Cold Coffin

by Nancy Buckingham

  “Yeah, sure. But I doubt if Vanessa Kimberley will ever see it. She feels very disgruntled that you seem to be doing nothing about her husband. She muttered about hiring a private detective.”

  “She might not like the answer he comes up with.”

  “Do you really believe that the old boy has hopped it with a woman?”

  “No, I don’t, as it happens. But I’m trying to keep an open mind. I’ll tell you one small thing that goes counter to the other-woman theory. Sergeant Boulter’s wife used to work at Croptech. He phoned me this morning and said that Julie was adamant that no way could Sir Noah Kimberley be regarded as a skirt chaser. She rather jumped on Tim, apparently, when he took the cynical view. Her ex-boss was always the perfect gent with the female staff, she insisted, and his longstanding devotion to Vanessa Logan was well known. They all thought it was rather sweet.”

  Richard nodded. “I looked up the Kimberley story in the Gazette’s files, to remind myself. They appear to have been a couple of real lovebirds. Still, marriages can quickly go sour—as I well know.”

  “The explanation for his taking off doesn’t have to be a sex-related thing, Richard. It could be anxiety of some kind. About health or money, for instance.”

  “Neither of which seems to apply in this case. Although ...”

  “Although, what?”

  “Lady K. did say that he seemed a bit put out by a phone call he received shortly before she set out for London. That was Friday lunch-time, prior to her charity gala in the evening. She and the housekeeper were busy with her last-minute packing when the phone rang, and her husband answered it. Afterwards, he looked a bit upset and thoughtful, she told me, but when she asked him about the call, he said it was nothing of consequence and he’d explain when she got back on Saturday. Then he went on to wish her good luck with the gala, and she dismissed it from her mind. Now, though, she’s beginning to wonder about that phone call.”

  “She still doesn’t know who it was from?” Kate asked.

  “Nope. She’s blaming herself for not pressing him to tell her. But she was probably too concerned about how her threatening sore throat would affect her performance.”

  “Sore throat? I noticed she was a bit husky when I talked to her yesterday, but I put that down to emotional strain.”

  “No, it was the real thing. Laryngitis. Apparently her throat got progressively worse during Friday afternoon and in the end there was no question of her singing. She had to back out of the gala at the last minute.”

  “Really? How strange she didn’t mention that to me. Not even to Felix on the phone this morning. I wonder why.”

  “She’s got something a lot worse on her mind now. What are you eating, Kate? Have you decided yet?”

  “Is it my turn to pick up the tab tonight?”

  “No, mine.”

  “In that case, I’ll have the filet mignon with scampi.”

  He chuckled. “Thank God for plastic money. As a matter of fact, I filled in my afternoon by doing a spot of sleuthing on Lady Kimberley’s behalf—with her full permission, before you start in on me.”

  “Oh? Like what?”

  “Like talking to various people who work at Croptech. Lady K. had already spoken to most of them on the phone. She was desperate, and rang everybody she could think of.”

  Kate laid aside her menu and gave Richard her full attention. “What did you discover?”

  “Nothing very helpful, I’m afraid. But I know a whole lot more about Croptech than I did.”

  “Okay. I suppose you might as well tell me.”

  “Well, first I drove to the Croptech premises and saw the caretaker, who has a bungalow in the grounds. He’s an odd sort of chap, name of George Jessop, not at all what I’d have expected in a caretaker. Anyway, he swears that Sir Noah didn’t show up at Croptech on Friday evening. He insists he’d have known if he had. And he couldn’t suggest any reason for Kimberley’s disappearance. Next I went to see Kimberley’s secretary, a girl called Sandra English who lives with her parents at Great Bedham. I asked if she’d noticed her boss looking worried on Friday afternoon—or at any time before that. She’s a timid sort of girl and I couldn’t get much sense out of her. She was very much on the defensive and seemed to imagine that I was accusing her of something.”

  Kate grimaced. “That’s a reaction the police have to contend with all the time. Who else did you see?”

  “There are fewer staff at the firm than I’d imagined. Only about thirty-five all told. It struck me that the whole caboodle is very much dependent on Kimberley himself, and even when he takes a vacation he leaves careful instructions about what’s to be done. The chief clerk, McEvoy, is a bit of a fussy old woman. An over-precise civil-service type. I got the impression that the thought of taking any responsibility or making a decision scares him half to death. Kimberley’s nominal deputy is the senior biochemist in the laboratory. Dr. Gavin Trent. He’s a bit of a weirdo, too. Very highly strung, a bag of nerves. He lives in a remote cottage not far from Croptech, and there was no way I could get past his front door. However, it was a different matter with his next in line.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “It’s a Dr. Miller. Dr. Cheryl Miller.”

  “A woman?”

  “And how! I’d met her once before, actually, at somebody’s wedding. She’s the sort of woman that once seen a man doesn’t forget. Not young, fortyish, and a real looker. Very sexy.”

  Kate felt slightly miffed. “Are you talking generally, or personally?”

  “Sexy is sexy. Cheryl Miller is very passionate on the subject of feminism, and very articulate with it. She had some hard words to say about Kimberley’s attitude to women and their capabilities.”

  “Could be that she has a point,” Kate put in dryly. “Did she tell you anything else about him?”

  “She had no theory to explain his disappearance—nor did she seem to care a lot. A bit of a hard bitch is putting it mildly. From her I learned that there’s a nephew of Kimberley’s in the picture. It seems that Croptech was started by Sir Noah’s father, who left it to his two sons on a fifty-fifty basis, and the nephew inherited his father’s share. Name of Aidan Kimberley. But he’s making a killing in London as a financial consultant and he’s not interested in Croptech except for the profits. He has a weekend home near here, at Inchmere St. Mary, but he’s been abroad for the past month. Due back tomorrow from Hong Kong, I gather. His wife has been around, though, but Lady K. couldn’t get her on the phone until last evening. She failed to rush round offering solace and support as Lady K. obviously expected, but muttered something vague about having to get back to London first thing in the morning.”

  “Charming!”

  “Actually, I tried to contact her myself a couple of times this afternoon at her London number, thinking that maybe she could tell me more about Sir Noah than she was willing to tell Lady Kimberley. But there was no answer.”

  “Anyone else you talked to?”

  “One or two. Having started probing into the mystery, I thought I might as well stick at it. But as I told you, no one came up with any viable suggestions as to why Kimberley should have gone missing.”

  Kate could feel her own interest rising and firmly put a damper on it.

  “It’s all very peculiar, Richard, but like I said, there’s nothing to justify police attention.” She picked up her menu again, and frowned. “I’ve gone off the idea of having a steak. I’ll try something lighter. Poached salmon, perhaps.”

  “You are concerned about Kimberley, aren’t you, Kate?”

  “Of course I’m concerned. I’d be damned unfeeling not to be. That poor woman must be going through hell at the moment. Unless ...”

  “Unless what?”

  For God’s sake, Kate Maddox, must you always dig for dirt? But like it or not, her thoughts raced on remorselessly.

  “I’ve met Vanessa Kimberley a couple of times now,” she said slowly. “Once at a cocktail party a few weeks ago, and then at
polo yesterday. Both times she gave me the impression of putting on a big performance. I suppose it’s in the blood, after all those years on the operatic stage. Every word and every gesture she makes is a lot larger than life. It’s probably that she just can’t help herself.”

  “Or?”

  “Or ... your guess is as good as mine. I just got the feeling that things aren’t quite as she’d have us believe. But I’m not going to let this business spoil my sleep. There’s no case for me here, Richard, and no story for you.”

  He eyed her shrewdly. “Is there going to be, d’you think?”

  “How the hell should I know? I’m not clairvoyant. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

  They didn’t, as it turned out, have all that long to wait.

  Chapter Two

  Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday chanced to be quiet days for Kate, while the spell of hot weather continued. Needing to escape from deskwork in her stuffy office at DHQ, she dredged up reasons to visit some of the division’s outlying police stations. At least it gave her the chance to get better acquainted with her CID personnel, some of whom she’d hardly more than met as yet. Since her promotion to Chief Inspector and her transfer to the Cotswold Division of the South Midlands force, a heavy workload had kept her under constant pressure. But at last she felt she had time to breathe. As she drove through the Cotswold countryside in her silver Montego, a summer haze lay over the landscape, muting colours and softening the outlines of the hills. Life could be a whole lot worse, Kate, all said and done.

  Dreamtime ended abruptly not long after she arrived for work on Thursday morning. The report of a suspicious death came in. The body of a man had been found in the woods near Little Bedham on land adjoining the Croptech site. Not Sir Noah Kimberley, though, which scotched Kate’s immediate thought. The man had been recognized by one of the attending police officers as Dr. Gavin Trent, a senior scientist at Croptech. Sir Noah’s deputy, Kate remembered Richard telling her. Very highly strung, a bag of nerves. Maybe, the thought crossed her mind, he had good reason to be nervous.

  On a sudden decision Kate reached for the phone and asked for Sergeant Boulter at the Chipping Bassett station.

  “Heard about this man Trent, Tim?” she asked.

  “Just this minute, guv. Looks a bit peculiar, doesn’t it, what with the bossman having skedaddled the other day?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m thinking, so I’d like us to be in on this from the start. Get to the scene right away, will you, and I’ll meet you there. Is there a wife to be informed?”

  “No, he wasn’t married. He was known as a real loner. Lived by himself in a cottage about half a mile from where the body was found.”

  “Better get someone onto tracing his next of kin, then.”

  Fourteen miles in nineteen minutes. No delighting in the glorious Cotswold landscape this time. At Little Bedham, a short distance along a lost lane that meandered through beechwoods, Kate came across a uniformed officer standing guard by a gated entrance to a woodland track.

  “Morning, Constable. Is Sergeant Boulter here yet?”

  “Arrived a few minutes ago, ma’am.” He swung back the five-barred gate for her. “If you’ll just follow the track. It’s not too rough.”

  She bumped her car a further hundred yards and came to a clearing where two other police cars were drawn up. Sitting in the back of one of them were a young man and a girl. Their faces looked shocked and pale.

  “Who’re they?” she enquired of another uniformed PC.

  “They found the body, ma’am. Honeymooners, I gather, staying at the Unicorn Inn. They were out for a morning stroll through the woods, and ...”

  Kate walked over and gave them a sympathetic smile through the car’s open window.

  “I’m Detective Chief Inspector Maddox. I just want to go and take a look at things, then we’ll have a chat. I won’t keep you any longer than I have to.”

  The dead man lay on the bank of a small pond that was ringed with saplings of oak and ash. The clothing—jeans and a thick-knit sweater— was sodden. Sergeant Boulter was crouched down on his haunches, examining the body but not touching it. He straightened at Kate’s approach.

  “Well, Tim?”

  “Drowned is my guess, guv. But the thing that makes it fishy is that when he was found by that young couple he’d already been dragged clear of the water.”

  “Can we be sure that he didn’t struggle out himself, and then collapse?”

  “No way. You can see signs here that he was dragged out as a dead weight.”

  “You’re right, Tim. The clothing is only just beginning to dry, so it must have happened quite recently. And look there, a footprint that’s still damp. It could have been made by the young man who found the body, of course. Did you happen to notice if he’s wearing boots?”

  “Trainers, I’m pretty sure.”

  “Then the footprint was made by our mystery man. We’d better protect it.” Kate unzipped her shoulderbag and took from it a silk scarf, which she spread out over the damp marks left by patterned ridges from the sole of a man-size boot. “I wonder who he was, Tim?”

  “A mugger who killed Trent for his money?”

  “But his wallet is still on him. Would a mugger have bothered to put it back? Let’s have it out and take a look.”

  Boulter removed the wallet from the dead man’s hip pocket, touching only one corner. It contained several banknotes, a driving licence and a couple of credit cards.

  “Not a mugger, then,” said Kate. “Whoever pulled him out, why did they just leave him without informing us? Was it someone passing by who didn’t want to get involved with the police? Or is the explanation more sinister?”

  “Ah, the doc’s arrived,” said Boulter, looking up. “He might be able to tell us something useful.”

  Kate pulled a face. “Not if he can help it, he won’t.”

  The police surgeon and the Detective Chief Inspector were not sympatico. Short, self-important male; tall, self-confident female. Neither missed a chance, within the bounds of protocol, to score off the other.

  “Good morning, Dr. Meddowes,” Kate said heartily as he walked up to them a minute later.

  “Oh, it’s you!” He gave her a sour look. “Rather a come-down for you, Chief Inspector, to be attending a simple accident case.”

  “Accident?”

  “That’s what I was told.”

  “We have a dead man, doctor. At least, I imagine your expert findings will confirm the fact that he’s dead. The precise cause of death is something we still have to establish.”

  “What do you suspect?”

  “Oh, I shall keep an open mind and allow the evidence to speak for itself.”

  No reply to that. Chalk up one point, Kate.

  The doctor put his findings succinctly; reluctant to help the jumped-up female, but too professionally honest to hold back from saying anything that he believed was pertinent.

  “Dead. Cause of death., drowning. He was in the water for some hours, judging from the wrinkling of the skin on his hands. Probably overnight.”

  “Really?” queried Kate in surprise. “But it’s obvious he’s only been out of the water a short while.”

  The doctor shrugged. “Didn’t whoever found him pull him out?”

  “Not so. He was found exactly like this.”

  “Hmm? I note there are some abrasions and slight bruising on the back of his neck.” He tugged down the neckband of the sweater for her to see better. “I wonder how they got there.”

  Situated where they were, it was difficult to believe the injuries had been accidentally sustained. Kate felt a sharpening of her senses, a conviction that this was a case of unlawful killing.

  “As if,” she hazarded, “he was knocked on the head and thrown into the water?”

  “Isn’t that a matter for you to decide, Chief Inspector? Or are you elevating me to the CID?”

  Okay, that evens the score, Kate. She gave Boulter a glare for daring to grin
.

  When Dr. Meddowes had departed, Kate took another look at the body. Gavin Trent had been a thin, lanky man, aged somewhere around forty. His hair, now darkened by the water, would be a greying mid-brown and had begun to recede. A small moustache had been grown to conceal, she guessed, his weak mouth.

  “This is where he was pulled out, Tim, but not necessarily where he went in. There’s a bit of current flowing through this pond, so the body could have drifted. Let’s have a look around.”

  Kate beckoned forward a uniformed PC to stand guard over the body. Then she and Boulter skirted the edge of the pond, examining the ground, taking care not to trample on any possible evidence. Slightly more than halfway round they came to a spot where there were signs of the grass and bracken having been trampled upon recently. Nowhere else around the perimeter was there any kind of disturbance.

  “It looks as if this is the place, Tim,” she said, returning to the spot. “But nothing suggests that a violent struggle took place here. So was he hit over the head and thrown in unconscious? Or ... it might even be possible that ...”

  Boulter cocked an enquiring eye. He’d learned by now to treat his chief’s sudden darts of inspiration seriously.

  “Let’s try this for size,” Kate said. “Trent walked to this spot voluntarily —or perhaps under threat—then he was taken by surprise and pushed in. When he began to thrash about and no doubt make a lot of noise, his attacker prodded him from the bank with something and held his head under the water. That could account for the scratches and bruising on his neck.”

  “You’d think he could have fought back, though, or just swam out of reach?”

  “Suppose the water here is deep and he couldn’t swim. A nonswimmer would flounder in panic. Check out both those points, Tim.”