by J M Gregson
This fanciful thought was not diminished when the lined face looked down at her in the doorway of her flat. The grey eyes seemed to take in every detail of her appearance, until she felt that the make-up she had applied and the hair she had carefully combed for this meeting were artifices which were immediately apparent to him. Then the tall man said unexpectedly, ‘I’m sorry about the rape case. It was the Crown Prosecution Service which wouldn’t take it on. It often seems to us that people who can employ expensive barristers have a decided advantage.’
‘It hardly matters, now that the man is dead.’ She was amused and slightly touched by the man’s awkward apology for the shortcomings of the system in which he operated. In the last twenty-four hours, it had become easier for her to get things in perspective. ‘I’m trying to move on. It’s probably a good thing I don’t have the ordeal of a court case like that to look forward to.’
‘I’m sure you’re right there. Well, we’ve studied your preliminary statement about the events of last Tuesday night. We left it as long as possible before coming to speak to you because our colleagues in the Sapphire Unit told us that you were understandably very upset about the CPS decision not to prosecute in the rape issue.’
‘That was very considerate of you.’
Lambert smiled gravely. ‘It was also common sense from our point of view. It is difficult for someone in a highly emotional state to be objective about what she saw in the hours before a murder.’
Priscilla nodded. ‘For at least a day after the murder, all I could do was rejoice that Richard Cullis was dead and out of my life for ever.’ They took her through that fatal hour at the top table at the Belmont, traced the course of the meal and the speech which had been Cullis’s swan song, confirmed that she was adding nothing to what they already knew. Then Lambert said, ‘I want you to go back to events earlier in the day, to see if we can tease out anything which might have a bearing on what happened later.’
‘The golf competition, you mean? Well, the weather was splendid: you couldn’t have had a better day, in October. I was playing with Ben. Ben Paddon. He’s a surprisingly good golfer.’
‘Surprisingly?’
She smiled. ‘He’s tall and a little gangly. You wouldn’t expect Ben to be a good sportsman. But he’s amazingly well coordinated in his movements.’ She hoped that she wasn’t blushing.
‘I see. Did Mr Paddon give you any reason to think he was planning to harm Richard Cullis?’
‘He certainly did not!’ She was over-emphatic in her rejection of the suggestion. But she knew Ben as they surely couldn’t know him.
The four practised eyes which were studying her reactions noted her instinctive springing to Paddon’s defence. It was Hook who said gently, ‘Is Mr Paddon a particular friend of yours, Ms Godwin?’
‘I scarcely knew him, before the golf day. We’ve worked together in the labs for two years, but not in the same areas. He tends to confine himself to the early research on new drugs, whilst I’m more concerned with the final testing of products before they are released for human use. We saw each other on most days, I suppose, but scarcely exchanged more than polite greetings.’ She tried to keep the puzzlement out of her voice. It now seemed to her very odd that Ben and she should have known each other for so long without becoming friendlier with each other. ‘Ben is a man who keeps himself very much to himself. He’s rather shy, not too sure of himself in social situations.’ That was the phrase he had used about himself to her last night, before everything changed.
‘But you obviously got on well last Tuesday.’
Priscilla did not know what quite to deduce from Hook’s ‘obviously’. She smiled a little at herself, trying to relax. ‘We did, yes. It was probably partly the splendid weather: it was almost the first time I’d been out in the fresh air since - since the rape episode. And Ben was a good companion; I liked the way he played the game well without seeming to take it too seriously.’ She wanted to say this wasn’t their business, but she couldn’t summon the will to do it. ‘I’m afraid I can’t provide you with any information about who killed Cullis.’
‘Any thoughts about the people who were at that table with him when he died are welcome. Ben Paddon is one of those people.’ Hook smiled, reminding Priscilla suddenly of her father, who had died three years ago. ‘You won’t be surprised to learn that Richard Cullis was a man who had made many enemies: almost everyone around that table seems to have had a motive for murder. ’
‘And I had the strongest one of all.’
‘The most obvious and recently acquired one, certainly. ’
She realized that she had been hoping that this avuncular figure would reassure her, rather than reinforce her position as a suspect. She had to tell them things about Ben, things which might shatter her relationship with him when it had scarcely begun. She had no idea how to go about it, but she needed to protect herself.
Priscilla said suddenly, without knowing the words were coming, ‘I went out with Ben Paddon last night.’
Hook raised his eyebrows only minimally. ‘I’m happy to hear you’re picking up the pieces after your experience with Cullis.’
‘Ben was a perfect gentleman.’ Even through her tension, she smiled at the old-fashioned phrase she had never thought she would use. ‘We got on very well, partly as a result of that.’
Hook smiled. ‘Priscilla, there’s clearly something you need to tell us.’
She wondered how he knew that, but she was grateful for his prompting. ‘I think Ben is the mole you were looking for at Gloucester Chemicals - the undercover person in the labs whom you were searching for last week, after Richard Cullis had been kidnapped. I - I spent last night with him. He opened up, the way he had never done before: he told me about his sympathies with the group. I realize now why he always does purely experimental work and has always kept away from animal testing. He’s a very bright man and I thought he was just pursuing his interests, but I believe that there’s an issue of principle involved.’
She had delivered the whole thing quickly, with scarcely a pause, fearing that if she stopped she would never complete her thoughts. As if he understood all of this, Bert Hook said quietly, ‘You were right to tell us about this, you know.’
‘It doesn’t mean that he killed Cullis. I’m quite sure he didn’t.’ Belatedly, Priscilla tried to mitigate her treachery.
Lambert said decisively, ‘If he didn’t, he has nothing to fear from us. The company may of course wish to review the situation and decide whether they wish to employ a man with such beliefs in their research laboratories.’
‘But he wouldn’t have killed Richard.’ To her horror, Priscilla heard the fear and the uncertainty in her own voice.
Lambert said rather wearily, ‘He must have felt very near to being unmasked when we questioned all the laboratory staff last week after Cullis had been kidnapped. You must be aware that some animal rights protesters resort to violence in pursuit of their ends. We have to consider it possible that he might have wanted to make the big gesture and cut down the person officially in charge of experiments on animals. There are certain people in the movement who have already proclaimed the death of your Research and Development Director as an example of what will happen to people who conduct tests on animals.’
‘I read that. I despise people who hold back their names. These anonymous cranks are just opportunists who have seized on this death to claim it for themselves.’
‘Maybe. There is also the possibility that they have to keep things vague to avoid dumping Paddon into court on a murder charge. Ms Godwin, did Ben Paddon give you any reason to think that he might have committed such a crime?’
‘No. I’m sure he didn’t.’ She was suddenly struck by the incongruous image of Ben over a golf ball, striking it with smooth and surprisingly well-directed violence. A man capable of murder?
Lambert was right about the extremism of the animal rights movement: she had always taken care not to talk openly about exactly what she did at Glouc
ester Chemicals in case she was targeted. She felt affection towards Ben certainly, and possibly even the beginnings of love. But she knew very little about him, even after last night. She wondered for the first time what other shocks were concealed beneath his unthreatening and diffident appearance. She said feebly, ‘Ben’s not the murdering type.’
Lambert refrained from telling her that there was no such thing as a murdering type. He said grimly to Bert Hook as he levered himself back into the driving seat of the Senator, ‘The one person at that table who didn’t seem to have a motive now has one.’
‘At least we’ve unearthed the All God’s Creatures undercover man,’ said Hook. ‘I wonder how much Priscilla Godwin was trying to divert us away from her own more obvious motive.’
‘I told ex-Anne about us.’ Chris Rushton was surprised how relieved he had been to have that conversation out of the way. ‘It was just as well I got in first, because you were right about Kirstie. She was full of you and how much she’d enjoyed her day.’
‘How did she take it?’ Anne Jackson was studiously casual.
‘She was all right. Sort of quiet. I didn’t rub her nose in it.’ He didn’t tell Anne Jackson that when the moment came he would have liked to have done just that. He’d felt a surprising and unbecoming inclination to boast. He’d wanted to tell ex-Anne and her new man that he’d attracted a new and vibrant younger woman into his life, that his new Anne was impossibly pretty and impossibly understanding and impossibly good with children, as Kirstie would witness. He’d resisted the temptation, fortunately, and merely announced woodenly to his former wife that he thought she ought to know about this new development.
Ex-Anne had professed herself pleased for him, in an equally conventional and equally wooden way. Her new man had said, ‘Good on yer, Chris,’ and gone back to his wrestlings with eBay and the computer.
‘She’s got herself a new partner, who was there when I told her. She couldn’t be other than accommodating, could she?’ said Chris.
‘I suppose not. But I’m glad you’ve told her. I didn’t want her hearing about us from someone else.’ Anne Jackson wondered how she would feel in the ex-wife’s shoes, then shrugged and hoped that would be a position in which she would never find herself. Without knowing quite what she was about, she went up to Chris, put her arms round his neck, and kissed him briefly on the lips. ‘I’ve prepared my lessons for the coming week. We’ve got the evening to ourselves.’
They ate comfortably together. Chris was a surprisingly good cook of simple food, and the bottle of Merlot went down smoothly with it. He had his arm round her on the sofa when she said, ‘You’re tired, aren’t you?’
‘It’s this murder we had at Belmont. Unless it’s a domestic with a quick arrest, you work long hours on a murder.’
‘It affects a lot of people. I told you, I know one of the Youngs’ children; they live in the same village as my parents. I met him in the park yesterday, and even he seemed upset by it, poor kid.’
Chris cast thoughts of the case resolutely aside. ‘I’ll arrange a game of golf for us with John Lambert and Bert Hook, when this murder case is over. You can take them to the cleaners again.’
She grinned, stroking the back of his wrist.
‘We won’t have the surprise factor on our side, this time. They assumed that I’d be useless.’
‘There aren’t many four-handicap women about; I’m sure neither of those two had ever played against one before!’ said Chris, stretching his legs in happy reminiscence. ‘Next time, I’ll have to play better.’
‘You will indeed.’
Golf is plainly a more dangerous game than even its enthusiasts appreciate. For it was not long after this that Chris Rushton asked Anne Jackson to marry him.
She stared at his flickering gas fire for many seconds before she said, ‘It’s too early yet, Chris. Let’s not take things too quickly.’ Then, as disappointment welled within him, she turned her hazel-coloured eyes up towards his and said quietly, ‘I’m not saying no, mind. You’re not to snatch the offer away from me!’ and kissed him again, before snuggling down into the crook of his arm.
Chris had never intended to propose when they had sat down together on his sofa. He felt a strange mixture of achievement and relief.
Twenty-Two
Eleanor Hook knew that her husband had put in two hours of work before his eight o’clock breakfast. She would be glad when this Open University studying was over. Bert had found it enormously stimulating and she was immensely proud of his efforts and his results so far, but with a demanding job and a family he was determined not to neglect there just weren’t enough hours in the day.
She said as much to Bert. He nodded ruefully and said, ‘And not enough weeks in the year. There aren’t many left now before the final exams in November.’
‘Can’t you get any time off?’
‘John Lambert says I must take a week before the finals. He’ll insist on it, I fancy.’ Lambert had followed Bert’s progress with almost as much interest and pride as Eleanor; he was anxious that the sergeant who had refused to become an inspector should do himself justice in the last stretch of this long academic pilgrimage. ‘I expect we shall have this Belmont murder case wrapped up by then.’
‘You’ll need that time to recharge your batteries,’ said Eleanor firmly.
‘Mrs Fogarty says life’s made too easy for older students nowadays,’ said Luke, arriving unexpectedly with a bright and innocent smile.
‘Mrs Fogarty should keep her opinions on these things to herself,’ said his mother grimly. She’d met the famous Mrs Fogarty at a parents-teachers evening: an earnest young woman with small-lensed glasses on a thin nose and a mouth which did not smile much. She’d said what a bright and industrious boy Luke was and Eleanor had been overcome by maternal pride. Now she found herself contrasting young Mrs Fogarty’s education at an expensive private school with the robust teenage years of Bert Hook as a Bamardo’s boy.
‘She says older people are feather-bedded with degrees they can bite off in lumps,’ said Luke. The Hooks’ younger son had a habit of delivering ideas he did not understand with ringing authority. His mother had a secret fear that he might become a politician.
‘Dad’s looking worried again.’ Jack entered the kitchen as abruptly as his younger brother before him. He flung a protective arm around his father’s shoulders. ‘Final exams looming even closer, are they, Dad?’ he added with exaggerated sympathy.
‘I’m quietly confident,’ said Bert firmly. He felt anything but that.
It was almost a relief to arrive at the station for a Monday morning conference with his chief and Chris Rushton on the progress of the Cullis inquiry. Bert felt he’d already been up for half the day; his mood was not improved by Rushton’s mysterious air of secret satisfaction with himself. Bert had grown used to Chris being both slightly overawed by John Lambert and at the mercy of the humorous sallies of the two older men who had worked together for so long.
Rushton said briskly, ‘We have gathered a lot of information in the last five days, but we haven’t yet been able to eliminate anyone who sat at that table with Richard Cullis. Normally the use of ricin would rule out most people, but in this case everyone seems to have had access to the poison. There are two husband-and-wife pairings involved: all four of them have plausible motives. Paul Young had recently been sacked from his job at Gloucester Chemicals, seemingly at the behest of Cullis. Debbie Young was passed over for promotion when Cullis got the job of Director of Research and Development; by all accounts she took it very badly and was still very bitter about it when Cullis was killed. Neither of these things seems like a motive for murder to me, but you two have seen these people.’
Lambert nodded. ‘Debbie Young is resentful to the point of paranoia about Cullis taking what she saw as her job. Her husband says he accepted his redundancy philosophically, but he’s a great supporter of his wife. I wouldn’t rule either of them out.’
Rushton said, ‘For wh
at it’s worth, Anne knows one of the Youngs’ children. She says he’s been quite disturbed since Cullis’s death. But I suppose there could be all sorts of reasons for that. ’
Lambert smiled. ‘There could indeed. The Dimmocks had very different reasons for hating Cullis. Lucy Dimmock has confessed to what seems to have been a pretty torrid affair with Cullis. The man seems to have left a trail of disappointed women behind him: I think it’s very possible that she took the affair more seriously than he did, in which case she would be extremely bitter. Jason Dimmock is a cool customer in most things, but he was clearly very disturbed by this liaison. Both of them concealed the affair during our first interviews with them, which might be significant.’
Chris Rushton flashed up names on his computer. ‘There are two other women involved. We haven’t been able to rule out the wife yet. Alison Cullis makes no secret of the fact that their marriage was on the rocks. Divorce might not seem the natural way out for her, because she’s a Catholic. She also says that Cullis was resistant to the idea. In any case, she strikes me as a woman who might have been prepared to dispatch him rather than divorce him; she clearly felt very embittered about the way he’d treated her.’
Bert Hook spoke up as Lambert nodded to him. ‘Priscilla Godwin is the most obvious of suspects. I think all of us believe that she was raped by Cullis shortly before his death, even though the CPS refused to take it to court. Her distress and frustration no doubt made her feel tempted to murder. There would have been a degree of public sympathy for her if she’d taken her own retribution, and I’ve known women to react in that way. When we saw her, she seemed relatively calm and objective; on the night of the murder, she might have been feeling and behaving differently.’
Lambert was privately amused by his old ally’s attempts to be objective: he knew enough of Hook to divine that he didn’t think the vulnerable but resourceful Priscilla Godwin had done this. He pointed out, ‘Ms Godwin understands the situation and her position within it. She did point us towards a man whom she’d just slept with. According to her, Ben Paddon is the mole at Gloucester Chemicals. As she clearly understood, that gives him a motive we weren’t aware of until yesterday afternoon.’