The Cold Hand of Malice (28 page)

‘Thank you, but there’s no need,’ she told him. ‘Besides, there’s no one at home so I’ll be going back to work. I’m sure there will be lots to be done, and Peggy’s going to need help with it all.’

Twenty-Four

There was a stillness about the way Peggy Goodwin sat stiffly in her chair, hands folded neatly on the table in front of her. She held her head up high – unnaturally high, Paget thought – as if steeling herself for the questions she knew must come.

‘I realize how distressing this must be for you,’ he said quietly, ‘and my questions can wait if you don’t feel up to—’

‘No.’ Peggy closed her eyes and shook her head. ‘No,’ she said again. ‘It’s all right. I’ll be fine, thank you.’ Her mouth twisted into a wry caricature of a grin. ‘But I’d give anything for a cigarette right now.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t help you there,’ said Paget, ‘but I can ask—’

But Peggy was shaking her head. ‘No, no,’ she said wearily, ‘I didn’t
really
mean that. I gave them up years ago. It’s just . . . Oh, God, I don’t know. I can’t seem to get it through my head that Simon is dead. And in such a horrible way.’

‘You’ve seen the body?’

Peggy shook her head. ‘Janice told me in rather more detail than I wanted to hear. She said . . .’ Peggy seemed to lose her train of thought, and her eyes drifted off as if she were seeing something far beyond the room. ‘I shouldn’t have sent her,’ she said softly. ‘I should have come myself.’

‘Why did you send her?’

Peggy brought her attention back to Paget with some effort. ‘To be honest, I was afraid that Simon might be suffering from a hangover, and I knew I could trust Janice to keep whatever state she found him in to herself. I would have come myself, but there was so much to do, and with Simon not there, I was trying frantically to get all of our financial statements in order for his meeting with the bankers this afternoon. Simon wanted everything to go as smoothly as possible, and most of all we wanted to assure them that Laura’s passing would not affect the future of the business.’

Peggy’s brows drew together in a deepening frown, forcing herself to concentrate on what she was saying. ‘You see, the banks preferred to deal with Laura; they talked the same language and they understood one another, so they wanted some assurance from us that they would have someone equally competent and knowledgeable to deal with in the future.’

‘But now . . .?’

‘God knows,’ she said wearily. ‘I don’t even know if we have a future.’

‘Difficult for everyone,’ Paget agreed, ‘but especially for you, I’m sure.’ He paused for a moment. ‘You said you thought Mr Holbrook might be suffering from a hangover this morning. Would you say he was prone to that sort of thing?’

‘No. Simon didn’t drink much at all. In fact about the only time he drank spirits was when he became depressed. I don’t know if you were aware of it, but he suffered from bouts of depression, and sometimes he would try to get rid of it by drinking. And he has been under a lot of pressure as you know.’

The muscles around Peggy’s mouth tightened as she fixed her eyes on Paget. ‘And to be brutally frank, Chief Inspector, the pressure
you
were putting on him wasn’t helping. In fact, he was in something of a state when you left yesterday, because he was convinced that you believed he had killed his wife.’

Paget refused to rise to the bait. ‘Do you have any idea who might have killed him?’

‘No. He was such a sweet man . . .’ Words failed her as she buried her face in her hands. ‘I can only think it must be the same person who killed Laura,’ she mumbled through stifled sobs.

‘And the motive?’ Paget prompted.

Peggy wiped tears from her eyes and blew her nose. ‘God knows,’ she said in a small voice. ‘I mean Laura wasn’t particularly well liked, but even so, I can’t think of anyone who hated her enough to want to
kill
her – unless it was Tim Bryce, of course – but I doubt if he would have the nerve. But Simon . . .? I just don’t know.’

‘Interesting that you should mention Bryce,’ Paget observed, ‘because from what I’ve been told, he could be the main beneficiary now that both Mr and Mrs Holbrook are dead.’

Peggy Goodwin stared at him blankly for a couple of seconds while the words sank in. ‘Oh, my God!’ she breathed. ‘If you’re right, and the firm does belong to Tim, then we’re all in trouble, because that would be disastrous!’

Peggy Goodwin had gone, and Tregalles was still finishing his notes when Charlie Dobbs appeared in the doorway. ‘Thought you might like to know that we found prints and bloodstains on the inside of the wardrobe door,’ he said. ‘And more blood on one of the taps in the bathroom. Looks like she washed the blood off her hands in there. They’re dismantling the taps for Forensic to look at, and they’re taking the trap underneath the basin to see if anything is caught in it. The bloodied prints are smeared, but those adjacent to the blood look like they belong to Holbrook and Chase. We’ll need Forensic to confirm, of course, but I don’t think there’s much doubt.

‘And there’s something else as well. We found a strip of plastic and a label from a plastic bag mixed up in the bedclothes. Come on upstairs and take a look. I’ve got my own ideas about them but I’d like to see what you make of it.’

The hands of the town hall clock stood at twenty minutes to one as Paget, accompanied by Molly Forsythe, pulled up outside the flower shop and went in.

Susan Chase was with a customer. She glanced up with what started out as a welcoming smile, but her expression changed to a questioning frown when she saw who it was. One of the girls came forward from the back of the shop, then hesitated when she recognized them. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked tentatively, ‘or did you wish to see Miss Chase?’

‘We’ll wait for Miss Chase, thank you,’ Paget told her. The girl retreated to the rear of the shop, where she engaged the other girl in a whispered conversation.

The customer, a short, plump woman with what sounded like an asthmatic condition, was ordering a wreath, but she was having trouble making up her mind about the size of the arrangement.

‘It’s so hard to choose,’ she said. ‘It’s not as if I knew her really
well
, you understand,’ she told Susan. ‘I mean we weren’t what you might call close, so I wouldn’t want the family to think I was putting myself forward, so to speak, but on the other hand one doesn’t want to appear to be too . . . how much did you say the lilies were?’

‘The arrangements are there on the price list,’ Susan reminded her, indicating the sheet of paper the woman held in her hand.

‘Well, yes, but . . . It’s not as if it’s going to be around for long, though, is it? And as I say, I didn’t really know her all that well.’

‘Perhaps a spray?’ Susan suggested. ‘Something small but tasteful. And they are less expensive. As you can see, we have several on display.’

‘Really?’ The woman showed renewed interest. ‘How much are they?’

There followed a lengthy discussion about size and composition of the spray, until, finally, the choice was made. Throughout it all, Susan remained outwardly calm and courteous, but it seemed to Paget that she was becoming more and more distracted by their presence as time went on.

Susan ushered the woman to the door and closed it with a sigh of relief. She stood there for a moment with her back to them, head bowed as if gathering strength before turning around. ‘
More
questions, Chief Inspector?’ she asked wearily. ‘I had hoped we were finished with all that.’

‘I’m afraid not, Miss Chase. Can you tell me where you were between the hours of four and six o’clock this morning?’

Colour flooded into Susan’s face. Her eyes narrowed and her lips tightened. ‘Now
that
,’ she said angrily, ‘is none of your business. And I’m getting more than a little tired of your prying into my private life, and I don’t see why I should have to account—’

‘Please answer the question, Miss Chase. Believe me, I’m really not interested in your private life, but I do have a good reason for asking in this case, and I would like an answer.’

Her eyes flashed angrily. ‘A good reason, Chief Inspector?’ she said. ‘And what would that be?’

Instead of answering the question, Paget posed one of his own. ‘Would I be right if I said I believe you spent the night with Mr Holbrook?’

‘So, what if I did?’ she shot back. ‘It’s still none of your business, and I don’t see why I should have to explain myself to you.’

‘What time did you leave Mr Holbrook’s house?’

Susan gritted her teeth in exasperation. ‘I don’t believe this,’ she muttered, ‘but if you
must
know, I left around five o’clock, give or take a few minutes. Sorry I can’t tell you to the exact second,’ she added sarcastically, ‘but I didn’t know at the time it would be of interest to the police. Now, I hope you’re satisfied, Chief Inspector Paget, because I do not intend to answer any more of your questions.’ She turned to go.

‘Just one more question, Miss Chase,’ said Paget softly as she walked away. ‘Was Mr Holbrook alive when you left him?’

‘He was sleeping peacefully if you . . .’ She whirled to face him, hands to her mouth as if afraid of voicing the question she was about to ask. ‘What do you mean, was he
alive
?’ she whispered. ‘Has something . . .?’

‘Mr Holbrook is dead,’ said Paget. ‘Murdered, and since it appears that you were the last person to see him alive, I must ask you to come with us to the station to answer further questions.’

‘Simon’s
dead
?’ Susan’s mouth fell open. ‘No! It can’t be. Oh, please God, no!’ Her eyes grew wide, and Molly, who was watching closely, thought the blend of astonishment and shock was very well done. Very well done indeed! Unless, of course, it happened to be genuine, but that seemed unlikely, considering the evidence.

Susan closed her eyes tightly, fists clenched. ‘No, no, you’re wrong,’ she insisted in a strangled voice. ‘You have to be. He was all right when I . . . I don’t believe . . .’

She stopped speaking when she saw the expression on Paget’s face. Her breath caught in her throat. Suddenly, her legs buckled and she dropped heavily to her knees. Both Paget and Molly reacted swiftly, but they only just managed to catch her in time to prevent her head from hitting the floor.

For the second time in two weeks, police were knocking on doors, searching gardens, and asking everyone they met in and around Pembroke Avenue if they had seen or heard anything unusual between the hours of four and six o’clock that morning. And since a number of people had already gone off to work, it meant there would be call-backs after business hours. But those assigned to that task were the lucky ones, because the members of a second team were spending their day searching dustbins and public rubbish bins as well as the odd skip still to be found behind some of the local shops and small businesses in the area, and Ormside was not happy about it.

‘We’re stretched to the limit as it is,’ he complained when Tregalles phoned in. ‘I haven’t got anyone left in here. I’ve had to borrow Sylvia from Control just to answer phones. So tell me, Tregalles, if we’ve got the weapon, why are we going through dustbins? As far as I’m concerned, it’s a bloody great waste of time.’

‘Don’t tell me,’ Tregalles said, ‘tell the boss, but I doubt if you’ll shift him. He and Charlie seem to think that whoever killed Holbrook changed clothes before they left the house, then took them away with them. He didn’t find anything like that at Chase’s flat or in her car, so he’s got everybody searching the area around here, because he thinks the killer would want to be rid of them as soon as possible rather than chance being caught with them.

‘And that’s not all,’ Tregalles continued. ‘He’s done it to me again. He wants me to find out where Tim Bryce was at five this morning, and have him come in to identify his uncle, while he goes off with Molly to bring the Chase woman in for questioning. I tell you, Len, something’s going on between those two.’

‘Well I’m more concerned about what he’s thinking than I am about that,’ Ormside growled. ‘He’s had the killer handed to him on a bloody plate, so what else does he want in the way of evidence?’

‘You tell me,’ Tregalles said glumly. ‘Anyway, I’d better go and see if I can find Bryce. According to Peggy Goodwin, he could be her new boss, and I don’t think she’s too thrilled about that prospect.’

‘Susan Chase will be in hospital for another day or two at least,’ Paget told Ormside. It was late-afternoon, and he had just returned from the hospital. ‘She admitted spending the night with Holbrook before she fainted, but claims that he was alive and well when she left there around five o’clock this morning, which just happens to be the estimated time of death, according to Starkie. But the thing that puzzles me is, if she did kill him, why would she go home and carry on as if nothing had happened, when she must have known that all the evidence would point to her? Tregalles thinks she could have been so shocked by what she’d done that her mind shut it out and she went into denial, but I have trouble with that. When we arrived at her shop, she was going about her business in the normal way. There was no sign of stress; no sign of fear. If anything, her reaction was one of annoyance, which would be normal if she is innocent.

‘Unfortunately, we can’t question her just yet, because she fractured one kneecap and damaged the other when she went down, and her doctor says she is suffering from shock. We’ve closed the shop and the girls have been sent home until we’ve had a chance to make a thorough search of it and the flat upstairs. Funny thing about her car; two of the windows were broken, and it must have happened recently because there was still a lot of glass in the car. But there were no bloodstains, at least none that we could see with the naked eye, and nothing in the boot, but Forensic has it now, so we’ll see what they come up with.’

Paget turned to the whiteboards where a uniformed constable was ticking off the homes visited in the area, and gardens searched, adding notes when they seemed appropriate.

There weren’t many notes.

‘So,’ said Ormside heavily, ‘did Susan Chase kill him or not? It seems straightforward enough to me, but I get the feeling that you’re not satisfied. So what’s the problem?’