A Taste for Death (21 page)

Asked for his movements during the day, he said that !-he had got up at about half-past six and had gone for a

jog in Holland Park before boiling an egg for his

At eight thirty he had gone over to the house to

if there were any odd jobs which Miss Matlock had needed doing. She had given him a table lamp to mend

an electric kettle. He had then driven to collect Mrs Beamish, Lady Ursula's chiropodist who lived in Parsons Green and who no longer ran a car. That was a regular arrangement on the third Tuesday in the month. Mrs Beamish was over seventy and Lady Ursula was the only patient she now saw. The session was over by eleven thirty and he had then driven Mrs Beamish home and returned to take Lady Ursula to a luncheon engagement with a friend, Mrs Charles Blaney, at the University Women's Club. He had parked the car near the club, gone for a solitary pub lunch and returned at two forty-five to drive both ladies to an exhibition of watercolours at Agnew's. Afterwards he had driven them to the Savoy for afternoon tea, then returned to Campden Hill Square by way of Chelsea where he had dropped Mrs Blaney at her house. He and Lady Ursula were back at number sixty-two by

147

five thirty-three. He could remember the time exactly because he had looked at the car clock. He was used to organizing his life by time. He had helped Lady Ursula into the house, had then garaged the Rover and had spent the rest of the evening in his flat until leaving for the country just after ten o'clock. Massingham said.

'I believe Lady Ursula telephoned you twice during the evening. Can you remember when that was?'

'Yes. Once at about eight, and again at nine fifteen. She wanted to discuss next week's arrangements and to remind me that she had said I could take the Rover. I drive one

of the early Cortinas but it's having its MOT test.' Massingham asked:

'When the cars are garaged, the Rover, your own and the Golf, is the garage kept locked?'

'It's kept locked whether or not the cars are garaged. The outer gate is, of course, always secure so there isn't much risk of theft, but it's possible that kids from the comprehensive school could climb over the wall, perhaps as a dare. There are dangerous tools in the larger garage and Lady Ursula thinks it wiser always to keep it locked. I didn't bother to

lock it tonight because I knew you were coming.'

'And yesterday evening?'

'It was locked after five forty.'

'Who has the keys except yourself?.'

'Sir Paul and Lady Berowne both have a set and there's a spare bunch on the keyboard in Miss Matlock's sitting room. Lady Ursula wouldn't need them. She relies on me to drive her.'

'And were you here in this flat all yesterday evening?' 'From five forty. That's right.'

'Is there any chance that someone from the house or from outside could have taken out a car or the bicycle without your knowing?'

Halliwell paused, then said:

'I don't see how that would be possible.'

Dalgliesh interposed quietly:

'I'd like you to be more definite than that, Mr Halliwell, if you can be. Could they or couldn't they?'

148

Halliwell looked at him.

'No, sir, they couldn't. I must have heard the garage

being unlocked. I've got sharp ears.'

Dalgliesh went on;

'So last night from about five forty until you left for the country shortly after ten you were here alone in this flat

and the garage door was bolted?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Is it usual for you to keep the doors bolted when you're in the fiat?'

'If ! know I'm not going out, it is. I rely on the garage door for my security. The fiat lock is only a Yale. It's

become a habit to bolt the doors.'

Massingham asked:

'And where did you go when you left here?'

'Into the country. To Suffolk, to see a friend. It's a two-hour drive. I arrived about midnight. It's the widow of one of my mates killed in the Falklands. There's a boy. He doesn't miss his dad, he was killed before he was born, but his mother reckons that it's good for him to have a man

about the place occasionally.'

Massingham asked:

'So you went to see the boy?'

The smouldering eyes were fixed on him. Halliwell answered simply:

'No. I went to see his mother.'

Massingham said:

'Your private life is your affair, but we need confir-mation about when you arrived at your friend's house. That means we need to know her address.'

'Maybe, sir, but I don't see why I need to give it. She's had enough to put up with in the last three years without the police bothering her. I left here just after ten. If Sir Paul was dead before then, what I did later that night isn't relevant. Maybe you know when he died, maybe not. But when you get the autopsy report you'll get a clearer idea. If I need to give you her name and address then, OK, I'll give it. But I'll wait until you convince me that it's necessary.'

149

Massingham said:

'We shan't bother her. She merely has to answer one simple question.'

'A question about murder. She's had enough of death and dying. Look, I left here shortly after ten and I arrived almost exactly at midnight. If you do ask her, she'll say the same, and if it's relevant, if I had anything to do with Sir Paul's death, then I'll have fixed a time with her anyway, won't I?'

Massingham asked:

'Why did you start out so late? Today was your day off. Why hang about until ten before starting on a two-hour journey?'

'I prefer driving when the worst of the traffic is over, and I had some jobs I wanted to get finished first, a plug to fix on the table lamp, the electric kettle to mend. They're on the side if you want to check on the work. Then I bathed, changed, cooked myself a meal.'

The words, if not the voice, were on the edge of inso-lence, but Massingham held his temper. Dalgliesh, his own well under control, thought he knew why. Halliwell was a soldier, decorated, a hero. Massingham would have dealt less gently with any man for whom he felt less instinctive respect. If Halliwell had murdered Paul Berowne then the Victoria Cross wouldn't save him, but Dalgliesh knew that Massingham would prefer almost any other suspect to be

guilty. Massingham asked:

'Are you married?'

'I had a wife and a daughter. They're both dead.' He turned and looked directly at Dalgliesh. He said: 'What about you, sir? Are you married?'

Dalgliesh had reached out behind him and taken up one of the carved lions. Now he turned it gently in his hands. He said:

'I had a wife and a son. They, too, are dead.'

Halliwell turned again to Massingham and bent on him his dark unsmiling eyes.

'And if that question was none of my business, neither are my wife and daughter any of yours.'

150

Massingham said:

'Nothing is irrelevant when it comes to murder. This lady you visited yesterday night, are you engaged to her?'

'No. She's not ready for that. After what happened to herP husband I don't know that she ever will be. That's why I don't want to give you her address. She's not ready for that kind of question from the police, or for any other question.'

Massingham rarely made that kind of mistake and he didn't compound it by explanation or excuse. Dalgliesh didn't press the matter. The important hour was eight o'clock. If Halliwell had an alibi for the hours until ten he was in the clear and was entitled to his privacy for the following day. If he were trying with difficulty to build up a relationship with a bereaved and vulnerable woman it was understandable that he didn't want the police arriving

with unnecessary questions however tactful. He said: 'How long have you been working here?'

'Five years three months, sir. I took the job when Major Hugo was alive. After he was killed Lady Ursula asked me to stay on. ! stayed. The money suits, the place suits, you could say Lady Ursula suits. Apparently I suit her. I like living in London and I haven't decided yet what to do with my gratuity.'

'Who pays your wages? Who actually employs you?' 'Lady Ursula. It's my job to drive her mostly. Sir Paul used to drive himself or use the ministerial car. Occasion-ally I'd drive him and her young ladyship if they were out in the evening. There wasn't much of that. They weren't a social couple.'

'What sort of couple were they?' Massingham's voice was carefully uninterested.

'They didn't hold hands in the back of the car, if that's what you mean.' He paused, then added: 'I think that she

was a bit afraid of him.'

'With reason?'

'Not that I could see, but I wouldn't describe him as an easy man. Nor a happy one, come to that. If you can't

151

cope with guilt, best avoid doing things that make you feel guilty.'

'Guilt?'

'He killed his first wife didn't he? All fight it was an accident; wet road, bad visibility, a notorious bend. That all came out at the inquest. But he was the one driving. I've seen it before. They never quite forgive themselves. Something here' - he gave his chest a gentle thump - 'keeps asking them whether it really was an accident.'

'There's no evidence that it wasn't, and he was as likely to kill himself as his wife.'

'Maybe that wouldn't have worded him that much. Still he didn't die, did he? She did. And then, five months later, he married again. He got his brother's fiancee, his brother's

house, his brother's money, his brother's title.' 'But not his brother's chauffeur?' 'No. He didn't take over me.' Dalgliesh asked:

'Did the title matter to him? I shouldn't have thought

SO.'

'Oh it mattered all right, sir. It wasn't much, I suppose, a baronetcy, but it was old. 1642. He liked it all right, the

sense of continuity, his little bit of vicarious immortality.' Massingham said:

'Well, we can all hope for that. You don't sound as ii you much liked him.'

'Liking didn't come into it between him and me. I drox his mother, she paid me. And if he disliked me he didnI show it. But I reckon I reminded him of things he'd ratht forget.'

Massingham said:

'And now it's all gone, ended with him, even the title.

'Maybe. Time will show. I think rd wait nine montls before I was sure of that.'

It was a hint of a possibility Dalgliesh had already suspected, but he didn't pursue it. Instead he asked:

'When Sir Paul gave up his ministerial job and then his parliamentary seat, what was the feeling in the housc among the staff?.'

152

'Miss Matlock didn't discuss itl This isn't the sort of house where the staff sit in the kitchen drinking tea and gossiping about the family. We leave upstairs, downstairs to the telly. Mrs Minns and I thought we might be in for a scandal.'

'What sort of a scandal?'

'Sexual, ! suppose. That's the kind it usually is.'

'Had you any reason to suspect that?'

'None, except that bit of dirt in the Paternoster Review. I've no evidence. You asked me what I thought, sir. That was what I thought most likely. Turns out I was wrong. It was more complicated apparently. But then he was a complicated man.'

Massingham went on to ask him about the two dead women.

Halliwell said:

'! hardly saw Theresa Nolan. She had a room here but she either stayed in it most of the time, or went out. Kept herself to herselfi She was employed as a night-nurse and wasn't supposed to be on duty until seven. Miss Matlock nursed Lady Ursula during the day. She seemed a quiet, rather shy girl. A bit timid for a nurse, I thought. Lady Ursula had no complaints as far as I know. You'd better ask her.'

'You know that she got pregnant while she was working here?'

'Maybe, but she didn't get pregnant in this flat, nor in the house for all I know. There's no law which says you can only have sex between seven at night and seven next morning.'

'And Diana Travers?'

Halliwell smiled:

'A different girl altogether. Lively. Very bright, I'd say. ! saw more of her although she only worked the two days, Monday and Friday. Odd sort of job for a girl like that to take, I thought. And a bit of a coincidence seeing Miss Matlock's advert just when she was looking for a part-time job. Those cards usually stick in the windows until they get too brown and faded to be read.'

153

Massingham said:

'Apparently Lady Berowne's brother, Mr $wayne, was

here last evening. Did you see him?'

'No.'

'Is he often here?'

'More often than Sir Paul liked. Or other people for that matter.'

'Including you?'

'Me and his sister, I reckon. He has a habit of turning up for a bath or a meal when it suits him, but he's

harmless. Spiteful, but about as dangerous as a wasp.' It was, Dalgliesh thought, too facile a judgement. Suddenly all three men, keen-eared, raised their heads and listened. Someone was coming through the garage. There was a rush of fdotfalls, soft soled, on the iron staircase, the door was almost flung open and Dominic Swayne stood in the entrance. Halliwell must have left the latch of the Yale up. It was, thought Dalgliesh, a curious oversight unless, of course, he had been half-expecting this sudden intrusion. But he made no sign, merely fixing on Swayne his dark unwelcoming gaze before turning again to his mug of coffee. Swayne must have known that they were there since, presumably, Miss Matlock had let him into the house, but his start of surprise and the tentative embarrassed smile were nicely judged.

'Oh my God! Sorry, sorry! I seem to have an unlucky habit of bursting in when the police are doing their stuff.

Well, I'll leave you to the third degree.'

Halliwell said coldly:

'Why not try knocking first?'

But it was to Dalgliesh that Swayne turned:

'I only wanted to tell Halliwell that my sister says I can borrow the Golf tomorrow.'

Halliwell said without moving from his seat:

'You can borrow the Golf without prior notice. Yot usually do.'

Swayne kept his eyes on Dalgliesh.

'That's OK then. Look, I'm here. Is there anything you want to ask me? If so, go ahead.'

Massingham had got up from the table and had picked