by Faith Martin
‘Just one more thing,’ Hillary said hastily. ‘Did you see Felix leave the room that night?’
‘No. I told that man that I didn’t. The one who came when it all turned hellish, and those silly little identical twins started to scream. And I learned that Felix was gone. That man … you know …’
‘DI Varney?’
‘Yes. Him,’ Querida said, draining her brandy glass and then frowning over towards the globe, as if she could will it to come within touching distance. She glanced down at her feet, sighed, then smiled at Jake and waved the glass at him. ‘Be a darling man for me, would you, poppet?’
Jake obliged, but took the glass slowly, and walked slowly, giving Hillary plenty of time to get some more questions in before the witness became utterly blotto and incapable of answering anything coherently.
‘Did Felix ever say that he was getting threatening phone calls?’ Hillary continued rapidly.
‘Ah now.’ Querida Phelps waved a finger at Hillary, on which a gigantic Ceylon sapphire sparkled. ‘Funny you should say that. I did notice once or twice that he would get phone calls and seem unhappy. He’d take his mobile into the conservatory and … oh, you should see the conservatory and what he did with it! Hanging wicker basket seats and these huge majolica jardinieres and seats that … Oh, thanks.’ Querida took the refilled glass from Jake and winked at him. ‘You really are gorgeous, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, I am.’ Jake winked back. ‘Now be a pet and concentrate. These phone calls. Did you hear the name of whoever it was that made Felix unhappy?’
Hillary, somewhat taken aback at the smooth hijacking of her interview, nevertheless had to admire the smoothness of the man. No two ways about it, the Boy Wonder was proving useful.
‘No, sorry. Like I said, when he got this funny look on his face, and I knew it was one of those phone calls, he always took the phone into the conservatory where I couldn’t hear. And afterwards he’d be sort of quiet for a while. Maybe even angry. But he never said what it was about,’ she added, waving another finger at him, ‘so don’t ask me. I wish I knew. You think whoever it was killed him?’ She sounded genuinely distressed now. ‘That’s what’s always been so hard to deal with, you see. I must have invited whoever it was that killed him.’
And two tears ran down her cheeks. Hillary couldn’t help but compare this woman’s genuine if slightly drunken grief with Rebecca Morton’s more self-centred tears.
‘I’m really sorry, Mrs … Querida. You were obviously very fond of him.’
‘I was. I never had kids. Four husbands, but none of them. … Or maybe it was me. I dunno.’ She’d made good inroads into the new brandy now, and her upper-crust voice was beginning to slur. ‘But if I’d had a son … Oh well. I suppose that’s why I never sold up this place and left. It still has echoes of him. Besides, I do love it so. And apart from all that, I mean, where else would I go? My immediately family are all dead. Oh hell, now I’m getting maudlin.’
She blinked and, with a little effort, managed to focus her lovely aquamarine eyes on Hillary once more. ‘You need to get the man who killed him, you know. It isn’t right that he’s still walking about free. It isn’t fair.’
And again, two more tears rolled down her cheeks. One dripped off her chin and landed on her hand, and she looked down, obviously startled. Then a look of disgust crossed her lovely face, and she wiped her hands vigorously across her cheeks.
‘Bloody tears, I ask you. At my age. Now, sure you don’t want to join me in a brandy? It’s a bloody good year, I can tell you.’
Once again, Jake and Hillary declined, and left Querida Phelps to her beautiful home, her Napoleon brandy, and her memories.
‘Think she was in love with him, guv?’ Jake asked quietly as they made their way back through the beautiful grounds to the gravel forecourt and his classic car.
‘Maybe. Or maybe she really did see him as a sort of surrogate son, like she said. Or a confused amalgam of both.’
‘Psychology’s not really my bag,’ Jake said. ‘But aren’t those mixed, messy feelings the kind of thing that could have led her to kill him, maybe?’
‘Possibly,’ Hillary said. ‘And nobody gets crossed off the suspect list until we get some kind of proof, one way or the other. Although, personally, I’m not putting Querida anywhere near the top of my list.’
‘No. Me either,’ Jake agreed, feeling absurdly relieved. ‘I rather liked the old tart.’
Hillary laughed. ‘Mind you, of them all, if the murder was premeditated, she was in the best position of all to set it up. When we get back, I want you to look out the bartender’s current address. We need to speak to him at some point.’
‘Yes, guv.’
As they drove back to HQ, Jake Barnes wondered if tonight would be a good time to see if he could find Hillary’s password that would allow him to access her computer files.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Back in the office, Zoe Turnbull looked up as Jake passed her half of the desk. Her gaze, though, went straight to Hillary. ‘Don’t tell me. She was something, right?’
Hillary smiled. ‘Read Jake’s report,’ she advised her unhelpfully. She was about to turn and go back to her office to catch up on her paperwork when Zoe said urgently, ‘Guv, those telephone records that you asked me to find. You know, one of his friends at the squash club said that Felix had got a few that upset him, and you wanted me to see if I could track down some possible candidates?’
Hillary regarded her with a small smile. ‘Yes, I remember. I’m not quite senile yet,’ she chided gently.
Zoe flushed. ‘Sorry, guv. It’s just that the original team did keep a record of all his calls and they went through them, but didn’t find any that rang any warning bells. So when I went through them, I got the same result. They were all tracked down to either work, clients, friends, family or what have you. But when I just did the background check on Harry Fletcher that you wanted, I realized that some of the calls Felix got while he must have been at the sports club came from Fletcher’s number. Now that might just be a coincidence, but …’
Hillary nodded, already ahead of her. ‘OK, so what have you learned of interest about Harry Fletcher? He didn’t have a record for violence, I suppose?’
Zoe laughed. ‘No such luck, guv. He worked for an engineering company, and didn’t even have any outstanding parking tickets. He was one of Felix’s friends from school, so they were the same age and went well back. Harry was a bit of a high flyer, did well and got a scholarship to Oxford – Brasenose College – but for some reason, he dropped out in his second year without getting his degree in engineering. He died nearly six months before Felix, in a fall from a roof.’
‘Oh?’ Hillary said, perking up.
‘No, guv, I know what you’re thinking, I thought the same thing,’ Zoe said with a small sigh. ‘It was a bit of a eureka moment, or so I thought. You know, finally something meaty to get our teeth into. But the accident was witnessed by Harry’s mother, one Eileen Millbright. Apparently, she was living at the time in a small block of flats, and had the top, fourth floor. She was having trouble with her television reception or something and he went out onto the balcony to see if he could see what the problem was, and apparently climbed on the rail to unhook a caught wire or something and … well, splat.’ Zoe shrugged graphically. ‘The coroner’s court returned a verdict of accidental death, so there was nothing iffy about it.’
‘Hmm. Still, a friend dying young in such a stupid accident would account for it affecting him so badly that most of his friends remarked on it,’ Hillary agreed. ‘And as you said, the fact that he was in touch regularly with our murder victim doesn’t necessarily mean anything. On the other hand, Neill Gorman seemed a reliable witness, and he was pretty sure that Felix got at least some phone calls that he didn’t like. Even if they weren’t from Harry, he might have known who they were from. Pity we can’t ask him.’ Hillary checked her watch. It was not yet quite four.
‘I know a good medium,
guv,’ Zoe said, and clearly meant it.
Hillary bit back a smile and said solemnly, ‘If we get desperate, I may ask you for her number and hold a séance.’
‘His number, guv,’ Zoe said. ‘Don’t be sexist.’
‘Perish the thought.’
‘Mrs Millbright lives in Kidlington, guv, just down the road, in the Moors area. Posh, eh? And only five minutes away,’ she wheedled shamelessly.
Hillary smiled. ‘All right, we’ll go and see what she has to say. Good work,’ she added.
Zoe winked at Jake as she passed, and Hillary followed the girl out, musing that she could hardly look more like a pleased puppy if she’d had a furry tail to wag.
Eileen Millbright lived in a large, semi-detached house on the northern outskirts of the town. As Zoe had indicated, it was an affluent area, as the large gardens, tree-lined avenues and the quality of the cars parked outside the residences clearly indicated.
As they walked up a narrow, flag-stoned path, bordered by gaudy marigolds, Zoe found herself wishing that she could afford something similar. Hillary, who was thinking both fondly and sadly of her old boss, Mel Mallow, who had also once lived in the area, barely gave the evidence of well-heeled suburbia a second thought. Her old boss and long-time friend had been shot down right in front of her, and it took a considerable amount of willpower to thrust the miserable memories aside and concentrate on the task in hand.
Zoe rang the doorbell, which was quickly answered by a tall, flat-chested woman with a straight-up-and-down boyish figure. She was dressed in black trousers and a grey hip-length, tunic-style top. Short-cropped, no-nonsense grey hair topped a bony face with a strong nose and chin and wide, somewhat watery blue eyes. Although both Zoe and Hillary knew her age to be nearly seventy, she looked a good decade younger, with the kind of lean, wiry build that made Hillary wonder if she was the sort who still ran marathons for charity.
‘Yes, can I help you?’ To go with her rather androgynous body, Eileen Millbright had a deep, mannish voice that was very pleasant on the ears. Her hands, Hillary noticed, were entirely devoid of jewellery or ornament, as was the rest of her. She wore not a scrap of make-up on her bony, distinguished features.
Hillary produced her ID and once again went through the familiar routine of explaining what CRT was all about, and why they were now on her doorstep.
‘Oh yes, of course. Felix. Harry’s friend. Yes, I remember. It was awful. Well, you’d better come in.’
She led them through a cool and dim hall into a much brighter lounge, with French windows opening out onto a regimentally neat back garden. ‘Tea?’ she asked crisply. The carpet looked as if it had been recently vacuumed, and Hillary got the feeling that not a speck of dust would be allowed to settle on Eileen Millbright’s furniture, and that the tea would be good quality and served piping hot.
Hillary accepted for both herself and Zoe and took a seat in one of the chintz-covered armchairs that were grouped around a low, oak coffee table.
Mrs Millbright was back in quick time, with a neatly laid-out tea tray, and quickly dispensed the milk and sugar.
Hillary, taking her cue from the no-nonsense manner of her witness, plunged right in. ‘I understand your son Harry was a good friend of Felix Olliphant, Mrs Millbright?’
‘Yes, he was. They’d known each other since school.’
‘First of all, let me say I’m sorry for your loss. I understand that Harry passed away a little while before the incident with Felix? Is that him?’ she added, nodding towards a photograph on the mantelpiece opposite her.
‘Yes, that’s him,’ Eileen confirmed, standing up and bringing the photograph over. It showed three men, two of them older, and one man in his mid-twenties. The younger of the trio was a good-looking boy, with a mop of dark hair and soulful dark eyes. He was dressed casually in white jeans with a pink shirt, and a knitted white sweater tied carelessly around his shoulders.
‘Who are the others?’ Hillary asked, to be polite.
Eileen pointed to the man on her son’s left. ‘That’s my second husband, Harry’s stepfather Jonathan, and his brother, Martin. My first husband, Harry’s father, died when he was just a baby. I divorced Jonathan not long after I lost Harry. Things just fell apart between us. I read later that that often happens, when there’s been a traumatic event in the family. You’d think it would bring people closer together, wouldn’t you?’ Eileen said, stirring her tea absently. ‘But it doesn’t. Anyway, about six years afterwards, I met and married my current husband. He’s semi-retired now, but still works one day a week.’
Hillary nodded, her eyes still on the photograph. She passed it on to Zoe. ‘He looks as if he was fond of his stepfather,’ she mused.
‘Oh yes, he was. I have no complaints about that. Jonathon did right by him.’
Hillary’s sensitive ear picked up a certain hesitation in her tone, and something of it must have reflected in her expression because Eileen Millbright smiled crookedly. ‘Jonathon was very… conservative, shall we say, in his views. And as Harry got older, and his proclivities became more obvious, Jonathon wasn’t always as understanding as myself. But then, I was his mother, and I think it’s easier for us, isn’t it?’
Hillary looked at Zoe, who handed the photograph back, and picked her way carefully through the older woman’s cleverly weighed words, nodding gently.
‘Yes, I see,’ she said gently. ‘Your son was gay, I take it?’
Beside her, she could almost feel Zoe’s interest suddenly perk up.
‘Yes, he was,’ Eileen said, a certain amount of defiance in her deep voice now. Then she took a long, slow breath, and her shoulders slumped slightly. ‘Alas, he was not altogether happy with the fact,’ she carried on as she glanced briefly and pensively out of the French windows. ‘Harry was in the closet for a while, right up until he was in his first year in Oxford. I think Felix always knew, mind, and of course didn’t care. He was a very supportive friend and I was glad of that. Harry relied on him a lot for help and advice. But in what was to turn out to be his last year at university, Harry went through some sort of crisis. He wouldn’t tell me what.’ Eileen shrugged her bony shoulders helplessly, causing her flat chest to rise and fall beneath the grey tunic. She spread her hands graphically. ‘Sometimes we mothers are the last to be told anything. I can only imagine that he embarked on some sort of tentative love affair that went badly wrong. Anyway, it resulted in him dropping out of college. Felix was a great help during that time. He got Harry a job with an engineering firm, even though he didn’t have his degree. It wasn’t very high-flying, obviously, but Harry seemed to settle down there, and after a couple of years he seemed to get himself into some sort of shape again. Worked his way up to a promotion, and even found himself a steady boyfriend, Rob. A nice man.’ Eileen sighed. ‘And then one day, he was visiting me at the flat where I used to live and I mentioned the television wasn’t working. Something as simple and as stupid as that, and it can change your whole life,’ Eileen said bitterly. ‘Harry said he’d take a look, and I thought he meant at the television. I was in the kitchen, making tea, and I remember him calling something about the aerial, but I had no idea … I was just coming through with the tray when I saw him out of the window. He had one of his feet on the edge of the railing on the balcony, and he was leaning his top half over the roof. I can still see it quite clearly now whenever I close my eyes – a white trainer, balancing against a grey steel railing. Perhaps it didn’t have the best of treads, or maybe the railing was wet, I don’t know. My heart went into my mouth, as you can imagine, and I remember starting to call his name, to tell him to come on down from there. I was furious. You know, like when he was four years old and I was reprimanding him. It struck me as absurd at the time and then… .’
Eileen swallowed hard and looked away. ‘Well, then his foot just slipped, and he yelled out something, but it was all over in a flash. There were concrete paving stones in the courtyard beneath. If there’d been grass or better still trees
or bushes to break his fall … who knows? But there wasn’t and that was that,’ Eileen said flatly. ‘He was my only child. More tea?’
Hillary accepted another cup, and Zoe did the same. For a moment, all three women were silent. Then Hillary stirred slightly.
‘We have records of Felix’s phone calls, and noted that Harry used to call him a lot.’ She left it deliberately vague and open-ended, with only the slight rise in her voice at the end to make it into a question.
‘Yes, like I said, Harry always relied on Felix, ever since they were boys together. He always said that Felix understood him and never judged him, so I daresay he did call him a lot.’
Hillary nodded. She was getting the feeling that the poor dead Harry had been a needy sort.
‘I was so sad when I heard about what had happened to Felix,’ Eileen Millbright added, her face turning grim. ‘But bad things happen to good people all the time, don’t they? You must see a lot of that in your line of work especially.’
‘Yes,’ Hillary agreed, just as grimly. ‘Mrs Millbright, did Harry ever talk to you about Felix? Perhaps Felix confided in and relied on Harry too? Did he ever mention to you that Felix was worried about something or in any kind of trouble?’
‘Not that Harry ever told me. I can assure you, had he ever done so, then I’d have contacted the police the moment I heard about Felix’s death,’ Eileen Millbright said firmly.
And with that, Hillary knew, she’d just met yet another dead end.
‘Well, thank you for your time, Mrs Millbright. If you do think of anything Harry might have said, no matter how insignificant it might have sounded at the time – ’ Hillary handed over a card with her contact details at CRT ‘—please get in touch.’
‘I certainly will, Officer,’ Eileen said, rising and showing them out with that same calm dignity that she’d shown throughout.
Outside, Zoe let out her breath on a long, slow exhale. ‘That poor woman.’
Hillary smiled grimly. ‘I doubt Mrs Millbright would approve of pity, Zoe,’ she said.