name, then?’ I asked.

  His eyes narrowed and he whipped around to the solicitor. ‘Do I have to put up with this? Is it legal?’ he asked angrily.

  ‘I’m afraid it is, Michael. You need to give the lady’s name. And if she can support your alibi then you have nothing to worry about.’ He looked at me for confirmation. ‘It will be kept confidential, Senior Sergeant?’

  ‘If Michael can have his whereabouts confirmed during the time frame given to us by forensics, then the lady’s husband doesn’t need to know.’

  Whitby shrugged and gave me a name, which I recognised as that of a harpist with the Pacific Symphony.

  ‘When your story has been corroborated you will be free to go if we find no other evidence against you. For the time being, you will be returned to the holding cell.’

  He was sitting there looking precious. I stood up, pressed the buzzer under the table and waited until a uniformed officer came to escort him back to the cells. As Whitby headed for the door, I stopped him in his tracks:

  ‘Oh, by the way, Mr Whitby, Jessica Rallison was pregnant. If the DNA sample you gave us earlier matches that of the foetus, we’ll be having another little chat.’

  It was 7.30pm by the time we got back to Whitby, who showed signs of deterioration. He slumped in his chair, scraped his fingers through now unkempt hair, attempted to realign the creases in his trousers and then spoiled the effect by jittering and swinging his feet around. He looked like John the Baptist on Speed.

  I didn’t have time to stuff around with his theatrics, so I let him have it. The results of the DNA tests wouldn’t be available for some time, but given the spate of TV shows where results of DNA tests are obligingly produced in ten minutes, I hoped he would swallow it.

  ‘Michael, you admitted you had an affair with Jessica Rallison, so will it be a surprise if your DNA matches that of her baby?’

  He froze, eyes wide with shock. We waited impassively, but were yearning to grab him by the throat and choke the living shit out of him. He coughed, looked anxiously at the duty solicitor and threw his hands out in a helpless gesture.

  ‘It couldn’t be. I never…’

  ‘Don’t come the raw prawn with me, mate. Do you want to get home? I can’t imagine for one minute you would want to stay in the cells for the night. So, let’s have the truth, Michael,’ Evan asked wearily.

  ‘E r…no.’ He licked his lips nervously, pulled a grubby handkerchief out of his pocket and wrapped it around his shaking fingers.

  I leaned forward and looked him straight in the eye. ‘Michael, I think it’s time you told us everything you know about her private life. If you had nothing to do with her death, then there’ll be no evidence against you. Will there?’ SOCO hadn’t found anything in Whitby’s house to link him with the crime, damn it!

  Whitby leaned over and whispered into the ear of the solicitor who requested time with his client. We rose, signed off the interview and walked a short way along the passageway, where we stopped and leaned against the wall.

  ‘You know this idiot’s a “user,” Evan commented matter-of-factly, jerking his head in the general direction of Whitby, as he flipped through the Rallison folder. ‘Keep him without it long enough and we might get something useful out of him—’

  Before he could continue, the door opened. The duty solicitor poked his head out and said something to the constable on guard who in turn signalled to us. We signed in again; Whitby sat back, blinking nervously.

  ‘Michael will tell you what you want to know, Senior Sergeant.’

  We waited with less than bated breath.

  ‘Jess helped set up Ally Carpenter’s kidnapping,’ he stated baldly.

  I felt as though the top of my head was lifting off. At last, the truth, I hoped. ‘You had better tell us everything. Ally Carpenter’s life could depend on it!’ Please God, she was still alive and hanging in there.

  Whitby talked rapidly, his words jerky and sometimes incoherent, he verbally sketched the deterioration of the relationship between Ally Carpenter and Jess Rallison.

  ‘Jess thought her career was sliding and was jealous of Ally’s success, but I don’t think she was getting less work. Ally was becoming well-known and because she has a better agent, she was getting to be in demand. Then Brie dumped Jess and went after Ally. After that she sort of dumped me. I don’t know the name of Jess’s new boyfriend or who the other people involved are.’ His mouth turned down at the corners. I hoped he wouldn’t start crying.

  ‘How can I be sure you aren’t making this up because you’re angry at being two-timed, Michael?’ Bad cop.

  He snapped his head up and fixed me with his version of a death stare. It didn’t impress me; he should have taken lessons from Mochrie.

  ‘I wouldn’t tell you if I didn
’t know about it.’

  ‘So how did you get into the act?’ I asked, sarcastically.

  For the benefit of our suspect, Evan shot me a calming glance. ‘He’s trying to answer, Sarge. It’s very painful for him.’ Good cop.

  ‘I wasn’t under any illusion I was first choice. Jess was a woman who always had to have a man in tow. I was keen and she is—was—beautiful.’ His face twisted as he picked up the glass of water on the table beside him, took a huge gulp, almost choked and coughed into his handkerchief. For chrissakes, get on with it. We haven’t got time for you to die now.

  ‘A short time ago, she met someone else but continued to see both of us. But she swore she wasn’t sleeping with him. And I’ll repeat this,’ he flashed a glance between us, ‘I don’t know his name. She was very secretive, always giggling into her mobile, but she said it was only a joke ‘they’ were playing on Ally to spoil her career and as revenge because of Brie.’

  ‘When did she tell you this?’

  ‘A few days after Ally disappeared.’

  I was furious. ‘Was Briece Mochrie involved?’

  ‘I don’t know for sure, but I’ll bet he knew what she was doing.’ Whitby’s eyes glittered spitefully.

  ‘Why would you say that?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘This would be a good way to divert attention from yourself. How do I know you’re not lying?

  ‘Because I’m not!’ He looked shifty and wriggled in his chair.

  ‘Tell me exactly what else Jessica said to you,’ Evan asked in his best avuncular manner. Whitby shot him a grateful look; they always fall for it.

  ‘A few days ago she confided to me it was all out of hand, but she still wouldn’t say who was behind it, even though she was pretty scared. And that’s all I know.’ He clamped his lips tightly shut.

  ‘So why didn’t you report it, Michael? You knew a crime had been committed. We’ve searched for Ally for a week now and you didn’t tell us? It’s called withholding evidence, concealing a crime, aiding and abetting—’

  Allowing the words to hang in the air was an oldie but a goodie. ’Jess said they would get us both if we went to the police and I believed her,’ he blurted.

  I leaned back and stared at him thoughtfully. They? It fit with the CCTV footage from the nightclub. ’Now come on, we’re running out of time here. Who else was involved, Michael?’

  ‘I told you, I don’t know. She didn’t say and I never asked.’

  ‘Did you go to her house the night she died?’

  He shook his head. I could have killed him there and then. Evan shot me a warning glance and leaned forward.

  ‘Aloud, for the tape please, Michael.’

  With ill-grace, he denied being there. Then someone peered inside the door and whispered something to the uniformed constable. We were needed elsewhere.

  ‘Release Whitby,’ I snapped to the Duty Sergeant as we emerged from the room, ‘but put him under surveillance,’ to Evan.

  CHAPTER 38

  Unwanted Goods

  Eloise

  Saturday: 7.00am.

  The sight of my friend Rosalind sitting in the car beside the man whom I knew to be Georgie’s lover, maybe murderer, chased through my mind until I became exhausted. James reiterated the notion that she probably didn’t know anything about Ally’s kidnapping. His reasoning nearly drove me bats. ‘Calm down, El. You’re assuming something which has no basis in fact.’ ‘But, James, he killed Georgie!’ I wailed.

  ‘You don’t know that, and remember, if he was seeing Georgie on the island, he could well have been having it off with Rosalind on the mainland. Lots of men sleep with two women at the same time. And no, I’ve never done that!’

  He smiled briefly, before continuing. ‘They would not necessarily know about each other’s involvement, and Georgie could even have been killed by a tourist trying to rob the house. No doubt the police will find out.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ I sniffled, heartbroken by the slaying of the woman who had been the sister of my heart.

  I had woken up with a sense of hope that Ally would survive this.

  ‘You had a fucking terrible night and so did I,’ he said, running his hand distractedly through his hair. My heart ached at the strain in his face. I longed to touch, to comfort, but would he welcome such a move? Nothing he had said led me to believe he wanted to be touched affectionately.

  ‘Did you? Well, today I’ve made up my mind to be positive. No more crying. We can’t let Jess’s murder—’ that terrible word—‘deflect us from ensuring Ally’s safety.’

  ‘That might have nothing to do with Ally. Jess could have been killed by a jealous lover. But she was frightened about something to do with Georgie’s murder, remember? When Pam told her about it on the phone.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I do. But with Ally still missing, her ear and the eBay stuff…’ I could hardly bear to voice my thoughts on that subject. I took a careful sip of hot coffee.

  ‘Well…’ He left it at that. James could actually meet their demands, but if he hadn’t been very wealthy or responsibly inclined, Ally wouldn’t have been worth kidnapping in the first place.

  He announced he was going back to his computer and he would see me at breakfast. It was all too much to cope with. I put my empty cup on the bedside cabinet and stumbled off to the bathroom before I gave in to my mood and stayed in bed for the rest of the day with the bedclothes pulled over my head.

  Saturday: noon.

  I had been trying to keep occupied by arranging flowers in the massive Spode vase in the vestibule while James was crouched over his computer. I needed another jug of water from the kitchen. Mrs Fox was standing on the far side of the room with her back to me, putting china into a high cupboard. The radio played her favourite country music and concealed my approach. Before I spoke, she reached awkwardly into the top shelf and her arm scraped the side of her head. Her hair lifted. In the moment before she tweaked it straight, I saw gleaming black tresses peeping out from under the dull, brown mop.

  I couldn’t believe it. Quietly, I backed away from the door and almost ran back to the study. I could hardly wait to tell James.

  ‘Really? Sure you weren’t mistaken?’

  ‘I’m not. She really does have thick, black hair underneath the wig. There doesn’t seem to be any reason why she would try to disguise a head of healthy hair with nondescript fake hair. It doesn’t make sense!’

  ‘Does she know you saw it?’

  ‘She had her back to me and the radio was on so she didn’t hear me. I got out of there and came straight in here.’

  I sensed his mind working at lightning speed; the expression on his face could have been carved in stone. ‘I’d not thought…Eloise, next time you see her, whatever you do, don’t let on that you know she’s wearing a wig. There’s something strange here. Let me think about it for a while.’

  ‘What is it? Just tell me.’

  He took me by the hand and guided me into the chair beside his. ‘Trust me, we’ll discuss it as soon as I find out a few things. If you can’t treat Mrs Fox normally, stay away from her. Somehow I feel it’s vital she doesn’t realise you know she’s wearing a wig.’ His eyes bored into mine, his expression grim.

  ‘You must tell me what you’re on about. I’m part of this and I need to know.’

  ‘All right, but I’m trusting you to hold it together. Promise, El?’

  My heart beat faster. Mrs Fox had always seemed so mild and pleasant. In the light of what James was implying, I felt as though a kitten had tried to rip my throat out.

  ‘We’ve gone into this before. The ransom demands, the letter box messages and money drops. How did the kidnappers get hold of the key? It has to be someone I know—a friend, a member of the orchestra or my household staff. I thought of them at the start, but it didn’t occur to me they would be so bold. If it’s them…’

  ‘But Mrs Fox? She’s such a quiet, modest woman. And her father? That old man! I know he’s a surly old
thing, but surely…’

  ‘Ssssh. We can’t jump to conclusions, but we always knew it had to be someone who knew me well. If Mrs Fox and her father are in it, that probably means Angelo is involved as well. They’ve had constant access to the keys.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Georgie and Rosalind were definitely the only ones you told?’

  ‘No one else knew, not even my doctor. I didn’t put your name on Ally’s birth certificate and my family’s all gone. Who’s Angelo?’

  ‘My chauffeur and handyman. He drove you here Sunday.’ I shivered, remembering his cold gaze in the rear vision mirror.

  James stared into space for a few minutes and then reached for the telephone.

  ‘I wouldn’t think the old man and Angelo could plan an operation like this, but Mrs Fox is another story. I’m getting someone to re-investigate the staff. My solicitor had a check on them and their references, but it was purely for employment purposes. One thing’s certain though, they don’t have criminal records. At least, they didn’t when they came here.’

  As he gave the details of his employees to the person at the other end of the phone, I glanced around the now familiar room, noting with surprise that a small landscape now occupied the space where his parents’ photo had been. I was surprised not to have noticed the change, but reflected that the past had become unimportant in the scheme of things. The present was all that mattered.

  As he laid the receiver back into its cradle, a deep, inner impulse made me enfold his hand in both of mine and hold it against my breasts. The response was swift and warm. He turned his head and looked straight into my eyes, sending a hot flush creeping up my neck, into my face. An electrical charge sizzled through my body. My breasts tingled; warmth spread between my legs.

  ‘Go for it’ urged a voice, deep in my heart.

  ‘I need you so much, James,’ I whispered, my heart pounding nervously. He slowly untangled his hand from mine and gently traced my face with his finger, then slid his hand down my throat to enclose my breast. My heart galloped as he bent over me and crushed his hot mouth to mine. His tongue slicked over my lips, then plunged inside. I heard myself whimper with excitement. The male smell of him invaded my senses.