Picture of Innocence Page 13

  ‘So what was he like, when you spoke to him?’

  ‘Like he always is,’ said Mike, his mind in a fog of panic, startled to hear himself give a comprehensible answer. ‘Surly. Uncooperative. Rude.’ Oh, God, what had he done to her?

  ‘Had he been drinking?’

  Mike shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Were you in the sitting room at all?’

  ‘No. I saw him in his office.’ He shook his head, bewildered. ‘Why do you want to know that?’

  ‘Did you notice the alarms?’ said Finch, totally ignoring him. ‘Would you know if they were on or off?’

  ‘Haven’t the foggiest. On, I should imagine. He had the shutters down, so I suppose all the security systems were on. Look – what’s happened?’

  ‘When did you leave?’

  ‘I don’t know! I was there for ten, fifteen minutes. I left at quarter past eight or something!’ He couldn’t stand it any longer. ‘For Christ’s sake, man, tell me what’s happened.’

  ‘Mr Bailey was found murdered earlier this morning.’

  Mike’s eyes grew wide, as he stared at the young man with the killer punch. Mr Bailey? Mr Bailey?

  Oh, Jesus Christ, he thought, when it all began to fall into place, to make sense. He felt the colour drain from his face, and he looked down at his desk, at the papers on which he had done no work at all, despite being up since dawn. All that soul-searching. All that guilt. All that panic. For what? Someone who had rolled him over. Jesus Christ.

  ‘I’m sorry if it’s come as a shock,’ said Finch, not sounding one jot sorry about it. ‘I didn’t think you were particularly close to Mr Bailey.’

  ‘Close?’ said Mike, looking up again, feeling dazed. ‘ No.’

  ‘But this news has come as a shock to you?’

  Mike nodded slowly, then realized that it had been a question which required a rather more vehement answer than that. ‘Of course it does, man!’ he shouted. ‘You don’t think murdered him, do you?’

  Finch shrugged a little. ‘ I don’t know who murdered him,’ he said. ‘But I do know that you knew that something was going to happen at Bailey’s farm last night. And I believe, Mr McQueen, that there’s a bit more to all of this than you’re prepared to admit.’

  Mike nodded. ‘Maybe there is,’ he said. ‘But that’s my business, Sergeant Finch.’

  ‘It’s mine now,’ said Finch. ‘ We may want to see you again, Mr McQueen, but thank you for your time.’

  Mike rose automatically.

  ‘No, no, don’t get up. I’ll see myself out.’

  Mike sat at his desk for a long time after the sergeant had left. Then he took a cigar from the box, and rolled it between his fingers. He was only allowed to smoke them in here or in the garden, and even when Shirley was away, he did as she wanted, as he had been told. He had always done women’s bidding. He had only vague memories of his father, who had been killed in the war; he had been brought up by his mother and sisters, various aunts and sundry female neighbours, all telling him what to do.

  Then he had married Shirley, and he had had a whole new set of regulations, like not smoking in the sitting room, and how to hold his knife, and that he mustn’t spoil Margaret. But he had spoiled Margaret, of course. She had had him wrapped round her little finger, and he had done her bidding too. She had left home the only time he had refused her anything. They had come to live here because Shirley wanted it; the Rookery project had been for her, in a way. But she had had no stomach for the fight in which he had subsequently engaged, and had gone off to her sister’s until it was all over. It was all over now, but he doubted that she would be hurrying back.

  And then there was Rachel Bailey … he closed his eyes, and dropped the cigar back into the box. My God, Rachel Bailey. There really was no fool like an old fool.

  Chapter Five

  Rachel had expanded a little on life with Bernard after Nicola had left, and had gone upstairs to get the photographs she had taken of what Bernard had done to her that night.

  Through the chimney breast she could hear the inspector talking to the man who’d been in the office earlier, the one who had said he thought she had killed Bernard. The Welsh one. They were talking about her again, and they didn’t sound like colleagues having a discussion, Rachel thought for the second time, as she listened; they sounded like a couple having an argument.

  Why, Inspector Hill was asking, would anyone stay with a man who treated her like that? The money she stood to gain, the man said. But he was going to lose the farm, she argued, and no farm meant no inheritance. Perhaps Mrs Bailey didn’t know that he had gone bust, he said. She told you Bailey didn’t talk to her. But she was only going to get the money in any event if she gave him a son, the inspector pointed out, and she hadn’t had a baby of either sex. Well, he said, they would just have to ask her why not. Rachel smiled, and opened the bottom drawer of the dressing table, taking out the agreement.

  When she went back down, the man introduced himself as Chief Inspector Lloyd. He was about the same age as Bernard, maybe a little older; not as tall, but dark, like him, though the Chief Inspector had lost most of his hair. Unlike Bernard, he smiled readily and often, and he looked like there would be a quick temper ready to surface if things weren’t going his way. Bernard had never got angry, had never said or done anything he hadn’t meant to say or do. Rachel would bet Chief Inspector Lloyd did that all the time, then wished he hadn’t.

  He was wearing clothes that suited the weather, but didn’t exactly suit him or one another. Was he the cool, collected, colour-coordinated woman-inspector’s type? Perhaps not, thought Rachel, but there was a lot more between them than just their shared occupation, her type or not. Fate wasn’t too fussy about mixing and matching.

  Rachel handed Inspector Hill the envelope with the photographs in it, then pulled the chair away from the desk, sitting down. The inspector looked up when she saw the first one, her eyes troubled, and glanced at Rachel before she looked through the rest, pushing them one by one over to the Chief Inspector, like you did with holiday snaps. He kept one out when he closed the envelope, and raised his eyebrows. The inspector nodded. A lot of communication went on without words, Rachel noticed. You had to be close to someone before you could do that.

  Chief Inspector Lloyd looked over at her then, the photograph in his hand, and took a breath before he spoke, like people did when they were going to tell you something you didn’t want to hear.

  ‘Mrs Bailey,’ he said. ‘Did you know that your husband was in a very bad financial position?’

  Rachel nodded. ‘Oh, he didn’t tell me or nothin’,’ she said, in answer to his surprised look. ‘He didn’t want no one knowin’. Even Nicola thinks he still had money. But I heard someone talkin’ to him.’

  ‘There are county-court judgements against him. His creditors were threatening to distrain upon his goods,’ he said. ‘And he was almost certainly going to lose the farm.’

  ‘I know. That’s why he got all them alarms, case he couldn’t make a payment. Said he’d shoot them if they tried to get in.’

  ‘I take it you overheard that as well?’

  She nodded again. ‘ Only way I found anythin’ out was by overhearin’,’ she said. ‘Bernard never told me nothin’.’

  ‘Do you know how he was meeting the payments?’

  No. She had no idea how he’d managed it. ‘Just shuffled his credit round, I suppose,’ she said. ‘Reckon that’s why he owed so much to everyone else.’

  ‘But he couldn’t have gone on like that for ever,’ said Lloyd. And if he lost possession of the farm, he wasn’t going to fulfil the conditions of his grandfather’s will.’

  He came round the desk, sitting on the edge of it, looking over at her, and Rachel saw the look in his eyes. Oh, not as naked as it was in Mike McQueen’s. Not as eager as it was in Curtis’s. But it was there. She glanced at Inspector Hill, and she was looking back at her, her face a little speculative. Rachel was right about th
em, she knew she was.

  ‘Do I gather that he did this to you?’ he asked, holding up the photograph.

  She nodded again.

  This time he nodded too, and there was just the ghost of a smile. ‘My question is simple, Mrs Bailey,’ he said. ‘Why did you continue to stay with him?’

  ‘McQueen’s offer,’ she said. ‘He was offerin’ him four times what this place is worth, and I thought he’d have to sell in the end. I had to stay with him until he did. She reached into her back pocket, and pulled out the agreement, handing it to Lloyd.

  He took out glasses, read it, then looked up at her over the frames. ‘This says that he will pay you ten per cent of his net worth as at the date you quit the marital home,’ he said. ‘If you had this, why didn’t you sue him for divorce as soon as he started abusing you?’ He handed it hack to her.

  ‘He wasn’t worth nothin’ like he was goin’ to be if I gave him a son,’ said Rachel. ‘Even before he went broke. I didn’t want to divorce him, not then.’

  ‘But you didn’t give him a son,’ said Lloyd.

  ‘I was tryin’ to get pregnant,’ Rachel said. ‘To start with. Just didn’t happen, that’s all, ’cept he wouldn’t believe that.’

  ‘What made you stop trying?’

  ‘If he was goin’ to lose the farm, reckoned I might as well be on the pill. Was gettin’ knocked about regular for it anyway.’

  ‘Knocked about?’ said Lloyd. ‘Is that what you Gall this?’ He held up the photograph.

  Rachel shook her head. ‘Reason for that was he hung on like he did. Knew I had to be on the pill. One night he drags me out of bed, beats me so bad I can’t stand up. Says he’ll do it to me again if I don’t get pregnant soon.’

  Lloyd put the photograph down, pushed himself off the desk, and began to walk round the little room, picking things up, examining them, as though they were far more interesting than anything she had to say. Rachel watched him until Inspector Hill spoke again.

  ‘The money was that important to you?’ she said, incredulously. ‘You were being beaten, practically held prisoner—’

  ‘Wasn’t no prisoner,’ said Rachel, with a smile. ‘I could’ve walked out of here any time I liked. Just couldn’t get back in again.’

  ‘Why would you want to get back in again?’ she asked, picking up the photograph.

  ‘This.’ Rachel held up the agreement in a counter to her photograph. ‘ Had to be there if I wanted my ten per cent when he sold.’

  ‘What if he hadn’t sold?’ Lloyd asked. ‘What if McQueen had used the other route? What then?’

  ‘I’d’ve left him,’ Rachel said, with the tiniest of shrugs, looking back at him. ‘ Divorced him. Wouldn’t’ve got nothin’ out of it, though, ’ cos he wouldn’t have had nothin’ to pay me ten per cent of. It was a gamble, that’s all.’ Lloyd understood, a little, she thought. But Inspector Hill didn’t.

  ‘That sort of beating could have done you lasting damage,’ she said.

  Rachel shook her head. ‘He didn’t want to do no lastin’ damage,’ she said. ‘He needed me fit. Didn’t put his weight behind none of them kicks – just kept on doin’ it till I couldn’t take no more. Thought he could scare me off the pill.’

  Inspector Hill shook her head in disbelief. ‘You’re saying you were virtually tortured, Rachel.’ How could you stay after he’d done that to you? How could money ever be worth ending up like this?’

  Rachel looked at the inspector’s clothes, less expensive than her own, but no less elegant. At her hair, probably just as expensively cut. She smiled at her, and sat forward, her hands clasped on her knees. ‘You wore cut-down rubber boots for one hour, one day of your life,’ she said. A wet day. A muddy day. On a farm. A day anyone with any sense would wear rubber boots, whatever they looked like. And you know how that made you feel.’

  The inspector flushed a little, and Chief Inspector Lloyd smiled.

  ‘I wore ’em every day, all day, on my bare feet. Days like’’ this. In hot, dusty, city streets. Beggin’ for money.’ She paused, and sat back. ‘You never begged,’ she said.

  ‘I thought gypsies—’

  ‘Looked after their own? Maybe they do. But look at me,’ she said, with another little shrug. ‘I’m not a gypsy.’ She smiled. ‘Happened at one of them rock festivals. This guy come over to the field where the travellers were, stoned out of his mind. Couldn’t even speak English. Gave my mother some stuff to try, got her stoned too, got himself laid. Never even asked his name. No way she could pass me off, not once her old man realized I was a blue-eyed blonde and I was stayin’ that way. So he threw us out, and we didn’t belong nowhere. I learned to look after myself.’

  ‘Did you?’ asked Inspector Hill, with a glance at the photograph. She put it on the table, face down.

  Rachel nodded. ‘In the end, I got six half-brothers and sisters to look after, too. We’d trail around in an old VW camper, sometimes joinin’ up with other travellers, sometimes on our own. We’d pick up some man, she’d get pregnant again, he’d leave, we’d have another mouth to feed, and I’d have another year of rubber boots and sleepin’ outside and beggin’ in the streets to look forward to. Didn’t own a pair of shoes till I was thirteen years old. But I worked for the money, and I bought them myself.’

  Inspector Hill smiled. ‘What were they like?’ she asked.

  ‘They were gold,’ said Rachel. ‘High-heeled sandals. Put them on, wouldn’t take them off, not for no one.’ She smiled broadly. ‘Cut my feet to ribbons.’ She sighed. ‘But you don’t get rich muckin’ out cowsheds. And I couldn’t do no real job. Can read ‘ n’ write, but that’s ’bout it. Never had no real education. Bernard Bailey offered me a fortune for somethin’ I could do.’

  ‘But it wasn’t going to happen, was it? And I’m told that farm work isn’t all that easy to come by. What would you have done once you finally did leave him?’

  ‘That pendant?’ Rachel said. ‘ The one I can’t find? My father gave it to my mother. Took it from round his neck and gave it to her ’ fore he left. Had it valued a few years back. Solid, twenty-four-carat gold, they said. My mother couldn’t get over that when I told her. She’d thought it was junk jewellery – only kept it ’cos she liked him. I got it when she died, and it’s my insurance. It’s been in and out of more pawn shops than a burglar, and I always get it back.’

  But she might not get it back this time. She must ring the hotel, see if they’d found it. Why hadn’t she had the clasp fixed?

  ‘But it might as well’ve been junk jewellery, far as he was concerned,’ she went on. ‘Just somethin’ he gave a gypsy girl to remember him by. ’ Cept he gave her more than that. He gave her me. And maybe I got more’n just his blond hair and blue eyes. Because I wanted that kind of money to throw away.’

  The inspector looked totally baffled. ‘ How many more beatings like that did you intend to put up with in order to get that sort of money?’

  ‘Few as possible,’ said Rachel. ‘He was going to do it again, the day you were here. Asked me if I’d been to the chemist, and I said no, but someone’d seen me. So he knew I was lyin’, was goin’ to give me another kickin’ for it. But I told him I was pregnant. Didn’t dare touch me then.’

  Lloyd continued to look at Bernard’s books and files as he spoke. ‘You pretended to be pregnant, knowing that he would have to find out you weren’t?’ he said. ‘Knowing what he would do to you when he found out?’

  ‘Was goin’ to do it to me anyway,’ Rachel pointed out. And he didn’t lay a hand on me after I told him I was havin’ his precious baby, never mind his boot. Not once.’ She gave a short sigh. ‘All the while I was married to him, Bernard Bailey was either trying to get me pregnant, or knockin’ me about ’cos I wasn’t,’ she said. ‘Don’t know which I liked least. I got eight weeks free of that. This is the first time in eighteen months that I got no bruises on me.’

  Lloyd turned to look at her then. ‘Why did you come back here this morning?’ he asked.<
br />
  ‘I was due back this mornin’. Bernard couldn’t afford no more nights in a place like that. No way I could’ve stayed there any longer.’

  ‘But you didn’t have to come back here,’ said Lloyd. He came over, sat on the edge of the desk again. ‘McQueen had said publicly that he would take the woodland route if he hadn’t acquired this land by the end of July. You had already lost your gamble. And yet you came back here, when you could have gone anywhere.’

  ‘Why not?’ said Rachel.

  Lloyd sighed. ‘Being dragged out of bed without warning and beaten until you can’t stand up is one thing. Calmly walking back into this house in the full expectation that your husband would do it again when he found out you’d lied to him is quite another.’

  Rachel smiled. ‘And someone came here and stabbed him to death ’fore that could happen,’ she said. ‘So you reckon that makes me suspect number one, right?’

  ‘You are an intelligent, articulate woman, Mrs Bailey,’ he said, sounding Welsher than ever. ‘And nothing you have told me suggests that you do anything without careful consideration of the consequences. The risk far outweighed any possibility of gain. It makes you a suspect, certainly.’ He got off the desk. ‘I think that’s all for now,’ he said. ‘Thank you for being so frank with us.’

  ‘Wouldn’t’ve been. If Nicola knew how to stand up for herself. But she don’t.’ She looked at Inspector Hill as she got up to leave. ‘Bernard Bailey did that to her; she went on. ‘And Gutless Gus was lettin’ you walk all over her.’

  The inspector didn’t argue with that. She got to the door, and turned back. ‘Rachel,’ she said, a little tentatively. ‘You said her father couldn’t do anything to her now he was gone. Was he still abusing her?’

  ‘Only saw him knockin’ her about the once. Don’t reckon he had to do it too often, the way he’d got her trained. They were in the barn. They didn’t see me.’

  She could still see it. See Nicola cowering in the comer as the blows had landed on her head, her shoulders. That had shocked Rachel more than anything else Bernard Bailey had ever done. This time she picked up the photograph, held it up. ‘You want to see lastin’ damage?’ she said. ‘Don’t look at this. Look at Nicola.’