With a Narrow Blade (4 page)

Hillary nodded. ‘I see,’ she said. ‘Can you tell me if Mrs Jenkins picked up her pension yesterday? She’d have to get it in town somewhere, yes?’

‘Yes, the post office on Sheep Street. It’s situated at the back of that big newsagents just up from the Penny Black pub. And yes, she did get it. I drove her down that morning, then back again in my lunch hour. She liked to wander around the charity shops and have a cup of tea and a bun in Nash’s.’

‘Do you know what she did with it? Her pension money, I mean?’ Hillary asked, and the other woman looked at her blankly.

‘Good Lord, no. I suppose she kept it in her handbag. Or she might have hidden it somewhere I suppose. I don’t really know. We didn’t discuss money much. Sometimes, if I’d take her to somewhere like Oxford or Banbury, she’d try to insist on paying me some petrol money, but I’d always turn her down. Say I had to go into town anyway, something like that.’

Hillary nodded. ‘And this morning. You walked to her door and knocked, same as usual?’

‘Yes. But nobody answered, and the curtains were all drawn. The woman across the street … oh I do wish I could remember her name, it’s been on the tip of my tongue all morning. I can’t think why … Well, she was just collecting her milk. We talked for a bit, but she hadn’t seen Flo that morning, and I was getting a bit worried, so I used my key to go in.’

‘You have a key then? May I have it, Mrs Weekes? I need to log it into evidence.’

‘Oh, yes of course. My bag …’ She looked around, and Hillary pointed to the bag on the floor beside the sofa. ‘Oh thanks. Right. It’s this one.’ She fiddled with a fairly bulky set of keys, hanging from a black cat key ring. ‘Here.’ Finally she handed over a silver-coloured Yale. Hillary carefully retrieved an evidence bag from her pocket, slipped the key inside and sealed it, then peeled off a label from a roll kept in her handbag, noted the time and details, and slipped the whole lot back.

‘Can you remember when Mrs Jenkins first gave you her key?’

‘Oh, nearly a year ago now. It made sense, I suppose. Sometimes she’d be out and I’d have shopping for her that I couldn’t leave on the doorstep. Sometimes she’d phone from bingo and ask me to let her cat in, or she’d go off on one of those old folks weekends to Paignton and ask me to feed it. It was just easier to have a key.’

‘Right.’ Hillary made a note in her book to see to the cat. If a neighbour or friend didn’t want it, she’d have to get the new boy to take it to an animal shelter. There’d been no sign of it that morning, though. Probably all the people and activity had kept it away. ‘And this morning…?’ she prompted, and Caroline’s face tightened.

‘Yes. Right, this morning.’ She rubbed her palms nervously against the tops of her knees.

She didn’t really want to go there, Hillary realized, but it had to be done.

‘Like I said, there was no answer, so I used the key. I went into the hall, but I couldn’t hear her moving about upstairs. I thought she might have overslept see. I went into the lounge. I was surprised to see the telly on. And the lights were on, but the curtains were drawn. And then I saw her, or rather, the top of her head, showing over the chair. And I walked forward a little, thinking she’d nodded off and saw … well, that thing sticking out of her chest. And she was so still and pale. I just knew she was dead.’ She was taking deep, quick breaths now, fighting back tears and rising hysteria.

‘Did you touch anything, Mrs Weekes?’ Hillary asked gently, calmly, trying to slow her down.

Caroline Weekes shuddered in another breath, and wiped her palms frantically against her knees. ‘No. No, I don’t think so. I remember walking outside, and thinking how nice and cool it was. And phoning. And waiting.’

Hillary nodded. ‘Did you notice anything odd or out of place in the room?’

Caroline frowned, looking puzzled. ‘No. I don’t think so. I didn’t really notice. All I could see was Flo.’

‘And earlier, when you approached her house. Did you see anyone hanging around, or a car you hadn’t seen before, parked close by, or pulling away from the kerb?’

Caroline shook her head.

Hillary hadn’t really expected anything else – it was beginning to look more and more as if the old woman had been killed last night. But the routine questions were having the effect of calming the witness down. ‘Had Flo mentioned anyone harassing her lately?’

‘No. Well, only that grandson of hers, but he was always scrounging off her. Nothing more than usual.’

‘And she seemed much the same as ever, this last week or so?’ Hillary asked.

‘Yes. She was looking forward to her birthday party for instance. Nothing fancy, she was just going to invite all her old friends around. I was going to bake her the usual chocolate cake. She always liked my chocolate cake. Everyone was to bring a bottle of booze with them, and she and Walter next door would make sandwiches and heat up sausage rolls, that sort of thing. She did it every year.’

Hillary nodded. This confirmed Walter Keane’s assessment of Flo Jenkins. It was looking more and more unlikely that the victim had been aware of any danger. Had she simply been killed for her pension money? It seemed a bit extreme. But stranger things had happened. She’d certainly have to interview this grandson of hers soon.

Caroline Weekes closed her eyes for a moment and then had to force them open. Soon, she’d be asleep. Hillary had seen that before. Emotional exhaustion had a way of catching up with you.

‘Well, that’s all for now, Mrs Weekes. I’ll just have a quick word with the WPC. She’ll stay for a little while longer. Has she called anyone for you?’

‘Yes, my mother. She lives in Cowley. She’ll be here soon.’

‘Good. I’ll probably have to talk with you again, as things come up. Perhaps, when you’re feeling better, you can have a think about any items of value you noticed in Flo’s house and make me a list. We haven’t ruled out robbery as a motive yet.’

‘Oh. Well, I’m not sure I’ll be much good at that,’ Caroline demurred, flushing slightly. ‘I’m not the sort of person who notices things like that. I mean, what people have. Or wear. That kind of thing.’ And then, as Hillary glanced around the glamorous room, she laughed. ‘Oh, all this is down to my husband. He has taste,’ she said the final words as if it was a virtue on a par with courage or chastity.

Hillary nodded. ‘Well, if you could do your best,’ she encouraged, and got up. Out in the kitchen, she accepted a now nearly cold cup of tea, and drank it off in a few gulps, reminding the WPC to bag and tag the clothes Caroline was wearing, and send them to the evidence officer. ‘Oh, and take a set of her prints. At this point we only need them for elimination purposes.’ But you never knew. If Caroline Weekes’ dabs turned up on the murder weapon, she might be able to wrap this case up in record time. But something told her it wasn’t going to be that easy. In the meantime, it was back to number 18 Holburn Crescent.

Back at Kidlington HQ, a young man dressed in uniform watched as one of the civilian admin workers pushed the mail trolley down the corridor and paused outside the common room. It was mostly deserted and when she went inside to help herself to a quick cup of coffee, he moved carefully and fast, slipping a long, plain brown envelope under a pile of internal mail. He did it without breaking his stride, and once past the trolley, he began to whistle lightly as he crossed a small hall area, and headed for the stairs.

He was smiling as he headed down towards Records. The blonde baby doll was going to appreciate his latest offering, he was sure.

Hillary wasn’t all that surprised to find most of her team standing outside Flo’s garden gate. Janine was the first to spot her and the new boy stiffened and turned as she said curtly, ‘Boss.’

Frank Ross, who was just making his way towards them, drew level and gave Keith Barrington a flat stare.

‘I’ve finished the inventory,’ Janine was saying. ‘Someone could have lifted a music centre, there seems to be a space where something like that might have stood. There’s nothing of obvious value left in the house save for the telly. But it could be the old dear was just hard up.’

‘Right, Frank. Introduce yourself to the old man next door, Walter Keane. He knew the vic well. Sit with him and coax out a list of Flo Jenkins’ worldly goods, would you? I’ve asked Caroline Weekes to do the same, but I’m not holding out much hope on her.’

‘Guv,’ Ross said, not moving. ‘This the new bloke then?’

Hillary sighed. ‘Keith Barrington, Sergeant Frank Ross.’

Ross grinned savagely. ‘Better not pop off on me, sunshine. I’m not some nancy pansy city boy. Take a swing for me and I’ll be marching on your goolies before you know what’s hit you.’ It went very quiet.

Into the silence, Hillary said drily, ‘That’s Sergeant Ross’ way of welcoming you to the team, Keith.’

Janine snorted a laugh, and Hillary pointed to the house next door. ‘Work, Frank. And don’t …’ before she could say anything more her mobile rang. She sighed heavily and reached for it. ‘DI Greene.’ she snapped, then blinked. ‘Yes, sir.’

Janine rolled her eyes. ‘Must be Donleavy,’ she whispered sotto voce to Barrington. ‘Our chief super. She never uses that tone when talking to Mel. She and the super are old friends from way back. It was his life she saved when she got her gong.’

Hillary’s face became tight, making Janine break off the history lesson. ‘Hello, something’s up,’ she muttered.

‘I understand that, sir, but I’ve just started a murder investigation. I’ve only been on scene less than four hours …’ She bit the rest off, listened, sighed and said, ‘Yes, sir, I’ll return right away. I’ll be with you in half an hour.’ She listened for a few more seconds, said tersely, ‘Sir,’ and hung up.

‘Trouble back home, guv?’ Ross said, just a shade nervously, Barrington thought.

‘Don’t know,’ Hillary said dully. ‘Damn. OK, well, Janine, you can oversee everything while I’m gone. Before I scoot off, anything interesting from house-to-house?’

‘Nothing that won’t keep, guv,’ Barrington said. Ross didn’t bother to reply. Hillary got into her car, frowning, and headed back to HQ.

Donleavy’s civilian secretary smiled at her sympathetically as she buzzed her through, and Hillary went into Marcus Donleavy’s office with just a niggling tinge of dread. Getting called back to HQ right at the start of a major inquiry was unusual.

Donleavy, a silver-haired, silver-eyed man, was today dressed in slate grey, with a mint green tie. He indicated the chair in front of his desk and watched her sit. ‘Hillary. Straight to the point. I’ve got some unpleasant news. I’ve just been informed that Superintendent Jerome Raleigh has been sighted in Malta.’

Hillary, caught totally unawares, felt her stomach fall through the chair and hit the floor.

Donleavy watched the colour fade from her face, and nodded briskly. ‘Apparently, a DI from Vice is on holiday over there. He’s not a hundred per cent sure it’s him, but he called his guv’nor for advice, and they’ve called me. As you know, the Raleigh affair is still a bit up in the air.’ Hillary had to smile. That was one way of putting it. ‘Officially, of course, he’s not a wanted man,’ Donleavy carried on curtly. ‘No warrant was ever issued for his arrest, although the inquiry committee set up to investigate the Fletcher shooting might very well want to talk to him. I’m not sure I can sit on this.’

Hillary sighed grimly. Back in the summer, Luke Fletcher, a drug dealer and suspected murderer, had been shot dead in a joint raid by Vice and her team, lead by Superintendent Raleigh. As a result, some very searching questions had been raised. A side issue was her own shooting, and the award of a medal for bravery. But the real poser had been why Raleigh had done a runner shortly afterwards. For, just as the committee was about to close the case, with no charges pending, Raleigh had just upped and vanished.

Only Hillary knew for sure why. And the anonymous report she’d written and left on Donleavy’s desk meant that he knew more than he wanted to as well. But not even Donleavy knew the
whole
story. He knew nothing about Ronnie Greene’s dirty money, for a start. Now, just when it seemed that old ghosts had been laid to rest, one of them might be rising from the dead to bite them in the arse.

And neither one of them was happy about it.

‘Sir,’ Hillary said neutrally, making Donleavy’s lips thin impatiently.

‘If it
is
Raleigh, and the committee wants to interview him, any idea what he’s going to say?’ he barked. He was almost certain that Hillary knew far more than she was saying about Raleigh’s abrupt resignation, but he wasn’t at all sure that he wanted to know what it was.

‘No sir,’ she said truthfully. ‘But …’ She hesitated, then said carefully, ‘But I doubt he’ll cooperate.’ There were several million reasons why Raleigh wouldn’t be eager to talk to his old buddies at Thames Valley. ‘I don’t think we have much to worry about.’ Surely the wily Raleigh would just disappear again. He was so good at that, after all.

Marcus Donleavy slowly leaned back in his chair. He’d always rated Hillary Greene. He had trust in her brains and gut instinct, and if she seemed to think there was no danger, it was good enough for him. Well, almost. ‘I have to pass this information on this afternoon,’ he warned her flatly. ‘I’m sitting with the assistant constable on the recruitment committee. As you know, he was in overall command of the inquiry. There’s no way I can keep it back from him.’

Hillary nodded grimly. Well, if they did pinch Raleigh and make him talk, there was very little she could do about it. And at least, she thought cheerfully as she left Donleavy’s office a few moments later, there was nothing that led back to her. And why the hell should it? She’d done nothing wrong.

Even so. Raleigh could really drop her in the shit.

When she got back to the office, Janine was sitting at her desk, hunched over the computer. Hillary caught sight of the Births, Deaths and Marriages Register on her screen as she passed by, so she was probably putting together a profile of their vic.

As she took a seat, Janine shot her a glance, but one look at Hillary’s closed face told her that she was not about to explain her meeting with the top brass, so she turned back to what she was doing.