A Killing Resurrected (23 page)

‘When I went to call him just before I left the house to go shopping yesterday morning.'

‘Didn't that surprise you?'

‘No, not really. I assumed he was with Irene. The fact that the car was there and Roger wasn't didn't have any significance until Irene phoned to ask if he was here, then rang again this morning to say no one had seen him since Tuesday afternoon.'

‘Tell me,' he said, ‘who feeds the fish when you and your husband are away?'

‘The fish?' The question seemed to take Lisa by surprise, but she answered it. ‘We're rarely both away at the same time,' she said. ‘Even when Roger's staying with Irene, he always comes back up here each day to see to the fish.'

‘How often do they have to be fed?'

‘In this heat, Roger's been feeding them twice a day.'

‘And, since he wasn't here, did you feed them yourself yesterday?'

‘Yes, I did,' she said in a low voice.

‘And again, today, I presume?'

‘That's right.'

‘Did you notice any dead leaves on the water at that time?'

Lisa looked uncomfortable as she shook her head. ‘They're always fed from the shallow end,' she said, ‘so I didn't go to the other end.' She looked troubled as she sat forward to lend emphasis to what she was about to say. ‘You must understand, Chief Inspector, I had no idea at that point that anything like . . .' She broke off to take a deep breath. ‘That anything had happened to Roger. I know how this must sound now, but at the time I was so annoyed with him for going off without a word to anyone, that I went down and fed the fish and came straight back to the house. I
should
have gone down the other end of the pond to check the temperature of the water and the filtration system – Roger keeps a running log on everything to do with the fish – but I didn't. That was probably what Roger was doing when he fell in and couldn't get out,' she ended huskily.

‘If that is what happened,' said Paget neutrally.

Lisa looked at him. ‘Just what are you suggesting, Chief Inspector?' she asked.

‘I'm not sure myself,' he said slowly, ‘but when I questioned your husband the other day, I had the distinct impression that he knew more than he was telling me, and that makes me suspicious when he is found dead within hours of my talking to him. I'm not a strong believer in coincidence, Mrs Corbett, so if there is anything you know; anything you can tell me that might shed light on the way your husband died, now is the time to tell me.'

The expression on Lisa Corbett's face hardened, and her voice was brittle when she said, ‘If you're referring to what you told me this afternoon about this Grant boy and what happened to Kevin Taylor's father all those years ago, all I can tell you is that I know nothing about those things because I didn't live here then, and I'm quite sure that Roger would never have been involved in any way. So, if you are suggesting that his drowning in the pond
wasn't
an accident, and he came back here and killed himself, I think the whole idea is ludicrous. Believe me, Chief Inspector, if Roger intended to commit suicide, which I don't think for a single second is true, the koi pond is the last place he would choose.'

‘The last place most people would choose, I should think,' Paget told her as he stood up and pushed his chair back. ‘And I agree with you, because, like you, I don't think your husband committed suicide. I can't prove it yet, but I believe he was murdered.'

P
aget came in early the following morning, and went straight upstairs to Alcott's office, where he settled down to tackle the paperwork that had been slowly but steadily mounting in the in tray. Fiona had been a great help, and he was grateful for it, but there were some things he had to deal with himself before he could let them leave the office.

By the time Fiona arrived at her usual time of ten minutes to eight, he'd managed to reduce the pile by roughly a third simply by tackling the easy ones first. ‘I have to go down for the morning briefing,' he told her, ‘but I should be back within the hour.' He handed her a sheaf of papers. ‘I've stuck notes on this lot to say what I'd like done with them, but if you have any questions, just hold them until I return. All right?'

Fiona riffled through the papers, then looked at him over the top of her glasses. She reminded him of a schoolteacher assessing his homework while he waited apprehensively for the verdict.

‘I think you're developing a talent for this,' she said approvingly. ‘I think we just might make a Superintendent of you yet, Mr Paget.'

He grinned. ‘Not if I can help it,' he told her. ‘I prefer the job I have, and the sooner I can get back to it full time, the happier I'll be.'

‘Let's hope it will be soon, then,' the secretary said. ‘Have you heard how Mrs Alcott is doing? I left a message on Mr Alcott's phone yesterday, but he hasn't rung back.'

‘Not a word, I'm afraid,' he said. ‘But I'll let you know if I hear anything, and perhaps you could do the same for me?'

‘I'll call you if I hear anything,' she promised. ‘I thought I might send a card or perhaps some flowers? From all of us, you know? What do you think, sir?'

‘I think it would be very much appreciated,' he told her, ‘so, yes, go ahead and I'll mention it during the briefing as well, and ask Sergeant Ormside to have a whip round down there.'

The briefing itself was short, with most of the time spent bringing everyone up to speed on the events surrounding the death of Roger Corbett.

‘We don't yet know the cause of death,' Paget conceded, ‘but coming within hours of my speaking to him last Tuesday afternoon, I think we can consider it a suspicious death, and act accordingly. So, Tregalles, I want you to start at Corbett's office and find out where he went and what he did after I left there on Tuesday afternoon.

‘And I want you,' he said to Molly, ‘to go back out to Rutherford Hill to talk to the Corbetts' neighbours. I want to know if anyone saw Roger Corbett return to the house, and when that was if they did. I want to know if he was with anyone, and if any other vehicles were seen coming or going to or from the house. I would also like to know if anyone saw Lisa Corbett come home when she says she did.'

He turned to Ormside. ‘I'd like you to take a close look at the state of the Corbetts' marriage and their finances, and I'm particularly interested in the relationship Corbett had with Irene Sinclair. It's almost as if the man had two wives. The two women appear to be on friendly terms and happy with the situation, but I don't understand it, so see what you can find out.'

But the grizzled Sergeant shook his head. ‘No, sir,' he said firmly, ‘I'm not tackling that one. That's one for Forsythe. She'd be far better at that sort of thing than I would.'

Paget chuckled. ‘Perhaps you're right,' he said. ‘All right, Forsythe . . .?'

‘Except I have Graham Williams coming in at ten,' she said. ‘He's another one who was at school with Barry Grant, and he was at the Taylors' party.'

‘Reschedule,' Paget told her, then paused. ‘On second thoughts, let Williams come ahead. Sergeant Ormside can talk to him. All right, Len?'

‘Sooner him than go poking around in Corbett's love life,' Ormside growled, ‘so, yes, I can squeeze him in.'

‘Useless!' the fat man behind the desk said baldly. ‘Completely bloody useless, and he would have been gone at the end of the month, anyway. Not that I'm glad he's
dead
, of course,' he added hastily, ‘but he was no good as a salesman.'

The man was Gerry Stone, Roger Corbett's erstwhile boss and the manager of the Braithwaite Letting Agency.

‘Drink,' the man continued. ‘That was his problem plain and simple. He's had one sale in all the time he's been here, and that was to a friend, if I'm not mistaken. Kept saying he had prospects, but I never saw any of them if he had. As for where he went after he left here last Tuesday, I have no idea, but Joanie might know.'

Joan Hunter, or ‘Joanie' as everyone called her, was not, as Tregalles had thought, Roger Corbett's secretary. Rather she worked for everyone in the office.

‘General dogsbody, that's me,' she said cheerfully when Tregalles asked. ‘I do everything. Typing, filing, make the tea, run errands, you name it. So if there's anything you want to know, ask me, because I know more about this office than the whole lot put together.' She lowered her voice. ‘But don't tell the boss that, 'cause he thinks he's running the show. OK?'

‘Agreed,' said Tregalles. ‘Now—'

‘So what's this all about, then?' Joanie asked before Tregalles could frame his first question. ‘Mr Corbett in trouble, is he?' She lowered her voice once more. ‘Confidentially, I understand he was going to be given the push at the end of the month anyway, so I don't suppose we'll be seeing him around here again. Funny him going off like that, though. I think he must have got wind of what was going to happen, and decided to pack it in before he got the chop. Mind you, I shall miss him, because he could be a real gentleman when he wasn't what you might call “under the weather”.'

‘Was he under the weather very often?' Tregalles asked quickly before Joanie could draw another breath.

‘On and off,' she said cautiously.

‘He drank,' Tregalles said bluntly.

‘Well, yes, he did, but it wasn't his fault, not
really,
if you see what I mean. He had these headaches and he'd get very depressed, so he'd have a nip or two to keep him going. Trouble was, once he'd started he couldn't seem to stop.'

‘What about last Tuesday? Tell me what happened after Chief Inspector Paget left his office?'

Joanie made a face. ‘I don't really know,' she said. ‘He closed the door then telephoned someone. I could hear him talking, but I don't know who he called. I think he made several calls. I remember his light on my phone going on and off several times before he came out and told me he was going to meet a client, and wouldn't be back that afternoon.'

‘A client? Any idea who that might have been?' Tregalles asked.

The secretary shook her head. ‘There wasn't any client, at least none that I know of, and I'm sure we would have heard if he did have one, because it would have been his first in a long time. It was just his excuse for skiving off. Besides, he'd been drinking quite a bit in the office. I could smell it on him when he stopped at my desk, and he was not all that steady on his feet when he went out.'

‘Was he walking or did he take his car?'

‘He went out the back way, so I'm sure he took his car.'

‘But client or not, he could have gone to see
someone,
' Tregalles persisted. ‘Someone he'd arranged to meet over the phone. Any idea who that might have been or where he might be meeting them?'

‘Don't know about who,' Joanie said, ‘but if he
was
meeting someone, my bet would be that he'd meet them in a pub somewhere.'

‘The Unicorn, perhaps?'

Joanie nodded slowly. ‘Could be,' she agreed. ‘It's not one that any of us go to, so he might go there. But I'd still like to know what this is all about. What's he done? Some sort of accident was it? Is he all right?'

‘I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Joanie,' Tregalles said, ‘but Roger Corbett is dead. Drowned in a fish pond at—'

‘Not his
koi
pond?' Joanie broke in breathlessly. ‘Oh that poor man. He used to talk about those fish all the time. Oh, that poor, poor man!'

Tregalles spent some time in Corbett's office, but there was little to be found. If he'd expected to find a scribbled telephone number on the memo pad of the person Corbett had called prior to leaving the office on Tuesday, he was disappointed. But what he did find in one of the drawers of Corbett's desk was a half empty bottle of Johnny Walker, and an empty bottle of Jameson's in one of the filing cabinets.

As for anything resembling listings, contracts or sales, all the forms were there in pristine condition in the filing cabinet, waiting to be used. Waiting in vain, thought Tregalles as he came out to thank Joanie for her help.

But she was weeping silently, and he felt it best to leave the words unspoken.

The elderly man seated on a stationary ride-on lawnmower in the shade of a huge chestnut tree watched Molly as she made her way up the long driveway. His face was lean and tanned, his eyes deep-set beneath eyebrows turning white. ‘You look as if you could do with a drink,' he called. ‘Come on over here and rest yourself and I'll get you one.'

The man slid off the seat and walked over to a wooden bench circling the tree. ‘I bring my lunch out here on days like this,' he said as Molly walked across the lawn to join him. She'd been working her way around the neighbourhood for the past couple of hours, and the heat was beginning to get to her.

‘It's just too hot to carry on with the mowing,' the man said, ‘so I'm packing it in for the day. Beer?' he enquired, taking a couple of cans from a cooler. ‘No glasses though. Wasn't expecting company.'

‘Looks good to me,' said Molly gratefully as she sat down beside him on the bench. ‘Thank you very much.'

‘Should be wearing a hat,' the man said, pointing to his own well-worn Tilley hat. ‘You could get sunstroke on a day like this.' He pulled the tab on both cans and handed one to Molly. ‘Bottoms up, but take it slow,' he warned, ‘because it's ice-cold.' He took a drink himself and Molly followed suit.

‘Oh, that does feel good!' she declared, as she leaned back against the tree. ‘Again, thank you very much.'

‘Like a sandwich?' he enquired. ‘I always make more than I need, then I have to eat them for my tea if I can't manage them for lunch. Name's Fred, Fred Whitfield.' He thrust out a hand.