A Killing Karma (14 page)

She nodded. 'I
can see that it must seem a strange thing for a wife to accept. But it has been
the normal thing in our marriage for many years now. Gus was a very—' she
hesitated before selecting the word — ‘athletic man. Very physical. Whereas I
have always been more inclined to cerebral pursuits.’ She gave a tiny shrug. 'I
suppose, in that way, we were ill-matched.’ She nodded towards the floor to
ceiling bookcases that lined the fireplace walls at both ends of the large
room. The shelves were so tight-packed that it would be only with difficulty
that one would be able to prise a book from the clutch of its neighbours.

A quick glance
over some of the titles certainly indicated that their owner had an
intellectual inclination. There was little fiction, Casey saw, but there were
shelves on sociology and psychology, which Mrs Oliver explained she had studied
at university.

She had gone
to Durham, which, she told them, was where she had met her husband.

‘It was quite
a surprise for his crowd when we got together.’ She gave a short laugh. 'I
confess, it was quite a surprise to me, too. Gus was, I suppose, what is
nowadays termed an “Alpha Male”, even when he was young.’

Casey nodded,
then drew her back to the point. ‘We have reason to believe your husband died
some time on the evening he left here; before midnight rather than after. He
certainly didn't die in that alley.’ Dr Merriman had been quite clear on this
point. ‘It's plain that someone took a risk in moving him. I'm afraid I have to
ask everyone where they were from nine on the Friday evening to around midnight
and from six to seven thirty on Monday morning, between which hours we have
reason to believe he was dumped in the alley.’

She looked
shocked to be asked such a question. But then she nodded slowly, as if
accepting his right to ask it of her. 'I was at home during both relevant
times, Chief Inspector. On the Friday evening I was alone, but as far as the
Monday goes, I suppose I have a witness. Mrs Clarke, Mrs Mary Clarke, my
cleaning lady was here.’

'I see. What
time did she start work?’

‘She was here
just before six and worked for three hours. She's an early bird, like me, and
likes to get started on her chores as soon in the day as possible. We're a
perfect match in that way and I fit in nicely with her more lie-abed customers.
She always starts her working day here and then goes on to clean the houses of
the lie-abeds afterwards. She has her own key so can let herself in without
disturbing me if I'm busy.’

Once he had
obtained the cleaning lady's address, Casey decided to leave it there. He would
question this Mrs Clarke and get her version of events for the Monday morning
when Gus Oliver's body was found. But if she confirmed that Alice Oliver was at
home when she arrived and didn't leave the house during the following hour and
a half it looked like Mrs Oliver was in the clear — at least as far as dumping
the body was concerned. And as it seemed certain that Oliver was murdered and
later dumped by the same person, that would appear to exonerate her from both.

But, he
reflected, as he stood up, thanked her for her time and followed Catt out, they
still had enough other potential suspects to keep them busy.

Mrs Clarke,
Alice Oliver's cleaning lady, lived in a tiny terraced house about five
minutes' walk away from Alice Oliver. She confirmed what Mrs Oliver had told
them. The house was as neat as a newly planted flowerbed, with a place for
everything and everything in its place. It certainly seemed to sum up Mary
Clarke's attitude to housework.

She was a
stout woman, over retirement age and looking it, with work-worn hands and a
vaguely resentful manner.

As they
followed her along the short, narrow hall to the back kitchen, Casey asked,
‘Have you worked for Mrs Oliver for long?’

She invited
them to sit, her lips pursing slightly as she watched the two big policemen as
if annoyed at how untidy they made her very clean and well-scrubbed kitchen. 'I
suppose you want tea?’ she asked.

They both
nodded and thanked her as she turned away to fill the kettle.

‘I've worked
for Mrs Oliver for coming up three years now. Since just before I was
divorced,’ she told them as she crossed to the fridge and took the milk out. It
was in a much polished silver jug, which she placed on the table before
bringing out the sugar. 'A very nice lady, Mrs Oliver, very considerate.’

She made the
tea and brought it and fine bone china cups and saucers to the table before she
sat down. She had said nothing about Gus Oliver, Casey noticed, but then, he
supposed she could rarely have seen the man during her working hours as she
went on to reveal that Gus Oliver had generally had a working breakfast in his
study, which his wife prepared and where he was not to be disturbed.

‘You got on
well with Mrs Oliver. How about Mr Oliver? I know you said you saw little of
him, but you must have gained some impression.’

Mrs Clarke
sniffed, stirred the pot and poured the tea. ‘It's not for me to speak ill of
the dead. I cleaned for them, that's all. I wasn't invited to their dinner
parties. As long as I was left to get on with my work without interference —
and I was — we generally got along just fine.’ She reached for a washing-up
sponge from the sink tidy and ran it over the table where Catt had spilled a
few drops of tea from his dainty cup, before she added, 'I like my routines,
Chief Inspector. I don't like them upset. Mrs Oliver understands that. Not like
some of my ladies.’

‘And Mr
Oliver?’

‘As I said, I
didn't see much of him. He didn't interfere, if that's what you mean.’

She seemed
reluctant to discuss Gus Oliver. Perhaps she hadn't liked the man and given her
quoted adage about not liking to speak ill of the dead, she preferred to say as
little as possible. If there was any ill-speaking due it was clear that Mrs
Clarke didn't intend to break her silence on the matter, even if her manner
spoke volumes.

‘You saw Mrs
Oliver on Monday morning?’

'Oh yes. She
was up when I arrived just before six. I was in the kitchen giving the
cupboards a good clean out. I could hear her computer printing out. It's rather
an old-fashioned one and makes quite a bit of noise. Like me, Mrs Oliver is a
lady who dislikes wasting time. She keeps herself very busy. Unsurprising, of
course, with—' she broke off abruptly before she said anything incriminating.

Had she been
going to say ‘with a husband like him’? Casey wondered.

‘You saw her?
You didn't just hear her printer?’

‘Of course I
saw her.’ Mrs Clarke bridled at the question. ‘You surely can't suspect Mrs
Oliver of murder? She's a fine lady. Besides, she came downstairs about seven
o'clock and made us both some tea. She didn't go out. I'd have seen her as the
kitchen faces the front door and the back door is in the kitchen. I can see the
whole of the back garden from there so I would have seen her if she'd gone out
through the patio doors in the lounge.’ She sat back, with an expression that
said ‘Make something of that if you can’ etched clearly on her face.

That let Alice
Oliver pretty well off the hook when it came to dumping the body, Casey
acknowledged. According to Cedric Abernethy, there had been no body in the
alley when he had left home to walk the dog just before six on Monday morning.

‘We'll need
you to come to the station to make a formal statement,’ he told her.

‘When? Only,
as I told you, I have my routines. My days are pretty full with all my ladies.
If I'm late getting to one it will throw my entire day out.’

‘Fit it in at
a time to suit you. Let us know when and we can send a car to collect you.’

‘That won't be
necessary. I have my own car. I learned to drive after my husband left me. It's
only a cheap little runabout, but it does me. Now—' she glanced at the clock on
the wall —. 'I need to get on. I promised Mrs Townsend that I'd give her spare
room a good do before her visitors arrive and I'm keen to get on with it.’

She followed
them out and bustled hurriedly off to her car.

‘Amazing what
some people can get enthusiastic about,’ Catt remarked as they climbed into
their own car. ‘Would you ever feel that eager to sort out a spare room?
Particularly one that wasn't even your own?’

Casey smiled.
And although he liked a tidy home — a trait clearly not inherited from his
parents — he said, 'I can think of other pursuits that would be more welcome.
But her evidence seems pretty conclusive, so that's one suspect down and seven
to go. By the way, I was going to ask you if you've had any more news from your
friend on the Lincolnshire force.’

‘Yeah. I
texted him while you were on the phone to your parents.’ Catt put the car into
gear and pulled away from the kerb. ‘Meant to tell you. Anyway, that couple,
Honey and Ché Farrer, who left your parents' smallholding a while back, are out
of the running for DaisyMay's murder at least. They both have rock-solid
alibis. So even if they can't recall exactly where they were or what they were
doing around the time we've roughly estimated that Kris Callender died — and,
surprise, surprise, they claim to have left before it occurred — it seems
unlikely they had anything to do with that killing either, seeing as you're
convinced the two deaths are connected.’

Casey wasn't
convinced of that, not completely, though it seemed most likely. But for two
murders to occur within a few months of each other and amongst such a small
circle seemed too much of a coincidence for them not to be connected.

‘Thanks,
ThomCatt. You do know how much I appreciate your input on this, don't you?’

Concentrating
on the road ahead, Casey sensed rather than saw Catt's grin.

‘That's all
right, boss. Don't sweat it. Maybe you can do the same for me one day?’

That didn't
seem likely. As an orphan, Thomas Catt had been spared the parental traumas
that currently rocked Casey's world.

When Casey
rang Moon the next evening, she reported that all the police had now departed.
‘Even the runty young one they had posted at the gate.’

‘You're sure?’
Casey questioned. ‘There's not any still lingering in one of the back lanes to
watch the comings and goings?’

‘No. I sent
one of the boys out on his bike to scout around. They've definitely gone.’

‘In that case,
maybe it would be a good time for me to pay another visit. I need to speak to
everyone again; maybe a few memories and tongues will have loosened in the
interim. I won't arrive till fairly late, as I have another couple of interviews
on the Oliver murder to fit in before I can drive up to your place.’ The first
was with Roger and Amanda Meredith — Amanda being another of Gus Oliver's
multiplicity of lovers. 'I should be with you some time after ten.’ He paused,
then asked, ‘Have there been any further developments?’

‘There's been
no more murders, if that's what you mean.’

That hadn't
been Casey's meaning, but he was relieved to hear it all the same.

‘How did Star
bear up during the questioning?’ He'd already asked this question several
times, but Moon was patient with him and simply repeated what she'd already
told him.

‘He didn't let
anything slip. But you know Star, with a memory as poor as his, he wouldn't
have been able to even if he'd wanted to.’

That was true.
Casey let the knowledge comfort him. If Star managed to complete a sentence
more than a few words long it would be the first time in several years.

‘Anyway, I'll
say goodnight for now. Just don't let anything slip that you haven't already
told the police. And make sure Star knows he's to say as little as possible if
— when — the police return.’

‘You said. You
worry too much, Willow Tree. I've already told you we don't know anything about
Kris or DaisyMay's deaths, so we can't say anything.’

As reassured
as he was likely to be, Casey bade his mother a second goodnight, reminded her
he'd see her later and ended the call.

Like an onion,
King's Langley was made up of a number of layers, with the medieval centre,
then the odd Tudor merchant's house and Georgian rows beyond them and then the
Victorian terraces. The Merediths' house was situated on the more leafy
outskirts of the town, where space was at less of a premium.

They lived in
some splendour. Theirs was a detached Edwardian house, set in spacious grounds
which contained a garage that looked large enough to accommodate four cars, as
well as other assorted outbuildings. One of these was a stable; the head of an
inquisitive chestnut horse stared disdainfully at them over the door.

‘Snooty
looking bugger. Wonder what he thinks he's got that makes him look down his
nose at us,’ Catt complained.

‘Centuries of
breeding, probably.’

'I was bred.
We were all bred,’ Catt pointed out. ‘Though I suppose his mum stayed around
long enough to bring him up, unlike mine. Probably just as well mine buggered
off if that's what having a mum around does to your expression.’

‘Forget the
horse, ThomCatt, and concentrate your mind on the interviews.’

According to
what Catt had learned when he had questioned Mrs Meredith, her husband worked
as a self-employed consultant in the financial services industry. To judge from
the house, it was a profitable line.

‘Nice work if
you can get it, hey?' said Catt. ‘This pair have a lot to lose if one or both
of them turn out to be Oliver's murderer. Reckon we can expect a few porkies
here.’

Mrs Meredith,
who answered the door, turned out to be small, blonde, dainty and very
feminine. Casey, for whom this was the first meeting with any of Oliver's
lovers, wondered if she was the type Gus Oliver normally went for. Oliver's
wife was a far cry from Amanda Meredith, being tall and edging into plumpness.
She was also rather plain, but she was transformed when she smiled. Perhaps, in
their early days together, Oliver had made her smile a lot.

Mrs Meredith
led them into a drawing room that ran the whole length of the house. It was
furnished in an ultra-feminine style, with lots of flounces on the chintz
armchairs and settees. Altogether, it was a bit overpowering. Casey found
himself wondering how her husband stood it. Perhaps, to compensate, he kept his
study at the top of the house austerely masculine.

‘Please sit
down, gentlemen. I've called my husband down from his office and he'll be with us
presently. Can I get you some tea? Or coffee?’

They both
refused the tea. This seemed to put her out a little as if she had wanted to
play hostess to policemen as an antidote to the frills that surrounded her
every day. However, put out or not at their refusal of her offer, she remained
polite.

Amanda
Meredith's voice had a breathless, little girl, quality as her words tumbled
out, which Casey found irritating. He thought grown women should behave and
speak like adults, not pseudo-adolescents; but perhaps his own parents' refusal
to leave their Sixties’ youth behind went a long way to explaining his
irritation. Like Moon, Amanda Meredith retained the hairstyle of her girlhood
and a blue Alice band held back the curly, naturally blonde locks which looked
as if they and their owner spent every spare minute at the hairdresser's —
when, that was, she wasn't riding the disdainful stallion. She was altogether a
pampered-looking piece, the Alice band giving her a childish look that would
hold an appeal for some men.

As with the
Olivers, in the Merediths' case, too, opposites had attracted, Casey noted as
Roger Meredith entered the room to his wife's twitter of welcome. Meredith was
tall and rugged with a business-like air. From the look of his nose and damaged
ears, he had been a rugby player in his youth.

‘Chief
Inspector,’ Roger Meredith, far from coy and gushing like his wife, now asked,
'I understand from your sergeant that you wanted to question my wife and myself
about the death of Gus Oliver. Tragic business,’ he put in en passant, though
from his manner as he sat and sank into the depths of one of the frilly
armchairs, he didn't seem terribly cut up about Oliver's death. 'I knew him, of
course — we both did, though it was a casual acquaintance only. We belong to
the same rugby club and we'd occasionally see him there.’

Casey wondered
if Roger Meredith was aware that his wife's acquaintance with Gus Oliver was
rather more than casual. That was, if their supposition had been correct. She
had been cagey both when she had telephoned the incident room to identify
Oliver and when Catt had called to question her, so was clearly capable of
acting the adult when she chose. If so, Meredith was hiding any suspicion well.
But Casey sensed a tension in him that he felt wasn't simply to do with
receiving a visit from the police. It would be interesting to learn if he was
able to produce an alibi that was an improvement on the one already supplied.

‘Has my wife
offered you a drink?’

Casey
confirmed that she had and again declined any refreshments.

‘I’m sure
we'll be able to clear this matter up,’ Meredith announced firmly.

Casey was
sitting on one of the flouncy settees and Catt had chosen an armchair further
back from the intimate circle, all the better to view the expressions of their
interviewees while keeping a discreet distance.

‘My wife tells
me you're asking all Gus Oliver's friends and acquaintances if they're able to
supply any information. I will, of course, be glad to help in any way I can. I
understand the times you're interested in are from around nine to midnight on
the Friday and from six-ish to around seven thirty on Monday?’

Casey nodded.

‘Well now, let
me see .. .' Meredith frowned in thought. 'I left home at half past six on the
Friday for a rugby committee meeting.’

‘And what time
did this meeting end?’

‘Eight thirty
or thereabouts.’

‘And did you
come straight home afterwards?’

‘No. I stayed
on for a couple of drinks. Normally I'd still be there at eleven o'clock, but
there were things I wanted to do in my office here at the house, so I didn't
linger long. I was at home in my office upstairs from just before nine, wasn't
I darling?’ he asked his wife.

Amanda
Meredith nodded, quick to back up what her husband said.

Did these
‘things' that Meredith said he had been doing include catching his wife in
flagrante
delicto
? Casey wondered. Was Roger Meredith aware that his wife had been
having an affair with Oliver? Or was he the innocent caught in the middle? And
if he had come home unexpectedly early and caught his wife and her lover in bed
together, what would he do? Had a red mist descended, resulting in Oliver's
death? It was certainly a believable scenario. He could have recognized
Oliver's car and, if he already had reasons for suspicion, could have armed himself
with a sharp knife before ascending to the bedroom. But if that had happened,
Oliver's blood would be everywhere and he doubted that Meredith would be so
foolish as to commit such a messy murder. Certainly not in a place from where
the mess couldn't be easily cleaned up.

But, he
remonstrated silently with himself, he was rushing ahead of the facts. ‘And
you, Mrs Meredith?’ he asked. 'I understand from my sergeant that you were at
home between the relevant times on both occasions?’

‘Yes, that's
so,’ she replied in her breathy voice. She curled one of her blonde locks
around her fingers as she continued. ‘Occasionally, I accompany my husband to
the rugby club, for lunches, dinners and so on. Committee meetings aren't my
style, but I sometimes attend and stay in the bar till the meeting's finished.’

Flirting with
any available male, Casey surmised as he caught her giving him the once-over.
She was flirting with him under her husband's nose in spite of being a murder
suspect. Her shapely legs were crossed provocatively and her white dress had
ridden up to give a glimpse of thigh.

Catt, at least,
seemed to enjoy the view, but Casey found this deliberate attempt to distract
them less than appealing. Was it something she did automatically when males
were present? Or was it a display she had put on especially for them in order
to deflect them from their purpose?

‘And what
about Monday?’ he asked Meredith. The early morning on Monday?’ This was when
Cedric Abernethy's evidence indicated that Oliver’ body had been dumped in the
alley.

‘We were both
in bed, Chief Inspector,’ Meredith responded firmly. He glanced at his wife as
he added, ‘Sleeping the sleep of the self-righteous.’

At the moment,
Casey wasn't in a position to contradict either of their statements. But he
obtained the name and location of the rugby club and the names and addresses of
the other committee members before he and Catt took their leave.

Catt had
arranged for them to see Sarah and Carl Garrett next. They lived clear across
town. It seemed that Oliver had liked the members of his harem to live as far
apart as discretion demanded but still convenient to visit.

The Garretts
lived in a spacious loft apartment overlooking the river. In its way, it must
be as pricey as the detached home of the Merediths, providing, as several
prominent signs in the entrance hall proclaimed, a gym and swimming pool in the
basement as well as a resident porter. The porter would have to be questioned.

The Garretts’
second-floor apartment was starkly modern, with sleek, black leather settees
and satiny pale blond wood flooring. They had a selection of expensive
electrical gadgets, including a huge plasma television.

Sarah Garrett
was another dainty, natural blonde. It seemed that Oliver didn't believe in
ringing the changes in his lovers, though at least Mrs Garrett wasn't a gushing
woman and spoke in normal, adult tones. In fact, she seemed rather distant and
reluctant to say much at all.

‘My wife tells
me you're investigating the death of a certain Gus Oliver, Chief Inspector,’
Carl Garrett said once they were all seated. He, like Roger Meredith, was
another athletic looking specimen. ‘But for the life of me, I can't see what
you think we can tell you. We didn't know the man.’

‘You may not,
sir,’ Casey replied, ‘but I believe your wife was acquainted with him.’

‘Sarah?’
Garrett turned interrogative grey eyes on his wife. ‘Is it true? Did you know
this man?’

‘Only
casually.’ A defensive note had entered her voice, which, to judge from
Garrett's narrowed eyes, he had spotted. ‘He belonged to the same tennis club
that I joined earlier in the year. I only knew him socially and even so I
barely knew him. We'd only exchanged civilities, no more.’

Turning his
interrogative gaze from his wife, Garrett directed it back to Casey and said,
‘That being the case, Chief Inspector, I can't imagine why you should think we
know anything about his death.’

Casey parried.
‘Of course I don't think that. Not at the moment, anyway. But if you do,
doubtless we'll discover that in due course.’ It was clear that Garrett wanted
to get rid of them and to question his wife more closely. Well, that could
wait; Casey was sure Sarah Garrett would be glad of the delay to give her time
to come up with some believable answers.

Sarah Garrett
was staring at him with pleading eyes, her distant air quite gone. Casey had no
intention of betraying the secret of her affair with Oliver; if either one of
the pair had murdered him and they succeeded in proving it, the truth of her
relationship with the dead man would come out soon enough. Again, they had only
another telephone call to the incident room to indicate that Sarah Garrett was
one of Oliver's lovers, but Mrs Garrett didn't know that. No wonder she looked
apprehensive. He might, he realized, get more cooperation if she had doubts
about him holding his tongue on her illicit union.

He expected
Carl Garrett to make difficulties about providing an alibi given his claim that
he hadn't known the victim, and so it proved.

‘This is
ridiculous,’ he protested. 'I told you I didn't know the man. Why on earth should
I want to kill him?’ Then his eyes narrowed and he again gazed speculatively at
his wife. ‘Unless — unless his relationship with my wife was rather more than
casual. Is that what you're trying to imply, Chief Inspector?’

Garrett was a
cool customer all right. Was he pretending not to have known of his wife's
infidelity and playing guessing games with them?

Sarah broke into
nervous laughter. ‘Don't be ridiculous, darling. I told you, I hardly knew the
man.’ She turned to Casey, ‘But I suppose you need an alibi from me?’ Casey
nodded. ‘That would be helpful.’

‘As I told
your sergeant, I was at home all Friday evening.’ She gave another laugh. ‘Not
much of an alibi, I'm afraid. My husband was working late in his office in town
here. I imagine some other member of staff can vouch for him.’ She looked
enquiringly at her husband.

Finally, Carl
Garrett decided to be more helpful. ‘Unfortunately not. I was alone in the
building. It's my own business,’ he explained to Casey, ‘so naturally I have my
own key to get in and catch up on the work when it warrants it. I was there up
till about eleven o'clock Friday night. I had some work I wanted to have
cleared for a meeting on Monday so I could leave the weekend free.’