02 Blue Murder (25 page)

He held it up. As always, the shot was high
and wide, detailing most of the merchandise aisles. In the
foreground stood the clerk, two axes sitting near the cash
register. The customer, dressed in trench coat and sunglasses, had
long dark hair that instantly reminded Kate of Kyla Sloane. Or the
figure photographed near Clive French’s body, assuming they weren’t
one and the same.

“
She paid in cash, I
assume?” Kate said.

“
Of course,” Hetheridge
said, frustrated by the way she hardly dared look at him after
Bhar’s abortive declaration. Yes—soon they would need to have it
out, the three of them. But after the French-Parsons case wrapped,
and not before.

“
Paid in cash, but wasn’t
smart enough to cover her hair or wear a wig?” Bhar shook his head,
sounding uncharacteristically peevish. “You know, if I didn’t know
any better—if she wasn’t pregnant—I’d swear Phoebe Paquette had a
hand in the murders. Something about my interview with her, some
piece of it, was off—I promise you, it smelled bad. I just can’t
put my finger on what.”

“
Well, this lady buying the
axes definitely isn’t pregnant,” Kate said dryly. “But there were
lots of girls at the party. Could be Emmeline Wardle in a wig.
Could be a friend of the killer, someone unrelated, sent to run an
errand. Sir Duncan isn’t the only person with loads of helpful
friends.”

“
And it could be Kyla
Sloane, well aware that such a vague picture is no positive ID.
Especially if she’s under Sir Duncan’s tutelage,” Hetheridge
said.

“
I thought you believed he
wasn’t involved,” Bhar said. “That he found the French-Parson
murders disgusting.”

“
Oh, I do believe Sir Duncan
didn’t wield the axe. As for his disgust—yes, I’m convinced it was
real. And yet. I’ve been mistaken before. Best not to close off any
avenue too soon.”

“
Anything else from FSS?”
Kate asked.

“
Yes. Three half-ounces of
cocaine were found in the Wardle townhouse in three different
locations,” Hetheridge said. “All in the same type of container,
which may help identity the dealer. This.” Digging under the
papers, he came up with a sealed plastic bag. Inside was a metal
keychain attached to a round silver ball with a seam in the
middle.

“
I found one in the private
dining room,” Kate said.

“
Yes. Another was found in
the media room. And another, in the attic where Trevor Parsons was
attacked.”

“
Phoebe Paquette had one of
those,” Bhar said, eyes widening. “She said lots of girls at uni
have them. According to her, Clive French had one, too, clipped to
his backpack. Of course, hers just had lip gloss
inside.”

“
All three of these were
filled with cocaine,” Hetheridge said. “And the fact that Clive
French possessed at least one intrigues me. Most motives boil down
to love, money or both. We haven’t uncovered much love, so at this
point, my working hypothesis is money.”

“
The Wardles are in dire
financial straits,” Kate said.

“
And Clive must have needed
money, since he was collecting on old debts,” Bhar added. “Emmeline
Wardle was determined not to claim him as a friend. Phoebe claimed
she was working with a dealer. Do you think it could have been
Clive?”

“
If Clive French was running
two illicit cash schemes instead of one, that would double his
chances of getting murdered,” Hetheridge agreed, taking a belated
sip of his tea. It had gone quite cold.

“
So let’s talk this
through,” Kate said. “Kyla meets Clive in the garden. He demands
money, but he’s a little guy, not very intimidating. She’s tired of
being harassed, so she kills him, then panics. Tries to move the
body—hang on, do we have confirmation that she really did move the
body?”

“
Yes.” Hetheridge uncovered
the corresponding report. “Three strands of Clive French’s hair
were found in the wheelbarrow, along with traces of his blood. No
doubt there was far more, initially, but someone tried to wash out
the wheelbarrow with the Wardles’ garden hose. More blood traces
were found beneath the bonfire. FSS estimates it burned for less
than a quarter hour before it, too, was doused with
water.”

“
All right. Kyla kills Clive
in the garden,” Kate repeated, starting again. “She panics. Moves
the body with the wheelbarrow. Sets fire to the spot where Clive
died. In a full-blown panic, she rings Sir Duncan. He turns up,
calms her down. Says stop tampering with the evidence and just say
you’re the person who found him. So—what? Does she say, hang on,
Trevor Parsons just infuriated me, better kill him, too?” Kate
shook her head. “No. There’s no way I can imagine Kyla racing from
the back garden into the house to kill Trevor.”

“
Can we turn it around?”
Bhar asked. “Suppose Kyla killed Trevor first? If she really was
obsessed with Sir Duncan, maybe she wanted to get his attention?
Lure him out of retirement with something spectacular and
newsworthy, like a double axe murder?”

“
Jeremy did mention
something about that at Lady Isabel’s party,” Kate said. “That Sir
Duncan has so many followers, if you really want to get close to
him, you have to stand out. Be interesting.”

“
But it
still doesn’t work,” Bhar protested. “Why would Kyla kill Trevor
Parsons? Leaving that aside, even if she
did
do it, how did she rush out to
the back garden, kill Clive, set the fire and call Sir Duncan, all
before Trevor staggered down those stairs? I saw Jackson’s report.
There’s a good consensus among the witnesses that Kyla ran into the
house with the news about Clive around the same time Emmeline
started screaming over Trevor.”

“
Kyla working with another
killer, then?” Hetheridge suggested. “Kyla and Phoebe?”

“
Why would the latest
girlfriend team up with the disgruntled ex?” Kate asked.

“
God knows. Some kind of
hell-hath-no-fury scenario, I assume,” Bhar shrugged.

“
Which doesn’t take money
into account at all.” Hetheridge found himself leaning precariously
far back in his chair. Carefully, he eased forward again until all
four legs were back on the floor. “Paul. You had someone check into
Phoebe Paquette’s finances? Made certain she isn’t worse off than
she seems?”

“
Yes, and it’s just the
opposite,” Bhar said. “She’s set for life, once her trust fund
comes in. Maybe Trevor thought that’s why he could just walk away.
Even if he made a nice pro rugby career, it’s unlikely Phoebe would
ever need money. She really will be able to buy and sell the
Wardles, just like she claimed.”

“
So what do we have?”
Hetheridge said, as much to himself as to Kate and Bhar. “A family
who needs money. A daughter dealing cocaine in partnership with a
person unknown. A best friend who may have been sleeping with
Trevor Parsons. Trevor’s wealthy pregnant ex. Two young men,
Quinton Baylor and Jeremy Bentham, each with sufficient reason to
want Trevor gone for good. And Sir Duncan, right next door.” He
sighed. “Something crucial is missing. But no matter how we
approach the evidence, Kyla Sloane is the closest thing to a
unifying factor. Along with the photograph from W. C. Marsden and
the evidence that she moved the body.”

“
So what comes next?” Kate
asked. “I know we’ll need permission from the assistant
commissioner before we can bring in Sir Duncan for questioning. Put
a toe out of line there and the sky will fall.”

Hetheridge nodded. “Legal is already
discussing whether the enhanced image alone is enough, or if it
might be considered too subjective. Especially in the absence of
any corroborating evidence, like fingerprints.”

“
A first interview with
Molly French, then,” Kate suggested, “to try and determine if her
son was dealing drugs? Or a second interview with Kyla
Sloane?”

“
Neither.” Bhar held a CCTV
image in either hand—the W. C. Marsden customer in his left, Sir
Duncan and the faceless brunette in his right. “I have a feeling I
should try to talk to Tessa one more time.”

Chapter Twenty

A
s
Harvey cleared the dishes, Bhar went into the next room to ring
Parkwood Psychiatric Hospital. In most cases, visiting hours were
strictly observed, but a Scotland Yard detective with a warrant
card could move heaven and earth, even on a Sunday
afternoon.

“
Should we be concerned?”
Kate asked Hetheridge.

He raised his eyebrows, giving her that
infuriatingly serene look he often put on just before pulling rank,
or using his Peerage connections to pulverize all opposition. “I
trust Bhar to behave responsibly. I doubt anything Tessa says will
be admissible in court, but if she’s lucid, she might give us some
insight about Kyla we can use to our advantage. Besides, we’d be
remiss not to follow up on the fact that Tessa was visiting her
family when the murders occurred.”

“
Oh, pull the other one. You
know what I mean!” Kate barked, irritated by the amusement in his
eyes. “Bhar practically told us we’re being gossiped about. And
it’s sure to get worse.”

“
Of course. Devilish hard to
keep secrets among detectives.”

“
Well, then, how are we
going to sort this? Should I make up a boyfriend? Should you dig up
a suitable lady friend to squire around the West End?”

“
Kate.” Drawing her close,
he kissed her—softly first, then with more heat. “When it comes to
the Yard, unwritten rules outnumber the written and I know the
playbook by heart. I promise, I won’t gamble with your
career.”

“
I know
that.” She shook her head, amazed he could misunderstand her on
that score. “But what about
your
career?”

“
My career with the Met has
been long and distinguished,” Hetheridge said evenly. “But it will
not continue indefinitely. Let me worry about how and when it
ends.”

“
I thought you wanted to
share everything with me.”

He kissed her again, cupping her face in
both hands. “You know I do. Don’t tease me on that point,
Kate.”

“
I’m not teasing you,” she
said, startled by the note of emotion in his voice. “I just want to
be sure you—”

“
Kate. I know you’ve always
had to look after others, including Ritchie and Henry. But you
don’t have to look after me.”

From the doorway, Harvey said in a loud
voice, “Why, Detective Bhar, I’d thought you’d left us!”

Kate pulled away from Hetheridge as Bhar
slunk in, trying to enter the salon feet first and eyes last. If
he’d been wearing a hat, no doubt he would have tossed it before
taking the first step.

“
It’s all arranged. I’ll go
to Parkwood, interview Tessa and ring you both
afterward.”

“
No need,” Kate said
briskly, snatching up her bag. “There’s an unpleasant task I’ve
been putting off, and this seems like just the time to tackle it.
You know my nephew Henry lives with me. Well, I need to have a
little talk with his mother—my sister, Maura. It’s time to set some
limits on how much contact she can have with him until he gets
older, or she gets better.”

Bhar blinked. He didn’t have to reply for
Kate to know he felt sucker-punched.

“
Parkwood’s a good facility.” Looking Bhar in the eye, Kate
spoke as matter-of-factly as possible. “But the simple fact is, I
hate it. After an hour there, I want to peel my skin off. But the
effect Maura’s having on Henry gets worse every visit. As his
guardian, I have the right to stop visitation. And I intend …” She
bit her lip. “I
think
I intend to do it. So. Mind if I tag along?”

Suspicion disappeared from Bhar’s eyes,
replaced with something else—possibly gratitude. “Fine. But I’m
warning you. I already have evidence of the last time you befouled
my car.”

“
Won’t shed a single hair,”
she vowed.

***

B
har followed Kate into Parkwood via the hospital’s north
entrance, up a stone-flagged path beneath two hornbeam trees. This
path, which Bhar had never used, led up to a narrow,
black-lacquered door. Chiseled in the lintel stone above the entry
was the year 1897. An engraved brass plaque bolted to the door
read: VISITORS.

Pushing open the door, Kate led Bhar into a
small foyer that smelled overpoweringly of lemon cleaner. “Maura’s
earned a lot of privileges. She can have visitors any day of the
week. Most mornings after breakfast, she’s out on the lawn, taking
the sun and lighting one fag after another.”

Checking his inner coat pocket, Bhar
realized he’d left his pack at home. “Oi. I’d kill for one of those
right now.” The act of holding a cigarette would at least give his
hands something to do. Otherwise he had to keep them in his pockets
so Kate wouldn’t see how they shook.

“
No problem.” Kate indicated
a vending machine in the corner. “But first let’s check in at the
desk.”

As Kate obtained their visitor badges, Bhar
bought a pack of Marlboros. Breaking the seal, he put his nose to
the pack and inhaled deeply, energized by the scent of tobacco.
Then he was ready to follow Kate onto the wide green lawn.

The midafternoon sun was bright. It was far
warmer here than in Hetheridge’s walled garden. Patting down his
coat, Bhar realized he’d forgotten his lighter, too. Unlit
cigarette in hand, he glanced about miserably, ignored by ward
sisters and orderlies. Finally, a passing young man offered him a
light.