The Scent of Death--A Sukey Reyholds British police procedural (15 page)

‘And is it any good?'

‘Better than most, but he's obviously got a lot to learn. I was able to give him some advice and encouragement – his gratitude was quite embarrassing.'

‘He'll have to grow a thicker skin if he wants to get anywhere in your business,' she commented. ‘Would you mind showing it to me or have you returned it to him?'

‘I returned the original, but I kept a copy. You can have it for what it's worth.' He took a folded sheet of A4 paper from his pocket and gave it to her.

‘Thanks.' She scanned it briefly and was about to put it aside when she spotted the name under the text and exclaimed, ‘Mal Carter wrote this!'

‘The name obviously means something to you,' said Harry. ‘What's his job at the hotel?'

‘He's one of the waiters,' she said. ‘It so happens that Vicky and I have to see him tomorrow.' She tried to sound casual, but Harry wasn't deceived.

‘He's a suspect?' he asked eagerly.

‘It's just a loose end that needs tying up,' she said, ‘and no, that's all you're going to get out of me.' Inwardly she felt a twinge of excitement. She was finding it difficult to dismiss the feeling that despite Rathbone's confidence that he had all but solved the Dallington Manor murders there was an important piece of the puzzle missing – a piece that could widen the list of suspects even further. Could this be it?

‘So you aren't going to repay me for giving you what might turn out to be a useful little crumb to add to your apparently short list of clues?'

She shook her head. ‘Not a chance. Let's talk about something else.'

‘If you insist.' He reached for her and said softly, ‘But is there any need for conversation?'

S
ukey awoke the following morning after a refreshing, dreamless sleep. With a sigh of contentment she yawned and turned over in bed, half expecting to feel Harry still lying beside her, then remembered that he had slipped away around midnight saying that he had a piece to finish in time for the early edition.

As she got out of bed and pulled on a robe she found herself humming the opening theme of Mozart's Fortieth Symphony, the one she had heard Justin Freeman introducing on the morning after the death of Lance Rainbird.
There's been all this talk about sonata form,
she found herself thinking, as she filled the kettle.
Trixie thinks
‘Death in Sonata Form' would make a good title for a detective novel and Eric was banging on about first and second subjects – by which I assume he meant different tunes – and then the closing theme. I suppose the first subject would be Rainbird's death, then Romeo's and then poor young Reg. From my limited knowledge of that symphony that's too many subjects for one movement, never mind the complications in between – not sure how Eric would describe them, variations perhaps, but whatever it is, that's what we're struggling with at the moment.

Telling herself impatiently not to waste time on irrelevancies, she ate a hasty breakfast, showered and dressed and went to her computer to bring her report up to date. As she worked, reference to the hotel employee Mal Carter aroused a brief stab of optimism. Could this man, who had caught her and Vicky's attention solely because of his height and build but had now taken on a new significance in her mind, be in possession of some vital piece of information? Since reading the piece Harry had shown her she had begun to regard him not so much as a possible suspect, but rather as someone likely to be more observant than many. Her increasingly close relationship with Harry had taught her that journalists always kept their eyes and ears open for extra titbits that they could add to their stories to make them more interesting. Was there perhaps a faint chance that Carter had observed something he had not thought to mention to any of the investigating officers but who might now, under careful questioning, recall to mind? If so, it could open up a new line of enquiry.
It'll have to be good to shake Rathbone off Freeman's back
, she thought as she finished her report, saved it and sent it to DCI Leach and DI Rathbone with copies to the other members of the team.

Vicky had suggested they arrive at Dallington Manor no later than eight o'clock, when whoever was in charge of the kitchen might be willing to release Carter for a few minutes to enable them to talk to him. They were in luck; almost all the guests had opted to take their breakfasts in the dining room.

‘They always have breakfast together on the last morning,' he explained as he followed the detectives out of the kitchen. ‘They're asked to get their luggage out of their rooms by ten o'clock and in any case I think some of them who haven't been to one of Mr Freeman's parties before like to exchange addresses with new friends, find out who is going to the next or subsequent events and so on.'

‘You've worked here for some time then?' said Vicky.

‘Oh yes – for several years in fact. It's the only job I've been able to get so far but my real ambition is to become a journalist. I can't afford to go to college – my father's dead and my mother only has a small pension – but I've been told there are correspondence courses.' He looked enquiringly from one to the other. ‘What do you want to talk to me about?'

‘It so happens we've already heard about your ambition,' said Sukey. ‘A friend of mine is a journalist and one of the things I've learned about him is that he's an incorrigible people watcher. Does this apply to you?'

He gave a slightly self-conscious smile. ‘Well, yes, you could say that,' he admitted. ‘As a matter of fact, I'm particularly interested in being a crime reporter; I'm aware that Mr Rainbird's death still isn't being treated as murder,' he hurried on, ‘but once Reg Law was killed it's pretty obvious that you – the police – are thinking on those lines.'

‘As you say, we're still not sure how Mr Rainbird met his death,' said Vicky, ‘but we believe someone here has noticed more than they've told us.'

‘As you know, I've already been interviewed by one of your colleagues.' His manner became defensive as he added, ‘I assure you I answered his questions fully and frankly.'

‘We're not suggesting for a moment that you're deliberately withholding anything,' Sukey assured him. ‘We're just wondering if you might have noticed or possibly heard something that struck you as, let's say, interesting or even unusual … about any of the people in Mr Freeman's group.'

‘Let me think now.' Carter closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them again. ‘Well of course there are the two gentlemen who seem to like showing off how much they know about music and are always arguing with each other. Everyone seemed to agree that one of them – the one who died that is – knew a lot more than the other. He certainly commanded more respect anyway and I've noticed he had a few admirers among the ladies. One or two in particular seem to hang on his every word. Now I come to think of it, he did have a very attractive voice – a romantic novelist might describe it as “mellifluous”. And there's the lady in the wheelchair – or rather her companion; I think she was rather smitten as well.'

‘That's interesting,' said Sukey. She recalled Hugh Pearson's remarks about his own wife and wondered how many other husbands shared his views. ‘Do you happen to know the names of any of these ladies?'

‘I'm afraid not,' he apologized. ‘Except the companion – I know she's called Millie because her employer often summons her in a very audible voice. Most of the others chat very informally and if they use names at all it's only their first names or even nicknames.'

‘By the way,' said Vicky, ‘were you on duty on Friday evening – the night Mr Rainbird died?'

He shook his head. ‘No, my shift finished at five o'clock. I've been on the early shift for the past couple of weeks.'

‘Well, thank you, you've been very helpful,' said Sukey. ‘And good luck with your journalistic career.'

‘I don't see that he's been much help,' Vicky remarked as Carter went back to the kitchen.

Sukey shrugged. ‘Well, it was worth a try.'

‘Sir should be along any minute so we'd better get back to reception,' said Vicky.

Rathbone was there waiting for them. ‘The punters will be getting ready to leave soon,' he told them. ‘They'll be coming to the desk to settle their bar accounts before setting off home. Freeman will be here to speed them on their merry way –' at this point he lowered his voice although there was no one within earshot – ‘and I shall quietly detain him for a minute or two after they've gone and request a word with him down at the station. He'll no doubt put on a show of reluctance – want to know why we can't have our word here and so on – but he'll have to agree in the end. He's got his own car here of course so I've brought double-oh-seven to ride shotgun with him and we'll all drive in convoy back to HQ.'

‘I've just learned something that may help to throw light on Reg Law's death, Guv,' said Sukey.

‘What's that?'

She briefly outlined the approach Reg Law had made to Harry Matthews. ‘He didn't mention it at the time because he didn't take Law's claim seriously at first. When he heard about his death, he told me straight away.'

Rathbone thought for a moment. ‘Obviously, the “something stupid” was to try and make a bit on the side instead of coming straight to us. Unfortunately for him, Freeman overheard that call. Excellent. More grist to the Freeman mill.'

‘Do you want us to wait here with you, Guv?' asked Vicky.

‘No, you go back to your own cars and wait. Any joy from that waiter, by the way?'

‘Not really, Guv.'

He shrugged. ‘As I thought. All right, see you outside.'

‘He's like a wolf waiting to sink his fangs into his prey,' commented Vicky. ‘You can't blame him, I suppose – it's pretty satisfying to be ninety per cent sure you've got your man.'

Seated in their respective cars, which were parked some distance away from Freeman's, Sukey and Vicky watched as the last of the party drove away. Having seen the last one off, Freeman picked up his own luggage and put it in the boot of his car. He had evidently not noticed PC James Bond sitting in the front passenger seat, but as he reached for the handle of the driver's door, Rathbone quietly approached him from behind and put a hand on his arm. He swung round in evident surprise, listened as Rathbone spoke to him and then shook his head and lifted both hands in what looked like a gesture of refusal before making another attempt to open the door. Rathbone gripped his wrist and he made an unsuccessful effort to shake himself free. There were two or three minutes of altercation before Freeman ceased arguing, got into the car and switched on the ignition. At a signal from Rathbone and before Freeman moved forward, first Vicky and then Sukey pulled out and headed for the exit. Freeman followed and with Rathbone bringing up the rear the party travelled in convoy to the police headquarters.

Once in the interview room and before Rathbone had a chance to say a word, Freeman said, ‘I can't for the life of me understand why this couldn't have been sorted out before we left the hotel. You're supposed to be out hunting for a killer, not wasting my time with questions you could have asked earlier. I need to get home – I've got things to see to – and what the hell are you switching that thing on for?' he went on as Rathbone, ignoring the outburst, went through the formalities of starting the recording and settling down opposite Freeman with Vicky and Sukey on either side of him.

‘Mr Freeman,' Rathbone began, ‘you are here because we believe you can help us in our enquiries into the death of Lance Rainbird and the subsequent deaths of John Grayson and Reginald Law. If you wish to call your solicitor you are free to do so – or we can arrange for you to be advised by the duty solicitor.'

‘Why the hell should I need a solicitor?' demanded Freeman, ‘and how can I help you with your enquiries when I've already told you all I know?'

‘Mr Freeman,' said Rathbone, ‘you are on record –' here the detective opened a file that lay on the table in front of him – ‘as saying that the last time you saw Mr Rainbird alive was when he left the dining room on Friday evening at around eight o'clock saying that he was going out for some fresh air.'

‘That's correct,' said Freeman. ‘But why—?'

‘You further stated,' Rathbone continued, ‘that you went up to the Orchard Room some ten or fifteen minutes before the evening programme was due to start, on the pretext of checking your equipment.'

‘It wasn't a pretext, it's something I do as a matter of routine,' said Freeman. ‘Anyone will tell you.'

‘Ah yes, routine. Of course. So naturally no one doubted for a moment that your reason for leaving the dining room before everyone else on this occasion was the usual one.'

‘Which it was!' As if to drive the point home, Freeman slapped the table with an open palm. Sukey noticed that he had long, powerful looking fingers and she had a fleeting vision of them clamped round Law's throat.

‘Mr Freeman,' said Rathbone, ‘we have taken a statement from a witness who claims to have seen you speaking to Mr Rainbird close to the lake, shortly after he left to go outside.'

Freeman appeared startled and hesitated for a moment before saying hurriedly, ‘I can't think what witness you have in mind, but I can only repeat that I went straight up to the Orchard Room after drinking my after dinner coffee, so whoever it was obviously mistook me for someone else. Surely you aren't suggesting that I was the one who attacked Lance Rainbird? If that's what this is about, you're barking up the wrong tree. All right, he could be a pain in the backside at times but that's hardly a motive for murder unless you're looking for some kind of psychopath, which I assure you I'm not. And if that's all you have in the way of evidence against me …' He half rose in his chair, but Rathbone raised a hand.