The Malcontenta (32 page)

‘Laura?’ Brock asked.

She nodded, ‘Laura Parsons.’

‘Parsons?’ Both Brock and Kathy echoed the name.

‘Yes. She now takes his name, according to English law. But I am Catholic. In my family’s eyes he is not divorced.’

‘Laura is related to Geoffrey Parsons?’ Brock asked. She looked blank.

‘The Estates Manager at Stanhope,’ Kathy urged.

‘I know no one of that name,’ Gabriele said. ‘That must be something else she has arranged since I left.’

They sat in silence again. Kathy thought of Laura Beamish-Newell, her brother and her lost child, and adjusted her perception of the woman in the light of these new facts. If Rose was pregnant when she died, would Laura have been aware of it? And how would she have reacted?

Brock said quietly, ‘Tell us about Alex Petrou, Gabriele.’

She shrugged. ‘He was not a nice man. He was working here in Vicenza at a private clinic in which my father holds an interest.’ She laughed bitterly. ‘I had forgotten that it was Stephen who first made Papa consider investing in such a place. Anyway, my father mentioned this man who was causing difficulties for the clinic, a scandal. He said he was like a virus, contaminating everyone he came in contact with - men and women. And when he said that he must be made to leave, to go far away, before the reputation of the clinic was fatally damaged, I thought what a fitting present it would be for Stephen and Laura to receive such a person. It could be my final message to them both.’

She ground out her cigarette with her heel and lit another. ‘I met him and told him that he would be in big trouble if he remained in Italy. I said that, for the sake of my father, I could help him get a new job in England.’

‘And he agreed to that?’ Kathy asked.

‘I gave him some money and I insisted that I drive him to France to make sure he crossed over. He had to go to Rome first to get his papers from the British embassy. I told him things about Stephen. I knew that Stephen wouldn’t be able to resist him.’

‘You mean Stephen is bisexual?’ Kathy said.

Gabriele looked uncomfortable. ‘He … I knew that he found young men attractive.’ The corners of her mouth turned down with distaste. ‘I don’t think he ever … But perhaps these things become more difficult to deny, to control, as one gets older.’

‘You don’t believe it likely that Petrou could have killed himself?’ Kathy asked.

She stared at her beautiful finger-nails for a moment. ‘I think suicide was probably the only thing that he would not have been capable of.’

When Kathy mentioned on their return to the car that she had never visited Venice, Gabriele insisted she couldn’t leave without having done so, since it was so close. As they drove through Mira they found a pay-phone and Gabriele made a call to some friends and arranged to meet them for lunch.

Mists still shrouded the distance when they caught their first glimpse of the golden city, magically suspended in the lagoon, the unreality of its presence only heightened by the heavy odour of the oil refineries in the still air. They drove across the causeway and found a parking place in one of the
autorimesse
by the Piazzale Roma, then took the
vaporetto
along the Grand Canal as far as the Accademia, where the queue for the gallery waited patiently around the perimeter of the little square. They crossed back over the canal on the Accademia bridge and followed Gabriele through a labyrinth of narrow lanes until she brought them to an inconspicuous doorway in the sheer wall of a building. They entered and found themselves in a restaurant with a terrace overlooking the Grand Canal. Two people, a man and a woman, were waiting for them at a table on the terrace, greeting Gabriele and her companions with great warmth.

Gabriele came to life in their presence, her face glowing with enthusiasm and the formerly stiff movements of her fingers expanding into flowing gestures of her whole body as she talked to them. Kathy sat back, soaking up the warmth of their company and of the spring sunshine. She turned to Brock and said, ‘This is magic’

He peered at her over the top of his mafioso sunglasses and nodded, sipping contentedly at his vodka and tonic ‘Yes. Better enjoy it while we can. It’s back to the real world tomorrow.’

Later that afternoon in Vicenza, after they had parked the Polo near the West Gate and walked with Gabriele back to the piazza where they had first waited for her, she stopped at the doorway of the Palazzo Trissino-Montanari and turned to Brock, offering her hand. ‘Do you think I was very bad, sending that man to Stanhope?’ she asked.

‘I think it was fate,’ he replied.

And to Kathy, after Gabriele had shaken hands and disappeared into the shadows of the courtyard, he added, ‘A Greek tragedy.’

They drove down to Rome the following morning, catching an Alitalia flight back to Heathrow in the early afternoon. As if to ram home the contrast, the Home Counties were once again blanketed by ominous black clouds, into which the plane’s passengers descended reluctantly. The world below was struggling through darkness, drenching rain and a baggage handlers’ dispute. Brock and Kathy finally emerged from the arrivals concourse and tried to work out where they had left their cars in the medium-stay car park. When they had found them, he turned to her. ‘I think you should follow me back to my place, check what’s been happening before you go to Crowbridge. You never know.’

She did as he suggested, trying to keep him in sight through the spray and heavy traffic on the M
₄
, then across the river and through the inner boroughs until they reached Matcham High Street and the archway into Warren Lane. They parked in the courtyard and ran for Brock’s front door, leaving their dripping coats on the pegs inside and taking the stairs up to the study. Brock lit the gas fire and went to make a pot of tea, while Kathy stood in the window bay looking out over the lane and the railway cutting. It seemed much longer than three and a half weeks since they had made toast here and watched the snow swirling outside this window. If she had been able to go back to that Saturday morning in the car with Gordon Dowling and elect to abandon the search for Brock’s house and leave well alone, she thought, sadly, that she would have done it. Not because she thought she was wrong, but because the price had just been too high. She began to tick off in her mind all the people who had paid for her unburdening herself to Brock - Brock himself, Gordon, Belle Mansfield and poor Rose. Four people, and herself -five lives disrupted. Not to mention Rose’s killer.

‘Just bills.’ Brock had been opening his mail while he’d been waiting for the kettle to boil. ‘Why don’t you ring your place and see if there’ve been any messages? Will there be anyone there at this time?’

Kathy looked at her watch. It was half past four. ‘Hard to say. I’ll try.’

The number rang several times before Patrick, out of breath, answered. ‘Kathy, you’re back! How did it go?’

‘Magic. I brought the social committee something to cheer them up. Have there been any messages, do you know?’

‘Yes - three, I believe. A woman rang yesterday. I think the name’s on the pad here, hang on … yes, Penny Elliot.’

‘Oh yes. Did she say anything?’

‘Just to ring her when you got back. Your aunt also rang.’ ‘Aunt Mary?’

‘Yes, from Sheffield. Same message, to ring her when you got back.’

Kathy sighed. ‘Anything else?’

‘This bloke called round at the weekend. A real hard man, a Geordie. Wouldn’t give his name.’

A chill went down Kathy’s back. ‘What did he want?’

‘Well, he wanted to know where you were. Jill answered the door, and when she said she didn’t know, he came out with this story that you were looking after something of his that he really needed right away. She said she couldn’t help and pretended we didn’t have your key, but he said you’d given him a key and told him to go on up and find the thing he wanted. He just pushed his way past Jill, but I arrived at that point and stopped him. He was pretty bloody arrogant, in point of fact. We weren’t sure what to do for the best. He went away eventually.’

Kathy’s heart was pounding. What did she have in her room? ‘You did the right thing, Patrick. He isn’t a friend of mine, and I haven’t given him a key.’

‘Christ!’

‘Has he been back?’

‘Not as far as I know. But there’s been a car parked across the street for a couple of days now, with a bloke inside reading the paper. Not always the same man.’

‘Patrick, would you do something for me? Go to my room and put any notebooks and papers you can find into a carrier bag. I think there’s a couple of files and several spiral-bound notebooks, and maybe some loose - yes, there’s a wad of loose typewritten reports in one of the drawers of the desk. If you could put them all in a bag and hide it somewhere till I get back - under your bed or something.’

‘Jeez! All right, good as done.’

Kathy put the receiver down and sat staring at the bench top.

‘Problems?’ Brock asked quietly.

‘Tanner’s been round to my place and tried to talk his way into my room.’

‘What’s he after?’

Kathy shrugged. ‘All I can think of are my notes on the Petrou case. That’s about all he’d be interested in.’

Brock grunted. ‘Anything else?’

‘Penny Elliot rang.’

‘Sounds as if it would be a good idea to talk to her. We really need to know what’s been going on. You’d better not tell her where you are, though.’

Kathy agreed and dialled the number of Division, asking to be put through to Detective Sergeant Elliot. ‘Penny, it’s Kathy. I’m not coming back to Crowbridge just yet, but I heard you’d been trying to reach me.’

‘Yes, yes. Are you all right? You got me worried disappearing like that. I thought you might have fallen under a bus.’

‘I just needed to get away for a few days. What’s been happening?’

‘Hang on a minute.’

Kathy heard some murmuring and sounds of movement, then Penny came back, whispering so low and fast that Kathy had to press her ear to the receiver to pick out the words. ‘Tanner and his boys have been trying to find you! Didn’t you know? They had a go at me for a while, thought I should know where you were. They said they just wanted to talk to you. I’ve got the impression that the Rose Duggan case has bogged down. Have you been reading the papers?’

‘No.’

‘Well, her boy-friend is still under arrest, but the lads on the second floor don’t seem very happy. I believe he hasn’t confessed yet. The wife of the Director of the clinic has been here a few times creating a scene, apparently. I don’t know the background, but I’m told she had the front desk in uproar the other day until the Deputy Chief Constable agreed to see her.’

‘Is there some suggestion she’s related to the boy-friend, do you know, Penny?’

‘No idea, sorry. What’s going on, anyway, Kathy? Shouldn’t you be back here?’

Kathy hesitated. ‘I think they may have got it all wrong, Penny. But I don’t have anything concrete to offer. Do you think Tanner was looking for my help?’

Now it was Penny who hesitated. ‘To be honest, Kathy, when he came at me I felt like the woman who runs the refuge in town, when the men come battering on the door looking for their runaway wives. He didn’t strike me as a man who wanted some friendly advice from a colleague. Why does he hate you so much?’

‘I don’t know, Penny, I really don’t.’ She sighed. ‘I just wish I could get a clearer idea about what’s going on.’

‘I’ll try to do what I can and ask around. But the risk is it’ll get back to him straight away.’

‘What about files? Can you get access to them in the normal course of things?’

‘You’re joking! Past Medusa?’

Kathy remembered the formidable woman clerk who guarded the CID file room. ‘Oh yes, of course.’

‘Probably the best way is through the clerical staff. Keep well clear of the investigating officers.’

‘Mmm.’ Kathy sounded doubtful. ‘I don’t want to get anyone else into trouble over this, Penny. Especially you. Have you heard any more about Gordon Dowling?’

‘Not a thing.’

‘How about Belle Mansfield?’

‘She cleared her desk a week ago. I’ve got her home number if you want it.’

‘Yes, OK.’ Kathy wrote down the number Penny dictated, thanked her and rang off.

‘Apparently my aunt in Sheffield has been trying to get hold of me, Brock. I’d better ring and make sure she’s all right.’

She dialled and heard her aunt’s voice answer tentatively, ‘Yes?’

‘It’s me, Aunt Mary - Kathy. How are you?’

‘Oh, Kathy! Have you been away, dear?’

‘Yes, for a few days. I got your message. Are you all right?’

‘Oh, I’m fine. Your Uncle Tom’s had a bad cough this past week, though.’

Uncle Tom’s cough and its remedies took a few minutes, then, ‘No, I just wanted to make sure your friend had been able to get in touch with you.’

‘Friend?’

‘Yes. He phoned here yesterday. Was it yesterday? No, I tell a lie. It must have been Monday, because Effie was here at the time. A nice man, he sounded like.’ Aunt Mary’s judgement was cautious, which Kathy knew meant she really wasn’t too sure. ‘He sounded ever so keen to see you again. Is he an admirer, dear? He seemed to think you were staying with us for a holiday. I don’t know how he could have got that idea, it’s been such a long time since we saw you. The way he was talking, I think he’d have got in his car and come straight down to Sheffield there and then if I’d given him any hope of seeing you.’

‘Down?’ Kathy repeated. ‘You said he’d have come
down
to Sheffield?’

‘Aye, well, he was a Geordie, wasn’t he? From Newcastle, I’d say. Don’t you know him, then, dear?’

Kathy brought the call to an end as soon she could and told Brock this new discovery.

‘Persistent, isn’t he,’ Brock said. ‘I wonder if he’s been here too.’

Kathy dialled Belle Mansfield’s home number next. She sounded philosophical about what had happened.

‘I was ready for a change anyway, Kathy. Don’t worry about it.’

‘Belle, I don’t know what to say. I feel terrible, getting you involved.’

‘I knew that what we were doing was out of line, Kathy. I guess I just didn’t expect the boys to be quite so smart.’