Model Murder (26 page)

“And when you heard Labrosse had been murdered, you believed that it was Admiral Fortescue who had killed him?”

“I guessed he could’ve done it.”

“What motive did you think he had?”

Larkin hesitated, caught Boulter’s hard gaze and said hurriedly, “Yves had got something on him, I knew that. I don’t know what it was, though. Yves wouldn’t tell me.”

That, Kate could accept. For Labrosse to have shared what he knew about the admiral would have been to relinquish some of his power. Larkin might have tried to apply some leverage himself.

“Labrosse was blackmailing Admiral Fortescue, you’re saying?”

“Well, I suppose so ... if you put it like that.”

“If you believed that the admiral might have killed Labrosse, why did you keep quiet when you yourself came under suspicion for the crime?”

He shrugged, cockily confident. “You couldn’t never have pinned it on me, because I didn’t do it.”

While he was feeling pleased with himself, Kate went straight on. “Admiral Fortescue is of the opinion that Labrosse killed Miss Saxon.”

“No, he never,” Larkin protested. “He never.”

“You sound very sure of that.”

He knew that he’d said too much and tried to retract. “Well ... I don’t reckon Yves could’ve done.”

“Larkin,” Boulter barked out, “are you forgetting what I just told you? Don’t mess us about.”

Kate waited in silence, giving him time to think about it.

“Okay,” he muttered reluctantly. “It won’t make no difference to Yves now, if I do tell. It wasn’t him who killed that Saxon woman. She were already dead.”

“Keep going.”

“That Wednesday, Yves had been for a meet with that Kenway bloke. They went to an old quarry over by North Chapel. On the way back to Streatfield Park he drove along that lane ... where it happened. Up ahead he saw two cars pulled in at the side. One was bright red and he recognised it straight off as Miss Saxon’s. A man was just getting out of it on the passenger side, but when he heard Yves’s car coming he dashed to his own car and drove off like crazy. Yves wondered what the hell was going on. He pulled up alongside Miss Saxon’s car and he could see her sitting there behind the wheel, but she looked all slumped, like. He got out to take a closer look, and he could see she was dead. Strangled.”

“This is a load of crap,” said Boulter gruffly.

“No, honest, it’s God’s truth.”

“So why didn’t Labrosse call the police?”

“He thought it’d be safer not to get himself involved, that’s why. Yves couldn’t afford to be asked questions about how he came to be at that spot, and have you coppers on his tail. Could he? And another thing, he’d had a hell of a row with the Saxon woman about some missing receipts a couple of days before that, and people had heard them at it. Anyway, he was just about to drive off, and keep his mouth shut, when it suddenly hit him that if she was found right away he’d still have a lot of explaining to do about where he was at the time she’d been done in. So Yves hauled her body out of the car and carried it into the woods. Miss Saxon was just setting off somewhere on a few days’ leave, and Yves knew she wouldn’t be missed till she was due back after the weekend. So he reckoned that if she wasn’t found right off, the cops wouldn’t know exactly when she was killed, so you wouldn’t be badgering him with questions about where he’d been Wednesday afternoon.”

“Are you telling us that Labrosse just carried the body into the woods, then dumped it and left?” asked Kate.

“Well, no. What he thought was ... maybe if he made it look as if she’d been raped, like, it would confuse things a bit more. He said you people wouldn’t be so likely to suspect him, not with him being gay.”

“So he ripped her clothes and faked a rape?” Boulter demanded disgustedly. “A charming character, your lover boy.”

Larkin shrugged and looked away.

Kate said, “What about Miss Saxon’s car? Labrosse must have known that when it was found abandoned, there’d be a search for her and questions asked.”

“Course he did. He was planning to drive it somewhere out of sight. There’s lots of tracks in them woods. But then he heard the sound of another car or something coming along, and he got scared. So he jumped back in his own car and drove off sharpish. When he got back to the hotel he was very busy what with her being away, and he couldn’t go out again without it looking funny like. So he kept an eye out for me round about sixish when I was due back from my gym club and nipped round the garage before I’d put the car away. He said to get over to them woods pronto and shift her car in amongst the trees. But when I got there, where he said I’d find the car, it was gone. We couldn’t figure it out, no ways, and Yves proper got the wind-up. Then later, on Sunday, I heard you tell the admiral about some bloke coming along and nicking it.”

“Did Labrosse give you any details about the man he saw getting out of Miss Saxon’s car?” Kate asked. “Either about him
or
his car? Anything that might help us identify him?”

“Oh, he knew who it was, all right.”

Kate could hardly believe such luck. “Who was it, then?”

Larkin made a what-the-hell gesture. “It were that architect bloke, what’s-his-name? Berger, that’s it. The one who done all the alterations to Streatfield Park.”

“Labrosse definitely recognised him?”

“Yes, I told you. It was Berger, no doubt about that.”

* * * *

“You don’t look all that chuffed, guv,” said Boulter, closing the door of the interview room behind them and walking with Kate along the corridor. “You’ve every cause to be.”

She gave the sergeant an absent smile. “Early on in this case, Tim, you said something about opening up cans of worms. You weren’t wrong.”

“Just think,” he ruminated, “if the old admiral hadn’t jumped in and killed Labrosse, Berger might easily have done the job for him. He must’ve had just as strong a motive. I can’t believe that Labrosse would miss such a perfect chance to apply another spot of blackmail.”

“You’re probably right.”

“I feel a bit sorry about old Fortescue, don’t you, guv? In his hoity-toity way he wasn’t such a bad old stick.”

“No, he wasn’t.” Already, they were talking about him in the past. “Listen, Tim, I want to make a phone call. Get Berger pulled in, will you, and let me know when he’s here.”

In her office she punched out the hospital’s number. The sister answered when she was through to the right ward.

“This is Chief Inspector Maddox. How is Admiral Fortescue, please?”

“He’s very weak, Chief Inspector, and we can’t hold out much hope. But he’s sleeping peacefully at the moment.”

Not to wake again? That would be best. Kate replaced the phone, feeling depressed in a way she couldn’t immediately pin down. Of course! Phoning the Peace Memorial Hospital had brought back her feelings of guilt about not paying Felix a proper visit today. She picked up the phone again and pressed redial.

“Please put me through to Miss Felicity Moore on Nightingale Ward.”

“Kate!” exclaimed her aunt a moment later. “I was just thinking about you, girl.”

Hard thoughts? “Felix, I’m really sorry about popping in like that earlier, then dashing off again after only a couple of minutes, but ...”

“Don’t worry, you couldn’t help it, could you? Duty called.”

If only her aunt wasn’t being so damned understanding and forgiving.

“I’ll be in tomorrow for a nice long visit. That’s a promise.”

“You’ve got the case all wrapped up, then?”

“I didn’t say that, Felix.”

“Oh, pooh. I can hear it in your voice, girl. I know you too well. I shall want to hear all the gory details.”

“You’ll be lucky.”

This was better, chucking it back at each other. Funny, she felt a deep affection for Felix and knew it was mutual; but in normal circumstances they shied away from any hint of sentimentality. They were independent, self-reliant women, both.

* * * *

“Let’s have no more games,” Kate told Adrian Berger, after Boulter had performed the preliminaries. “Make no mistake about it, you’re going to be charged in connection with the death of Corinne Saxon. The precise nature of the charge will depend on what you have to tell me. Or rather, what I believe of what you tell me. So I want the whole story, please, with nothing left out.”

She hadn’t really expected Berger to crumble instantly at this headlong approach, and he didn’t. Instead, he adopted an attitude of pained and weary protest.

“I’ve already told you all there is to tell,” he said. “I had nothing whatever to do with Corinne Saxon’s death. I was elsewhere at the time it occurred.”

“That’s right, you told me you were with another woman. But I’m not going to demand her identity, Mr. Berger, because I know very well that the Wednesday afternoon ladyfriend is just a figment of your imagination. Furthermore, I have definite evidence that you were at the scene of Corinne Saxon’s murder that afternoon.”

“How can you possibly ...”

“You were seen.”

“Seen?” Berger caught his breath, badly rattled by this. But he rallied. Kate almost admired him.

“That’s absurd. Who is it saying they saw me?”

“Oh, come on. You know who it was. You’ve been blackmailed about it, haven’t you?”

“Blackmailed?” He looked astonished. “I don’t know what you mean.”

His reaction seemed genuine, and Kate could only suppose that Labrosse had been too busy putting the screws on Admiral Fortescue to start demanding money from Berger. No doubt he’d have got around to it in time.

“The fact remains that you were seen.”

Berger opened his mouth as if with another denial, then changed his mind. “I have nothing more to say.”

“That is your right, of course. However, I thought you might like the opportunity to give me your version of what happened.”

“I tell you nothing happened.”

“Oh, something happened, Mr. Berger. Let me give you one scenario. You deliberately set out to kill Corinne Saxon in the vilest way imaginable. After brutally strangling her, you carried her into the woods where you ripped her clothing and desecrated her body to make it appear that she’d been raped. Then you abandoned her there to rot in the undergrowth.”

That got to him, as she had intended. For moments he stared at Kate, his eyes seeming glazed. Then with a sound that was something between a moan and a cry of despair, Berger buried his face in his hands.

“No, you mustn’t think that. It’s not true. I didn’t ...”

“You didn’t what?”

His hands dropped away. He was shivering. “It was an accident. I ... I couldn’t believe it when I realised Corinne was dead. I was in a rage ... she made me so angry.” His voice gathered strength against Kate’s outrageous accusation. “But I didn’t dump her in the woods and tear her clothes. I
couldn’t
do a thing like that to her.”

“Why not?” asked Boulter, with deliberate callousness. “After throttling the life out of a woman, what’s the difference if you go on and mess about with her corpse? If she’s dead, she wouldn’t feel a thing.”

Berger started protesting again, almost incoherent with distress now. Kate said quietly, “Tell us all about it, Mr. Berger. Everything.”

He was silent for a minute, then began dispiritedly, “I loved Corinne. I was crazy about her. But I don’t believe she ever felt anything much for me. She couldn’t have done. I thought she did, at first. It was wonderful, and I began making plans for us to go away together and start a new life. For Corinne’s sake I was ready to divorce my wife and give up everything I’d worked for so hard. But she just laughed when I told her. It was dreadful. I couldn’t stand her laughing at me.”

His voice had taken on a plaintive, begging-for-understanding note. Kate saw now that Adrian Berger was essentially a weak man hiding behind a facade of arrogant self-confidence. A woman like Corinne Saxon, she guessed, would have felt nothing but contempt for him if he’d pleaded with her in this craven way. And Corinne’s contempt would have had a cruel cutting edge. Kate began to feel a sneaking sympathy for him. One of the pitfalls of being a female in this job. She forced her mind to remain open, non-judgmental.

“When did your affair with her begin?” she asked. “And how?”

Berger shook his head slowly, as if wondering how his life could have fallen apart in this way.

“From the very first moment I saw Corinne I knew that I wanted her. I’d seen photographs of her, of course, when she used to be a model, and naturally I’d thought she was very attractive. But I thought about other models, too. Meeting her in the flesh, though ... I can’t really explain it. She was fantastic. Not just beautiful—the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen in my life. The first time we met was just after Christmas when I was called in to discuss the conversion of Streatfield Park. Corinne had been given full control by Admiral Fortescue, and she knew exactly what she wanted. She always did know exactly what she wanted. Then in the spring, when the actual work commenced, we were having a drink together and I happened to mention a cottage belonging to my brother-in-law that I’m remodelling for him. Corinne said she’d like to see it, and we went there one afternoon and ... well, we ended up by making love.”

Which had been Corinne’s game-plan, no question. She’d decided that the architect working on the conversion would serve to amuse her for a while. Then when she’d grown bored with him, he was expected to meekly vanish out of her life. 

“You used the cottage regularly after that first time?”

Berger nodded. “Whenever Corinne could get away.”

“And when did she break the news to you that it was all over?”

The memory made him shudder visibly. “I’ll never forget that day. It was three weeks ago last Friday. Corinne said it so casually, while we were getting dressed. I asked her about the next time, and she said, ‘There won’t be a next time, Ram.’ Just like that. I couldn’t believe it, I thought she was teasing me, but she wasn’t. She’d decided, and that was it. I kept on trying to make her change her mind, but after that, whenever I had to go to the hotel to oversee work on the new chalets and the squash courts, she’d always arrange it so we were never alone together. I kept phoning her on some pretext or other, and the last time I did she was really nasty to me. She told me to get lost, then slammed the phone down.”