Cold Coffin (26 page)

“Please do. It answers a question that has been of some concern to you.”

It was a letter of condolence to Lady Kimberley. The writer explained that his tardiness in writing was due to the fact that he had only just learned the sad news on his return from a business trip abroad.

I made your husband’s acquaintance only very recently, when I played as a visitor at the Radlett golf course, but I found him most congenial Accordingly, I invited him for a game at my own course near Cheltenham, and we tentatively agreed on a date three weeks later. My business trip coming up unexpectedly made this impossible, and I telephoned Sir Noah to postpone our plans. From what I understand of the circumstances of your husband’s death, I believe that I must have been one of the last people he spoke to before he met that terrible fate, as it was around seven forty-five that we talked together. The thought fills me with sadness.

Such a simple, innocent answer to a problem that had nagged at Kate all through the investigation. Now, it was of no importance. Kate replaced the letter in its envelope and laid it on the garden table.

“Thank you for showing it to me, Lady Kimberley. Actually, the reason I’ve come this evening is because I think you may perhaps be able to help me in another direction.”

“Most certainly, if I can.”

“The point is this: Certain facts have come to light which oblige me to enquire into the precise nature of the relationship between Mrs. Paula Kimberley and Dr. Trent.”

“Their
relationship?”
Lady Kimberley looked bewildered. Lord Balmayne remained silent, watchful.

“Mrs. Kimberley told me herself in your presence, if you remember, that they’d known one another, having met on several occasions here at your house. Beyond that, she said, she’d encountered Trent around the neighbourhood from time to time. ‘Just to say hallo to’ was how she put it. What I need to know is whether there was anything closer than that between them.”

“But surely ... Paula is the one to question about this.”

Lord Balmayne intervened, reaching over to lay a gentle hand on her arm. “My dear, I am sure that the Chief Inspector must have a sound reason for coming to you. What is it you are suggesting, Mrs. Maddox?”

“At this stage, nothing. However, I have cause to believe that Trent was somehow concerned in Sir Noah’s death.”

They both reacted with incredulity. Lord Balmayne said, “Can this really be true?”

“I have strong evidence to support that theory. I also have evidence that Trent was secretly involved with a woman, that indeed it was this woman who helped him remove Sir Noah’s car from the locality in order to mislead the police. It’s vital that we establish her identity, and any help you could give me would be of great value.”

“But ... but ... Paula. I just cannot believe it.”

“I do realize how distressing this must be for you, Lady Kimberley. But it’s important that you should try to dismiss your personal feelings and be quite objective. Think back. Can you remember anything ... anything, however trivial, that might point to a relationship between Trent and Mrs. Kimberley which was more than that of casual acquaintances?”

She shook her head, dazed and unhappy.

“Can you recall any specific occasions when the two of them were here together? Perhaps, for instance, when Mrs. Kimberley was present but not her husband.”

“It’s difficult to remember. Noah and I had so many people here. We
loved
giving parties. Aidan and Paula are usually down from London at weekends, as Aidan is so keen on polo, but sometimes his business takes him abroad and then Paula comes alone. In fact, this summer she has quite often stayed on at their cottage during the week.” Lady Kimberley frowned in concentration. “Noah usually invited Gavin Trent to our parties, out of courtesy, but he didn’t often come. However, I do recall one particular time when he and Paula were both here. It was during that last hot spell a few weeks ago and on the Saturday, after polo had finished, we had a swim party here and a poolside barbeque.”

“A swim party? I understood from Trent’s sister that he couldn’t swim. That, in fact, he hated the water.”

“You are quite right. Gavin didn’t get into swimwear like the rest of us, which made him look somewhat out of place.”

“And do you remember anything special about that occasion? Between Trent and Paula.”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Her eyes were wide with dismay at where this seemed to be leading. “It was beginning to get cool and people were leaving the pool to get changed. The men used the summerhouse, and the women came indoors. Dotty was helping Noah set up the barbeque and I went to the kitchen for the steaks. I was surprised to see Paula there with Gavin Trent. They looked startled to see me, which I assumed was due to my rather sudden appearance. Paula was still in her bikini, and she explained she had been taking the shortcut upstairs and had run into Gavin, who was just returning from a visit to the toilet. The incident went out of my mind. I’ve not thought about it since, until this moment.”

“Looking back,” said Kate, “what do you think they were doing? Just talking? Arguing? Kissing?”

“Kissing? No, I don’t think so.” Lady Kimberley closed her eyes, casting back to the scene. “They were standing close, but not touching. It’s possible they were arguing. He was certainly pink-faced, but I took that for embarrassment.”

“Why should they have felt embarrassed, if they’d just bumped into one another as she said?”

Another pause while this was considered. “You know, I think it’s possible that you are right, Mrs. Maddox, and there was something going on between them. Looking back now, with that in mind, their behaviour was certainly very odd.
Extremely
odd. And it was odd, too, that Gavin should have accepted the invitation to that party in the first place. Noah was surprised, I remember, because Gavin knew very well that most people would be swimming.” Her glance sharpened. “If what you suppose is true, then ... what does it mean?”

Lord Balmayne emerged from a long silence. “This may sound an outrageous suggestion, Chief Inspector, but is it possible that Aidan killed Trent? After discovering about Paula’s affair with him, I mean.”

Kate was astonished by his quick perspicacity. “It’s a possibility I am considering, sir.”

Against a protesting gasp from Lady Kimberley, he continued, “There is something I should reveal at this stage.” He glanced at Vanessa almost apologetically. “You will be surprised by what I am about to say, my dear. But what I did, I did for your sake.” He turned back to Kate. “On Sunday morning, Aidan Kimberley telephoned me at my home to ask if he could come to see me on a matter he described as very private and confidential. When he arrived he explained that he was in a difficult financial position because some speculative dealings of his had gone badly wrong, as a result of which he was unable to meet his commitments. He urgently needed four hundred thousand pounds, he told me, otherwise his reputation in the City would be ruined.”

“Four hundred thousand pounds,” echoed Lady Kimberley in horror. “Gerald, my dear, you surely didn’t lend him such a large sum as that?”

He shook his head. “Aidan wasn’t asking me for a loan. He offered to sell me his fifty per cent holding in Croptech for that amount, which, of course, I realized was a bargain price for the firm, even without Noah at the helm. He needed the money immediately, he explained, which meant that he couldn’t offer the shares to you. With Noah’s estate yet to be settled, he knew that you would never be able to raise a sum of that size at short notice. But he believed, rightly, that I could be induced to buy the shares, out of friendship for you. You see, my dear, I envisaged that you could buy them from me at a later date, if you so wished. Or, if not, that we could together offer the entire firm to someone who was looking for outright control. Aidan’s suggestion seemed mutually advantageous; he needed secrecy, and I wished to avoid half of Croptech’s shares falling into the hands of a stranger.”

Kate’s brain was dovetailing this piece of news with previously known facts. She said, “I get the impression, Lord Balmayne, that you now don’t believe Mr. Kimberley was telling you the truth.”

“I should have been suspicious at the time, Mrs. Maddox. My excuse must be that I was only too glad to be able to do something for Vanessa. But Aidan is an astute businessman, well accustomed to juggling the stock market. It is stretching credibility that he was in such dire need of four hundred thousand pounds as to be willing to offer the Croptech shares so cheaply. So I am wondering now if he saw this offer to me as a means of quickly laying his hands on a large sum of liquid cash.”

“Which he could take with him out of the country if the need to flee should arise at short notice?”

“Precisely.”

“And this Croptech deal has already been completed?”

“Oh, indeed it has. Aidan could already be in possession of the cash by this time.”

Kate had no shred of doubt left that Aidan and Paula Kimberley were implicated in the two murders. Exactly how and to what extent each was involved were details that would have to wait. The imperative thing was to stop them from leaving the country, if that was what they were planning.

“I must get back to the office without delay,” Kate said, rising to her feet. “Needless to say, it is most important that for the time being neither of you should speak of this matter to anyone else.”

“Of course,” they both agreed, and Lord Balmayne asked, “What action do you propose taking, Mrs. Maddox?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, sir.” Which was fair enough, considering that Kate was still undecided about that very question.

She took Boulter with her to the Kimberleys’ cottage at Inchmere St. Mary. In a car behind them were a couple of uniformed men whom Kate had brought along as back-up, in case of need. Their instructions were to wait at a short distance, out of sight.

As a second home—a mere weekend retreat—the cottage was the sort of property to tempt an estate agent into hyperbole. Tawny Cotswold stone and gleaming white paintwork ... that glorious combination. Climbing roses festooning trellises, clipped lawns and flowerbeds brilliant with colour. Immaculate. Expensive. Secluded. Paula Kimberley’s red Porsche was parked on a paved area outside the double garage.

“Lucky sods,” Boulter grunted as they got out of the car.

“Think so, Tim?” Reaching the front door, Kate pressed the bellpush and they heard silvery chimes within. They waited. Birds twittered in the trees. The air was very still.

No answer to the doorbell. No sign of life. Kate rang again. Still no response.

“Can you hear music?” she asked.

“Faintly.” Boulter listened. “Radio?”

“Odd, if nobody’s home. Take a look round the back, Tim.”

He went off, and Kate rang a third time, then stepped back and surveyed the upper part of the cottage.

“Sounds to me as if the music’s coming from upstairs,” she said, when her sergeant returned. “There’s a window open.”

“There’s also a window open at the back. The kitchen window.” Boulter adopted a look of wide-eyed innocence. “I thought I could smell gas.”

Can’t give you marks for originality, Tim. Still, the old dodges often worked best.

“In that case, Sergeant, it’s our duty to investigate. You’d better use that open kitchen window.”

He vanished again, while Kate waited at the front door. Within sixty seconds Boulter opened it for her.

“No gas leak that I can find, ma’am,” he said. “It looks as if I was mistaken.”

“Would you believe it?”

The music was definitely coming from upstairs. They did a quick recce of the ground floor. Nothing of interest. Kate stood in the small hallway and called.

“Is anyone home? This is the police.”

No response. The music played on. A solo piano. Debussy.

“We’d better have a look,” said Kate.

The stairs did a quarter turn, ending at an oblong landing. Two doors stood half open ... bathroom, and a room with a large table strewn with sketches and samples of fabric. Paula’s workroom. The music was coming from one of the other rooms. Kate opened the door and peered inside. The master bedroom. Her eyes zeroed in on one of the twin beds, where Paula Kimberley lay under the covers. She was breathing heavily. Raspily.

“Mrs. Kimberley,” Kate called in a good loud voice.

No response. She went over to the bed and touched the woman’s shoulder. Boulter, behind her, said, “Look, guv!” and pointed to a small bottle on the bedside table with an empty tumbler beside it. Kate leaned forward and read the label. Mogadon. There was also a half full bottle of gin.

“It looks to me as if she’s deliberately OD’d,” Kate said, switching off the transistor radio. “Better call a doctor. We mustn’t take any chances.”

“Will do.” Boulter went out to the landing and Kate heard him using his personal radio.

She tried again to rouse Paula Kimberley, shaking her gently by the shoulders and speaking her name. No response. Kate went into the en-suite bathroom and damped a face flannel with cold water. Returning, she dabbed Paula’s forehead while she spoke to her again. She was rewarded at length by a slight stirring, a bleary half opening of the eyes.

Boulter reappeared at that point. “She’s beginning to come round, Tim. Did you get hold of a doctor?”

“We’re in luck. They’ve tracked one down right here in the village, and he’s coming at once.”

“That’s a relief. Mrs. Kimberley, come on, wake up. Tim, quite likely the doctor will want to give her black coffee. Get some on the go, will you? Good and strong.”

“And a cup for us?”

“Why not?”

A minute later a car drew up outside. The doctor, young and brisk, came bounding up the stairs. He’d already been told what to expect.

“Any idea how many of those she took?” he asked, with a nod at the bottle of sleeping pills.

“Unfortunately, not.”

“But as there are a few still left in the bottle, we can probably take it she wasn’t trying to finish herself off.”

He examined Paula, checking her pulse, pulling back her eyelids. “It’s the alcohol making things worse. What bloody fools some people are. She’ll be okay, though. What’s this, Sergeant, black coffee? You must be a mindreader. Come along, Mrs. Kimberley, we’ll sit you up and you can take a sip. How many of these pills did you swallow?”