Murder at the Bridge (Detective Inspector Skelgill Investigates Book 20), page 11
Now Anthony Goodman displays open palms – a sort of man-to-man gesture that says, “You know how these things are – we take people in our stride.”
‘He was edgy – a little erratic – I’m sure the others would tell you the same – and that was his regular demeanour – like there’s an engine running beneath the surface, too many revs – a little voice on repeat in his head – “do this, do that, do this” – you know?’
DS Leyton furrows his brow and tries not to think of his wife.
He sticks to the facts.
‘Your associate Mr Chaudry mentioned that Mr Betony said something about a merger of the fishing club with your local rivals?’
Anthony Goodman seems rather bemused by the suggestion.
‘Well, he may have said that – I really don’t know. I can’t say I had an actual conversation with him about anything in particular.’
DS Leyton glances at his notebook.
‘I believe at the dinner you were seated opposite to Mr Betony?’
‘Yes, that’s correct – and I would never have imagined that would be my last encounter with him. It is extraordinary to think of it.’
‘That was the last time you saw him, sir – at the table?’
‘Oh, no – no, it wasn’t.’
DS Leyton is surprised by the peremptory contradiction. The man seems pleased that he has more information, and revels in the moment, causing DS Leyton to prompt him.
‘So, what time was it, sir?’
The man gives another slight grimace, less extreme than before, but still indicative of some inner jolt of discomfort. It delays his response for a couple of seconds.
‘Hmm – well, I’m not sure about the time. But Jay Chaudry and I had taken our coffees into the Snug, beside the open fire.’ He smiles, as though vicariously to enjoin DS Leyton into what was a pleasurable experience. ‘After a while I went to the bar to get us a nightcap. Just as I turned with our drinks Kyle passed across in front of me – along the corridor.’
‘Moving which way, sir?’
‘He was heading towards the toilets – I assume.’
DS Leyton nods. This he notes down carefully.
‘If you had to make a stab at the time, sir?’
The man’s pasty complexion gains a little colour, pale pink blotches appear where his cheekbones would be, were there less flesh on the face. The small eyes seem a fraction disconcerted – as though he is mildly irked that the policeman has not taken him at his word first time.
‘Well – I – I really wouldn’t like to be definitive. I mean – I shouldn’t like to put you on the wrong track – when I’m not sure. Have you spoken with Jay – he might remember what time it was when I went for the drinks?’
‘He did mention you went to the bar, sir. And funnily enough he suggested that you might have seen Mr Betony – since he didn’t see him, himself.’
DS Leyton presses his pencil against his notebook; it is perhaps a sign of resignation. Of course, he did not quiz Jay Chaudry on what time this was – because he would have been asking him if he saw something when he was doing nothing.
‘Well – perhaps it was half-past ten?’
DS Leyton glances up – a sudden change of heart? The man is smiling hopefully. DS Leyton wonders if he has made him feel obliged to provide an answer. Perhaps his first proposition – that it is better not to guess – was more suitable.
‘Why do you say that, sir?’
‘Well, actually, there is a clock – up behind the bar – above the whiskies. And now I think of it, when I was choosing a malt I have an image of the clock – yes – I think it was reading ten thirty – and I wondered if they were about to call last orders.’
DS Leyton takes a further note.
‘Did you happen to notice Mr Flood – seated in the bar?’
Anthony Goodman looks a little alarmed by this question – as if he might have been remiss in some way. However, he offers an assured vindication.
‘Oh – no – but you know the layout? When you go in, the counter is on your right, flush with the door – so you stand with your back to the rest of the room. My mind was on what to order – they stock so many single malts.’ He smiles engagingly. ‘Actually, if I’d seen Stephen Flood I would have sought his counsel.’
DS Leyton ponders. The answer is candid enough – but it strikes him that the man would surely have noticed were his Scots counterpart still there. DS Leyton does the sums: Stephen Flood says he left at about ten thirty, and thus Anthony Goodman’s sighting of Kyle Betony passing along the corridor appears to be the last sighting among his three interviewees.
He feels satisfied with this deduction.
But he should see events through to their conclusion.
‘And after you’d got the drinks, sir?’
‘I repaired to the Snug – we remained there until last orders – which turned out to be eleven for non-residents. But Jay wanted to get away – he said he had an early start for Manchester. And Lucy arrived to give me a lift.’
‘Lucy, sir?’
Now the man’s smile has a decidedly proprietorial quality.
‘Yes – she’s my fiancée. She’s actually on the committee, as well. But she’s a GP and was on call – she couldn’t make the meal. But she’d offered to pick me up – you know, the price of taxis these days?’
DS Leyton sets his features evenly, when a little bafflement lies beneath. It seems he has discovered someone hitherto unmentioned in their inquiry who might fall into the category of ‘persons of interest’.
He decides he ought not to reveal any signs of ignorance.
‘What time would that have been, sir?’
‘Ah, well – that I do know for certain. When Jay left I was quietly sipping the last of my Laphroaig when I saw headlights swing round outside. I went out to check, and sure enough it was her. She apologised for being five minutes early – we’d agreed on eleven fifteen, so it must have been ten past. I did notice a minicab waiting, if that’s any help to you?’
DS Leyton is nodding as he notes down the details.
But now there is an electronic bleep and Anthony Goodman picks up a pager from his desk. He squints interrogatively at the device. Then he regards DS Leyton rather contritely.
‘Sergeant – I really ought to attend to this. It’s not for me directly – but I can lend a hand. A Good Samaritan.’
‘Of course, sir – thank you for your cooperation.’
When DS Leyton might expect the man to rise and leave the room with him, he remains seated.
He clears his throat, and DS Leyton, sensing a question, stops and turns.
‘Your inquiry, Sergeant Leyton – are you any nearer?’ He makes an open-palmed gesture. ‘I mean – I’m thinking of Kyle’s wife – she’ll want to understand. And I’m going to suggest that the committee does something for her – from our funds. I’m Treasurer, you see. But – naturally – I shouldn’t want us to put our foot in it – through ignorance, you know?’
DS Leyton takes a half step towards Anthony Goodman. He taps his notebook against his chest.
‘I quite understand, sir. We’ll certainly keep you informed – just as soon as we’re able to.’
The man plies him with one last smile.
DS Leyton, a little fatigued in responding in kind, reflects that he marginally prefers dourness.
7. RECAP
The Partridge Inn – 6.16 p.m., Monday, 20th September
‘What kept you, Leyton? Your mash is going cold.’
‘Flamin’ heck – I’ll take it hot or cold. It’s not Earl Grey, by any chance?’
Skelgill’s scowl is all the answer his sergeant needs.
‘Never mind – I just thought I could do with something perfumed.’ He sinks with some relief into the free chair opposite his bemused-looking colleagues. ‘I’ve got the smell of sewage in one nostril and disinfectant in the other.’
DS Jones chuckles as she pours a cup of tea from their shared pot. Though they are officially off duty, Skelgill has opted for seats in the residents’ lounge. While it has a serving hatch through to the bar, there is not the temptation of the row of traditional handpumps advertising Jennings’ finest ales. Moreover, it is a more central station for the purposes of their discussion.
As to meeting at The Partridge itself, they have been required to backtrack a little from Swinside, but the location of the hostelry saves DS Leyton from trailing over to Penrith, only to return home later to nearby Keswick.
It seems that the inn is quiet; they have the lounge to themselves; what residents there are must already be dining, or still elsewhere in the district. It is not a room that Skelgill frequents. The Snug with its log fire is the best place to warm up after a bone-chilling session out on Bass Lake; otherwise the bar is de rigueur – even he appreciates its olde-worlde charm and the quiet presence of four centuries of spirits; the ghosts of wizened locals and dust-encrusted travellers; of coachmen and ostlers and grooms reeking of horse; a mixed fug of tobacco smoke and haze from the oil lamps; the hubbub, inarticulate, comforting.
The lounge has no such attractions – well lit, it is more suitable for afternoon tea than coffee and after-dinner drinks, and more like an old maid’s parlour (whatever either of those are: the old maids in Skelgill’s family still wield their battle axes, and their parlours are austere traditional spotless front rooms rarely used but for weddings and wakes).
‘How did you pair get on, then?’
It is DS Leyton’s prompt. In his tone there is a small hint of eagerness, that he has something to impart.
Skelgill raises a hand. It is an automatic gesture – as if they were in the woods and are stalked by wolves. There is a way to do this and not be overwhelmed.
‘Let’s stick to the knitting. Not get carried away.’ He looks interrogatively at DS Leyton. ‘Unless you’ve got some blinding piece of news?’
Now this puts DS Leyton on the back foot – for it raises the stakes higher than he feels he can call. He rests his palms carefully on the edge of the low mahogany table.
‘Not exactly, Guv.’
The ambiguity is enough to cause a moment’s hesitation from Skelgill.
Then he doles out the tasks.
‘I’ll kick off.’ He glances at DS Jones to indicate she should follow. ‘Concentrate on his movements. Stick to the facts. Then you, Leyton.’
‘Righto, Guv.’
Skelgill beckons to DS Jones for the documents that she holds. He selects two pages – the list of committee members and the seating plan. He lays them out so they can all see.
Now he addresses DS Leyton. He jerks a thumb at the ceiling.
‘Sir Montague Brash stayed here on Saturday night. Probably not alone.’ He flashes his associate a knowing look that generates a small murmur of comprehension. But he skips the explanation. ‘They checked in as ‘Mr & Mrs Smith’ – Mrs Smith remains unidentified.’
But DS Leyton cannot contain his curiosity.
‘What did he say, Guv?’
DS Jones leans forward and inhales as if to speak – but Skelgill is quick to retort.
‘We didn’t ask. He didn’t tell.’
‘Whoa. But, Guv – what does that –?’
Skelgill interjects before DS Leyton can shape his inquiry.
‘We think he may have gone to bed at, what –?’ Skelgill turns to DS Jones. ‘Eleven fifteen?’
She nods. ‘Or thereafter.’
But Skelgill grimaces.
‘I doubt he hung about.’
DS Jones eyes him warily.
But DS Leyton now has a more fully formed question.
‘So, what – the woman – the ‘Mrs Smith’ – she was one of the committee members?’
Skelgill does not answer immediately – again he consults with his female colleague through a brief meeting of eyes.
‘Unlikely but not impossible. We need to find out who checked her in. If she was recognised. If she exists.’
Skelgill sounds decidedly fatalistic – he seems to want to set aside this aspect of their findings. He makes an impatient hand signal; DS Jones understands she is to update DS Leyton – and simultaneously remind Skelgill of what he already knows but may not have paid precise attention to.
‘We had already learned from Professor Hartley that Kyle Betony was still at the dining table when he and Alice Wright-Fotheringham left at about ten past ten.’ She looks towards the archway where a discreet hand-lettered sign indicates the direction of the Wythop Restaurant. ‘We have a bit of a gap until just before ten-thirty.’ DS Leyton begins to raise a hand – but decides to hold his tongue. DS Jones pats the arms of her easy chair. ‘Ruth Robinson and Jackie Baker came to sit more or less here. The latter was the better witness.’ She glances at Skelgill who dips his head in silent agreement. ‘She was keeping a close eye on the time and says it was ten twenty-nine.’ Now DS Jones indicates with an outstretched hand the open doorway into the main corridor. ‘Kyle Betony appeared over there and looked in. He saw them, then he saw someone else – out of sight in the passageway to his left. But he came in anyway. He said he wanted to talk to them later – then he immediately went off as if to go after whoever it was he had seen.’
DS Leyton is nodding vigorously – his expression a picture of acuity. DS Jones looks to Skelgill for further affirmation. He is drinking, but manages to convey with his eyebrows that she should continue.
‘That is actually our last sighting. The two women remained here until ten forty-five, when they left. Georgina Graham, whom we also interviewed, remained in the restaurant with Sir Montague Brash. She says she visited the ladies’ at about ten-thirty – although she was vague about the time. She remembered the pair sitting here, and thinks she saw Stephen Flood somewhere in passing – but not Kyle Betony. Sir Montague Brash says he didn’t see him either, once he’d left the table – including when he and Georgina Graham came through this way at eleven-fifteen. She had a taxi waiting; it seems he went to the gents’ before – we think – heading upstairs – possibly via the external steps beside the garden door.’
She glances again at Skelgill – but now he has a glazed look and does not engage with her. She turns back to DS Leyton. She grins.
‘That’s our half of the jigsaw.’
DS Leyton seems a little unprepared, and fumbles for his notebook from his jacket pocket. However, he composes himself and begins to peruse a page penned in a tiny, meticulous hand.
‘My three geezers then. Jay Chaudry – I reckon we can forget about as a witness. He last saw Betony at the dining table. Chaudry and Anthony Goodman took their coffees through into the Snug. Chaudry left at five past eleven – the Snug’s right by the front door, yeah?’
Skelgill is back with them and nods, seeing that his sergeant is checking that he has the inn’s topography right. DS Leyton continues.
‘I reckon my best witness is Stephen Flood – although you wouldn’t guess it, to speak to him. He was sat next to Betony at dinner – and he reckons Betony tracked him down to the bar afterwards. Flood was tucked away in the corner. He says he’d had enough of Betony’s prattle at the dinner table, and he weren’t too happy. Flood went to the gents’ and when he came back Betony was gone. That was at about half-ten, and Flood left.’
DS Leyton takes a pause for breath. Skelgill is listening implacably, DS Jones more intently.
‘Then Goodman came out of the Snug to get drinks from the bar. That was also half-ten – although I reckon Flood must have just gone.’ Now DS Leyton points as DS Jones has done, his palm crooked to the right. ‘Goodman was standing at the bar and he saw Betony walk past – along the corridor in the direction of the toilets.’
DS Jones immediately interjects.
‘That must have been after he left this room – having spoken with Ruth Robinson and Jackie Baker.’
DS Leyton makes a two-handed gesture, that the point is uncontested.
But now he closes his notebook.
Skelgill is quick to object.
‘What about after that?’
‘That’s it, Guv – that’s the last sighting I’ve got.’ He looks a little defensive. Now he grins at DS Jones. ‘At least it all fits together – the jigsaw.’
Skelgill is frowning discontentedly.
After a while, it falls to DS Jones to say what he surely must be thinking.
‘Who could he have seen – that he apparently went after?’ Again she puts her hands on the arms of her chair. ‘It couldn’t have been any of the three women. Two of them were sitting here. Georgina Graham was in the restaurant – or would have had to walk through here and right past him. The same for Sir Montague Brash.’
She looks to DS Leyton. He understands he should reiterate his findings.
‘Like I say – as far as I can establish, Flood had just left – and Goodman was standing at the bar and saw Betony go past. That only leaves Jay Chaudry – but he reckons he stayed in the Snug.’
Without warning Skelgill bangs his palm flat on the table, making the crockery and his sergeants jump.
‘Hold your horses, Leyton.’
But when his subordinates might expect annoyance, it seems Skelgill’s capriciousness is at play – for he plies them with a Machiavellian grin.
‘So – which one’s lying?’
His intervention seems to have the desired effect. There ensues a pause that seems to please him. That their discussion is progressing too smoothly – and perhaps that it is heading to a conclusion that he deems will be unsatisfactory.
Of the two sergeants, DS Leyton seems to take the objection more to heart.
‘Thing is, Guv – and I agree – you could be right.’ DS Leyton frowns pensively and runs the fingers of one hand through his mop of dark hair. ‘But it ain’t easy to lie about something like that – or be forgetful or be mistaken – when you’ve got all these other witnesses. As things stand, we’ve not actually got a contradiction.’
However, DS Jones makes a murmur in her throat – she seems to chuckle inwardly, and realises she ought to explain.
‘It doesn’t have to be just one of them that’s lying.’
