Murder in the Cotswolds (11 page)

Linda’s expression changed to relief. “Okay, I’ll tell him you’re here.”

Kate waited in the hall while she vanished into the drawing room, shutting the door behind her. Above the large stone fireplace hung a portrait in a heavy gilt frame. The man was wearing a modern lounge suit. Stepping forward to read the inscription plate, Kate confirmed that it was Sir Peter Stedham, Belle Latimer’s father. She studied the aloof, aristocratic face, trying to judge whether he was a man who would cheat local farmers out of their land in order to enlarge his estate. Maybe. Maybe not. Any big landowner probably needed a streak of hardness. Like Belle.

Linda reappeared. “He’ll be with you in half a mo,” she said, and vanished again through a green baize door behind the stairs.

The half a mo was all of three minutes, then Matthew Latimer emerged. He’d been drinking, had been drinking steadily, from the look of him, since the death of his wife. For one reason or another.

“Good morning, Chief Inspector. Sorry to have, er ... to have kept you waiting. I was just ...”

Fortifying himself with another stiff peg? Bracing himself? Nerving himself to lie convincingly?

“Good morning, Mr. Latimer. I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes, please.”

“Yes ... yes, certainly. Certainly.”

In the drawing room, he waved Kate into a chair. “Er ... may I offer you a drink?”

“No, thank you.”

Latimer gave the wet bar a longing glance. “I think perhaps ...”

“Please go ahead,” said Kate. It wasn’t her business to tell him that he’d had enough already. She waited until he was seated, a tumbler of whisky in his hand. “I thought you should know that Mrs. Sissington has been interviewed, and she confirms what you told us about Tuesday night.”

He looked embarrassed. A man caught with his pants down had every right to look embarrassed. Or was he acting embarrassed?

Kate went straight on to her first question. A question she’d have liked to duck out of asking, because she dreaded what the answer might be.

“Mr. Latimer, what was your wife’s relationship with Mr. Richard Gower?”

“Gower? Someone told me that it was his car that ... that ran Belle down. But I can’t believe it. It just doesn’t make any sense. Why should Gower have wanted to kill my wife?”

“It’s quite true it was his car that was involved. There’s no doubt whatever about that.”

“Then you think it must have been him?”

“Not necessarily. Somebody else could have used the car. Mr. Gower claims he was at home the whole evening, and that he’d left his car parked outside in Duck Lane. It’s within the realm of possibility that someone ‘borrowed’ it for the killing. So far, you see, we haven’t discovered any motive ... any reason why Richard Gower should want your wife dead.” Kate took a deep breath. “Is it possible, do you think, that he and Mrs. Latimer had been having an affair? And then they quarrelled, perhaps?”

“An affair? Oh no, that’s out of the question. Belle ... she wasn’t like that.”

“Richard Gower is an attractive man. Perhaps she fell in love with him. It happens, you know.”

“Not to Belle. My wife, Chief Inspector, was a woman with very definite ideas about what is right and proper.” He seemed, (or was she imagining it?) to shudder inwardly. Had his wife discovered about his extra-marital activities in London and read him the riot act? Somehow it seemed unlikely, or would Latimer have been allowed to go to London this last time? But if Belle
hadn’t
known, why had she suddenly changed her will?

Kate’s mind swung back, was pulled back, to Richard Gower. A love affair with Belle Latimer that had gone wrong was only one possibility as a motive for murder. Another was that he’d killed her in collusion with some other person - for, most likely, financial gain. And that other person would have to be the husband who’d expected her to inherit (or just possibly the cousin who had now
inherited).

Before Kate could frame a question to explore this angle, Latimer began to shake his head from side to side. He was frowning, looking deeply perplexed.

“Difficult as it is for me to believe what you’ve suggested,” he said slowly, “I suppose it is a possibility.”

Kate chilled. “You think so?”

“Not really, but ... I thought I understood my wife. I thought I knew her. But the truth is I didn’t know Belle at all. I’ve suddenly discovered that she was capable of the most appalling cruelty.”

“Cruelty?”

“I, er ... I had a visit from my wife’s solicitor yesterday.” So Baxter had changed his mind about waiting till after the funeral to deliver his bombshell. Or maybe Latimer had chased him to find out exactly how much he stood to inherit. “He told me that, quite recently, Belle had completely changed her will. I am to get nothing apparently ... well, virtually nothing. A small income only ... one that is scarcely adequate for a man in my position. All the rest—the house, the land, everything—goes to a cousin of hers living in Kenya. Think of it, Chief Inspector ... to disinherit her husband in favour of a relative she hadn’t even seen for years.”

He certainly did seem shocked by what he’d learned. Kate abandoned the theory of his having arranged his wife’s death out of revenge.

“When I spoke to you the other day, Mr. Latimer, you were most emphatic that you were entirely unaware of your wife’s intentions regarding the bequeathal of her property.”

His hitherto pale face now flooded with colour. “That was true, in the sense that we hadn’t actually discussed the matter. But naturally, I mean to say ... a husband and wife.”

“Have you no idea why Mrs. Latimer should have altered her will? Had she, for example, discovered about your relationship with Mrs. Sissington?”

“No!” He sounded almost relieved to be able to be so emphatic. “No, Belle definitely knew nothing about that. I, er ... I know it was foolish of me, but ... well, perhaps as a woman you can’t be expected to understand that a man needs ...”

Kate’s steely glance told him that she wasn’t giving him any sympathy on that score, and Latimer flushed even deeper. He rose unsteadily to pour himself another drink. He was looking distinctly groggy; if she didn’t press on, he’d be passing out on her.

“Mr. Latimer, how well do you yourself know Richard Gower?”

“Hardly at all. I’ve met him a few times, but only casually.”

“You advertise in his newspaper, don’t you?”

“Yes. But that’s handled by my staff.”

“Let’s get this quite clear. Are you telling me that you haven’t personally had any recent dealings with Gower? No telephone calls? No meetings?”

“Absolutely none. He was just a casual acquaintance.” Latimer shook his head as if trying to clear the alcoholic mist from his mind. “I thought we were talking about Gower’s possible relationship with
my wife.”

Kate switched tracks again. “What about Mr. George Prescott?”

“What about him?”

“He was Mrs. Latimer’s accountant, wasn’t he? Did she ever speak about him to you?”

“Only in passing. Nothing special. Why are you asking?”

“Mr. Prescott handles the Leisure Centre Extension funds as the honourable treasurer. Did she ever mention him in that connection?”

Latimer tossed back the dregs of his whisky, looked longingly at the glass as if he’d like another refill, but decided against it. He said slowly, “Now that you mention it, I do recall Belle saying something or other. I believe she wasn’t altogether satisfied with Prescott’s handling of the funds. To be frank, Chief Inspector, my wife often suspected people of dishonesty of one kind or another, so I didn’t take a great deal of notice.”

“Try to remember exactly what your wife said on that occasion, Mr. Latimer. It’s very important.”

He knit his brows. “Belle said ... yes, that’s right, she said she was going to discuss the matter with Richard Gower.”

“And did she do that, do you know?”

“I’ve no idea, she didn’t say. But where is all this leading? Are you suggesting that it was a pretext in case it got back to me that she was associating with Gower? Or are you now somehow implicating Prescott in my wife’s death?”

Where the hell is it leading, Kate? You’re wallowing in a bog,
The list of suspects had grown remorselessly. Except for old Sam Wilkes, who was crippled by arthritis, none of them could be eliminated to her entire satisfaction.

“I’m not implicating anyone, Mr. Latimer. I’m just considering every possibility. Were you aware that Bruce McLeod is under notice to quit his job?”

“Belle did mention it to me. I gathered the man was lining his own pocket at her expense. Something like that.”

“You can’t give me any details?”

He shook his head. “The estate was her concern, not mine. I kept out of it.”

“How well do you know McLeod?”

“How well? I just know him as one of my wife’s employees, that’s all.” Yielding to temptation, Latimer rose to his feet and steered a wavering course to the whisky bottle.

“That’s no answer to your problems, Mr. Latimer.” Kate couldn’t help saying it.

“Perhaps not, Chief Inspector, but it helps.”

As he splashed out whisky, she went on almost idly, “The groom, Ted West, didn’t seem to be on very good terms with your wife, either.”

Latimer’s features registered distaste. “West is an ill-mannered boor.”

“I wonder why Mrs. Latimer employed him, then?”

“He’s damn good at his job.”

“Yet I hear she was always finding fault with his work.”

Still standing, Latimer sipped his new charge of whisky. “Belle believed in keeping her employees up to the mark.”

“So she had no intention of sacking West, as well?”

“Not that I was aware of.” His glazed eyes sharpened. “You think one of these two might have been responsible for my wife’s death?”

“I told you, Mr. Latimer, I have to consider every possibility. However remote.”

“Even including
me,
at first,” he said, in an attempt at dry humour.

Even including you, still!
“Somebody killed your wife,” she said equably, “and there had to be a reason for it. A motive, that’s what I’m looking for. Let me ask you this same question again, now that you’ve had a few days to think about it. Who might have had a grudge against Mrs. Latimer? A sufficient grudge to kill her.”

He shook his head. “I can’t think of anyone. Not who’d go to these lengths.”

“But there are people who might have been holding a grudge against her?”

“I suppose so. Belle did have a way of putting people’s backs up.”

“Then I’m going to ask you to provide me with a list of names.” Kate timed her pause. “Of course, there’s always the possibility of collusion.”

Latimer’s head jerked up. “Collusion? What do you mean by that?”

“Somebody wanted your wife dead. But to avoid suspicion, he could have employed another person to carry out the killing while providing himself with an unbreakable alibi.”

The alcoholic mist was instantly gone. Latimer’s eyes flashed. “Are you accusing me? But that’s ridiculous. Totally absurd. I’ve gained nothing by my wife’s death. On the contrary, I’ve lost everything.”

“By your own admission, Mr. Latimer, you didn’t know that, did you? You expected to inherit your wife’s large fortune.”

“I didn’t kill my wife, Chief Inspector. I had no hand in her death.”

“In that case I’m sure I can count on your fullest co-operation in tracking down her murderer.”

Latimer seemed to pull himself together. “Of course. Anything. Anything.”

“For a start, then, let’s get down to that list of names.”

* * * *

Sergeant Boulter had brought the car over from the stables, as Kate had instructed, and left it outside the house. But there was no sign of him. She paced to and fro for more than ten minutes before he appeared, hurrying from round at the back.

“Sorry I took so long,” he said, unlocking the car door for her to get in. “I couldn’t get away.”

“Was it time well spent, Tim? Did you manage to get anything useful out of the sexy Linda?”

“She wouldn’t admit it, but I’d say there isn’t a doubt in hell that she did pinch that ring of Mrs. Latimer’s.”

“Aha! And does her husband know?”

“I’m not so sure about that. According to Linda, Ted’s just crazy about her. Still can’t believe his luck in marrying her.”

“Let’s hope Linda won’t go on lifting things, now that she’s got the free run of the big house.”

“I wouldn’t reckon so. I really put the frighteners on her before I left.”

Kate grinned. “Poor Linda! She must have been very disappointed in you.”

“You can say that again. It was all very friendly at first. Coffee and a plate of chocolate chip cookies. It got really cosy, and Linda started giving me a big come-on.”

“And then you let her have it?”

“Ma’am?”

“With the questions, Tim. With the questions.”

* * * *

Matthew Latimer stood well back from the drawing-room window, watching the chief inspector. What the hell was the woman up to now, pacing up and down beside the car? Anxiety was gnawing at his stomach.

At long last a male figure appeared, as if coming from the kitchen quarters—the sergeant she’d had with her before. God, what had he been up to? Had he been talking to Linda West, grilling her? If so, could Linda possibly know anything that would put him on the spot?

The sudden ringing of the phone startled him. He looked at it fearfully, afraid of what new horror it might portend. Reluctantly he picked it up.

“Matthew Latimer speaking ... Oh, it’s you. Listen, I’ve just had the police here again, that woman chief inspector. She was asking all sorts of questions, and I don’t like the way it looks. She made it perfectly clear that I’m still under suspicion;         she even let drop the word ‘collusion.’ So for the time being I think it’s very important that nobody connects you and me. I’ll be in touch again when I think it’s safe.”

He replaced the phone. The police had driven off now. Latimer stood for a moment indecisively, then turned to the whisky bottle again. It was the only thing he could rely on.