Murder... Now and Then (2 page)

‘And what do you suppose is going on between Catherine and Max?' Geraldine said mischievously to Charles, not wanting the gossip to stop. ‘ You told me only yesterday that they were rock solid.'

Charles sighed. ‘Just because they seem to have had some sort of row does not mean their marriage is falling apart,' he said. ‘This must be difficult for them both.'

Geraldine glanced curiously at him. They usually both enjoyed a little domestic strife; they had none of their own.

‘The social outcasts returning to the fold?' said Zelda. ‘It wouldn't be happening at all if I had my way. It's Jimmy's business, and I don't want Max Scott running it.'

Charles glanced at her. ‘ Jimmy is dead, Zelda,' he said gently. Her husband had died years ago; Zelda had never quite got over his untimely end. ‘It isn't his business any more. It's Holyoak's. And Max has been helping you run it for years. Tim didn't want the job – you have to accept that.'

‘Tim has thrown away everything his rather worked for,' said Zelda. ‘But it didn't have to be Max. I
have
worked with Max for years, you're right. So I know him. I'm the personnel director in this brave new world – so why does my opinion of the personnel count for nothing?' She dropped her voice. ‘ I told Holyoak all about Max,' she said. ‘ He said it wasn't the company's concern.'

‘Zelda!' Charles closed his eyes briefly. ‘No one knows what happened to Valerie – you'll get done for slander one of these days.' He glanced round, but there was no one within earshot.

‘I'm not talking about what happened to Valerie,' said Zelda. ‘Of course Max had nothing to do with that. Max was doing something much more in character than murdering his wife, whatever the police thought.' She leant closer to Charles. ‘And
that's
what I warned Holyoak about. Because Max Scott can't keep his hands off women. He's been through the entire office staff. It wouldn't be so bad, but they still think he's God's gift even when they're handing in their notices ‘‘for personal reasons''. Well, I don't think someone like that should be running the business.'

‘He's changed, Zelda.'

‘He has not changed! He had to change when he married Catherine because no one would have anything to do with him then. But as soon as memories faded, he was at it again, Charles, make no mistake. And he's at it again now, whatever you think. But this time he'll come a cropper, if he's not careful.'

Geraldine had had to listen to this running argument for too long to be remotely interested. She looked round the room, at where Anna Worthing stood with one of the policemen, and caught the look that passed across the room between her and Catherine. For two people who barely knew one another, that look was definitely out of place. Zelda had no need to go to a monastery to find intrigue. The air was thick with it.

‘Anyway,' said Charles. ‘If you ask me Max is the right person to be running the business now that it's been expanded. He's been asked to do it, and he's agreed, that's all.'

‘The right person?' queried Zelda. ‘Someone who couldn't even keep his own business afloat? Someone who only stayed out of jail because a pregnant teenager gave him an alibi?'

Charles was shocked, as he was meant to be. Zelda had a nice line in shocking people, and despite their many years of friendship, it was Charles whom she could shock most regularly. And this long-delayed snippet of gossip certainly wasn't going to shock Geraldine, as Zelda well knew.

‘What on earth makes you think that Catherine was pregnant?' asked Charles.

‘I don't think it, I know.' Zelda glanced an apology at Geraldine, then looked back at Charles. ‘I thought you'd know all about it,' she said.

Charles shook his head, looking bewildered. ‘Why would I know?' he asked. ‘What happened to the baby?'

‘What do you suppose happened to it? You're a doctor, aren't you?'

Charles sighed. ‘Zelda, you're making this up – or you've got the wrong end of the stick.'

Zelda wasn't at all put out. ‘I know him,' she said calmly. ‘He specializes in vulnerable women – and to hell with the consequences.' She looked at Anna Worthing over Geraldine's shoulder. ‘And I can imagine who put in a good word for him with Holyoak,' she said. ‘She isn't exactly secure in her new job, is she? Right up Max's street.'

‘I don't deny what Max used to be like,' Charles said. ‘But he settled down with Catherine, and just because they seem to be having some sort of row, you jump to conclusions. Just like everyone has about Holyoak himself, come to that. He has a sick wife and an attractive female colleague, so they must be having an affair.'

‘An attractive female colleague that he only put on the payroll six months ago,' Zelda said drily. ‘But whose rent he's been paying for years in Holland.'

‘Rumour. You don't know that any of that's true.'

‘I know that she knows nothing at all about the job she's supposed to be doing. Holyoak must go through her lines with her every morning – you try asking her a question that isn't in the script and see what happens.'

‘Of course she's his mistress, Charles,' said Geraldine, turning once more to look at the object of his gossip. ‘ She doesn't have any background in this sort of work – she doesn't have any background at all, that anyone can find. How else would she get that sort of job? And it's only natural for the man to want female company.'

Charles looked up sharply. ‘It may be natural,' he said. ‘It's not obligatory.'

‘Oh, come off it!' said Zelda. ‘Men whose wives are perfectly capable of satisfying them look round for someone else – why in the world wouldn't he?'

‘Perhaps he meant it when he said he would take her in sickness and in health, and would forsake all others,' said Charles.

Geraldine shook her head in wonderment, and looked back at her husband. ‘Charles – has it never even crossed your mind to sleep with another woman?' she asked.

‘'No,' he said simply.

No. She thought not. Some women would have been reassured by that but Geraldine wasn't.

‘I think I'll go and see if Catherine's all right,' said Zelda, getting up from the table.

Charles waited until she was out of earshot before he spoke. ‘Why did Zelda think I'd know about Catherine's supposedly being pregnant?' he asked.

Geraldine couldn't see that it mattered now. ‘ She's forgotten we weren't in the same practice in those days,' she said. ‘She assumed you'd have known at the time.'

‘She really
was
pregnant?'

‘Yes. Three months. I arranged for a termination.'

‘Oh.'

One syllable. One syllable that said all the things that had been said too many times before. Catherine had had a baby, and had thrown it away.

‘You can't blame her, Gerry,' he said.

Yes she could.

‘She – was seventeen,' he said. ‘Max was under suspicion of murder.'

‘I heard all the good reasons at the time,' she said.

‘And agreed with them, or you wouldn't have arranged for the termination,' he said.

Oh, yes. She had agreed.

Judy Hill ran her hands through the short brown hair that she hadn't even had time to wash yet. Getting Lloyd ready for his big moment had been worse than trying to get a five-year-old ready to be a pageboy. She flopped down on Lloyd's big armchair, and smiled.

Election fever was at its pitch at this midpoint in the campaign; a minister of the Crown was in Stansfield to open what used to be Driver Security's big new factory, and Detective Chief Inspector Lloyd was hopefully now present at the opening ceremony, representing the chief super, who had been called away at the last moment. He had grumbled loudly about this extra burden, while secretly being tickled to death. Not about the honour of representing Stansfield's finest – Lloyd already knew he
was
Stansfield's finest – not about meeting a cabinet minister, for which breed he had no time at all, and certainly not about liaising, as he had had to do, with Special Branch, whose entire establishment he dismissed with a snort at every opportunity.

No. But Stansfield was a marginal seat and Stansfield was news. The TV cameras would be there, and Lloyd's only previous flirtation with the medium had been attended by technical gremlins. This time, if the viewing millions were to catch a glimpse of him, he would be at his best. Not that they were likely to interview him, but there was an outside chance that he would be seen, and he had been determined to look his best which preparations had included shaving twice – you could see the five o'clock shadow last time – and agonizing over which tie to wear. None of them, Judy had suggested, Lloyd's taste in ties being something that she did her best to overlook. In the end, he wore one that she had bought him.

Detective Sergeant Finch would be there too, watching out for would-be saboteurs; Judy had had to take a week's leave due to her, and had thus escaped Cabinet Minister duty, for which she was truly grateful. She was going to enjoy her solitude, as she headed across the tiny entrance hall to a little piece of heaven.

Lloyd's devastated bathroom might not have represented paradise to many people, but it did to Judy. Despite the damp towels and the splashes, the abandoned shaving gear, the opened bottles and the cold bath water in whose depths lurked the now squidgy soap, Lloyd's bathroom, unlike her own, had the inestimable advantage of efficient plumbing. By the time she had tidied up the mess, the water would be piping hot again, and she was going to make the most of it.

Zelda had joined Catherine, keeping up a running commentary on the others present but Catherine wasn't listening, and didn't even pretend that she was, as she watched the door, and the big gates across the compound. Zelda had tried hard to calm her down, but even her comforting, gossipy, undemanding presence had done nothing to make Catherine feel any less afraid, and her heart was hammering as Victor Holyoak's limousine drew up outside and its occupants got out. The glass doors, each with the discreet logo of a stylized oak tree, slid open automatically at their approach.

Blood pounded in her ears as she watched the group of people move from the front door through to the reception area, then turned to look at Max, her eyes fixed on his face as he saw Victor Holyoak for the first time. She watched his mouth falling open in disbelief; felt a dull pain in her chest as the tension became unbearable. Zelda's arm came round her as she asked what was wrong, but Catherine couldn't speak, couldn't even move, until Max finally tore his gaze away to look slowly back at her. The eye contact broke the spell, and she pulled free of Zelda, making for the rear of the building, pushing through the knots of people, running through the corridors to the fire exit. She could hear Zelda calling her name, then feet coming down the corridor.

But it wasn't Zelda's high heels. It was Max. Max, running after her, catching her up. She felt him grab her wrist as she pushed down the panic bar, and they tumbled out into the cool dampness of the April morning.

‘Oh, no, you don't,' he said, his voice just a whisper, as he dragged her round to face him. ‘What the hell's going on, Catherine?' He pushed her hard against the wall, knocking the breath from her body. ‘Answer me!' he shouted.

His face was white; he shook with anger. For the first time in her life, she was afraid of him, and she tried to struggle free from his one-fisted grip.

He pulled her back. ‘ Don't dare run away again,' he said, ‘ No wonder you didn't know how to tell me, you little—' He slapped her face hard in lieu of a word bad enough to call her.

She stared at him in shock. It was as if he had turned into someone else, not the man she had known and loved for fifteen years.

‘Tell me! He shook her. ‘What have you done?' His hand came down again and again, stinging against her face. ‘ Tell me!' he demanded over and over with each slap.

Catherine closed her eyes against the anger.

‘God help me,' Max shouted. ‘I'm getting the truth out of you if I have to beat you black and blue!'

‘That's what you think, mate,' said a voice.

Catherine opened her eyes to see a young man with fair curly hair striding towards them.

‘Are you all right, love?' he asked, as he arrived.

Catherine nodded briefly.

‘Who the hell are you?' Max demanded, still breathless, still holding on to her.

‘Detective Sergeant Finch, Stansfield CID.' Finch showed Max his ID. ‘Let's cool it mate – all right? Let the lady go.'

Max looked as though he might start on the policeman, but he swallowed hard, and let her go.

‘That's better,' said Finch. ‘Now – name and address.'

‘What the hell for?'

‘Because I'm asking you for it!' shouted Finch. ‘And if you refuse to give me it, I'll have you down the nick in no time flat – all right?'

‘Max Scott,' he said, through his teeth. ‘Seventeen Garrick Drive. This is my wife, and this is a private matter.'

‘Then maybe you should try talking about it, whatever it is.'

‘I can't very well do that with you standing there,' Max said, his voice still a low, almost whispered monotone.

Finch looked at Catherine, who nodded.

Finch backed off a little. ‘All right,' he said. ‘But I've warned you – keep your hands to yourself. And you call us if you need us, love,' he added to Catherine. He walked off, back to wherever he had come from.

As soon as he was out of sight, Max pushed her bodily through the open fire door back into the building, his anger unabated. ‘You and I are going back in there,' he said, his hands gripping her arms.

She shook her head.

‘Oh, yes,' he said. ‘We'll see this thing through. Then I'm getting you home.'