“Surely her feelings for you would have brought her back,” suggested Barnaby. He was finding it more and more difficult to keep his temper at this heartless reversal of the truth.
“Oh, feelings! All they mean is somebody’s all over you till they get what they want then you don’t see ’em for dust.”
“So you decided to keep an eye on her?”
“Yes. There was a scarf of hers in the flat. I wrapped it round my face as well as I could—”
“What on earth for?” asked Sergeant Beryl.
“Because I was all bashed up, why do you think?”
“Why didn’t you clean it off?”
“There wasn’t time.”
“I would have thought,” suggested Barnaby, “that as the last photograph must have been despatched on Saturday and this was now Monday evening, you would have had ample time.”
Simone stared at him, her lovely face so blank she could have been dreaming. Her shimmering hazel eyes opened very wide, reflecting what they saw like pools of liquid light. Behind them he knew her mind was racing.
“A really complicated make-up such as I was wearing can take a long time to construct. Two or three hours at least. We had one last photograph to take and I didn’t want to start again from scratch.”
“You were going to ask for more money?”
“No, no.” Perish the thought. “But Sarah believed, and I’m sure she was right, that Alan would never give up looking for me while he thought I was still alive. After his first wife left he made her life such a misery she had to take a court order out against him. He didn’t give up till she remarried. So, I was to become a corpse. Throat cut, probably. I do a very realistic knife job.”
It had taken her all of five seconds to come up with a completely convincing answer soundly based on an accurate assessment of her husband’s character. Barnaby, who had been sure he knew the real reason for the non-removal of the make-up, felt his confidence slipping slightly. Not his belief in her guilt, never that. But in his ability to lay this guilt out, pin it down supported by scrupulous evidence, before a judge and jury. And prove it.
“So I rang for a cab and told him the airport. I’d no idea where Sarah might’ve parked but I knew exactly where Alan would be because he’d been given strict instructions. So I decided to check him out arriving with the money, wait till he came back and drove off, then go and find Sarah and give her a lovely surprise.” She chirruped with pleasure, sounding like an excited little bird. “But it all went horribly wrong.”
Barnaby interrupted her there. Partly because the interview had already lasted over an hour and he needed to change the tape. Partly because he sensed that control of it had somehow slipped from his hands and he was determined to get it back.
He ordered some drinks and sandwiches to be brought up from the canteen. Simone sipped half-heartedly at a cup of very weak lime tea and said she couldn’t possibly swallow a thing. The men dove in and all the edibles quickly disappeared.
Then the two women went to the loo and Sergeant Beryl stepped out of the building for a cigarette. Barnaby was left alone with his thoughts which were not comfortable. So far he hadn’t managed to make even the slightest dent in Simone, Hollingsworth’s slippery but totally convincing performance as a victim of bullying and gross injustice.
Feeling suddenly stiff and awkward in his chair, he got up and walked around. He flexed his shoulders and turned his head from side to side to loosen up the neck muscles. He felt the need of a sharp gust of fresh air to stir his sluggish mind but knew the atmosphere outside to be warm and humid. The complete silence in the room pressed upon him. There was not even the hiss of the tape for company. He should have gone outside with Beryl.
On her return, Simone picked up precisely where she had broken off. The taxi having put her down near the Short Stay Car Park, she made her way to the top level in the lift and walked to the far end. Barely minutes later the Audi convertible turned up. Simone ducked down behind a Lan-drover. Alan parked any old how, got out slamming the door and raced off without even bothering to lock it.
“And thank God he didn’t because who should drive in then but that weird girl from The Larches. She got out of her Mini, crouched down behind the other cars and started creeping along by the wall! I scrambled into the back of the Audi just in time. I pulled a travelling rug over me in case she looked through the window. I waited—oh, I don’t know, ten or fifteen minutes—and I was just wondering if it was safe to climb out when Alan came back!”
“Oh dear,” said Sergeant Beryl.
“There was shouting, quite near. Then, when Alan started the car up, the passenger door opened and someone tried to get in. I couldn’t see any of this you understand, but I could hear the voices. She kept saying, ‘You’re ill’ and “Let me help you.” He told her to get out and I think he pushed her. Then he drove off but I could still hear her calling to him to stop. I think perhaps she was hanging on to the door handle or maybe her dress was caught up. Then there was this terrific bump and she screamed and he stopped the car. “I heard him swearing. He got out and then there was another sound. More of a bang followed by a thud. Then he got back into the car and drove away.”
Here Simone paused, turned a fresh, untroubled profile to Jill Gamble and asked if she could possibly have a fresh glass of water as this one had got rather tepid in the heat. She listened gratefully to her solicitor’s murmured encouragement. Then she tugged her grey silk handkerchief free of the confining bracelet and dabbed at her dry eyes.
Barnaby watched her, his hands resting lightly on the edge of the metal table. He was pleased to see that, whatever else she could do, Simone Hollingsworth could not cry to order. As he waited he was aware of a certain melancholy satisfaction that he would now be able to inform the Brockleys that the loss of their daughter was due to a tragic accident. After all, there was little point in raising a charge of manslaughter against a man already dead.
He recognised the drink of water ploy for what it was, a device to provide a necessary break in the questioning and, sure enough, once the glass arrived, Simone ignored it.
Barnaby became aware of a deepening tension in the room and then became aware that the tension was not within the room but in himself. There was a tightness in his breast and his breathing was shallow. His concentration, which had not faltered since the interview began, now narrowed to a degree where he felt it must be almost visible, like a pinpoint of brilliant light at the end of a dark tunnel.
“So, Mrs. Hollingsworth. You now find yourself on your way home to Nightingales.”
“To my amazement and distress, Chief Inspector.”
“What happened when you arrived?”
“Alan drove straight into the garage. I stayed very still, holding my breath. I thought, once he’d gone into the house, I could maybe get out of the car and somehow work my way round into the back garden. Hide there till it was really dark. But then he leaned over the back seat to check the door, saw there was something underneath the blanket and that was that. He was overjoyed to see me, almost hysterical with relief but at the same time there was something black and despairing about him. He wrapped the rug round me and—”
“What happened to this rug?”
“Sorry?”
“It was not in the sitting room when the police broke in.”
“Oh, he took it upstairs, I think. Later.”
“Right. Carry on, Mrs. Hollingsworth.”
“We got in the house and he started rambling wildly on about how the whole business had nearly killed him. And that it would happen again or that I would leave or meet someone else and his life would be over. I tried to calm him down and it seemed to work because he suddenly went very quiet. Said he was sorry he’d frightened me and that I wasn’t to worry any more because from now on everything would be all right. I suppose I should have been suspicious at such a quick change but I was just so relieved he’d stopped raving. By this time—”