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Authors: Clare Curzon

BOOK: A Meeting of Minds
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Superintendent Yeadings stole a glance at his watch and consciously straightened in his seat. Ten thirteen a.m. and the interview was stalling. Beside him Salmon slouched with one arm across the table and the other along Yeadings's chair-back. The DI's piggy eyes appeared to be tracing a crack across the Interview Room ceiling. Held in the fingers of his right hand, a ball-point pen prodded the tabletop with a maddening rhythm of which only he seemed unaware. He'd been over all the material three times and now had apparently succumbed to a mental block.
Yeadings cleared his throat. ‘I was wondering,' he said mildly. ‘I've never heard of Nat as a shortened form of Jonathan before. ‘It's there, of course, in the middle, and it's certainly used for Nathan, again part of your given name. But in this case it's unusual, having no similarity of sound. How did you come to adopt it?'
Some of the strain went out of Baker's taut features. At last it didn't feel that he was being hammered. This senior officer was bumbling, unfamiliar with techniques of interrogation.
Familiar enough with stories the old lags told, he knew that it was CID at street level who asked the pertinent questions. This other was a desk man. He breathed once more deeply. ‘Well, the obvious shortening is Jon, but there's a lot of Johns and Johnnies about. “Nat” differentiates.'
Yeadings pulled towards him the report Fanshawe had typed of his mid-morning visit to Ashbourne House. ‘I notice here that neither Miss Weyman nor Frank Perrin uses the name Nat. Both referred to you as Jon.'
‘My customers do, mostly. They see what's written on the van. And I use the initials JB when I receipt their bills.'
‘Ah.' Yeadings nodded sagely, enlightened. ‘So it's more personal friends who call you Nat?'
There was an uncomfortable silence. Salmon stared sideways at Yeadings and made a show of superhuman patience. Baker's shoes scuffed on the floorboards as he changed position under the superintendent's gaze.
‘You haven't answered my question.'
‘I didn't realize it was one. People who call me Nat? Yes, they're closer, I suppose.'
‘Like Miss Winter, for example. Sheila Winter.'
There was another silence; then, ‘Yes, I think she was one who used that name.'
‘The only one perhaps?'
Baker closed his eyes. Yeadings counted silently in his head. At twenty he asked, ‘Why would that be, Mr Baker?'
The man's eyes re-opened. He faced Yeadings squarely. His voice was unnaturally controlled. ‘She had – there were associations with the word John. She preferred not to use it.'
‘Tell me about this other John.'
‘It's irrelevant.'
‘Let me be the judge of that. We know very little about Miss Winter, apart from what her father has been able to tell us. This is possibly something he knew nothing about. It would help our inquiries if you explained this to us.'
Baker looked down at his clasped hands on the table, considering how to pick his way out with least damage. Eventually he made an offering gesture. Yeadings observed the work-blunted fingers; but the nails were well cared for.
‘His name was actually Jan, or Jani. A Dutchman. I think she dealt with him, importing plants and bulbs, and he did her down over some order.'
‘She confided this to you?'
‘She was upset and I was working on the spray system at the time. I couldn't help overhearing.'
Yeadings watched him. The man must realize that his story didn't quite hang together. Beside him Salmon had been alerted to the implication of a Netherlands interest. To him it would obviously mean a drugs connection.
‘So if I question office staff at Greenvale, they will confirm this, Mr Baker?' Yeadings had to get the question out before the DI burst in and irrevocably changed tack.
‘I – I've no idea.'
‘No, I think it's outside their zone of competence. Because it wasn't over a business matter that this Jani let her down, was it? She had loved him and he cheated on her.
‘Hadn't you better tell us everything now? You see, your own relationship with Sheila Winter was a very personal one, wasn't it? And that is why she had a special name for you that no one else would use. After this Jani Dutchman, you became lovers, didn't you, Mr Baker? And her death has turned your life around.'
‘Interview terminated at 10.27,' Yeadings said firmly, as Salmon opened his mouth to jump in. ‘It is noted that your attendance at the police station was voluntary. You are free to leave when you wish, Mr Baker, but I suggest we allow you to think things over and return in twenty minutes. Perhaps by then you will realize the need to be completely frank with us. A constable will bring you tea.'
He left Salmon to finish off and quitted the room, but he was only halfway down the corridor when the DI came charging after him. ‘He was on the point of coming clean,' he protested.‘Now he'll think up some screwy alibi.'
Yeadings barely spared him a glance. ‘The man's grieving. He thought nobody knew, and suddenly his most private feelings are exposed. Have some decency, man.'
The DI halted in his tracks, flushing with repressed anger.
Red Salmon, like it says on the tins, Yeadings thought (with silent regret for a pun as bad as any of Beaumont's). But just let him stay buttoned up or he might be claiming there was no place for decency in police work – and mean it, which Yeadings didn't want to hear.
‘Let's continue at 11.15. You'll have time then to visit the canteen.'
Back in his office, Yeadings made two phone calls while the coffee machine burbled. Zyczynski was at home and swore she was resting. Max had arrived but was out shopping; when Beaumont dropped in he'd left a list of alibis for the time of her attack.
‘How do they square up with alibis for the murder of Sheila Winter?' she asked.
‘That'll be complicated,' he admitted, ‘and we haven't tackled Nat Baker on that yet. In his case I have a feeling DI Salmon hopes for a
crime passionnel.'
She made no comment. Familiar with that tone of voice she knew he wouldn't commit himself to an opinion, and he'd gone as near as dammit to criticising the new DI.
‘So could it all be sewn up quite quickly?' she ventured and was answered with a chuckle.
‘You're beginning to sound like the media, Z,' he told her. ‘Just concentrate on getting well again, and leave the case to us.'
He said goodbye and made a brief call to Beaumont, who was arranging to have the plumber's van taken in for forensic examination.
Rosemary Zyczynski was left mumbling to herself, ‘Don't worry your pretty little head about it,
bimbo
!' and fuming at lack of material to get working on.
Yeadings checked his watch at 11.15 exactly, then re-entered the Interview Room. Baker looked up, his long face stern. ‘I'd like to tell you about my – my association with Miss Winter. Are you going to caution me?'
‘Not at this point. I will interrupt you if it becomes necessary. Shall we wait for the detective inspector?'
Salmon was three minutes late. He entered looking sour and took the seat beside Yeadings. He started up without more ado. ‘When did you last see Miss Winter, and where?'
‘On the Monday, five days before she was killed. It was at the garden centre. I called in with some receipts for goods I'd supplied.'
‘Bills already settled? Why couldn't they have gone by post?'
‘They could have, but. I wanted to see her. We'd both been caught up by work and there were things to settle. You see, Sheila and I were planning to be married. We had fixed a date in January, and arranged with the registrar. I'd booked a week's honeymoon at La Cluse in Savoy. We intended to get some skiing in.' He stopped abruptly.
‘January?' Salmon demanded suspiciously, ‘and you a plumber? Isn't that your busiest time?'
‘One of them; for burst pipes and pump breakdowns. Yes, but it would be more convenient for Sheila.'
‘So her job was more important than yours?' The DI seemed determined to control the questioning this time. Yeadings smiled, nodding encouragement to Baker.
‘She dealt with living things. After the Christmas rush would come the low season. Everything was already tidied for winter, and it was too early for heavy pruning. My work was to be covered by a friend. We could both afford to take a week off then.'
‘How did her mother regard the idea?' Salmon demanded, curling his lip.
‘She hadn't been told. Sheila meant to offer her a health club holiday with beauty treatment while we were away, then present a
fait accompli
on our return.'
‘Wasn't that asking for trouble?'
‘She would be upset whenever she was told, but that way it would avoid any unpleasantness at the most important time for us.'
‘Why would it upset her?'
‘I think that's obvious. She was accustomed to having Sheila at her beck and call. New arrangements would have to be made, so that Vanessa became more independent. Sheila thought she might agree to stay on at the flat, possibly with a paid companion. I have a country cottage outside Chesham, not far away, and Sheila planned to buy the fields to either side of it for cultivation.'
‘Am I right in assuming you would be financially better off by marrying Miss Winter?' Salmon asked with the hint of a sneer.
‘And are deprived of any such benefit by the fact of her death?' Yeadings intervened while the man paused, needled at the implication.
‘We hadn't discussed money at any depth. Sheila had her own business; I have mine. I'm not a pauper, inspector.'
‘Earlier, when we discussed her special name for you – her
pet name, so to speak – you refused to say how or when you came to meet Miss Winter. Are you ready to tell us now?'
Salmon was looking smug. He must know the answer to that already, Yeadings thought.
Baker straightened his back and gave the DI a defiant stare. ‘We met through a London dating agency. It was while she and her mother were still living in Putney. I selected that one because I didn't care to have my private life talked about locally.' He spoke quietly, with dignity.
‘Your private
affairs;
I see. So was Miss Winter the first – er,
client
you were paired with, Mr Baker?'
‘I met four ladies in all, but we weren't suited in the other three cases.'
‘This is a personal matter, and I'm not sure it's relevant,' Yeadings put in.
‘I think it is.' Salmon was adamant. ‘It isn't clear whether Mr Baker was looking for a rich wife or a fun companion.'
Yeadings was about to intervene again but Baker beat him to it. ‘I was lonely. I admit that, and at first I wanted a personable woman I could take out for meals and perhaps to the theatre. Someone who could talk about the sort of things I'm interested in. Two of the women I was introduced to were simply looking for a rich husband, and I wasn't up to standard. The third – ' his Punch-like features twisted with sardonic humour, ‘had an insatiable appetite for alcohol and bedtime athletics.
‘I almost gave up on the agency then, but Sheila had just come on their books, after her failed relationship with Jani Nederkamp. She was hurt, seemed even a little bitter, but I discovered she wasn't like that underneath. She needed someone ordinary, like me. It took a little while, but she came to think the same.' His voice broke. ‘We meant to – to spend the rest of our lives together.'
‘The night of her murder,' Salmon said purposefully, ‘where were you?'
‘Waiting for her at the Burnham Beeches Hotel. If she hadn't
arrived by nine o'clock I would know she couldn't get away. That was our standing arrangement.'
‘So when did she arrive?'
‘She didn't. I waited an extra half-hour, cancelled the room, got some food at the bar and went home, expecting she'd ring me in the morning from Greenvale. That would be Sunday, usually her busiest day of the week there.'
‘And it seemed she'd stood you up.'
‘I didn't think that. I don't know what I did think; just a horrible feeling that something was wrong. Maybe her mother was ill, or had found out about us and was making trouble. Something like that.'
‘How did you find out?'
‘I went to Greenvale. She wasn't there. Nobody seemed to know anything. Then the police turned up. Word went around like wildfire. I couldn't believe she was – gone.'
‘Did you speak to anyone about it?'
‘How could I? No one – knew about us. I got in the car and drove around, trying to understand. It didn't make sense. There was nothing I could do. Everything was over.'
Yeadings watched the fists balled on the table between them. The man was at the end of his tether, but Salmon wasn't giving up on him.
‘You've said you never visited Ashbourne House once the conversion was completed. I want you to think about that again. Do you want to alter your statement?'
‘No. I called recently to deliver some copper piping to the builder, Frank Perrin, but I stayed outside. He wanted it for a new job elsewhere.'
The DI leaned forward, fixing Baker with his little, piggy eyes. ‘So you weren't making love to Sheila Winter in what they called the “drawing-room” two weeks back?'
‘I certainly wasn't.'
‘Then who was? – because somebody was hard at it, and never noticed my sergeant watching from the doorway!'
They'd had to let him go, with the warning that he shouldn't
leave the area without informing the station. He appeared dazed, incredulous.
‘So what do you make of that?' Yeadings asked the DI.
‘He'll do nicely.' Salmon's jaw jutted as he kept pace along the corridor.
‘I thought you had somebody else in your sights.'
‘That doesn't rule out our man here. You heard what Beaumont said at the briefing. There has to be more than one person involved in the killing: one to drive the body to Henley, and a second to get him away afterwards. We've drawn a blank on taxis over the whole area.'
‘If he needed to get away. Why couldn't he have stayed there, at least overnight?'
‘It's hardly likely. I'd rather go for a bike being left there for him in advance. It wouldn't take long for Barry Childe to get back to Marlow that way. But what's wrong with the pair of them in it together? Both were connected with the garden centre, getting plenty of opportunities to plan it when they met up through work. And Baker has no alibi for after 9.30pm at Burnham Beeches. He'd already set up a meeting with the woman. We've only his word for it that it wasn't meant to be later elsewhere.'
He had the bit between his teeth, Yeadings thought regretfully. ‘Motive?' he queried mildly. ‘Sheila Winter's dead, so Baker loses any hopes of gain from the alliance. Unless, of course, you think there's a more recent will than the one left with her solicitor.'
Salmon stopped in his tracks. ‘That wouldn't surprise me. Or a secret life insurance. Why not? Baker's a twisted bastard, making her keep everything quiet, even from her old lady. There's no confirmation of anything he claims. Sheila Winter left no indication she was planning to marry. Final arrangements were left for him to fix.'
A further thought struck him. ‘Suppose it was all in his head and she suddenly faced him out with it. He lost his temper and …'
‘ …and happened to have a kitchen knife handy to stab her with? You can't have it both ways. Either it was premeditated or done in a fit of passion. And, if you remember, Dr Fenner, her father, believed she had some secret to share with him soon. He'd been hoping she would announce she'd found someone to settle down with.'
Salmon scowled. Bouncing his ideas off the superintendent was like hitting your head against a brick wall. Why couldn't he stick to his desk and leave the thinking to him? What he needed right now was a stiff drink and a chance to work out just where he'd reached in the reasoning. He had to hold on to the idea of Childe and Baker in this together, as a partnership. Hadn't the plumber been the means of the ex-con getting this cushy job with the dead woman? The trouble was that Baker seemed every bit as thick with Frank Perrin, and Perrin had no alibi for the night of the killing. There couldn't have been three of them in cahoots over it, could there? But then again, why not?
 
Neil Raynes would have gone up to see Rosemary again as soon as Max went off to do the shopping but for a rankling memory of what Marty had said: ‘your new Svengali'. Was that what he really thought? – that Neil couldn't function fully on his own; must have a hypnotist to control his mind, a puppeteer to pull his strings?
A bloody lie. He could hype himself up to take charge of his life when he knew Marty wasn't there. It was only at other times that he let himself go, took risks, knowing Marty could cushion his falls. But now he was in the driving seat, making the changeover. If he wanted, he could go and see the girl. Or he could choose not to. Sometime he had to get himself out of this cycle of dependence. It just took some catalyst. Maybe she was it.

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