The Cold Hand of Malice (13 page)

A hint of a smile touched Ormside’s craggy face as he met Paget’s gaze. ‘Quite all right,’ he said. ‘I’m sure she’ll be pleased to get away from her desk for a change.’

‘Good. I have to go upstairs first, so have her meet me in the car park in twenty minutes.’

An interior decorator’s van stood in the driveway of number 9 Pembroke Avenue. The front door of the house was open, and a workman in paint-spattered overalls sat at the bottom of the stairs drinking tea from a plastic mug.

‘He’s gone,’ he said when Paget identified himself and asked if Simon Holbrook was inside. ‘Said he couldn’t stand the smell of paint, so he went off to work. Mind you, I don’t think that was the only reason, not that I blame him after what happened up there.’ He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the stairs. ‘I think he just wanted an excuse to get out of the house. He wouldn’t even go in the bedroom to show us what he wanted when we came to see about the job the other day; just told us to do it over in the same colour as it was before.’

The man set the mug aside and lit a cigarette. ‘Pity about the carpet, though. I mean all it needed was a good scrubbing in that corner where the woman died, but he had the whole thing taken out. Lovely stuff it was, too, but out it came. He said he told them to burn it, but I bet they don’t. Cost of carpet these days, and a big piece like that? Not on your life. They’ll clean it if they can or cut that bit off and sell the rest on the quiet and pocket the money.’

The man drained his mug and put the top on his Thermos. ‘Got the time?’ he asked.

‘Twenty past ten,’ Molly told him. The man looked surprised. ‘I’d better get started then, hadn’t I?’ he said as he shoved the Thermos and mug into a paper bag. ‘Here’s me chatting away to a couple of coppers when I should be getting on with it. Be my dinner time soon. Mr Holbrook said he wanted it all done by tomorrow, but I told him there was no way, not if he wants two coats, even if it is quick dry. Come to that, I wouldn’t be surprised if it needs three to cover that bloodstain in the corner where she was killed. I told him he should put paper on, but he wouldn’t have it.’

He wetted his fingers and pinched the end of his cigarette, then popped the butt back in the packet. ‘Can’t afford to waste them these days, can you?’ he said. ‘Not at the price they are. Anyway, nice meeting you. The wife will be that chuffed when I tell her I met the bloke in charge of the murder.’

Molly paused beside the van as they made their way back to the car. ‘Just making sure I remember the name of the firm
not
to have in if I ever need one,’ she told Paget as she slid behind the wheel. She snapped on her seat belt. ‘Where to now, sir? The industrial park?’

‘Right. Six hundred and something Cavendish Way. I forget the exact number, but it shouldn’t be too hard to find.’

The front third of the single-storey brick building housing Holbrook Micro-Engineering Laboratories was given over to offices and reception area, while the other two thirds housed the research and production facility. The reception area was open and spacious. The receptionist’s desk and matching credenza occupied the area facing the door, but apart from several comfortable-looking deep leather armchairs, the area was remarkably free of clutter. A deep-burgundy hard-twist carpet covered the floor, and a series of pictures featuring some of the Holbrook product lines were on display around the walls.

A very young, very thin, long-legged girl stood beside the desk arranging papers. She was dressed – if one could call it that, thought Paget – in a tight-fitting tank top, with about six inches of bare midriff between it and a very short skirt, bare legs and platform shoes. Both ears were studded with clusters of seed pearls, and Paget couldn’t help wondering how she could manage a telephone.

Somewhat incongruously, she wore a black armband on one of her bare arms. She would be quite pretty with a bit more meat on her bones, he thought, and he was surprised that a businessman like Holbrook would put a young girl dressed like that out front to greet the public.

The girl moved behind the desk as they approached and smiled brightly as she said, ‘May I help you?’

The smile vanished, replaced by a worried frown when Paget told her who they were and asked to see Mr Holbrook. ‘He’s in a staff meeting,’ she told him breathlessly, ‘but he said he wouldn’t be very long, so if you would like to wait . . .?’ A long thin arm waved in the general direction of the armchairs.

The girl waited until they were seated before sitting down herself. She began fiddling with papers, but it was clear that her mind was not on her work. Paget watched her through lowered lids. The girl was bursting to say something and was doing her best to hold back.

She failed.

‘Do you mind if I ask you something, sir?’ she asked in a small voice. ‘I don’t mean to pry, but it’s come as such a shock to all of us, Mrs Holbrook being killed like that, and I wondered if there was any news yet? I mean about who did it?’

Paget glanced at the nameplate on the desk. ‘I’m afraid not, Miss West,’ he said, ‘but we are making progress.’

‘Oh, well, that’s good, then, isn’t it?’ she said brightly. ‘But I’m not Mrs West. I’m Miranda. Mrs West is away. Took ill last Friday and they had to send for the ambulance. Gallstones,’ she confided in a whisper. ‘That’s what someone who saw her yesterday said it was. That’s why I’m here this morning. I usually work in the back, but someone has to look after the phones when they’re all at a meeting, so being as I’m the junior, I’m it. Not that I mind. It makes a nice—’

Miranda cut short what she was about to say when a door behind her opened and a smartly dressed woman appeared. She, too, wore a black armband. Her manner was brisk but pleasant as she said, ‘Good morning,’ before turning to Miranda to raise an enquiring eyebrow.

‘They’re from the police, Miss Goodwin,’ the girl said hastily. She picked up a piece of paper and studied it. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Paget and Detective Constable Forsythe. They’re waiting to see Mr Holbrook.’

‘Peggy Goodwin,’ the woman said, coming forward to introduce herself. ‘I’m Mr Holbrook’s personal assistant.’ She was tall and slim. Her handshake was firm but brief, and there was a vibrant energy about her that suggested she kept herself in trim. She had short, fair hair, and deep blue eyes, and while Paget would have stopped short of calling Peggy Goodwin beautiful, he did say she was a very attractive woman when describing her to Grace that evening.

‘If you would like to come with me, I can take you to his office now,’ she said. ‘But first, we’ll need to sign you in and give you a couple of Visitor badges. Security,’ she explained. ‘No one is allowed to wander around unaccompanied in here. Not even policemen,’ she added with a smile as she clipped the badge on Paget’s lapel. She had a nice smile, and the perfume or cologne she wore had a delicate tantalizing fragrance.

She held the door open for them, but paused to speak to Miranda before following herself.

‘Ring Mr Holbrook and tell him we are on our way,’ she said quietly. ‘And, Miranda, whatever happened to that lovely cardigan you had on earlier today? The long one. I think you should wear it, my dear.’

Twelve

‘How long have you been in this building?’ Paget asked as he and Molly followed Peggy Goodwin down the corridor.

‘A little over a year,’ the woman told him. ‘And I must say it’s a vast improvement over our first quarters down by the river. That was little more than a shed, but at least it gave us our start.’

‘So you’ve been with Holbrook Micro-Engineering from the beginning, then?’

‘That’s right. I was Mr Holbrook’s secretary when we both worked for the Drexler-Davies Corporation. When he left to set up his own business, he asked me to come with him, and I’ve never regretted it.’ She laughed softly as she added, ‘Although there have been days when I had doubts about my sanity.’

They came to an office door with the name ‘Simon Holbrook’ in gold on the frosted glass, but as Peggy Goodwin raised her hand to knock, Paget stopped her to ask, ‘Where is your office, Miss Goodwin?’

‘That’s mine,’ she said, pointing to an open door down the hall.

‘I know you must be busy, but I wonder if you could spare us a few minutes after we’ve spoken to Mr Holbrook? We would like to get as much background information as we can, and since you must have worked closely with Mrs Holbrook, we’d appreciate your input.’

Peggy Goodwin looked surprised. ‘I’m not sure I understand,’ she said, clearly mystified by the request. ‘Why—?’

‘We won’t take up any more of your time than necessary,’ Paget said firmly, ignoring the obvious question in her eyes.

The woman looked at him for a long moment, then shrugged and said, ‘Very well, then, Chief Inspector, if you think it will help.’ She gave two sharp raps on the door before opening it and ushering them inside.

If he hadn’t known that Simon Holbrook was head of the company, Paget would never have guessed it from the look of his office. It was a big room with a window overlooking the street; the walls were painted a pleasant, restful green, and a good quality carpet covered the floor, but the place looked more like a storeroom than the office of the head of a successful company.

A drafting table covered with drawings and blueprints took up almost a quarter of the space; a six-foot high set of shelves stuffed with books and loose-leaf binders lined one wall, while more books were piled on the floor beside the desk. The desk itself was covered with papers, and the man in the rumpled shirt with sleeves pushed back was pawing through them as if searching for something. Clearly it was the office of an inventor rather than a CEO.

‘Detective Chief Inspector Paget and—’ Peggy began, only to be cut off by Holbrook.

‘Yes, Peg, I do know who they are.’ He rose and came out from behind his desk. ‘At least I know the chief inspector,’ he said, turning an appraising eye on Molly.

‘Detective Constable Forsythe,’ said Paget formally.

‘Please, sit down,’ he said, addressing Molly rather than her superior. He flipped an errant lock of hair away from his eyes with a practised gesture, and waved her to a chair close to his desk. Molly smiled her thanks and took out her notebook. Behind them the door closed softly as Peggy Goodwin left the room.

Holbrook returned to his own seat, and almost reluctantly, turned his attention toward Paget. ‘Didn’t expect to see you here so soon,’ he said ungraciously. ‘I don’t want to appear rude, but I have a long day ahead of me, so I hope this won’t take long.’

‘I’ll try to be brief, then,’ Paget said, ‘so I’ll come straight to the point. We now have evidence confirming our suspicions that your wife’s death was no accident, so we will be concentrating our efforts on talking to the people who were closest to your wife, both at work and outside. In addition, we’ll be looking at everything Mrs Holbrook had in the way of records at home and here at work.’

Holbrook’s eyes narrowed. ‘Evidence?’ he said sharply. ‘What sort of evidence?’

‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to share that information at the moment,’ Paget told him, ‘but I can tell you that there was no burglary at your house last Wednesday evening; your wife was the intended target, and whoever killed her tried to throw us off by making it appear to be the work of vandals. When we spoke before, you dismissed the idea that your wife had any enemies, but clearly that’s not true, so we need to know as much as possible about events leading up to the time of her death.’

Holbrook continued to stare at Paget. He appeared to be shaken by the news. Colour had receded from his face, and his head began to move from side to side in a gesture of denial. ‘I find that
very
hard to believe,’ he said when he found his voice. He coughed to clear his throat. ‘Very hard indeed. Are you
quite
certain of your facts?’

‘Quite certain,’ Paget assured him.

Holbrook drew a deep breath. ‘Assuming that is the case,’ he said heavily, ‘I suppose I have no choice about letting you search our home, but I don’t know what you expect to find here in the office.’ His voice gathered strength as he went on. ‘Much of that information is highly confidential, and I don’t want someone from outside poking through the files for no good reason.’

‘The fact that your wife was murdered is reason enough,’ said Paget, ‘so we have to cover every possibility. There could be emails, memos, correspondence that may or may not be work-related, and possibly a personal diary in there. Our people are professionals who have done this sort of thing many times, so I can assure you that your business will not be compromised.’

Holbrook glowered. ‘I’ll need to see a warrant before anyone touches anything,’ he warned.

‘You will,’ Paget assured him.

‘Is that it, then? Is that what you came to tell me?’

‘I would like to confirm some of the things you told me last Saturday, particularly about your nephew,’ Paget said.

A hard look came into Holbrook’s eyes. ‘I heard you had been to the house looking for Tim,’ he said coldly, ‘but you’re wasting your time. Tim couldn’t do a thing like that. I know him. I suppose in your eyes the very fact that he and Laura had a row the other day makes him a suspect, but I’m telling you it’s ludicrous to think that he would go so far as to
kill
Laura. As I told you, if Tim was going to kill anyone, it is much more likely it would be me.’

‘Perhaps not,’ said Paget. ‘If it had been you rather than your wife who died, she would have been the beneficiary, and by all accounts that would have left Mr Bryce out in the cold. But now that your wife is gone, I suspect that your nephew might become a beneficiary if something should happen to you, especially if you manage to patch up your differences.’

‘That,’ Holbrook snapped, ‘is not only absurd, it is pure speculation on your part. And for your information, while it’s true that the business assets would have gone to Laura, Tim would have been well provided for, and he has always known that.’

‘Still, since you did side with your wife when he was sacked, he might not have been so confident that he would remain a beneficiary. However,’ Paget continued before Holbrook could interject, ‘as you say, it is speculation, but it is something we have to take into consideration. Tell me, did your nephew work much overtime while he was employed here? Evenings or weekends?’