Cold Coffin (13 page)

It took no more than forty-five minutes for the kids to exhaust the possibilities of the airport. They were starting to whine. Their father steered them towards the buffet, to try and buy a few minutes’ contentment with cokes and ice-creams. On the way he bought a paper, plus a couple of comics.

They found a vacant table and all sat down. Blessed quiet. The coffee was good and hot. The page three girl was really something. Mind you, though, Megan had a figure that put her in that class. Bloody memories. Always coming back, they were. Never left a guy in peace.

He turned a page, idly scanned a story about vice in Britain’s cities, but quickly lost interest. He saw more than enough of that on the job. Down at the bottom of the page was a small headline.
Have you seen this car?
To do with the double murder that South Midlands had on their plate. A Saab, dark green, F registration. It quoted the number.

“Da-a-ad,” Kim began.

“Just a minute.”

No, it
couldn’t
be. Luck was something that happened to other people. He screwed up his eyes, trying to visualize the number plate of the car parked next to his. F reg., definitely. God almighty, he really thought it was.

“Come on, you two,” he said, jumping to his feet.

“But Dad, I haven’t finished my coke.” This was Kim. Gordon had been making sucking noises through his straw for ages.

“Bring it with you,” he snapped impatiently, and made them run all the way back to the car park. But once there, he was almost scared to look. Did he actually imagine that he, Detective Constable Elwyn Williams, had stumbled upon the car wanted in a murder case? Still, there was one consolation if he was wrong, he’d never have to breathe a word about it to a living soul.

But he was right. He checked again with the newspaper, just to be a hundred per cent sure. Then he grabbed both children by the hand.

“Come on, hurry up, I’ve got to find a phone.”

“Cardiff Airport?” Kate raised her eyebrows at the report that had just been brought in to her by Sergeant Boulter. “Does that mean our chummy has flown out of the country, I wonder?”

“Looks like it, guv.”

Kate thought quickly. She was at her desk in the Incident Room. Saturdays were no different from any other day during a major investigation. The whole murder squad was on duty, and would be tomorrow.

“I think you’d better go to Cardiff straight away, Tim. Take a DC with you. Get Wales to fingerprint the car for us and give it a careful once-over. Then one of you can drive it back here. Find out, if you possibly can, how long it’s been parked there and if anyone remembers seeing the driver. And check along the way, too. The most likely route from here would be over the Severn Bridge, so see if anyone at the toll gate remembers a dark green Saab that night—or since, come to that. Driven by a woman on her own, presumably.”

Boulter pulled a long face. “I should think the trail’s gone pretty cold by this time.”

“You never know, you might strike lucky. Meanwhile, I want to talk to Lady Kimberley again, and Lord Balmayne. And there’s also Sir Noah’s nephew to see, Aidan Kimberley. He must have arrived by now. So let’s get on to it, Tim, and we’ll liaise later.”

Already this morning Kate had re-interviewed Dr. Cheryl Miller, who’d arrived in a bad mood, especially displeased at having been summoned to the police station on a Saturday.

“I’ve already told you everything I know,” she’d grumbled, when Boulter brought her into Kate’s office. “And that’s virtually bugger-all.”

“You drive, of course?” queried Kate.

“As in motor cars? Yes, I did manage to scrape through my test. But what’s that got to do with anything?”

“I’d like you to account for your movements around midnight on Friday of last week.”

Cheryl Miller appeared to be scanning her memory, then she chuckled throatily. “I was tucked up in bed by then.”

“Your own bed?”

Another chuckle. “Now, now, Chief Inspector.” She indicated Boulter with a lazy finger. “Don’t shock sonny-boy. Yes, my own bed. My very own.”

“And were you alone?”

“You
are
being inquisitive.”

“Believe me, Dr. Miller, it might turn out to be very important for you to have someone to vouch for where you were at that time. A slight embarrassment is a small price to pay.”

“Huh, who’s embarrassed?”

“Then what possible reason can you have for not being frank with me?”

“That’s an exceedingly naive question. I can think of several reasons.”

“Each one of them innocent?”

“It all depends,” she drawled, crossing her legs and hitching her skirt to display the shapely curve of her calf, “on what you mean by innocent.” Boulter showed signs of restlessness—exactly as she’d intended.

Kate clung to her patience. “What do you know about Sir Noah Kimberley’s death?”

“Nothing, apart from what everybody’s talking about. I must say it’s intriguing, popping the old boy in the freezer like that.”

“You don’t appear to have liked Sir Noah any more than you liked Dr. Trent,” Kate observed.

“He was a pompous old ass. I’ll give you a little vignette of him, shall I, as a bonus. A good biochemist, but dated. He was scared out of his hidebound masculine mind that a woman might run bloody rings around him. Which I could easily have done, if he’d promoted me instead of bringing in Gavin Trent.”

She’d handed Kate a chance to get under her skin. “I wonder you stayed at Croptech, after that. Surely you could have found a position elsewhere that would be more suited to your talents?”

The green eyes flickered, then she said with a shrug, “Oh, well ... it suits me here, I suppose. The countryside is pleasant, and I have a nice place to live.”

“So you were willing to put up with a lot of aggro from your male bosses?”

“Don’t worry, I gave as good as I got.”

“Or better, eh? Perhaps you decided to remove them from the scene of combat.”

Cheryl Miller had recovered her poise by now; the off-balance moment was already history. “That, Detective Mrs. Chief Inspector, is your job to find out, isn’t it?”

“Which I will, I promise you. You can go now, Dr. Miller.”

“Oh? Isn’t your good-looking sergeant going to handcuff me?”

“I have a distinct feeling that if he tried to,” Kate said, “he’d be the one to end up in cuffs. Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

The two women grinned at one another guardedly. It was odd, Kate thought, but there was a kind of liking between them. Certainly a mutual respect. The respect of two females tough enough to have made their own way in a male-dominated world.

As Cheryl Miller departed, Boulter let out a whistle. “My God, she’s a cool one.”

“Sultry, I’d have said. You look distinctly warm, Sergeant.”

“The way she slammed into both the dead men, you’d think she was asking to be charged with murder. It’s almost as if she doesn’t care a damn.”

Kate pressed the retractor button on her ballpoint. “Or is it double-bluff, Tim?”

* * * *

Tim Boulter found himself thinking about Dr. Cheryl Miller as he headed for the motorway and Cardiff. In the passenger seat sat DC Glutton, a few years younger than Boulter and still blessedly single and unattached. Jack Glutton, the lucky sod, was free to have a crack at any attractive woman who crossed his path. He’d win some, lose some, but what the heck? There were always plenty more. Jack Glutton had no ball and chain anchoring him to the path of virtue. Boulter heaved a heavy sigh for the glorious freedom he’d lost so long ago.

Glutton shot him an amused glance. “What’s eating you, Sarge?”

“Life, that’s what. Bloody life.”

“Is the DCI giving you a hard time?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you know ... frustrated widow and all that.”

“You’re a dirty-minded bastard, Clutton.”

“Hey, it’s not just me. All the lads reckon she must be more’n ready for it.”

Tim felt outraged. “They’d better not let Kate Maddox hear them talking like that. She’d chop their balls off in ten seconds flat.”

They drove on in a moody silence. At the Severn Bridge the sergeant pulled up at the toll gate.

“Who’d have been on the graveyard shift last Friday?” he asked the man in the kiosk, flashing his warrant card. “Just the one, I take it?”

A nod. “I’ll have a look. Oh yes, Charley Blaisdale. Why, what’s up?”

“I want to ask him if he noticed a particular car come through round about 1 A.M.-ish.”

“What, a week ago? Do me a favour, chum.”

“A dark-green Saab,” Tim went on. “F reg.”

“Hey, just a minute. Charley mentioned her when I took over from him. She shot away like a bat out of hell as soon as she’d paid. The stupid cow hit the railing over there and careered away swerving all over the shop. Pissed out of her mind, he reckoned.”

“Tell me where I can contact Charley. I need a description of this woman.”

“You’ll be unlucky, then. In this job you don’t look at the faces.”

The car behind them hooted impatiently. Sticking his arm through the window, without bothering to glance round, Jack Glutton made a rude gesture. Boulter took down Charley’s address. Another lead to be followed that would finish at a dead end. Charley would remember nothing more than they’d got already.

At Cardiff Airport they were directed to where Elwyn Williams was standing guard over his find. He’d long since disposed of the two children, phoning Megan and asking for them to be collected ... to her blind fury at having her “free” Saturday spoilt. Elwyn led the two South Midlands men to the Saab and they strolled around it, noting a dented offside wing. Another job for someone in forensics, checking that the damaged paintwork matched possible traces left on the railing at the Severn Bridge. Boulter had no doubt in his mind about that, though.

“Got anything on the driver for us?” he asked Williams.

The Welsh DC spread his hands. “Wha’d’ya expect? There’s no way of knowing when the car came in, not even which day. The driver might have taken a plane; equally he might have caught a bus out. Or switched cars here. Or just walked away. If you could give us a name ...”

“Can’t. All we know is that it was most likely a woman.”

“Now that really narrows it down,” Williams said sarcastically.

The local forensics circus had already been along and photographed the car from all angles, fingerprinted it and given it a pretty thorough going over. There’d be nothing more to learn by keeping it in situ, Boulter decided, so he told Jack Glutton to drive it back to DHQ at Marlingford.

“I’ll follow on a bit later,” he added. “There’ll be one or two things to attend to here first.”

Glutton winked, a touch ruefully. “Have a pint for me while you’re about it, Sarge.”

“All right, all right. On your way, Jack.”

When he’d driven off, Williams said to Boulter, “I know a little place where the beer’s sheer nectar. Brewed on the premises.”

“Lead me to it, chum.”

In the cosy pub, the two men talked companionably. They were approximately the same age; and both, it emerged, had a couple of kids. Williams explained how it was he’d come to the airport.

“My access day.”

“Divorced, are you?”

“Mmm. A year ago. Bloody women!”

“Bloody
wives,”
corrected Boulter. “You’re free as air again, then, you lucky bugger.”

“Bad for you, is it, at home?”

“Oh, Christ. Nag bloody nag morning till night. I can’t remember the last time I did something right in her eyes. If it wasn’t for the kids, I wouldn’t have stuck it this long.”

“Well, take my advice and hang on in. If you don’t, you’ll lose those kids. Lose ’em to some slimy git. You’ll end up in a grotty bedsitter, while he helps himself to what’s rightly yours ... bed and board, the lot, all at your bloody expense.”

“It’s a question of how much more I can stand,” Boulter muttered.

“Let me tell you something,” Williams said, in his singsong Welsh lilt. “If I could turn the clock back, I’d stick it out. Has your missus got another bloke already?”

“Not one that I know about,” said Boulter grimly.

“How about you?”

Boulter shook his head, baring his teeth in a humourless grin. “Some of these sexy pieces you see around ... I get so I could rip the clothes off ’em.”

“You mind what I say, now.” Williams sounded quite severe. “Come on, I’ll fill you up with the best fish and chips you’ve ever tasted, before I wave you on your way.”

At the fish bar a few doors along, they sat at a cramped, plastic-topped table. Boulter had a double portion of cod, and extra chips served in a separate dish because they wouldn’t all pile on his plate.

Williams remarked, “I hear you’ve got a woman DCI handling this murder case.”

“Right. I’ve worked with her before.”

“What’s she like? A real old battleaxe?”

Boulter forked up a nice crispy bit of cod and chewed it before replying. “No,” he said at last, as if surprising himself, “she’s okay.”

* * * *

That morning, after Boulter departed for Cardiff, Kate had asked the office manager to telephone the Kimberley residence to say she wanted to see Lady Kimberley again and, if convenient, would be coming along at once. Lord Balmayne had taken the call, and he’d announced his firm intention of being present at the interview. Kate didn’t object to this; in fact, it suited her very well. It would suit her even better, she decided, if the nephew and his wife, Aidan and Paula Kimberley, were also present. Seeing all four together would help to keep the atmosphere informal, which was what she wanted at this stage.

Just as Kate was about to set out for Radlett, a call was put through from one of the house agents she’d been in touch with in her search for a new home.

“Mrs. Maddox, I’ve found just the property you’re looking for. It’s at Ingram’s Green, nicely within the area you specified. A modern house, but built traditionally, and with a small, manageable garden that’s well matured. Two bedrooms, a large living room, kitchen and bath.” He named a price that didn’t make Kate gasp too alarmedly.

“Sounds wonderful, Mr. Hampton. I’m terribly busy just at the moment, but I’m sure I could manage to get along to view it one day next week.”