by Helen Oliver
“I did and I didn’t. I didn’t want to leave her, but all I could think of – anyone coming in, seeing her like that… Me there. They’d think I killed her.”
A short pause. Cally said, “Did you notice Mrs Parsons’s cat?”
“No.”
Hammond looked hard at Sykes. “Can you think of anyone who would want to kill Mrs Parsons?” Sykes closed his eyes, and Hammond said, “Well?”
“Someone must have wanted to.”
Hammond said, “Exactly.”
Gareth Blackwood looked at his watch again. “My client has had enough. He’s physically and mentally exhausted. To go any further at this stage would – ”
Cally cut him off, “You say the bed was unmade in Mrs Parsons’s room.”
Sykes said, “Yes.”
“Did you wonder at the time why this was?”
“I thought her new lover might have been in bed with her.”
Hammond said, “What made you think April Parsons had a new lover?”
“I thought if it wasn’t me anymore, it must be someone else.”
Hammond gave a nod. “Had you any idea who the new lover might be?”
Sykes shook his head, and Hammond said, “For the benefit of the tape, please.”
“No.”
Cally asked, “What caused you to go into the treatment room?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Had you heard something?” Hammond asked. “Was it likely Mrs Parsons and someone else were in there?”
“I didn’t know.”
“But you were prepared to find out.”
“I suppose I must have been.”
Hammond rubbed his chin. “Okay.”
Cally sought to change the mood. “I believe Mrs Parsons intended you should be involved with a complementary treatment project, together with her and one other person.”
Sykes nodded. “That was the idea. Two others, as a matter of fact.”
“And they were?”
“Judi Fox and Miss Bloom.”
Cally fingered her pen. “Miss Harriet Bloom?”
“Yes.”
Cally asked, “Why do you think Mrs Parsons decided you wouldn’t be staying on as part of the team?”
Sykes looked thoughtful. “She might’ve thought I’d done my bit.”
Hammond said, “And had you?”
Sykes said slowly, “I might have done.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Or perhaps the others thought Miss Bloom was capable of designing the inside of a small clinic. Plus they’d have had to pay me.”
Hammond said, “Remind me again. Who was involved in this project?”
Sykes held up four fingers. “April Parsons, Judi Fox, Miss Bloom, and me.”
Hammond asked, “Have you had any recent contact with Judi Fox?”
“No, though I saw an article saying she’d gone missing.”
“When did you see this article?”
“I’m not sure. But I remember thinking it was odd because she was going to Bath with April. Mrs Parsons.”
Cally leaned back. “You already knew, from the article, that Mrs Parsons was dead.” She paused. “You knew anyway, didn’t you, because you found her body and – how shall I put it – placed it in a different position.”
“Yes.”
Hammond said, “Did you visit Judi Fox on the evening of Tuesday the 17th May, the day before she and Mrs Parsons were due to go to Bath?”
“No.”
Hammond rolled a shoulder and Cally broke the pause. “We understand there were occasions when Mrs Parsons took you off your gardening work in order to collect Judi Fox and drive her to Spring House.”
“Yes.”
“How often would you say this happened?”
“It depended.”
Hammond raised an eyebrow. “On what?”
“On what day it was.”
Cally sighed. “You’re not giving much away, Mr Sykes – as to the purpose of these trips with Miss Fox. Would you like to tell us a little more?”
“It was for us to have intercourse.”
Blackwood stiffened.
Catching Hammond’s eye, Cally saw his acceptance of her ovulation theory. But, for heaven’s sake, she thought, if April Parsons wanted Judi Fox to conceive, why use Sykes as some sort of stallion? Had Fox, before she broke off the engagement, got used to his modus operandi? Did she want nothing less than the ‘fantastic lover’ Parsons had enjoyed? From what Cally knew of Judi Fox – admittedly not a great deal – she hadn’t sounded like someone playing the mating game for high stakes. “We understand,” Cally said, “that Miss Fox broke off your engagement.”
“It had nothing to do with that. This was different. It was to do with making Judi pregnant.”
“But why with you, Mr Sykes?”
“I was a safe bet. I have a good history: no known diseases to pass down.” He took a quiet breath. “And I’d done it before.”
Hammond waited a moment. “Where had you done it before?”
“At a fertility clinic in Leeds. Though not with intercourse.”
“Could you not have done something similar in Miss Fox’s case?”
Sykes said, “This was easier. More straightforward. Plus it would definitely be me.”
Cally asked, “Did you want a child, Mr Sykes?”
Sykes dodged the question. “I love Judi.”
Hammond broke in. “You also loved Mrs Parsons.”
“That was different.”
Cally received the merest nod from Hammond before she said, “Mr Sykes, you may be very upset by what I have to tell you.” She paused. “If, that is, you haven’t already heard.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m extremely sorry to tell you that Judi Fox is dead.”
There was second’s silence before Sykes’s distraught cry bounced off the walls, and Cally said, “I am so, so sorry.”
The ensuing silence in the room pointed up noises outside: in adjoining offices, even in the street. Sykes’s Adam’s apple seemed to take on a life of its own. His breathing came in short bursts. “Was there an accident?”
Hammond leaned across the table. “No. As with Mrs Parsons, Miss Fox was murdered.”
Sykes’s voice was barely audible. “Strangled?”
Hammond said, “That hasn’t been ascertained.”
Cally said, “You’re going to need to be very strong, Mr Sykes.”
“I am trying to be.”
Cally met Sykes’s gaze. “I have to inform you of something else.” A second elapsed. “Judi Fox was pregnant…with your child.”
The last trace of colour left Sykes’s face and he dropped his head to the table. Hammond reached for the switch on the tape. “Interview suspended at 21.50.”
42
Blackwood bade his client goodnight. Watched him being led away for a night in the cells.
Hammond stretched, got to his feet, did several circuits of the interview room, while Cally went over her notes. “No real point in listening to the tape tonight,” she said. “We can listen to the lot when we’ve talked to him again tomorrow.”
Hammond stood still, exercised his neck from side to side. “Clever sod?”
“Could be, I suppose,” Cally said, “but that good an actor? I’d be surprised.”
“Look at it from Syke’s viewpoint,” Hammond said. “You worry the police will find you with the body of the lover who dumped you. Would you call 999?”
“If I’d killed her,” Cally said, “or if I hadn’t? That’s the question, isn’t it.” She stood up, her turn to stretch. “Tomorrow’s another day.” Hammond watched the slim arms rise over her head.
“Too late for Chez Bloom?” she asked.
“I’m all right if you are,” he said. “Strike while the iron’s hot.”
*
“There she is,” Hammond said, “Araminta, taking the night air.”
Cally looked mystified. “Araminta?”
He tugged on the bell pull. “D
iana Bloom’s pet name for her Beetle.”
Cally listened, an ear cocked. “Let’s hope the daughter’s in.”
She was, and she opened the door. “Goodness,” she said, “is everything all right?”
“Just one or two things to catch up on,” said Cally. “May we come in?”
Bloom stepped back. “Of course. I’ll just let Mother know you’re here. She’s upstairs helping Lucy with a feed. Do go through into the sitting room; the French doors are open. Have a wander in the garden.”
Cally said, “Thanks, we’ve been stuck inside for too long.”
Waiting for Bloom, they sat outside and watched the distant hills fade in the not-quite-dying light. Cally took a deep breath. “Perfect for re-charging the batteries.”
Bloom was suddenly behind them. “Can I get you anything?”
Cally swivelled to look up at her. “Thanks, but no. …Everything okay with Leo?”
“Perfect,” said Bloom. “Well, near enough.”
Hammond said, “Come and sit down. We want to bring you up to date. Let you know we’ve been talking to Russell Sykes.”
Bloom’s eyes widened. “Oh, my word, so you’ve caught him! I sincerely hope you hang onto him.”
Hammond said, “We’ve had a chance to discuss various aspects of his connection with Mrs Parsons’s business idea, regarding her own practice and Miss Fox’s Reiki.”
Bloom asked, “Did he know about Judi Fox?”
“No, and he was visibly shocked.”
Bloom said wryly, “Was he really.”
“It was a helpful discussion.” Cally paused. “But rather more urgently, we’re keen to know if you can think of any reason why your mother’s Beetle was seen outside Spring House during the early hours of Tuesday the 17th May.”
Bloom looked taken aback. “Mother’s Beetle?”
Hammond said, “Two witnesses have verified its presence.”
Bloom smoothed her flared linen skirt. “It’s getting to be a worry, you know. One of those things you pretend can’t be happening.”
Cally asked, “Is there a problem?”
“The first intimation I had was when Mother mentioned giving up Bridge in favour of Scrabble.”
Hammond said, “And this has to do with?”
Bloom dropped her voice. “Her memory; perhaps forgetfulness is a better word. She’s admitted that sometimes, while out driving, she can’t for the life of her remember where she’s meant to be going.”
Hammond said, “Would your mother take the car out at night, then forget the occasion?”
Bloom pondered the question. “…She could do.”
Hammond waited a few moments. “From what you’ve already told us, during the evening of Monday the 16th of May, you and April Parsons touched on very serious, even delicate, subjects.” A pause. “But did you, once you were home, feel you had more to say? Perhaps there were still things you felt needed putting right.”
“I think I said earlier – that when I put you both in the picture regarding April and Miss Fox’s venture – April and I parted on good terms. I most certainly did not return to April’s.” She gave a little smile. “And if I had, I wouldn’t have taken Mother’s car.”
Cally said, “You knew April Parsons very well.”
“Probably better than anyone.”
“Who, in your opinion, might stand to gain from April’s death?”
Bloom looked thoughtful. “Not Philip. He sold his share of Spring House to plough into his business. Lucy of course, she’ll benefit. And in due course, Leo.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “James, he’ll benefit. He’d need the money, he’s caught up in a Spanish building investment that’s unfortunately gone pear-shaped.”
Glancing at Cally, Hammond said, “I’m not sure if we knew about that.”
Bloom said, “Philip fell prey to an unscrupulous builder who was looking for investors wanting a life of Riley in the sun. James also invested in it.” Head on one side, she added. “As a matter of fact, so did I. Not as much as Philip, of course.”
Hammond said, “How much have you lost?”
“In confidence?”
“Yes.”
“Ten K.”
A pleasant breeze caught Cally’s hair. Hammond watched as she tucked a strand behind her ear.
“Addressing the question of the Beetle again,” Cally said, “Is it possible your mother would go for a drive at night?”
“To be honest, I’m not sure she wouldn’t. I’m starting to worry.”
“If she did, why would she park outside Spring House?”
“I’ve no idea.” She gave herself a moment: “Though perhaps, knowing the house, it might have felt familiar.”
“When the car was seen,” Cally said, “no one was in it.”
Harriet gave a little shake of the head. “Beats me.”
Hammond rose, resisted the urge to stretch. “It’s getting late. I think we’d better leave it there for now. Give our best to your mother and Lucy.”
*
Full beam lit up the straight piece of road. Hammond put his foot down. “Well?”
“Careful, there are deer on this road.”
“Sorry.”
Cally glanced at his profile. “Do you buy it, her mother taking the Beetle out at night?”
“Assume nothing.”
“I know. But it’s odd that whoever parked the car left it in plain sight. If you were up to no good, wouldn’t you make an effort to hide it? Which makes it more likely to have been Diana Bloom, who wasn’t sure where she was going.”
“Plus she didn’t know what time of night it was?”
“Mmm. Back to Sykes.” She paused. “In a blind rage and out for blood?”
“But why the Beetle?”
“Because he hadn’t any petrol in the Toyota?”
Hammond grinned. “That’s it of course, and by an amazing stroke of luck, he had a key to Araminta.” He glanced at Cally. “Having met Diana Bloom, making bread like there’s no tomorrow, I find it hard to believe she’s losing her marbles.”
“People with full-blown dementia can play the piano. It might be possible to make bread on auto-pilot.”
“Outside my remit.”
“What’s your gut instinct, Steve?”
He slowed for a right turn and a baby rabbit escaped with its life. “I’m fairly certain Sykes didn’t kill Judi Fox. April Parsons? Not sure.”
Cally said, “How about tomorrow? Talk to Sykes first, then follow up with James Parsons?”
“Time-wise, we’ll have Kerridge on our backs. You talk to Parsons while I carry on with Sykes.”
“Okay.”
43
9 a.m. at PZ Motors, Headingly, and Cally watched James push the button for coffee. Then push it again. “I know it’s cooler in here,” he said, “but d’you mind if we go outside? There’s a seating area behind the Fiats.”
“No problem.”
Coffee in hand, they wound their way in out and of rows of used cars. Leading the way to a weather-proof wicker table and matching seats, James grinned. “Someone’s thought to put the parasol up.”
Cally placed her beaker on the glass-topped table. “I’ll come straight to the point, Mr Parsons.” The grin slid from his face, and she said, “Don’t look so worried, it’s purely routine.” She took out her notebook. “You’re not the only one we’re talking to.” She took a sip of coffee. “Have you ever driven a mint green Volksvagen Beetle?”
Parsons relaxed. “Absolutely. The one belonging to Diana Bloom.”
“Ah. So you know Mrs Bloom.”
“My sister and nephew are living with her. I thought you knew that.”
Cally lifted her pen. “When did you drive the Beetle?”
“The first time was a test-run when she was considering the purchase from PZ.”
“And since then?”
“I went out with her a few times when she first bought the car. She’d had an old Vauxhall for years, and was nervous about
driving something so different. I mean, she’s not a young woman.”
Cally asked evenly, “Did you drive the Beetle during the early hours of Tuesday the 17th May?”
Parsons’s rosebud lips compressed. “Like I said before, possibly more than once, I was in bed.” He took a gulp of coffee. “Asleep.”
Cally upended her pen. “On another subject,” she said, “I understand you’ve run into a spot of bother over an investment in Spain.”
Parsons bit a thumb nail, looked at her over his knuckles. “Is that relevant?”
“Everything is relevant in a murder enquiry.”
“Sorry, of course.”
Cally raised her eyebrows. “Any more to add on the subject?”
He seemed reluctant. “God, bloody Spaniards.” The muscles in his jaw worked. “I’d had a really crap night out with Dad and Harriet.”
“When was this?”
“Sunday. Club Lautrec.”
She made a note. “I’ve been a few times. Though not socially.”
“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
Cally took a moment. “Was this a special occasion?”
“Not in the way you mean.” Parsons took a quick breath. “They came to tell me the fucking Spanish builder – ’scuse my French – had done a disappearing act.” He gave a bleak laugh. “Harriet was dressed like she’d come to chair a board meeting. Clearly hoped she’d get her money back.”
“Did you also invest?”
“10K.” With his mouth turned down, he looked like a cross toddler. “We talked until we were blue in the face.” He stopped abruptly. “Then Harriet went home.”
“Were you not expecting her to leave?”
“I don’t think me or Dad expected her to waltz off. Not just like that.” He took a pristine handkerchief from his trouser pocket, wiped his forehead. “After she left, Dad lost it, kept repeating himself. Said I didn’t know the half of it.”
“Half of what, Mr Parsons?”
He stood up, stretched, and ran his fingers through high-lighted hair.
She asked again, “Half of what, Mr Parsons?”
“Sorry.” Sitting down, he said, “To be honest, I thought it was the Merlot talking. I don’t think he’d have unloaded the whole shebang if it hadn’t been for two bottles too many. It must have touched a nerve, me bringing up his affair with Harriet.” He chewed his cheek. “That evening, mistakenly as it turns out, I thought Harriet was up to her old tricks.”