The Cold Hand of Malice (16 page)

‘Not that she wasn’t trying, of course,’ Paget observed drily. ‘Any chance that she’s making the whole thing up to gain attention?’

‘I think there might have been a bit of jealousy there,’ Tregalles conceded, ‘so I’d be inclined to treat what she told me with a certain amount of caution, but I don’t think she was making it up.’ A sly smile crept across his face. ‘But she did make a point of telling me twice that she was a widow, and it was really hard to get used to living without a man about the house.’

Paget raised an eyebrow. ‘Did she, now?’ he said. ‘Did she say anything else of interest? About the case, I mean,’ he emphasized.

Tregalles nodded. ‘Yes, she did. She claims that Simon Holbrook and Moira Ballantyne had something going a year or so ago, and that was after Laura had come on the scene and things were going hot and heavy between her and Holbrook. She said it didn’t last long, but everyone in the club knew about it, except Laura and Moira’s husband, Trevor. She said she and some of her friends were surprised that he’d taken up with Moira, because they had always thought that if Holbrook did settle down, it would be with Susan Chase. But then Laura came along and all bets were off.’

‘It’s a wonder this woman has any time left to play badminton, what with listening to all the gossip,’ Paget observed. ‘Still, if it weren’t for people like her, we would never learn half the things we do. Anything else?’

Tregalles shook his head as he folded his notebook and slipped it into his pocket.

Paget eyed the sergeant thoughtfully. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘if this Mrs Jordan is right, and everyone in the club knew what was going on between Moira Ballantyne and Holbrook, I’m willing to bet money that Trevor Ballantyne and Laura knew as well. And the question that comes to mind, is: why didn’t they say or do anything about it? Or did they behind the scenes?’

‘Don’t know,’ Tregalles admitted, ‘but I don’t see how it would have a bearing on what happened to Laura Holbrook. I could see Trevor killing Holbrook or Moira if he thought the affair had started up again, but he would have no reason to kill Laura.’

‘True,’ said Paget thoughtfully, ‘but
Moira
Ballantyne might.’

If Paget had been asked to form an image of Timothy Bryce in his mind, based on what he’d been told, it wouldn’t have come within a country mile of the man now facing him across the table.

With his mop of tousled hair, wide-set eyes and overly generous mouth, Bryce looked younger than his almost twenty-seven years, and whether deliberate or not, the illusion was strengthened by the clothes he wore. The faded jeans, denim jacket with metal fasteners, soft leather boots, and even the diamond stud in the lobe of his left ear reminded Paget of the university campuses where such attire had been almost mandatory a few years ago for students and the younger members of the staff.

Bryce was a tall lad . . . Paget mentally stopped himself. He was doing the very same thing he had questioned in others, and suddenly realized why everyone seemed to refer to Bryce as if he were a boy. He
looked
like a boy, tall, thin and gangly, all knees and elbows as he sat slumped in the chair, and there was an air of bewildered innocence, almost shyness, in the way he looked from one to the other of the two men. He didn’t look anything like his uncle, but there was a marked similarity in the way they presented themselves to the world, and Paget found himself wondering if it had something to do with the genes or if it was something he’d learned from his uncle.

Timothy Bryce had big hands; strong hands. They were at rest now, clasped together loosely on the table in front of him. Could they be the hands that had held the metal bar used to smash Laura Holbrook’s face to a bloody pulp?

With the recorder in motion and the formalities disposed with, Tregalles settled himself at the end of the table rather like an umpire on the centre line as Paget said, ‘Now, Mr Bryce, I’d like you to tell me in your own words about what took place between you and Mrs Holbrook a week ago last Friday, when you accosted her in the car park. We’ve heard a couple of versions, but I would like to hear what you have to say about it.’

Bryce shifted nervously in his seat, and the lines around his mouth tightened. ‘To tell you the truth,’ he said sheepishly, ‘I’m a bit ashamed about that,’ he said. ‘I’d been out all day looking for a job, and I wasn’t having any luck. I didn’t want to go back home to Sally and say I’d failed again, so I stopped in to have a couple of drinks. Unfortunately, I didn’t stop at a couple, and suddenly it seemed like a good idea to tell Laura exactly what I thought of her.’

He shrugged helplessly. ‘So that’s what I did,’ he concluded. ‘I know it’s a bit late to say I’m sorry—’

‘I might believe you if that was the only time,’ Paget broke in, ‘but it wasn’t, was it? We’re told you went berserk when you were docked pay; that you had a screaming match with Laura Holbrook in her office, and you confronted and threatened her on at least one other occasion since then. Late? Yes, I’d say it’s a bit late, Mr Bryce.’

‘That’s not true,’ Bryce said heatedly. ‘I’ll admit I was upset when she sacked me for no reason, and I have tried to talk to her since then, but she wouldn’t listen to anything I had to say. And I never actually threatened her.’

‘She told others that you did. She said you suggested that it would be a shame if her car went up like a bomb. You don’t call that a threat?’

‘Well, she would say that, wouldn’t she?’ Bryce countered. ‘But the truth is she wanted to be rid of me from the start. It had nothing to do with my work.’

‘What did it have to do with, then? Why do
you
think you were let go?’

Bryce shrugged. ‘I think it’s pretty obvious,’ he said. ‘She didn’t want me around to see what she was up to. She set out to drive a wedge between me and my uncle from the very beginning, and she succeeded. Laura didn’t want me working for the firm at all, and she tried very hard to keep me out when Simon insisted on hiring me. He managed to overrule her on that, but she made sure that I was given nothing but Mickey Mouse jobs that a first year programmer could do with one hand behind his back. It was insulting, and when I objected, she went running to Simon to say I wasn’t up to the job. I’ll admit I left the office a few times when I was supposed to be there, but I couldn’t just sit around twiddling my thumbs because I had nothing else to do until she came up with some other menial task. She used that and a few other things to stick the knife in whenever she got the chance until she finally won Simon over.’

‘And what, in your opinion, was Mrs Holbrook “up to”, as you put it?’ asked Paget.

‘She was after the firm. She wanted control. The woman was a control freak; ask anyone who works there. She simply walked in and took over, and Simon let her. She bought her way in at a time when he was on the ropes financially. I grant you she was instrumental in turning the firm around, but it was only because it was a means to an end. She wanted it all. Simon couldn’t see it, but that was what she was after. That’s why she married him. She didn’t love Simon, but he was besotted with her and let her walk all over him.’

‘But you saw through all that,’ said Paget.

‘Yes, I did, and I tried to warn my uncle, but he wouldn’t listen.’

‘In fact he backed up his wife’s decision when she sacked you, so you decided to take matters into your own hands. Isn’t that right?’

Bryce shook his head wearily. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I’ve been straight with you. I admit I had every reason to hate Laura, but I had nothing to do with her death. Sally didn’t want me to come here today; she said you’d already made up your minds that I killed Laura. But I chose to come in and answer your questions as honestly as I can, because I am innocent.’

Paget sat back in his chair and folded his arms, and it was Tregalles who put the next question. ‘Sally Craig tells us you were out last Wednesday evening. Where were you around nine o’clock that night?’

‘Yes, she told me,’ he said. ‘I was out jogging. I find it relieves the stress. I usually do between six and eight miles; sometimes more, sometimes less. Depends on the weather and where the mood takes me.’

‘And where did the mood take you that night?’

‘I have a couple of regular circuits,’ said Bryce. ‘On that particular night, I went down the road to King George Way, across the bridge and out along Velacourt, along the old towpath where the canal used to be before they filled it in – you know, where it runs beside the main road for about a mile – then came out at the bottom of Strathe Hill, across the fields from Woodbourne Road, over the footbridge to Barnfield, then home.’

‘We have a report of someone jogging not far from your uncle’s house around nine that night,’ Tregalles said. ‘Are you quite sure you didn’t go south down Lower Bridge Street or along Riverview Road, or possibly into Pembroke Avenue?’

‘Quite sure.’

‘What were you wearing?’

‘A tracksuit.’

‘Colour?’

Bryce looked puzzled, but he answered readily enough. ‘Dark blue with flashes on it to make it visible in the dark.’

‘So you left the house around seven. How long were you out?’

‘A couple of hours, give or take.’

‘Which would bring you home at around nine? Is that what you’re saying, Mr Bryce?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Was the television on when you went in?’

Bryce looked puzzled, but he nodded. ‘I think so. It usually is.’

‘What was on?’

‘Oh, for God’s sake! How should I know? I had a shower as soon as I came in. I didn’t hang about watching TV.’

‘Sally Craig tells us she was watching the ten o’clock news when you came in.’

Bryce shook his head vigorously. ‘No, that can’t be right; she’s got it wrong,’ he insisted. ‘It must have been the nine o’clock.’

‘All right,’ Paget said, taking over from his sergeant, ‘give us something that proves you right. Was anyone with you while you say you were jogging?’

‘No,’ said Bryce irritably. ‘I don’t like company when I’m jogging. I like to go at my own pace.’

‘Did you meet anyone along the way? Anyone who could verify where you were at a given time?’

Bryce grimaced. ‘Not really,’ he said. ‘I mean I passed a lot of people, but whether they would remember me or not, I have no idea.’

‘Did you stop anywhere? As I recall, there are a couple of pubs along that route, and the supermarket on Barnfield stays open late.’

Bryce shook his head. ‘Sorry, Chief Inspector, I’d like to be of more help, but that’s all I can tell you.’

Paget’s expression expressed his disbelief, but he said, ‘All right, let’s assume for a moment that you are telling the truth. Sally Craig told us that, prior to your dismissal, you spent a lot of time at work after regular hours. Overtime for which you haven’t been paid. Is that correct?’

Bryce waved his hands and shrugged in a self-deprecating way. ‘It goes with the job,’ he said modestly. ‘You know how it is, Chief Inspector? You can’t always be governed by the clock when there are problems to be solved.’

‘And were there a lot of problems that needed to be solved in your – what was it you called them? – Mickey Mouse jobs, Mr Bryce?’

A flush came to Bryce’s face. ‘It’s quieter there at night,’ he said. ‘And no one was there to disturb me.’

Paget’s voice hardened as he leaned forward across the table. ‘I have better things to do with my time than listen to a pack of lies from you, Mr Bryce,’ he said scathingly, ‘so the sooner you get it through your head that this isn’t some sort of game, the better. Now, where were you on the nights you told your partner you were at work?’

Colour rose in Bryce’s neck. ‘I don’t know what . . .’ he began, but Paget brushed the words aside.

‘You’ve been lying through your teeth, haven’t you, Mr Bryce? You’ve been telling your partner a pack of lies about where you go. And now you’re trying to do the same with us. You’ve never worked an hour of overtime for your uncle’s firm in your life, so where did you go on those nights, Mr Bryce? And what’s your excuse since you lost your job? Out looking for a job, is it? That’s what Sally Craig seems to believe. Or does she? I wonder. So where do you go, Mr Bryce?’

‘That,’ said Bryce sullenly, ‘is none of your business. It has nothing to do with what you’re after. Nothing to do with Laura or who killed her.’

‘In that case, there’s no harm in telling us, is there? And what about this obsession with jogging? How do you expect us to believe you were where you say you were if we know you’ve been lying to us about working overtime?’

‘But I do jog. I really do,’ Bryce said earnestly.

Tregalles shook his head. ‘Since when does it take a dedicated jogger like you three hours to cover six to eight miles?’ he asked scornfully. ‘I could do better than that on my hands and knees. Perhaps we should get Ms Craig down here,’ he suggested, looking at Paget. ‘I’m sure she would be interested in the explanation.’

‘No!’ Timothy Bryce closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘if I tell you where I was when I told Sally I was working, do I have your word that you will not tell her?’

Paget shook his head. ‘We are not interested in what goes on in your private life
if
it has nothing to do with the matter at hand, but we do not make promises. And if we have reason to believe that you are lying to us, we will talk to anyone and everyone who may be able to help us. Do I make myself clear?’

Bryce slumped back in his chair. He looked up at the ceiling, and blew out his cheeks. ‘She’ll kill me,’ he groaned. ‘I mean it! She’ll bloody kill me.’

‘Your partner?’ asked Paget.

Bryce grimaced as he shook his head. ‘She would as well, if she ever finds out,’ he muttered more to himself than to Paget. ‘No, I mean – do I have to give you a name? I mean I’m not going to lie about it, but if you could just sort of . . .’ Timothy Bryce sighed as he saw the look on the chief inspector’s face, and took a deep breath. ‘Her name is Lenore, Lenore Lattimer. Her husband works for the company. He’s a security guard. Bill Lattimer. He’s older than she is. He works evening shift most of the time. That’s when I see her.’