The Cold Hand of Malice (3 page)

‘Nobody’s perfect, Sergeant,’ Paget said lightly. ‘Not even you.’ He had never seen Tregalles so tense as he’d been in the superintendent’s office, and he was pleased to see the flicker of a smile on the sergeant’s face in response.

‘Now,’ he continued as they arrived at his office, ‘what I need from you is everything – and I mean
everything
– you have right from the very beginning. I want to see the statements made by the victims, by their neighbours, and by anyone and everyone who has been interviewed. I want a list of everything that was taken and everything that was destroyed, and I want the collator’s material as well as the profiler’s report.

‘I know, I know,’ he said as Tregalles was about to speak. ‘I know you told Mr Alcott that neither she nor the consultant from the university could tell us anything we hadn’t already guessed, and it may be a waste of time, but I want to see them just the same. And if there is anything I’ve overlooked, I want to see that too,’ he ended.

Tregalles blew out his cheeks. ‘There’s a hell of a lot of stuff,’ he warned. ‘It will take some time.’

‘I know,’ Paget told him, ‘but we can start on the material from the first burglary while the rest is being put together. Now, I have a few things I must clear up here, but I want you back here with the first lot, let’s say at two o’clock this afternoon.

‘And be prepared to work late, tonight,’ he called after him as Tregalles left the office.

Three

Wednesday, March 4

Paget drank the last of his tea and gave a sigh of contentment as he settled back in his chair. ‘That was a delicious meal,’ he said with feeling, ‘and I was certainly ready for it, Grace. But you shouldn’t have waited this long for your own dinner.’

‘Well, you did promise to be home by eight, and you know I don’t like eating alone.’

Even though they had been living together for more than a year now, Paget still couldn’t believe his good fortune, and chills still ran up and down his spine when Grace came into his arms. Devastated by his wife Jill’s untimely death, he’d convinced himself that no one could ever take her place, and he’d withdrawn into himself, leaving London and the Met behind for the solitude of what used to be his father’s house in Ashton Prior. But he’d become restless there, and finally allowed himself to be coaxed into joining the Westvale Regional Force headquartered in Broadminster as a replacement DCI.

Those first few years hadn’t been easy. Taciturn and demanding, he’d had trouble fitting in, but when chance brought him and DS John Tregalles together on a case, they seemed to click. Tregalles, originally from Cornish stock, had grown up in London, and between his irrepressible spirit and irreverent approach to life in general, he wasn’t at all phased by Paget’s gruff and unbending manner, and the two had gradually formed a solid working relationship.

Paget had no social life. His work
was
his life, although there was a time when it looked as if he and Dr Andrea McMillan, a suspect in a murder case, might become something more than friends, but that hadn’t worked out. It had depressed him at the time, but he had cause to be thankful later on when he met Grace Lovett, an analyst with SOCO. Even then, it had taken him longer than it should have to recognize the feelings he had for her, and even longer before he allowed himself to believe that she could feel the same about him.

‘Penny for them?’ Grace said with a questioning look. ‘There was a faraway look in your eyes just then. I hope you’re not still thinking about the job?’

He smiled. ‘As a matter of fact, I was thinking of you, and the first time we met,’ he said.

‘The first time we met you didn’t even notice me,’ she reminded him. ‘The next time we met you took me to lunch, then told me I had to pay for mine because I was on expenses.’

He grinned. ‘Well, things have changed a bit since then,’ he told her, ‘and as for what I was thinking just now, I was thinking how lucky I am to have you.’

Grace eyed him with mock scepticism as she stood up and began clearing the table. ‘They always say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,’ she said, ‘but I have the feeling that this is leading up to something?’

‘It is,’ he told her as he got up and came round the table. He placed his hands lightly on her shoulders and held her at arm’s length. ‘I don’t know what sort of day you’ve had,’ he said, ‘but mine’s been very tiring, so why don’t we leave the clearing up till morning and have an early night? What do you say?’

Grace’s eyes danced mischievously as she pulled away. ‘I’d say you were trying to get me into bed, DCI Paget, and I suspect your intentions are not entirely honourable.’

‘Is that a yes or a no?’

Grace grinned. ‘You don’t get anything for free in this world,’ she told him. ‘You should know that by now; there’s always a price to pay.’

‘Which is . . .?’ he asked cautiously.

‘We clear the table and do the washing up before we go to bed, because there is no way I want to face this lot when I come downstairs tomorrow morning. So, the sooner we get them done, the sooner you can have your way with me.’

Moira Ballantyne slid the letter into the envelope and sealed it. It was shorter than usual, but she’d found it hard to concentrate on the weekly letter to her mother after the encounter with Laura Holbrook last night. She’d tried to dismiss it from her mind; tried to tell herself that things would straighten themselves out between them, but Laura’s accusation had been niggling away in the back of her mind all day, refusing to go away.

And the more she’d thought about it, the angrier she’d become.

Laura had all but accused her of having an affair with Simon; right there in the club last night. She hadn’t mentioned Moira by name, but by the way she had gone on about ‘some people’ getting their claws into other people’s husbands, then pretending to be ‘little Miss Innocent’, she had made her meaning very clear, and Moira could just imagine the sort of gossip that had broken out the minute they left the club.

It would have been bad enough if it had been true, but it wasn’t. Not that she and Simon hadn’t had their moments in the past, she thought guiltily, but that was over long ago. It had happened at a time when she and Trevor were going through a rough patch, in fact she had given serious consideration to divorce. The work wasn’t coming in the way it had; Trevor was depressed, and the more he worried about the situation the worse things became. Bills were piling up; nothing was going right, and they’d fallen into the habit of sniping at each other over the most trivial things. She knew she’d been bitchy – unbearably so, if she were honest – and Trevor had finally withdrawn into himself and wouldn’t even talk to her unless it was unavoidable.

And then Simon Holbrook had asked them to design a security system for his new premises. It wasn’t a big job; the premises weren’t large, but it was a lucrative one, because Simon wanted the best system going. It had meant that Moira had had to spend a lot of time on site, much of it in Simon’s company as he explained in painstaking detail exactly what he wanted. But with his scientific background, and being the kind of man he was, he had insisted on having every circuit explained to him in detail as they went along, and had in fact shown them how they could miniaturize some of the equipment they were using. He had also come up with some interesting and innovative ideas about where to conceal the cameras.

The new job had been a godsend. Apart from anything else, it got Moira out of the house, because she was the one who took care of the initial on-site assessment and evaluation. It was her job to work with the client, record his needs, make recommendations, and provide Trevor with the information and working sketches from which he would design the system.

Often working together far into the evening in order to meet the deadline Simon had set, it was almost inevitable that they would end up in bed together. Simon was such a breath of fresh air after the claustrophobic atmosphere at home – and he could be so damned charming when he put his mind to it.

It was all over in a matter of weeks. It was just sex – that’s all it was. No regrets on either side. Except, a small voice whispered as Moira stared blankly at the envelope in her hand, that wasn’t
quite
true, was it? Not if she were honest. Even now, there were times when he would give her one of those sidelong looks from those dark eyes of his, and her heart would beat a little faster, and she would shiver as if he’d touched her. She’d felt guilty about the affair, brief as it had been; she’d even thought long and hard about confessing all to Trevor, but thankfully she hadn’t. It would have been the end of their marriage, and she didn’t want that. Trevor might not be the most exciting man in the world, but he was a good man, and she loved him.

As for Simon, Moira had always marvelled at the way he drifted in and out of relationships as casually as he might drop in and out of a restaurant for lunch. He was like a magnet; women were attracted to him – they couldn’t seem to help themselves – even though most of them soon realized there was no depth to him and he would always be moving on.

Until Laura, of course. Simon had met his match there. Moira had watched from the sidelines as their relationship developed, intrigued by the way Laura had taken control from the very beginning, first of Simon himself, and then his business.

‘And now she has it all,’ Moira murmured to herself as she moistened a stamp and stuck it on the envelope.

There could be little doubt that, despite Simon’s unique talents and hard work, his company, Holbrook Micro-Engineering Laboratories, would have gone under if Laura hadn’t come along at just the right time. Investing so much money had been a huge gamble on her part, but one that had paid off. Paid off for Moira and Trevor as well, because Simon was so pleased with the new security system that he had steered more business in their direction.

But it wasn’t just the money. Without Laura’s business acumen, her background as a forensic auditor, and her contacts in both private and government circles, chances were the company would still have gone under. Simon Holbrook might be a genius in his field of micro-technology, but without the ability to market what he had to offer, the business was bound to fail.

Laura had literally taken charge, and Simon had been only too happy to leave the marketing and sales side of the business to her while he went back to the bench to get on with what he and his hand-picked team did best: developing new, miniaturized products and modifying old ones.

The results spoke for themselves. In the short span of two years, the company was not only well on its way to recovery, but Simon’s name and the work he was doing had appeared in at least two high-tech journals recently. Laura’s doing, no doubt, thought Moira, but she had to admire the woman’s drive and dedication to her work, even if she didn’t like her.

Laura was a beautiful woman, and Simon was an attractive man, so Moira had never doubted for a moment that the two of them had been sleeping together from time to time, but it had taken everyone completely by surprise when he’d announced, quite casually last October, that they were married.

Simon?
Married?
Surprised? Gobsmacked would be closer to the mark!

Moira had always thought that if anyone could snare Simon it would be Susan Chase, Laura’s older sister, although even that seemed unlikely after his experience of being dragged through the courts when his first wife Helen divorced him. Even so, Moira felt sure that Susan had been living in hopes, so it was ironic that she should be the one to introduce Simon to her sister.

It was hard even now to think of Simon as a happily married man. Well, he’d seemed happy enough in the beginning, but Moira wasn’t so sure about now. He’d made a couple of remarks to Trevor about the amount of time Laura was spending away from home, and the way she seemed to have completely taken over control of the business. And if there
was
anything behind those remarks, it was quite possible that Simon might use that as an excuse to seek solace elsewhere.

But for Laura to accuse her – and at the club, of all places! Moira had been taken so completely by surprise that she hadn’t been able to find the words to respond, so she’d been left standing with her mouth hanging open as Laura marched away. Now, reliving the scene of the night before, Moira felt the anger rising once again. If Laura really thought Simon was having it off with her, then the sooner she set her straight the better.

She looked at the time. Ten past nine. The letter to her mother wouldn’t be picked up until tomorrow morning, but she could do with a breath of fresh air before bed, and Trevor and Simon wouldn’t be back for at least another hour, so she might as well take the letter to the postbox at the end of the street now. At least it was better than just sitting there fuming about Laura.

The wind had been blowing steadily from the north throughout the day, but now it had shifted around to the east, which was never a good sign. It was trying to rain, and Moira kept her head down as she walked to the top of the road. Pembroke Avenue wasn’t very long; eight houses on either side, single, detached, each with its own generous plot of land, screened from its neighbour by trees, a tall hedge, or a stone wall. Solid, well-built older houses, many of which had been completely renovated and modernized over the years, each with their own driveway and garage. And yet there were still cars parked on both sides of the avenue. Signs of an affluent neighbourhood, Moira thought, and wondered if that would change with the skyrocketing price of oil and the falling price of houses.

The Ballantynes’ house was the last but one on the odd-numbered side, and Moira had to pass the Holbrook’s house on her way to the postbox on the main road at the top end of Pembroke Avenue. She hadn’t given it so much as a glance on her way there, but with the wind behind her on her way back, she paused outside the house and looked up at the light in the bedroom window.

Odd, she thought. Laura would never have the light on when she had one of her migraines, but that had been her excuse for not going to see the film tonight. Either she had recovered more quickly than usual, or she’d pretended to have a migraine to get out of going to see a film that neither she nor Moira had been keen on seeing in the first place. Not that she could blame Laura for that after begging off herself when Simon phoned to say that Laura had a migraine and had gone to bed.