Faraday 01 The Gigabyte Detective (19 page)

“Where would Mr Hillman and Mrs Adams be while he was showing Mrs Hillman the roses.”

The old boy peered at her with a baffled expression on his face. “Like as not they’d be there as well,” he said. “Lots of people looked at the roses. I told ‘e, they was the finest roses in Torquay. ‘Course they’ve all gone now.”

Charlotte gave up and went back to the list. She decided to give it to Stafford Paulson to see if any of the names meant anything to him. She skimmed it through again. She could still find nothing of interest. Then - only about three entries from the bottom, she came across another line which intrigued her - ‘husband of maid what committed suicide’. That was all.

“Another suicide?” she said out loud and pointed at the entry. “Here Stan - what is this?”

The old man came and peered at the place indicated. “Husband of maid what committed suicide,” he read and looked up at his wife. “The missus told me to put that down. Come and look at this, Em.”

Mrs Burrows came and looked at the entry. “That’s right,” she said. “He was her husband. He came several times just after her death. I think he was making a fuss because Mr Adams had given her the sack for stealing something.”

“Is that why she committed suicide?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I think she was in some other sort of trouble. But the man - he came here several times at about the time she done it.”

“When was that?”

“Oh I don’t know.” She looked at her husband. “It must ‘ave been several years ago.”

“I reckon it were ten year ago,” he piped.

“Don’t be daft, Stan,” she remonstrated. “It weren’t nearly as long as that.”

“Ten year if it were a day,” he repeated.

Charlotte interrupted an argument she imagined might go on for hours. “And you can’t remember his name?” she asked.

“No,” said Stan.

“I never knew ‘is name,” said Emily. “I can remember ‘er first name, but not ‘er second name.”

“And what was her first name?” asked Charlotte.

“Sandra,” said the old woman. “She were Mrs Adams personal maid and she were only ‘ere a few months. So I don’t remember her second name. But ‘er first name was Sandra.”

That was all the information Charlotte could get out of them. She drove back to the station in the early evening light. After scanning the list on to the computer she handed it over to DI Paulson to see what he could make of it.

-
6.Friday
-

Susannah was getting ready on Friday morning when the phone rang. It was Stephen.

“Darling, I’m sorry but I shan’t be able to get home this weekend. I’ve got to go to Munich to tie up some deal. Do you mind?”

“No, that’s all right” she said, her heart bounding. “I quite understand. Business must come first.”

“I’m dreadfully sorry, but this thing came up at the last minute. You’re not too annoyed, are you?” Was she suddenly becoming suspicious or were his excuses a little too effusive? “You see, I’ve already promised to visit George and Stephanie the following weekend. So that means I won’t have been home for nearly four weeks.”

She put on her light, bantering tone. “That’s all right, darling. I’ll make sure I look at your photo every night so that I won’t forget what you look like.”

“I feel dreadful,” he said. “Would you like to fly over and join me in Munich? I’ll be out during the day, but we could see each other in the evenings.”

“Don’t be silly, Stephen,” she laughed. “That would cause such a lot of trouble. In any case, I wasn’t very impressed by Munich last time I was there. You go and have your business weekend and ring me when you get back to tell me how it all went.”

“Of course I will,” he promised. “Are you all right?”

“Yes - I’m having a very relaxing time. The weather’s been beautiful recently and you know how I like to soak up the sun.” She was damned if she was going to tell him what she had been doing for the last few days.

“Well, make sure you don’t over-do it, darling,” he said. “I don’t want you suffering from sun-stroke or anything.”

“Stephen! Don’t be silly.”

“All right. Take care of yourself, darling. Goodbye.”

“And you do the same. Bye.”

He rang off.

Susannah crossed back to her dressing table and sat down again in front of the mirror. Her heart was heaving with excitement. She and Richard had enjoyed a lovely evening together last night. They were planning to spend today exploring some more. But they had known Friday would be their last day together. She had expected not to see him over the weekend. And some time early next week he would be returning to London. It was quite possible that they would never see each other again.

However, now they could meet over the weekend. More - she hardly dared admit what she was thinking - for two days there would be nobody except herself in the house, for Mrs Harding only came in to clean during the week. What might happen this weekend? She felt a huge, bursting buzz of excitement - as intense as she used to get when she realised she had landed an important new part.

She hummed to herself as she shampooed and blow-dried her hair. She chose to put on her most luxurious under-clothes. She decided to wear the little yellow sun-dress with nothing but two thin straps to hold it up. That would make Richard take notice of her. She knew he found her figure attractive, even though she was several years older than him. When they had kissed in the car park last night, before her lonely drive home, he had cupped his hand under her left breast for a second, which had produced an aching sensation in the pit of her stomach, like nothing she had felt since she was young.

She looked at her appearance critically in the mirror. She had taken care of her body over the last ten years. There had been little else for her to do. She had fed correctly and modestly. Her consumption of alcohol had been strictly controlled and she had given up smoking. She knew she was in good condition for a woman of fifty-two. Her figure was still slim and shapely - with just a little bit of help from her expensive under-clothes. Her skin was smooth and clear and luminous. Her hair was soft and full and shiny.

She snorted. Stephen took all this for granted. He was hardly ever here to see it and, when he did condescend to come, he didn’t bother to compliment her any more. Richard, on the other hand, never ceased to say nice things to her. He obviously found her attractive and pretty and - she might as well admit it - plain sexy. She could tell that, by the way he looked at her and by the admiring comments he made. When she was with him she felt as though she was the centre of his world. Why shouldn’t she encourage him just a little?

She had never yet been unfaithful to Stephen, but did she owe fidelity to a man who didn’t bother to come and see her for the best part of a month? In any case, as Moira had suggested, he was probably carrying on with some pneumatic little secretary in the office. That was the most likely explanation of what he was really doing this weekend. She wished now that she had asked him the name of his hotel. A well-timed phone call might have caught him out. An ageing man like Stephen would probably be anxious to prove himself with some bouncy young thing. It would be easy for him, with his wealth and power and position, to find himself an impressionable youngster who would make him believe he was still a great lover. And she had to admit that he was still very handsome and suave in a Nordic kind of way.

She shook her head. Even if it wasn’t another woman, he was still being unfaithful to her in another way. Obviously he was getting more pleasure from his work and his wheeler-dealing and his golf and meeting with his old friends, than he did from spending the weekend quietly with her. Things had changed from the early days, when he used to rush back every Friday afternoon and delay his departure until the early hours of Monday morning, so as to be with her as much as possible. She decided that Stephen was now taking her far too much for granted. He really didn’t deserve her.

She reached out and selected her most expensive day-time scent - light and flowery and enticing. She sprayed it lightly behind her ears, then pulled forward the front of her dress and deposited a substantial amount down her cleavage. She stood up and crossed to the wardrobe where she kept her shoes. She selected a pair of light sandals with unnecessarily high heels. From the back of the door she took a light, cinnamon-coloured, chiffon scarf which she knotted round her neck, leaving the ends to trail over her shoulder where they wouldn’t impede the view of the top of her breasts.

Then she straightened up, nodded to herself in the mirror and made for the front door on her way to the car. Watch out Mr Richard Harris!

* * * * * * * *

DCI Faraday tossed the questionnaire onto Greg Mallinson’s desk. “What on earth is this?” she asked. There was contempt in her voice.

“It’s the answers to the questions you asked me to get.” His impudent grin was more like a sneer.

“There were twelve questions on the list,” she accused. “You’ve answered seven with ‘Can’t remember’, two with ‘Don’t know’ and only three have any sort of answer at all. Did you actually go to meet the man?”

“Of course I did,” Mallinson protested half-heartedly. “But Mariella Prince’s death occurred four years ago. You can’t expect old Farmer to remember much after all this time.”

Charlotte snorted. “That’s rubbish. You’ve just wasted everyone’s time, including your own. I could have got more information than this from a five-minute phone call.”

Greg Mallinson decided to stand up for himself. “Well, perhaps you should have done that, instead of dragging me off other important work to chase up some four-year-old rubbish just to satisfy a computer. Then I could have concentrated on doing something useful.”

“If the normal standard of your investigation is up to the level of this,” she indicated the piece of paper, “then you wouldn’t have been doing anything useful for anybody.”

Mallinson squared up to her. “Well ma’am, I’m not a damned cipher. I like to think for myself, instead of doing what a computer tells me.”

“Sergeant Mallinson.” Charlotte forced herself to take a deep breath. “The list of questions produced by the computer is not a substitute for thinking. You are supposed to read through the list and decide how to set about your questioning in the best way to get the maximum information out of the person being questioned, without forgetting things and avoiding the need to go back again later. Far from wasting your time, it helps you to save your precious time and cover far more ground with less wasted effort. If you had tried to do the job properly you would have found that out.”

“It still wouldn’t have helped me with my other jobs, would it?” he mumbled grudgingly.

“There’s no reason why not,” she said. “In a few days we have already covered more ground on the Adams case than the section had managed to cover in the last year. I expect to complete all our main enquiries in less than a week. I will then be able to complete the matter virtually on my own. And after that I can make computer time available to help you with other enquiries, if you want it. Although I expect you’re too much of a Luddite to see the potential.”

Mallinson was on a short fuse. “Well, I don’t see why we should be told to go round jumping through hoops by a bloody -“

“That’s enough,” Paulson roared from the doorway, where he’d been waiting unnoticed. The suddenness of the attack silenced the sergeant. Stafford Paulson advanced on the man. “There is no excuse for swearing at anybody. And if you’ve got any sense, Greg, you’ll shut your trap right now, before you put both your other feet in it.”

Greg Mallinson’s mouth opened and shut. All he managed was a grudging, “Yes, sir.”

“Now,” said the inspector, “you’d better go back to this solicitor chap and ask your questions all over again, and this time make sure he answers each one fully.”

“No.” Charlotte’s eyes were blazing. “I intend to go back to Mr Farmer myself and ask the questions. I will take Sergeant Mallinson with me so that he can find out the correct way to do it.” She turned and went back to her desk and picked up the phone. A few minutes later she was talking to the solicitor.

“Mr Farmer. This is DCI Faraday from the local CID. Sergeant Mallinson interviewed you yesterday. Unfortunately we need more information than you gave him. I’d like to come round now and fill in the gaps. It will only take quarter of an hour.” She listened to Farmer’s protest. “Well, I agree it would have saved everybody a lot of time if you had provided us with all the information yesterday afternoon. That’s why I would like you to look out the will of Mariella Prince’s father and briefly update yourself on its main contents before we arrive.”

There was a further burst of speech from the other end of the phone. Charlotte looked at her watch. “Don’t worry, Mr Farmer, we’ll be round at nine-thirty. As long as you’re well-prepared, we shall be finished by ten. That will give you plenty of time to make your court appearance at noon, won’t it?”

She paused long enough to hear his reluctant agreement, then added, “By the way, did you also draw up the trust deed for Henry Adams.” She smiled humourlessly and nodded. “Well, perhaps you’ll also check that one. If you did, you can have a copy available for me to inspect at the same time. Thank you for your help, Mr Farmer. I’ll see you at nine-thirty.”

Charlotte put down the phone and looked round. Mallinson had gone. She crossed to the door to the general office. “We’re leaving at twenty past nine,” she said to the sergeant. “Make sure you’ve read right through the questionnaire again before we go.”