“But surely ... Paula is the one to question about this.”
Lord Balmayne intervened, reaching over to lay a gentle hand on her arm. “My dear, I am sure that the Chief Inspector must have a sound reason for coming to you. What is it you are suggesting, Mrs. Maddox?”
“At this stage, nothing. However, I have cause to believe that Trent was somehow concerned in Sir Noah’s death.”
They both reacted with incredulity. Lord Balmayne said, “Can this really be true?”
“I have strong evidence to support that theory. I also have evidence that Trent was secretly involved with a woman, that indeed it was this woman who helped him remove Sir Noah’s car from the locality in order to mislead the police. It’s vital that we establish her identity, and any help you could give me would be of great value.”
“But ... but ... Paula. I just cannot believe it.”
“I do realize how distressing this must be for you, Lady Kimberley. But it’s important that you should try to dismiss your personal feelings and be quite objective. Think back. Can you remember anything ... anything, however trivial, that might point to a relationship between Trent and Mrs. Kimberley which was more than that of casual acquaintances?”
She shook her head, dazed and unhappy.
“Can you recall any specific occasions when the two of them were here together? Perhaps, for instance, when Mrs. Kimberley was present but not her husband.”
“It’s difficult to remember. Noah and I had so many people here. We loved giving parties. Aidan and Paula are usually down from London at weekends, as Aidan is so keen on polo, but sometimes his business takes him abroad and then Paula comes alone. In fact, this summer she has quite often stayed on at their cottage during the week.” Lady Kimberley frowned in concentration. “Noah usually invited Gavin Trent to our parties, out of courtesy, but he didn’t often come. However, I do recall one particular time when he and Paula were both here. It was during that last hot spell a few weeks ago and on the Saturday, after polo had finished, we had a swim party here and a poolside barbeque.”
“A swim party? I understood from Trent’s sister that he couldn’t swim. That, in fact, he hated the water.”
“You are quite right. Gavin didn’t get into swimwear like the rest of us, which made him look somewhat out of place.”
“And do you remember anything special about that occasion? Between Trent and Paula.”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Her eyes were wide with dismay at where this seemed to be leading. “It was beginning to get cool and people were leaving the pool to get changed. The men used the summerhouse, and the women came indoors. Dotty was helping Noah set up the barbeque and I went to the kitchen for the steaks. I was surprised to see Paula there with Gavin Trent. They looked startled to see me, which I assumed was due to my rather sudden appearance. Paula was still in her bikini, and she explained she had been taking the shortcut upstairs and had run into Gavin, who was just returning from a visit to the toilet. The incident went out of my mind. I’ve not thought about it since, until this moment.”
“Looking back,” said Kate, “what do you think they were doing? Just talking? Arguing? Kissing?”
“Kissing? No, I don’t think so.” Lady Kimberley closed her eyes, casting back to the scene. “They were standing close, but not touching. It’s possible they were arguing. He was certainly pink-faced, but I took that for embarrassment.”
“Why should they have felt embarrassed, if they’d just bumped into one another as she said?”
Another pause while this was considered. “You know, I think it’s possible that you are right, Mrs. Maddox, and there was something going on between them. Looking back now, with that in mind, their behaviour was certainly very odd. Extremely odd. And it was odd, too, that Gavin should have accepted the invitation to that party in the first place. Noah was surprised, I remember, because Gavin knew very well that most people would be swimming.” Her glance sharpened. “If what you suppose is true, then ... what does it mean?”
Lord Balmayne emerged from a long silence. “This may sound an outrageous suggestion, Chief Inspector, but is it possible that Aidan killed Trent? After discovering about Paula’s affair with him, I mean.”
Kate was astonished by his quick perspicacity. “It’s a possibility I am considering, sir.”
Against a protesting gasp from Lady Kimberley, he continued, “There is something I should reveal at this stage.” He glanced at Vanessa almost apologetically. “You will be surprised by what I am about to say, my dear. But what I did, I did for your sake.” He turned back to Kate. “On Sunday morning, Aidan Kimberley telephoned me at my home to ask if he could come to see me on a matter he described as very private and confidential. When he arrived he explained that he was in a difficult financial position because some speculative dealings of his had gone badly wrong, as a result of which he was unable to meet his commitments. He urgently needed four hundred thousand pounds, he told me, otherwise his reputation in the City would be ruined.”
“Four hundred thousand pounds,” echoed Lady Kimberley in horror. “Gerald, my dear, you surely didn’t lend him such a large sum as that?”
He shook his head. “Aidan wasn’t asking me for a loan. He offered to sell me his fifty per cent holding in Croptech for that amount, which, of course, I realized was a bargain price for the firm, even without Noah at the helm. He needed the money immediately, he explained, which meant that he couldn’t offer the shares to you. With Noah’s estate yet to be settled, he knew that you would never be able to raise a sum of that size at short notice. But he believed, rightly, that I could be induced to buy the shares, out of friendship for you. You see, my dear, I envisaged that you could buy them from me at a later date, if you so wished. Or, if not, that we could together offer the entire firm to someone who was looking for outright control. Aidan’s suggestion seemed mutually advantageous; he needed secrecy, and I wished to avoid half of Croptech’s shares falling into the hands of a stranger.”
Kate’s brain was dovetailing this piece of news with previously known facts. She said, “I get the impression, Lord Balmayne, that you now don’t believe Mr. Kimberley was telling you the truth.”
“I should have been suspicious at the time, Mrs. Maddox. My excuse must be that I was only too glad to be able to do something for Vanessa. But Aidan is an astute businessman, well accustomed to juggling the stock market. It is stretching credibility that he was in such dire need of four hundred thousand pounds as to be willing to offer the Croptech shares so cheaply. So I am wondering now if he saw this offer to me as a means of quickly laying his hands on a large sum of liquid cash.”
“Which he could take with him out of the country if the need to flee should arise at short notice?”
“Precisely.”
“And this Croptech deal has already been completed?”
“Oh, indeed it has. Aidan could already be in possession of the cash by this time.”
Kate had no shred of doubt left that Aidan and Paula Kimberley were implicated in the two murders. Exactly how and to what extent each was involved were details that would have to wait. The imperative thing was to stop them from leaving the country, if that was what they were planning.
“I must get back to the office without delay,” Kate said, rising to her feet. “Needless to say, it is most important that for the time being neither of you should speak of this matter to anyone else.”
“Of course,” they both agreed, and Lord Balmayne asked, “What action do you propose taking, Mrs. Maddox?”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, sir.” Which was fair enough, considering that Kate was still undecided about that very question.
She took Boulter with her to the Kimberleys’ cottage at Inchmere St. Mary. In a car behind them were a couple of uniformed men whom Kate had brought along as back-up, in case of need. Their instructions were to wait at a short distance, out of sight.
As a second home—a mere weekend retreat—the cottage was the s
ort of property to tempt an estate agent into hyperbole. Tawny Cotswold stone and gleaming white paintwork ... that glorious combination. Climbing roses festooning trellises, clipped lawns and flowerbeds brilliant with colour. Immaculate. Expensive. Secluded. Paula Kimberley’s red Porsche was parked on a paved area outside the double garage.
“Lucky sods,” Boulter grunted as they got out of the car.
“Think so, Tim?” Reaching the front door, Kate pressed the bellpush and they heard silvery chimes within. They waited. Birds twittered in the trees. The air was very still.
No answer to the doorbell. No sign of life. Kate rang again. Still no response.
“Can you hear music?” she asked.
“Faintly.” Boulter listened. “Radio?”
“Odd, if nobody’s home. Take a look round the back, Tim.”
He went off, and Kate rang a third time, then stepped back and surveyed the upper part of the cottage.
“Sounds to me as if the music’s coming from upstairs,” she said, when her sergeant returned. “There’s a window open.”
“There’s also a window open at the back. The kitchen window.” Boulter adopted a look of wide-eyed innocence. “I thought I could smell gas.”
Can’t give you marks for originality, Tim. Still, the old dodges often worked best.
“In that case, Sergeant, it’s our duty to investigate. You’d better use that open kitchen window.”
He vanished again, while Kate waited at the front door. Within sixty seconds Boulter opened it for her.
“No gas leak that I can find, ma’am,” he said. “It looks as if I was mistaken.”
“Would you believe it?”
The music was definitely coming from upstairs. They did a quick recce of the ground floor. Nothing of interest. Kate stood in the small hallway and called.
“Is anyone home? This is the police.”
No response. The music played on. A solo piano. Debussy.
“We’d better have a look,” said Kate.
The stairs did a quarter turn, ending at an oblong landing. Two doors stood half open ... bathroom, and a room with a large table strewn with sketches and samples of fabric. Paula’s workroom. The music was coming from one of the other rooms. Kate opened the door and peered inside. The master bedroom. Her eyes zeroed in on one of the twin beds, where Paula Kimberley lay under the covers. She was breathing heavily. Raspily.
“Mrs. Kimberley,” Kate called in a good loud voice.
No response. She went over to the bed and touched the woman’s shoulder. Boulter, behind her, said, “Look, guv!” and pointed to a small bottle on the bedside table with an empty tumbler beside it. Kate leaned forward and read the label. Mogadon. There was also a half full bottle of gin.
“It looks to me as if she’s deliberately OD’d,” Kate said, switching off the transistor radio. “Better call a doctor. We mustn’t take any chances.”
“Will do.” Boulter went out to the landing and Kate heard him using his personal radio.
She tried again to rouse Paula Kimberley, shaking her gently by the shoulders and speaking her name. No response. Kate went into the en-suite bathroom and damped a face flannel with cold water. Returning, she dabbed Paula’s forehead while she spoke to her again. She was rewarded at length by a slight stirring, a bleary half opening of the eyes.
Boulter reappeared at that point. “She’s beginning to come round, Tim. Did you get hold of a doctor?”
“We’re in luck. They’ve tracked one down right here in the village, and he’s coming at once.”
“That’s a relief. Mrs. Kimberley, come on, wake up. Tim, quite likely the doctor will want to give her black coffee. Get some on the go, will you? Good and strong.”
“And a cup for us?”
“Why not?”
A minute later a car drew up outside. The doctor, young and brisk, came bounding up the stairs. He’d already been told what to expect.
“Any idea how many of those she took?” he asked, with a nod at the bottle of sleeping pills.
“Unfortunately, not.”
“But as there are a few still left in the bottle, we can probably take it she wasn’t trying to finish herself off.”
He examined Paula, checking her pulse, pulling back her eyelids. “It’s the alcohol making things worse. What bloody fools some people are. She’ll be okay, though. What’s this, Sergeant, black coffee? You must be a mindreader. Come along, Mrs. Kimberley, we’ll sit you up and you can take a sip. How many of these pills did you swallow?”
Paula Kimberley responded now, but she was obviously scarcely aware of who they were.
“Just ... just a couple, I think. Aidan told me I must ... must get a few hours’ sleep. To ... to be ready ...”
Ready for what?
“Mrs. Kimberley, where is your husband?” Kate asked.
“Isn’t he here ... downstairs?”
“No, he’s nowhere around.”
“Nor’s his car, ma’am,” put in Boulter. “I took a dekko in the garage, and it’s empty.”
“But ... where can he have gone?” Paula suddenly tensed, her eyes frightened. Then she reached out and grabbed Kate by the lapels of her beige linen jacket. “Aidan will come back for me, won’t he?” she pleaded. “He will come back?”
He’s abandoned her, Kate thought. Somehow he managed to get her to take an overdose of sleeping pills, to keep her knocked out while he skipped. And Paula, in her befuddled state, was coming to realize that she’d been deserted.
Kate glanced an urgent appeal at the doctor, who nodded his consent.
“Where has your husband gone?” she demanded. “Tell me!”
The mists must have cleared from Paula’s brain, and she was beginning to get herself together.
“Why are you here?” she asked Kate in a clogged voice. “What do you want?”
Kate decided to take a chance. She wasn’t prepared to waste time going round in circles.
“Your husband has run out on you, Mrs. Kimberley. You have to accept that. So tell me where he’s gone.”
But she’d succeeded too well in getting her meaning across. Paula was shocked into silence. She looked terrified.
Kate drew Boulter to one side. “Kimberley wanted to keep his wife doped and quiet while he made his escape. As I told you, it’s clear from what Lord Balmayne said that he’d already made plans for a quick getaway, if need be. Something must have happened to scare him, and he’s scarpered. He could be on the point of leaving the country by now. But how? Where from? By the time we can set something up at all points of departure, he’ll be gone.”
The sergeant nodded gloomily.
“He’s unlikely to have booked a ticket in advance, Tim, if we’re right that he’s bolted in a panic. He’d go by air almost certainly, but how the hell can we pin down which airport, which flight? There are hundreds of planes leaving the country all the time.”
“Not so many this late in the evening,” Boulter pointed out.
“That’s right, his choice would be limited.” A stray thought suddenly crystallized in Kate’s brain. “I wonder if ... It’s a chance in a million, of course.”
“What is, guv?”
“Maybe Kimberley used the phone here before he left, to make a reservation. Worth a try.”
She ran downstairs, Boulter following. The phone was in the living room, standing on a writing table in a small alcove. Praying for a miracle, Kate picked up the handset and pushed the redial button to get automatic connection to the last number dialled. The silence seemed to stretch for an age before the purr of the ringing tone. Then a gabbled response she couldn’t catch.
“Who am I speaking to?” she asked.
It was the British Airways desk at Heathrow. Kate held down her leaping excitement as she identified herself.
“Now, listen. I need your co-operation, and I want it fast. This is urgent. Have you received a call today from a Mr. Aidan Kimberley— probably in the past few hours—to make a reservation on a flight
this evening?”
“Which destination, please?”
“Unfortunately I don’t have that information. It would be somewhere non-domestic.”
The delay seemed interminable to Kate, though to be fair the woman was reasonably quick.
“We have no record of a passenger by that name today,” she reported.
Damn! What now?
“Maybe that wasn’t the name he used. Listen, ask around among your colleagues, will you? See if anyone can remember a man who wanted to make a last-minute reservation. It’s possible that he wasn’t fussy about his destination. I think he’d be travelling alone, and it’s likely to have been just a one-way ticket. Please be as quick as you can. This is extremely urgent.”
Another agonizing delay. Then a different voice came on the line.
“I believe I may have dealt with the gentleman you’re enquiring about. A Mr. Kay.”
Gotcha, chummie! Kate flicked Boulter a thumbs-up. “That’ll be the man. Tell me about him.”
“He phoned at seven forty-five and said he had the chance of a few days’ holiday, so could I find him a flight this evening to somewhere pleasant. I booked him on the twenty-two-thirty flight to Malta. Just a one-way ticket. He said he’d probably return by a different route.”
“Thanks a lot,” said Kate. “You’ve been a terrific help.”
“Another thing. I’ve just been informed that Mr. Kay collected his ticket from the desk a few minutes ago. They’ll be boarding that flight shortly. Shall I have a call put out for him?”
“No, don’t do that. He mustn’t be alerted, whatever happens. Thanks again.”
Boulter had been using his personal radio again. He showed her the number of Special Branch at Heathrow scribbled in his notebook.
“Thanks, Tim. What would I do without you?” Kate said as she punched out the number.
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