The Young Widow (18 page)

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Authors: Cassandra Chan

BOOK: The Young Widow
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Bethancourt's surprise had turned to amusement. “So what you're saying,” he said, “is that you would like to use me for sex.”
She was delighted with the phrase; her eyes sparkled and she chuckled, leaning into him again. “Exactly,” she agreed. “I don't suppose you would care to … ?”
Bethancourt knew he had no business accepting such an invitation and on any other night he would have refused. In fact, he began to say that he really had to be getting back to London, when he suddenly had a vision of exactly what he would be going back to: a night spent pacing his flat and gnawing over the problem of Gibbons and Annette Berowne.
His mind warred with temptation while Kitty pressed herself against him, smiling up into his face as she reached out to touch his cheek.
“I really shouldn't,” he said rather weakly.
“Of course not,” she murmured, sliding her hands behind his head to bend his face down to hers. Her lips touched his lingeringly and Bethancourt found that somehow his arms were around her. It was not until several minutes later, however, that he realized he had given up the struggle.
 
 
Gibbons had returned
to London late that day. At the close of the first really nice weekend of spring, thousands of other people were also on the road to Town, and he muttered imprecations at them as he
nudged the police Rover through the traffic. When he finally arrived back in his neighborhood, it took him an additional hour to find a parking space, even one several blocks from his flat.
But his sunny mood returned as he entered his flat, stripping off his working clothes and heading for the shower. True, Mrs. Simmons's children seemed above reproach and he had garnered nothing that would give their mother a motive for murdering her employer, but he hadn't really expected to. And they had made at least one step forward in exonerating Annette—which was, if only he had admitted it to himself, the only step he really cared about. It remained, of course, to clear her name, but he was certain that too would come.
Emerging from the shower, he thought of ringing Bethancourt before he remembered that his friend would by this time be off to take Kitty Whitcomb to dinner. Gibbons grinned. He didn't really expect Bethancourt to learn anything useful and he didn't think Bethancourt expected it, either; this was merely a good excuse to take a pretty girl out while Marla was away. Left to himself for the evening, he pulled on a T-shirt and jeans and sallied forth to collect some Indian take-away for his supper.
He watched television as he ate, choosing a program he had seen once before and liked. Unfortunately, he had no idea of how the plot had progressed since he had first seen it weeks ago and found himself merely confused. He watched until the end nevertheless and it was not until he rose to clear the table afterward that he noticed there was a message on his answering phone. There had been nothing when he came in, and he cursed himself for not checking it again on his return from the Indian restaurant. If Carmichael was looking for him urgently, he would not be pleased.
But it was Annette Berowne's voice that greeted him when he pressed the play button. She sounded distressed and unsure of herself.
“I'm sorry to bother you at home. It's just I felt I couldn't wait—
oh, but probably it would be better if I had. I wanted to know … If you do come in, could you ring me?”
Gibbons rang back at once and she answered on the first ring.
“Oh, it is you,” she said, and he thought she sounded tearful. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have rung you. It's not the kind of thing to discuss on the phone …”
“Has something happened?”
“Yes. Oh, nothing really to do with my husband's death, but I couldn't think who else to call.”
“What is it? What can I do?”
“Nothing. I can't talk about it over the phone, that's why I said I shouldn't have rung. I just wasn't thinking—”
“Do you want me to come down?”
Annette hesitated. “No,” she answered. “That's too much to ask of you.”
“Nonsense,” said Gibbons. “I'd be very happy to come if you want to see me. It's not a long drive.”
Again she hesitated and then, almost in a whisper, she said, “If you truly shouldn't mind …”
“I don't mind at all,” said Gibbons firmly. “I'll leave straightaway.”
He rang off, grabbed a jacket and the keys to the Rover, and fairly sprinted the distance back to the car.
When he arrived at Hurtwood Hall, Annette opened the door to him herself. Her heart-shaped face was tear-streaked and she clutched a handkerchief in one hand, although she seemed composed at the moment.
“Thank you so much for coming,” she said softly, closing the door behind him. “It was very good of you to humor me so.”
“Not at all,” said Gibbons. “I told you I didn't mind in the least.”
She led the way into the drawing room, but did not sit. Instead she paced down and back and then stopped a few feet from him. She examined her handkerchief carefully as she said, “There's a dinner
party tonight. Lilian Danforth is giving it; she and her husband are probably our closest friends down here.”
Gibbons, a little puzzled, said nothing and she continued.
“I only found out about it because Maddie was going and I was a little surprised I hadn't been invited. I don't know if I would have gone—Geoffrey hasn't been dead very long, after all, but I thought it odd that Lilian hadn't rung me anyway. I said so to Maddie and she said—” her voice faltered, but she raised her chin and went on, “she said that everyone thought I had killed Geoffrey and there was talk that I had killed Bill Burton, too.” She looked at him directly, her eyes dark pools of anguish. “I knew the police suspected me—it's your job, after all. But that everyone else thought—Tell me, Jack. Is it true?”
“Well,” temporized Gibbons, “there's bound to be—”
“Just tell me!”
Her plea was so impassioned that Gibbons could not help but respond to it.
“Yes,” he said, “it is.”
She turned away from him and began sobbing, clutching the back of a chair with white knuckles.
“Not everyone believes it,” said Gibbons. “Reverend Oakley doesn't. And neither do I.”
He stepped toward her and touched her arm. She turned to him readily, burying her head on his shoulder and weeping unrestrainedly. Gibbons wrapped his arms about her and stroked her hair.
“There's bound to be rumors like that,” he said. “Murder cases are the very worst for that kind of thing. But it will pass, I promise you. Once we've solved the case—”
“But will you?” Her voice was muffled against his shoulder. “Daniel Andrews couldn't. And they'll all think I did it, they think so already.”
“Spouses are always suspect,” said Gibbons. “And we will solve it.
We've already made progress and it's only been a couple of weeks. Give us a little time.”
She nodded and sniffed, her sobs seeming to lessen. Without thinking, Gibbons planted a kiss on her head and with that action became abruptly aware of her body against his, of her hand on his chest.
She looked up and gave him a tremulous smile; his own was no less shaken in reply. He found he was holding his breath.
“Thank you,” she said, reaching up to kiss his cheek.
Time seemed to have slowed to a crawl. Her kiss landed close by the corner of his mouth and he followed the impulse to turn his head just that little bit so that their lips met while alarms sounded in his brain.
She responded to his kiss, shifting against him and in that moment, when his emotions washed over him in a flood of desire, he drew back abruptly, horrified at what he had been about to do, and put her from him. He was shaking violently.
“I'm sorry,” he stammered. “I can't do this. It's wrong.”
She stood back from him, rejected, her brown eyes hurt and confused.
“I didn't mean—” she began and stopped herself. “You've been such a comfort. I didn't expect that you would …” Her voice trailed off and her eyes fell from his. “It was just the moment,” she said more clearly. “I didn't mean it to lead to anything, either.”
Gibbons found his breathing was still ragged, though he was reassured by her words. “I'm sorry,” he said again. “I think I'd better go.”
She nodded and followed him toward the door. She seemed so desolate that he paused.
“You were right,” he said. “It was just the moment. I'll be back to see you later and in the meantime you must try to keep up your spirits. Just remember that things will come right in the end.”
“I will,” she said. “Thank you.” She stood aside while he opened the door and then asked hesitantly, “I know that under the circumstances
we couldn't possibly, well, you know. But you didn't stop because you think I killed him, did you?”
The last phrase was almost a whisper.
“God, no,” said Gibbons fervently, but he knew as he turned away that there was only one way he could prove the truth of his words to her and unless he did so the suspicion would remain between them.
He heard the door close behind him as he walked to the Rover, his footsteps crunching in the gravel of the drive. He fumbled the keys into the ignition, his hands still trembling, and wondered what madness had come over him. He had wanted women before, but never like that. Even now, his heart raced at the memory of Annette in his arms and a part of him wished he had not remembered his duty, wished he had been drunk or had any excuse to forget and make love to her. The terrifying thing was he knew, if he had had such an excuse, he would have made use of it. It would destroy the case—any evidence he uncovered would be nullified by the fact that he wanted to exonerate his lover—and with the case would go his career. They would probably sack him, and even if they didn't, he would never rise beyond sergeant. Yet there was a corner of his mind that whispered that no one need ever find out, and it was not stilled by even the horrifying picture of being cross-examined in court as to his relationship with the widow of a murdered man.
He let in the clutch too abruptly and the tires spun briefly as he shot away from the house, racing down the drive.
B
ethancourt was awakened in the dark before dawn by Kitty's movements in the bedroom. He blinked and stretched.
“What time is it?” he asked.
Kitty turned from the closet and smiled at him. “Nearly six,” she answered. “I'm just getting ready to go for my run. There's coffee in the kitchen.”
“I could use a cup,” he said, propping himself up on the pillows. “When will you be back?”
“By seven.”
Bethancourt considered. “I should probably leave before that,” he said. “I have to get back to London and report to Jack before he leaves for the Yard.”
Kitty nodded and sat on the edge of the bed to put on her shoes. “There's fresh towels in the bathroom,” she said. “And the coffee will keep warm.” She tied the laces efficiently and then leaned over to kiss him. “It was a lovely night,” she said.
“It was,” he agreed. “I don't know when I'll be back, but I'm sure I'll see you again in the next day or two.”
“All right.”
She rose, waved good-bye from the doorway, and was gone.
From the kitchen windows, Bethancourt could detect a glimmering in the eastern sky. He poured himself a cup of coffee, savoring the aroma, and took a deep draft before lighting a cigarette. In the cold light of morning—what there was of it—he was inclined to feel ashamed of himself. He wondered if he had been drunker the night before than he had believed himself to be, but shook the thought away impatiently. Drunkenness was no excuse for doing something he had acknowledged at the time was wrong, but had gone ahead with anyway.
He sighed and rubbed his face, feeling the stubble on his cheek. Nothing, he reflected, looked very good at this time of day. Even what he had learned about Paul Berowne did not seem very exciting now. It was not, after all, proof of anything, though no doubt Gibbons would take it as further evidence of Annette's innocence.
That thought depressed Bethancourt further. He drank deeply from his coffee cup and tried to shake off his mood. Perhaps he was wrong about Gibbons, he thought stoutly, perhaps there had been a perfectly legitimate reason for his visit last night. Bethancourt did not believe it, but he repeated the idea firmly to himself as he stubbed out his cigarette and drained his cup. Yes, and what he had discovered about Paul Berowne might well lead to the solution of the case. As for himself, he would simply have to try to be less selfindulgent in the future.
This positive attitude lasted him out to the car, but rapidly vanished as he swung the Jaguar onto the main drive and glanced uneasily toward the front of the house, half-afraid the Rover would still be there. But it was gone and he heaved a sigh of relief, lighting a cigarette and blowing out the smoke in a great stream as he sped toward London.
 
 
Gibbons had been up
half the night in an agony of self-doubt, an emotion which hitherto had been completely unknown to him. By morning, however, he had calmed himself. He could no longer deny that he had feelings for Annette, but he could deny their depth, and he had reasoned his way to a truce with himself, not realizing how uneasy a truce it was. It was only natural that he should feel for her, so lonely in her grief, wrongly accused of her husband's murder and already convicted in the court of public opinion, striving so valiantly to bear it all. Circumstances had combined last night to cause him to overreact, but there was no reason to fear it would happen a second time. The thing to do was to put it firmly out of his mind and concentrate on solving the case. Once that was done, he would be free to explore exactly what Annette had come to mean to him.
And yet the look in her eyes when she had asked if he believed her a murderer continued to haunt him. He found himself dwelling on it when he did not mean to, and wishing he had found some way to reassure her.
The ringing of the telephone interrupted his thoughts. In his turmoil, he had completely forgotten Bethancourt's promise to ring him with the results of the night's investigations, and he was almost surprised to hear his friend's voice.
“You're up early,” he said.
“I wanted to catch you before you left,” said Bethancourt. “I found out more than I ever expected last night.”
“About Paul Berowne?” asked Gibbons, rather taken aback.
“Yes. Mind, there's no proof of anything, but it does give him a solid motive.”
As Gibbons listened to his friend's recital, the last of his introspection vanished and he grew increasingly excited.
“Good work, Phillip,” he said. “I have to confess, I never really
thought your date with Kitty would lead to anything, and I couldn't have been more wrong.”
“What will you do now?” asked Bethancourt.
“That's up to Carmichael. I'll ring him at once—he's going to be furious that no one told us about this before now.”
“Well, it was several years ago,” said Bethancourt. “I don't suppose anyone realized it would be important. Especially since no one knew he was having another affair.”
“One could look at it like that,” said Gibbons, who clearly did not. “In any case, I imagine the first thing to do will be to find the woman Berowne had the affair with.”
“Carmichael won't pull Paul Berowne in for questioning at once, then?”
“I wouldn't think so,” answered Gibbons, “but, as I say, I'll have to check.”
“Well, let me know what happens,” said Bethancourt.
“Of course I will. I'll ring you when I know what the program is. And thank you, Phillip—you've done very well for us.”
Gibbons rang off and dialed Carmichael's home number, but found that the chief inspector had already left for the Yard. It was an old habit of Carmichael's, when a case wasn't going well, to get to the office early. Gibbons hastily swallowed the last of his coffee and left for New Scotland Yard.
 
 
Carmichael
had spent his
Sunday investigating Maddie Wellman. He had spoken to the headmistress at the school where she had once taught and had interviewed her friends and her bank manager. He had failed to uncover a motive, and it still seemed to him that if Maddie was going to murder anyone, it would have been Annette Berowne rather than her husband.
He was deeply unhappy with the case and saw fewer possibilities of solving it every day. It was frustrating Gibbons as well; just look
at the way the lad had jumped to the conclusion that Annette Berowne must be innocent because it wouldn't have taken her twenty minutes to poison the coffee. Obviously Gibbons was as anxious as his superior to make any headway at all, since normally he would never take such a leap of faith in a case. Carmichael hadn't liked to disillusion him about how little progress this represented and had received his sergeant's news neutrally.
Well, he told himself, at least he had done what he could to eliminate the peripheral characters and it now seemed very unlikely that any of the Berowne employees had committed the murder. That still left them with four solid suspects: Annette Berowne, still chief among them by virtue of her status as spouse and main legatee; her stepson Paul, who had been at odds with his father and who stood to gain complete control of Berowne Biscuits upon his father's death; his wife, Marion, a less likely suspect since she and Geoffrey had been on good terms, but still a legatee; and Maddie Wellman, who had deeply resented Geoffrey's remarriage and who was now set up for life without having to bend to her brother-in-law's will.
He was just contemplating the impossibility of ever arresting any of these people when Gibbons burst into his office, his blue eyes alight.
“I've got something, sir,” he said eagerly. “Or, rather Phillip Bethancourt has.”
Carmichael was surprised. “Bethancourt?”
“Yes, sir. He took Kitty Whitcomb to the local pub last night to ask questions about Paul Berowne.”
Carmichael frowned. “I thought you had looked into the pub, Sergeant,” he said.
“I did, sir. I spoke to the barmaid and to a group of regulars, but they all reported that Paul Berowne, although he came in often, always kept to himself at a corner table in the back.” Gibbons grinned. “I should have gone with Kitty, sir, but I have to admit it never occurred
to me. And it wasn't just the pub. Kitty had been speaking to her aunt, who was the cook at the Berownes before her, and dredged up some old gossip.”
“Let's have it then.” Gibbons's enthusiasm was infectious, but Carmichael remained cautious. By the end of Gibbons's tale, however, he was feeling more optimistic. It was nothing like proof, but it did give Berowne a far more solid motive than the one he had been assigned before.
“Surrey CID should have told us this,” said Carmichael, disgruntled. “They must have known. And they might have winkled out for themselves that Berowne was having an affair. It was happening on their patch, after all, and they'd know best how to get it out of the locals.”
“They mightn't have known all the details, sir,” said Gibbons. “If they didn't know it was Geoffrey who put an end to his son's affair, it wouldn't seem very pertinent. I'm sure Geoffrey would have put the best face on all of it. He probably told people Paul changed his mind about the divorce when he realized Marion was pregnant.”
“And they were so concerned with Annette Berowne, I expect they never investigated anyone else very seriously,” admitted Carmichael. “Still, I'm going to have words with them about it. In the meantime, I'll want to talk to Mira Fellows myself. And I'll look in on the old cook while I'm down there, although she's hardly likely to tell me more—or even as much—as she told her niece. You get on to finding this Amy or Ann, Gibbons, but be discreet about it. I don't want Paul Berowne put on the alert. Whatever you do, don't ring up Berowne Biscuits for the information.”
“No, sir. No need in any case. Kitty said she was acting for a firm Berowne Biscuits acquired about five years ago. It should be simple enough to find out which company that was and who represented them in the negotiations.”
Carmichael paused to beam at his sergeant. He had had many
men under him in the past who would have had to have that line of inquiry spelled out for them, and he was pleased to have his high opinion of Gibbons confirmed.
“That's good thinking, lad,” he said. “I'm off now—ring me on the mobile when you've got something.”
“Yes, sir,” said Gibbons.
“And, Gibbons—thank Bethancourt for me when you speak to him.”
“I will, sir.”
 
 
It did not take
long for Gibbons to look through the public records of mergers and acquisitions and find the occasion, five years ago, when Berowne Biscuits had acquired Taylor's Toffees. It was, he hastily ascertained, the only acquisition Berowne had made that year, and he went on to search out the solicitor's firm that had acted for Taylor's during the negotiations. This took a little more work, but eventually he tracked it down and then it was a simple matter to obtain a list of the firm's employees. There were several women, but only one whose name corresponded to Janet Whitcomb's memory: Amy Sullivan.
He rang up the firm and was connected to Miss Sullivan after only a slight delay. He identified himself and asked, “Were you the solicitor acting for Taylor's Toffees when they were acquired by Berowne Biscuits about five years ago?”
There was a pause before she answered. “That's right,” she said at last. “But if you're looking for any information about the acquisition, you would have to go through Mr. Steiner.”
“I'm not actually interested in the acquisition itself,” answered Gibbons. “I'm looking for the woman who dated Paul Berowne at that time. Was that you, Miss Sullivan?”
From her reaction, the source of his interest was not a surprise to her.
“Yes,” she said at once, in a low voice. “That was me.”
“Then I need to speak with you, Miss Sullivan,” said Gibbons. “Will you be in your office for the next half-hour or so?”
“Oh!” she said, flustered. “No, that wouldn't be—I mean, I'd rather come to you. I could take an early lunch, if noon would do?”
Gibbons glanced at the clock; it was 11:15. “That would be fine,” he answered. “I'm at New Scotland Yard; just ask for Detective Sergeant Gibbons at the desk.”
 
 
From her quick acceptance
of his interest in her personal life, Gibbons assumed Amy Sullivan had read about the Berowne murder in the papers. When she arrived, he was expecting a flood of questions about Paul Berowne's present status as a possible murderer and was prepared to parry them. But in the event, she seemed determined to avoid the topic altogether.

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