Faraday 01 The Gigabyte Detective (26 page)

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Minterne Road in Brixham was a typical road of between-the-wars bungalows with more modern houses filling the gaps in the earlier development. They found the place which had been the home of the Harris femily - a small semi-detached dwelling about twenty years old. As instructed, Julian waited in the car while Charlotte went up the short path to the front door. There she encountered a middle-aged woman coming out of the garage beside the house.

“Hello,” said Charlotte, briefly displaying her warrant card. “I’m trying to contact a Mr Harris who I understand used to live here.”

“You’ll be lucky,” said the woman. “He left here more than five years ago.”

“You wouldn’t have a forwarding address, I suppose.”

The woman shook her head. “Not any more, we haven’t. He left us the address of the firm in Plymouth where he worked and said any stuff could be sent there for him. But after a few months they started sending it back to us. They said he wasn’t working for them any longer and he’d left the area. We didn’t have any other address. So we kept it for a while and then decided to chuck it away.” She shrugged. “There was nothing else we could do really. Anyway most of it was printed rubbish.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t be able to give me the name of the firm?”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember it and we chucked all that stuff away years ago. All I can tell you is that it was an accounting company.”

“That’s a pity.”

She looked at Charlotte carefully. “What’s he done?”

“Nothing, as far as I know. I’m just trying to contact him. All I know so far is that his wife committed suicide and that he was very cut up about it.”

“You can say that again,” agreed the woman. “We only met him twice, but he carried on at us as though we’d known him for years. He was very bitter about the woman what had given his wife the push - from her job, that is. He seemed to think that it was all her fault but he said the police wouldn’t take any action against her. He never stopped going on about it when he met us, although we hardly knew him. I shouldn’t have liked to have been the woman what gave his wife the sack. I reckon he would try to get even with her in some way, if ever he got the chance.”

“What do you mean?” Charlotte asked. “Are you saying he would have hurt her in some way if he could?”

“Do you know,” said the woman, “I reckon he would. Not physical of course - I don’t think he would go that far. But he certainly had it in for her, if ever he came across her again.”

“Well, I expect that’s forgotten now,” said Charlotte. “I expect he’ll have met someone else and settled down with her and forgotten all about it. You know what men are.”

The woman pulled a face. “I don’t know about that. I don’t think he was the kind of man to forgive and forget very easily. As I said, I wouldn’t have liked to have got on the wrong side of him.”

“But you haven’t ever seen or heard of him since, I suppose.”

“No.” The woman shook her head with finality. “I don’t think anyone will see him round here again. Sorry I can’t be more help to you.”

“Well, never mind. Thanks a lot anyway.” Charlotte made to leave.

“Who shall I say called?” asked the woman. “Just in case anyone ever asks, that is?”

“Charlotte Faraday. Thanks for your help. Goodbye.”

“Bye.” The woman was left gazing after her as Charlotte crossed the road and got into Julian’s car and they drove away.

“Did you have any luck?” he asked.

“No. She was given the name of the firm of accountants in Plymouth that he worked for as a forwarding address for mail. But after a few months he left them and apparently the company sent the mail back, saying they didn’t know where he had gone. She couldn’t remember the name of the firm. I suppose we could investigate accountants in Plymouth, but I’m not very hopeful. He could be anywhere now and using any new name he’s decided to adopt.” She looked at the journalist. “I must say I’m a bit worried about him. He’s the first actual named person we’ve come across who had a clear motive to wish ill any of these women. I’d like to see if I can track him down.”

He glanced at her briefly. “How on earth do you propose to do that? You say that you don’t know his address or even, possibly, his present name.”

“Well,” she sighed, “the first thing I need to find out is if he’s known to any of the other women - and especially to Cynthia Adams. I mustn’t forget that I’m investigating her murder - no-one else’s at present.”

“So,” he asked, “where do we go next?”

“Oh, I think we’ll return to the station. Since it’s Saturday, I may have some trouble in contacting people.”

“Never mind,” Julian said with a grin. “I’m free all day. So I’ll be able to keep you company, even if you can’t find anyone else to hold your hand.”

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?”