by Frank Smith
‘Gwyneth told Mrs Etherton everything. She said she’d been waiting for Farnsworth in the back room when Toni entered the barn. Trapped back there, she heard everything but saw nothing until she finally plucked up the courage to come out. Mrs Etherton said Gwyneth told her the voices were too muffled to identify them, but she was afraid that Gwyneth might remember something that would identify her as the killer. So she told Gwyneth she was sure that we’d been concentrating on the immediate area around the crime scene, and probably hadn’t had time to look at the back room, then offered to go with her to get rid of any prints she might have left behind.’
‘And killed her when they got there,’ Grace said huskily. ‘I still can’t believe it. I only spoke to the woman briefly, but I liked her. I can’t believe I could be so wrong about someone. Killing three people for . . . what?’
‘Four,’ Paget reminded her. ‘You’re forgetting her sister.’
‘She confessed to that as well?’ Grace shuddered. ‘That is a horrible way to die. She must have really hated her sister.’
‘I don’t think feelings entered into it,’ Paget said. ‘In fact she told us that the two of them got on very well together; but when Charles needed money, and killing her sister was the only way to get it, then that was the way it had to be. I think Mrs Etherton is one of those rare people who are truly amoral.’
Grace didn’t look convinced. ‘Amoral?’ she repeated. ‘Is anyone truly amoral, Neil? Or is that just a cover for old-fashioned evil?’
Paget spread his hands. ‘I really don’t know,’ he confessed. ‘I do know we spent close to ten hours talking to her today, and the only emotion she showed in all that time was when we were talking about Charles. Although, there was a moment there when I thought I detected a touch of regret over the killing of Gwyneth.’
‘So, how involved is Charles Bromley? How much did he know?’
Paget shrugged. ‘That may be very hard to prove,’ he said. ‘I think Charles can be wilfully blind when he wants to be, and I’m not so sure they aren’t two of a kind – except Charles doesn’t have the stomach for the killing that his sister-in-law has.’
‘Speaking of the stomach,’ said Grace in an attempt to return to some sort of normal conversation, ‘your food is getting cold.’
He pushed the plate aside and picked up his glass. ‘Sorry, Grace,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I’ve lost my appetite, but I will finish the beer.’
THIRTY-ONE
Monday, September 19th
No one had said very much during the ride back from court to Charter Lane, but once inside and mounting the stairs, it was Tregalles who voiced the question that was on all their minds. ‘I can’t say I was surprised to hear Bromley plead not guilty to attempted murder, but I was gobsmacked when Mrs Etherton pleaded not guilty to murder, especially after confessing to everything on tape. At least she didn’t get bail. Too bad they gave it to him, but then, he’s a Bromley and a magistrate, so what can you expect.’
‘Perhaps, after spending the weekend in jail, Mrs Etherton found she wasn’t too keen on spending the rest of her life behind bars,’ said Paget. He turned to Molly. ‘I didn’t see Julian in court,’ he said. ‘You did contact him in Birmingham, didn’t you?’
‘I did,’ she said, ‘and he told me that he would come if he could, but if a rehearsal was called for this morning, he wouldn’t be able to make it. He said he has twenty-nine lines of dialogue in this play, and there was no way he was going to chance losing the part by not being there.’
‘Good to get your priorities straight, I suppose,’ Tregalles observed. ‘But he’d better buck up his ideas if he hopes to earn a living as an actor, because I don’t think he will have a place to call home after the next few weeks.
‘I suppose Mrs Etherton might get away with it if she pleads insanity,’ he continued, but Molly was no longer interested in more speculation on how things would go on from here. Instead, her thoughts were centred on the email she’d received that morning. It was addressed to Reg and Ellen Starkie, but Molly was pleased to see that David was still copying her in. It said: In haste, arriving Heathrow 20:30 Tuesday, Flt CX253. Will drive down Wednesday, but must return to HK by next Monday. Need to work out things with Royal Broadminster, and look into schooling for Lijuan. Tell you more when I get there. Love, David.
‘Molly . . .? You still with us?’ Tregalles asked.
‘Yes, sorry, Sergeant,’ she said hastily. ‘I was just thinking that I should phone Sergeant Ormside to see if he needs me out there this afternoon. I imagine we’ll be spending the next day or two packing up the incident room and bringing everything back in.’ She took out her phone, but Paget stopped her. ‘My office first,’ he said. ‘Both of you. The case may be as good as over, but there are still ends to tie up.’
He sounded displeased, and Tregalles and Molly exchanged mystified glances and silent questions behind his back as they followed him in.
Paget moved behind his desk and sat down. One look at his stern features was enough to make Tregalles decide not to sit down unless invited, and Molly took her cue from him and remained standing as well.
‘First of all, Tregalles,’ Paget said, ‘I want you to call DS McLean in Lambeth, and sort out how we are going to handle Conroy now that they’ve found the car he reported stolen in his own lock-up. But I want it made clear that, while we appreciate their help in finding the car, I want Conroy nailed for his part in all this. He may not have killed the major, but he certainly contributed to his death, and I want to see him pay for that. So, no deals . . . at least from us. What the CPS decides to do when they get it is up to them. OK?’
‘Right, boss.’ Tregalles turned to leave, but Paget stopped him. ‘There’s something else, first,’ he said as he opened a drawer and took out an envelope. He opened it, and removed a single sheet of A4 paper.
‘I received this yesterday afternoon,’ he said crisply. ‘I think you should read it and give me your comments.’ Tregalles reached for the paper, but Paget flicked it away and handed it to Molly.
Her hand shook as she took it, and her eyes blurred as she tried to focus on the fine print. Slowly, her expression changed. She looked up at Paget, who was now on his feet.
‘Congratulations, Sergeant Forsythe, on a well-deserved promotion,’ he said, grinning broadly. ‘I’m sure you’ll find a copy of this in the post when you get home.’ He stuck out his hand.
There were tears in her eyes as she gripped his hand. ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said huskily. ‘Thank you very, very much.’ She half turned toward Tregalles, not sure how he might take the news. But he surprised her by putting an arm around her shoulders and planting a kiss on her cheek.’
‘Congratulations, Molly,’ he said and grinned. ‘I’ve never kissed a sergeant before,’ he added with a chuckle. ‘Can’t wait to tell Audrey, specially if I don’t tell her right away who it was.’ His manner changed. ‘But seriously, Molly, I hope you realize what this means?’ Molly braced herself. She never knew what to expect from Tregalles. ‘It means,’ he said solemnly, ‘it’s your shout in the pub, tonight, so come prepared.’
There was enough work on his own desk to keep Paget occupied for the next couple of days, but there was just as much waiting upstairs in Alcott’s old office, and he couldn’t keep leaving it for Fiona to deal with. He looked at the clock, then made for the stairs; he could still get two or three hours in and be home by six . . . or seven at the latest.
‘They look worse than they are,’ Fiona said as she set out a stack of folders on the desk ‘but I can go through them with you if you wish. Most of them just need your signature, but I’ve put notes on the ones that need your attention.’
‘I’ll give you a shout if I get into trouble,’ he said. ‘And thanks, Fiona.’ He watched her as she left the office. If he did get the superintendent’s job, he couldn’t ask for a better secretary.
He settled down to work, but he’d barely started when the phone rang. The duty sergeant was on the lin
e. ‘Chief Constable’s on his way up, sir,’ he said. ‘Thought you would like to know.’
Wyckham? Charter Lane was less than a quarter of a mile from New Street, but it could have been fifty miles away, considering the number of times the chief constable had covered the distance between them. It had to have something to do with the Bromley case, but was that a good thing or bad?
Two minutes later, the chief constable appeared in the doorway, and Paget rose to meet him. ‘Chief Constable,’ he said neutrally as he came out from behind the desk.
Wyckham closed the door. ‘Just came by to congratulate you on a successful conclusion to the Bromley case,’ he said as he shook Paget’s hand. ‘A job well done, but I must confess I would never have suspected Beth Etherton. I’ve known that woman for years. Always rather admired her. Good bridge player, too. Hard to believe. The woman must be demented. But to drag poor old Charles into her schemes . . . Difficult for him, very difficult indeed.’ He shook his head sadly, then brightened. ‘Still, he was released on bail. No doubt it will all be cleared up in due course.’
‘I’m afraid it may be a little more complicated than that, sir,’ Paget said cautiously.
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ Sir Robert agreed. ‘Bound to take some time to sort things out. But that’s enough of that. I’m really here on a different errand. Shall we sit down?’
He pulled a chair toward him and settled into it with his elbows on the arms, hands steepled beneath his chin. He sat there, frowning as if thinking carefully before he spoke. Paget returned to his own chair and sat down.
‘Rather appropriate,’ Wyckham said, ‘being here in DS Alcott’s old office, I mean, since it is the position of detective superintendant I want to talk to you about. I felt I should come to give you the news myself and explain the situation. We had five applicants, although, to be honest, three of them were a waste of time, so it came down to two in the end, both of whom were equally well qualified, and I must say I was very impressed with your record and the way you conducted yourself in the interview. Very impressed indeed.’
‘However . . .’ Sir Robert paused, and Paget braced himself. The kiss of death. He wasn’t going to get it.
‘However,’ the chief constable said again, ‘the decision doesn’t rest with me, although you certainly had my vote. It rests with the Local Police Authority, and they feel it is time to redress the balance, to keep up with the times, so to speak, so I’m afraid the vote went to the other candidate. A DCI Pierce from the Thames Valley Police. Fine background. Very similar to your own, in fact. Time with the Met and so forth.’
Paget’s heart stood still. Pierce? Thames Valley? The Met? He took a deep breath to steady his voice. ‘Would that be Amanda Pierce by any chance, sir?’ he asked.
‘Why, yes, that’s right. Amanda Pierce. Have you two met? Do you know her?
‘Oh, yes, we’ve met,’ said Paget tightly, remembering . . .
Sir Robert got to his feet. ‘Well, that’s a plus, then, if you two know each other, isn’t it?’ he said heartily. ‘Off to a good start. No, don’t bother to see me out. Should know my way by now.’