Faraday 01 The Gigabyte Detective (27 page)

“Well, actually I would,” beamed Annie. “Of course, Mrs Hillman didn’t ask her for any references or anything like that when she came - it might have saved us all a lot of trouble if she had. But she was probably too drunk at the time.” She sighed. “Anyway, later on, when we heard she’d been sacked by Mrs Adams, Mrs H started asking a few questions around. It turned out that she’d already been sacked by her previous lady.” She shook her head. “Obviously she was a bad penny.”

“So who was that?” asked Charlotte innocently. “It wouldn’t be Joanne de Billiere, by any chance, would it?”

“Who?”

“She was the wife of a businessman called Alfred de Billiere,” she explained.

“Never heard of him. No, it wasn’t that lady.” Annie shook her head. “No. It was that actress lady - the one who had the lead in the Connaught series on the television.” She smiled at the memory. “Oh - she was so beautiful in that series. Didn’t you think so?”

Charlotte put her head on one side. “The Connaught series? I don’t think I remember it. When was that on?”

“Oh, dear.” Annie gave a vague shake of the head. “I suppose it must have been twenty years ago when I think about it. Doesn’t it make you feel old when you remember something that others can’t? Oh, but it was a beautiful series.” She smiled sentimentally and looked into the distance.

“What was the name of this actress, Annie?”

The cook looked at her in surprise. “Why - Susannah Blake. of course. Didn’t I say that?”

“Susannah Blake? I’m afraid I’ve never heard of her.” Charlotte took a breath. “Does she live in Torquay?”

“Well, she used to, my dear,” said the older woman. “It was up above Hope’s Nose somewhere - one of them big, posh, modern houses with lovely views and swimming pools in the garden.” She pulled a face. “But I don’t know if she’s still there.”

Charlotte nodded in a purposeful way. “I think that I’d better try and have a word with Susannah Blake. She may be important. I’ll be able to check where she lives on the electoral role.”

“Of course, Susannah Blake’s only her stage name. I forget the name of her husband.” Annie put her hand to her forehead. “Now - I wonder who would know her married name.”

“Oh, my god, another problem,” said Charlotte. “I’m going to have to get in touch with Inspector Paulson. Maybe he would know something like that. Anyway, at least she’s got a husband around to look after her.” She held out her hand. “Well, thanks a lot, Annie. You’ve been a great help again.”

* * * * * * * *

Julian was still waiting for her in the car outside. “Any luck?” he asked.

“I just think,” said Charlotte, “that I might have found out the name of our next victim. Annie Stapleton, Mr Hillman’s cook, has just confirmed that Sandra Harris worked for Julia Hillman as well as Stella Parsons. More than that - she went on from Hillmans to work for Cynthia Adams.”

“Blimey,” he agreed, “that is interesting. That’s got to be more than simple coincidence, don’t you agree.”

She nodded. “We’ve got to assume that. What is more, she came to work for the Hillmans from another woman who’d given her the sack - a Susannah Blake.”

“Really? The Susannah Blake?”

“Do you know her?”

“I know of her.” He let the car in gear and pulled smoothly away. “She’s well-known round here. She’s been asked to open garden fetes and church bazaars from time to time - you know the sort of thing. I haven’t seen much of her recently though. I suppose she’s faded from everyone’s mind by now. I don’t think she’s acted for a long time - didn’t need to after she’d married her rich businessman.”

“Nevertheless, I’d like to have a chat with her. I think there’s a chance she may be in some danger.” Charlotte regarded him with interest. “Since you know about her, you wouldn’t by any chance know where she lives, would you?”

“Of course I would,” he said. “She and her husband have a flashy house less than a mile from here.”

“You know the place?”

“I make it my business to know things like that about the noteworthy people in the area. I’ll take you there after I’ve bought you some lunch.”

“Shouldn’t we go there before lunch? I need to warn she and her husband that they should take some precautions.”

“It can’t be that urgent.” He grinned. “My stomach tells me it’s getting late already. Another half an hour and they’ll have stopped serving food.” He headed for Babbacombe. “Meanwhile you can tell me why, after getting me to write a detraction from my previous article, you now seem disposed to think it was all true after all.”

“I don’t really think your article was correct,” she demurred. “It’s all too far-fetched to be believable. On the other hand I’ve got to admit, that what I’ve learned this morning, points to the fact that this Susannah Blake woman may possibly be in some kind of danger. I feel it’s my duty to talk to her and warn her of this. On the other hand,” she smiled at him in a maternal way, “I think it’s likely a logical explanation will be forthcoming.”

“We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?” Julian pulled into the car park of a pub with tables spread out on the grass under the trees. Several were still empty. “Meanwhile let’s get our priorities right and look after our stomachs.”

-
8. Saturday Afternoon
-

It was after two o’clock by the time Stafford Paulson got to the police station. He went up to his office and found it empty. He was pleased with himself for remembering to put his smart new mobile into its docking station to recharge the batteries. Then he turned his attention to the computer. He had to get all the information he could from the fearsome machine to provide him with support for his dream-like hunch.

He had half-expected DCI Faraday to be there but she’d obviously had enough for one weekend. Now he’d have to find out how to work the computer by himself. Luckily she had left them some written instructions explaining the steps you went through to enter and obtain information.

He looked suspiciously at the machine, lying there, silent and menacing. Well, he decided, there was nothing else but to have a go. Taking a deep breath, he picked up the instructions and approached the equipment hesitantly.

He pressed the button which switched the computer on and watched while the screen glowed and came to life. For a few brief seconds it seemed to talk to itself - rows of words flashed across it. Brightly coloured pictures jumped out and announced what it was doing. But before he could respond, it had rushed on to the next task. Finally it settled down and there was a box asking him to enter the security code.

He knew that, so he tapped it in and pressed enter. Now he had to start using the programme. First he had to select the interviewee he had in mind. He tapped in the name. In response, a page by page summary of all the computer knew about the person was displayed on the screen. Stafford had forgotten just how much information they already had on everyone in the case.

Once he had finished reminding himself of what they already knew, it was time for him to try out the “What if?” theory he had in mind. Within a few seconds the computer had come up with a string of questions which had to be answered before there was any chance of his theory being proved. He read through the list carefully. Most of the information needed would have to come from the person himself or from someone close to him.

Paulson sighed. Oh well, he might as well get along there and start asking the questions. His Saturday afternoon off had already been ruined, so at least he wouldn’t be wasting anyone else’s time but his own. He just had to hope that the person would be there to do the answering. He pressed the button which said “Print list” and watched the twelve closely typed sheets of paper spew out of the printer. Then he closed down the computer, folded the sheets up, put them in his pocket, and made his way to the car. He was so intent on his quest that he forgot his mobile which he left recharging the batteries.

* * * * * * * *

Susannah Blake’s house was protected by a high wall over-topped by a bushy, partly trimmed hedge. A pair of ornate iron gates, hung from substantial stone piers, were firmly shut and locked. From the top of one of the massive stone gateposts a video-camera gazed down unblinkingly at them.

Charlotte climbed out of the car and crossed to the other gatepost where a small grille was mounted. She pressed the button below the grille and waited, watching the video-camera. Her open wallet containing her warrant card was in her hand. Nothing happened for what seemed a long time. After a few minutes she pressed again.

She was rewarded by seeing the camera move slightly. She held up the warrant card with its face towards the camera and fancied she could see the lens revolving as it focused on the small square of plastic. A disembodied burst of static came from the grille in the gatepost and a woman’s voice said, “Who is it?”

“I’m Detective Chief Inspector Faraday. I’d like to speak to Susannah Blake.”

There was a long pause. Then the voice said, a trifle unwillingly, “I’ll open the gate for you to drive in. If you drive up to the house I’ll meet you at the front door.”

Charlotte returned to the car. Already the gates were opening. Julian drove up the short drive between the clumps of cypresses and stopped behind a white BMW four-wheel drive.

“Nice car,” he said conversationally.

The front door opened and an elegant woman stood there From this distance she appeared to be of an indeterminate age - somewhere between thirty and fifty - although Julian had told her that Susannah Blake was actually older than that. She was wearing a see-through bathing robe over the top of a sensible bikini. It seemed as though they had disturbed her in the middle of some serious sun-worshipping.

“Do you mind waiting here, Julian?” asked Charlotte. “Somehow I don’t think I’ll be long.”

“OK.” He reclined his seat a little and wound down his window while the detective got out and crossed to meet the star.

“Susannah Blake?”

The other woman smiled politely and nodded.

“I shan’t take up a lot of your time,” said Charlotte, feeling at a disadvantage, being two steps below this small but statuesquely famous actress from the past. “We’re investigating another matter and it appears that one of the people who have come to light in our investigations may have been employed by you some years ago. I just want to check up with you about her.”

Susannah looked suspicious. “I suppose you had better come in,” she said reluctantly.

Charlotte followed her into a cool, rather bleak hall. There was a rich rug in the middle of a light-coloured, polished strip-wood floor. Dark oak panelled walls glowed in the light from the glass front door which had whispered shut behind her. She was led into a small study just off the hall. On a large desk at one side of the room stood the video screen, still showing a picture of the area outside the front gates. Suddenly it switched to a view across a terrace, presumably at the rear of the house. In the distance was the sea far below. Two loungers were facing away from the camera towards an outdoor swimming pool. There were small tables beside the loungers with tall glasses of drink upon each of them.

Susannah crossed quickly to the desk and switched off the screen. She turned back to face the detective. Charlotte fancied the other woman’s cheeks had flushed a little. Or perhaps it was simply that she needed a further application of sun-block.

The star said, “please take a seat, inspector …”

“Faraday.” Charlotte chose a business-like chair facing the desk. “My enquiries concern somebody you used to employ here, Mrs Blake.” She paused helpfully. “Would you like your husband to be present while we have our chat?”

“Er - my husband is away.” She perched on the edge of the desk but avoided looking Charlotte in the eye. “And Susannah Blake is my stage name. My - er - my married name is Holdsworth.”

“Ah.” Faraday pursed her lips. “How would you like me to address you?”

“Most people seem to call me Susannah.”

“Very well, Susannah. Did you once employ a young woman called Sandra Harris?”

“Sandra Harris?” There was a sudden frightened look at the back of her eyes but she shook her head. “No. I have never employed anyone of that name.”

Charlotte was surprised. “Are you sure? Another person who employed her was quite certain that she had been employed by you, before she moved to them. Are you certain that you haven’t forgotten the name?”

“I have only had three cleaners working for me since I moved here. That was nearly ten years ago. I remember the names of them all,” she shook her head, “and none was called Sandra Harris.”

“That’s odd,” said Charlotte. “By the sound of it, I should expect that this woman would have left your employment at about the time you moved here.”

“Ah. Perhaps I can offer an explanation.” The actress seemed to have recovered her equanimity. “My husband and I were married just under ten years ago. This is a second marriage for both of us. He already owned this house before we married and moved down here. I believe he had someone working here, keeping the place in order, and he presumably discharged her when we came here to live. I never met her and I never asked her name - perhaps she was this Sandra Harris who you’re looking for.”

Charlotte considered the possibility. It seemed logical if a little far-fetched. “Perhaps that would explain it,” she agreed. “You said your husband isn’t here?”