A Killing Resurrected (31 page)

‘Why Kevin Taylor?'

‘Because Kevin's always more or less looked out for Roger, though why he bothered I don't know. As far as I was concerned, what Corbett needed was a good boot up the backside; sympathy just made him worse. Anyway, I couldn't get Kevin, so I talked to Steph, and she persuaded me to go down there and get the man home. I wasn't keen, but the wife was nagging me to go as well, so I went. Soft as they come, is Amy.'

‘To where, exactly?'

‘The Unicorn. That's where he was calling from, but it turned out to be a waste of time, because Corbett wasn't there when I got there. They told me he'd been in, but he'd been gone for some time.'

‘What time would that be?' Tregalles asked.

Chadwell shrugged. ‘Five thirty or thereabouts,' he said. ‘I can't tell you exactly.'

Tregalles consulted his notebook. ‘And yet your call to the Taylors ended at eighteen minutes past four. That's a gap of an hour or more. Can you explain that?'

Clearly annoyed by the question, Chadwell said, ‘I had work to do. Work I had brought home to prepare for a council meeting that evening, and I didn't see why I should just up and leave it and put myself out for a man who was drunk and wallowing in self-pity.'

‘I see.' Tregalles closed his notebook and put it in his pocket. ‘And then what?' he asked. ‘What did you do when you found that Mr Corbett had left the Unicorn?'

‘Went back home, of course,' Chadwell told him. ‘Barely had time for dinner, such as it was, before I had to be back here in time for the weekly council meeting at seven.'

‘And your wife will confirm all this, I suppose?' said Tregalles as he got to his feet.

Chadwell bridled. ‘Why do you need to talk to her?' he demanded. ‘Isn't my word good enough? It's obvious you have the times of the phone calls, so what is there to verify?'

‘Verification is for your benefit as well as ours,' Tregalles told him, ‘and I just have a couple of questions before I go. Would you mind telling me how tall you are, sir?'

The man frowned. ‘Five eleven,' he said cautiously.

‘And what kind of car do you drive?'

‘A Jetta diesel, although I don't see—'

‘Colour?'

‘Oh, for God's sake,' Chadwell snapped, ‘it's black! Though God knows what that has to do with anything. Please close the door on your way out.'

‘Of course,' Tregalles said amiably as he stood up. ‘And thank you for your cooperation, sir.'

Sitting in the car a few minutes later, with his jacket off and the doors open to allow what little breeze there was to flow through, Tregalles consulted his notebook, then punched in Chadwell's home number. It rang five times before the answering machine cut in and a gentle voice with a distinct Welsh flavour asked him to leave a message.

No doubt that would be Amy Chadwell, Tregalles thought, recalling that, according to the information Paget had gleaned from his talk with Claire Hammond, Amy Chadwell hailed from Cardiff.

He didn't leave a message. Instead, he rang the next number on his short list, and Stephanie Taylor answered. He identified himself, and as soon as he told her he would like to talk to her about Roger Corbett, she told him to come ahead. ‘Any time,' she said. ‘I shall be here until at least three this afternoon. Although I'm not sure how much help I can be; my husband knew Roger much better than I did, but I'll be happy to talk to you if you think it worthwhile.'

‘I do,' Tregalles told her, ‘and I'll be there shortly.'

Nice voice, Tregalles thought as he put the phone down and started the car. Intriguing and just a little bit sultry. He was looking forward to meeting Stephanie Taylor; even Molly had said she was a good-looking woman, and she'd practic-ally raved about the house and grounds.

Nor was he disappointed with either when Stephanie Taylor greeted him at the door, then led him through the house to the terrace at the back. Molly had described it so well, he almost felt he'd been there before. As for the lady of the house herself, Tregalles found it hard to keep his eyes from lingering on her trim figure and long, suntanned legs.

‘I thought you might like some iced tea,' she said as she picked up the jug. ‘I can offer you a cold beer if you'd rather, but I suppose that's against the rules, isn't it?'

‘Afraid so, Mrs Taylor,' he said regretfully. ‘Iced tea will be fine, thank you.' He nodded in the direction of what looked like a small desk, complete with laptop and phone beside Stephanie's chair. ‘Do you actually
work
out here?' he asked.

Stephanie smiled. ‘Oh, yes – at least on days like this I do. It's on wheels, so we can use it anywhere out here.' She moved the desk back and forth to demonstrate. ‘But I'm sure that's not what you came to talk about, is it Sergeant? Something to do with poor Roger's death, you said? I still find it hard to believe that anyone would
murder
Roger. Are you quite sure it wasn't an accident?'

‘You're the second one to ask me that question,' he said, ‘but, yes, that is what the evidence is telling us.'

Stephanie shrugged as she shook her head. ‘I suppose you must be right,' she said, ‘but I still find it hard to believe. Roger of all people!'

Tregalles set his glass aside. ‘I believe you received a phone call from John Chadwell after he'd received a call from Mr Corbett last Tuesday afternoon. Is that right, Mrs Taylor?'

‘That's right. He wanted to talk to Kevin, but Kevin wasn't here, so he told me that Roger had rung him from a pub in town, saying he was convinced that the police thought he had been involved in the robbery and the killing of Kevin's father.' Stephanie wrinkled her nose. ‘True to form, John said he'd told Roger not to be such a damned fool, and to get a taxi and go home and sleep it off. But after hanging up, he began to have second thoughts, so, as I said, he phoned here to talk to Kevin.'

Stephanie sipped her drink, then set it aside. ‘I reminded John that Lisa was away, so there would be no one at home, and said I thought someone should go down there and make sure that Roger got home safely. I didn't want to go myself, because Roger could be a bit of a handful and quite belligerent when he was drunk, and I didn't fancy trying to get him home on my own, so I persuaded John to go down there instead. He grumbled a bit, but finally agreed to go.

‘But Roger had left by the time he got there, so John assumed that Roger had taken his advice and taken a taxi home. Unfortunately, John was pressed for time himself. He said he had to be at a council meeting that evening, so he went home. At least that's what he told Kevin when he rang later that night.'

‘Do you happen to remember what time it was when Mr Chadwell called you that afternoon?' Tregalles asked.

‘I do, as a matter of fact,' Stephanie said. ‘I'd been working in the garden, and I knew I had to be in by four if I was to get everything done before our guests arrived that evening, and John's phone call came a few minutes after that. Say five to ten past four, Sergeant.' She smiled sweetly. ‘But then, I think you knew that already, didn't you, Sergeant?'

‘You said your husband wasn't home when Mr Chadwell rang,' Tregalles said, ignoring the question, ‘and we know that he wasn't in his office when Mr Corbett tried to reach him there, so can you tell me where he was, Mrs Taylor?'

‘In Ludlow,' Stephanie said. ‘The firm has an office there, and Kevin spends quite a bit of his time there. And before you ask, I should tell you that he sometimes switches off his mobile if he doesn't want to be disturbed, and he had it off that day.'

‘What time did he get home?'

‘Shortly after six,' she said, ‘but—'

‘Did either of you go out again that evening?'

‘Not that evening, no, because we were having friends in, but I did go out about five to pick up some wine and one or two other things for our guests. I can give you their names if you wish?'

‘No need for that, I'm sure, Mrs Taylor,' Tregalles said as he pushed his chair back and stood up. ‘But I will leave you my card, and you might ask your husband to call me at that number to confirm where he was last Tuesday afternoon.'

T
he sign on the door said Closed, but the door opened when Claire turned the handle and pushed hard on it. The old bell above the door rattled asthmatically, sounding as if it were in its death throes as she stepped inside.

‘Saw you through the window, standing there looking lost,' she told David Taylor. ‘What on earth is going on? It looks as if you've dumped all your stock on the floor. And all these cardboard boxes – are you moving out already? I thought you said the closing down sale would be on till the end of the month. What happened?'

‘Trying to decide what to keep out of this lot,' he told her. ‘As for the closing down sale, I've made a deal with The Paint Pot in the shopping centre to take the lot. They made me an offer on the weekend – not much of one, but then I've only got a week to get rid of everything, and the way sales have been going I'd never have made it. Anyway, I rang them back yesterday and told them I'd take it. They're getting the best of the bargain by far, but I'm just glad to have it settled. Now, as I said, it's just a matter of picking out a few things I want to keep, then packing up the rest.'

‘What about the apartment upstairs?'

‘Oh, I'm out of that at the end of the month as well. In fact I wouldn't be surprised if that hasn't been let already.'

‘So what are your plans?'

He shrugged. ‘Kev said I can stay with them until I sort something out, but meanwhile I have to find somewhere to store my stuff. Kev's got a big garage, but I doubt if either of them would be best pleased to have this sort of stuff cluttering up the place. You know how neat those two are.'

‘Then why not bring it over to Aunt Jane's house?' The invitation was out before she realized what she was saying. But in for a penny . . . ‘You can stay there as well,' she continued recklessly. ‘I'm planning to move there myself when the lease on the flat expires later this year, but it will be sitting vacant until then. I don't fancy the idea of letting it out, so you would be doing me a favour if you'd like to move in – at least until then. In fact, you could set up your studio in the conservatory. What do you say?'

David hesitated. ‘It's not that I don't appreciate the offer, Claire,' he said at last, ‘but I have to be honest with you. By the time I've cleared all my debts, I'll be left with just about enough to feed and clothe myself, which leaves me virtually nothing for rent, and I couldn't do that to you. There are still things like the rates to pay and the upkeep of the place. It wouldn't be right.'

Claire shook her head. ‘You leave the rates and things like that to me,' she said. ‘But as I said, I really would like to have someone living there, and I'd rather have someone in there I know I can trust. So let's say I'm hiring you as a live-in caretaker. You look after the place for me, and I'll let you stay there rent free. How does that sound?'

David Taylor picked his way through boxes containing what was left of his business to stand in front of Claire. ‘You really are a lifesaver, Claire, and a wonderful friend,' he said with feeling. ‘I could kiss you for this.'

Then, why don't you, for heaven's sake? Claire said to herself as he pulled her to him and gave her a hug.

Slumped down in his seat in the van in the hospital car park, Al Jessop looked at his watch for perhaps the tenth time in the past five minutes. Still another ten minutes to go before visiting hours began. He was anxious to get going, but was forcing himself to wait so he could mingle with the rest of the visitors going in at two o'clock, because the last thing he wanted to do was attract attention.

By five minutes to two, people were beginning to leave their cars and make their way into the hospital. Jessop waited a couple of minutes more, then joined them. Up the steps to the main door, into the rotunda, left down the corridor to the lifts. Head down, hands stuffed in his pockets, he stood at the back of the group waiting for one of the lifts to arrive.

The white light went on and the bell sounded softly as the doors opened. The people in front of Jessop pressed forward, barely allowing those in the lift enough room to get out. Jessop started to move with them, then slid to one side as two uniformed policemen pushed their way through. They passed within inches of him, but were too intent on their conversation to pay any attention to him. Even so, he had left it too late, and the doors closed.

He joined the throng at the next door and managed to get in without any trouble. ‘Four,' he muttered when a woman closest to the door asked who wanted which floor. Fourth floor. That would be the one Sharon was on, he was quite sure. He'd been in and out of this hospital a few times himself, so he knew the structure of the wards. The next question was one that had dogged him ever since yesterday, and that was, would she be guarded?

Chances were she wouldn't be, he told himself. He couldn't see the cops spending time and money guarding someone like Sharon. One of the conditions of bail was that he stay away from his wife or bail would be revoked. That's what the magistrate had said. He snickered to himself as he got out of the lift. Silly old fart. Did he really think that was going to stop him?

They were too busy at the nursing station to be paying any attention to the visitors streaming to the various rooms. Jessop looked right and left. The hall to the left was the shortest, so he tried that first. The doors to the rooms were open, so all it took was a quick look inside as he made his way to the end. No luck there, so he made his way back and tried the other end.

And there she was; fifth room down on the right-hand side. Room 428. Single room, no sign of any security. That was handy – but it wasn't like the NHS to give a private room to someone like Sharon,
so
how the hell had she wangled that?
He carried on walking, turned at the end and made his way back