A Dog's Life (The Romney and Marsh Files Book 4) (27 page)

‘If Mrs Allen knew something why wouldn’t she volunteer it? What would have been her reason for keeping that kind of information back?’

‘To let Stephanie get away?’ said Romney. ‘And now it’s all gone from bad to worse she’s decided to keep her gob shut.’

‘Maybe the dog had been in Stephanie Lather’s room earlier,’ said Marsh. ‘That could account for the dog hairs on Rachael’s clothes.’

‘Possible, but the way it was shut up in the bathroom and the hotel regulations that were clearly being flouted, I doubt it.’

‘We could just ask Mrs Allen and see what she says.’

‘We will, don’t worry about that.’

The way Romney said this gave Marsh to leap to a conclusion of her own: ‘Do you suspect Mrs Allen of being involved in some way?’  She didn’t sound at all convinced.

‘I don’t know.’ Romney tapped a biro against his teeth. ‘Why would she be?’

‘If she was then that would make her complicit in something,’ said Marsh.

‘Or guilty.’

‘Of what? Murder? How? Why?’

‘Don’t know yet. Maybe nothing, but I’m going to find out. There is something about this whole affair that doesn’t smell right. And then there’s this business about the Temazepam. We know Stephanie Lather wasn’t getting the drug on prescription. I got in touch with the team in charge at her place. There was no trace of the drug in the house anywhere. No bottles lying around near the body or tucked away in a medicine cabinet. Why not? Because the drugs weren’t hers. So where did Stephanie get them from?’

‘If the dog had access to them they must have been Mrs Allen’s. Maybe she gave them to her. Or maybe Stephanie helped herself.’

Romney made the sort of face that indicates an occurrence of a puzzling notion. ‘Temazepam is a prescription drug, right? So how would they come?  Probably in a bottle with a childproof top. How would the dog have got the lid off that?’

‘That would need checking, sir. Maybe they were in sealed pockets in strips.’

‘We still have to take Mrs Allen’s formal statement. Fancy a drive up to see her?’

‘Sure. Why not? What about this other bit of good news, sir?’

‘Oh, that can wait. Some things are best served cold.’ And he smiled. ‘Call Mrs Allen. Sound routine. Sound bored if you like. I want to catch her at home though.’

Marsh was back in fifteen minutes. ‘Mrs Allen is working from home this morning. She said she’s meeting a client at eleven and probably won’t be back until the evening.’

‘Perfect,’ said Romney. ‘Phone her back and tell her you’re on your way. Don’t mention me.’

‘She asked if I was taking her dog back to her.’

‘What did you say?’

‘I said I’d have to see. Does she know why the dog was dug up and whisked away under blues and twos?’

‘I don’t know. Boudicca dealt with it. One of those things she’s good for I was telling you about. When I collected it we were in a bit of a hurry. I didn’t stop and chat. Now you mention it, I do remember her being quite agitated.’

‘I can imagine. Maybe we should be prepared for some awkward questions and an unhappy former dog owner.’

‘She’s the one should be worried about awkward questions. Give me a minute to let Boudicca know where we’re off to. She likes to know where I am. I think she’s developing a bit of a thing for me.’

*

The journey up to Beckenham was uneventful. This was mostly down to Marsh asking if she could drive. Because of her obviously fragile state of mind, Romney let her, despite finding her driving a little too sedate and conventional for his liking.

They took the opportunity to churn over the aspects of the case that both interested and puzzled them. They made some idle chit-chat. Nearing the area in which Mrs Allen lived, Romney checked the time and said, ‘You said she’s got an appointment?’

‘That’s what she said.’

‘Could be we’re going to put pressure on her timetable. Maybe she’ll be in a hurry to get rid of us. That might be to our advantage.’

***

20

Mrs Allen answered her front door wearing a sharp, black, business trouser suit, a scowl and heels. Her hair was pulled back tightly and fixed behind her head in a bun, giving her features a harsh countenance. She was not an unattractive woman and Romney found himself reflecting on the idea that she had made an unwanted approach of a sexual nature towards Stephanie Lather. It was something that his imagination pounced upon to wonder whether it might have had something to do with the situation that everyone now found themselves in. He’d known lesser reasons for violence and it was common force lore that hell hath no fury like a lesbian scorned.

After she’d got over her obvious surprise at seeing Romney standing there she said, ‘You’ve left it late, Inspector. Very late. I did tell Sergeant Marsh I have a business appointment. With a very important new client.’ She switched her idea of an intimidating stare between the pair of them as they laboured dumbly on the path two steps below her. Mrs Allen seemed used to being listened to.

Romney smiled and in the absence of a proper welcome countered with, ‘We’d better get on with it then, Mrs Allen.’ He dropped the cigarette he’d treated himself to after the drive and trod it out. ‘What shall I do with that?’ he said.

Mrs Allen looked as though she’d like to tell him exactly where he could stick it but settled for, ‘Just leave it.’

With a huff she moved aside to admit them, told them to wipe their feet, shut the door and led them down a narrow passage towards the kitchen at the rear of the property. There were three other rooms off the hallway and all the doors had been shut, leaving Romney to feel that Mrs Allen didn’t want unwanted visitors prying into her home and her life. What he did see encouraged him to believe she liked order and cleanliness without clutter. If appearances were not intended to deceive, she also wasn’t short of money.

There was no suggestion anywhere in the hallway or kitchen area that they wandered into to suggest Mrs Allen had children or a significant other in her life.

Like most people who found the police in their kitchen seeking information and in no tearing hurry for it, she said, ‘You’d better sit down.’ And like many before her the offer seemed grudging. Such receptions were water off a duck’s back for seasoned detectives.  She indicated a table for eight in the spacious, contemporary, light and pleasant dining area.

Romney took his time removing his overcoat, which unsurprisingly seemed to further irritate their hostess. Romney believed he caught her tutting behind him. This did not displease him. Mrs Allen did not offer refreshments.

When they were settled and Marsh had the necessary paperwork and her digital recorder arranged on the table in front of her, Mrs Allen said, ‘Before we start, Inspector, I would like some answers regarding what the police wanted with my Chloe and when I can expect to have her back for a proper re-burial. I must say I find that whole episode somewhat baffling, intensely upsetting and quite unnecessary. I have had no responses to my enquiries and I am losing what little patience I have left by being continually fobbed off.’

Romney had decided he would not be entirely truthful with Mrs Allen regarding the matter of Chloe’s seizure by the authorities. He felt that to do so could undermine his own authority and position by making him seem, for want of a better expression, foolish. Hindsight was a wonderful thing when one was cleared of the threat of dying like a mad dog. ‘Your dog is helping the police with our enquiries, Mrs Allen.’

Mrs Allen looked suitably stunned by this. ‘What can you mean, Inspector? She’s a dog and she’s dead. How on earth can she be helping you with your enquiries – and with regard to what, might I ask?’

‘Can we get to that in a minute? It is something I want to discuss with you but before I do I’d very much like to hear what you have say on a couple of other matters.’

Mrs Allen looked between them but got little out it. She seemed more guarded when she said, ‘Go on.’

Romney smiled. ‘Can you talk us through your Saturday from the time you and Stephanie came back up to your rooms after the non-event, if I can call it that?’

‘You might as well. That’s what it was. A bloody farce.’ She sent an accusing look in Marsh’s direction and got a blank stare back. ‘Stephanie was very upset. Her big day in her hometown had been completely ruined by those spiteful women. She said that she wanted to be alone in her room. I tried to persuade her to share my company. A problem halved and all that. I thought I could help her rationalise what happened; to understand that she was simply the victim of intense semi-professional jealousy, but she was adamant. The best I could get out of her was that we might meet up later, maybe go for a walk on the seafront.’

Romney was nodding his encouragement while Marsh scratched away. ‘But that never happened?’ said Romney.

‘No.’ Mrs Allen allowed the police to see how upsetting the memory was for her.

‘Did you take your dog out for a walk at all?’ said Romney.

‘Naturally,’ she said, and she looked a little surprised at the question. ‘She had to do her business when I came back upstairs.’

‘How did you get her in and out of the hotel without her being seen?’

‘I have a big bag and she was always most cooperative. She was an intelligent girl. Why are you so interested in Chloe, Inspector?’

‘Did she go into Stephanie’s room,’ said Romney, as if he hadn’t heard her.

‘Good lord, no. She’d have had a fit.’

‘Didn’t she like dogs?’

Mrs Allen’s features adopted a look of disdain. ‘She did not.’

‘Must’ve run in the family,’ said Romney.

‘Pardon.’

‘Nothing. Just thinking aloud. So, tell us what happened for you to call the manager.’

‘After I got back from my walk with Chloe, I waited in my room – I had some paperwork to busy myself with – and then I went along and tapped on Stephanie’s door. I got no answer and I banged harder. Still nothing. I can’t articulate why, even now I’m not sure what concerned me so, but I was worried that something might have happened, that she might have done herself some harm.’ Mrs Allen permitted a look of sadness at what she had foreseen to trouble her expression. ‘I just had a feeling,’ she said. Romney didn’t press her on that. Mrs Allen sighed heavily, presumably at the curse of her ‘gift’. ‘I tried the door but it was locked. So I went back to my room and called down to reception for the manager. He came quickly with a pass key, opened up and as soon as we saw that poor woman lying there… well, you know the rest.’

‘Not really,’ said Romney, seeming inappropriately quite cheerful now. ‘Did you go into the room?’

‘Barely. I saw the blood and the damage to the back of her head and, well, I just couldn’t. She was so still. She just looked dead. And there’s nothing I could have done for her even if she’d been alive. I’m no good at all in that sort of situation.’

‘I suppose if you’d got a closer look you’d have seen that it wasn’t Stephanie,’ said Romney, but it wasn’t a question. Mrs Allen just nodded. ‘Did the manager go in?’

Mrs Allen shook her head. ‘Hardly. A step or two and then he withdrew and said we should call an ambulance. He secured the door and disappeared downstairs.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I went back to my room and locked the door. If there was some lunatic on the loose in that hotel, as I thought then, I didn’t want to get in his way.’

‘Did you know Stephanie had invited her sister along for the day?’ said Romney. Marsh glanced up to see that Romney’s hitherto friendly demeanour had been replaced with something more professional and critical.

‘No. She never mentioned it to me. Hang on. Are you saying that the dead woman was her sister?’ Mrs Allen’s eyes were wide with disbelief.

‘Yes. Sorry, I thought you knew.’

‘But how could I have known? I had no idea Stephanie had a sister. She never said anything to me about one. Oh, it’s terrible. Stephanie killed her sister. But why? Do you know? If nothing else it certainly helps to explain why she was moved to take her own life. What must she have been going through?’

‘I really can’t imagine,’ said Romney.  ‘I was going to ask you if you’d seen the woman at the hotel, whether she might have visited your room looking for Stephanie. Apparently she was quite late through no fault of her own.’

‘Clearly not. I’d have recognised her, wouldn’t I?’

Romney smiled with great understanding and said, ‘Yes. You would, of course.

‘Stephanie’s post-mortem showed that she’d died from drowning in the bath after taking a cocktail of alcohol and sleeping pills.’ Mrs Allen nodded her following. ‘But there were no sleeping tablets or tablet containers in the house and Stephanie’s doctor says that she hadn’t seen her in ages for anything, let alone prescribed any for her.’ Mrs Allen was still nodding. And now she was frowning. What she wasn’t doing was playing the part of someone with horrible secrets in front of whose eyes the fabric of her plotting was unravelling like a poorly-knitted home-made Christmas pullover.

‘I think I can help you there, Inspector. Stephanie was aware that I take prescription drugs for insomnia. She told me she hadn’t been sleeping well and she asked if I could let her have just a few until she could make an appointment to see her doctor and get some of her own.’

‘And you obliged?’ Romney sounded only appreciative of the act of kindness from one fellow sufferer to another. ‘Well, that clears that up. Good. Can I ask you to let me have a couple, please, so that our forensic boys and girls can match up what were in Stephanie’s system and tick a box on the form? We just want to tie things up and get on with our other cases. We’re very busy with other things.’

‘Of course.’

She stood and left the room. They heard her going up the stairs, no doubt feeling quite satisfied with the way things were going. Romney and Marsh exchanged a look and such was their experience and understanding of each other after almost a year of working together that words were unnecessary. 

Mrs Allen returned to the room and placed the glass bottle with childproof cap on the table in front of them. ‘There you are, Inspector. Please help yourself.’

Romney felt like letting out a contented sigh. He also felt that the fingers of accusation were all starting to point at someone he could touch with a short stick. When he had accepted that ripple of professional satisfaction, he turned his mind to keeping the woman who he now felt could be a double murderess at her ease. No point in scaring her off the path of cooperation.

Romney picked up the bottle, made a meal of trying to get into it, and tipped a couple into his hand. No need to look too serious about it with rubber gloves and evidence bags. That kind of evidence would leave a long and indelible trail.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘And you didn’t leave your room again until we turned up on your threshold, I suppose?’

‘Correct.’

‘Sergeant Marsh will write that up quickly.’ Romney stretched, indicating that the important stuff was out of the way and that they could all relax. ‘How did you spend your evening?’

‘I stayed in my room. The hotel was good enough to serve me food and I had plenty to occupy myself, even though I found it extremely and understandably difficult to concentrate. I would have left immediately if you hadn’t insisted I stay on.’

‘But you did leave, Mrs Allen, didn’t you?’ said Romney and his tone was suddenly stern, his gaze sharp and probing.

Perhaps, thought Marsh, who had cottoned on quickly to where Romney’s questions were leading, he was testing or teasing the woman – poking at snakes. For her part, Mrs Allen, almost faltered, almost, it appeared, shut down. But it was fleeting and she recovered quickly to fix a hard-to-define look to her face and said, ‘You’re referring to me leaving without telling you or providing my statement on Sunday morning. I’ve explained, Inspector, I was horribly upset by the death of my beloved Chloe, not to mention the horrors of the previous day. Obviously, I had no intention of shirking my responsibilities. I simply had to get out of there. Under similar circumstances, I’d do the same again.’ It didn’t sound like any sort of apology that either of the police officers had ever heard.

‘Well, we’re here now,’ said Romney. ‘That’s what matters. When Sergeant Marsh has finished writing up your statement you can read through it and sign it and we’ll be on our way. Out of your hair.’

Mrs Allen seemed relieved. She glanced at her watch and said, ‘Now, what about my dog, Inspector? Perhaps you would be good enough to explain her part in all this to me?’

With the way things had gone Romney found he had little choice, if he wished his prime suspect to continue to feel she was getting away with murder, other than to tell the truth about the shih-tzu and to hell with the consequences. He could always back-track later. He assumed an air of sheepishness before saying, ‘You’ll remember that Chloe bit me. You may also remember that when I encountered Chloe she was frothing at the mouth. You said it was soap she’d been chewing on. I didn’t know you well enough to know whether I could believe that. I had a nasty reaction to the bite. Then I spoke to you and learned that Chloe had passed away. I did what I felt to be the right thing for me, Mrs Allen. I arranged for the dog to be exhumed and examined.’

Mrs Allen was staring at Romney with barely disguised disbelief. ‘What on earth did you imagine was wrong with her? Rabies?’ She barked out a harsh mocking laugh and stopped just as abruptly when she saw on Romney’s face that she was right. ‘Oh, my God. That’s just priceless. Rabies. What were you thinking, man? This is modern Britain not some nineteenth century continental backwater. Surely you know we don’t have rabies here any more?’

Romney had to suffer it. ‘One day there’ll be a case of it in the news, you can be as sure of that as anything – and it’s not going to be me. It wasn’t something I was prepared to take a risk with, Mrs Allen. Chloe can be returned to you any time you wish. Incidentally, do you know how Chloe died?’

This was a question that both Romney and Marsh were particularly interested in Mrs Allen’s response to. They knew the dog had died from an overdose of Temazepam. If Mrs Allen had an idea then she might give something of that away. It would all depend on her guilt and how she felt it best to deal with it.

‘Of course I don’t know, Inspector. Not for sure. It’s possible she had a reaction to the soap and it’s just as possible that her time was up. She was not a young dog. I certainly wasn’t interested in commissioning a post-mortem. Dead is dead. Chloe was gone and that was it. Nothing would bring her back.’ And then Mrs Allen almost jumped in her seat before saying, ‘But if you had a post-mortem performed you must know what she died of?’

‘The vet understood it was a failing of her respiratory system. If it’s any consolation, it was also suggested that she’d have died peacefully in her sleep.’

Mrs Allen’s eyes began to swim at the memory and a little colour entered her pale cheeks.

She signed the statement and saw them off the premises without much warmth or ceremony. She had said she would like Chloe returned at the earliest opportunity and that quite probably Inspector Romney could expect to hear more on the matter. She didn’t specify from whom.  As they stepped outside, Mrs Allen said, ‘And you can take your disgusting dog-end with you,’ before shutting the door on them. Romney kicked it under the bush at the side of the path.

Romney’s sympathy for Marsh’s loss was short-lived. For the return journey he insisted on driving. Marsh buckled up and had to hope that today was not the day he was going to have a rude awakening over his cavalier attitude behind the wheel.

When they had negotiated the busy residential roads without incident and were bowling down the main highway, Marsh broke the quiet and said, ‘What now, sir?’