The Missing Wife

by Roger Silverwood

  ‘Ah. Come in, Mrs Moore.’

  He shook her hand. It was like shaking a piece of wet fish.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, sir,’ she said mechanically.

  ‘Thank you for coming to the station.’

  ‘It’s nothing. As I said on the phone, I was coming into town anyway.’

  ‘Please sit down,’ he indicated the chair nearest his desk. ‘I am Detective Inspector Angel. This is Cadet Ahaz.’

  Ahmed smiled at the lady and then raised his eyebrows in an inquiring way across at the policeman. ‘Close the door and sit over there, Ahmed.’

  Angel forced a smile at the plumpish but attractive lady in a grey raincoat who leaned down from the chair to put her large handbag on the floor.

  ‘This is purely informal, Mrs Moore.’

  The lady shuffled uncomfortably into the chair and looked intently at him.

  ‘Firstly, I’d like to say how sorry I am that Lady Millhouse has died, and that it is necessary for me to have to ask you these questions,’ he said, as he opened his leather-backed notebook.

  ‘I perfectly well understand, Inspector,’ she sniffed, producing a handkerchief from her pocket. ‘It is a great tragedy for Sir Charles and the family and indeed for the town — after all he is their MP. Her ladyship was becoming well known too, you know. She was liked and respected by everyone she met.’

  ‘I’m sure. Perhaps we can start by asking you how long you worked for her ladyship?’

  ‘I worked at the Hall all my life, on and off. I started there straight from school, as housemaid to Sir Charles’s father. I was there when young Sir Charles was born, when he went away to school; when he went to university and then when he went into the army. Then, when I was twenty, I got married and I left to have a baby. I had a little girl. Anyway, when she was five, the first Sir Charles’s mother, Lady Amanda, asked me to come back. Which I did. I was very glad to. We needed the money. My husband wasn’t really very well paid.’

  ‘What did your husband do?’

  ‘He worked at the Hall. He’s always worked at the Hall. Went there as an apprentice, then he worked his way up. He was an undergardener to Old Bloombury. A real tyrant he was!’

  ‘Old Bloombury is the head gardener?’

  ‘Not now, sir. Passed away about ten years ago. My husband is head gardener now. Actually, he’s the only gardener now. He does the work that four men did. I don’t know why he stays. Mind you, they do have contractors in to cut all the grass. And a specialist firm to look after the lake and the fish. But he can’t keep it to the standard it was in Sir Charles’s father’s day. He’s told young Sir Charles that to his face. His reply was, “Well, do the best you can.” And he does. Those gardens and grounds was a picture. Like a picture postcard.’ She sniffed and applied a handkerchief.

  ‘I’ll need to speak to your husband very soon. Would you ask him to get in touch with me?’

  ‘Of course, I will, Inspector. He’ll help all he can, I know that.’

  ‘Please carry on.’

  She continued. ‘It’s not that they are generous with the pay at the Hall. They never were. But it was nice work. And people used to visit and stay overnight many a time. And some of them used to tip most handsomely. Some were very nice, but not all. Of course, I’m talking about the days when there were up to four regular kitchen staff and downstairs maids and an upstairs maid and everything. I mean it’ll never be the same again.’ She shook her head. ‘They don’t entertain hardly at all now. That sort of petered out when old Sir Charles and Lady Amanda died. Although young Sir Charles and his first wife did have a regular visitor — a friend — who would stay overnight or for a few days. Perhaps a weekend or so. He was a very nice gentleman, very wealthy, a banker I think he was. Came up from London. Stayed a lot, on and off, for a year or more. Very respectable. Always on his own. Finished up in some sort of trouble though. It was in all the papers. I forget what it was all about. You wouldn’t think such a nice man could find himself in trouble. Nothing dirty. I mean nothing scandalous. It was to do with drinking, I think. He was supposed to have had too much to drink and finished up in some sort of car accident. I never properly understood it. Anyway, Sir Charles and his wife stopped inviting him, I think, or he stopped coming. It all seemed to happen at once. He was always the perfect gentleman to me, and I never heard a bad word said about him by any of the staff. But I suppose that’s life. But speak as you find, I say. He was ever so nice. And everybody got at least a pound note from him every time he stayed. And that was in the days when you could buy something worthwhile with a pound. I could get a nice pair of stockings with it and have some change. That was before decimalisation. I always said — ’

  ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, Mrs Moore — ’

  ‘Oh,’ she replied with a start. ‘I’m talking too much. I’m sorry, Inspector. My husband is always saying — ’

  ‘Not at all. It’s all very interesting,’ he said smiling. ‘Just for my notes ... What was the name of the gentleman?’ Angel asked gently.

  Mrs Moore paused for a second and looked upwards. ‘A sort of foreign name. La Touche. Yes that’s right. Mr La Touche.’

  Angel’s eyebrows raised and his eyes opened wide. ‘Mr La Touche, did you say?’

  Mrs Moore noticed his interest. ‘You know him, Inspector?’

  Angel shook his head, and truthfully said, ‘No.’ But his memory had immediately flown to the imprint on the back of that photograph of Lady Yvette Millhouse.

  Mrs Moore continued, unperturbed by the inspector’s obvious interest in the name. ‘And do you know, that Mr La Touche used to arrive in a yellow Rolls Royce, and dressed in a black coat and pin-striped trousers. Very smart he looked too. And he always wore a hat. A black Homburg, I think it was.’

  She noticed the policeman writing prolifically and at speed. She stopped, looked down at the notepad and said, ‘Shall I go on?’

  ‘Please do,’ Angel replied without looking up. ‘What can you tell me about the young Sir Charles’s first wife?’

  Mrs Moore took a deep breath. ‘Well, she was very nice. Very beautiful. She and Sir Charles were very happy ... as far as you could see.’

  She paused.

  ‘You were living in at the Hall at this time, weren’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You would see a lot of the young couple then? Tell me what you know of their relationship. Was it a happy marriage?’

  ‘Oh yes. It seemed to be, Inspector. It was her early death that was so awful.’ She shuddered.

  Angel looked up at her. ‘Death is always awful. What was so different about her death?’

  ‘So young!’

  ‘Yes, of course. How old was she?’

  ‘Forty, I believe.’

  ‘And what did she die of?’

  ‘Well, there were various reasons given at the time. The newspapers were full of all sorts of wild ideas. At the coroners’ court, the verdict given was that she died of natural causes. Well, that was good enough for me. You can’t get more reliable information than that, can you? The papers seemed to think that young Sir Charles had a reason to want her ladyship’s death. Outrageous, I call it! There was talk, and I believe it was only talk, that he was having an affair with a young lady in London. And then there was all that to do with Mr La Touche. And then there was Mr La Touche’s death shortly after that.’

  Angel scribbled away. ‘And was anybody’s name connected with Sir Charles?’

  Mrs Moore sneered. ‘Only models. Glamour pusses. People we’d never heard of up here.’

  ‘Any particular name?’ He persisted gently.

  ‘I think it was all talk, Inspector. I really do.’

  Angel smiled at her.

  ‘You don’t remember any particular person, by name, I mean?’

  ‘As I said, Inspector, it was all talk. I never knew no names.’

  He would have to be content with that for now, he thought. He continued.

  ‘And when did Mr La Touche
die?’

  ‘Oh, we seemed to be doing nothing but run to the Church and the crematorium about that time. Everything seemed to be happening at once! First young Charles married. Shortly after that Baby Duncan was born. He was baptized. The following year, old Sir Charles and Lady Amanda died within a few months of each other. There was a gap of about ten years or more and then Mr La Touche died, and young Charles’s first wife shortly after that.’

  ‘What can you tell me about life at the Hall immediately prior to Lady Yvette’s disappearance?’

  ‘Well, they didn’t entertain much, and staff that either left or retired weren’t replaced. That coincided with when my mother was ill. My husband and me went to live with her to keep an eye on her and that. And we stopped living in at the Hall. There’s only me to cook and clean for them there now. Young Sir Charles was in London a lot, and her ladyship used to tidy round and keep things shipshape. They would dine out a lot at weekends unless they had visitors. I don’t know what’ll happen now. But, if you ask me, everything wants a good bottoming.’

  Angel pursed his lips.

  ‘Was everything harmonious? Did Sir Charles and Lady Yvette get on well together?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Like two lovebirds, they was. And she hardly ever left him when he was ill.’

  Angel looked up. ‘Was he ill often?’

  ‘Hardly ever. He went through his measles and his mumps and that when he was young. But no. He was never ill really. He’d the constitution of a horse. Not until about a month ago. He had a bout of something. He kept vomiting. And sometimes it showed blood. Well, her ladyship nearly went mad with worry. He went into that posh hospital near Leeds to have tests. They shove a camera down your throat and have a good look round. She stuck to him like glue throughout all this. Anyway, he came home and seemed all right for a few days. But then it started all over again. He went back into hospital, and that’s how it was for a bit. Her ladyship was that worried. I caught her in tears more than once. She never said what it was ... and he didn’t.’

  ‘Does he seem to be all right now, Mrs Moore?’

  ‘Oh yes. Eats and drinks what he likes. I think he drinks too much. It’s the whisky. He doesn’t know when to stop. His father used to tell him he drank too much. But these young ones takes no notice. Her ladyship was a good influence on him. But he knew how to get round her. He was always bringing her flowers and presents and that. But he was away a lot, mind. He sits in Parliament, you know. He’d leave late on Sunday or early on Monday morning, depending. But he’d be back late on Friday or earlier if he could get away. He began to be very nervous at leaving her. He was very worried I remember, after the burglary.’

  Angel looked up. His eyes opened wide. ‘Burglary?’

  ‘Oh yes. I thought you’d know all about that. Your chaps was all over the place. They asked me a lot of questions. Anyone would have thought I’d something to do with it.’

  ‘I’m sure they didn’t.’ He smiled reassuringly. ‘When was this, Mrs Moore?’

  ‘About two months ago.’

  Angel resumed his writing. ‘Do you remember who dealt with it?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. But they would be from here, I suppose.’

  ‘I’ll look into it. Thank you, Mrs Moore.’

  ‘They took a lot of the old silver from off the sideboard, and some jewellery from her ladyship’s bedroom.’

  ‘Was she in the house at the time?’

  ‘Yes. But she never heard a thing. It made her very nervous, though. It was shortly after that, Sir Charles had that expensive burglar alarm system and the extra outside lights put in. They come on when you pass them.’

  ‘Yes. Yes.’

  ‘And those bells used to drive me batty!’

  Angel raised his eyebrows quizzically.

  Mrs Moore put her hands to her ears to demonstrate. ‘When they were installing them. Them men used to ring them on and off, on and off, all day. Testing they said it was. They drove me mad! Then there is the buzzers. They buzz when anybody walks on the portico. At night the lights go on. It’s like the Edingborough Tattoo when them lights go on.’

  ‘Oh, I see. And did anything unusual happen the Friday her ladyship went missing?’

  Mrs Moore paused a second, and then said, firmly, ‘No. Nothing. Same as usual, I’m sure.’

  ‘You came in — at what time?’

  ‘Nine o’clock as usual. Friday’s is normally a tidying round day for me. See that everything was shipshape for when Sir Charles arrived back. Her ladyship used to go down the shops. She was back, loaded up with groceries and whatever. Everything as usual. She paid me and my husband at four o’clock and we left.’

  ‘And everything was as usual.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Angel looked her straight in the eye. ‘You realize that you may very well have been the last person to see her ladyship alive.’

  Mrs Moore dabbed her nose with the handkerchief, then nodded.

  ‘Tell me, what was she wearing. Can you recall?’

  She nodded again. ‘She was wearing a thick woollen red jumper and blue jeans, and brown leather shoes.’

  ‘A wristwatch? Any jewellery?’

  Mrs Moore nodded enthusiastically. ‘Yes. Yes. A small very neat square-faced watch — she always wore that. And her pearls. She wouldn’t be without her pearls.’

  ‘Pearls?’ Angel queried.

  ‘A choker of small creamy coloured pearls. They were graduated and made into a beautiful fancy pattern. They were antique of course. She did love them. Sir Charles bought them for her, of course. She nearly always wore them.’

  ‘Were they valuable, Mrs Moore?’

  ‘I really don’t know. Being her ladyship, I ’spect they were. I know she liked wearing them. Maybe she treasured them because they were one of the few items not taken by the burglars, when they had that break in.’

  Angel nodded as he stroked his chin. He wrote something in big letters in his notebook. Then he looked into her moist eyes and said, ‘Tell me, Mrs Moore. This could be very important. There was absolutely nothing different or unusual in what you did, how her ladyship was, her attitude to you, what she may have said to you, her attitude to her husband coming home, absolutely nothing different from the way she usually was on a Friday afternoon? ... Absolutely nothing?’

  She looked him straight back, wiped her nose and said, ‘Absolutely nothing, Inspector.’

  Angel waited a second. Then he smiled at her, put down his pen and stood up.

  ‘Well thank you very much, Mrs Moore.’

  She didn’t stir, but her mouth opened and then closed again, and then she said, ‘There was one thing, Inspector.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Angel said, his eyes brightening. ‘And what was that?’

  ‘Well, it was not really anything directly to do with Sir Charles and her ladyship.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. It’s just that the hearthrug out of the drawing room has gone missing. I noticed it on Monday morning. I mentioned it to Sir Charles. He didn’t seem very interested. He said that he’d told you about it, and that it didn’t matter. Well I think it matters. If someone upped and took my hearthrug, I’d be wanting to know about it. Now who would want to steal a rug, I ask you? They must be very poor. I just thought I would mention it.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Later that afternoon, Detective Inspector Angel was at his desk trying to reduce the pile of paperwork that was swamping him. He was shuffling letters and reports around when the phone rang. He grunted and picked up the receiver.

  ‘Angel.’

  It was the WPC on the station exchange. ‘Inspector, there’s a call for you from a DI Smith in Galashiels CID. I think that’s in Scotland, sir.’

  Angel smiled. ‘Yes, lass. Galashiels is in Scotland. Put him through.’

  A broad Scottish voice said, ‘Is that the Angel of the North?’

  He grinned. ‘Now Smithy, don’t cheek your elders. How did you get on with that little job I asked you to do
for me?’

  The loud, cheerful voice said, ‘It wasn’t easy.’

  ‘I didn’t think it would be. Nothing I ever asked you to do for me was easy. If it was easy, I’d do it myself.’

  ‘But we’ve managed to find out all you wanted, I think.’

  ‘Good. I appreciate it. It would have brightened your day and been a change from apple scrumping, dog’s barking and dangerous sheep roaming cases you have to deal with every day.’

  DI Smith chuckled. ‘At least we don’t have to work in that mucky Yorkshire air.’

  ‘It must be very nice up there in Galashiels, I’ll give you that. Now tell me, what did you find out?’

  The badinage over, DI Smith delivered the information Angel had asked for, and, after promising to visit him when next he was in Scotland, he thanked him profusely.

  He replaced the phone, just as the wet, noisy boots of Detective Sergeant Ron Gawber, Scott Scudamore and his solicitor, Mr Blomfield, clattered noisily down the green corridor past his office door.

  Angel rose from his desk, quietly opened his office door and peered down the corridor after them. He smiled and nodded. The entry of Scott Scudamore and Blomfield into the interview room established that Ron Gawber had secured the confession to the robbery of Patel’s off-licence from Harry Hull and that the policeman was now about to attempt to extract a similar statement from Scott Scudamore. That wasn’t going to be easy with Blomfield present. Angel considered a confession a highly unlikely outcome. Nevertheless, he continued to smile. He considered that there was a certain pleasurable satisfaction in the way that case was heading and he had not yet played all the cards in his hand.

  He closed the office door, returned to his desk, picked up the phone and pressed a button.

  DS Gawber answered. ‘Interview room.’

  ‘I know how it is. I’ve just heard you arrive. You’ve got Scott Scudamore and Blomfield in there, haven’t you? Just answer yes or no.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You couldn’t have started yet?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good. I just want clarification on a couple of points. Am I right in assuming that Scott Scudamore is still insisting that he wasn’t with Harry Hull in the Patel robbery?’