Blood Sinister

by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles

  ‘What was Phoebe doing?’

  ‘Heaven knows. She was off somewhere, protesting about something,’ he said, throwaway. ‘None of us saw her for years. She just dropped out of our lives. Meanwhile, Josh shot up the career ladder and Noni got nowhere. I think that was one of the reasons she got pregnant in the end. Having babies gave her an excuse not to be chasing parts and not getting them.’

  He looked thoughtful, as if something had occurred to him. Slider waited to see if it would come out, and then said, ‘So when did Phoebe reappear in your lives?’

  ‘That must have been in 1973 – the anti-Pinochet protests, was it? She was lobbying MPs when Josh bumped into her and invited her home, and the three of them more or less took up where they left off. Except that Phoebe was still living a sort of nomadic life, going wherever there was a cause, all her belongings in one rucksack, sleeping on people’s sofas – just like a student.’ He seemed not to approve of this behaviour. ‘She didn’t get herself a flat until 1985, after the miners’ strike collapsed and she decided to settle in London.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘You see how dear Phoebe’s entire life has been shaped by political events?’

  ‘I see,’ Slider confirmed. It was like watching one of those ‘The Way We Were’ movies. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Not much more to tell. Toby was born in 1976 and Emma in ’78, so Noni had the perfect excuse to stay home until 1983 when Emma started school. Then Phoebe persuaded her to try and restart her career. Josh by that time had quite a lot of influence and she got parts all right, but she never really broke through, poor thing. Then in 1990, Phoebe won the Palgabria, and Noni got pregnant again.’

  ‘You think there may have been some connection?’ Atherton put in.

  ‘Mm, well,’ said Piers, ‘perhaps I shouldn’t say it, but I did have a very naughty thought. It did occur to me to wonder whether she hadn’t been a teensy bit jealous of Phoebe from time to time. But it’s silly, really,’ he dismissed the idea with a wave of the hand. ‘Noni would have hated the life Phoebe led, and she was never interested in politics. She was just born for wife-and-motherhood. The last pregnancy turned out badly, though. Poor thing, she miscarried, and because she was over forty by then she blamed herself, though I think the quacks said that was nothing to do with it, it was just bad luck. Anyway, she went into a fearful depression: she was just a wreck for years, until Phoebe encouraged her to pull herself out of it. So she tried again with her career, and she seemed to be doing all right in a quiet way, until she did that dreadful sitcom and had a spectacular flop. Then she just gave up – and who can blame her?’

  ‘So, when was she a dancer?’ Atherton asked.

  ‘A dancer?’

  ‘She told me she used to be a ballet dancer.’

  Piers shook his head. ‘No, you must be mistaken.’

  ‘She said she had a fall while dancing and injured her back. The trouble recurs from time to time.’

  ‘Never while I’ve known her,’ Piers said. ‘If she’s ever had a bad back she’s never complained about it. But I think she did ballet lessons when she was a child,’ he added on the thought. ‘Maybe that’s what she meant. She’s never danced professionally.’

  Slider picked up the thread again. ‘Tell me about your brother’s relationship with Phoebe Agnew,’ he said. ‘Were they more than friends?’

  ‘Much, much more,’ Piers said promptly. ‘But if you’re asking me if they were lovers, the answer’s no. Phoebe wasn’t his type.’

  ‘That’s what he said.’

  ‘There you are then,’ Piers said triumphantly, starting on his fourth malt. ‘No, what you have to understand about Josh is that these ferociously butch types really don’t like women. They need to have them around as trophies, but at heart they’re afraid of them. Noni was just right for him – the sort of fluffy, ineffectual female that he could dominate and protect. If she’d been successful at her career it might have been different – but there was no danger of that,’ he added with unconscious cruelty. ‘But he could never get the better of Phoebe. She was fully his equal. Of course, once he accepted that, he found her a better friend than any man could ever be to him, because really butch men don’t trust other men either, do they? They see them as rivals. Shocking, isn’t it?’ He twinkled again, with half an eye on Atherton. ‘The poor things are so alone. Crushing women and trumpeting at other men, stamping their feet and competing all the time. No wonder they have ulcers and heart attacks. Testosterone is not a happy bedfellow.’

  ‘Perhaps the strain of his career—’ Slider began, provoked by God-knew-what consideration into defending Prentiss to his own brother.

  ‘He was never any different,’ Piers interrupted briskly. ‘Even as a boy his idea of relaxation was to play some madly competitive sport. He was a rugger blue at UCL, did you know?’

  ‘It didn’t come up in conversation,’ Slider said drily.

  ‘I’ve often wondered about those rugger buggers.’ Piers seemed to have out-drunk any natural reserve. ‘I mean, all that sweaty grappling and rolling in the mud – what’s in it for them? Aren’t they just a teensy bit too fierce in their protestations of manliness? But never mind! I’m talking too much. All I wanted to say was that Prentiss, R. J. was always one of life’s ball clangers, right from school upwards.’

  ‘R. J.?’ Slider queried.

  ‘Joshua is his second name. He and father had the same name, so he was called Josh to distinguish him. Anyway,’ he resumed his plot, ‘that’s why Phoebe was so good for him. He could talk to her, tell her anything, discuss things with her without worrying that she’d use anything she learned against him. They fought like mad, but it was a healthy sort of quarrelling because it didn’t affect their friendship – which it would have if they’d been lovers – and it didn’t damage his career – which it would have if she’d been a man. That’s why,’ he looked full into Slider’s eyes, his own now a little too shiny, like those of a stuffed animal, ‘that’s why you’re way off beam if you think Josh had anything to do with her death. If it was me you suspected, there’d be more sense in it. When we argued, it could be nasty, as Noni will no doubt tell you.’

  ‘You didn’t like her?’ Slider suggested.

  ‘I like my women to be women and my men to be men,’ he said. ‘I don’t like these ambivalent people. In the old days you knew where you were. Now all the edges are blurred and everyone’s confused and unhappy. I blame co-education: takes away all the mystery.’

  ‘Mrs Prentiss says you had a quarrel with Phoebe at New Year, at a family dinner party. What was that about?’

  ‘You have been busy!’ he said waspishly. ‘It feels like sitting naked in a shop window, having you know all about my private life.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Slider said. ‘I’m groping about in the dark, you see, as far as this case goes, and there’s no knowing what may be important. What did you quarrel about?’

  ‘About Richard, as it happened. She wanted me to give him up.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘Oh, I suppose she was worried about Peter’s heart being broken – I don’t know. I don’t think she said why, come to think of it. I was a bit naughty, really – shouldn’t have told her. I promised Richard no-one would know. But Phoebe had a way of getting things out of you and – to be absolutely frank and honest, I was longing to tell someone. So I just let it slip ever-so-accidentally, and swore Phoebe to secrecy too, but for some reason she seemed really upset about it. I suppose she’d had too much to drink. Anyway, she lit into me and told me what I was doing with Richard was wrong and it must stop. I got annoyed with her and told her to mind her own business – I had quite a load on too – and we had a bit of a shouting match, until Noni got upset and Josh told us to shut up and asked what it was about. Well, we both felt a bit silly because we couldn’t say, could we? So we shut up. Afterwards Phoebe apologised for being a buttinski, and I said I forgave her, and that was that.’

  The dogs suddenly catapulted out of their semi-coma o
n the carpet at his feet and hurtled, barking like rapid gunfire, out towards the kitchen. There was the sound of a woman’s voice, and Piers said, ‘It’s Marjorie, my domestic treasure. Coo-ee! Marjie! In here, darling!’

  A moment later a woman appeared in the doorway. ‘I didn’t know you were still here, Piers. Oh, I see you’ve got company! Am I interrupting? Shall I vamoose?’

  She was thin and athletic-looking in tightly fitting Lycra joggers under a heavy-padded ski jacket; perfectly made-up, professionally coiffed, and with a cut-glass County accent.

  ‘No, come in and meet the chaps,’ Piers said, getting up. He introduced Slider and Atherton and said, ‘This is Marjorie Babbington, my lady who does.’

  ‘How do you do?’ The woman extended a beautifully manicured hand, noted Slider’s rather blank look and said, ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘No, not at all,’ Slider said. ‘You’re not quite what I’d been imagining, that’s all.’

  She smiled. ‘Did he portray me as old Mrs Mop? You are naughty, Piers! He’s always playing pranks.’

  Piers raised his hands. ‘I just said you were a treasure, which you are – soothing the f.b., making me all those delicious soups! Marjie, darling, can you open up the shop for me now, instead of taking the doggy-wogs out? I’ve got to talk to the chaps about Phoebe.’

  ‘Of course I can. Oh, gosh, wasn’t it awful,’ she said, turning limpid grey eyes to Slider. ‘Poor Phoebe! Have you any idea who did it?’

  ‘They suspected Josh at first,’ Piers said before Slider could answer.

  ‘Oh no, poor Josh! He was devoted to Phoebe.’

  ‘So was everyone, darling.’

  ‘I know. She was so kind. Nothing was too much trouble for her. She helped Clive and me – my husband – when our son got into trouble,’ she said earnestly. ‘He got arrested with a lot of others at a rave in a barn, and Phoebe went to a great deal of trouble to see the right people and make sure he wasn’t charged, because it could have ruined his chances of Oxford. I mean, he hadn’t done anything, you know,’ she added quickly, ‘but some of the others had been taking drugs and it was guilt by association. I just don’t understand how anyone could hurt someone so very kind. And you were only talking to her on Thursday, too,’ she said to Piers. ‘It’s awful to think of, isn’t it?’

  Slider felt as if he’d been hit on the head with a woolly sock. He turned to Piers. ‘You spoke to her on Thursday? Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘It didn’t occur, that’s all,’ he said. ‘Is it important? I only rang her to talk about Peter coming to see me. I wanted to ask her what sort of mood he was in. I told Marjie about it, didn’t I, darling?’

  She nodded. ‘On Friday, when I was cleaning the kitchen.’

  ‘What time did you ring her?’

  ‘I don’t know, really. About eight, half past, I didn’t really notice. I’d been pottering about, thinking about Peter coming and wondering if there was going to be a scene, and then I thought he was bound to have talked to Phoebe about it so I gave her a tinkle. But she said she had someone with her and couldn’t talk, so I said it didn’t matter, and that was that.’

  ‘Did she say who was with her?’ Atherton asked. His suppressed emotion showed in his voice, and Marjorie looked at him enquiringly.

  ‘No. She just said, “Look, Piers, I’ve got someone with me. I can’t talk now. Can it wait?” And I said, “Don’t worry, it wasn’t anything important”, and that was that.’

  ‘How did she sound?’ Slider asked.

  ‘Well, a bit unwelcoming,’ Piers said. ‘Not happy to hear one’s dulcet tones. And, if you want the honest, honest truth, a bit drunk maybe. I thought at first when she answered the phone that I’d woken her up, and then I realised it was probably Bacchus rather than Morpheus. She really had become a frightful toper in the past couple of months.’

  ‘Please, think hard,’ Slider said. ‘Try to pinpoint the time more closely.’

  ‘Oh dear, I can’t. I just don’t know,’ he said, still not seeming to sense the urgency. But Marjorie Babbington’s large eyes came round like car headlamps.

  ‘It’ll be on his phone bill, won’t it? The itemised calls?’ She looked at Piers. ‘Your bill came yesterday, didn’t it? I noticed the envelope when I picked up your mail from the mat.’

  ‘How long were you on the phone?’ Slider asked.

  ‘Only a couple of minutes,’ Piers said.

  ‘Then it probably won’t show,’ Slider said. ‘But it will have been logged by BT computer. We can find out.’

  Now at last the penny dropped. ‘But if it had been Josh with her, she’d have said so,’ Piers said. ‘Oh, my God!’ His eyes widened. ‘You think it could have been the murderer? Was I actually talking to her while the murderer was there?’

  ‘It’s a possibility,’ said Slider.

  They drove in silence for a while. ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ Slider asked at last.

  ‘Were you thinking that there’s never been a recording of the Dvorˇa´k symphonies to equal the Kertesz-LSO series of the late sixties?’ Atherton said.

  ‘No,’ said Slider.

  ‘Neither was I,’ said Atherton.

  Slider looked sideways at him. ‘Is it my imagination or are you getting weirder? What I was thinking was if this phone call puts Agnew alive after, say, eight-thirty, it puts Josh Prentiss in the clear.’

  ‘If you believe Maria Colehern. And if she really did notice the time he arrived.’

  ‘Hollis believed her. But we’ll lean on her a bit and see if she creaks. And try and get some outside confirmation of what time Prentiss arrived. Someone may have seen him.’ There had been no point in wasting manpower on that before, when they had no definite time of death. ‘If only this idiot had told us sooner that he spoke to Agnew on Thursday night, we could have done the asking while memories were fresh.’

  ‘He is an idiot,’ Atherton agreed. ‘Stupid enough to invent a phone call that never happened, to get his brother out of trouble.’

  Slider shook his head. ‘The Marjorie woman agreed that he told her about the phone call on Friday. If he’d made it up to protect his brother, he’d have told us then.’

  ‘He could have been waiting to see if it was needed.’

  ‘Do you really see him as that cunning?’

  ‘No, you’re right,’ said Atherton. ‘He’s educated, well-bred, but basically a clot.’

  ‘I think the call will prove to be pukka,’ said Slider. ‘It remains to be seen what time it was. If it lets Josh out, it also clears Piers – I wish his name didn’t rhyme with so much – and Peter Medmenham, since he couldn’t have caught the 9.02 at Liverpool Street if he was murdering Agnew after half past eight, unless he has wings under his posh schmutter.’

  ‘So what does that leave us with?’ Atherton said restlessly. ‘McLaren’s pet theory about Michael Wordley?’

  ‘McLaren is as thick as a whale sandwich,’ Slider said, ‘but maybe he’s got a point.’

  ‘He has – it’s his head. Why would Wordley kill Agnew, the only person in the world who’s ever loved him?’ Slider told him about McLaren’s missing file motive. ‘Oh, that’s why you asked Piers if he knew what Agnew was working on.’

  ‘Yes.’ Piers hadn’t known. Slider sighed. ‘I’m not convinced about Wordley. I’m getting less convinced all the time about Prentiss.’

  ‘Despite his indisputable semen?’

  ‘Well, we know he was there, but maybe all the supper-scoffing and sex-having was nothing to do with the murder. Maybe the murderer slipped in after all the other visitors had left.’

  ‘In that case we’ll be on this until next Christmas,’ Atherton said. ‘Couldn’t we try and pin it to Giles Freeman? I’ve never liked him and there is the spare set of finger-marks to account for.’

  ‘I’ll let you go and ask for his prints,’ Slider said. ‘Tell him what you want them for, won’t you?’

  ‘Pass,’ Atherton said with a shudder. ‘No, I th
ink I’m sticking with Josh. Probably the call was while he was still there. Agnew didn’t let on to Piers who it was,’ he anticipated Slider’s question, ‘because they’d been bonking and she didn’t want anyone to know.’

  ‘And he killed her because—?’

  ‘Pick a reason,’ Atherton shrugged. ‘He’s probably always loathed her. Why not? Oh, all right, if you want me to be logical about it – his political career is just taking off and she’s going to get in the way. If she’s known him all those years she probably knows something about him he doesn’t want to get out. We just have to find out what it was. No, it’s still Prentiss for me. He’s the only one who makes sense of all the rest of it.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see,’ said Slider. ‘And then we’ll know.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Dial M for dilemma

  Porson was pacing about, shaving his craggy chin with an elderly electric razor that buzzed feebly, like a fly on its back, as if it was barely up to the challenge.

  ‘Where have you got with Prentiss? I’ve got to talk to the press and TV for the evening news, and it’s going to get a bit hot under the collar if we don’t find something positive to tell ’em. I’ve had Commander Wetherspoon on the dog again, and he didn’t make pleasant listening.’ He put down the razor and began struggling with the top button of his shirt. ‘Wanted to know why we haven’t charged Prentiss yet, after all the fuss we’ve made. He was more or less inferring that heads will roll if we don’t come up with a result in short order.’

  Slider hated having to do it to him. ‘I’m afraid it looks as though Prentiss is out of the frame, sir.’

  Porson did a creditable double take, and froze in the act of tightening his tie. ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve had the report from BT about the telephone call Piers Prentiss put through to Agnew on Thursday evening. It was timed from 8.43 to 8.45; Josh Prentiss arrived at Maria Colehern’s flat at 8.30.’ He saw the question in Porson’s eye and added quickly, ‘One of her neighbours saw him going in and confirms the time. A good witness. I don’t think there’s any doubt that when he left Agnew she was still alive.’