Cold Coffin

by Nancy Buckingham

  “He had a lady friend? I see. Do you happen to know who she was?”

  “Had no way of knowing, did I? He never so much as breathed a word about her, and it wasn’t my place to ask.”

  “So how did you know she existed?”

  The scornful glance demanded, You ask me that, and you a woman! “I’ve got eyes, haven’t I? And a nose. You can’t miss perfume. Expensive perfume, too. It lingers. And two glasses on the table next morning. And that’s not all, neither.”

  “What else, Mrs. Parkes?”

  “Bed, that’s what. When there’s been a woman in a man’s bed, her as comes to make it next morning can’t help knowing. Oh, yes!”

  Kate let an impressed moment go by. “Was this a regular occurrence? Was she there often?”

  “Well, I couldn’t really say that. I only went a couple of mornings a week.”

  “When was the first time you noticed anything?”

  She scratched her head inelegantly. “Sometime beginning of May, it must’ve been. I remember it clear as anything. The minute I walked in that day, I thought to myself, Hallo, hallo, what’s been going on here then? And when I was upstairs hoovering I found a lipstick under the bed.”

  “You haven’t still got it, I suppose?”

  “Course not! I’m not a thief. I don’t take what’s not mine.”

  You were too eager there, Kate. Backtrack.

  “I didn’t mean to suggest that for a minute, Mrs. Parkes. It’s just that it would have been useful if you’d put that lipstick safely away somewhere. It’s hoping too much, I suppose, that you might be able to remember which brand it was? Or even which colour?”

  “It was one of them fancy ones. I tried a smear on myself but it never suited my complexion. Too vivid, a real bright scarlet. I always use English Rose.”

  “So what did you do with it?”

  “I put it out where Dr. Trent would see it. I wondered what he’d think, knowing that I knew.”

  “Did he make any comment to you when you next saw him?”

  “It was that very same day, as a matter of fact. Dr. Trent came home lunchtime, which was very unusual. He was ever so jolly for once, in a real happy sort of mood. Then when he spotted the lipstick—I’d put it on the table downstairs—he went bright pink and slipped it in his pocket quick. Not a word to me about it. Well, he needn’t have been so embarrassed. I’m not narrow-minded.”

  “Is there anything more you can tell me, Mrs. Parkes? Have a good ponder about it. You might be able to come up with some hint which will enable me to trace this woman.”

  Her eyes widened. “Do you think that she ...”

  “Whoever she is,” said Kate, “I think she might be able to help us discover why Dr. Trent was killed.”

  Joan Parkes, she could see, would dearly have loved to produce the essential clue that led to the solution of the double murder. She would fancy herself as the vital witness for the prosecution who couldn’t be shaken under intense cross-examination.

  “I don’t know as there’s anything more I can tell you,” she said regretfully. “I only wish I could. But there it is.”

  There it was. Tantalizing. Definitely a step forward, but how big a step?

  * * * *

  By no stretch of imagination could Kate see Lady Kimberley as the woman involved with Trent. All the same, in view of Richard’s revelation the previous evening, there were questions about her that had to be answered. A sideways approach seemed the best tactic in this instance.

  She herself phoned Lord Balmayne’s house, and fortunately he was at home.

  “I wonder if I might come and see you this morning, sir?”

  “I suppose so, if you must.” He sounded cool. “I shall be setting out for Lady Kimberley’s shortly, because I’m taking her out to lunch. Perhaps we could more conveniently talk there.”

  “I would prefer to talk to you alone,” she said.

  “Really? I can’t imagine why. Oh, very well, Chief Inspector. When will you be here? I can’t wait around for long.”

  “I’ll come at once,” she promised.

  Kate easily found the house, an Edwardian mansion standing in several acres. Pitched red roofs and tile-hung gables, white-painted brickwork with louvred shutters at the windows. Nearby was a stable block (four or five horses were grazing in an adjoining paddock), garaging for several cars, and what Kate took to be an indoor swimming pool or gymnasium. Perhaps both. No doubt Lord Balmayne did a good deal of entertaining.

  Grecian columns lent extra grandness to the portico. Kate anticipated a butler or manservant in livery, or at the very least a primly starched maid. But the door was opened by a homely woman in a blue nylon overall.

  “His lordship will see you in the study,” she informed Kate. “Will you come this way, please?”

  More columns in the hall, with gilded capitals, intricate cornices and a moulded ceiling. The stairway made an elegant double curve. Rich oriental carpets muffled footsteps. Kate followed the woman along a wide corridor until she stopped at one of the many panelled doors, tapped and entered.

  “Detective Chief Inspector Maddox to see you, sir.”

  Lord Balmayne rose from behind a desk of Dutch marquetry, set before the high window. He was impeccably dressed—when would he not be?

  “Come in, Chief Inspector.” There was no welcome in his voice, but he was a man who believed in good manners. “Please sit down. May I offer you some refreshment? Coffee, perhaps?”

  “I think not, sir, thank you.”

  With a small wave of his hand, the woman was dismissed.

  “Am I to take it,” he enquired, reseating himself at the desk, “that your presence here indicates a development in the case?”

  “There have been several developments.”

  “Really?” A pause. “Does this mean that you are near a solution?”

  “How near remains to be seen. I want to speak to you further about the events of the evening when Sir Noah Kimberley disappeared.”

  His lips pressed together in disapproval. “My man in London has informed me that an officer of yours was sent to interview him on this subject yesterday. Was that really necessary?”

  “I’ve already explained to you that in an investigation into a serious crime such as this, we are obliged to check and recheck every statement made to us, no matter from whom.”

  He sighed and made a gesture of resignation. “If you say so. What is it this time?”

  “I want to be quite certain in my mind of the reason for Lady Kimberley’s non-appearance at your gala that evening.”

  “You can be quite certain. You have been given the reason.”

  “It has been suggested to me,” Kate persisted in an even voice, “that the throat infection to which both you and Lady Kimberley referred was in fact no more than a diplomatic excuse to account for her non-appearance.”

  Lord Balmayne sprang from his chair and glared down at her, red in the face. Kate held his gaze steadily, anxious to avoid a confrontation if that were possible.

  “This is monstrous,” he protested. “Who dared to suggest such a thing?”

  “I’m not at liberty to reveal my sources, sir.”

  He swung his back to her, staring out through the window as if fighting to control his anger. When he turned back, Kate saw that the battle had been lost. He was still furious. His eyes burned and his voice was harsh.

  “You pick up a malicious rumour and immediately seize upon it as grounds for accusation. I will not tolerate this kind of treatment, Chief Inspector. I shall complain to the Home Secretary about it.”

  “You must do as you think fit, Lord Balmayne. But I cannot permit your unco-operative attitude to prevent me from performing what I see as my proper function.”

  For moments longer he remained standing, his mouth working. Then he reseated himself and challenged Kate with a penetrating gaze.

  “What are you seeking to prove with these questions?”

  “I am not seeking to prove
anything,” she said in a mild tone. “I am trying to establish the truth. A number of people are involved in this case, due to their connections with the two victims, and I am required to investigate all of them fully. Lady Kimberley, as the spouse of one of the deceased, is inevitably among that number. And you also, sir, as a close friend of the Kimberleys. If you are innocent, then I appeal to you to give me frank answers.”

  She allowed him a moment, noting the strain on his distinguished features. At length he said in a tired voice, “Lady Kimberley had nothing to do with the death of her husband. Neither did I. If you persist any further with this line of enquiry, you will be doing a great disservice to a fine artist and a remarkable woman. She is entirely innocent. Please leave it there.”

  “I cannot leave it there, Lord Balmayne. You must be able to see that.”

  He sighed heavily, looking beyond her from side to side as if seeking a solution there. When he spoke again, his voice was subdued. “It seems I have no option but to tell you something that I would much prefer not to speak about. I trust it can remain confidential?”

  “That will depend, sir. I can’t make any promises.”

  He nodded his head slowly. “As you probably know, Lady Kimberley and I have been close friends for many years, both professionally and personally. Some three or four years ago she confided in me that she feared she was losing her voice. The thought was terrifying to her, as it would be to any great singer. I, too, had suspected a lack of certainty in her approach to the higher notes, and I knew that her professional reputation was in jeopardy. If she continued to sing the demanding operatic roles for which she was famous, there was a danger that the vocal weakness would soon be spotted by the critics and aficionados. I arranged for her to see a throat specialist, but sadly he could suggest no remedy. A second leading specialist was of the same opinion. The voice is a very delicate instrument, Chief Inspector. It is subject not only to the afflictions of human tissue, but to all kinds of emotional stresses. My advice to Vanessa, in view of what she faced, was that she should retire from the professional stage while still at the peak of her success. A happy solution lay at hand. Noah Kimberley had been beseeching her to marry him for years. She finally accepted him, and—”

  Kate interrupted. “I’d like to be clear on this point. Was Sir Noah aware of Dame Vanessa’s anxieties about her failing voice? Or was he kept in the dark?”

  “She ... we both, felt it better that Noah should not be told.” Lord Balmayne’s expression was defensive. “It was a good marriage.”

  Good marriage or not, it was a strange situation when a lover of long standing urged his beloved into marriage with another man. The faintest hint of challenge was in Kate’s voice as she asked, “There was no question, then, that you might marry her yourself?”

  Lord Balmayne looked surprised. Affronted. Then he allowed his shoulders to relax as he made a shrugging gesture with his long-fingered hands.

  “You are well informed, I see. The answer to that, I suppose, is that I am not a man for whom the state of matrimony holds any attractions. I would regard it as an intolerable intrusion into my freedom. Which is not to say I have anything but the highest affection and regard for the lady in question.”

  Kate considered a moment, then plunged in, “May I be totally frank, sir?”

  He gave her a pale smile. “I doubt you’ll be anything else, with or without my permission.”

  “After Dame Vanessa’s marriage, did your former relationship with her continue?”

  His lips tightened. “We remained close friends, certainly, but I am an honourable man, Chief Inspector, despite what you may be thinking. Once Vanessa became the wife of Noah Kimberley, for whom I have always had the warmest regard, there was never anything intimate between us.”

  “And now that Sir Noah is dead?”

  He looked shocked. “I am sure the thought has not occurred to Vanessa, any more than it has to me.”

  But had, Kate wondered, he been shocked enough? She’d made a pretty outrageous suggestion, yet he remained in almost perfect control of himself.

  “Perhaps, sir, we could go back to the matter of Lady Kimberley’s throat infection on the evening of the gala.”

  He took a measure of time before he responded. Then he spoke slowly, calculating his words.

  “Since Vanessa’s retirement from the stage, she has performed on a number of occasions, mostly at charitable events which I myself organized. Each time she has been somewhat nervous, but her professionalism always conquered her fears. Whenever she performed she was invariably acclaimed with great enthusiasm, which naturally Vanessa found very heartwarming. She is an artist who has always been much loved by the public, you know. However, before this last gala her anxiety was worse than on any previous occasion.”

  “This was before she set out for London?”

  “Indeed, yes. Several days beforehand. That was why she persuaded Noah not to accompany her. She couldn’t bear the thought of making a spectacle of herself in his presence.”

  “What reason did she give her husband?”

  “Something vague, I imagine. Obviously, Noah wasn’t happy about it. She admitted that to me.”

  “I see. Please continue, Lord Balmayne.”

  “During the afternoon rehearsal at the theatre she was in an acute state of nerves. There was little real singing expected of her in the run-through and her near-panic passed unnoticed—at least, I trust so. But later, when we went back to my house for her to rest and have some tea, it became obvious to me that she could not possibly appear that evening without risk of a complete breakdown. It was I who suggested the pretence of a throat infection to explain her non-appearance. There, now you have it, the whole unhappy story.”

  A story that matched what Richard had told her about Vanessa Logan’s failing voice. Kate found it a plausible explanation for the oddities and inconsistencies in the various statements made to the police, which had caused her to suspect that something was being concealed. But it still didn’t put these two in the clear; by Lord Balmayne’s own admission they had conspired to deceive her husband in the past. Might they not have conspired against him again? On that fateful evening they could have left Lord Balmayne’s house in London and driven to the Cotswolds and killed Noah Kimberley. Their alibi for that night was dependent on the word of a manservant who had worked for Lord Balmayne for many years, and was perhaps ready and willing to lie for his master.

  The time might come, she thought, when additional pressure would need to be applied to Jefferies to see if he would break.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Chief Inspector’s briefing to Boulter had been succinct. She’d told him what she wanted him to do, but not how to go about it. This was a challenge which called for a pint of real ale and a lasagne and chips at the Half Moon to set his thought processes going. Well stoked, the sergeant made a phone call then drove to the Croptech premises. At the laboratory building he told a white-coated porter who was wheeling a trolley loaded with plastic containers of some kind of fluid that he’d like to speak to Mr. Barlow.

  When Roger Barlow appeared a minute later there was a surly expression on his good-looking face. “What do you want this time?”

  “Just a few words, Mr. Barlow. Er ... could we go somewhere private?”

  “Sure thing, we’ll go along to my personal private office.”

  Boulter let the sarcasm pass without comment. “How about taking a little stroll outside?” he suggested.

  With a shrug, Barlow led the way back along the corridor. On the gravelled driveway the two men started pacing side by side.

  “Chief Inspector Maddox,” Boulter began, “is unhappy about the lack of corroboration of your movements on the two evenings when first Sir Noah Kimberley and then Dr. Trent were murdered.”

  “I’ve told you where I was those evenings. What more d’you expect?”

  “You could rack your brains to think of something more positive to give us.”

  “I�
�ve already racked my brains,” he muttered.

  “Sometimes it’s a help to reassemble events step by step. Suppose for starters we go through that Wednesday evening from the time you returned from Oxford and arrived at the Cricketers’ Arms in Boscombe. Did you go up to the bar first?”

  Barlow pondered a moment. “No, we didn’t. They have waitress service there in the evenings. We found a place to sit, and ordered drinks.”

  “What was it you had to drink?”

  “A pint of bitter. And Sandra had a glass of white wine.”

  “Where were you sitting?”

  Again a pause for thought. “At one of the tables by those windows that overlook the village green.”

  “You had something to eat, too, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, that’s right. Spaghetti bolognese.”

  “Did you tip the waitress?”

  Barlow gave him a blank stare. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “She might remember you through that and be able to confirm your story. For instance, she’d have you down as a right mean bastard if you hadn’t given her a tip.”

  “Well, I did. I remember now. Fifty pee, I gave her.”

  The sergeant smiled at him. “There you are, you’re beginning to remember. The grub’s not bad at the Cricketers’, is it? In fact, it’s a pretty decent pub all round. A good atmosphere to take a girl to. Mind you, though, it must’ve been pretty rowdy when that drunk climbed over the bar and started throwing bottles. At the busiest time of the evening, too ... just before ten o’clock. It took three of our chaps to subdue him.”

  Barlow came to an abrupt halt in his walking. Then, recollecting himself, he started pacing on once more.

  “To tell the truth, Sandra and I were ... well, not really bothering about what was happening around us.”

  “Understandable! But you’d never have missed a fracas like that, not from where you were sitting.”

  “Oh yes, well, we did notice there was something going on. A bit of a fight. But we kept well out of it.”

  “A fight? At the Cricketers’ on Wednesday evening? Nothing the police heard about. There was no trouble reported at all.”