Her look was suspicious. “It’s not a question of holding hands. It’s simply that I don’t want to lose momentum over the weekend. I’ve also got a nasty feeling in the pit of my stomach about this Richard Harris fellow. I shan’t feel comfortable about him until I’ve run him to earth.”
“Well, whatever you do, I’ve set myself the task of being your chauffeur and your minder.” He spared her another brief glance. “I’m doing it for my own pleasure.”
“Thank you.” She allowed herself to unbend enough to smile at him. “At least you know your way around the area better than I do. But I warn you, my first call back at the station will be to Stafford Paulson. You may find he’s going to be around as well.”
“Oh, he’s not competition.” Julian shrugged. “Inspector Paulson is a happily married man.”
“I see.” Charlotte eyed the reporter more carefully. She had assumed until now that he was acting the news reporter - trying to get more information by staying close to the police. But now she was suddenly aware that he was interested in her. That required a bit of a rethink. She wasn’t quite sure that she was ready for any sort of personal involvement with another man just over a week after Mitch had walked out of her life.
* * * * * * * *
After a phone call from the station, Julian Brace drove her round to the Hillman residence and waited outside while she went in to interview Annie Stapleton. The cook nodded, hen-like, several times as she let DCI Faraday in at the front door.
“It’s lucky you caught me,” she said. “I was just about to go when you rang.”
“I didn’t expect you to be here,” confessed Charlotte. “I didn’t know you worked on Saturdays.”
“I’ve done a few hours for him most Saturdays since Mrs Hillman died.” The cook put her head on one side and regarded the detective through her bright black eyes. “Are you sure it’s me you want to speak to and not Mr Hillman?”
“It certainly is.” She smiled. “It was a great relief, I can tell you, when you picked up the phone and I heard your voice. I expected to find myself speaking to Mr Hillman and having to get your address from him, and then finding that you were out shopping or something. It could have taken me most of the day to catch up with you and I can’t really afford that much time.”
Annie blinked. “Urgent, is it?”
“I think it could be.” Charlotte took a breath. “A new line of enquiry has come up and it seemed to me that you would be just the one who could clear up a few points for me. Theoretically Mr Hillman might have known.” She smiled lop-sidedly. “But you know what these men are. They never seem to remember the little domestic details.”
“Come in to the kitchen,” said Mrs Stapleton. “I’ll make you a cup of tea and you can explain to me what it’s all about.”
Her sudden motherliness made Charlotte feel as though she had broken through Annie Stapleton’s reserve. There was a chance she might have a useful ally here. She followed her into the kitchen and perched on a stool while the kettle was filled and plugged in.
“How long have you worked for Mr Hillman?”
“Oh.” The cook paused in the middle of putting the tea-bags in the pot and gazed out of the window. “It must be the best part of ten years now. In fact,” she nodded sharply, “it’s more than that. It was ten years last April the twelth. I came here just after Easter.” She continued with her preparation of the tea.
“Have Mr and Mrs Hillman had any other people working for them during that time - in the house, I mean?”
“No. I can cope all right without any help.” She glanced at Charlotte over her shoulder. “As I said, Mr Hillman isn’t hardly ever here, and when he is he doesn’t make any mess. He washes up after breakfast and after his meal in the evening and puts all his dirty clothes in the linen basket. And he doesn’t entertain much any more. Even when Mrs Hillman was alive there wasn’t that much to do.” She put her head on one side. “She was untidy - yes - but she didn’t hardly ever eat anything worth talking about.”
“Oh, so you’ve never had any other help?” Charlotte felt disappointed. “Oh well, that’s shot down that theory in flames.”
Annie poured the spluttering water into the teapot. “Of course,” she said, “there was some useless woman who Mrs Hillman had for a while. She decided she needed a personal maid to help her with her dressing and things like that.” She tut-tutted. “I ask you - needing help with dressing in this day and age. Of course that was in the days when Mr Hillman would do anything to try and keep her happy. The woman didn’t last very long, I can tell you.”
“How long ago did this happen?”
“I don’t know.” She looked sharply round the kitchen, picking on various everyday items as though expecting them to give her inspiration. “Seven - eight years ago, I suppose - not all that long after I started here.”
“And you wouldn’t remember her name?”
“Of course I would.” Annie paused from pouring the tea to look affronted. “I never forget a name or what someone looks like. Now, money’s different Yes - I’m no good with figures of any sort. But I think I’ll be able to remember the woman’s name, if I concentrate.”
There was a breathless pause while she seemed to reminisce.
“I remember she was quite young - a funny sort of woman to be in service. She seemed more like a secretary-type really.”
“This is very important, Annie. It’s possible the name of this woman could be the key to our investigations.”
The cook held up a finger. “Wait a minute. Ah, yes. I have it.” She produced the name with pride, like a special treasure from a box of secrets. “She was called Harris - Mrs Sandra Harris. But she was perfectly useless. She and Mrs Hillman was always having rows.”
“What about?”
“I don’t know. I told you I don’t listen at doors. And Mrs Hillman didn’t confide in me.” She carried the cup of tea over and set it on the work-top beside the inspector. “And I didn’t ask her to, either. As for the girl - she didn’t like me. She knew my eyes were too sharp. She wouldn’t get away with anything when I was around.”
“What do you mean,” asked Charlotte. “Did you suspect her of stealing things?”
The cook shook her head. “I never caught her stealing - no. But I never gave her a chance, if you know what I mean.” She pulled a face. “But I wouldn’t have put it past her. A sly little thing, she was.”
“You say she didn’t last long.” Charlotte sipped her tea. “What happened to her?”
“Well, as I was saying,” said Annie, “she and Mrs Hillman were always having rows. Mind you, I don’t blame it all on the girl. Mrs H wasn’t too easy to get on with, especially after she’d been drinking. Anyway, suddenly one day the girl wasn’t here no more and, when I asked the missus why, she just told me she’d sacked her.”
“You don’t know what happened to her after that?”
“Yes I do,” said the cook, with a smug look on her face. “Mrs Hillman told me. And she was laughing up her sleeve when she found out where she went. Apparently she got taken on almost straight away by the Adams. Mr Adams used to be a friend of Mr Hillman. But I don’t think the wives ever really got on with each other. Mrs Hillman used to call Mrs Adams ‘a stuck-up bitch’, but then, I don’t think the missus was ever accepted as one of the proper Torquay set.” She nodded at Charlotte sagely. “She came from humble beginnings, you see, and sometimes it showed - especially when she’d been drinking.”
“That’s very interesting,” said Charlotte. “So Sandra Harris had been employed by Stella Parsons, Julia Hillman and Cynthia Adams.”
“Mind you, she didn’t last long at the Adams either,” snorted Annie.
“Really? What happened?” Charlotte felt a the blood running quicker in her veins. It was as though her body was telling her that she was starting to get somewhere near the truth.
The woman shrugged. “I don’t know what it was exactly, but I did hear something about her being caught pinching stuff
. Nothing serious mind, but these posh ladies don’t like to have staff who behave like that. That’s why I’ve always been very careful - never took a thing without asking permission first.” She sniffed. “Do you want another cup of tea?”
“No but thank you very much” Charlotte shook her head. “I must be going. I expect I’m keeping you from your lunch.”
“Oh.” Annie seemed surprised. “Is that all you wanted to ask?”
“Yes, it was just to find out about that woman, Sandra Harris.”
“Important is she?” asked the older woman, appearing purposely vague.
“I don’t know yet,” admitted Charlotte. “But when I fit in this bit of the puzzle with all the other pieces, I’m hoping that a better picture will emerge.” She stood up and made as if to go. “Oh, there is one last thing, Annie. You wouldn’t by any chance know who Sandra Harris worked for before she came to Mrs Hillman, would you?”
“Well, actually I would,” beamed Annie. “Of course, Mrs Hillman didn’t ask her for any references or anything like that when she came - it might have saved us all a lot of trouble if she had. But she was probably too drunk at the time.” She sighed. “Anyway, later on, when we heard she’d been sacked by Mrs Adams, Mrs H started asking a few questions around. It turned out that she’d already been sacked by her previous lady.” She shook her head. “Obviously she was a bad penny.”
“So who was that?” asked Charlotte innocently. “It wouldn’t be Joanne de Billiere, by any chance, would it?”
“Who?”
“She was the wife of a businessman called Alfred de Billiere,” she explained.
“Never heard of him. No, it wasn’t that lady.” Annie shook her head. “No. It was that actress lady - the one who had the lead in the Connaught series on the television.” She smiled at the memory. “Oh - she was so beautiful in that series. Didn’t you think so?”
Charlotte put her head on one side. “The Connaught series? I don’t think I remember it. When was that on?”
“Oh, dear.” Annie gave a vague shake of the head. “I suppose it must have been twenty years ago when I think about it. Doesn’t it make you feel old when you remember something that others can’t? Oh, but it was a beautiful series.” She smiled sentimentally and looked into the distance.
“What was the name of this actress, Annie?”
The cook looked at her in surprise. “Why - Susannah Blake. of course. Didn’t I say that?”
“Susannah Blake? I’m afraid I’ve never heard of her.” Charlotte took a breath. “Does she live in Torquay?”
“Well, she used to, my dear,” said the older woman. “It was up above Hope’s Nose somewhere - one of them big, posh, modern houses with lovely views and swimming pools in the garden.” She pulled a face. “But I don’t know if she’s still there.”
Charlotte nodded in a purposeful way. “I think that I’d better try and have a word with Susannah Blake. She may be important. I’ll be able to check where she lives on the electoral role.”
“Of course, Susannah Blake’s only her stage name. I forget the name of her husband.” Annie put her hand to her forehead. “Now - I wonder who would know her married name.”
“Oh, my god, another problem,” said Charlotte. “I’m going to have to get in touch with Inspector Paulson. Maybe he would know something like that. Anyway, at least she’s got a husband around to look after her.” She held out her hand. “Well, thanks a lot, Annie. You’ve been a great help again.”
* * * * * * * *
Julian was still waiting for her in the car outside. “Any luck?” he asked.
“I just think,” said Charlotte, “that I might have found out the name of our next victim. Annie Stapleton, Mr Hillman’s cook, has just confirmed that Sandra Harris worked for Julia Hillman as well as Stella Parsons. More than that - she went on from Hillmans to work for Cynthia Adams.”
“Blimey,” he agreed, “that is interesting. That’s got to be more than simple coincidence, don’t you agree.”
She nodded. “We’ve got to assume that. What is more, she came to work for the Hillmans from another woman who’d given her the sack - a Susannah Blake.”
“Really? The Susannah Blake?”
“Do you know her?”
“I know of her.” He let the car in gear and pulled smoothly away. “She’s well-known round here. She’s been asked to open garden fetes and church bazaars from time to time - you know the sort of thing. I haven’t seen much of her recently though. I suppose she’s faded from everyone’s mind by now. I don’t think she’s acted for a long time - didn’t need to after she’d married her rich businessman.”
“Nevertheless, I’d like to have a chat with her. I think there’s a chance she may be in some danger.” Charlotte regarded him with interest. “Since you know about her, you wouldn’t by any chance know where she lives, would you?”
“Of course I would,” he said. “She and her husband have a flashy house less than a mile from here.”
“You know the place?”
“I make it my business to know things like that about the noteworthy people in the area. I’ll take you there after I’ve bought you some lunch.”
“Shouldn’t we go there before lunch? I need to warn she and her husband that they should take some precautions.”
“It can’t be that urgent.” He grinned. “My stomach tells me it’s getting late already. Another half an hour and they’ll have stopped serving food.” He headed for Babbacombe. “Meanwhile you can tell me why, after getting me to write a detraction from my previous article, you now seem disposed to think it was all true after all.”
“I don’t really think your article was correct,” she demurred. “It’s all too far-fetched to be believable. On the other hand I’ve got to admit, that what I’ve learned this morning, points to the fact that this Susannah Blake woman may possibly be in some kind of danger. I feel it’s my duty to talk to her and warn her of this. On the other hand,” she smiled at him in a maternal way, “I think it’s likely a logical explanation will be forthcoming.”
“We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?” Julian pulled into the car park of a pub with tables spread out on the grass under the trees. Several were still empty. “Meanwhile let’s get our priorities right and look after our stomachs.”
- 8. Saturday Afternoon -
It was after two o’clock by the time Stafford Paulson got to the police station. He went up to his office and found it empty. He was pleased with himself for remembering to put his smart new mobile into its docking station to recharge the batteries. Then he turned his attention to the computer. He had to get all the information he could from the fearsome machine to provide him with support for his dream-like hunch.
He had half-expected DCI Faraday to be there but she’d obviously had enough for one weekend. Now he’d have to find out how to work the computer by himself. Luckily she had left them some written instructions explaining the steps you went through to enter and obtain information.
He looked suspiciously at the machine, lying there, silent and menacing. Well, he decided, there was nothing else but to have a go. Taking a deep breath, he picked up the instructions and approached the equipment hesitantly.
He pressed the button which switched the computer on and watched while the screen glowed and came to life. For a few brief seconds it seemed to talk to itself - rows of words flashed across it. Brightly coloured pictures jumped out and announced what it was doing. But before he could respond, it had rushed on to the next task. Finally it settled down and there was a box asking him to enter the security code.
He knew that, so he tapped it in and pressed enter. Now he had to start using the programme. First he had to select the interviewee he had in mind. He tapped in the name. In response, a page by page summary of all the computer knew about the person was displayed on the screen. Stafford had forgotten just how much information they already had on everyone in the case.
Once he had finished reminding himself
of what they already knew, it was time for him to try out the “What if?” theory he had in mind. Within a few seconds the computer had come up with a string of questions which had to be answered before there was any chance of his theory being proved. He read through the list carefully. Most of the information needed would have to come from the person himself or from someone close to him.
Paulson sighed. Oh well, he might as well get along there and start asking the questions. His Saturday afternoon off had already been ruined, so at least he wouldn’t be wasting anyone else’s time but his own. He just had to hope that the person would be there to do the answering. He pressed the button which said “Print list” and watched the twelve closely typed sheets of paper spew out of the printer. Then he closed down the computer, folded the sheets up, put them in his pocket, and made his way to the car. He was so intent on his quest that he forgot his mobile which he left recharging the batteries.
* * * * * * * *
Susannah Blake’s house was protected by a high wall over-topped by a bushy, partly trimmed hedge. A pair of ornate iron gates, hung from substantial stone piers, were firmly shut and locked. From the top of one of the massive stone gateposts a video-camera gazed down unblinkingly at them.
Charlotte climbed out of the car and crossed to the other gatepost where a small grille was mounted. She pressed the button below the grille and waited, watching the video-camera. Her open wallet containing her warrant card was in her hand. Nothing happened for what seemed a long time. After a few minutes she pressed again.
She was rewarded by seeing the camera move slightly. She held up the warrant card with its face towards the camera and fancied she could see the lens revolving as it focused on the small square of plastic. A disembodied burst of static came from the grille in the gatepost and a woman’s voice said, “Who is it?”
“I’m Detective Chief Inspector Faraday. I’d like to speak to Susannah Blake.”
There was a long pause. Then the voice said, a trifle unwillingly, “I’ll open the gate for you to drive in. If you drive up to the house I’ll meet you at the front door.”
Faraday 01 The Gigabyte Detective Page 20