The Price of Butcher's Meat

3

Hat Bowler’s smile had not been the subtle attempt at misdirection that Novello suspected.

He’d been the first of the three DCs to arrive at Sandytown Hall. Wield, looking as if he’d been there for hours, was already setting up the incident room. He filled the new arrival in with his customary pellucid economy, then sent him up to the main house with instructions to pick up a guest list which Miss Brereton, the victim’s cousin and companion, was printing out.

“And go easy with her, lad,” said the sergeant. “She was first on the scene. Mr. Pascoe will want to talk to her when he gets here. I’ve asked her to start working on a full account of the party, the run-up to it and all. See how she’s getting on with that and tell her I’m particularly interested in the order the guests arrived, precise times and all.”

“You on to something, Sarge?” asked Bowler eagerly.

“Don’t be daft. I’ve only been here two minutes. I just want to keep the lass busy. Once she stops being busy, likely she’ll fall apart and then she’ll be no use to any bugger.”

Is it just me, wondered the young DC as he walked away, or have both Wield and the DCI taken on a harder edge since the Super’s been away?

To his relief, Miss Brereton still seemed a long way from falling apart, and what he took for signs of grief-dark shadows beneath her eyes, hair trailing unchecked over her pale face-merely accentuated her good looks. Mindful of Wield’s warning and fearful that gentleness might dissolve whatever barriers she’d put up, he passed on the sergeant’s message rather brusquely, received the list, glanced down at it, saw that it was headed by a clutch of Parkers, and said, “Not in alphabetical order then?”

“No. Mr. Wield said he’d like it in the order that I put it in when I was working out the list with my…with Lady…”

Her voice choked and he said quickly, “So, order of priority then? These Parkers must be important.”

His diversionary tactic worked. Clearly not much got by her, and by the time he returned to Wield he had a pretty good grasp of the relationship between each of the Parkers and the dead woman. Naturally he passed on the gist to Wield, but he saw no reason to add to the sergeant’s even gistier digest to Seymour when he instructed the senior DC to organize the witness interviews. Hat could see why Novello went for the local Parkers, but he wasn’t at all displeased to be left with the visitors. Nor did he linger long over his choice. Clara Brereton had indicated that Sidney at the hotel was a kind of financial adviser to Lady Denham. She’d only met the sister in Seaview Terrace once, and all she could say about her, without actually saying it, was that she was rather odd.

So no problem for a bright young detective. Oddity could sometimes be sufficient motive for murder, but it was money that made the world go round.

As Hat drove toward the Beresford Manor Hotel, his mind was completely focused on the task ahead.

Then as he turned into the car park, that focus was blurred and diffused by a vision of heart-stopping beauty.

Before him, like a bird of paradise in a rookery, stood a bright red Maserati coupé, worth sixty K of anyone’s money, bugger the emissions.

It felt a sacrilege to park his blue Suzuki Swift alongside it.

There was a time, not too long ago, when Bowler had driven a much-loved MG of almost the same color as the Maz. But he’d wrecked it, and it had never felt the same after the repairs. Or perhaps it was him that never felt the same. Then Wield had suggested someone in his line of work might be well advised to drive a less conspicuous car, which struck him as a bit odd, coming from a guy who roared around town on an old Triumph Thunderbird, but he knew better than to argue. The Swift had been a compromise, great little car to drive, reasonable performance, and it didn’t draw too much attention to itself.

But now…

He got out and walked slowly round the beautiful red creature, taking in its elegant lines, its promissory power, before coming to a halt directly in front of it.

So rapt was he that he started when a voice said, “You like the look of her, or are you checking my tax disk?”

Turning, he looked at the speaker. In his thirties, wearing the kind of sweatshirt and slacks that are too expensive to need a visible designer label, he had the easy assurance of a man born to drive a Maserati rather than a wannabe trying to impress.

For a moment the reference to the tax disk made Hat think he’d been clocked, but the smile on the guy’s face didn’t look like the kind of smile people gave cops.

“She’s great,” he said. “What’s she like to drive?”

“A pussycat. Electronic damping control, paddle shift, all the power you could ask for. I’ve had her up to one fifty with plenty in reserve. Like to look inside?”

It was tempting, but there was work to do. And besides, he’d already heard the guy admit one motoring offense and had no desire to lure him into more.

He said, “Love to, but I don’t have the time just now. Thanks.”

He set off toward the hotel. The man fell into step beside him and said, “You staying here? If you’ve got time later and I’m around, just give me a wave. Sidney Parker, by the way.”

He held out his hand.

Hat thought, Oh shit.

His recrimination was aimed wholly at himself for making assumptions. He’d been looking for a provincial accountant, not the next James Bond.

He didn’t take the hand but instead reached into his pocket for his ID.

He said, “Mr. Parker, it’s you I’ve come to see. Detective Constable Bowler, Mid-Yorkshire CID. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was you back there.”

The smile didn’t flicker for a millisec nor did the hand drop, so Hat shook it.

“No need to apologize,” said Parker. “I didn’t spot you for a policeman. That must be useful in your line of work.”

Then his expression turned grave and he went on, “This is about that dreadful business at the hall, right?”

“That’s right, sir. Just a few questions.”

“Of course. Let’s go inside. My room, if that’s all right, then we won’t be interrupted.”

A couple of minutes later they were sitting in Parker’s room, which turned out to be a luxurious suite about twice the size of Hat’s flat.

“So what’s your line of business, Mr. Parker?” said Hat, looking round.

“You mean, what do I have to do to drive a car like that and stay in rooms like this?” said Parker, smiling once more.

“Just for the record, sir,” said Hat, keeping it formal.

“I work for Harpagon’s in the City. Here’s my business card, and my private card. Just for the record.”

“Harpagon’s,” said Hat, looking at the card, which gave no information other than the name and address. “Doesn’t say here what they do.”

“Sorry. It’s not anticipated we’ll be handing out cards to anyone who doesn’t know. We’re a finance house. I suppose the easiest way to think of us is as a private bank.”

“Yes. Are you here in Sandytown professionally, or is it a social visit?”

“Bit of both, I suppose. It’s home territory for me-the Parkers are old-established Sandytonians-so naturally I like to get back here whenever I can to visit my brother, Tom, and his family at Kyoto House. There is, however, a professional element, insomuch as I act as a financial consultant to Tom. Also to Lady Denham. And to them jointly in their role as cofounders of the Sandytown Development Consortium. But I’m sure a bright young detective like yourself will know all this already.”

This was said with such a pleasant smile that Hat had to work hard to resist returning it.

“Is this consulting stuff a private arrangement, sir, or are you acting as an executive of Harpagon’s?” he asked stiffly.

“It’s more of a personal arrangement than a private one. It’s not the kind of area that Harpagon’s gets involved in-rather small beer for them-but naturally I keep them informed of all my activities and they have no objection to my using my professional sources and contacts.”

Hat wasn’t sure if this was an answer or not.

“So this was why you were invited to the barbecue?”

“Part of the reason, I suppose. Though even without the professional link, the fact that I’m Tom’s brother and our family has long connections with this area would probably have merited an invitation-if I were in the area, that is. I admire your thoroughness, Mr. Bowler, but can’t quite see how this relates to your inquiries into this ghastly affair.”

Hat looked at the elegant figure relaxing in a deep sofa, a long glass filled with some sparkling liquid in his hand. He himself was perched on the edge of an armchair that felt as if it could be very comfortable indeed if he sank back into it. He’d also refused the offer of a drink. In his place, he guessed Dalziel would have downed at least two by now and probably be lying at full stretch on the sofa. Pascoe and Wield he wasn’t so sure of.

Didn’t matter. He’d learned the hard way that DCs needed to tread carefully if they weren’t to sink without a trace. Time enough for eccentricity when he’d got the rank to support it.

He said, “Just clearing the ground, sir. Now, I’d like you to take me through the events at the barbecue so far as you remember them.”

Twenty minutes later he was done. Sidney Parker’s account of the party as he saw it was clear and succinct. Nothing in it, so far as Hat could see, was of any positive use to the investigation. His last sighting of Lady Denham had been as early as two thirty.

“After that our paths just didn’t cross,” he said. “I daresay from time to time I heard her booming away in the background-she has…she had a very positive way of speaking-but I couldn’t put my hand on my heart and swear to it. I suggest you look to Dr. Feldenhammer from the Avalon for a closer account of her movements.”

“Why Dr. Feldenhammer in particular?” asked Hat.

Another smile but this one fleeting, private, and perhaps a touch malicious?

“She had, I suspect, formed an attachment to him,” said Parker, watching the young man keenly.

“An attachment? You mean like a…” Hat dug for a word and Parker laughed.

“I fear you’re being a tad ageist, Constable Bowler. Lady D might have been, in your eyes, an oldie, but she was far from being a moldie. A lady of strong appetite. But I speak only from hearsay, not experience. You must talk to others better placed and judge for yourself.”

So to family and finance we can add sex! thought Hat. Or maybe Parker had just tossed sex in as a diversion.

He said, “As her financial consultant, do you have any idea how much she was worth, sir? I mean, just in general terms. Rich? Very rich?”

“That depends on the circles in which you move,” said Parker. “In the City, I think she’d be rated as very well off. In Sandytown terms, stinking rich.”

“She ever indicate who might get it when she died?” prompted Hat.

“Afraid not, and if she had, I’d have taken it with a pinch of salt. She was not a woman who enjoyed spending money, so she had to concentrate on one of its other pleasures.”

“Which are?”

“Two, principally. The first is giving it away to deserving causes. This, I assure you, was not high among Daphne’s priorities. Rumor has it that on Remembrance Sunday, the poppy she sported had been purchased by her father in 1920.”

“And the second?”

“Making people close to you jump through hoops in the hope of inheriting it. Of course, part of this sport is never being too specific about your intentions. I mean, if people know they are definitely not in your will, why should they continue jumping?”

“So you’ve no idea who’ll benefit.”

“Well, it is generally known, because it was part of her first husband Howard aka Hog Hollis’s will, that her brother-in-law from that marriage, Harold aka Hen Hollis, will acquire Millstone, the Hollis family farm.”

“Harold Hollis, you say?” said Hat, looking at his list. “Why did he get Hen?”

“He concentrated on raising poultry while his brother favored pigs. Hence Hen and Hog.”

“I’ve got an Alan Hollis on my list, but no Harold.”

“Alan runs the Hope and Anchor in the town. Same family, but he had the wit to remain on good terms with Daphne. Unlike Hen. He and Lady D were definitely not on visiting terms.”

“So they didn’t get on. And he’ll definitely benefit from her death…”

He hadn’t meant to speak the words out loud, and certainly not so eagerly, but out they came, causing Parker to smile broadly.

“The impetuousness of youth,” he said. “It would be nice if the solution turned out as simple as that, wouldn’t it, Mr. Bowler? I hope for your sake it might.”

Hat frowned and tried to retrieve the situation by saying sternly, “One last question, Mr. Parker. Why did you leave the hall when you did?”

“I had already decided it was time to leave before the…discovery. I had just asked if anyone knew where I might find Lady Denham to offer thanks when the uproar broke out, and my question was answered. Of course I joined in the general expression of shock and horror, but it soon became apparent that there was nothing practical for me to do. Others were leaving. I saw no reason not to join them. In fact, to tell the truth, I felt that the farther I put Sandytown Hall behind me, the better.”

“Not all that far, sir,” observed Hat. “About a mile and a half.”

“You are being literalist,” said Parker, frowning. “I just wanted to be away from that atmosphere. Besides, I could hardly go farther, not when I knew that eventually someone like yourself would want to interview me.”

“Very responsible of you,” said Hat.

It came out slightly mocking.

Parker said, “Yes, wasn’t it? Tell me, Mr. Bowler, did you really not know who I was out in the car park?”

“No. How could I?”

“So your interest in the Maz was genuine?”

“Oh yes. Very much so.”

“Then my offer to look inside, or under the bonnet, still stands. In fact, if you care to take a ride before you go…? I should tell you, by the way, that when I hit the one-fifty mark, I was on the circuit at Brand’s Hatch. I have a friend who pulled a string.”

I bet you did, thought Hat. Lots of friends, lots of strings.

“No can do, sir,” he said. “Things to do. Sorry.”

“Of course. It was silly of me. You’ll be worked off your feet. But if you do have a respite over the next couple of days, don’t hesitate to get in touch.”

“No, sir. We never hesitate to get in touch,” said Hat.

Then, thinking that was a bit sharp, he grinned and said, “But it would be nice, if I had the time.”

“Good,” said Parker, rising. “Mr. Bowler, it’s been nice to meet you.”

He offered his hand again.

This time Hat took it without hesitation.

On his way out he stopped at the reception desk. The young woman there had clearly heard all about the murder and her eyes shone with excitement when he showed her his ID.

Hat leaned over the desk and said, “You local, are you?”

“Yes. Why?”

“’Cos if you were one of these Czechs or Poles you get working in hotels, you’d probably not be able to help me. You sure you’re local? I mean, you look a bit exotic to me, those high cheekbones and classy figure…”

The girl laughed and said, “Nice of you to notice, but my family have lived round here for hundreds of years, or so my gran says.”

“Then you’re the girl for me. Chap by the name of Hen Hollis, I was wondering where he lived?”