by Roger Keevil
Bernie stood. “Trixie? Would you like me to send her down to see you? That's if you're sure you've finished with me?”
“Certainly for the time being, sir,” said Constable. “So yes, if you would ask Miss Marr to join us, that would be very kind.”
As Bernie opened the door, he was met with the sight of Val attempting to juggle two cups and saucers in an effort to leave a free hand to knock. She sidled past him as he left.
“Here you are, dears,” she said, depositing the cups on the desk. “I've put two sugars in each.” Constable smiled in thanks, while giving an inward shudder. “And if you open that bottom drawer, you'll find a tin with Mr. Winker's special chocolate biscuits in it. I'm sure he wouldn't mind, and you need to keep your strength up.” She glanced at Dave Copper. “And I've never met a young lad yet who could resist a choccie biccie. So you help yourself, dear.” Copper gave an embarrassed half-grin. “Oh look, here's Trixie.” A trim dark-haired woman who looked to be in her late thirties was hovering uncertainly in the doorway. “Well, I'll leave you to get on – I'm sure you've got lots of important questions to ask.” She gave a meaningful look. “And don't you forget me, will you, because I ...”
“Yes, thank you, Mrs Hart,” said Constable, interrupting the flow of prattle and gently ushering the garrulous cleaner to the door while indicating to the newcomer that she should take a seat. He closed the door with an almost inaudible sigh of relief. “Sergeant, would you like to ask Miss Marr a few questions?”
“Righty-ho, sir.” Copper moved to the chair behind the desk as Constable picked up his teacup, took a sip and, wincing at the unwelcome sweetness, hastily deposited it again on the windowsill.
“So, Miss Marr,” began Copper. “It is Miss Marr, isn't it?”
“Yes ... that's right.” Trixie Marr seemed faintly ill-at-ease.
“And you're what … another of the directors?”
“Actually, no. I'm the Production Manager for Bars. I'm in charge of the production line for all the mass-market products.”
“Now we were under the impression, Miss Marr, that the production all took place in the main plant across the road.”
“It does, sergeant, but I have my office over here, because everything has to go through various stages before it's finally handed over to me, so it's convenient to be closer to the development people.” A pause. “Sergeant … Bernie said that you're looking at the possibility that one of us might have had something to do with Mr. Winker's death. Surely that can't be true.”
“I'm afraid it is, Miss Marr. We're going to be looking into the movements of everyone who was on the premises after the last time Mr. Winker was seen alive, after normal going-home time yesterday.”
“Oh.” Trixie grimaced. “Then that's why you want to talk to me? Because I stayed on late last night?”
“Not another one!” groaned Copper, half to himself. “No, I wasn't aware that you were on the premises yesterday evening, miss. Perhaps you'd like to give me the details.”
“I decided to work on a little because I had to do some work on a report Mr. Winker had asked me to write for the Board meeting which is coming up soon. You see, we'd had a few problems with the machines on the last new product – that was the 'Tiger' bar – and because of that, the launch didn't go quite as we planned.”
“The 'Tiger' bar? That's one of yours? I love those – they're great. But they're not easy to find – our local shop's never got them.”
Trixie gave a faint rueful smile. “That was the problem, sergeant – we failed to de-bug the production fully, and as a result, I'm afraid the launch was a bit of a flop. That's why Mr. Winker had insisted on a report for the next Board, to make sure nothing went wrong with the next new product, which is even more intricate.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, it's the 'Box-o-Chox' Bar. One cream bar with different fillings in each of the six compartments.”
“Sounds complicated. Plenty of scope for mistakes, I bet.”
“Yes. And Mr. Winker didn't like mistakes.”
“And did your path and Mr. Winker's cross yesterday evening?”
“Only briefly, sergeant. We just had a short conversation about a little production problem, but that was all sorted out downstairs.”
“And you know of no reason why anyone would wish to do Mr. Winker harm?”
“No.” There was a clear note of reserve in Trixie's voice.
“Including yourself.”
“No!” Trixie was unexpectedly emphatic, but then her voice fell. “Quite the opposite. In fact, he … I don't know how ...” Her voice broke, and she pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve to wipe a sudden tear.
Andy Constable intervened. “I think we'll leave it there for a moment, Miss Marr. I understand all this must be very upsetting for anyone who knew Mr. Winker well. But if you wouldn't mind remaining on the premises, and perhaps we can speak again later.”
“I'm sorry, inspector. It's just that ...” Trixie made a concentrated effort to master herself. “Is it all right if I go to my office?” she asked in firmer tones. “I should get on with that report. Someone will want it.”
“Of course.” Constable held the door open for her. “Oh, would you just ask the next of your colleagues if we could have a word? Sergeant, that would be …?”
Copper consulted his list. “Mr. Laurie, sir, according to this.”
“You want Carson? I'll send him along.” Self-control fully restored, Trixie closed the door behind her.
Dave Copper exchanged glances with his superior. “Well, guv, that's the first hint that we've had of something a bit iffy. The lady's obviously upset about something, over and above the obvious of her boss being found taking an unscheduled swim in the company product. Do you reckon this is one of those little snippets Mrs. Hart was going on about?”
“Could well be, sergeant, but we'll put that on the back burner for the moment until we've had our talk with our little group of ...”
“Suspects, guv?”
“Hmmm. Very possibly. I'll tell you one thing – I'm going to be highly astonished if everyone doesn't turn out to have been working late last night. I swear the fates do it just to annoy me.”
Andy Constable's musings were cut short by a robust rap at the office door. Before there was time to respond, it was pushed open forcefully, and the next visitor strode confidently into the room. Fortyish, with an athletic build and thick brown hair swept back, the new arrival advanced with a friendly smile and a hand outstretched in greeting.
“Inspector Constable. Good morning. I'm Carson Laurie. I understand you have some questions for me.”
Constable was slightly taken aback by the vigour of the approach, and took the other's hand after only a moment's hesitation. “Indeed yes, Mr. Laurie. Do please take a seat.” He allowed himself a small smile as Carson took the chair in front of the desk. “I'm guessing, sir, from the accent, that you're not originally from round here.”
“Detroit, Michigan, inspector, although I've been living over here for a bit now.”
“Really, sir? And what brought you so far from home?”
“Well, I used to be with the Satsuma Motor Corporation over there – I was on their design team for a while.”
“Sounds exciting, sir, working for a big car company in the States,” broke in Dave Copper.
“I guess, pretty much.” Carson seemed happy to bask in the sergeant's admiration. “And I spent time at Corporate Headquarters in Washington too. Sometimes you had to be close to where some of the big decisions on laws and regulations got taken. Lot of money tied up in these things. But then, you know how it is – things not so good in the automotive industry in the States, so I figured it was time for a change of scenery and a change of direction, so to cut a long story short, I'm now the Winker Company's Transport Manager.”
“So not a total abandonment of the old field of activity, then?”
Carson smiled. “No, I guess not. Now anything with wheels on it is my responsibil
ity, and I've just been starting work on this great new project Wally had thought of. Because I've got this design background, and to boost this big new product we're launching, Wally had the idea of turning all the company vehicles into 'Box-o-Chox' bars – everything from the reps' cars up to the forty-ton trucks. Believe me, that's some big decals!”
“And would that have been one of the reasons you were here after normal office hours yesterday?” asked Constable innocently.
“Yeah, that's right,” nodded Carson, and then paused. “Hey, how did you know?”
“Lucky guess, sir,” responded Constable mildly. “So you did stay on late yesterday?”
“As it happens, inspector, yes, I did. This plan of Wally's, it's a fabulous idea, but there are plenty of things that aren't easy to achieve. That's why I was here - Wally and I were talking about some of the factors involved, and I had some drawings I wanted him to see, but it wasn't easy to get in to see him, because so many of the others were around as well. But I have to tell you, inspector, in case you're wondering, Wally was alive and well when I came out of his office, and you can ask anyone you like about that.”
“And I imagine we probably will, sir,” replied Constable comfortably. “But just before you go, can you think of any reason why anyone would wish to do Mr. Winker harm?”
Carson shook his head. “Not at all, inspector. Wally was a very good boss. You know, good to people. Surprisingly so, sometimes.” He seemed lost in his thoughts for a moment. “Beats me.”
“Then we'll let you get on for now, sir.” Carson stood. “And we'd like a chat with whoever is left in the boardroom – sergeant, that would be …?”
“Miss Kane or Miss Lockett, sir.”
“Let's have them alphabetically. If you could ask Miss Kane to join us.”
“Sure.” A nod. “Inspector - sergeant.” With a fresh shake of the hand with each, Carson strode from the room.
“A forty-ton chocolate bar?” remarked Copper incredulously. “That's a bit of overkill, isn't it? Sorry, no pun intended.”
“Times is hard,” observed Constable. “I dare say there's a lot of competition in this business, what with getting squeezed between the big boys and the supermarket own brands, so if they're launching a new product, they probably need to go overboard with everything they've got.”
“Do you suppose this business is something to do with these new products, guv?” asked Copper. “That's the fourth in a row who's had some job involving something that was being brought into the range. Do you reckon somebody was having trouble getting a pet idea past the big boss, and they somehow snapped when whatever-it-was didn't happen?”
“It's not out of the question,” mused Constable, “but there's nothing that points me in that direction at the moment. Let's see what the others have to say.”
At that moment, as if on cue, a woman appeared in the office doorway. She looked to be in her late twenties, with a trim figure clad in an almost severe dark blue suit. Pale blonde hair tied straight back off the face, and touches of make-up subtly applied, gave her a restrained glamour.
“You wanted to speak to me, I think, gentlemen.” She advanced into the room. “I gather you have some questions. Shall I sit here?” With calm self-possession, she seated herself in front of the desk and looked up at Constable expectantly.
“Indeed, yes, Miss … er … Kane, isn't it?” The inspector was thrown slightly off-balance at the newcomer's assumption of control.
“That's correct, inspector. Candice Kane, if your sergeant wishes to make a note of the full name. My friends call me Candy.” She favoured Dave Copper, seated to one side, with a smile. He flashed a look at his superior, raised one eyebrow, and obediently started to write in his notebook.
“And your position with the company, Miss Kane?” continued Constable.
“Officially, Managing Director's Secretary, inspector.”
'And unofficially?' wondered Constable, but kept the thought to himself. “I see. So, does that mean you're the Company Secretary?”
Candy shook her head. “Oh no, that's quite different. I'm the managing director's confidential personal assistant – was, I suppose I should say. Everything Mr. Winker did tended to go through me – letters, calls, emails, all that sort of thing.”
“That sounds a highly responsible position, Miss Kane. And I imagine, from what little I know about business, that whenever the boss needs you, you have to be there.”
“That's usually the way it is.” Candy gave a small smile.
“Which would mean that, like the others, you would have been staying late at the office yesterday, as long as Mr. Winker needed you.”
“Yes. Mr. Winker very often stayed on, but usually he would let me know when he didn’t want me any more. It wasn't as if I had to work late every night.”
“And yesterday? Perhaps you are best placed to give us an idea of Mr. Winker's movements up to the last time he was seen. Although I assume you didn't work in this office with him?”
“No, inspector. I have my own office, through that door there.” Candy pointed to a door adjacent to the entrance to the corridor. She paused a moment in reflection. “So, I took Mr. Winker his evening paper as usual yesterday teatime ...”
“That would be this one?” said Constable, gesturing to the copy of the Rownville Evening Mail still lying open on the desk before him.
“Yes. Mr. Winker always liked to keep up with the local news – it meant that whenever he went on one of his regular walks round the factory across the road, he always had something local to chat to the employees about. He liked to keep in touch.”
“So, coming back to yesterday teatime, by which I assume you mean around five or six?”
“That's right – probably closer to six, actually. I remember it was just before Mr. Laurie went in to see him. So then I had some correspondence to see to, so I finished off Mr. Winker's letters and took them down to the post-room. Then I went and had a word with Ivor – that's Mr. Sweetman – he was looking into something for Mr. Winker, I believe. I wondered if there was anything I could do to help him with it. And when I went back to my desk, Mr. Winker wasn't in his office any more.”
“Do you know where he'd gone?”
“No, not really, inspector. He might have been in one of the other offices, or sometimes he went down to the factory floor for some reason. But it was a sort of unspoken thing, that if he wasn't in his office after six, he wouldn't be needing me any more. So then Mr. Sweetman very kindly gave me a lift home.”
“And you didn't see Mr. Winker again after you left your office with the post?”
“No, inspector, I'm afraid not. I think that's about all I can tell you.”
“Well, we'll leave it at that for the moment, Miss Kane,” said Constable. “I expect you probably have a great deal to get on with, under the circumstances.”
Candy's lip trembled slightly. The efficient façade seemed in danger of crumbling, but she then took a deep breath and stood. “I'd better start making some phone calls. I don't really know where to begin. Will it be all right if I use my office? I mean, I won't disturb you?”
“No, Miss Kane,” Constable reassured her. “We shall be off and around shortly anyway.” And as Candy disappeared through into her own room, a brisk knock came at the door to the corridor.
“I bet that'll be Miss Lockett,” speculated Copper. “She's the last on my list. She sounds a bit eager, doesn't she?”
“In which case,” returned Constable, “we'd best not keep her waiting. Let her in.”
Copper opened the door to reveal, not the expected individual, but the young officer who had first greeted them on their arrival at the factory.
“Sorry to butt in, sergeant ...”
“Yes, Collins, what is it?” asked Constable.
“We've got a little bit of a kerfuffle at the gate, sir. There's a chap just arrived who says he's working here and he needs to come in, but the guy on the gate is refusing to let him through and says he's only
obeying orders, but the new chap is quite insistent, and the temperature is rising a bit, so I thought I'd better check with you.”
“Sounds as if Barry Herman's doing the traditional 'more than my job's worth' routine, guv,” remarked Copper. “Want me to go down and sort it out?”
“I've got a better idea,” said Constable, getting to his feet. “We'll both go. We'll pop along and have a word with Miss Lockett, who I assume is probably getting rather fed up with cooling her heels in the boardroom, and then we'll come down and find out what this is all about. I want to speak to the gate-keeper anyway, so we can kill two birds with one stone.” He paused to reflect on his choice of words. “So to speak. Copper, you must be a bad influence – I'm getting as bad as you. Collins, you'd better go down and try to keep the warring parties from coming to blows, and tell them we'll be with them in a few minutes.”
“Sir.” The P.C. nodded and disappeared swiftly towards the stairs.
*
As Constable opened the door to the boardroom, he immediately launched into an apology to the woman seated alone at the table. “Miss Lockett, I am so sorry to have kept you waiting so long, but I'm afraid these investigations take time, as I'm sure you must know.”
“Better than you probably realise, inspector,” came the reply.
“Oh?”
The woman rose and came towards Constable, hand outstretched in greeting. She appeared to be in her forties, tall and sturdy with neat short brown hair, a matching dark top and trousers, and a confident professional air. “Heidi Lockett. We're colleagues, or rather, former colleagues. I used to be on the force. Oh, not this one,” she explained in response to Constable's quizzical look. “That was when I lived in London.”
“And now?”
“Now I am Head of Security for the Winker Chocolate Company.”
“Something of a change, Miss Lockett,” commented Constable.
“Not so much,” said Heidi. “I was in the same boat as quite a lot of the chaps a while back – cuts in resources, and so on. I'm sure you must have the same problems. But I was lucky enough to be able to walk into a job with a private security company, and then a little while after that, the position arose at Winker's. So here I am.”