by Ford, P. F.
‘Marketing’s not against the law,’ said Slater.
‘No. I didn’t mean to suggest it was. It’s our working conditions that are a crime.’
They climbed from the car and followed the direction indicated by an antique signpost inscribed with the word ‘Reception’.
‘What does this woman we’re here to see do?’ asked Norman.
‘She’s the HR director,’ said Slater.
‘What’s that in old money?’
‘It’s Human Resources.’
‘What was wrong with calling it Personnel?’ grumbled Norman. ‘Everyone knew what that meant. It was good enough for years and years.’
‘I suppose someone in marketing decided they needed a trendier name,’ said Slater. ‘They have to justify their existence somehow.’
‘This place sure looks pretty justified to me.’
A spotless path, bordered by neatly clipped, knee-high box hedges, wound its way towards the side of the building and a magnificent, ancient oak door. A small sign invited them to ‘Please ring for attention’. Slater rang the bell and stared up into the CCTV camera that was focused upon them.
‘Good morning, how can I help you?’ asked a voice from a loudspeaker set in the wall.
‘DS Slater and DS Norman from Tinton CID,’ he replied, holding his warrant card up to the camera. ‘We’ve an appointment to see Celia Rowntree.’
‘Just push the door and come on through.’
The door buzzed and Slater pushed it open to reveal a corridor of polished wood topped with a very expensive-looking rug. At the end of the corridor they could see an open doorway leading into a large office.
‘I feel like a pauper in the king’s castle,’ muttered Norman.
‘It’s a bit rich isn’t it?’ agreed Slater. ‘And they say there’s no money in marketing anymore.’
‘They do? Well, it looks like they’re wrong, whoever they are.’
They walked along the corridor and into the reception office. An enormous desk was set at an angle in one corner in such a way it seemed to stretch almost from one side of the room to the other. A small woman jumped up from behind the desk and beamed a warm, welcoming smile in their direction.
‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ she said. ‘Mrs Rowntree will be with you in just a minute. Please take a seat.’
‘Good morning, Millie Gibson,’ said Slater, reading the badge on her lapel, and ignoring the invitation to sit down. ‘We’ve come to ask some questions about Diana Woods. Did you know her?’
‘Everybody here knew her,’ said Millie. ‘In her position she was sort of key to how the whole place worked.’
‘She’ll be missed, then?
‘More by some than by others,’ she replied, noncommittally.
‘I thought everyone liked her, didn’t they?’
But before Millie could say any more, her eyes darted to the side and her mouth clamped firmly closed. Slater followed her gaze over his shoulder where he saw a door swinging open as a tall, elegant, smartly dressed woman entered the room.
She glided smoothly across the floor, hand extended towards Slater.
‘DS Slater?’ she said as Slater took her hand. ‘I’m Celia Rowntree. We spoke earlier.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Slater. ‘This is my colleague DS Norman.’
She shook Norman’s hand and then took a step back.
‘Won’t you come through to my office?’ she said. ‘Millie will bring us some coffee, won’t you, Millie?’
Millie nodded her assent.
‘I take it you do both drink coffee?’ she asked.
‘Coffee will be just fine,’ said Slater.
They followed Celia Rowntree through the door, up a short flight of stairs and then along yet another corridor until she pushed her way into her own office. Norman’s mouth dropped open when he saw the size of the room.
‘Wow,’ he said. ‘This is some office.’
‘It’s very grand, isn’t it,’ she said. ‘It’s one of the benefits of working in such a big old house. Of course, on the downside the running costs of a building like this are enormous.’
She led them across to an informal area where three armchairs had been arranged around a coffee table, and indicated where she wanted them to sit.
‘I’m sure you can understand this is a very difficult time for all of us here,’ she began. ‘Diana was a very popular member of staff. She’ll be sadly missed.’
‘How long had she worked here?’ asked Slater.
‘She had been with us for almost five years. She actually started as my assistant, but it soon became clear she was wasted in here so we moved her over to one of the advertising teams. She soon impressed everyone with her all-round ability. Now she provides support to all the teams, travelling here, there, and everywhere.’
‘That sounds like quite a meteoric rise in just five years,’ said Norman. ‘It’s almost like someone’s been pushing her along.’
‘We’re a company that likes to reward achievement with promotion.’
‘So who did she work for after you?’ asked Slater.
‘She joined Bruce Rossiter’s team. He’s our number one man. In fact, she’s still with him. Bruce and Diana head all our client meetings.’
‘They sound like quite a couple,’ said Norman. ‘Do they travel together? Stay in the same hotel?’
‘I’m not sure what exactly you’re suggesting,’ she said, bristling. ‘But I can assure you this is a highly respected family company. We do not encourage our employees to be anything other than professional in their relationships.’
‘Yeah, I’m sure you don’t encourage it. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen, does it?’
‘I don’t know what you mean. What’s going on here? The poor woman’s only been dead a couple of days and here you are dragging her name through the mud.’
‘Diana’s not just dead, Mrs Rowntree,’ said Slater. ‘She was murdered. Now you may think we’re being insensitive, but if she was having an affair with her boss it could have a huge bearing on why she was murdered.’
She stared back at Slater.
‘As I’ve already stated,’ she said. ‘We don’t encourage that sort of behaviour.’
‘Right. Of course you don’t. So you’re saying you didn’t know Diana and Bruce were caught in a rather compromising situation by Diana’s husband, and that as a result her husband subsequently left her?’
Celia Rowntree was beginning to look very uncomfortable.
‘I’m sure that can’t be right,’ she said. ‘That sort of behaviour would be regarded as gross misconduct within this company. Anyone guilty of such behaviour could lose their job.’
‘Anyone?’ asked Slater. ‘Even your top marketing man?’
‘It wouldn’t matter who-’
‘So why do you think Diana Woods and her husband split up, Mrs Rowntree?’ asked Norman.
‘That’s none of my business,’ she said. ‘What happens in someone’s private life is their business.’
‘But surely such an event could affect a person’s performance at work,’ suggested Slater. ‘Isn’t it your job, as human resources director, to look out for the welfare of your employees?’
‘Diana Woods was a very independent woman with a mind of her own, Sergeant. As I understand it her husband didn’t walk out, he was kicked out. And she probably kicked him out because she outgrew him. Just as her star was rising, his was fading fast. He was a waster who was bringing her down and holding her back.’
‘And she told you this?’
‘Yes, she did. And after that conversation I concluded Diana’s work performance was not going to be affected.’
‘Did she also tell you her “waster” of a husband made over a hundred grand last year?’ asked Norman.
Celia looked shocked, but said nothing.
‘I didn’t think so,’ said Norman, smiling. ‘And that kinda makes me wonder what else she forgot to mention.’
Celia Rowntree squirmed
uncomfortably in her chair.
‘So when was the last time you kicked someone out for illicit sex?’ persisted Norman.
‘I’ve been here nearly twenty years,’ she said, haughtily. ‘And in that time it’s never been necessary to even mention it.’
There was an icy silence as she stared back at Norman.
‘Is Mr Rossiter here?’ asked Slater, breaking the silence. ‘Because we need to ask him a few questions.’
‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible. He’s up in London with clients today.’
‘I did tell you I needed to speak to him when I called.’ Slater felt exasperated.
‘And I said I would see what I could do,’ she replied. ‘I didn’t realise he was going to be out for the day when we spoke.’
‘And you couldn’t call me back when you found out?’
‘I only found out shortly before you arrived. I’m sorry I should have checked earlier.’
‘Come on,’ Norman said to Slater, as he climbed to his feet. ‘I think we’re done here.’
He glared angrily at Celia Rowntree.
‘But we’re not finished yet,’ he said to her. ‘We’ll be back tomorrow, and we’ll keep on coming back until we speak to Rossiter. Perhaps you’d like to pass that message on, and tell him we’re quite happy to call at his house and speak to him in front of his wife if he’d prefer it.’
‘Don’t get up,’ Slater told her. ‘We’ll see ourselves out.’
They marched from the room and made their way back down the stairs and through the door into the reception area. Millie Gibson was just finishing a phone call.
‘That was quick,’ she said, as she put the phone down. ‘I haven’t even had time to make the coffee yet.’
‘That’s okay, don’t worry,’ said Norman. ‘We didn’t exactly feel the warm welcome up there that we got down here.’
‘She can be a bit of a cow,’ said Millie, with a grim smile. ‘They don’t call her Frosty Knickers for nothing.’
‘You can make us coffee tomorrow, if you like,’ Slater said. ‘We’ll be coming back to speak to Bruce Rossiter.’
‘Oh. You mean God’s gift to marketing. That’ll be nice for you.’ Millie pulled a face.
The phone buzzed on the desk in front of her. She picked up the handset and listened for a moment.
‘Yes, Mrs Rowntree,’ she said. ‘They’re just leaving. Right. I’ll get on with it straight away.’
She put the phone down and grinned conspiratorially at the two detectives.
‘Looks like I’m not supposed to be fraternising with you two,’ she said. ‘I just got my wrists slapped.’
‘We’re just going anyway,’ said Slater. ‘But before we do, maybe you can do us a favour.’
He fished a card from his pocket.
‘This card has got my number on it. Perhaps you can ask around and see if anyone might know anything that would help us with our inquiry. I’m always on the end of that mobile number.’
She took the card, slipped it into her jacket pocket and winked at him.
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘What’s that woman’s name again?’ asked Norman as Slater started the car.
‘Who? Frosty Knickers?’ said Slater, chuckling.
‘Yeah, that’s her. There’s no doubt she knew they were having an affair. I bet it’s like one of those open secrets. Everyone knows about it but no one ever mentions it.’
Slater nodded his head.
‘Yeah,’ he agreed. ‘But why doesn’t anyone mention it? And how can the director of human resources so blatantly ignore something that’s supposed to be company policy?’
‘That Millie in reception,’ continued Norman. ‘I reckon she’ll know everything that goes on in there, and she looks the sort who would know wrong from right. We need to speak to her.’
‘She looks pretty sharp to me too. And I reckon you’re right. I bet she doesn’t miss a thing. But didn’t you feel there was a bit of an atmosphere, like she was almost afraid to say too much? And it certainly looked like Frosty didn’t want us talking to her.’
‘And I thought Frosty herself was very careful what she said, didn’t you?’ said Norman. ‘It was almost like she was reading from a prepared statement.’
‘Yeah. She knew what we were going to ask. That more or less confirms our suspicions about Rossiter for me. All we’ve got to do now is prove he’s involved.’
‘Even then it doesn’t prove he killed her.’
‘No,’ admitted Slater. ‘But it can’t just be a coincidence. It’s got to be relevant to her murder, even if we don’t yet know why.’
‘Maybe Diana wasn’t Rossiter’s only bit on the side,’ suggested Norman. ‘Maybe Frosty melts in his arms too.’
‘You think?’ asked Slater, in surprise. ‘I reckon she could fly close to the sun without melting.’
‘It would explain why she’s protecting him,’ offered Norman.
‘I got the feeling she despised him,’ said Slater. ‘Like maybe he makes a habit of shagging the female members of staff and she has to sort the mess out when it goes pear-shaped.’
‘But if it’s like that, why do they let him get away with it?’
‘Now that, my dear Watson,’ replied Slater, ‘is the reason we’re detectives.’
‘Well, Holmes, in that case we’d better get on back to the office and do some of that there detecting. I’ll start by going through the Rochester & Dorset website.’
When they got back to their incident room, Jane Jolly had a broad smile on her face.
‘PC Jolly, you look like the cat who got the cream,’ said Norman, following Slater in with coffee and cakes. ‘Come on, out with it. What have you done?’
‘Diana Woods’ mobile phone records,’ she said, holding aloft a fistful of papers.
‘I fall at your feet, once again,’ said Norman, bowing low.
‘That’s great!’ Slater reached for the papers. ‘Now perhaps we can make some progress.’
‘While you’re doing that I’m going to study this website,’ said Norman. ‘Jane, can you get onto Companies House and check out their profit and loss for the last three or four years?’
‘They’re just about breaking even,’ announced Jolly, twenty minutes later. ‘But I think that’s because most of their profits go into maintaining their headquarters and paying over-inflated salaries.’
‘As I suspected,’ said Norman. ‘So here’s my theory. What if old Brucie boy is the only one there who keeps bringing home the bacon? That receptionist called him “God’s gift to marketing”, and looking at this website it seems he’s the one with all the big clients.
‘If they’re all on fancy salaries but rely on him to keep the company successful, I bet he’s allowed to do what he likes, and no one dares to speak out against him for fear of the consequences. You know the sort of thing, speak out of turn and you find you’re straight out the door with your arse on fire.’
‘Yeah, that figures,’ said Slater. ‘The working conditions there are pretty fantastic, and if the salaries are big as well, who wouldn’t be prepared to turn a blind eye to a little bit of sexual harassment?’
‘Well, I bloody well wouldn’t, for a start,’ said Jolly, indignantly.
‘Okay, let me re-phrase that. Let’s call it a little bit of consensual sex between co-workers.’
‘Yuck. That almost sounds worse.’
‘But you know what I mean,’ said Slater. ‘These two people might be bonking each other senseless, but as long as they’re not actually doing it in front of anyone else, and the work’s still getting done, why complain and risk losing a nice fat salary? And besides, if one of those doing the bonking is the person who keeps the company afloat, would you really want to get him sacked? You’d all lose your jobs then.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t put up with it,’ said Jolly. ‘I’d leave.’
‘But not everyone has your standards, Jane,’ said Norman. ‘You’d be surprised what people are prepar
ed to not see in exchange for a good salary, especially these days when well-paid jobs are scarce.’
‘Well, it all sounds very seedy to me. Surely the people at the top wouldn’t allow it.’
‘They can pretend it’s not happening. Unless someone makes an official complaint, but we already know no one ever will. The company stance is quite simple – if it was happening, someone would make a complaint. No one has made a complaint, therefore it’s not happening.’
‘That’s awful,’ said Jolly.
‘That’s life.’ Slater shrugged.
‘But what if he made a pass at someone who wasn’t interested?’ persisted Jolly. ‘If it was me I’d complain.’
‘Yeah, but it would be your word against his,’ said Norman. ‘And which side do you think the company would take? The irreplaceable star player, or the backroom staff?’
‘But that’s just wrong.’
‘Of course it’s wrong. And I’m not trying to defend it. But to the company it’s not about right or wrong, it’s about profit. And in the case of this particular company, it’s about survival.’
‘I’m obviously not cut out for business,’ said Jolly, gloomily.
‘You’re just fine where you are, Jane.’ Norman patted her on the shoulder. ‘You’d be wasted anywhere else.’
‘What else have you learnt about them, Norm?’ asked Slater.
‘They were started back in the sixties by Jonathon Rochester and Ian Dorset. They quickly got a reputation for creating effective advertising campaigns and went from strength to strength through the seventies and eighties. They currently employ nearly fifty people and have some real big clients. Both the original partners are retired now, and although they maintain a large shareholding they no longer have anything to do with the day-to-day running.
‘I reckon, back in their heyday, they would have been as moral as Jane would like them to be, but the people who run the business now are only interested in profit. Mind you, from what Jane just said about profits it looks like they have no idea how to make money. Their main asset seems to be Bruce Rossiter. Apparently he wins awards on a regular basis, and his clients love him.