Authors: Faith Martin
‘Thanks,’ she said flatly, when she’d read it through. She closed the folder and slipped it into her own, voluminous bag then leaned back as the waitress returned with her dinner. The omelette steamed appetizingly with heat, and the salad looked crisp and fresh and green, the tomatoes juicy. Very healthy and good for her. Damn it, she wished it were scampi and chips.
But her thighs and hips were thanking her. They’d bloody better be. She reached for the salad cream and splodged it on, then sighed and took a bite. Eventually, she had to ask. Just as Mike Regis, damn him, had known she would. ‘And just how did you know those charming people at ESAA were giving me grief?’
Regis grinned and shrugged. ‘Oh, through a friend of a friend. He knows Palmer’s solicitor. Don’t ask.’
Hillary wasn’t about to. Usually when somebody did you a favour, you not only looked the gift horse well and truly in the mouth, you checked its fetlocks, mane and chest too while you were at it. Not to mention keeping a wary look out for mange, foot rot and fleas. Well, you did, if you were a serving copper.
But Hillary trusted Mike Regis. Well, when it came to things like this, anyway.
‘Thanks,’ she said again, and meant it. Suddenly, she had a lot more confidence in the outcome of the up-coming civil battle to keep her hands on her own property. ‘So, how’s …
what’s her name? Your wife?’ Hillary said flatly, and saw Mike Regis’s eyes narrow.
‘Laura? She’s fine. Didn’t know you knew her,’ he said, just as flatly.
Hillary speared some egg and chewed. ‘I didn’t. Didn’t know
of
her, either,’ she added, carefully.
‘So that’s why you blew me off in the canteen that day,’ Regis said candidly. ‘I did wonder.’
It was typical of him not to offer a useless apology. And now that the ball was firmly back in her court, she supposed she could play it coy, but what was the point? They were all grown ups here, and unless she’d seriously misread Mike Regis (and she didn’t think she had) he’d appreciate the cards-on-the-table approach.
‘Look, Mike, let’s be frank. When we first met, I liked you right off. I felt we could get on. And we worked the Pitman case together well. I didn’t think I was kidding myself when I thought you might be interested in starting something a bit more personal than simply jogging along as workmates, did I?’
Mike Regis, who was watching her closely, shook his head. ‘No, you didn’t get it wrong,’ he admitted quietly. He’d become very still in his chair, and Hillary was aware that the ends of her fingertips had started to tingle. She took a deep, calming breath.
‘OK. So you wouldn’t have been wrong if you’d got around to thinking that maybe I was willing to give it a go,’ she admitted honestly. ‘But when I found out you were married, that was it. You have to know the scuttlebutt about Ronnie. The man was about as faithful as Don Juan with a harem full of nymphomaniacs. I’ve been the ‘wronged wife’ too many damned times to ever play the other woman to some other poor unsuspecting cow. It’s as simple as that.’
She forked a tomato and ate it, waiting calmly. She watched him thinking, weighing his words, and found herself half interested and half dreading what he had to say in response.
‘I understand all that,’ Regis said at last. ‘It just didn’t occur
to me that you didn’t know the rest. Everyone else does. Or so I assume.’
‘The rest?’
‘Laura and I will be filing for divorce. We were only waiting until Sylvie – our daughter – was old enough to hack it. Our marriage has been over, like, for ever. Hell, she’s been seeing this chartered accountant bloke for nearly eight years. I’ll be moving out as soon as I can get another place.’
Hillary nodded. ‘Well, when you have, and when the decree nisi comes in, if you’re still interested, let me know.’ It sounded hard and bold, but Hillary knew he was already reading between the lines, something that was confirmed by his next words.
‘You think I might be handing you the old married man’s mantra? The “my wife doesn’t understand me, and we’re going to get divorced as soon as the kids are older?” speech?’ Mike said harshly. Then he laughed. ‘Yeah, well, can’t say as I blame you. I just thought you might have given me the benefit of the doubt. Hell, it doesn’t matter.’
He slid out of the booth and headed for the door, where she finally noticed his sergeant, the silent and all-knowing DS Colin Tanner, waiting patiently for him.
Hillary watched him go and smiled bleakly. What if he didn’t come back? What if, a year down the road, she heard that the newly and amicably divorced Mike Regis was seen out and about with a new woman? Someone who’d actually trusted him?
Hillary grinned. She couldn’t help it. Life was a bugger, but you had to laugh, right?
She shook her head, paid for her meal and left the pub.
Walking back to HQ, she tried to talk herself into believing that she’d just done the right thing. Let’s face it, she thought grimly, apart from anything else, Mike Regis was such a bloody good copper that if they
had
got together, he’d have eventually sniffed out the fact that she knew where Ronnie had stashed his dosh. Then he’d nab her. Of that she had no doubts whatsoever, simply because, were the situation reversed, she’d sure as hell nab
him
.
So, all things considered, Romeo and Juliet they definitely weren’t.
Back at HQ, Dr Steven Partridge caught her as he was leaving. Today he was dressed in something that the actor who played Hercule Poirot might wear. She could swear she could even smell pomade on his hair. She wondered, not for the first time, what the doc’s wife made of her husband’s sartorial love affair with himself.
‘Ah, Hillary, glad I caught you. I’ve left the reports on your desk. Your bride in the cowshed. I’ve done the autopsy – and by the way, thanks for sending DS Ross. His comments as I cut and diced were, as ever, riveting.’
Hillary grimaced. Hadn’t she told Janine to go? She’d have to have a word with her sergeant. ‘Sorry, Doc, but Frank’s like a toxic substance. I have to spread him around evenly, giving everyone their fair share of misery, because if I leave him
concentrated
in one place too long, people start dropping like flies.’
Steven Partridge smiled bleakly. ‘So it was just my turn with the poisoned cherub then? That’s a relief. For a moment, I thought I’d somehow found my way onto your shit list.’
‘As if you could. So, give me the highlights.’
‘Strangled, as you thought, and manual strangulation at that. She was definitely drunk, although probably not falling down drunk. She put up a bit of a fight, and there
were
traces of skin and blood under her fingernails, I’m glad to say. DS Janine Tyler and Tommy Lynch were hitting the computers for a DNA match as I left. They seemed excited, bless them.’
Hillary grunted. That was all well and good, if their boy had previous form, and had his DNA in the system. But she had the feeling this was a one off. ‘Well, it means I can start to get our list of suspects in to donate DNA, if they feel so inclined,’ she mused thoughtfully.
‘And if they don’t, you’ll turn your beady little eye onto them faster than a speeding bullet?’
Hillary laughed. ‘Oh, a lot faster than that, Doc. A lot faster than that!’
*
Upstairs, Tommy confirmed that so far they’d had no luck with a DNA hit. But the computer could run for hours yet. He also filled her in more fully on Vivian Orne, and the reasons behind the very short interview.
‘Oh, and by the way, I had a word with Mrs Finchley,’ Tommy said. ‘She’s definitely got a drink problem, and when I mentioned that Julia might have hinted that Mr Max Finchley was a crook, she certainly reacted as if I’d struck a nerve.’
Hillary nodded ‘OK, get on to the husband then. Check him out. Maybe shadow him for a day or two, see if you pick up anything interesting.’
‘Right, guv,’ Tommy said, delighted. He always liked following people around. It made him feel like one of those private eyes in American thrillers.
Hillary slowly read through the full post-mortem report, and then the forensics they had so far. Apart from the DNA samples scraped from under Julia Reynolds’ fingernails, they had practically nothing to go on. Doc Partridge had said her blood alcohol level meant she was more or less drunk, but there had been nothing, ostensibly, about Julia Reynolds’ behaviour at the party which should have led to her being manually strangled.
A stranger then? An outsider? Again, the problem remained. How had she been lured to the cowshed in that gorgeous dress? The dress hadn’t been torn or ripped, her shoes showed no signs of scuff marks. Julia’s arms were not bruised, so it was unlikely she’d been forcibly dragged or manhandled into that shed. She’d gone willingly. And probably, from what they’d pieced together so far of her character, to meet a man.
The question was – which man?
‘Guv, for you. Wendy Wallis,’ Tommy said, breaking into her morose thoughts and waving the receiver at her.
‘Mrs Wallis? DI Greene. Is there something I can do for you?’
‘Well, yes. Well, no, not for me personally. I have a friend here with me, Sharon Gunnell. This is very awkward over the telephone, so I was wondering if it was possible, I mean convenient, for you to come over and talk to us? Sharon and myself, perhaps now or quite soon?’
‘Of course,’ Hillary said smoothly. ‘I’ll be there in twenty
minutes or so.’ She hung up, glanced at Tommy, then mentally shook her head. She doubted turning up with a big constable in tow would be ideal for worming information out of two, already nervous, women. ‘Mrs Wallis has a friend who needs to speak to me,’ Hillary said, and glanced across at Janine. ‘Doing anything vital?’
Janine grimaced. ‘No, boss,’ she admitted, grabbing her coat. As she did so, she glanced at her closed desk drawer, where the brochure for the weekend break in the New Forest lay concealed. Had she done the right thing in booking it and paying the deposit? At least there was no way Mel could back out of it now. And the little inn in the village of Burley sounded ideal. Remote, pretty, just the place for two trysting coppers to make whoopee.
She was still smiling to herself as she followed Hillary out, making Frank Ross, just coming in after a very late and very long lunch, do a comical double-take. He slouched his way over to his desk, already feeling out of sorts. Whenever
somebody
else was happy, he wasn’t. It was one of the few principles by which he led his life.
‘I bet Mel must be feeling chipper. The happy hooker is beaming like a cat that’s just had a canary sandwich.’ Tommy pretended not to hear. ‘Do you think the chief and our Janine are gonna tie the knot then? Wouldn’t put it past the stupid bastard.’
Tommy sighed heavily.
‘And I reckon, despite what the guv says, that new super is as bent as a corkscrew.’
Tommy turned off the computer and grabbed his coat. ‘Got a suspect to tail,’ he said briefly, just to let Ross know he wasn’t the only one who could do hands-on coppering. Besides, if he stayed, he might just deck the prat.
‘He’ll spot you a mile off, you bastard,’ Frank Ross muttered, just far enough under his breath for Tommy not to hear, as he watched the constable leave.
Hillary Greene had given Frank the task of finding out what Leo ‘The Man’ Mann had really been up to on the night of the
vic’s murder. So far, he’d put out feelers with all his narks, and was due to meet another in the pub in an hour. He supposed he could put in some paperwork. Then again, the nark might be early, and he wouldn’t want to miss him, would he? Frank Ross grinned to himself and contemplated his fifth pint of the day. And felt, for some reason, a lot happier about life in general.
Sharon Gunnell looked distinctly apprehensive.
‘Thank you for coming, Inspector Greene. This is Sharon Gunnell, the friend I was telling you about.’ Mrs Wallis made the introductions calmly.
Hillary saw Janine take her notebook out and half hide it behind her handbag, and gave a mental nod of approval. People tended to dry up when their every word looked as if it were being written down.
‘You see, the thing is, Sharon realized, after she’d given her statement to the police the night of the party, that she’d forgotten to mention something.’ It was Wendy Wallis who took up the baton, which was fine with her. Hillary knew full damned well that Sharon Gunnell hadn’t forgotten a thing, but had kept her mouth deliberately shut simply because she didn’t want to get involved. It was often the way with witnesses. The trouble was, conscience had a nasty habit of being a right pain in the bum about things like that, until in the end it was just far easier on the nerves to spill it. Not very public-spirited maybe, but then Hillary had never been one to rail against human nature. What was the point? At least the witnesses had come through in the end. So she simply smiled and nodded and played the agony aunt.
‘That’s often the way,’ she said, careful to keep her voice sympathetic. ‘What a witness will recall just minutes after learning about a murder, and, say a few days later, is surprising. I expect that’s what happened here, isn’t it?’ she finished, turning firmly to Sharon Gunnell with a gentle smile and no-nonsense air of expectancy.
Sharon was one of those stick-thin women who seemed to live on their nerves. She smiled, showing uneven, tobacco-
stained teeth and fiddled with a strand of long, dark-brown hair. ‘Yes, that’s exactly right,’ she said, relieved to be given a gracious out, and so unexpectedly soon. ‘But I don’t expect it’s important. I mean, I might have called you all the way out here for nothing.’
Yeah, right lady, Janine thought, with an inner snort. And I’m Mary Poppins.
‘So, what was it that you wanted to tell us, Mrs Gunnell?’ Hillary nursed her along patiently. ‘I assure you it will be in confidence.’ Unless, of course, she had to testify to it in a court of law. But Hillary wasn’t about to go there yet. Not with one as skittish as this.
‘Well, it was about eleven-thirty or so. I know it was around then, because Bill, my husband, started to make those I-
want-to
-go signs, and I thought it was way too early when I checked the clock and saw the time. I could hardly leave my best friend’s silver wedding anniversary party before midnight, could I?’ she said, with a quick grin at her friend. Wendy Wallis nodded back encouragingly. ‘So it was only a little while later that I saw him leave. Mr Greenwood. The father, I mean, not the son.’
‘Theo Greenwood?’ Hillary said, wanting it perfectly clear.
‘Yes. I was in the kitchen, washing a wine stain off my skirt. Some idiot had knocked into me holding a glass. Luckily it was white wine, not red, or it would have been ruined. Anyway,’ she hurried on, ‘I looked out the kitchen window, which was open to let in some fresh air, and that’s when I saw him.’
Hillary nodded. ‘You saw him where, exactly?’
‘Crossing the lawn, between those two rose beds you have out back,’ Sharon said, suddenly turning to speak to her friend.
‘I can show you if you like,’ Wendy said helpfully, and Hillary held up a hand.
‘Later, thank you. For the moment, Mrs Gunnell, just tell us what you saw.’
‘Well, that was it really,’ Sharon said. ‘Mr Greenwood – I knew him by sight, because he and Owen had disappeared off
to the study to talk business and Wendy pointed him out to me, because she was hopping mad about it, and who can blame her in the middle of the party and all? So I knew who he was. Well, anyway, he walked down the garden path, across the lawn, and out through the side gate onto the lane outside. The reason it stuck in my mind later was because of the way he walked.’
Hillary blinked, and heard Janine’s pen, which had been busily scraping across the page of her notebook suddenly stall. Obviously they’d both been caught out by Sharon Gunnell’s words. The way he walked, Hillary repeated mentally to herself. What? Had he waddled; done a Max Wall
impersonation
; what?
‘Was he limping?’ she suddenly asked sharply, as a thought occurred to her. If Julia Reynolds had managed to get a good backwards kick and land a blow on her assailant’s shin before she succumbed, it might be possible that her attacker would have a limp.
‘Oh no. Nothing like that,’ Sharon sounded almost shocked. ‘I just meant that he wasn’t mooching about. You know, like you do at a party. You go outside to have a ciggie, or get some air, or just have a rest from the loud music and you just sort of wander about. But he wasn’t doing that. He walked straight across the grass like he knew where he was going. As if he had somewhere specific in mind. Do you see?’ she added timidly, glancing from all three women and wondering if she’d just made some kind of a fool of herself.
Hillary nodded. ‘Yes. Yes, I do see. Did you see him come back?’
‘Oh no. I washed my skirt off and went back inside to make sure Bill wasn’t trying to say his goodbyes on the sly. He’d do that. Then, of course, I’d have had no choice but to say goodbye too, and it was such a lovely party. Oh!’ She put a hand to her mouth as she suddenly realized that, for one of the guests at least, it had been anything but.
‘I see. Well, thank you, Mrs Gunnell, you’ve been very helpful,’ Hillary said.
Wendy Wallis rose, too, relief plainly written all over her face. ‘You understand, Inspector,’ she said firmly, ‘we’re not saying that Mr Greenwood did anything improper. Nor are we trying to imply that he was in any way, well, implicated in what happened.’
And he was, after all, the man who might be willing to give her husband umpteen pounds sterling for some acres of his land, Hillary added silently and more cynically. ‘I can reassure you that we don’t jump to conclusions, Mrs Wallis,’ she said vaguely, and, with Sharon Gunnell’s relieved goodbyes ringing in their ears, stepped outside and walked towards the car.
Janine slid, without asking, behind the driver’s wheel as Hillary slammed the car door shut and reached behind her for the seat belt.
‘The Hayrick Inn, boss?’ Janine asked, rhetorically.
Hillary sighed and nodded without much enthusiasm. Truth to tell, she’d rather have a bit more under her belt before confronting Mr Theo Greenwood. So far, they only had Leo Mann’s word for it that Julia Reynolds had been playing the old horizontal tango with him. And so what if a member of the party saw him walking through the gardens at around the time Julia was killed? A good defence lawyer would treat such hearsay and vague suspicions with much derision.
But then again, Theo Greenwood wasn’t a barrister, and might just let something slip if they rattled him hard enough. She couldn’t afford not try it, anyway.
Theo Greenwood wasn’t happy to see them. The Hayrick Inn, Hillary was surprised to see, did a roaring trade in ‘traditional afternoon tea’, catching a lot of the overflow of American tourists doing the Oxford-Stratford-Cotswold scene. She was careful to report in at reception and keep herself well out of public view, since people like Theo Greenwood had a nasty habit of knowing people who knew the chief constable. And too many unnecessary black spots against your name could get you a reputation as a troublemaker, whether it was warranted or not. And with a new super on the scene, it didn’t pay to take
unnecessary chances. So she had no objection to Mr Greenwood ushering them out of sight and into his impressive office once more.
‘I must say, Inspector Greene, I wasn’t expecting you back so soon. I take it there was nothing amiss on my son’s clothes and shoes? He was told he could come and pick them up tomorrow?’
Hillary nodded, settling herself down comfortably in the proffered chair and thus letting the hotel owner know that they were in for a long haul. ‘No, nothing untoward, sir,’ she said ambiguously. ‘It was yourself we wanted a word with, not Roger.’
Janine wondered if the hotelier looked just a shade
jaundiced
? She rather thought he might.
‘Me?’ Theo said, and gave a rather false laugh. He must have heard the hollow ring in it himself, for he suddenly rose and walked briskly to the drinks cabinet. ‘Can I get you anything?’
‘Not for me, thank you, sir,’ Hillary said, and Janine murmured similar polite refusals. They let him get a drink, surprisingly a simple soda and ice, and then settle back down again. ‘Can you tell us how long your sexual relationship with Julia Reynolds lasted, Mr Greenwood?’ Hillary began with deceptive mildness.
Yes, definitely jaundice, Janine thought with a hidden smile. With just a touch of magenta and, around the gills, a smidgen of green.
Theo Greenwood swallowed hard once or twice, then put down his glass of soda with a commendably steady hand. ‘I see,’ he said heavily. ‘I wondered if you’d get on to that.’ He leaned back in his chair and sighed. ‘It was last year. I met Julia at a party. We hit it off straight away. For a much younger woman than myself, she was surprisingly mature.’
‘She didn’t mind that you were married? Or didn’t you tell her?’ Hillary put in, still in that mildly curious voice that even Janine found grating. Her DI’s studied indifference made even her teeth itch, so what it did to the subject being interviewed she couldn’t tell.
Theo Greenwood flushed an ugly shade of red, and once again his resemblance to a pig suddenly shone through. ‘No, I … er, didn’t as a matter of fact. Never said so in as many words, that is. But I’m sure she guessed,’ he added gruffly.
‘Who ended it, Mr Greenwood? Or was it still going on, perhaps?’ Hillary mused.
‘Of course it wasn’t! She was seeing my son. What kind of perverted mind have you got?’ Theo sputtered.
Hillary smiled sweetly. ‘Oh, when you deal regularly with pornographers, paedophiles, rapists, victims of incest, and what have you, you tend to lose any surprise at the depths to which human nature will sink, Mr Greenwood,’ she said, calmly. ‘So, I take it you were not both seeing Miss Reynolds at the same time then?’
Theo Greenwood, thoroughly disconcerted, as Hillary had intended, shook his head. ‘No. We weren’t.’
‘So who ended the affair between you?’
Greenwood reached for his soda. ‘She did,’ he admitted quietly, trying not to notice the way the pretty blonde sergeant grinned over her notebook.