A Killing Resurrected (21 page)

P
aget had the feeling that he had met Irene Sinclair before. Certainly the combination of auburn hair, an oriental cast to her features, and a Scottish accent, was an intriguing mix that, once encountered, would be hard for anyone to forget.

And yet he couldn't place her.

He introduced himself and Tregalles, then sat down facing her across the table. ‘Just for the record, is it Miss or Mrs Sinclair?' he asked.

‘It's Irene,' she said pleasantly but firmly. ‘But if it's necessary for your records, I'm not married.'

The voice. Suddenly he remembered. The theatre.
The Broadminster theatre club
.
That
was where he'd seen her. His expression must have given him away, because she looked amused as her dark eyes met his own. ‘No,' she said, ‘we haven't actually met before, Chief Inspector, but I have seen you a number of times at the theatre. I'm the director and sometimes an actor there.'

‘And a very good one as I recall,' he said, then turned to business. ‘Now, Sergeant Ormside, the man you spoke to earlier, tells me you are afraid that something may have happened to Roger Corbett, and the last time you heard from him was on Tuesday afternoon. Do you remember roughly what time that was?'

‘Four o'clock or close to it,' Irene told him. ‘He sounded . . . Oh, I don't know, upset, scared, panicky, perhaps? He'd been drinking and it was all a bit jumbled, but the gist of it was that the police had been round asking questions about a boy he used to know, and he was sure they suspected him of something, but he didn't say what. I tried to get him to tell me, but he said he'd tell me later, but he had to talk to someone else first. Then he cut me off.'

‘Did he mention the name of the person he was going to talk to?'

‘No. He just said, “I've got another call,” and then he was gone.'

‘He was on a mobile phone?'

‘Yes, he was. I have caller ID. He was using his own mobile, and he was calling from the Unicorn in Broad Street.'

‘He told you that?'

‘No, but that's where he normally goes during the day, and when I didn't hear from him I phoned them to ask if he was there or if he'd been in. The man I spoke to said he'd been in earlier, but had left some time ago.'

‘Did he say what time that was?'

He said Roger came in around three-thirty or four and left about half an hour later, but he couldn't be sure of the times. But that sounded about right, because it was around that time when Roger rang me, so he must have left the pub shortly after talking to me.' Irene looked worried. ‘I've tried calling at least a dozen times since then, but there's no reply. I've called Lisa, Roger's office, and everyone else I could think of, including the ambulance service and the hospital, but I can't find anyone who has seen Roger or spoken to him since he left the Unicorn on Tuesday.

‘Lisa doesn't seem to be very concerned at all,' she continued. ‘I'm sure she thinks Roger's gone off drinking with a friend or someone he's met, and he'll turn up in a day or two.'

‘Do you know if he's been worried about anything lately?' Paget asked. ‘Has he said anything to you? Acted any differently?'

Irene shook her head. ‘Not really,' she said. ‘He's been moody these past few days, but then, that's Roger. He does suffer from depression, but he's been quite good lately, and to my knowledge, the only thing that has been at all out of the ordinary lately is the visit from the police he mentioned, but he didn't say what that was about. Do you know anything about that, Chief Inspector?'

Paget said, ‘I was the one who spoke to him, on Tuesday in his office. I wanted to know what he could tell me about a lad by the name of Barry Grant, who was involved in a robbery and the killing of George Taylor, Kevin and David Taylor's father. Mr Corbett seemed somewhat nervous, but then a lot of people react that way when questioned by the police, even if they have nothing to hide. But with what you've just told us, I would like to talk to him again. Tell me, Miss Sinclair, did you know Barry Grant back then?'

Irene shook her head. ‘We moved to Scotland when I was thirteen, and I lived in Stirling for ten years before returning to Broadminster, so what went on here thirteen years ago was all news to me when Claire mentioned it at the party the other day.'

‘Do you recall if Mr Corbett ever mentioned Grant's name before the phone call on Tuesday?'

‘If he did, I don't remember.'

‘You mentioned Lisa,' Tregalles said. ‘That would be his wife, would it?'

‘Yes, that's right, Sergeant. Lisa's been away. She came back from Scarborough late Tuesday night, but when I asked her if she'd seen or talked to Roger, she said she hadn't, and she'd assumed that he was with me.'

Tregalles looked puzzled. ‘Are you related to Mr Corbett?' he asked.

‘No. We're just friends.'

Tregalles scratched his head. ‘Then I think I must have missed something,' he said, ‘because I don't understand how this works. You said a minute ago that Roger Corbett talked to you about
coming home,
which I took to be to your place. Isn't he living with his wife?'

‘Oh, yes, they live together most of the time,' Irene told him, ‘but Roger always comes to live with me when Lisa's away – even sometimes when she's not, for that matter. We've all been good friends for years.'

‘And he just sort of moves back and forth, does he? Bit odd
,
that, isn't it?' Tregalles persisted. ‘I mean—'

‘You say Lisa Corbett didn't appear to be particularly worried by her husband's absence,' Paget broke in. ‘Has he disappeared before?'

‘Not like this,' Irene said. ‘I believe Roger has spent a night or two in your custody for being drunk and disorderly, but the Sergeant I first spoke to told me there's no record of Roger being here now, nor has he been here recently. And that reminds me: Lisa said Roger's car was there at the house. She said she thought that I must have picked him up, because I have done that before. I suppose it's possible that someone else picked him up, but I'd be surprised if that were true, because he didn't like riding with other people. And he didn't take a taxi because I've checked with all of them. The thing is, if he is all right, why doesn't he call or answer his phone?'

Irene Sinclair rose to her feet. ‘Look, Chief Inspector,' she said earnestly, ‘I know Roger, and I have never heard him sound as scared as he did when he called me last Tuesday, so please take this seriously and help me find him.'

‘We will certainly do our best,' Paget told her as he and Tregalles stood up to escort her out. He took out a card and gave it to her as they were approaching the front desk. ‘Please ring that number at any time, day or night, if you hear from Mr Corbett,' he said.

‘I will,' she told him, ‘and thank you for your . . .' Irene stopped speaking, frowning as she looked past Paget. ‘Lisa?' she called sharply. ‘Lisa! What are you doing here? Have you heard from Roger . . .?'

John Chadwell did not look very happy as Sergeant Ormside led the way to the interview room at the far end of the corridor. He kept glancing around as if fearful of being recognized by someone he knew, and seemed to be relieved when he saw there was to be no one else in the room when Ormside shut the door.

Slightly above average height, Chadwell was a broad-shouldered man with rugged features and dark hair already tinged with grey. Sporting a full moustache beneath a prominent nose, he looked permanently displeased – and probably was, thought Ormside.

‘I appreciate your taking the time to come in, sir,' the Sergeant said as they both sat down, ‘but as I told you on the phone, we were quite prepared to come to you.'

John Chadwell shook his head impatiently. ‘Out of the question,' he said tersely. ‘And to be blunt, Sergeant, I'm only here because I didn't want a policeman coming round to the council offices or my house, where everyone would start speculating on the reason. So, let's get on with it, shall we? I have heard from some of the others who were at the party last Saturday, and if what they say is anything to go by, I must say I don't appreciate being cast in the role of a suspect.'

Ormside nodded. ‘Fair enough,' he said, ‘but since we are being blunt, let me remind you that we are investigating the killing of two people, one of whom was the father of your friend, Mr Taylor. We are talking to everyone who was at the party last Saturday, when Miss Hammond mentioned that the Grant house was to be searched, because someone used that information to try to destroy the place before we could do that.'

Chadwell shrugged impatiently. ‘Well, it wasn't me,' he said testily, ‘and I'll tell you right now, I hardly even
remember
Barry Grant, and it's ludicrous to even
think
that I had anything to do with what happened at the house. As for the murders, I know nothing about them, so you're wasting your time.' He folded his arms, and glowered at Ormside as if daring him to continue.

‘In that case, sir,' Ormside growled, ‘the sooner you let me do my job, the better it will be for both of us, and the sooner you'll be out of here. Now, can you tell me where you were between midnight and three o'clock last Monday morning?'

Lisa Corbett was a knockout, Tregalles thought admiringly as he followed the red BMW convertible through the shaded streets of Rutherford Hill. She had to be well into her thirties, but she could pass for mid-to-late twenties without any trouble. But then, she would have to be in good shape, wouldn't she? He'd watched ballroom dancing competitions on TV and marvelled at some of the performances. Fantastic bodies those women had, and Lisa Corbett was no exception. A bit on the thin side, perhaps – Tregalles preferred a bit more meat on the bone, himself – but he wasn't complaining; just watching her move was a pleasure in itself. And those eyes, so dark, so expressive. He could have almost sworn that she was flirting with him even when she was expressing concern about her missing husband back there in Charter Lane.

‘Go back to the house with Mrs Corbett, and start from there,' Paget told him as Lisa Corbett was preparing to leave. ‘See if there is anything there that might tell us where Corbett has gone. And see if you can make some sense out of this relationship Corbett appears to have with these two women, because I don't understand it. Take Forsythe with you. I saw her come in as Miss Sinclair was leaving, and Mrs Corbett might be a bit more forthcoming with another woman.'

The car ahead slowed to make the turn into a driveway leading to a two-storied house almost completely hidden from the road by beech trees and a dense shrubbery of rhododendrons and hydrangeas. The hydrangeas were in full bloom, and some of them bore flowers the size of dinner plates. The house itself wasn't particularly large, although size was deceptive in this woodland setting. Older than most of its neighbours on the hill, it looked so solid and comfortable that it could almost be taken for part of the natural landscape.

‘
Very
nice!' Tregalles observed. ‘And worth a bit, even in today's market if she wanted to sell it. I don't think Mrs Corbett is short of a bob or two.'

The BMW stopped in front of the house and Lisa got out. The flared skirt of her white summer dress rode halfway up her perfectly tanned thighs as she slid out of the car and turned to wait for the two detectives as they pulled in behind her.

‘There's Roger's car,' Lisa said, as they joined her. She pointed to a three-year-old Volvo parked somewhat haphazardly with one front wheel resting on the edge of a flower bed a short distance away. ‘It was there when I came home on Tuesday night. It was very late, close to midnight, actually, so I assumed that Roger was here in the house and asleep in his room.'

‘You have separate rooms, Mrs Corbett?'

‘That's right, Sergeant.'

‘Were there any other signs that might tell us when he was last here?' Molly asked. ‘Any indication that he'd had a recent meal, a snack or a drink perhaps?'

‘Not unless you can make something out of an empty bag of crisps, a dirty glass, and half a bottle of whisky on the coffee table in the living room,' Lisa said scornfully.

‘I don't suppose they would still be there?'

Lisa shook her head. ‘I washed the glass and poured the rest of the whisky down the sink before I went to bed that night,' she said. She turned to Tregalles. ‘So, where would you like to start, Sergeant?'

‘Do you have the key to the Volvo?'

‘I do. It's on my key ring.' Lisa held it out to him.

Tregalles took it from her and walked over to the car. He circled it, looking at the tyres, then tried the driver's door. It was unlocked. He got in, slid the key into the ignition and turned it. The Volvo started immediately. Tregalles ran it for a few seconds, then turned it off and got out.

‘As you say, there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with the car,' he said, ‘so that wasn't the reason he left without it. Assuming he did leave, of course. But you told us earlier that you've searched the area around the house and found no sign of him.'

‘That's right,' Lisa said. ‘Not that I really expected to, but there was always the possibility that he'd tripped and fallen and knocked himself unconscious or had a stroke or a heart attack.' She shrugged and spread her hands. ‘Not that I really believed that,' she continued, ‘but to tell you the truth, I don't know
what
I thought. I think I was more annoyed than worried, which is why I didn't take Irene's concerns very seriously at first.'

Molly looked thoughtful as she eyed the Volvo. ‘Tell me, Mrs Corbett,' she said, ‘does Mr Corbett always leave his car parked like that?'

Lisa smiled, but it was a tired smile at best. ‘Actually, that's probably one of his better efforts,' she said. ‘He has been known to end up in the bushes a time or two until I managed to get it through his head that he could kill someone if he continued to drink and drive, and persuaded him to order a taxi when he knows he's had too much.' She sighed and shook her head. ‘Obviously, this wasn't one of those times.'