Unnatural Wastage (7 page)

‘She was always picking on me.' Wilkins stared at his feet. ‘I'd only been here five minutes and she started telling everyone I wasn't up to the job and the estate didn't look half as good as when the previous chap was here.'

‘Did you get any other complaints?'

‘In the early days, one or two people pointed out things that Jeff – the previous caretaker – used to do that I wasn't doing.'

‘For example?'

‘Things like sweeping up the area round the skips after the council men had emptied them. I said I thought that was the council men's job but the people just laughed and said things like “you're joking”, so I've done it ever since.'

‘Did you mind being told off for things like that?'

‘It wasn't telling off; not in that case. I was new to the job and they were just being helpful.'

‘Did you feel Ms Tremaine was just being helpful?'

Wilkins raised his eyes. ‘Not at the time,' he said slowly, ‘and now I come to think of it, she might have been trying to prove something to herself. She'd been here longer than most of the other residents and she acted like she knew more than everyone how things should be done and she upset quite a few people. Just the same,' he added with a hint of regret in his voice, ‘she didn't deserve to die in a rubbish skip with a knife in her back.'

‘Let's talk about the knife for a moment,' said Haskins. ‘Had you seen one like it before?'

Wilkins shook his head. ‘I never saw the knife. It was one of the paramedics that spotted it. I said that in my statement.'

‘All right; I just wanted to be sure. Now, I'd like you to look carefully at this.' Haskins took a photograph from his bag. ‘This is a picture of the murder weapon, which was shown to the media at this morning's press conference. Do you by any chance ­recognize it?'

Wilkins stared at the picture; his eyes widened in mingled astonishment and alarm and for a moment he appeared unable to speak.

‘I can see you do,' said Haskins. ‘Where did you last see it?'

Wilkins swallowed before replying, ‘In Doctor Ellerman's flat.'

‘G
ood afternoon, Sergeant Rathbone, Constable Osborne! My name's Anton Maxworth.' A man whom Penny judged to be in his early fifties stood up and held out a hand across a desk which, in contrast to the one in Ellerman's office, was of a simple, modern design that looked slightly out of place against the sombre, old-fashioned decor. He was clean-shaven, with a fresh complexion and neatly trimmed dark hair. ‘Sit down,' he went on, indicating a group of comfortable chairs placed round a low table by the window. ‘Would you like tea or coffee?'

‘That's very kind of you, sir,' said Rathbone. ‘Coffee would be very acceptable, thank you.'

Maxworth pressed a button; a woman's voice answered and he said, ‘Coffee for three, please.' He took a seat opposite them and said, ‘This is a terrible business. I knew there was some tension between Fenella and Marcus, of course, although they were both careful not to let it get out of hand in front of me – or the other members of the department for that matter.' He broke off as there was a light knock on the door and a young woman entered with a tray. ‘Thank you Anne; just leave it on the table and I'll pour.' She went out and closed the door; Maxworth filled three cups from a cafetière and offered milk and sugar. ‘Now, how can I help you?'

‘We understand that certain organizational changes are taking place within your company, pending the removal to new premises,' Rathbone began. ‘Doctor Ellerman hinted that the department in which both he and Ms Tremaine have been working for some considerable time is likely to be scaled down, but that they were both hoping to be considered for a new appointment as head of department. Is that correct?'

Maxworth gave a brief smile. ‘Partly,' he said, ‘that is, I've already appointed a couple of people with IT skills to set up a new computerized system to handle the accounts and administration. I've also advertised a new post of company secretary who will, of course, have overall charge of the department, and there have been a number of very promising applicants.'

‘Has the position been advertised internally, sir?' asked Penny.

‘Naturally. And both Tremaine and Ellerman have applied.' He paused for a moment to take a mouthful of coffee before adding wryly, ‘Neither of them has been shortlisted. So if he's the one who stuck a knife in her to make sure he got the job, he was wasting his time.'

‘Are you saying you suspect Doctor Ellerman of murdering Ms Tremaine?' asked Rathbone.

‘I didn't say that.' A troubled look flitted across Maxworth's expressive features. ‘It was just a bit of “gallows” humour – and in rather poor taste in the present circumstances I suppose. I assure you, Sergeant, that I have no reason whatsoever to suspect Doctor Ellerman.'

‘Could I ask your reasons for not considering either him or Ms Tremaine for the new post?'

‘It's very simple really. Fenella Tremaine did a first-class job in the department but she simply isn't . . . wasn't . . . management material. Marcus Ellerman is highly qualified and knows his job backwards, but human relations aren't his strong point. Ironic, isn't it? “Human Relations in the Workplace” was the subject of his PhD thesis, but he's not very good at putting his theories into practice and he's inclined to rub people up the wrong way.'

‘Didn't someone say that about Ms Tremaine, Sarge?' said Penny.

Maxworth's eyebrows lifted. ‘Someone in this company?'

‘No, sir, one of their neighbours in Sycamore Park,' Penny explained.

‘That's right,' said Rathbone, ‘and Doctor Ellerman, who also lives there, gave us to understand that she had upset several of them recently.'

Maxworth raised his eyebrows. ‘I hadn't realized they were neighbours.' He got up, went to his desk, called up a file on his computer and began jabbing at his keyboard. ‘So they are.' He frowned. ‘Sycamore Park,' he said, almost to himself. ‘I've got a feeling I know of someone else who lives there.' He returned to the table and sat down. ‘No,' he said after a moment, ‘no one comes to mind. It's probably irrelevant anyway.'

‘Probably,' Rathbone agreed, ‘but if you should happen to remember, perhaps you'd let us know.'

‘Of course. Have you any more questions?'

Before Rathbone could answer, his mobile rang. He got to his feet saying, ‘Excuse me, please,' and headed for the door. When he returned, Penny could tell immediately from his expression that the call had been significant. ‘I apologize for the interruption Mr Maxworth,' he said. ‘I must ask you to excuse us for the moment. We may need to see you again later.'

‘What's up, Sarge?' asked Penny as the door to Maxworth's office closed behind them.

‘You'll find out in a couple of minutes.' Without waiting to summon the lift, Rathbone charged up the stairs to the second floor, banged on Ellerman's door and flung it open without waiting for a response.

Ellerman sprang to his feet. ‘What the devil do you mean by barging in like this?' he demanded.

‘Sit down, Doctor Ellerman,' Rathbone snapped. He opened his briefcase, took out the photograph of the murder weapon and threw it on the desk. ‘I showed you that less than an hour ago and asked you if you recognized it – remember?'

Ellerman nodded. ‘I remember. What about it?'

‘DC Osborne, please read Doctor Ellerman's reply.'

Penny hastily consulted her notebook. ‘His reply was, “I've seen plenty of knives with this sort of handle in India. They're in all the tourist shops.”'

‘And what further question did I ask, and how did he reply?'

‘You asked Doctor Ellerman if he owned one, Sarge, and he replied, “Do I look like someone who brings back kitsch from oriental bazaars?”'

‘Right, Doctor Ellerman,' said Rathbone. There was a hint of steel in his voice that Penny could not recall having heard before. ‘You have already admitted bringing back from India those embroidered cushions we saw in your flat.'

‘I've already told you; I bought them to please my wife.'

‘Would you describe those items as “kitsch”?'

‘To be honest, yes, but Julie liked them.'

‘What about knives with decorative handles?'

‘They're hardly the sort of thing to appeal to a woman.'

‘No, but some men have an interest in weapons. Doctor Ellerman, I'm asking you for the second time, do you recognize this knife?'

‘And I'm telling you, for the second time,' said Ellerman defiantly, ‘that I shall answer no further questions without my solicitor being present.'

‘Supposing I were to tell you that we have a witness who claims to have seen a knife identical to this one in your flat?'

Ellerman's jaw dropped and his normally healthy colour faded. ‘What witness?' he asked in a hoarse voice.

‘Do you deny owning such a knife?'

Ellerman shook his head, but it appeared to be in disbelief rather than a denial. When he made no reply, Rathbone said, ‘In the circumstances, Doctor Ellerman, I suggest we continue this interview at headquarters. If you wish to contact your solicitor before we leave and ask him to meet us there, you are free to do so.'

‘Am I being arrested?'

‘Not at the moment. Let's say that we believe you have information concerning the murder of Fenella Tremaine and that you are helping us with our enquiries.'

Ellerman stood up. Every vestige of self-confidence seemed to have deserted him; he even appeared to Penny to have shrunk in stature. ‘I prefer to call my solicitor from police headquarters,' he said. ‘If you don't mind, I'll have a word with my PA before we leave.' He pressed a button on his desk and said, ‘I have to go out unexpectedly. Any messages can wait till I come back.'

At police headquarters Ellerman made a call to his solicitor and was then shown into an interview room and offered a cup of tea, which he declined. Within fifteen minutes a tall, spare, white-haired man wearing heavy horn-rimmed glasses and carrying a briefcase arrived and introduced himself as Jason Pollard. ‘I am Doctor Ellerman's legal adviser and I wish to confer with my client in private,' he said.

‘It's the normal procedure, sir,' said Rathbone. Penny judged from his curt response that he was irritated by the man's officious manner. He held open the door of the interview room. ‘Your client's in here. I don't know about you,' he said to Penny as he closed the door behind Pollard, ‘but I could do with a snack and a coffee.'

‘Have we got time, Sarge?' asked Penny.

‘If they're ready before we are they'll just have to wait, won't they?' He went over to a vending machine and fed it with coins.

Fifteen minutes later, Pollard emerged, beckoned and said, ‘We're ready for you now, Sergeant.'

‘With you in a moment, sir.' Without any show of haste, Rathbone swallowed the rest of his coffee and threw the plastic cup into a bin along with an empty crisp packet. Penny did the same and they followed Pollard back into the interview room.

When all four were seated Rathbone switched on the tape recorder. For a moment Penny thought Pollard was about to object, but all he said was, ‘I'm sure this matter can be cleared up very quickly, Sergeant. My client has assured me that he knows nothing about the death of Fenella Tremaine and that he is perfectly willing to answer any questions you may wish to put to him.'

‘All right, let's start with the murder weapon, shall we?' Once again, Rathbone produced the photograph. ‘Doctor Ellerman, you have twice avoided giving me an answer when I asked if you recognize this knife. I am now asking you that question for the third time, and I want a straight answer.'

Ellerman nodded. ‘Yes, I recognize it.'

‘Do you possess such a knife?'

‘Yes.'

‘Where is it?'

‘It's in my flat.'

‘Exactly where in your flat?'

‘In a glass fronted display case in the living room. It's with various other knick-knacks I . . . that is to say, my late wife and I . . . brought back from our travels.'

‘You mean “kitsch”?' said Rathbone with a touch of sarcasm.

‘I told you, Sergeant; Julie liked to have a memento from every trip.'

In response to a glance from Rathbone, Penny asked, ‘How long have you been a widower, sir?'

Ellerman frowned. ‘Is that relevant?'

‘It might be,' said Rathbone.

Ellerman glanced at Pollard, who gave a slight shrug as if he too considered the question unimportant. ‘Just over six years,' he said.

‘Were you living in Sycamore Park at the time?'

‘No. We had a house in North Bristol.'

‘Was it your wife's idea to buy the knife?'

‘No, as it happens it was mine. I was intrigued by the workmanship. It was quite expensive, in fact, not the usual mass-produced junk.'

‘And it has been in your display cabinet ever since your return from your trip to India?'

‘Yes.'

‘So why, when I showed you the photograph, did you deny recognizing it?'

‘I . . . I didn't want to risk the press finding out that I owned such a knife . . . I didn't want the publicity.'

‘Because you thought it might damage your chance of promotion?'

‘Yes.'

‘Didn't it occur to you that the simplest way to prove it wasn't your knife was to invite us to see it for ourselves?'

‘You might have thought I had more than one – people do sometimes buy these things in pairs.' Ellerman clasped his hands together and thumped them against his chest in a sudden burst of emotion. ‘All right, I admit I lied . . . I suppose I panicked, but I swear to you I didn't touch her. I only bought the one knife and it's in my flat. Why don't we go there now and I'll show it to you?'