‘The girls he helps are all quite young and the witness specifically said ‘woman’ in his statement, but we should check that again. Do you think he would take one of these girls back to his home? I’m not saying that he wouldn’t give in to temptation, but would he really do it there, given his profile and reputation? We’re checking out the girls, though, to see if any have suddenly come into unexpected riches or unaccountably disappeared. Ajay’s on the case with that one.’
‘Okay then. Last question. What do you make of the sister-in-law? We were all very bemused by the greeting she got last night. Is it worth pursuing?’
Tom nodded. ‘Definitely. There was such venom that - like Becky - I did wonder if she might actually be the mistress. But given her hair colour I’d dismissed her until now. I’ve already asked Laura what it was about, and I’m not going to let it drop. I understand Imogen Kennedy is still at Ashbury Park, so I’ll be questioning her as soon as I can get there.’
Tom realised that Imogen’s height was about right, and she’d be well worth a second look in a tight black leather skirt. The trouble was, average height was just that - average. Just about every woman they’d met in this case fitted that bill, and now that hair colour was irrelevant they were practically back to square one. But the combination of Laura’s impassioned response to Imogen’s arrival and her dismissal of the subject this morning gave him reason to believe that there had to be more to this, and he was going to find out what it was.
‘I’d better go, James. I’ve got the staff gathered in the charity office, and once we’ve spoken to them we’re heading back to Oxfordshire. I’ll get back for the evening sum up, and let’s hope we’ve got some progress to report.’
*
Fifteen minutes later, Tom and Becky were back in her car, making their way to Egerton Crescent. At least it was a Sunday, so although the roads were quite busy, there were no traffic jams. Even though Becky felt as if they had been working for hours, it was still only late morning. No doubt they’d set off for Oxfordshire at about lunchtime, and she hoped and prayed that Tom would agree to stop and get something to eat. She’d had no time for breakfast, and was starving.
Tom looked across at her.
‘I was going to suggest that we split up and interview one girl each, but I’ve changed my mind. I think the best bet is for you to talk to both of them on your own. Make it an informal chat. Somebody else can do a formal interview and get a statement later. They might feel more like sharing gossip with you, and that’s what we want. I’ll talk to the finance guy, and one of the techies is meeting me there to see if we can get onto Hugo’s computer. What do you think?’
Becky was really pleased by this suggestion. She knew that she was good with people, and women often told her things that they wouldn’t talk to a man about.
‘Sounds good to me, boss. Anything in particular you want me to focus on, or just general background?’
Becky was not in the least surprised to hear that she needed to probe about any possible mistresses, past or present.
‘Do you want me to talk to them together, or separately?’
‘What do you think would be best? You know how women work. You’re all a bloody mystery to me, if I’m honest,’ Tom said.
Becky glanced sideways to see if he was joking, but his face was impassive.
‘It actually depends on their relationship. If they’re good pals, they’ll egg each other on to say things that they might not say alone. If they are not good pals, they will be more reserved in each other’s company. What I’d like to do is weigh up the situation first. Maybe have a general chat about how things work in the office, who does what, and then make a decision. Is that okay?’
‘Sounds good. Here we are, Becky. Let’s try to aim to be out of here in an hour.’
*
Becky didn’t like Jessica Armstrong. She didn’t know why, because she was perfectly pleasant. And as they walked into the offices, she was sure she could smell something rather appetising in the air.
‘I know how busy you policemen are,’ Jessica said, ‘and I wasn’t sure if you would have had time for breakfast. So I brought in a small selection of these rather delicious pastries. I’m happy to organise coffee for you - espresso, cappuccino or filter. Whichever you prefer. Or tea, of course.’
Becky was seriously impressed, and could understand why somebody like Jessica got to be PA to such an important man. As she munched her way through her second pastry whilst she chatted informally to the two girls, Becky voiced her thanks for Jessica’s thoughtfulness. The reply seemed more like a mini lecture.
‘The art of being a good PA is in anticipating people’s needs, and acting before you’re told to. Most people think it’s about taking orders and executing them efficiently, but they’re wrong. You have to second-guess what’s going to happen, and be prepared. That’s why Sir Hugo found me irreplaceable.’
Smug as Jessica was, Becky had to admit that this approach had its merits.
After the chat over coffee, she decided to talk to the two girls separately. On the face of it they seemed to get along, but it was pretty clear that Jessica saw Rosie as her inferior and a bit of an airhead. Rosie had worked for Sir Hugo for around five years, but Jessica had been with him for over twelve, so thought herself superior in every way. Funnily enough it was Rosie who had eyes red from crying, whilst Jessica seemed completely unmoved.
Wanting very much to remove the slightly arrogant look from Jessica’s face, Becky was sorely tempted to interview Rosie first. But she couldn’t let her personal feelings get in the way, and she needed Jessica on her side, so they made their way into a private office and sat down.
‘I just want to get a bit of background, really Jessica, to try to understand as much as possible about Sir Hugo, his life and his work. I’m sure that you were very close to him after all these years, and I’m hoping that you can give me some insight into the man. Perhaps you could start by telling me what you do here, and how you worked with Sir Hugo.’
‘I must start by saying that Sir Hugo was a truly exceptional man. He was unique in every way, and it’s difficult to imagine life without him. I’m sure you think that my lack of any outward display of emotion signifies an absence of feeling, but that would be a false assumption. It’s all about upbringing, sergeant. I have been brought up not to wear my heart on my sleeve. So you won’t see me cry. It’s not what we do.’
Bloody hell, thought Becky. She was momentarily lost for words. But she needn’t have worried, because Jessica was in full flow.
‘A personal assistant to somebody as important as Sir Hugo has many roles to fulfil. I liaise with Brian Smedley at the property company on Sir Hugo’s behalf, but that doesn’t fill my days as the majority of that work is done from head office. My main interest is in helping Sir Hugo with the day-to-day running of the charity. When we receive responses to advertisements for homes for the girls, I undertake the initial inspection. Obviously we ultimately designate somebody who is trained in social work, but I select which of the girls seems most appropriate to the family’s needs, and then assign the management of the relationship to one of the qualified team. I ensure they get follow up visits, confirm that the funding is in place, and so on. I’m also the first port of call if there are any problems with the girls or the families. So my job requires a level of expertise that can only come with years of experience.’
Becky swallowed another bite of a delicious almond croissant, wondering if this really was her third pastry.
‘What sort of problems do you encounter?’
‘Oh, some of these girls are so stupid. They get a unique second chance at life, and they just throw it away. Very occasionally we have one who steals from the family, but that’s quite rare I’m pleased to say. We’ve had the odd instance of a girl seducing the husband of the family. That’s always very difficult, because the Foundation somehow gets the blame. The wife, of course, prefers to perpetuate the myth that her husband is entirely innocent. And then some go back to the streets because they think they can earn more money. Others just leave a note and go. Who knows where? And then there are those that get picked up on the street by one of the gangs they thought they’d escaped from. It’s quite hard to track them down if they’re back behind locked doors. So my job’s not easy. It’s very challenging, actually.’
Aware that Tom thought some of these girls might be pertinent to the crime, Becky thought she should pursue this angle.
‘Have any of the girls gone missing recently, Jessica?’
‘Oh yes. A silly little girl who should have known better. About two weeks ago.’
‘And?’
‘Sorry? Oh, you mean what happened to her? Ridiculous, given her history. She was living with a very nice family, and working as a waitress in a local café. She met some man - he came in every day and flattered her. I’m sure you know how easily some women are seduced by a few kind words. Pathetic, really. Anyway, he had apparently asked her to go and live with him, and she said yes. She thought it was her chance for a normal life, I imagine.’ Jessica gave a derisive laugh. ‘She was too embarrassed to tell the family, because she thought they might try to stop her. I’m sure you’ve guessed the rest. He was a pimp. Once he’d got her, she had nowhere to go. She couldn’t go back - or didn’t think she could. We tracked her down through some of our street intelligence, and the owner of the café wasn’t entirely blameless either. We won’t be using
him
again. We’ve given her another chance, with another family. The first ones weren’t happy to take her back. Understandable, really. As far as I’m concerned, this is her last chance though.’
‘Any others before that?’
‘Not recently, no. I would say it’s at least two months since anybody else decided that they were better off on the streets. Some people just don’t deserve our help.’
Becky kept her thoughts on Jessica’s sympathetic attitude to herself, and decided to move on.
‘How did you find working with Sir Hugo?’
‘Marvellous. I couldn’t fault him. He was always courteous - even when I could tell he wasn’t happy, or when he was in one of his strange moods.’
‘Wasn’t he happy, then? Did you think he was unhappy in his marriage?’
Jessica pursed her lips slightly and looked down at her hands. Becky knew without a doubt that some thinly veiled, but nevertheless derogatory remark was about to be delivered. She’d met women like this before, although generally without the superficial disguise that money and upbringing offers. But a snidey cow was a snidey cow - whether wearing posh clothes or hand-me-downs.
‘I must admit that I was quite shocked when I realised that Sir Hugo was going to marry Laura - she was clearly not right for him. He needed somebody with breeding - the right background. Somebody who understood him well. Somebody with class - a kindred spirit. I didn’t think that she was an appropriate choice at all.
‘However, there was an air of expectation about him from the day he met her until the day he married her. Barely suppressed excitement, I would call it. His eyes literally glittered. Nobody could compete with that, could they?’
‘So you think his marriage was a happy one?’ Becky asked, thinking that ‘compete’ was an interesting choice of word.
The coy look reappeared.
‘I couldn’t possibly say. But when he returned from honeymoon, the sparkle seemed to have gone, as if something hadn’t quite lived up to his expectations.’
‘Did you ever suspect that Sir Hugo had a mistress, Jessica? Or can you think of anybody that he might have had a relationship with?’
‘Sir Hugo was a very
manly
sort of man. He had made two bad choices, in my opinion, in terms of his life partner. I think he needed somebody that would understand him, live in his world, give him all the comforts that he deserved. And I don’t think that’s what he has had from either of his wives. There were occasions over the years when the strange mood returned - that same mixture of elation and agitation. It was particularly noticeable in the last few weeks, but I have no idea if he was having an affair or not, although if he was I certainly wouldn’t blame him.’
Was this hero worship, or obsession? Becky wondered. Jessica obviously thought that Hugo should have chosen her, and so if she knew of an affair, wouldn’t she say so? Wouldn’t she find an opportunity to put the knife into somebody else who was unsuitable? Unless, of course, she was the one who he was having an affair with. That would make sense.
Thanking Jessica for her time, and making a note to ensure that her formal statement included information about her whereabouts at the time of the murder, Becky gave herself a minute or two to think about her next interview. Rosie seemed like a nice girl. A bit scatty, perhaps, but normal. She’d obviously come from a decent background, judging by her accent; certainly better than Becky’s own. But then old Hugo would undoubtedly only have employed people who spoke nicely. And at least Rosie wasn’t like Jessica - with an accent so far back that she was nearly falling over.
Rosie’s eyes were still red when she came through the door, but her heavy blonde fringe nearly covered them. Quite how she could see, Becky couldn’t imagine. She’d obviously dressed for a Sunday, rather than an office day, in a pair of expensive looking - and very tight - jeans, long leather boots and a vivid green sweater. Suddenly feeling very old in one of her customary black suits and sensible flat black shoes, Becky dragged her mind back to the questioning.
‘Okay, Rosie. I just want a chat with you - to try to understand what you do here, how involved you were in Sir Hugo’s daily life, etcetera. Can you start by giving me a bit of a rundown on your job, do you think?’
‘I’m sure you’re going to think it doesn’t sound like much of a job, but it does require quite a lot of managing. I book all his travel, arrange his bodyguards when he needs them, check what his charity commitments are, and keep his diaries up to date with everything. I also look after the office management - ordering stationery, answering the phone, that sort of thing. It keeps me very busy, although Jessica thinks I’m a waste of space.’