Although the Chelsea Hospital is a real place and the Chelsea Flower Show an actual event, I would like to make it clear that all the characters in this novel are fictitious. Where I have depicted members of staff, they have no bearing on, or connection with, actual personnel working at the Hospital or involved in the Flower Show.

Writing might be a solitary occupation but getting published is a group effort, and I can’t let slip this opportunity to acknowledge the debt I owe to various people who’ve helped in the process.

Thanks to Marysia, in the first place, for suggesting the setting and, later, for researching the Flower Show with me; your company is always appreciated. Thanks also to Tess and Lynn and Sarah; you’ve all been of enormous help and support.

I am also, very much indebted to Kiran Kataria of the Keane Kataria Literary Agency for her very welcome and invaluable efforts at every stage of bringing this novel to publication, and to the team at Lume Books, James Faktor and Samantha Sutcliffe – very many thanks.

Chapter 1

The studio lights beamed strongly down on the activity in the centre of the set, dressed to look like a modern kitchen.

The man behind the workstation beat the mixture in a bowl with a vigorous action. He looked up from the task and winked at the audience he knew to be sitting, in the darkness beyond the cameras. He could hear a couple of gasps at the gesture, and a small ripple of laughter. Quite a few members of the audience had become fans of his, a side effect of fame that he hadn’t counted on until it happened and he hadn’t got used to it yet. But he could cope during the shows when they were ‘out there’ separated from him by broadcasting paraphernalia and technicians. He had no trouble with the badinage then, the jokey asides as he got on with what he did best. ‘Don’t be afraid to go for it,’ he said. ‘Vent your anger and spleen; give them a good beating.’ He narrowed his eyes in a suggestive manner and followed up with another wink. His reward came immediately; a few more gasps and noisier laughter from the faithful. He knew they’d be waiting outside when he left. One or two of them had already given him the glad-eye; definitely an aspect of celebrity that had come as a surprise; how naïve was that? ‘But be careful not to over-whip or they go runny,’ he continued. They weren’t all avid fans. Many of them were dedicated foodies and if they thought his cooking advice bad or ambiguous, the letters to the programme soon let him know it. He put down the fork and turned towards the back of the kitchen. ‘By now you should have it really hot, your oven, that is.’ A wave of raucous laughter greeted this sally. He turned back and acknowledged it with a grin; time to ease up on the innuendo and bring on the cheery boy-next-door. He moved along to the other end of the workstation. The camera followed him so the audience at home didn’t see his assistants moving in to remove the mixture from the set.

He located the relevant camera and smiled into it. Goodness; he was still amazed at how natural all this had become in such a short space of time. Only this morning he had seen that one of the broadsheets described him as a household name. He liked that, Griff Madoc, North Wales farm boy made good. The smile was definitely wholesome now as he picked up some dried herbs from a bowl set on the worktop in front of him and let them fall back through his fingers. ‘So, that’s a double “O” recipe for you this morning, folks. Onion and oregano soufflé; just season to taste and if you serve that as a starter at your next dinner party your guests will definitely be saying, “ooh, yummy”. I can guarantee it because my recipes do — ’ He leaned forward, cupping a hand behind one ear. ‘What do they do?’

‘SPEAK FOR THEMSELVES!’ came the enthusiastic and united response from the audience.

‘That’s right!’ Griff shouted back at them. ‘Of course,’ he added, leaning forward slightly, lowering his voice and entering into a conspiracy with everyone watching – those at home as well as the studio audience. His Welsh accent became a little more pronounced. ‘On this occasion it’ll be no good inviting that sort of guest who likes to be late. For a soufflé starter you’ve really got to have everyone sitting round the table ready to begin when it comes out of the oven. He straightened up and the smile opened again. ‘OK, so let’s just give you the ingredients again in case you didn’t get the chance to write them all down earlier and then I’ll quickly recap the method. After that…’ He beamed. ‘I’ve got some exciting news that I’ve been waiting weeks to tell you about.’

In her home in Richmond, Detective Inspector Angela Costello ignored the gasp of eager anticipation from the studio audience and sat with her pen poised. She scribbled busily as the information flashed up on the screen. Her husband, Patrick, came into the room and placed a coffee on the little table beside her chair before sitting down and taking a sip from his own cup. ‘Hasn’t he produced a book?’ he asked. ‘I’m sure the recipe will be in that.’

‘Yes but it’s not out yet and I want to try this; it sounds delicious.’

‘Isn’t he the bloke that had that afternoon spot, Griff au gratin or something like that, a really naff title?’

‘That’s the one. He seems to have become very popular.’

‘Hence the move to prime-time television and a more upmarket title, I suppose. What is it now?’

‘Griff Madoc Cooks,’ replied Angela, abstractedly as she copied out the recipe.

‘And the use of herbs is his motif, isn’t it?’

‘Oh yes, very much so. He bangs on about herbs all the time. He even gets them into desserts.’

‘Ah! Is that where you got the recipe for those remarkable biscuits you did the other week?’

‘The lemon and basil ones? Yes.’

‘They went down a treat. I noticed Gary scoffed three of them.’

Angela laughed. ‘He’s got a hearty appetite, that young man.’ Gary Houseman, a detective constable, worked with Angela and together they formed part of a homicide assessment team working within the Metropolitan Police. He was also the boyfriend of Patrick’s daughter, Madeleine. ‘Gosh, I hope nothing goes wrong,’ she continued. ‘Apparently this is a live show just for once. There’s some reason they want Griff on TV just now and there isn’t a recorded one ready to go after the last series. Some sort of big reveal, I gather. I wonder what it is? It can’t be about the book, we know about that already.’

A gentle ‘ding’ recalled their attention back to the screen, where Griff could be seen opening an oven door and extracting a tray. ‘OK,’ he said, ‘I’ve just time to show you what I’ve got here.’ He grinned cheerily around as he put the tray down on the worktop. ‘And what have I got here?’ he called, his hand behind his ear again.

The audience roared in unison ‘ONE YOU MADE EARLIER’ before bursting into spontaneous laughter.

In the compact, well-ordered office of a restaurant near Knightsbridge, Marcel Lambret turned his face away from the screen and looked across at the only other occupant of the room. He raised an eyebrow. ‘Have you noticed all that nervousness has gone now?’

‘Oh yes; I think that amazes me more than anything. He’s always been rather shy. Did you know he’s even got a growing fan base — an actual fan base?’

‘You’re kidding!’ In spite of his name, Marcel’s accent and phraseology couldn’t have been anything but pure London.

Pauline Madoc smiled across at him. ‘Oh yes, and from what he tells me, some of them want more than his autograph.’

Marcel raised his eyebrows. ‘Griff never struck me as that type of guy.’

Pauline laughed outright at this. ‘What type of guy, exactly?’

Marcel shrugged. ‘You know… he’s solid; a great bloke, but I’d never think of him as particularly attractive, having women going after him and all that.’

‘He was attractive enough for me to marry him.’

‘Oh, yes, sorry, I didn’t mean, yes, of course, but then you were still — ’ Marcel stopped abruptly and blushed to the roots of his hair.

‘Still more-or-less kids when we married, yes. And if you’re not careful, you’re going to need a large shovel to dig yourself out of that hole you’re working yourself into,’ replied Pauline serenely.

Marcel, still bright red, grinned. ‘You know what I mean. That’s popstar stuff isn’t it, having fans and all that?’

‘Not bad,’ conceded Pauline. ‘Six out of ten for a reasonable recovery; it’s true Griff isn’t your typical babe-magnet, but I don’t think his fans are babes. They’re mainly housewives or women who soon will be, looking for someone with a boyish smile but who’s safe and dependable.’

‘Griff,’ said Marcel.

‘Griff,’ repeated Pauline.

They turned their attention back to the screen.

Griff had now forked some of the soufflé out of the bowl and tasted it. ‘Mmmmmm,’ he said, a blissful expression on his face as he kissed his fingers. ‘To die for.’ He looked into the camera and his accent became a little more pronounced. ‘That reminds me. I’ll have to get cousin Dai over to share it.’ The rhyme/joke earned another burst of laughter, but Griff quickly got back on track. ‘This dish, with a nice hearty salad, makes a wonderful light meal. Now don’t forget, when you’re making a salad, what gives it an added zing?’

‘A SPRINKLING OF HERBS, GRIFF,’ came the answer, right on cue.

‘That’s right,’ replied a smiling Griff. ‘I usually put mine on just before I dress the salad, but you can make herbs part of the dressing itself.’

He put down the fork and picked up a book that had been lying flat on the surface. In their living room, Angela and Patrick watched as a camera panned close in to reveal a picture of Griff’s smiling face beaming out over a trug full of herbs against the background of the kitchen set. The camera remained steady on the cover so that everyone could read the title ‘A Dish of Herbs’. ‘Right, now for the exciting news; you all know I’ve got my first recipe book coming out soon, and it will contain a section on growing your own herbs? Well, to launch the book, I’m inviting you all to come and…’ He paused. ‘Look round my herb garden.’ A gasp of excitement, some cheers and a great deal of loud handclapping rose up from the audience. Griff Madoc beamed in delight, stepped back, and held out his hands as if warding off a frenzied mob of fans. ‘Ooh, that’s got you all going, hasn’t it? No, I don’t mean the one at my house.’ A collective, sorrowful ‘aaaaah’ ran around the audience and Griff’s face took on a mock-contrite expression. ‘Sorry to let you all down, but you won’t be disappointed when I tell you where I’ve been bedding out recently.’ He paused and it was barely a second before one or two mock-scandalised ‘oohs’ could be heard in the audience. ‘Oh look, you really are so naughty, you people. I mean, where I’ve been bedding out my HERBS recently. I’ve found a lovely little plot, not too far from here, in Chelsea in fact. Yes! You guessed it. I’m going to be at The Chelsea Flower Show!’ This news was greeted by a loud burst of spontaneous, excited applause and several more cheers. Once the noise died down Griff spoke again. He maintained a calm air. It was important not to get them going again because he wanted to give full attention to plugging his book as the credits rolled. ‘You know how I’m always pointing out how pretty herbs can be. Well, now you’ll be able to see for yourselves. I’m having a very exciting time at the moment. I’ve enlisted the help of one of my compatriots, Gareth Morgan. Gareth’s got a lot of experience in garden design and he’s working with me in planning it all out. It won’t be just herbs, though; I’m going to include some of my favourite flowers and it’s going to look lovely. Who’d have thought it,’ he said, modest now, as he gazed into the camera. ‘When I was a little boy, growing up on the farm, it was my job to look after the herbs. Very proud of them I was. I didn’t let anyone else touch them. And look where that early experience has led me.’

In his living room not far from the university campus in Usk, South Wales, one of the tutors turned off his television and stood staring questioningly at the blank screen.

‘Farm boy?’ he queried aloud in the empty room. ‘Farm toddler, maybe, before you were taken south.’ He smiled. ‘Still it makes for good publicity, doesn’t it?’ The telephone rang and he picked up the receiver. ‘Hello?’

‘Alwyn, it’s me. I’ve just been watching television and seen that, that… Griff Madoc!’ He spat out the name. ‘Fancy changing the family name from Maddox to Madoc, ridiculous. He’s a celebrity chef.’

Alwyn Maddox’s heart sank, the bottom seemed to disappear from his stomach as he felt the familiar fear he always experienced on hearing this voice. Ever since that… programme had first appeared on the television, he’d known this day would come. He took a deep breath to allow his voice to sound normal. He couldn’t afford to let his fear show. ‘Hi, Dad,’ he replied. ‘Yes, I heard something about it recently,’ he hedged, glossing over the truth. ‘Perhaps it’s not our one,’ he ventured, without much hope.

His pessimism wasn’t disappointed. ‘Oh it’s our one, all right!’ his father assured him. ‘Of course, he’s got a lot of that mother of his in him but he’s also very like your grandfather at the same age so I thought I’d give that “goggle” thing a try.’ In spite of everything, Alwyn couldn’t resist a smile. His father regarded the internet as some sort of sleeping giant. ‘I just typed his name and all sorts of information came up about him. All the other details fit, too. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before, but you know me and computers.’ Alwyn recognised the animation in his father’s voice. He hadn’t heard that tone in a long time; the old man was completely galvanised. ‘He even mentioned Gareth Morgan, that wouldn’t be your old mate, would it, son?’

Alwyn came out with an outright lie this time. ‘I’m not sure, Dad. There must be loads of Gareth Morgans around.’

‘There can’t be too many in horticulture, though. This is a real stroke of luck. This is our chance, Alwyn. Your granddad can’t have too many more years left and we need to get ourselves sorted. Come up this weekend and we’ll put our heads together about this.’

Unable, as always, to resist, Alwyn agreed to the visit and put the phone down with a heavy heart. He knew what would follow; he’d be steamrollered into fanning the flames of his dad’s obsession with the family farm and the inheritance. Goodness knows what he’d want him to do. As a general rule, he tried to give his father a wide berth. He’d never shared with him the fact that he’d come across his cousin when they were both students. He’d come down to South Wales to help Gareth Morgan with a landscaping contract one summer, and saw Griff around the town. He’d been struck by the family likeness and discreetly asked about him. He didn’t make himself known to Griff, though, being aware of the consequences that would follow, but that was how he knew where they’d settled, and about the slight name change. The only person in the town who knew of their relationship was Pauline. He’d met her at that time as well, they’d even dated for a little while, but he found her a bit too flighty and it didn’t last long. Funny to think she’d gone on to marry Griff. She’d found it strange that Alwyn didn’t want to have anything to do with his cousin, and he knew she didn’t really believe what he told her about his father’s hatred of that branch of the family, but she kept his secret, for which he was grateful. He went into his kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. As the depressing effects of the telephone call faded, he found himself thinking of his old friend, Gareth, with pleasure. That email he’d received from him recently brought back lots of memories, good times from their shared college days. Gareth had mentioned that he was in line for a nice designing job and had even hinted that if Alwyn was free, maybe he’d like to be part of it. He didn’t go into any details but now Alwyn found himself wondering about it. Being involved in the Chelsea Flower Show wouldn’t look at all bad on the CV, and he was due a short sabbatical. In any case, he and Gareth hadn’t met in ages, and it would be good to catch up. By the time he’d scrolled through his contacts looking for Gareth’s number, he was whistling and feeling almost cheerful.

In the studio, the cookery programme was fast approaching the finishing credits. The camera lingered for several seconds on the book held in Griff’s hands. ‘Yes, I knew the value of herbs from a very young age. I would never have guessed they’d make me famous one day, but here’s the proof.’ He kept the book still. ‘Don’t forget to look out for it in the shops: A Dish of Herbs. You saw it here first, folks; so, until next week, when I’ll be sharing another wonderful recipe with you. BYE FOR NOW.’ The credits rolled across the screen over a shot of Griff waving with one hand and holding his book in the other, accompanied by yet more cheering and clapping from the audience.

Patrick leaned over and turned the television off. ‘I can see why he’s been brought to an evening slot.’

‘Oh yes,’ agreed Angela. ‘He’s a real showman, but I suppose that’s what they need for the ratings. He’s rather a dish, don’t you think?’

Patrick treated her to a quizzical look. ‘I don’t have a “dish” meter for men.’

Angela grinned. ‘Take it from me, Paddy, he’s hot.’ He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Not as hot as you though, darling,’ she added.

He grinned. ‘That’s all right, then.’

At the studio, Griff hurried to his dressing room where he found his agent, Neville Ingram, waiting. ‘Hi, Neville, did you catch all the show?’

‘Yes, I got here just at the beginning; another good one, Griff, well done.’

‘Thanks, but that’s the first and last time I do it live. We had a couple of very scary moments. A cookery programme live — what was I thinking?’

‘Worth it though, to get in the plug about Chelsea Flower Show. That audience reaction was gold dust. And you didn’t come across as tense or scared. From where I was it looked like a very smooth operation. You’ve certainly learnt how to handle an audience.’

Griff smiled and winked at the other man. ‘I tell you what I nearly didn’t handle. There was definitely a bad egg in that mixture I was convinced the smell would reach the audience.’

‘Really? I’ll mention it to the producer.’ Just at that moment the door opened and a twenty-something woman carrying a clipboard came into the room. Neville recognised Tricia, one of the floor assistants on the programme.

‘Hi there, babes,’ said Griff, slipping off his chef’s coat and hanging it up. ‘Any — ’ He stopped.

‘Hello,’ replied Tricia. She turned to Neville. ‘Sorry to disturb you.’

‘Not at all,’ replied Neville. He wondered what Griff had been about to say. He’d noticed Tricia before, in fact he knew her from somewhere and each time he saw her, he became tormented with not being able to remember where. He also had the impression she appeared in Griff’s dressing room a little more often than her job warranted and wondered if she had an agenda with his client.

‘Just a couple of things, Griff,’ Tricia said, handing him some sheets of paper.

‘Yes?’ replied Griff, folding them up and putting them in his briefcase.

‘That’s your call sheet for next week. Rob wants to touch base with you about the book promotion, you know, working it into the programme, especially in the run up to the Chelsea Flower Show.’

‘Oh yes; is he going up to the bar?’

‘Yes, that’s what he said to tell you. He’ll see you up there when he’s finished sorting the team out. About twenty minutes he said.’

‘Perfect,’ answered Griff, combing his hair into place from where the chef’s cap had flattened it. ‘Are you going as well?’

‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘See you up there, Griff.’ Tricia smiled and nodded at Neville and left the room.

Neville felt that a signal of some sort had passed between Griff and Tricia. He saw that she had handed him two sheets of paper and wondered if one of the pages contained a message and that was why they’d disappeared into his briefcase so quickly. Normally he’d leave the schedule in view where Neville could peruse it. He decided to test the water and opted for the most obvious explanation. ‘I think Tricia might have a bit of a crush on you, Griff,’ he said.

Griff turned a big smile on him, beaming his disbelief. ‘Oh, no,’ he said. ‘Tricia has a boyfriend and she’s very happy with him; nice lad, works in studio B.’

Neville tried another tack. ‘Can I have a look at the schedule, Griff?’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, Neville,’ said Griff, reaching over to his briefcase. ‘I put it straight in here, didn’t I?’ He riffled in the case, pulled out a page and handed it to his manager.

‘Thanks,’ said Neville, taking it. He noted the way Griff separated the two pages and only extracted one of them, a smooth operation but Neville had caught it. He glanced over the sheet. ‘At first sight it doesn’t look like it’s going to interfere with any of the interviews we’ve got set up for you in the next week, but I’ll get back to you when I’ve checked, properly, at the office.’

‘No problem,’ answered Griff, standing up and slipping into his jacket. ‘Are you coming upstairs?’

‘No, I’d better get back. I’ve got a few things to finish up and I want them done by this evening.’

‘OK, I’ll walk along to the lift with you.’ The two men left the office together. All the way down the corridor, Neville couldn’t shake off the feeling that Griff, though apparently his usual cheery self, was constrained in some way. He felt satisfied that Griff couldn’t possibly know about him and Pauline. Pauline was adamant that he had no idea, and she should know. In any case, they’d decided to ease up a little for a few weeks, to get the Chelsea Flower Show and the book-launch out of the way first. They all had just a bit too much going on to cope with their affair just now.

Griff and Neville had gone their separate ways and Neville was halfway down to the ground floor in the lift when it came to him.

He suddenly remembered from where he knew Tricia. She was the niece of Luke Prentice. Luke operated in the same line of business as Neville: artist representation. In fact, since they handled the same type of person in many cases, Neville regarded him as one of his main rivals. Neville stepped out of the lift at the ground floor and made his way across the foyer with a worried frown on his face. Griff earned Neville a great deal of money, and with the forthcoming book that income didn’t look to diminish in the near future. A shudder passed through him. He knew he wouldn’t be able to dismiss the suspicion that Griff might be looking for a new manager. The thought caused him grave disquiet. He took out his mobile phone and scrolled through his contacts looking for Pauline’s name. They had agreed only to make contact in an emergency but, he thought, this constituted one. In any case, there was no danger that Griff would overhear this call.

Chapter 2

After watching Griff’s programme, Pauline Madoc took a cup of coffee and walked through the packed restaurant to the front door. She found this time of the evening pleasant, and was glad to see a vacant pavement table that she could sit at while she drank, and watch the passers-by in Knightsbridge, just a few yards away. While she was doing this her phone, which she’d left in the restaurant’s office, rang. Marcel came through to the street with it in his hand. ‘Call for you,’ he said, handing it to her.

‘Who is it?’ she asked.

‘Neville Ingram,’ he said, noting her sudden movement, which she quickly suppressed. He saw the colour fly into her cheeks; no chance of controlling that.

Recovering herself, she feigned annoyance with a half-hearted frown. ‘More book-launch stuff, I expect. Sometimes I think he regards me as Griff’s secretary, not his wife.’

Marcel handed her the phone and retreated back into the restaurant. He stationed himself right at the back where he had a good view of her, but knew he couldn’t easily be seen.

Pauline’s show of irritation had disappeared. She relaxed back into the chair as she spoke into the phone. She smiled, pulled at a lock of hair and twirled it round her fingers, and the expression on her face bore no resemblance to that of a woman engaged in a business call.

Marcel nodded to himself. Once or twice he’d caught Griff standing in this very spot watching Pauline in the street talking into her telephone. He hadn’t taken much notice of Pauline on those occasions; he’d been struck by the look on Griff’s face. Now he knew why. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the head waiter looking at him with a curious expression and he turned and went back into the kitchen.

Outside on the pavement, Pauline didn’t try to hide her delight in the call. ‘I knew you wouldn’t be able to ease off, like we’d agreed,’ she admonished. ‘What we’ve got is just too strong.’

‘Yes,’ agreed her lover. ‘But we must be very careful.’

‘Oh I know, I know, but I had a little bet with myself that you’d crack and call me.’ She gave a tinkling laugh.

‘And I did, didn’t I?’ replied Neville, playing the game. He wanted to move the conversation past the sweet nothings, but Pauline wasn’t an easy person to deflect. ‘The thing is — ’

‘You know, I’ve wanted you more than ever since we agreed to cool it for a bit. I suppose that’s psychological, isn’t it?’

‘One of the immutable laws of the universe,’ agreed Neville. ‘Pauline, I — ’

‘Part of my reason for not coming to the studio today was because I couldn’t trust myself if I saw you. I hope you realise that.’

‘Pauline, you’re so sweet.’ Pauline was taking a sip of her coffee just at this point, so she made no immediate answering declaration of love. Neville took the opportunity and ploughed on. ‘Pauline, I’ve got a slight concern about Griff.’

‘Griff? What’s to be concerned about? Griff’s an open book, the North Wales farm boyo, the town wimp who married the local beauty-queen going places. He did very well for himself. You don’t have to be concerned about Griff.’

‘Yes, darling.’ Neville knew the history as it stood and was also completely familiar with Pauline’s version of it. Since beginning their affair, he’d come to realise that she either couldn’t see – or chose to ignore – the discrepancies between the two accounts. ‘What I mean is, has he said anything to you about me?’

The tinkling laugh came again. ‘Relax, Neville, there’s no way he knows about you and me.’

Neville stifled a burst of impatience. ‘I don’t mean “us” specifically, Pauline. Has he said anything to you about, maybe, looking for fresh representation?’

That gave her pause. A short silence followed while she considered this. ‘No way,’ she said, finally. ‘He wouldn’t even think something like that without discussing it with me first.’

Neville released a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. ‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘Because he was very new to all the big bucks and fame and fortune when I took him on and — ’

‘You’re not going for the loyalty ticket are you?’ asked Pauline. ‘As in, he can’t possibly dump the wonderful, supportive man who nursed his early career and guided the innocent through the pitfalls of media attention and all that. That won’t wash, Neville. He’s not that stupid.’

‘You didn’t let me finish, darling. I was about to say that he might have forgotten or been so overwhelmed by everything at the beginning that he didn’t realise he’s actually locked in to me for another five years.’

‘You’re joking!’

‘Ah, didn’t you read the contract properly either, then?’

‘I didn’t read any of it. But I must admit I’m not surprised if Griff just signed without really thinking about it. Normally he’s very cautious about business matters, but he was so excited by being taken up by the television company and all that was going on at the time.’ Pauline shook her head. ‘But this is all academic. I’m sure he’s got no plans to change his manager. He seems to be completely happy with you.’

‘That’s good. I’d hate things to become unpleasant. Tell me I’m just being a prat.’

She laughed. ‘You’re just being a prat. Anyway, what on earth made you ask that?’

Neville told her about Tricia at the studio and she laughed even more. ‘Cariad, she’s probably just sweet on him, poor deluded woman. I expect, if the other page contained anything, it was a request for an autograph or something like that.’

Neville allowed himself to be reassured. ‘You’re probably right,’ he said. ‘I asked him if Tricia had a bit of a crush on him but he dismissed the notion.’

‘It wouldn’t do her any good if she had. He’s got several women throwing themselves at him now, but he’d determined to win some sort of prize for being a faithful husband. It’s me who plays away.’

‘And aren’t I glad of that,’ quipped Neville with a leering chuckle. His apprehension now completely laid to rest, he allowed himself to be led back to sweet nothings.

‘I thought, rhubarb,’ suggested the tutor from Usk.

The only other man in the room, seated opposite, looked up at him and nodded as he considered this. ‘Hold that thought, Alwyn,’ he said. He thought some more. ‘OK, this is a herb garden but you want to include rhubarb. I’m not quite sure where you’re coming from.’

‘What I’m thinking is, Griff Madoc’s thing is herbs and he’s keen to show how beautiful they can be as well as wholesome. And with herbs, you mostly eat the leaves, don’t you, So it would be good to strike a, not a discordant note as such but…’

‘Ah! Yes, I see what you trying to do. Keeping to a culinary theme but showing another side to Mother Nature. With rhubarb you eat the stalk but give the leaves a wide berth, they might just kill you.’ Gareth Morgan nodded slowly as he considered the proposition. ‘Yes, yes, yes, I like it. We’ll have a couple of tubs of rhubarb showing another side to what plants can do for you. As well as that, they’re not particularly pretty, are they? Just big floppy leaves. They’ll prove a contrast.’

‘Exactly!’

Gareth made a note on his plan. ‘That’s sorted, then.’

Alwyn nodded, made a corresponding note on his own pad and tried to relax, tried to smile at his friend with nonchalance. His suggestion for using something poisonous had been taken on board without even a hint of suspicion. He let out a slow breath of relief.

Gareth gathered together his papers, stashed them in his briefcase and turned to smile at his friend. ‘I’m really glad you got in touch with me when you did. Apart from the fact that I’d missed the last two reunions, so it was nice to catch up, I felt a bit overwhelmed with this commission.’

‘Why; because Griff Madoc is a celebrity?’

Gareth gave a sheepish smile. ‘Daft, isn’t it?’

‘I don’t think so,’ replied Alwyn. ‘I suppose meeting someone famous can be a bit daunting, especially if you consider there’s a lot riding on this garden.’

Gareth nodded. ‘He’s very popular, so I expect there’ll be crowds coming to see it and of course, he’s linking it with the publication of his first recipe book.’

‘A Dish of Herbs,’ quoted Alwyn. Gareth opened his eyes wide at his friend. ‘I’ve done a bit of homework,’ he explained.

‘You always were very thorough in your research,’ said Gareth. ‘It’s handy, this sabbatical you’re on at the moment, just when I needed someone to help me.’

‘It’s timely,’ agreed Alwyn. He fell silent and gazed into the middle distance.

The pause suddenly felt slightly awkward, and after a moment or two Gareth slapped his knees. ‘OK, this won’t get our garden growing, will it? Let’s get on. We can go and take a look at one or two suppliers before we finish for today.’

‘When do we get into the grounds to check out the site?’ asked Alwyn.

‘Nearer the time; I’ll let you know as soon as I find out. By the way,’ Gareth beamed at his old university friend. ‘It’s not all wellies and gardening gloves, you know. I hope you’ve brought your best suit with you.’ Alwyn raised his eyebrows and looked a question. ‘The thing is,’ said Gareth, ‘The Chelsea Flower Show is part of the London social calendar and lots of companies take the opportunity to do some of their corporate work there, you know, high-class hospitality.’

‘I know the sort of thing,’ agreed Alwyn with a nod.

‘That being so, Griff is going to have his book-launch at the Royal Hospital, and we’re involved with that as well, the floral decorations.’

‘The Royal Hospital? Ah yes, of course, the flower show is held in the grounds of the hospital. It sounds like fun, though,’ he said with enthusiasm. The two men got their jackets from their hangers and picked up their briefcases.

‘It should be a good occasion,’ agreed Gareth. ‘Have you ever watched his programme?’

‘Once or twice,’ replied Alwyn, as they left the room.

Griff liked getting back to his restaurant the day after a recording and hummed a little tune as he parked his car in his usual spot the following morning and made his way along the pavement. He’d turn the corner any moment and see the pavement tables and chairs already set out in the, still-cool early sunshine. His mobile phone rang and he took it from his pocket. ‘Hello?’

‘It’s me,’ said Marcel. ‘Are you on your way in?’

‘I’ve just parked the car. I’ll be with you in two minutes,’ replied Griff.

‘I’ve just looked out the window and seen your little friend. She went past here in the direction of where you normally park.’

Griff’s heart sank and he stopped. ‘Oh no. After that last “do” I thought things would improve.’

‘Maybe they have,’ suggested Marcel. ‘Maybe, after that little bout of counselling she agreed to, she’s only come round to tell you that she’s over you and she’s going off to get a life.’

‘I can but hope,’ replied Griff. A step on the pavement ahead of him caused him to look up. ‘I’ll see you in a few moments, Marcel,’ he added, finishing the call.

He drew to a stop in front of the woman facing him. ‘Good morning, Della. I haven’t seen you in a while.’

The woman, a pale-faced brunette in her forties, running to fat, smiled tentatively up at him. ‘You know why that is, don’t you, Griff?’

‘Not really,’ he said. ‘It’s not as if I took out a court injunction to keep you away from here.’

‘No — but you would have if I hadn’t accepted to go to see a counsellor, like I’ve got some sort of problem,’ she replied.

‘Della, you forced your way into my kitchen, demanded I have sex with you, and when I refused, you attacked me.’

A winsome smiled etched itself across Della’s face. ‘I wasn’t attacking you. I was only trying to help you with your clothes. I know you want me too, Griff. And I really want you; you know how much.’

‘I don’t want you, Della. You’re a total nuisance to me.’ Griff had stopped being polite to this woman quite some time ago. ‘And if you try anything like that again I will have you arrested.’

‘God will forgive you, Griff.’

Griff’s brow creased. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I know all about you. I know that in the last year you’ve been going back to church again. That’s why you don’t want to be unfaithful to Pauline. I’ve been going to church too. I light a candle each day for our love to be consummated.’

‘You’re deluding yourself. I am never going to do any “consummating” with you.’ Griff had no doubt that his words were wasted on Della. Her response proved him right.

‘God will forgive you if you do, but in any case, it wouldn’t really be adultery, not you and me, we’re meant to be.’

Griff made a move to get past her. ‘I’m going into my restaurant, Della,’ he said in a firm voice. ‘I’ve got to go over the books with Marcel and check the supplies. And we’re going to interview a new waiter.’ His attempt to ignore the subject, to show her he was fully occupied and intent on going about his business, backfired on him.

She beamed as if her birthday and Christmas has both come at once. ‘You see, you’re telling me what you’re up to. You’re involving me in your life. I know you care about me really, deep down.’

‘No! No I don’t, Della.’ Griff stopped at he reached the restaurant door. ‘Look, I’m here now. You’re not to try and follow me, or I’ll call the police.’

‘You were wonderful on the telly yest — ’ Her words were cut off as Griff went into the restaurant and slammed the door shut behind him.

Madeleine Costello put her knife and fork down neatly on the empty plate and leaned back from the table. ‘That was absolutely delicious, Angie,’ she said.

‘I second that,’ said her father, Patrick. He turned to Angela and grinned. ‘You’ve got the job.’

Angela laughed. ‘The only time I’ve ever made soufflé before, it came out of the oven and immediately went as flat as a pancake.’

‘You’ve been watching Griff whatshisname again, haven’t you?’ asked Madeleine.

‘I have,’ replied her stepmother. ‘I’ve got really into his programme. I’m even cooking with a bit of a Welsh accent these days.’

Madeleine studied Angela for a moment. ‘You’re winding me up.’

Angela laughed. ‘Yes, I am. But you must admit, his sing-song-y voice is quite attractive.’

‘Talking of attractive young men,’ said Patrick to Madeleine. ‘Where’s your one tonight?’

‘We’re meeting up later. He had a couple of things to do in his flat and then we’re off to a gig.’

‘Oh really, anyone I’m likely to have heard of?’ asked Patrick. ‘Oh, no scrub that. I’m sure it’s someone I won’t know.’

Madeleine laughed. ‘To be honest, I don’t even know the name. Gary’s keen on this band, and he comes with me to stuff I like, so…’

‘Fair enough.’ Patrick nodded. ‘I, on the other hand, plan a scintillating evening — not — of sorting out some old books. Father Martin has begun his yearly trawl for items for the summer bazaar.’

‘What, all those in the cupboard on the landing? It’s about time they had a new home,’ answered Madeleine. ‘Mind you, I took one out the other day when I had nothing to read. It turned out to be modern poetry.’

‘I was very into it at one time.’ He looked across at Angela. ‘Do you remember me reading poetry to you on some of our early dates, darling?’

Angela was amused to see Madeleine blink and redden slightly at the image of her father in a romantic setting. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I remember you being quite coy and not using the rude word in a Philip Larkin poem. I thought it was very sweet of you.’

Patrick nodded. ‘Yes, that was right at the beginning of our courtship. My favourite at the time was Stevie Smith.’

‘Ah yes, the “not waving but drowning” poem, very poignant.’

‘That’s in there; I read that one,’ said Madeleine. ‘You’re right, it’s a lovely poem. Anyway, I’ve finished with it and I’ll stick it back for you, Dad. If clearing out dusty old books is on the agenda for tonight I’m rather glad I’ve got something on even if it’s Gary’s choice of music and not mine.’

‘Whereas we,’ said Patrick with a smug grin as he spooned another helping of soufflé out of the dish, ‘will get more of this.’

Madeleine smiled. ‘Well done, Herbal Griff. I haven’t watched him myself, but I read in the paper that he’s got a garden at the Chelsea Flower Show this year. Are you going?’ She looked from Patrick to Angela.

Angela paused. ‘You know, the thought never even entered my head. But it’s probably too late to get leave now.’

‘Why, when does it open?’

‘In a couple of weeks.’

‘Not far off, then. Never mind, you can watch it on the telly.’ With that, she got up and left the room.

‘I expect that’s the closest I’ll get,’ agreed Angela to Madeleine’s retreating back. After a few moments she became aware of a silence in the room and looked at Patrick to find him studying her with an amused but quizzical expression. ‘What?’ she asked.

‘I’m trying to picture you as a food groupie.’

Angela let out a guffaw. ‘That’ll be the day! And I think the word you’re looking for is “foodie”.’

‘Ah! Yes.’

‘But in any case I wouldn’t be that. I’d be a Griff groupie.’

‘That’s even harder to imagine,’ replied Patrick, standing up. ‘Can’t you fall for a popstar like everyone else?’

‘They’re all too young, these days, just like policemen,’ she answered, following him into the kitchen.

Chapter 3

The news report on the preparations for the Chelsea Flower Show brought to the screen a very attractive overview of the event. Patrick and Angela Costello, settling down for an evening at home, drank their after-dinner coffee in silence as cameras panned around the site and led the viewers up one avenue and down another to show a small army of workers bedding out plants, arranging shrubs, taming creepers, arranging trellises, examining pristine lawns for flaws and inspecting the clarity of the water in a variety of ponds. Hopeful first-time exhibitors spoke excitedly of what they wished to achieve, and old hands explained how they were incorporating the things they’d learned from their previous experience alongside new enthusiasm for this year’s designs.

‘When does it actually start?’ asked Patrick.

‘Next Tuesday.’

‘I worked there one year when I was a student, just clearing tables and washing up in one of the restaurants. I didn’t think of it from a police perspective, but looking back I remember it being very crowded. It could be a bit of a policing nightmare.’

‘It’s probably worse now.’

‘I’m sure. Oh look, they’re interviewing Griff Madoc.’

The camera moved in to a close-up of the TV chef’s head. ‘…The people who watch my programme know what a great advocate I am of herbs in cooking. And we’re all used to buying our herbs dried and crushed in little bottles and packets from the supermarket. But not everyone knows just how pretty they can look when they’re in flower, and that’s what I want to show with my garden.’

Patrick looked across at Angela. ‘He must be right. I’ve never really thought about herbs having flowers. You brought a couple of pots of basil with you when you moved in, I remember, but I can’t recall any blooms.’

‘Nor do I; they’d probably finished before I bought them and I’m not known for my green fingers, so that would have been it. Oh, those look a bit odd. Isn’t that rhubarb?’

‘Oh really? Since when has that been a herb?’ Patrick turned back to the screen to see what she was looking at just as Griff Madoc answered the question.

‘…We’ve decided on something different here,’ he said, standing by a pot from which some large, floppy leaves protruded. ‘It’s important to know that not everything growing in the ground is good for you. This is rhubarb, of course, and unlike herbs, the leaves can be poisonous. Which is why we’re setting them up here on these pedestals out of reach of any children…’

‘Goodness,’ said Patrick. ‘I wonder if that’s wise.’

‘The public only go to look and admire,’ said Angela. ‘In any case, there’s bound to be a warning notice on the pot. Griff wouldn’t do anything daft.’ After a few moments Angela became aware of a silence in the room. She dragged her eyes away from the screen to find Patrick studying her with amusement. ‘What?’ she asked.

‘I’m still collecting evidence about you being smitten with this man.’

Angela laughed. ‘Once a detective… Mr Costello. I admit, I think he’s attractive. I suppose I like Celts.’

‘Celts?’

‘I had a Scottish boyfriend before I met you; then there’s you. And Griff’s Welsh.’

‘You just need to find a Cornishman, a Manxman and a Breton and you’ve got the full set.’

Angela laughed and leaned in to him. ‘I’m happy with what I’ve got,’ she said.

A television in a hotel room near the Bayswater Road was tuned in to the same programme and being watched with professional interest. The camera pulled away from Griff Madoc’s smiling face and moved out across his nearly-completed herb garden, passing over the two men in the background who were moving a couple more pots of rhubarb into position on their pedestals.

‘Hey!’

Neville Ingram nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound. ‘What’s the matter?’ he cried out in alarm, looking towards the en-suite bathroom. He had been leaning back on his pillows but now jerked upright and looked toward the sound of the other voice. Pauline stood in the doorway, staring at the screen.

‘Can you play that back?’ she asked, coming and sitting on her side of the bed.

‘No, this is a live transmission. What on earth did you call out like that for?’

‘Perhaps I can get it on I-Player later,’ she said. She looked at him. ‘I thought I recognised someone on the screen.’

Neville gave a small ironic smile. ‘Yes, your husband.’

She made a face at him. ‘Funnee,’ she said. ‘I thought I saw someone else I used to know but I’m probably mistaken. Talking of my husband, I suppose I’d better get back to him.’

‘That’ll be the third time you’ve got home before him this week.’

‘I’m just protecting my investment. He was already doing well in the restaurant but now there’s the TV series and the book. You’d be amazed at how much he’s making.’

‘No I wouldn’t; I am his manager, remember.’

Pauline laughed. ‘Oh yes, I keep forgetting.’

Neville paused. He knew he wasn’t the first lover Pauline had taken since she’d exchanged vows with Griff, and from what he could gather she gave little support to her husband. He wondered what ‘investment’ she thought she’d made in the marriage. He had the wisdom not to pursue this line of thinking. ‘You’d get a hefty whack in alimony if you divorced,’ he said.

‘Ha! Divorce? I’ve got no guarantee of alimony, not the way the courts work these days. And in any case, the man’s a born-again Catholic. He’d never agree to a divorce.’

Neville nodded. Pauline considered him for a moment before speaking again. ‘That would bother a lot of women but it suits me down to the ground.’

Neville smiled at her. ‘Of course; the status quo works in your favour.’

‘You’d better believe it. He’s the goose that lays the golden eggs, isn’t he?’ she said. ‘And we’re both doing very nicely out of him.’ Neville remained silent. ‘Don’t tell me you’re shocked, Nev. You’ve always know I’m a lady with her eye on the main chance. We’re two of a kind, you and me.’

‘I’m not shocked,’ replied Neville. ‘And you’re right; we are both doing well on the back of Griff’s success.’

‘You were worried a little while ago that he was looking for a different manager.’

‘I’m still not completely reassured about that but I think, from Griff’s point of view, with everything that’s going on, this wouldn’t be a good time to jump ship.’

Pauline leaned over and kissed him gently on the lips. ‘I’m telling you, cariad, you’ve got nothing to worry about. He wouldn’t make a decision like that on his own. He’d discuss it with me,’ she smiled and leaned for another kiss. ‘And you know what I’d say about that, don’t you?’

After a long moment Neville spoke. ‘You’re very sure of him.’

‘Of course, with good reason; he would be nothing without me. I told you before. He was the town wimp, a total nerd. None of the other girls would look twice at him. I could have had any boy I wanted.’ Her eyes took on a dreamy expression. ‘My goodness, it caused tongues to wag when we were seen together.’ Her face hardened. ‘He would never have got where he is today without me.’

‘Town wimp marries local beauty queen,’ said Neville, who could recognise a cue when he heard one. He looked into her eyes with what he hoped she would take as appreciation – but in reality, he wondered how she managed to maintain this delusion about her influence in Griff’s life and what she thought he owed her. Even if she was right about the beginning of the story, she didn’t seem to realise that Griff had moved on a long way from that shy, spotty teenager.

‘That’s right.’ A far-away look appeared in Pauline’s eyes as she continued her trip down memory lane. ‘Do you know why I went out with him?’

Neville had often wondered this, but he knew where Pauline’s boundaries lay and to voice this thought would be to cross one of them. ‘No, you’ve never told me,’ he said.

‘A dare! Would you believe? I did it for a dare.’ She let out a burst of laughter, an unexpectedly harsh sound.

Neville managed not to wince. ‘But you must have fallen for him.’

Pauline looked at Neville and raised her eyebrows. ‘Must I?’ she said with a smirk.

‘Yes, well, you married him.’ In spite of his willingness to be the lover of a married woman, Neville also maintained a traditional attitude to male-female relationships.

‘He was the only one with a plan,’ she said. ‘The rest of the local boys had no ambition. All the same, they were, going nowhere.’

Neville found he disapproved of this blanket condemnation of an entire Welsh town’s young men, but thought it best not to let on. He knew what she wanted to hear. ‘So you made him what he is today, did you?’

‘I did, cariad, and he knows it.’ She leaned back and looked at him. ‘You’re happy with the way things are, aren’t you?’

‘Oh yes, this suits me,’ replied Neville. ‘I just wonder about you… and him, at times.’

A flash of uncertainly raced briefly across her face. Neville shivered as her mask of complacency fractured, but the look was gone in a moment. ‘We’ve been married in name only for a while now, so I suppose I’d better put that right. I don’t want him getting suspicious. I’ll even cook dinner tomorrow night, play the good little wife.’

Neville grinned. ‘That’ll take all your acting skills. So, I expect the next time we meet it’ll be at the book-launch at the Chelsea Flower Show.’

‘Yes and we’ll be very polite and formal and keep our hands off each other, just like we should.’

Neville smiled. ‘We’ll be on our best behaviour.’

The book-launch for A Dish of Herbs took place in the Great Hall of the Royal Hospital, Chelsea, affording all the guests the chance to take in the famous flower show in the grounds as well. The television company that produced his cookery show had decided to film the guests wandering around Griff’s herb garden and incorporate it into his next cookery programme so the viewers could see exactly what he’d been talking about for weeks.

A warm spring sun slowly descended from its noon high, beaming down on them. Griff’s area, currently the focus of a great deal of activity, presented a very attractive sight. Even though somewhat obscured by all the paraphernalia of an outside broadcast, the visitors to the show could nevertheless see that Gareth Morgan and Alwyn Maddox had done a highly competent job. Tricia scurried around with clipboard in hand and a frenzied look on her face. The planned five minutes of film had so far taken days to plan, and the crew had arrived on site before eight o’clock that morning.

‘OK, ready again,’ said Tricia, finally. ‘Stand on your spot, Griff, that’s it. All right, go.’

Griff smiled into the camera. ‘Well, I promised you a look round my garden, so here we are…’ Griff moved to one side, thus affording the future audience at home a clear view of his plot. ‘I told you, didn’t I? — herbs make very pretty flowers.’ Griff gently touched a bright yellow bloom. ‘I wonder how many of you recognise this as dill. As you can see, it’s absolutely beautiful. It would make a very attractive addition to a bouquet.’

Griff continued moving slowly around the small space, looking back and smiling at the camera and introducing the different herbs in his mellifluous accent.

Behind the camera a sizeable gathering of people watched him, waiting for the broadcast to finish so they could start on the book-launch. A delicious buffet and several magnums of champagne awaited them.

Finally, after several takes, the director declared himself happy with the footage and the guests were allowed to move towards the hospital building and the food and drink.

Neville, his hand holding his wife Melanie’s elbow, guided her along the path. Oblivious to the marvellous façade of the Royal Hospital ahead of him, he gazed all around in an agitated manner, his fears about Griff seeking alternative representation surfacing once more. He thought he’d seen his business rival, Luke Prentice, and wondered if he’d been invited to the same event, which would be a worrying development. He tried to tell himself that Luke might happen to be at the flower show on behalf of another of his clients and had just wandered over to Griff’s garden to have a look at what was going on. The man couldn’t be seen now, at any rate, and Neville let out a small, tense breath and turned his attention to his wife. ‘It’s a good turn-out,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ agreed Melanie, somewhat distracted. Her eyes were fixed on Pauline Madoc, tottering along in front of her in very high heels and a very short skirt. A rather large Gucci handbag slapped against her spray-tanned legs as she walked. Melanie had to hand it to Pauline – she certainly had style. She fought down a sudden spurt of anger. It was important to maintain control. She’d been wondering who Neville’s latest might be, and now she knew. She could tell from the way they didn’t make eye-contact. And she recognised a certain quality about the restraint they showed towards each other. She’d had plenty of practice in this art of detecting Neville’s clandestine affairs. She slowed a little so as to be out of earshot and Neville, with a questioning look, hung back with her until most of the other book-launch guests had passed them. ‘Are you out of your tiny mind?’ she said in a fierce whisper. ‘She’s your most prestigious client’s wife.’

Neville’s head jerked as if he had been slapped and his eyes widened. ‘Mel? I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Of course you know what I mean,’ she snapped. ‘And don’t bother feigning innocence. I always know, Neville, I know the minute you walk in the door after your first encounter with whatever poor unfortunate woman you’ve latched on to this time.’

Neville’s face was nearly the colour of beetroot. ‘OK, but it was just the once and it’s over now.’

‘Pur-lease! Don’t insult my intelligence. You might be an idiot but you’re not married to one.’ She pointed to Pauline through the crowd now ahead of them. ‘That woman isn’t like your others.’

‘Others… look, Mel, there haven’t been — ’

‘Shut up! You’ve bitten off more than you can chew with Pauline Madoc. She’s ruthless; she’ll cause you trouble and I suggest you get rid of her as soon as possible.’

Unaware of the marital discord behind her, Pauline reached the Great Hall and stepped inside. She paused a moment and allowed herself to be over-awed at such a magnificent room. She took in the oak panelling, the paintings of British Monarchs, capped by the striking mural of King Charles II at the far end. She nodded to herself, muttering in a smug fashion ‘the farm boy’s done good,’ before moving forward. At the first table waiters were already pouring champagne in anticipation of great demand. She made her way past the buffet, a feast for the eyes. Two whole, dressed salmon, arranged as though swimming in opposite directions formed the centrepiece for a delicious-looking array of finger-food. Caviar-topped blinis nestled alongside dainty asparagus quiches. Beef and mozzarella meatballs sat in competition with a small regiment of chorizo and prawn skewers. Croustades with quail eggs jostled for attention with mini pissaladières, while savoury tartlets, cheese straws, mini spring-rolls and samosas abounded. The desserts were equally impressive and tantalising. Tiny New York cheesecakes, chocolate and ginger brownies, beautifully decorated meringues, minute bowls of pancetta and a small profiterole mountain beckoned beyond the first course. Pauline, impressed, noted all the hard work that had gone into such an attractive-looking spread – but she didn’t allow herself to be deflected from her quest. Just where the dessert section ended a pile of Griff’s recipe books was displayed on a table in front of red drapes concealing the servery. Between the buffet table and the display stood a life-size cardboard cut-out of Griff in his chef’s clothes, with a mixing bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other. By the time she reached this area, Pauline knew she wasn’t mistaken, even though it had been a long time. She approached a figure with his back towards her, half-hidden behind the cardboard cut-out.

‘It is you, isn’t it?’ she began. ‘I thought I caught a glimpse of you on the television the other night.’

The figure stopped putting the finishing touches to a bouquet of herbs in flower and turned round. ‘Who — ?’ he began, and immediately a look of apprehension came into his face.

Pauline beamed in triumph. ‘I was right! I knew it; Alwyn Maddox, after all these years.’ She leaned forward a little and lowered her voice. ‘How are you getting on with your cousin?’

Alarm flared up in his eyes and he darted his eyes round the room. Griff, accompanied by Neville, had just entered the room on a burst of excited chatter from all the other guests, who followed close behind. The company quickly spread out around the place, some to the book display, some to the drink and others to the food. Various small knots of people began to form across the floor as acquaintances engaged in conversations.

‘I presume you’ve put all that old family feud business behind you, since you’re working here on his garden,’ she continued, still in a near-whisper.

‘I haven’t, we haven’t — I’m not the actual designer, that’s Gareth Morgan; he’s a friend of mine from university.’

‘Oh I remember, that’s the same man you were working with the summer we met, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes.’

‘But surely you’ve made yourself known to Griff?’ persisted Pauline.

Alwyn gulped and shook his head, uncomfortably aware of how a rabbit might feel caught in the glare of headlights. ‘No, I haven’t. The family feud was alive and kicking the last time I talked to my dad.’

Pauline nodded. ‘Don’t worry; I won’t reveal your little secret.’ She smiled as if at a fond memory. ‘It always amused me, to think I dated two cousins and they’d never even met.’

Alwyn felt a great deal calmer now that she had promised not to reveal his identity. He gave a small, embarrassed smile. ‘So how are you, Pauline? You’re looking well.’

‘I’m all right, thanks, yes. I went on to a bit more success before I retired.’

‘Success? Retired?’ He looked puzzled.

‘Yes, you know, I was elected the Town Carnival Queen when you were with us. I thought that’s what made you notice me. I went in for a few more competitions after that and did quite well.’

‘Oh, er, great, congratulations,’ he replied, still looking a little nonplussed.

‘It’s amazing to meet up with you again, Alwyn.’

‘Yes, well, I suppose, no, not really, when you consider the circumstances but I, er, I’d — duty calls for the moment.’ He inclined his head towards the bouquet he’d been working on and picked up a watering can that had been hidden behind the cut-out.

‘Yes, you’ve got a job to do. Introduce yourself to your cousin when you get the chance, though. Don’t worry,’ she added as alarm flared in his face again. ‘I’m teasing. Talk to you later, maybe.’

‘Yes, indeed.’

If Pauline had been a more perceptive woman she would have noticed Alwyn trying and failing to conceal his relief that the conversation was over. As it was, she complacently watched him turn back to his task with the sense of having pleasantly surprised an old flame. She looked back along the table, admiring the sumptuous spread. Griff would be pleased with it. She looked across to where her lover stood next to his wife. She knew she wouldn’t be able to catch his eye, she hadn’t been able to all the time they had been watching the filming. She noticed that Neville’s attention was drawn not to his wife but to someone else in the ever-increasing throng in the room. She followed his gaze and saw someone she thought she ought to know, ah yes, Luke Prentice, Neville’s supposed business rival. She’d only met him once or twice, and she knew her words to Neville about Griff’s plans hadn’t completely succeeded in reassuring him. She studied him for a moment. An attractive man, well-groomed and wearing an elegant suit. She smiled as she considered: he was very much her type, so maybe one day… who knew? But, on the other hand, she liked Neville. She liked him a lot, and felt their affair had a great deal of life left in it.

The launch got going in the usual manner of such events; the buffet table could barely be seen at one point for the crush of people clustering in front of it, and the guests showed their appreciation of the fine champagne available by quaffing it in great quantities. A more or less constant hum of several indistinguishable conversations bounced off the wainscoting and ascended to the moulded ceiling.

In the middle of it all, Griff was holding court.

‘Oh I couldn’t possibly say.’ He smiled at the unfamiliar face of somebody who’d asked him to name his favourite herb. ‘I love them all in their different ways.’ A woman appeared at his elbow. He felt a tap on his arm and turned. He frowned; he knew this face. ‘Della? I didn’t expect to see you here.’

His number one fan smiled adoringly into his eyes. ‘I’m a member of the Royal Horticultural Society,’ she replied.

Griff hid a sigh and nodded, forbearing to point out that that didn’t give her the right to gate-crash his book-launch. She held out a glass of champagne to him. ‘I was asked to bring this over to you,’ she said, glad to show that she was approaching him in some kind of quasi-official capacity.

Griff hesitated, unwilling to take anything from Della. He knew how little encouragement she needed to think she had a chance with him, but she stood in front of him like an immovable force, and he knew if he didn’t do something it would look very odd – so he finally took the glass from her, but without saying a word.

Neville appeared at Griff’s side. ‘Hey, Griff, what about a little speech of welcome just so everybody knows the launch has officially started?’

‘Yes, you’re right,’ agreed Griff. He held out the glass. ‘Here, do you want this? I haven’t touched it.’ He kept his face turned away from Della. ‘I’ll get myself another one in a minute.’

‘Happy to oblige,’ replied Neville, taking the glass. ‘Good bit of work on the part of whoever got this, there’s such a crush at the buffet table.’

Griff leaned close to Della. ‘You’d be advised to circulate or I’ll have you thrown out,’ he whispered before turning his back on her.

Neville raised the glass in his hand and paused. ‘Hang on,’ he said, ‘let’s get you started, Griff.’ He raised his voice. ‘LADIES AND GENTLEMAN, MAY WE HAVE YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE, GRIFF’S JUST GOT SOMETHING TO SAY TO YOU.’

Neville moved to the perimeter of the crowd as an immediate hush descended on the room.

‘Good afternoon everybody,’ began Griff. ‘First of all, let me just thank you all for coming. Many of you were out in the garden with us just now, and I’m impressed by the patience you all showed while the filming was going on. Not everybody’s aware of what a stop-go business making a television programme can be. I’m very grateful for the support you’ve all shown me, one way and another. Who’d have thought it, a restaurant, a television show and now a book? But I’m not a one-man band and I don’t think I could be where I am today without — ’

A piercing scream rent the air. Griff stopped speaking and, with the entire gathering, turned a puzzled face to the source of the noise. Their puzzlement turned to consternation as the glass flew out of Neville Ingram’s hand and skidded across the room, spilling the contents in a spreading puddle across the floor. The emotion turned to horror as Neville fell to the floor and began to writhe in agony. The shock caused a nano-second’s hiatus before they all rushed towards him. A shrill, anguished cry of ‘NOOOOO!’ in a woman’s voice broke forth from somewhere, but everybody had eyes and ears only for the event unfolding before them. Alwyn, Gareth and one of the marketing men from the publisher’s office reached Neville first and immediately tried to ensure the crowd didn’t come too close.

‘Somebody call an ambulance!’ barked Gareth. In spite of the continued screaming, several people reached for their phones but one was quickest off the mark, and as he started speaking, the others cancelled their calls. Meanwhile, others rushed out of the door calling for the security guards and first-aid attendants.

‘Keep back, let him breath!’ shouted Alwyn, hunkering down over the gasping, contorted, jerking figure. But even as he turned back to the man on the floor, the command had become redundant.

Neville Ingram had breathed his last.

Chapter 4

Angela had earmarked the last part of the afternoon at the Homicide Assessment Team office for getting rid of a pile of paperwork that had accumulated on her desk. She looked forward to clearing it, and had sent Detective Constable Gary Houseman off to the drinks machine for the necessary cup of coffee, while she surveyed the reports and internal memos. She was on the point of getting stuck in to it all when Gary appeared by her desk, leaned over, put a cup of coffee down, straightened up and spoke. ‘You’re not going to have time to finish this.’

‘Why not, pray?’ asked Angela, bringing the cup to her lips.

‘Three words.’

Angela looked up at him. ‘And they are?’

‘The Chelsea Flower Show.’

‘That’s four words.’

Gary used his hands to mime the act of writing in a notebook and spoke, as if to himself. ‘Rule number one: make sure boss is awake before passing message: check.’

Angela gave a half-smile and narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Do you want a slap, Gary?’

Gary dropped his hands to his sides and gave a grim half-smile. ‘We’ve had a call. There’s been a suspicious death at the Chelsea Flower Show.’

‘Oh, how weird is that! I was just talking about the flower show last week with Madeleine.’

‘Yes, she told me. I also know that you didn’t save me any soufflé.’

‘You can’t save soufflé; it just goes flat. Can’t anybody else do it?’

‘You’re joking, aren’t you? The canteen here doesn’t go in for— oh, you mean the Chelsea call?’

‘Yes.’

‘We have the least on at the moment, apparently.’

Angela nodded and got up to see that the rest of the team were also stirring themselves. Detective Sergeants Rick Driver and Jim Wainwright were shrugging themselves into their jackets, and Detective Constables Leanne Dabrowska and Derek Palmer were approaching her across the office. ‘DCI Stanway is at a meeting this afternoon,’ she said to no one in particular.

‘We’ve left a message with his secretary, guv,’ responded Leanne.

‘Good; well done.’ She looked around at her team. ‘Who’s got the details?’

‘Me,’ said Gary.

‘OK, you come with me in the HAT car with Derek and Leanne. Rick and Jim, we’ll see you there.’

Once in the car, Angela took the wheel. ‘OK, Gary, give me what you’ve got,’ she said, once they were all belted in. She pointed the car north, towards the river.

Gary opened his notebook. ‘The deceased is a man called Neville Ingram. He is, or rather, he was, a manager to some celebrities, the TV chef Griff Madoc being among them — what?’ he finished, as a gasp escaped Angela.

‘Nothing; sorry,’ she said, looking briefly across at Gary. ‘It’s just that I like his programme and try never to miss it.’

‘Makes a nice soufflé, I’ve heard.’

Angela laughed. ‘I’ll do another one sometime; back to business, young Houseman.’

‘Yes, Ma’am. The victim is in his late thirties, married with two children, no information about them but the wife might not be in a state to talk, not immediately anyway. It seems someone went into hysterics when the death occurred.’

‘Only one person?’

‘I could only hear one woman screaming in the background at the beginning of the call and had to ask the caller to repeat what he’d said. But then she went quiet anyway, so probably somebody was managing to calm her.’

‘Poor woman, I hope she’s all right.’ She looked around at her team. ‘Has anyone here been to the Chelsea Flower Show before?’ A chorus of ‘noes’ came back to her from the car’s other three occupants. ‘Hm, me neither. It always looks lovely on TV, but from our point of view it could be a pig of a place in which to investigate a murder.’

‘If it is a murder, guv,’ said Leanne.

‘You’re right, we mustn’t jump the gun.’

‘Why, though?’ asked Gary.

‘Because it gets very crowded,’ replied Angela.

‘Oh yes.’

‘What else have you got?’

‘The incident occurred at some “do” in the hospital near the show gardens, a champagne reception, I think, the officer said.’

‘Oh no! How many people are we talking about?’

‘I wasn’t told anything about numbers,’ replied Gary.

‘There’s always a load of people at these affairs aren’t there, guv?’ said Leanne, leaning forward from the back seat.

‘Yes, I imagine the guest list was quite big — Griff Madoc has a lot of fans, what with the TV programme and now a book coming out.’

‘Yes,’ said Leanne. ‘It’s his first one. He’s been promoting it a lot on his programme.’

‘A Dish of Herbs,’ added Angela.

‘You two seem to know all about it,’ remarked Gary. ‘That’s what the officer phoning it in must have meant. He talked about a launch — which didn’t make sense to me at the time, but it does now. Anyway, all the guests were milling around and some were still coming in from the gardens.’

‘Yes, Griff Madoc has a herb garden at the show. He’s very big on herbs,’ explained Angela.

‘Right, so this man, Neville Ingram, suddenly became ill. He keeled over and everybody rushed towards him wondering what was going on and calling for first aid and what-have-you. But he seems to have died very quickly.’

‘Who declared him dead?’

‘A doctor who was visiting the… hang on a minute.’ Gary studied his notes. ‘Yes, a doctor on a tour of the hospital. Apparently you can go round it.’

‘Yes, I believe that’s so,’ said Angela. She took a quick glance across at him. ‘It’s not a hospital with wards full of sick people, Gary. You do know that, don’t you?’

Gary slapped his forehead. ‘Oh yes! I wasn’t thinking. It’s the Royal Hospital, where the Chelsea Pensioners live.’

‘That’s it.’

‘Yes; so this doctor was passing when the kerfuffle started, and asked if he could be of assistance. The police pathologist is on his way.’

‘Has the area been sealed off?’

‘Yes,’ replied Gary. ‘The security guards were first on the scene, and they did all the right things. Told everybody not to leave and tried to make sure nobody touched anything. Then the uniformed lot arrived very quickly and took over.’

‘OK, any more information?’ asked Angela.

‘No,’ he replied.

‘Right,’ she said as they approached the road leading to the river. ‘We’ll cross here and make our way to Chelsea on the other side. It’s a bit of a twiddle but never mind.’

The local police, with the help of the show’s security officers, had taken control of the situation. A couple of uniformed policeman were making a cordon around the door of the Great Hall with blue-and-white-striped incident tape. Another greeted Angela and her team as they entered a kind of lobby area leading to the hall and introduced himself as Sergeant Jenkins from the local station.

‘D.I. Costello,’ replied Angela. ‘What can you tell me?’

‘Ma’am, it seems a champagne reception was taking place. Griff Madoc, the TV chef, is launching a recipe book. Apparently he had just started a speech of welcome when one of the guests was suddenly taken ill. Unfortunately, he died before any help could arrive.’

‘Where are all the guests who were at the reception?’

‘We’ve got them all in the chapel, Ma’am.’ He nodded and pointed at the door on the other side of the lobby, opposite the Great Hall. It’s close and it’s big with plenty of seating, obviously, so it seemed the best solution. My constable will escort you when you’re ready. We managed to get them away without any of them going close to the body and contaminating the scene, once we’d arrived, that is. Obviously they’d all crowded around a bit when he first collapsed, as you’d expect.’

Angela nodded. ‘Yes indeed. Did you notice anything particular about any of them?’

‘Nothing out of the ordinary, ma’am; a couple of the ladies were very distressed and the doctor who declared the man dead went with them to see if he could help. One of them,’ he consulted his notebook, ‘ah yes, a Della Burnett, this lady was quite dazed and kept muttering something about it being Griff’s drink.’

‘Oh really? Do you know what she meant by that?’

‘I’ve no idea, Ma’am. If it’s his book-launch I presume all the drinks are his, so to speak.’

‘Yes, well, I daresay we’ll learn in due course, thank you, Sergeant. Now, can you accompany my officers to the chapel?’ said Angela. She turned to her team. ‘OK, I’ll just see what’s what at the crime scene for now, and you can check it out later.’ She gave a gentle nod to towards the room. ‘And I’ll join you soon. It all sounds as though it could have been quite confusing, so we’ll need to get as clear a picture of the event as we can. You know what to do. Tell the victim’s wife that I’ll be with her very shortly; Gary, once you’ve seen where everybody is, will you come back and get me?’

‘Will do, Angie,’ said Gary. One of the officers handed Angela a white crime-scene suit, which she put on over her clothes, then a uniformed officer lifted the tape to let her through to the Great Hall, where Neville Ingram still lay stretched out on the floor. She hadn’t expected to find herself taken aback by the magnificence of the room and just for a moment her attention was drawn to the oak panelling, the paintings and the sumptuous buffet before she gave herself a mental shake and turned her attention to the job. Initially, she hung back, careful not to get in the way of the scene-of-crime officers who, similarly dressed, were diligently and painstakingly going over every inch of the space. One of them looked up as she entered.

‘D.I. Costello, Homicide Assessment Team,’ she said. He nodded and turned back to his task.

Angela gazed down at the body spread out on the black-and-white tiled floor. Even with his face twisted into the painful rictus of death, she could tell he had been a good-looking man; she noted the expertly-cut thick, dark-blonde hair and the expensive suit. The fingers, still in the position of one clutching at the air, showed clear signs of a very efficient manicure, and she thought too that the highly-polished shoes on his feet would have set him back a fair bit. It’s another world, she thought; she had no doubt that she would come across more pricey designer clothes and accessories when she caught up with the other guests.

She didn’t go close to him. She let her eyes wander all around, taking in the scene. She noted the cardboard cut-out of Griff Madoc. If that was life-size, then he was taller than he seemed on TV. Several bottles of champagne, some half-finished, some completely empty, stood forlornly on their table surrounded by both used and unused glasses. The buffet itself, a mixture of finger food and desserts, showed clear signs of recent disturbance. Several abandoned plates of food littered its surface, and some had even been upturned onto the floor. She glanced over to the far end of the room, where a display of recipe books was attractively set out under a large poster advertising the same thing; one or two had toppled over but none had fallen on the floor.

She became aware of a movement behind her and she looked around to see her boss, Detective Chief Inspector Stanway, pushing his bulk through the door, his girth straining the seams of his crime-scene suit. Hello? She thought. You were supposed to be at a meeting. Suddenly she remembered the beautiful display of dwarf roses, so tenderly cared for, in his office. Stanway loved gardening. Why hadn’t she thought of that before? She couldn’t expect him to remain on the edge of an investigation at this particular venue. She had no doubt that between the front gate and the scene-of-crime he would have found the time to admire rare and special blooms she’d never even heard of.

Composing her features into a business-like expression, she turned to greet him. ‘Good afternoon, Sir. Did your meeting finish early?’

‘It’s still going on but I excused myself,’ he replied. ‘Once I’d heard about this, I thought I’d better shoot over. The others in the division need to know that I give my staff my full support.’

‘Thank you, Sir.’ Angela had the wisdom to take the DCI‘s remarks at face value. She could have pointed out that on a previous murder case, when she and the team had been interviewing suspects in the wee small hours of the morning, he had remained tucked up cosily in bed, but that would cast a shadow over what was, in fact, a good working relationship. Angela knew that she could rely on him to cover her back and she wasn’t one to quibble over minor points. ‘I’ve only just arrived myself,’ she added.

Stanway nodded and they stood still, taking in the scene as the SOCOs moved steadily across the space. ‘What are your thoughts so far?’ he asked.

‘I’m a glass half-full kind of woman, Sir, so I’m hoping: horrible accident.’

‘But?’

‘Yes; but. I’m also a realist. I’m gearing myself up for a murder investigation and hope it was targeted rather than random.’

‘Oh please, not random.’ Stanway shivered. ‘Just what we don’t need, some nutcase who doesn’t care whom he poisons. I presume it was poison.’

‘It’s looking likely Sir, from what I gather. The man had just started drinking a glass of champagne when he collapsed.’

Stanway nodded. ‘Well, we’ll know soon enough.’ He turned his gaze back to the forensics team. ‘We’re neither use nor ornament here,’ he said, after a few moments, ‘let’s leave them to get on with their job.’

Angela followed him out of the room, where they saw Gary waiting for them. ‘Ah, Houseman,’ said Stanway as he and Angela quickly got out of their protective clothing. ‘Tell me what’s going on at the moment.’

‘Good afternoon, Sir,’ answered Gary. ‘The party guests are all together.’

‘Party?’ Stanway looked bemused.

‘Book-launch, Sir.’

‘Ah yes, good, good,’ said Stanway, beaming away. He gazed in the general direction of the main showground before turning to Angela. ‘I’ll let you get started, pretty standard procedure, getting it underway; your team know what to do, don’t they?’

‘They certainly do, Sir,’ Angela assured him.

‘Good, right… I’ll catch up with you shortly. I just want to… er…’ Stanway moved, as if pulled by an invisible cord towards the exit.

‘No problem, Sir,’ replied Angela. ‘I’ll bring you up to speed later.’

She nodded at Gary and they set off. ‘Where’s he gone?’ asked Gary.

Angela shrugged. ‘I expect he’s gone to smell the roses,’ she said. A scandalised look appeared on Gary’s face and she smiled. ‘Don’t be shocked; we’ve all got our weaknesses.’

‘Yes, but — ’ began Gary.

‘And he’s right,’ she continued. ‘We do all know what to do. After our last three murders, we’ve got a bit of a system going.’

‘This is true,’ agreed Gary. And I hate to say it of a DCI, thought Angela, but he’d probably just be in the way.

One of the officials, a harassed looking middle-aged man hovering outside the door of the chapel, straightened up as he saw Angela approach, and his face lost a little of the stress that had been etched across it.

‘Are you the officer in charge?’

‘I’m Detective Inspector Angela Costello,’ replied Angela. Detective Chief Inspector Stanway is in attendance in a supervisory capacity.’ There you go, Angie, she thought to herself, one of your formal moments; they creep up on you unawares. ‘You could say that I’m in charge on the ground, so to speak,’ she finished.

‘Good, that’s good, that’s great, I mean, what’s happened isn’t great, obviously, I meant it’s great you’re in charge…’ He tailed off, clearly unsure of the right thing to say in the circumstances.

Angela smiled in a pleasant manner, trying to put him at his ease. You poor bloke, this has knocked you for six, hasn’t it? ‘And you are?’ she asked.

He brightened and latched eagerly on to the straight, easy question. ‘Kenneth Ross. I help to run the events at the hospital.’ The worried look reappeared. ‘The police asked if I could wait here and make sure nobody left, but I was a bit worried about, you know, calls of nature, especially with the ladies… you know.’

Time to put Kenneth Ross out of his misery, thought Angela. ‘Excellent, thank you for your cooperation,’ said Angela. ‘We’ll take over from here.’

Ross visibly relaxed considerably. ‘Thank you, Inspector. If there’s anything I can do…’

‘Could you just pop inside and ask my officers to step outside? I need a word before we get started.’

‘Yes of course.’ Completely at ease now, Ross opened the door and disappeared within.

Angela noticed Gary raising his eyebrows at her. ‘What?’ she asked.

‘“Supervisory capacity”,’ he quoted. ‘Angie, if I ever make it to DCI, I hope I’ve got someone like you working for me.’

Angela laughed as the door opened and the rest of the team joined them. ‘OK,’ she began. ‘Picked up anything of interest yet?’

‘They’re all very shocked, as you’d expect,’ began DS Rick Driver.

‘One of them is probably just pretending, though,’ added his partner, DS Jim Wainwright.

‘We don’t know that it’s murder yet,’ cautioned Angela. ‘Have you managed to find out what happened, from their perspective?’

‘They’re still all stunned, to be honest,’ said DC Derek Palmer. ‘They’re mostly sitting round not knowing what to say.’

‘The wife — well, widow now, I suppose, is very calm,’ said DC Leanne Dabrowska. ‘But a couple of the other women have gone to pieces. One was blubbering like you wouldn’t believe and another shook like a jelly and could hardly utter a word right up until a few minutes ago.’

‘You just never can tell how shock will make someone react,’ said Angela. ‘So who have we got?’

Rick ticked them off on his fingers. ‘The dead man is Neville Ingram, the manager of the TV chef, Griff Madoc. Griff himself, his wife, Pauline, Melanie Ingram, the dead man’s wife — ’

‘There are a couple of blokes who designed the garden,’ added Jim, ‘and another woman — ’

‘She’s one of the really upset people,’ interjected Leanne.

‘Yes, I think her name’s Della,’ finished Rick. ‘She nearly fainted on us at one point.’

‘Quite a motley crew from the sounds of it,’ remarked Angela. She cast a glance around at her team. ‘OK, guys let’s get on with it.’

Chapter 5

The police team stood just inside the door and surveyed the assembled company from a short distance. Again, Angela allowed herself to be momentarily deflected by the beauty of her surroundings. But within seconds, she turned her gaze reluctantly away from Sebastiano Ricci’s impressive mural of the Resurrection at the far end and looked about her. All the pews and the choir stalls faced the centre aisle and the party guests had spread themselves along the whole length of the room. Those who knew each other had huddled together into groups. Angela immediately spotted Griff Madoc standing over a woman seated at the end of one of the pews. From her hair (blonde streaks, beautifully done), through her outfit (short skirt, exquisitely-cut jacket), to her (extremely high) heels, she presented an elegant, perfectly-turned-out picture. This impression changed when Angela looked into her face. Staring eyes and a distinct expression of horror spoke of inner shock and turmoil. Her lips moved as if she was mumbling, but no sounds came out. Angela assumed, from her close proximity to the chef, that she was Mrs Madoc – yet, even allowing for her very evident distress, she felt their mutual body language belied their marital status. He leaned over her with his hand on the back of her chair, doing his duty but not touching his wife. Angela raised an eyebrow at Leanne and inclined her head towards the seated woman. ‘Mrs, Madoc?’ she mouthed.

Leanne gave her a slight, barely-perceptible nod.

Another woman, with brown hair, in a light coloured trouser-suit was seated in one of the choir seats, pale but very calm. A younger woman in jeans, a shirt with a stopwatch on a chain round her neck and a clipboard in her hand, hovered nearby, giving the impression she was ready to help if needed. Angela looked another question at Leanne. ‘The woman in the trouser-suit is Melanie Ingram, guv.’

‘Ah, the wife of the victim.’

‘Yes. The one standing nearby is called Tricia, but I don’t know any more than that yet.’

Angela nodded. Most people seemed to be attached to at least one other person – but another woman, rather dowdy in a dark skirt and beige blouse buttoned up to the neck, sat completely by herself at the far end of the choir stalls nearest to the altar. She was muttering silently and running rosary beads rapidly through her fingers. Angela, being a Catholic herself and very familiar with the rosary, watched her for a moment before turning a puzzled gaze to Leanne, the only other Catholic on the team. Leanne raised her eyebrows and shrugged, as nonplussed by the sight as Angela. Angela shook her head, visibly dismissing the matter and mouthed the question, ‘who…?’

‘That’s the woman called Della,’ responded Leanne softly. ‘She’s been like that all the time. We don’t know how she fits in with everybody else but she served the glass of champagne, which the victim drank from just before he died.’

Angela gave a puzzled look to Leanne. ‘You’ve worded that oddly.’

A glimmer of a smile appeared on the young policewoman’s face. ‘Yes, guv, she said she took Griff a glass of champagne.’

‘Ah! But Griff didn’t drink it.’

‘Yes, guv, so…’

Hmm, thought Angela. I can fill in that blank easily enough. Our job has just become doubly complicated. Who was the intended victim, then?

‘What about where we can interview people?’ she asked.

‘That man outside, Mr Ross, showed us a couple of rooms,’ said Jim. ‘The State apartments and the quartermaster’s store. He said we could use those.’

‘OK, I’ll take the lady called Della for starters; we definitely have to get her version of events. And I’ll follow up with Griff Madoc, his wife, and Mrs Ingram. You chaps sort yourselves out with the other main players and Leanne and Derek get started on names and addresses of everyone and Gary, you sit in with me.’ As she looked at Gary an image of Madeleine sitting at the dining-table talking with her and Patrick about the poet, Stevie Smith, flew, unbidden, into her mind. She shook her head as if to clear it of extraneous matters. ‘OK then, everybody. You all know what to do. Where are we going?’

‘You can have the State Apartments, Angie, this way,’ said Rick, moving in front of her. She and Gary followed him outside and across a spacious courtyard. A few moments later they found themselves surrounded by another dazzling display of oak panelling and portraiture.

‘Cor!’ said Gary, taking in the proportions of the room.

‘You can say that again!’

‘Cor!’

Angela grinned. ‘I should have known better.’ She walked to a table surrounded by a few chairs, which seemed to have been brought in specially for the interviews. A tray with a jug of water and some glasses had been set out on it. ‘OK, I’ll park myself here. Can you bring the lady called Della here?’

Della had stopped crying by the time she was ushered into the room, but her red-rimmed eyes and blotchy cheeks gave testimony to her feelings. She sat heavily on the seat indicated and looked expectantly at Angela. ‘I’m sure this must be very distressing for you. It is Della, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, it’s short for Adela. I’m Adela Marie Burnett, I’ve told one of your officers already and given my address. I didn’t do it.’

Angela decided to take things at Della’s pace for the moment. ‘What didn’t you do?’ she asked.

‘I didn’t put any poison in the champagne. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. I don’t know anything about poison.’

‘We don’t know the cause of Mr Ingram’s death, yet.’

Angela thought she’d put a note of caution into her voice but Della missed it. ‘Well, it must have been in the drink, mustn’t it? I mean, he drank it and he’s dead, isn’t he?’ Her eyes began to brim over with tears again.

Not necessarily cause and effect, said Angela to herself, but it’s a thought. ‘Can you tell me what happened?’

Della wiped her eyes and shifted a little in her seat. ‘I just wanted to… to be there. I wouldn’t harm him for the world, he knows that, he must. He’s a lovely man.’ She stared Angela directly in the eyes. ‘We have a spiritual bond.’ She pulled her rosary beads out of her pocket and held them up, briefly displaying, as she did so, a brightly-coloured wristband. Now that she was taking note, Angela realised she had seen the same type of band around the wrists of some of the other people gathered together in the room. She’d also noted identity badges on others. Security was obviously tight. Della continued to speak. ‘Every day I go to church and light a candle and pray for him.’ She paused before changing tack. ‘I’ve a perfect right to be at the show; I’m a member. His garden’s lovely. I think he’s right about herbs but I’m not so fond of rosemary, although it’s nice with lamb, of course. Anyway, I wanted to see if I could buy a copy of the book because there’d be something special about buying it, you know, at the actual launch, and then he might even have autographed it for me. Nobody said I couldn’t go in, the counselling thing was just to do with his restaurant, and if anybody asked me I would have showed them my membership card and told them I wanted to buy a book.’

She paused for breath, allowing Angela a few seconds to assimilate what she’d heard so far. So you’re a member of the Royal Horticultural Society, which is why you’re at the show – but actually you were gate-crashing Griff Madoc’s book-launch and there might be a harassment issue. OK, up to speed, hopefully, she thought.

‘Right, can you take me through the events leading up to you handing the glass to Griff Madoc?’

‘He was with his manager. I knew he wouldn’t make a fuss about me being there, not in front of all those people. He’s a good man at heart, that’s one of the reasons I like him so much. I can’t help myself, but he seems to know that, deep down. He only gets cross when we’re on our own.’

Angela took a deep breath. ‘Yes, so this glass…?’

‘That’s what I’m telling you. They said, ‘They haven’t had a drink yet, which doesn’t seem fair after all the hard work they put into arranging this do. So I said I’d take some over.’

Angela gritted her teeth and reminded herself that his woman had had a very distressing experience. ‘Who are “they”?’

‘I didn’t know one of them at the time but since we’ve all been waiting in the chapel, I’ve learnt she’s the wife of the dead man. The other woman was Pauline Madoc; I know her of course; I’ve seen her at the restaurant once or twice. And of course, she gets herself in those glossy magazines whenever she can, whenever Griff is being interviewed at home and the like. Mind you, I always cut her out of the ones I save. She doesn’t deserve to be in the same pictures as him.’ The last phrase was uttered in a tone approaching venom.

Despite the unattractive tone, Angela felt a pang of sympathy for the plain, plump woman. ‘So, Pauline Madoc and Mrs Ingram were by the buffet talking. Were they the only two people there at that point?’

‘No, everybody was everywhere. The place was crowded.’

‘But the two women were happy for you to take a drink over to the two men.’

Della nodded. ‘Yes, but what with my bag and my own drink I could only manage one glass. I think one of them said I’d never get through the crush, which is nonsense, of course. I just pushed my way through. I wasn’t going to let a crowd stop me giving Griff a glass of champagne on his big day.’

Angela’s heart sank. She had no doubt she was dealing with an obsessed fan of Griff Madoc – and though she understood the phenomenon well enough, it looked very likely to cloud the issue. How could she discover the intended recipient? Della would only have thought of taking the glass to Griff, not caring if his manager went without. ‘What happened then?’ she asked.

A dreamy look came into Della’s eyes. ‘We could have chinked glasses, we should have. I was hoping to; that’s why I kept hold of my own glass. I could hardly believe I managed to get close to him. I wouldn’t have expected it, not at a big “do” like that.’

‘So you picked up the glass from the table.’

‘Yes, it was the last one there, well, the waiter man was getting some more out, you know, to fill them up. But I just picked up the last one that already had some champagne in it and took it over to Griff. Griff wasn’t thirsty just then. Bless him; he gets so caught up in the moment, excited, like a little boy. Well, you can’t wonder at it, can you? His first recipe book coming out; I’ve already tried some of them because he’s done them on the programme. I’ve adapted one a little bit and I’d love the chance to discuss it with him. I’m sure he’d like my modification. He handed the glass to the man who died.’ The enormity of the reality behind this bald statement seemed to hit Della all of a sudden, and she stopped with no further waffle or embellishment. She gulped once or twice and her eyes filled with fresh tears. ‘Oh!’ she gasped. ‘It could have been Griff.’ She sobbed aloud as the tears flowed down her cheeks, and she wiped ineffectually at them with the back of her hand.

Angela glanced up at Gary and raised her eyebrows before rummaging in her bag for a fresh tissue and handing it to her. ‘I think Della’s told us quite enough to be going on with,’ she said to Gary. ‘Will you take her back to the others, and explain that we will probably need to speak to her again, but make sure she knows it’s nothing to worry about, just routine.’

‘No problem,’ replied Gary. ‘Who do you want me to bring back?’

‘I think I’d better speak to Griff Madoc next, and his wife after that. I’ll leave Mrs Ingram to last, which will, hopefully, allow her a little more time to get over what must have been an awful shock. After that, we’ll have a team meeting before we call it a day.’

‘Right,’ said Gary as he went over and held the door open for Della.

Five minutes later he held it open again, for Griff Madoc to enter. Angela looked up and smiled into his pleasant face as he moved across the room towards her. Yes, he is taller than he looks on the telly, she thought. She took in the contours of his face and the curly dark hair. Yes, she thought, Patrick’s right, I am a bit smitten. She reached out to shake hands with him. He sat down without being asked and spoke.

‘This is a terrible business, er…?’

‘Inspector; I’m Detective Inspector Angela Costello, and this is Detective Constable Gary Houseman.’ She paused. ‘You’re right. It’s terrible. It must be an awful shock for you.’

‘It is, I don’t think I’ve computed it in yet,’ he replied in an attractive, sing-song Welsh accent that seemed more pronounced than on his cookery programme.

‘I’m sure not. Unfortunately, we have to start asking questions about this kind of event very quickly, while it’s still fresh in everyone’s mind.’

‘I understand that, Inspector, but I don’t think there’s much I can tell you.’

‘Will you just go through the sequence of events leading up to Mr Ingram’s death as you saw them?’

Griff pressed the tips of his fingers together and gazed into the middle distance. ‘I’m not sure how helpful you’re going to find this, Inspector. I was standing next to Neville in the middle of a crush of people. We’d begun fielding questions: whose idea was it to produce a recipe book? When did you get the idea of having a garden at Chelsea? You can imagine the kind of thing.’ Angela nodded. ‘Then suddenly I saw a familiar and, I have to say, unwelcome, sight out of the corner of my eye.’

Angela thought she knew what was coming next, but she stuck to the script. ‘An unwelcome sight?’

Griff exhaled gently. ‘I have a — well, I suppose I’d call her a follower, Inspector. Her name’s Della Burnett; she calls herself a “devoted fan” but I think the Law would have her down as a stalker.’

‘Yes, I picked up from her conversation that there had been a legal process of some kind.’

Griff nodded. ‘It hasn’t got that far yet but I’ve put it on the radar. She’d taken to hanging around outside my restaurant and finding excuses, when she could, to come in. At the end of the day, that is my primary source of income, I wouldn’t have anything else if I didn’t have the restaurant, and I’ve worked hard to make it a success — but she’d managed to disturb both my clients and my staff once or twice. The final straw came when she appeared in my kitchen and tried to — to — well, to be blunt — to have sex with me.’

‘Oops, awkward.’

‘You’re not kidding, Inspector. I tried being nice and explaining that this kind of behaviour is just not on.’

‘Did she take that on board?’

‘She seemed to, in theory at least. She’s by no means a stupid woman but she’s got this fixation. Anyway, she disappeared for about a week and then it started again. When even my wife noticed what a nuisance she’d become, I knew I had to do something more drastic — so I threatened her with a restraining order unless she took some counselling.’

‘How did she take that?’

‘Better than I thought she would. Marcel, my partner in the restaurant, thinks it’s because she was getting so much of my attention at that time. He might be right. She seemed quite pleased at having to deal with it. I have seen her outside the restaurant once or twice since but she’s kept it well outside of the times when we’re open. You could have knocked me down with a feather when I saw her at the book-launch today. I have no idea how she managed to get in.’

‘I gather she’s a member of the Royal Horticultural Society,’ replied Angela, ‘which would explain her presence at the show and I’ve noticed she’s wearing a wristband similar to one worn by several of the other launch guests. Maybe she came across a discarded one somewhere.’

‘Possibly.’

‘So you saw her out of the corner of your eye, this afternoon,’ continued Angela.

‘That’s right. I wouldn’t have minded something to drink at that point but I don’t think it’s wise to take anything from Della. She’d do anything to make herself acceptable.’

‘But you took the glass from her today?’

‘Well, I was on the spot, see, I had no choice. But I made sure she saw me handing it to Neville, which is the next best thing to not taking it in the first place. Then Neville got everybody’s attention and introduced me and I started speaking. I didn’t even see what Neville did with it but the next thing I knew, he was writhing on the floor in what looked like agony and everything went a bit crazy.’

‘I’m sure it must have seemed like that,’ said Angela. ‘What did you do then?’

‘I think I stood rooted to the spot for a moment or two — by which time people more alert than I was had realised the seriousness of the situation and they were moving forward and calling for medical assistance. I could hear Pauline screaming at first, but I was propelled towards Neville by the movement of the crowd.’ Griff paused and gazed into the middle-distance. A frown appeared between his eyebrows as he ran the scene through in his head.

‘So what happened then?’ Angela asked.

Griff came out of his reverie with a gentle jerk and looked at her. ‘I think a doctor had come in from somewhere and declared him dead and we all… well, we were all very shocked. I think a couple of the ladies started crying. Pauline was heaving by now. She can be such a drama queen — ’ Angela looked him suddenly full in the face and his complexion took on a faint pink hue. ‘I’m sorry, Inspector, that was gross and unkind. We were all caught up in a horrific situation. I can’t blame her for being beside herself, given the circumstances.’

‘And everybody reacts differently, don’t they,’ answered Angela gently. She didn’t want him to think she judged him for his bitchy comment. She was picking up on an undercurrent here that she knew she’d come back to later, and she needed him sympathetic. Right now she wanted to nail down the sequence of events.

Griff gave a grateful smile. ‘Yes, they do. Pauline’s always been very sensitive. I went and stood by her side and then the police arrived and we were all asked to go to the chapel.’

I went and stood by her side. Angela briefly pondered the strange wording of this sentence. Paddy wouldn’t ‘come and stand by her side’ in such a crisis. He’d come over and hug her and comfort her. But she didn’t think Griff was a cold, unfeeling or awkward man. I wonder how things were in that marriage, she asked herself. She paused before her next question, and from the look that now appeared on Griff’s face she had an idea that he knew what was coming. ‘We don’t know, yet, what caused Neville’s death,’ she began.

‘But you’re assuming, for the moment, it was something in the glass of champagne.’

‘We have to include that in the list of possibilities — ’

Griff cut off Angela’s next words in what seemed like his haste to speak. ‘No shots were fired, I don’t believe there’s a stab wound, nobody jumped on him and beat him to death. That leaves us with very few options and since the — possibly poisoned — glass was handed to me, you’ve got to wonder if I’m the intended target.’

Angela noted the look of fear in his eyes and the fine line of perspiration sitting along his upper lip. ‘It’s something we have to consider.’ She kept her voice deliberately low and calm. ‘Just as we have to wonder if we’re dealing with a completely random attack.’

Griff took a deep breath, steadied himself and nodded. ‘Random, yes, like those nutters who contaminate food in supermarkets and don’t really care who buys it.’

‘Yes, just like that. We do have to look at everything. And right now I have an unpleasant question I need to ask you.’

Griff flicked his eyes towards her and away again. ‘I’m sorry, Inspector, it’s not a very nice thought, you know, to think that someone…’ He tailed off.

‘You’re right; it’s not — but I’m afraid I have to ask. Would anybody benefit from your death?’

Griff exhaled slowly and then, to Angela’s surprise, turned a smile on her. ‘Do you know; it doesn’t seem so frightening once it’s said?’

Angela smiled back. ‘The anticipation being worse than the event.’

‘Something like that.’ He gave a small laugh. ‘When we first got married, Pauline and I made wills leaving everything to each other. Since we had nothing, it was our private joke. Apart from the wedding itself it was the first really grown-up action either of us had taken. So… Pauline, is the obvious person to think of.’ His face darkened for a moment and he flicked another glance at Angela before continuing. ‘But it would be hardly worth her while. She enjoys a very lavish lifestyle now, and while I do make quite a bit of money, really I’m worth more to her alive than dead.’ He paused and looked up at them before continuing. ‘She likes being the wife of a celebrity chef. There’s no way she’d want to jeopardize that.’

Chapter 6

Angela blinked and busied herself writing this down. Not: my wife is a good woman, who loves me and the notion of her wanting me dead is ludicrous, thought Angela, wondering even more about the state of the Madocs’ marriage. Still, she had to admit, if Pauline Madoc’s favoured lifestyle option depended on her husband being hale and hearty, it made her an unlikely candidate for the role of murderer. She decided to pursue it. ‘Mr Madoc, I don’t know why, but that sounds an odd statement.’

‘It’s not really,’ said Griff. ‘Pauline… how shall I put it? She chases glamour, always did, carries it off, too. Back home in Wales she had the boys after her from quite a young age and you’d see her in the high-street with the latest make-up, the latest styles. She did it well; streets in front of the other girls she was. They followed in her wake almost as much as the boys. She beat all comers to win the beauty contest a couple of times, and it led to the town big-wigs treating her like a celebrity — obviously just a local one. She got invited to official openings and receptions and the like. It gave her a certain perception of herself, which she never really lost. She thought it would lead on to — oh, I don’t know, some sort of celebrity standing. I’d been offered my first job in a restaurant in London just as we got engaged and she was very happy to come with me. I think she thought moving up here was the next logical step for her. She tried to get into modelling but she didn’t have any luck. Now, with me being famous, she gets photographed and invited to places and interviewed for magazines. I think she’s trying to carve herself out a niche on the back of my success. People even notice her in the street. She enjoys all that.’

Angela noted the bleakness behind the matter-of-fact tone of his voice. No wonder you work so hard, she thought. The evenings can’t be very cosy, chez Madoc. She felt an almost overwhelming surge of pity rise up in her and was glad when he spoke again in a completely matter-of-fact voice.

‘To answer your question,’ continued Griff. ‘I would think that most of those present this afternoon would be disadvantaged, rather than otherwise, by my death.’

‘OK, what about Neville Ingram? Would you know if he had any enemies?’

‘I don’t know of any.’ He stood up, abruptly. ‘I’m not planning to leave town, you know, so will that be all for now?’

Angela, sensing that he’d suddenly become overwhelmed, and deciding not to press him any further for the moment, nodded and thanked him for his cooperation. She watched him making his way back towards the door and thought of the home she went back to each night, how she looked forward to her evenings with Patrick, the special smile with which he greeted her as she came through the door. She’d never told him so, but she treasured that look on his face. She thought of the conversations between them, the banter, the jokes; dammit! The fun they had together.

As the door closed behind Griff Madoc, Gary spoke and pulled her out of her reverie. ‘Shall I get Mrs Madoc?’ he asked.

‘Yes please.’

It’s not your place to judge, Angela, she told herself, firmly, once Gary had left the room. It’s none of your business. She stood up and stretched and was just settling herself again when the door opened and Pauline Madoc walked into the room.

Angela saw the red-rimmed eyes and the pinched areas of white skin around the mouth. Another very distressed woman, but she was bottling it up. As Gary reached his chair she found herself wondering idly about the gig he’d gone to recently. She pushed away the thought only to find it replaced by one containing the poet, Stevie Smith. She shook herself, mentally. This is bizarre, concentrate, Angela, she admonished herself silently. This day isn’t over yet.

She smiled at the other woman, feeling she needed reassurance. ‘I’ll try not to keep you too long, Mrs Madoc,’ she began. ‘But we need to get a clear picture of what exactly happened.’

Pauline Madoc gave a barely perceptible nod. ‘It’s just awful,’ she whispered. ‘Awful.’

Angela gave her a quick once-over. As her husband had indicated, she obviously went to a lot of trouble with her make-up, spent a great deal of money on her clothes, and her way of wearing both suggested an assertive and confident woman, probably even a vain one. Yet her whole demeanour at that moment showed she had been truly knocked sideways by Neville Ingram’s death.

‘Yes, it must be a terrible shock,’ agreed Angela.

Pauline flicked her eyes towards Angela and away again. ‘I can’t believe it. I don’t believe it.’

‘I’m sorry to have to ask you these questions,’ said Angela, ‘but we have to try and find out who did this.’

Pauline stared at her as if she hadn’t heard. ‘It can’t be right, can it? Is he really dead?’

Angela had a great deal of experience in how shock affected people differently, so she proceeded with care. ‘I’m afraid it has happened,’ she asserted as gently as she could. ‘I’m Inspector Angela Costello and it’s my job to investigate this.’ Pauline blinked hard a couple of times, and after that seemed a little more alert.

‘I believe you and Mrs Ingram were standing by the drinks table when it happened. Is that right?’

Pauline focused hard on Angela and took a very deep breath. ‘Well, it didn’t seem right, that he didn’t have a drink to celebrate see,’ she said, the sing-song Welsh tone in her voice becoming more evident with the final inflection.

‘How well did you know Neville Ingram?’ asked Angela.

Pauline placed her hands on the table and looked down at her perfectly manicured nails. ‘How well should I have known him?’ she asked. ‘He was my husband’s manager.’

That’s another question; not an answer, thought Angela. She decided to try another approach. ‘How often did you see him?’ she asked. Pauline brought her eyes up to Angela’s and dropped them again, but not before Angela had seen a look of alarm pass through them.

‘I don’t know, really,’ she said. ‘It depended on what was going on. Sometimes a few weeks would go by without our paths crossing. But at other times we’d be bumping into each other, well, every day, it seemed like.’

A reasonable answer – but Angela sensed something evasive in the other woman and she made a note: Pauline/Neville, what about it? She raised her eyes again and saw that something about Pauline Madoc had relaxed and she was now looking Angela squarely in the eyes. Ah, thought Angela, you’ve found a way of meeting the question head-on and you think it’s going to satisfy me. ‘I’ve seen a lot of him lately,’ she said. ‘What with the TV show and getting the garden ready at Chelsea, plus, the book coming out. It’s been a very busy time.’

‘Can you go through the events of this afternoon for me?’

A shudder passed through Pauline, her face lost some of the colour it had gained, and she went back to a study of her fingernails. ‘I don’t… I can’t… How did it happen?’ she whispered, more to herself than to the two police officers. She looked up at them. ‘I can’t take it in. I keep thinking it hasn’t really happened.’

‘That’s understandable,’ said Angela. ‘Sudden death can be very traumatic.’ All the more so in this case, I would have thought. She tried again with her original question. ‘Where were you standing when it happened?’

‘I was with the crowd. We all rushed forward when Neville — when Neville…’ Pauline began panting. Angela glanced over to the tray and Gary quickly poured a glass of water. Pauline noticed, but shook her head. Tears coursed, unchecked, down her cheeks. ‘It was horrible. He was writhing… he was in agony.’ She jerked in her chair and began to tremble violently. Gary pushed the glass into her hand, and this time she didn’t refuse it. She took a large gulp and gradually her breathing steadied.

‘I understand what a shocking event it must have been,’ said Angela, ‘but I need to know where you were when it actually happened.’

Pauline nodded through her tears. ‘I was by the buffet table,’ she replied, ‘with his wife, with Melanie; we were talking.’

‘Do you remember what you were talking about?’

‘Breakfast.’ Angela and Gary exchanged puzzled glances. ‘Well, not breakfast as such. I looked at Griff and Neville, out there in the middle of the crowd and said something like, “they don’t have any drinks”. She said something along the lines of “just as well in Neville’s case. He hasn’t had anything to eat since breakfast” and I think I said, “Griff’s OK, he managed to grab a sandwich just as the filming finished”. There was some woman standing near us. She said she’d take a glass over. I didn’t see how she’d get through the crush, a lot of people were standing round Griff and Neville at that point, journalists and the like, asking about the book and the garden, it’s big news, you know.’

‘Yes, I’ve seen a lot about it in the papers and on the television,’ answered Angela.

‘So that was it. This woman picked up the glass and took it over. She got through the crowd and the next thing we know is… is…’

‘Yes, I understand. I just wanted to be clear about the event,’ said Angela. She decided to change tack. ‘What kind of man was he?’ She watched a certain caginess appear in Pauline’s eyes and thought once again of the suspicions she’d harboured earlier concerning the relationship between Pauline Madoc and Neville Ingram.

‘What sort? He was just normal, a normal sort of man.’ Pauline’s face contained a curious mixture of guardedness, puzzlement and distress.

Angela stifled a sigh and recognised she wasn’t going to get any further at that moment. ‘Thank you, Mrs Madoc. We might need to ask you further questions as the investigation proceeds but we won’t bother you any more than we can help.’ She cast a quick glance up at Gary and looked back at Pauline. ‘DC Houseman will take you back to the others.’

Gary stood up ready to do escort duty but Pauline waved a hand to indicate it wasn’t necessary. ‘I’ll be all right. I know the way,’ she said. She moved up the room and disappeared through the door.

‘What did you make of that, Gary?’ asked Angela.

‘She’s very shocked, which is understandable, but I also thought she wasn’t telling us everything. I even wondered about her and the deceased.’

‘Yes, I wanted to see if you’d picked up the same impression as me, and you have. We’ll be speaking to Pauline Madoc again.’

Gary headed for the door. ‘If that last one was difficult the next is definitely going to be no picnic, is it?’ he said.

‘That’s why I want to get this one done,’ agreed Angela.

But if she expected more tears and hyperventilation a surprise awaited her.

Gary left the room and returned a short while later, ushering the pale, composed, dark-haired woman Leanne had pointed out earlier. ‘Mrs Ingram?’ called Angela.

Melanie made her way to the table and sat on the chair. ‘I’m very sorry for your loss,’ Angela began. Melanie raised a hand to acknowledge the condolences. ‘And I’m also sorry to have to ask you questions when you probably haven’t even had time to come to terms with what must have been an awful shock.’

Melanie looked as though this was a new thought. ‘Yes, it was a shock,’ she said, after a moment. ‘It is a shock.’ She stared into the middle distance as if considering this.

‘I’m sure.’ Angela waited a moment. She knew that if she lost Patrick so suddenly and so tragically she would be beside herself, so she wanted to go gently. She had no way of knowing what lay beneath this calm exterior.

After a moment or two Melanie seemed to come out of her private reverie. She looked at Angela and blinked as if to re-establish herself in the real world. ‘You’re trying to be very kind and gentle, um, Inspector, isn’t it? I can assure you there’s no need. In spite of the fact that we have two sons, our marriage was only held together by our joint business interests — and those were suffering because of his mismanagement.’

‘His mismanagement?’

Melanie puller her chair closer to the table and leaned on it, looking directly into Angela’s eyes. ‘I’ll give you the potted version, Inspector. I started the agency, Melanie Beattie Representation. I’d begun to build up a very respectable client list. Things were going well when I met Neville Ingram and fell for him.’ She frowned, distracted by the thought. ‘I have trouble believing it really happened now, but it did; the boys are proof of that. He had the looks, the patter, the — oh I don’t know — the presence, I suppose. My agency became a joint venture, Beattie and Ingram, then, Ingram and Ingram, and little by little I noticed things had begun to slip.’

‘To slip?’

‘Oh, it was very subtle. I had a good name which carried us forward for a few years — goodwill, you know — but lately I’d come to realise that we don’t have the reputation we once had, that I once had. We were overlooked when this celebrity or that was casting about for some help; some of the invitations that once would have come our way as a matter of course didn’t arrive.’

‘And you blamed Neville for this?’

‘And myself, in part. I took too much of a back seat when the boys were very little.’ She paused as if considering whether to continue. ‘And it was a while before I cottoned on to his serial adultery.’

‘Ah.’

‘Yes, so you see, Inspector. I do appreciate your delicate touch, but it’s wasted. I won’t be mourning Neville Ingram and, quite frankly, his death comes as something of a relief.’

Chapter 7

Angela and Gary managed to avoid looking at each other as Melanie Ingram made her pronouncement.

‘You’re very frank,’ said Angela. ‘Given that we’re investigating his suspicious death.’

Melanie smiled, completely unruffled by the implication of Angela’s words. ‘Believe me, Inspector, I had every intention of getting rid of my husband — but not by murder. Quite apart from anything else, I would never deprive my sons of their father.’ She hesitated. Her mouth trembled a little, the first sign of emotion she’d shown since she entered the room. ‘They need him, even if I no longer do,’ she continued. ‘They have no idea what an immature, unfaithful bastard he is — was.’ A shadow came across her face and her voice faltered. She added, more to herself than to them, ‘I don’t know how I’m going to tell them about his death.’

‘Was he on any form of medication?’

‘Sorry, Inspector, I know you’ve got to ask but that’s a non-starter. Neville was disgustingly healthy.’

Angela made a note. ‘Do you know if he had any enemies?’ she asked.

Melanie’s smile was unmistakably ironic. ‘Apart from me, you mean?’ She shrugged. ‘I can’t imagine any of our business rivals considering him an enemy. He was too ineffectual at what he did. Since he specialised in married women there are probably several jealous husbands around but I’m sorry, I don’t have a list of who they might be.’ Her eyes flicked to Angela and across to Gary before focusing on nothing in particular. ‘Except to say that it would be a lengthy one; I only knew whenever he’d begun a new affair, I didn’t always know the lady’s name.’ She stopped and thought. ‘Excuse me,’ she continued after a few moments. ‘You’re asking me questions as if Neville was the intended victim. Surely we’re talking about a random event?’

‘A very good point,’ agreed Angela. ‘That’s one of the possibilities. Can you take us through what you saw at the time?’

‘Nothing, to be honest; I was standing by the drinks with Pauline Madoc. Neville and Griff were somewhere in the middle of a crush of people and one of the catering staff said something about taking some champagne over to them — ’ Melanie stopped abruptly.

‘What is it?’ asked Angela.

Melanie frowned as she thought back over the scene in her mind’s eye. ‘It was that woman who’s been sitting all by herself in the chapel. Very upset she was, not surprisingly. I’ve just realised, she probably isn’t a member of the catering staff at all. They’ve got a uniform and they’re — well, smart looking. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but she didn’t hesitate over volunteering to take a drink over to Griff and Neville. She needn’t have bothered with Neville. He has — had — an unerring instinct for getting himself within reach of the nearest supply of drink or food wherever he is. She only took one glass, mind you. I suppose I thought she’d come back for another one but then, of course — ’

‘Quite.’

‘Maybe she’s the culprit. She could have doctored the drink as she carried it across to them.’

‘We don’t know the cause of death yet,’ replied Angela.

‘Oh, I suppose not. It’s just that, drinking and keeling over in very quick succession kind of leads the mind to only one conclusion. There will have to be a post-mortem, won’t there?’

‘I’m afraid so. Are you sure you can’t throw any light on who may have wanted him dead?’

Melanie gazed into the middle distance. ‘Sorry, Inspector, no idea.’

‘Not to worry,’ said Angela, standing up. She suddenly felt very tired. She wanted to liaise with the rest of her team and go home. ‘I have to warn you that we might want to speak to you again.’

Taking her cue from Angela, Melanie rose. ‘That won’t be a problem. I’ll make sure I’m available.’

As Gary moved ahead of her to hold the door open, Angela spoke. ‘Get everyone in here as soon as they can, please, Gary.’ Once the door shut behind him she called DCI Stanway and, by the time he’d joined them, twenty minutes later, the whole team was bunched around the table.

‘So, what have we got?’ he asked, bustling in and taking a seat among them.

‘A considerable amount of confusion,’ answered Angela. ‘We know who’s died but we can’t be sure if he was the intended victim.’

‘It could even have been random,’ suggested Rick.

‘Yeah, a nutter; just what we need,’ sighed his partner, Jim.

‘You’ve all been doing preliminary interviews with those present and getting names and addresses, I take it,’ said Stanway.

‘Yes, Sir, the usual routine,’ replied Angela, fighting down a sense of annoyance and finding it hard not to add, ‘while you went off to admire the flowers, Sir’ with an edge of sarcasm to her voice.

‘Absolutely, you had plenty to be getting to grips with,’ agreed the DCI with a nod. ‘So I went and spoke to the catering people, tried to get an angle on that.’

Oops, thought Angela. ‘Judge not, lest ye be judged’. I hope what I felt just then didn’t show on my face. ‘Did you find out anything useful, Sir?’ she asked.

‘Not so far, as you’d expect, really. The hospitality manager was very keen to show me round the kitchen. One or two of the waiters got a bit of a look at what was going on and told me what they saw. It sounded quite gruesome.’

‘From the description, it sounds like one of the quick-acting poisons, cyanide, maybe,’ suggested Angela.

‘You think it could be that?’ asked Stanway, stroking his chin.

‘I’m no expert, Sir, and of course it’s only a guess on my part, but I do know that cyanide acts quickly. That’s why spies always have a cyanide pill on them somewhere, in case they’re captured. And if one fact has emerged so far with any clarity, it’s that it all happened in a very short space of time. But obviously we mustn’t jump to any conclusions ahead of the lab analysis.’

‘Indeed, indeed.’ Stanway stroked his chin some more. ‘The team covering this particular launch is absolutely horrified at what’s happened and only too keen to show me where they prepared the food and what went into it. I’ve sealed off the kitchen for the moment, though. The forensic team can get in there once they’ve finished with the scene of the crime.’

‘According to the victim’s wife, he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast.’

‘We can’t possibly be sure of that. He could have picked at some of the buffet food.’

‘True,’ conceded Angela. ‘Mind you, if the weapon was a quick-acting poison he would have had to be eating almost immediately before the event and there’s no evidence that he did.’

‘Nonetheless,’ said Stanway, ‘we’ve got to check.’

‘Indeed, Sir.’

‘Any angle on the dead man, at all? Did he have any enemies?’

‘It’s possible; according to his wife he was a serial adulterer and — she openly admits — she herself could have had a motive.’

‘She insists that she didn’t do it, though,’ added Gary.

‘Of course,’ nodded Stanway, absently. ‘What exactly happened?’

Angela spoke. ‘One of those present took a glass of champagne across to Griff. He didn’t want it and handed it to the victim.’

‘Who keeled over and died,’ finished Gary.

‘So Griff Madoc handed on the glass?’ Stanway stopped and allowed a small pause to hang in the air.

‘He’s rather upset and bewildered by the event, Sir,’ said Angela, knowing how to interpret Stanway’s pause.

‘What does he say?’

‘As I say, he doesn’t have an explanation. He says he took the glass from this woman, Della, her name is. He knows her as an over-enthusiastic fan who’d been giving him a bit of bother so, as a matter of policy, he wouldn’t accept anything from her because he doesn’t want to encourage her. He made sure she saw him hand it straight to Neville Ingram.’

‘Yes but he’s a TV chef, launching a recipe book at Chelsea Flower Show, where he is also exhibiting a herb garden. He must have had some input into the menu.’

‘Maybe he’s been growing something nasty in that garden,’ suggested Jim.

Stanway glanced across at him with the beginnings of a glare but his expression changed as he thought about this. ‘Good grief! Why didn’t we think of this before? We’ll need a team to check out his garden. I went past it earlier, beautifully done, a delight to see.’ Stanway paused, had the decency to look slightly sheepish and hurried on. ‘Rick and Jim, you get that sorted. Have you managed to find out anything useful?’

Rick spoke. ‘We’ve come across one little oddity. While we were interviewing one of the garden designers, hang on — ’ Rick flicked through the pages of his notebook. ‘Ah yes, Alwyn Maddox. We were going through the routine when he said, “I might as well let you know now, because I assume you’ll only find out later, that Griff Madoc and I are first cousins.”’

‘That might be an odd way of putting things and it might not,’ replied Stanway.

‘Yes, Sir, he said that Maddox is another version of Madoc. Apparently it was Griff’s dad that changed the spelling for his branch of the family. He said he and Griff don’t actually know each other, the two branches of the family aren’t close. But we’ll chase him up tomorrow.’

‘Good, good.’ Stanway beamed round at them all. ‘Anything else?’

‘We wonder if we’ve picked up on a possible line,’ said Derek, speaking for himself and Leanne.

‘Which is?’

‘We talked to a woman called Patricia Prentice, she’s known as Tricia. She’s one of the assistants at the television studio where Griff Madoc’s cookery programme is filmed, and she was on the team doing an outside broadcast this morning. It’s due to go into the show later in the week.’

‘And?’ asked Angela.

‘Two things struck us,’ continued Leanne. ‘In the first place the television crew packed up and went a while ago, so why was she hanging around? That’s the first question that came to mind.’

‘And did you get an answer?’

‘Possibly,’ replied Derek, taking up the thread. ‘From the way she spoke it’s as though she’s got a bit of a relationship with Griff Madoc. But when Leanne asked her that outright she… kind of hedged it and said it wouldn’t be proper to call it that yet, which I thought very odd.’

Stanway nodded and stroked his chin. ‘Yes, something else put oddly. What’s the other thing?’

‘This Luke Prentice, Sir. As it happens, he’s the uncle of this Tricia but that doesn’t seem to have any bearing on anything. What we found out, though, is; according to Tricia Prentice, Griff had been sounding him out about him, Luke Prentice, becoming Griff Madoc’s manager, but it looked a bit tricky as Griff was tied into the Neville Ingram agency for the next five years.’

‘Ah!’ exclaimed everyone all at once.

‘With that and the victim’s adultery, we have two clear motives to get stuck into,’ said Stanway.

‘So we’ve got a list of unknown men and Griff Madoc as possible suspects to start with,’ replied Angela. ‘Goodness knows how we’d prove Griff had the opportunity to doctor the glass. And that doesn’t take into account the fact that he might have been the intended victim.’ She blew out her cheeks.

‘It’s shaping up to be a very intriguing problem, Angie,’ said Stanway with a sardonic smile. ‘But even that’s better than the only other option at the moment, which is that we have a mysterious nutter at large who doesn’t care who gets poisoned.’

Angela screwed her face up at him. ‘You can be a real comfort at times, Sir.’

Stanway gave a bark of laughter. ‘I do my best. All right, so we should all be on the same page now.’ He glanced over the team. ‘Delving into the marital aspects of this will require a delicate touch,’ he cautioned – and Angela hid a grin when she saw him look directly at Jim Wainwright as he said this. Jim wasn’t known for subtlety and his partner, Rick Driver, often had to smooth feathers that Jim had ruffled to ease them through the resulting awkward moments.

Angela looked first at Jim, then at Stanway, and inclined her head to show she understood his message.

Stanway nodded, satisfied. ‘What about the method, any ideas?’

‘Probably very simple, Sir, all the perpetrator had to do was stay cool and choose his or her moment. To be honest, any person in the room could have done it.’

‘Forensics are still busy with the scene, but can you give the team an idea of what we’re dealing with, Angie?’

‘Yes, Sir.’ Angela addressed her officers. ‘When you come into the room the drinks section is on the left before you get to the food. Then there’s a buffet table stretched out along that same side of the room. The savouries first followed by the desserts. A book display is set up along the back in front of some red curtains, and between the buffet table and that they’ve got this life size cardboard cut-out of Griff Madoc.’

‘So what about this glass that got taken to Griff Madoc?’ asked Stanway.

‘It seems to have been one of several, pre-filled and standing on the drinks table, waiting to be picked up by someone.’

‘Hmm.’ Stanway frowned. ‘So, if the poison was in the glass it could have been put in by anyone passing, or even one of the catering staff. That’s leaning towards the scenario in which whoever got it, got the poison and we’re back at the random killer situation.’

‘Not necessarily, Sir. If I were the killer I would want to keep a very close eye on the glass I’d doctored. I’d watch carefully to see who picked it up and if it wasn’t the person I wanted it to be I’d accidentally-on-purpose knock into them and make sure the glass got dropped and the contents spilled. I think it’s do-able, Sir, especially at a gathering as crowded as this one seems to have been.’

Stanway narrowed his eyes and considered Angela’s words. ‘Hmm, a cold, calculating killer watching the situation like a hawk; it’s an awful thing to say but I rather hope that’s what we’re dealing with. Mind you, we still end up with the question of who — ’

‘ — Was the intended target,’ finished Angela.

‘Better for it to have been one of two rather than anyone from a roomful of people,’ said Stanway, as he rose. ‘OK, I think we’ve done as much as we can for today. Angie, I suggest you get your team sorted out with security clearance for the rest of the show and then let everybody get off home.

Griff Madoc retreated to an isolated corner of the chapel and sat with his eyes closed. After a while he sensed the presence of another person close to him. He opened his eyes and saw that his wife had sat very close and was staring directly into his face. She took a deep breath and spoke in a carefully controlled voice. ‘I appreciate your difficulty.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘What difficulty?’

She leaned closer, a regretful smile on her lips, her tone uncharacteristically gentle. ‘Having to sit in the same room as your girlfriend and not being able to go to her?’ Pauline jerked her head back in the general direction of where Tricia sat next to her uncle, Luke Prentice.

Griff didn’t let his eyes wander in the same direction. He kept them fixed on his wife, puzzled at her untypical softness. ‘She’s not — we’re not — I’m not having an affair.’

‘Of course not; you’re far too virtuous for that.’ A hint of venom slipped through the tone of tenderness she was trying to maintain. ‘You’d like to though, wouldn’t you?’

Griff’s expression didn’t change. ‘That’s a bit rich, coming from you, Pauline, given that your lover’s dead body is probably still warm.’

Pauline’s head snapped back in surprise and she gasped. Her chest heaved and she breathed deeply as if trying to offset incipient palpitations. ‘Griff!’

‘You think I didn’t know?’

Pauline’s head shook. She took more deep breaths and calmed down. ‘Griff, we need to talk. I need you to understand.’

‘Your “needs”, Pauline? Yes, that’s the history of our marriage, such as it is,’ replied Griff.

‘That’s why I want to talk to you. I’m sorry for my snide remark about Tricia; that was uncalled for. You’re a good man and you’ve always been faithful to me.’

‘Wow!’

‘Wow, what?’

‘Did you hear yourself? You just apologised to me. That’s got to be a first.’

Tears welled up in Pauline’s eyes, and she reached out a hand and placed it on his knee. ‘It’s because I feel vulnerable. I don’t want to lose you, do I?’

Griff’s eyebrows rose into his hairline. ‘Excuse me, madam, have you seen my wife anywhere?’

Pauline emitted a small, bitter laugh. ‘I know, I know, I know. I’ve not been the wife you deserve, Griff. And this isn’t the best time to be saying this, but things happen when they happen. I didn’t know you knew about Neville but you have to believe me, I never wanted to hurt you. And I’d finished with him. I told him it was all over the last time we met. I told him I wanted to concentrate on you, on “us”.’

Griff reached out and removed her hand from his knee. ‘You’re right; this isn’t the best time for this kind of conversation.’ He got up and moved across to a bookcase and idly picked up a Bible from the top shelf. One of the other men was standing there with his back to Griff and seemed to be deep in thought, but became aware of his presence when Griff accidentally dropped the volume and gasped at his own clumsiness. The man jumped and turned.

Griff smiled an apology and raised a hand as he put the Bible carefully back in its place. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘My hand’s a bit shaky.’

‘No matter,’ replied the other man.

Griff raised his eyebrows. ‘Ah, I’ve got it now — you’re the other chap working on the garden, aren’t you? I don’t think we’ve been introduced; I’ve missed you whenever I’ve been there.’

‘Yes,’ answered Alwyn, experiencing a moment of panic. He looked around but Gareth was deep in conversation with someone at the other end, by the choir stalls. He turned back to Griff. ‘Gareth and I were at college together and he asked me…’ His voice tailed off. ‘Well, I’m the junior partner in the venture so I’ve probably been away running errands during your visits.’ Alwyn gave a nervous smile. His mouth felt dry. Until that moment, he’d congratulated himself on how well he’d managed to keep out of the way whenever Griff appeared – and since Gareth had done all the initial negotiating, there had been no need for Griff to come across him at all.

Griff nodded. ‘I see Gareth managed to keep things in the family.’

The colour drained from Alwyn’s face; he could almost feel it going. ‘What?’ he squeaked.

Griff gave a pleasant laugh. ‘I mean, the Welsh family,’ he said, ‘you know, you’ve got a Welsh accent.’

Relief flooded through Alwyn and he felt sure it was just as visible as the horror he’d experienced previously. A moment elapsed before he could return the smile and nod. ‘Yes, Usk,’ he answered. After another pause he held out his hand. ‘Alwyn Maddox.’

‘What a coincidence, nearly the same surname,’ said Griff cheerfully. ‘I’m from Cardiff myself,’ he added, shaking the proffered hand. ‘But I was born in the countryside, way up north, not far from Prestatyn.’

Alwyn nodded again. ‘I think I’ve heard you say so, on your programme. That’s where you grew your first herbs, wasn’t it?’

Griff smiled. ‘To be honest, I don’t remember much about my little herb garden — and I strongly suspect it was my mum who did most of the work. We came away when I was still a little boy.’

Alwyn knew that if he had any sense he’d walk away, but he found it hard to ignore the charm in Griff’s smile and the lack of guile in his tone. Also, in spite of himself, he had an interest in Griff’s take on his history. ‘So,’ he continued, ‘were your people farmers?’

‘My grandad was, I think,’ replied Griff. ‘When we moved south we lost touch, which is a shame.’

Just at that moment the door opened and Angela, along with DCI Stanway and the rest of the team, entered the chapel.

Chapter 8

‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,’ began Stanway. ‘I’m sorry you’ve all been kept waiting. I’ve no doubt you’re all very tired but I’m sure you understand our need to investigate the situation carefully.’ An exhausted silence greeted his words and he ploughed on. There’s just one more job to do today and then we can dismiss you.’ A pause. ‘Given that we don’t yet know the cause of this most unfortunate death, I’m afraid we’re going to have to search you all and take fingerprints. Please don’t be alarmed by this, it’s a precautionary measure and, in the case of the prints, will help to eliminate you from the enquiry.’

Most of you at any rate, thought Angela.

A couple of those present bridled visibly at the DCI’s announcement, and Angela heard a few indignant gasps but most people responded to the news with a resigned shrug.

‘Perhaps…’ Stanway looked around and got the attention of Angela and the team. ‘Once they’ve been searched, make sure we have their names and addresses and then they’ll be free to leave.’

‘Yes, Sir,’ replied Angela. She nodded at her team and, with the help of the uniformed officers, a system of finger-printing and searching was established. Everyone slowly subjected themselves to the process, shuffling into more or less orderly lines, each line leading to a hastily-erected table where two police officers sat.

After having their prints taken, they all obediently turned out pockets, emptied handbags, removed shoes and allowed themselves to be patted up and down.

The whole process yielded nothing.

An hour later the police officers were the only people in the chapel and most of those were looking longingly towards the door through which the last person had left. Stanway correctly interpreted the mood and gave a gentle cough. ‘We’ve nearly finished for the evening,’ he said, addressing them all. ‘Did anybody leave the room once they’d all been brought in here?’

The uniformed sergeant nodded, guessing what was coming. ‘The toilets,’ he said. ‘We’d better take a look. They’re just outside and along a little way. Quite a few of them went to the toilets, well, we couldn’t stop them, of course but we made sure they were escorted.’

‘Of course not,’ agreed Stanway. ‘But it does mean that we haven’t quite finished.’

But they drew a blank in the toilets as well. None of them knew what they were searching for, but found nothing out of the ordinary.

Eventually, Stanway dismissed them all, making it clear that he expected to meet his team first thing in the morning at the incident room.

Patrick and Madeleine didn’t need any explanation for Angela’s late return from work that evening. As she walked into the living-room she could see the news in progress on the television. A commentator stood in front of the main marquee at the flower show, speaking in sombre tones of what had taken place earlier in the day. Patrick looked, smiled and stretched out his arm. Angela sank down onto the sofa and melted into his embrace.

When she’d first moved back home, Madeleine would have been full of questions about the case. Now, she had enough awareness of her stepmother’s rhythm after a long day to remain silent except for one question of pressing importance to her. ‘Did you drop Gary off?’ she asked.

Angela nodded. ‘Yes, about ten minutes ago. I think he’d like to have his mind taken off the events of today.’

‘Oh goody,’ said Madeleine, standing up and heading for the door. ‘I’ll give him a bell and get round there.’

‘Just don’t offer him any champagne,’ said Angela. Madeleine turned a quizzical glance towards her, but she didn’t slow down and a few seconds later could be heard chatting to Gary on her mobile as she shrugged herself into a jacket. She called out a cheery ‘bye, see you later’ and the front door closed behind her.

‘Champagne?’ queried Patrick.

Angela laughed. ‘We don’t know for sure yet, until after the post-mortem, but it’s a likely contender.’

‘So it is a poisoning then?’

‘It looks like it; the victim hadn’t been taking any medication and there was no known reason for him to die suddenly. And once we’ve established the cause we’ve still got a question-mark over who the intended victim was.’ The look Patrick turned towards her was identical to the one his daughter has shown a few moments earlier.

Angela grinned at him as she felt herself reviving from her earlier tiredness. ‘OK, here’s the picture, Paddy. We’ve got a rather large space gradually filling up with more and more people.’ She quickly described the layout of the room.

‘I can imagine it, lots of designer outfits and air-kissing. And it must have been quite noisy.’

‘I wasn’t there at that point, but I expect you’ve got that right; these sorts of affairs usually are.’ Angela then explained how the buffet had been laid out.

‘Ah! Hence your earlier comment about champagne.’

‘Yes, indeed; so the caterers, any of the guests… whoever…’ Angela spread her hands to express her frustration. ‘Anybody could have been keeping his or her eye on a particular glass.’

‘Quite easy to do, I should think, in a swirl of people.’

‘You got it, my darling.’

‘So what happened then?’

‘Mrs Madoc is standing by this glass chatting with the victim’s wife, Melanie Ingram and hovering nearby is one of Griff Madoc’s most devoted fans.’ Angela broke off and looked at Patrick. ‘Seriously, darling, I think this woman is obsessed. Her name is Della, and Griff’s already made her go for counselling as a way of avoiding court action. Listen to this: I read somewhere recently that Griff was brought up a Catholic, although he hadn’t practised any faith for many years. Lately, though, he’s come back to the Church, so, according to her, this Della goes to church every day to light a candle and pray for him. She sat in the room all afternoon with her rosary beads out, running them through her fingers. I’m presuming this show of religiosity is an attempt to get on the right side of him.’

‘That’s a bit harsh, darling. Maybe she’s had a genuine conversion experience as well.’

‘Granted, but if you’d seen her you’d have realised one thing immediately.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Whatever she was saying, it wasn’t the rosary.’

‘Ah, yes, you can tell by looking, can’t you? There’s a particular rhythm to the prayers.’

‘Yes, but I take your point; I shouldn’t be disparaging. So, back to the account of the event. Mrs Madoc, Pauline, remarked that her husband should have a drink, it being his party, and this Della immediately muscles into the conversation and offers to take a glass over to him.’

‘Anything to breathe the same air as her hero?’

‘You’re quick aren’t you? Did you ever consider a career in the police?’ teased Angela.

Patrick gave a bark of laughter and poked Angela gently in the ribs. ‘Listen, you young whippersnapper, I’ve forgotten more about being a D.I. than you’ve had chance to learn yet.’

Angela laughed. ‘Anyway, you’re right. But Griff is wary of her, remember.’

‘What? He doesn’t think she wants to kill him? I know some obsessed people cross that line but she would have had to come prepared, surely?’

‘She doesn’t seem to be that kind of obsessed but you never know. So far she’s come across as more of a nuisance, hanging around and, well, I haven’t gone into it all yet. But what I meant is that Griff tries not to give her any encouragement so when she hands him a glass of champagne, his only thought is to make sure she sees him getting rid of it, untasted.’

‘Ah, I get it. Griff hands it over to the nearest person who — ’

‘ — Happens to be the victim, Neville Ingram, yes, who gets started on it immediately.’

‘And falls over and dies a few moments later.’

‘That’s it, Pads.’

‘Tricky!’

‘Hmm, yes, an apt word, I think, darling.’

Patrick stroked his chin, thinking for a moment. ‘If the poison was in the champagne, whoever put it there couldn’t possibly have known Griff would pass it straight on the nearest person.’

‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you but this was a book-launch, remember; famous telly chef, bringing out his first recipe book, media attention.’

Patrick stroked his chin some more as he considered what Angela might be getting at. ‘Hmm,’ he said eventually. ‘Are you thinking that, at such an occasion, the most likely person to be standing next to Griff Madoc would be his manager?’

Angela frowned. ‘I’m still thinking this one through, to be honest, and I’ve got a lot more questions to ask — but I don’t think it’s unlikely.’

‘It’s still very risky. There’s no guarantee of getting the right target.’

Angela sighed. ‘You’re right; unless of course, someone wants them both dead.’

‘Oh dear. Still, even that’s better than the only other option.’

‘Yes, we’ve already considered the question of it being a random person who doesn’t care who the victim is.’ Angela’s shoulders slumped.

‘Cheer up,’ said Patrick. ‘It’s very early days yet. I’m sure the investigation will throw up all sorts of stuff that will point you in the right direction.’

Angela didn’t feel very comforted by his words, but after a few moments she smiled. ‘What’s for dinner?’ she asked.

Gareth Morgan and Alwyn Maddox shared a very silent tube journey back to Gareth’s Finchley home. They slumped down into the armchairs in the living-room, leaned their heads back, and closed their eyes. Neither man spoke for a while. After several minutes Alwyn sat up. ‘I’ll get the kettle on, shall I?’

Gareth opened one eye and looked at his friend. ‘You can make yourself a hot drink if you like. Personally, I’m going for something stronger.’

Alwyn beamed. ‘I’ll get it. What’s your poison?’

‘Ouch!’

Alwyn stopped in the act of getting up. ‘Oh yes, sorry. Well, I suppose it was poison, wasn’t it?’ He sat down again. ‘What a day!’

‘You can say that again.’ Gareth rose. ‘I’ve got to pop up to the bathroom. I’ll get the drinks on my way back down. Is it a beer for you?’

‘Yes please,’ answered Alwyn, relaxing back into his chair. As soon as Gareth had left the room his mobile rang. He took it out of his pocket, and when he saw the face on the screen his heart sank. He swiped to answer the call and brought the phone up to his ear. ‘Hi, Dad,’ he said.

‘Alwyn, what happened? I’ve seen on the news about that man dying at the Chelsea Flower Show. This is terrible, son.’

From anyone else’s father these would be words of commiseration and comfort, but Alwyn knew better than that. He felt as though an icy hand reached out and grasped his entrails. His father had a mission. He’d had this mission ever since the Madocs had dropped off the family radar many years earlier. He kept his response neutral until he could gauge his father’s mood better. ‘Tell me about it, Dad! Gareth and I have only just got home. We were kept hanging around for hours and then we had to be searched.’

‘I can imagine. They don’t suspect you, do they?’

‘No, of course not — ’

‘Good, that’s something at least. It’s a shame you got the wrong man, but so long as you’re not a suspect you’ll be free to have another go.’ The grip on Alwyn’s gastric region tightened. He swallowed and tried to take a deep breath. His father realised Alwyn hadn’t filled the silence from the London end of the line. ‘Alwyn, are you there, son?’

‘Yes, Dad.’

‘OK, well, I can see this might take it out of you. It’s a shame about the other man, of course, but you didn’t mean it. You can look on this as a dry run. I want you to know that I’m proud of you, son. Mind you, you’d be better off making it look like an accident. Messing around with poison is a waste of time. I know you’ll succeed in the end. Don’t worry.’

‘Right, dad.’ Alwyn’s voice was little more than a squeak. ‘Dad?’

‘What is it?’

‘I met him today, for the first time, when we were all waiting for the police to do what they had to do and let us go.’

‘The bastard! Smarmy, was he? Self-satisfied runt; little does he know what’s coming to him but don’t worry, it won’t go wrong next time, I believe in you, Alwyn. I know you’ll get it right. I’m depending on you.’

Alwyn felt sick. He muttered some platitude just so he could finish the call, and put the phone down with a shaking hand. His skin felt clammy, and he knew it would be a while before his stomach righted itself. His father had always had this effect on him. From his earliest years, any encounter with his father had left Alwyn feeling as though he’d been run over by a steamroller. Getting away to university and forging his career in horticulture hadn’t changed any of it. The minute he heard his voice, Alwyn became the frightened little boy he’d always been. For many years he had thought the source of the intimidation could be found in all sorts of factors, his muscular, stocky frame, his menacing attitude. However, since they’d discovered the whereabouts of cousin Griff, Alwyn knew it wasn’t to be found in any of these things.

The source of his fear could be traced without any shadow of a doubt to his father’s blind hatred of Griff Madoc and the still-burning fire of the family feud.

Alwyn could hear Gareth coming back from the kitchen with their drinks and he sat up and tried to act normally but, inside, he was in turmoil. He knew he had no strength to resist the parental will.

In a bright and airy studio flat just off the Fulham Road, Griff Madoc reached out to take the cup of coffee being offered to him and smiled up at Tricia. He cupped his hands round it but didn’t drink. Tricia sat down close, facing him. ‘I wish I could say something that would help,’ she said.

Griff gave a bleak smile. ‘I keep telling myself it must have been random. You couldn’t plan a murder in circumstances like today’s and be sure of getting it right. It has to have been random.’

‘Or some ghastly accident.’

‘Yes, or that,’ he agreed. ‘The thought that I might be the target is something I’m avoiding like crazy.’

Tricia put a hand on his knee and caressed it. ‘It can’t be. There has to be some other explanation, Griff.’

He shivered. ‘But I keep coming back to “what if” — and that’s just unthinkable.’

‘That’s why I don’t believe it,’ asserted Tricia in a robust tone of voice. She hesitated before continuing. ‘I suppose Neville could have been the target after all,’ she ventured.

Griff narrowed his eyes and gazed into the middle distance. ‘There are those who would say I had a good motive for murdering him.’

Tricia relaxed. ‘Ah, so you do know, about…?’

Griff’s smiled was light-hearted this time. ‘Oh yes.’ Then he paused. ‘But how do you know?’

‘My uncle Luke told me.’

‘Ah! I keep forgetting. Being close to an uncle is not something I’m familiar with. I suppose that also means my wife is the subject of gossip. She wouldn’t like that at all. She’s convinced she’s very discreet.’

‘I don’t think it’s common gossip. It’s just that Luke is very perceptive.’

‘Well he’s right. I know all about Neville Ingram and my dear wife. That’s why she acted the way she did, at the scene. It wasn’t all histrionics. I can’t help feeling a bit sorry for her because I think she had really fallen in love this time, which would be a first for Pauline.’

‘I admire the way you’re so pragmatic about it. Do you think she might have been planning to leave you for him?’

‘Oh no, she wouldn’t do that. Being in love is one thing, upping sticks to go and live with him is quite another, and I know Pauline. She likes the prestige of being a celebrity’s wife, and the use of my money. Of course, Pauline’s been behaving very strangely lately. Strangely for her, I mean. I’ve always known about her paramours, but once or twice recently she’s almost tried to — well — have some sort of rapprochement with me. She even tried today, in a clumsy fashion. It felt very odd.’

‘Rapprochement? You don’t think she wants to, you know…?’

Griff flicked a glance at her before taking a sip of his coffee. ‘What, reconcile? It has crossed my mind.’

‘And?’

Griff’s eyes softened as he gazed at Tricia. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll get everything properly sorted out.’

Tricia smiled. ‘I know you will.’

Della let herself into the house she shared with her mother, took a few steps towards the door to the front room, and pushed cautiously at it. The sound of gentle snores could be heard from within and Della gave a relieved smile. She had no doubt that her late arrival would have gone unnoticed. Mrs Burnett was increasingly unaware of the world around her, and Della liked to keep to as regular a routine as possible to avoid any upset or confusion for the old lady. In spite of the evidence of the snores, Della crept silently past the room and up the stairs. She had just enough time to carry out her ritual before making the late-night cocoa. Della had a very well-established practice of maintaining her own secret world. She knew her subterfuge was no longer necessary – anything she told her mother these days passed very quickly beyond the old woman’s decreasing memory span – but the habit of secrecy had become ingrained over the years. It was part of the excitement, the pleasure and, goodness knows, she didn’t have much of that.

She passed her own room and went along the landing to the smallest bedroom, the one over the front door. Once inside, she crossed over to an alcove in the corner, taking her rosary beads out of her bag as she went. To one side of a little table set in the space stood a statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary. The hands of the white-robed figurine were spread in an attitude of benediction and the eyes were cast modestly downwards. Della draped the beads carefully over the statue so that they hung partly over the outstretched arms. She felt very religious doing this. Ever since she’d read about Griff coming back to the faith of his childhood, she’d made a habit of appearing to be religious. She didn’t know how to pray the rosary but she thought that if she just ran the beads through her fingers and said ‘God bless me, God bless Griff,’ over and over again, that would do. If she was honest, her mind constantly wandered off and she found herself thinking all sorts of things as she ‘prayed’: a shopping list here and the plot of last night’s soap opera there. She didn’t think it mattered very much. As long as Griff got the right impression about her degree of piety, that was all that concerned her.

Having completed the first part of her ritual, Della paused for a moment and took a breath. The sides of the alcove were lined with pages from the menu in Griff’s restaurant, all lovingly mounted in separate frames. On the back wall as the centrepiece hung a photograph of him with his arm around her; that was back in the early days when he’d thought of her as just a pleasant, appreciative fan, before she’d let him know they were Meant To Be Together. He’d distanced himself after that. At first this had upset her very much, but she came to the conclusion that he simply wasn’t ready for their shared destiny yet, and it had all made so much more sense. She cast her eyes lovingly over the other objects on the small desk. Her trophies: a pen that Griff had used; a comb that he didn’t realise had fallen from his pocket; a napkin with which he had wiped his mouth. She had hoped that she would come home this evening and add an autographed copy of his book to the collection, but that would have to wait. In any case, she had something much more memorable.

Slowly, reverently, she opened her bag and drew out two items. The first was the wristband she’d been wearing and which had gained her access to the book-launch. She’d been thrilled to find it; until the moment she spotted it on the lawn near where the film crew had been working, she’d resigned herself to merely standing on the side-lines, watching all the guests going in and out at their leisure, waiting faithfully until she could get a last glimpse of Griff as he finally left. She placed it towards the back of the exhibition and made a space beside it for the other object, a small black pouch made of fabric and secured by a zip fastener running along the top. It was just the sort of bag for keeping toiletries in. A few months ago, one of the glossy magazines had carried a feature on Griff packing to go away for a short holiday before beginning his next series. In the photograph she’d noticed a small black pouch just like this one, lying on top of a pile of neatly folded clothes. Getting Away From it All with Celebrity Chef Griff, she’d read. The bag had looked expensive in the magazine, and now that she held an exact copy in her hands she could see it was a very well-made item. She ran her hands lovingly over the fabric. Griff had chosen a travelling pouch just like this… his choice. And now she had one just the same.

It had been a real stroke of luck, finding it, and she regarded it as a kind of small reward for her patience that day. And what a long day it had been. She’d tried to catch Griff’s eye several times but every time he seemed to be in conversation with someone or looking in the other direction. She wanted to let him know that she would support him. It can’t be easy, having someone drop dead just like that right beside you, and she thought Griff was being very brave. In the end she just took her rosary beads out. She knew he would understand that gesture. She just wanted to let him know that she was behind him. Once she’d been questioned she thought she might be allowed to go home but no, a further wait had ensued and then they all had to be searched. Della had found that a bit scary and exciting at the same time. The scary aspect produced a very familiar sensation, and made her realise she hadn’t paid a visit to the ladies since the whole business began. A woman police officer came with her and waited while Della went into the cubicle.

And there, dropped down behind the pedestal, she saw the pouch.

A memory of the magazine article immediately sprang to her mind. To have something so similar was not an opportunity she would easily pass up. Once she’d retrieved it, she was thrilled to bits with her find. At that moment all thoughts of what might be happening elsewhere fled and she leapt at the opportunity to acquire another trophy for her alcove. She quickly scooped it up, put it into her bag and went back to join the officer to be escorted back into the room where everybody was waiting.

They were all allowed home shortly after that, and she finally had the chance to sit in her room gazing in wonder at her prize. She could now easily guess why it had been thrown away. The zip was stuck; the teeth were caught up in a thick wedge of the fabric. She tried to pull it open several times in the tube on the way home but it wouldn’t budge. The question of why it had been left in the ladies’ loo didn’t bother her too much. She thought of that television lady, a floor manager, perhaps. Every time Della went to watch the recording of Griff’s programme, and even this morning, when they were doing that filming from his garden, she could be seen running here and there. She had most probably been asked to get rid of it and simply put it in the loo because she was too lazy to go and find a dustbin. She could feel a small cylindrical object inside, something cosmetic, she supposed. She would explore this another time when she wasn’t so tired. She had that pleasure to look forward to. Care would have to be taken not to damage the zip or rip the material. Right now, all she wanted to do was to put it in pride of place in her collection and revel in that fact.

Chapter 9

DCI Stanway clearly had his territory marked out by the time the team met up again at the incident room on the following morning. ‘I shall accompany the forensic team to the garden at the flower show,’ he began. ‘Jim’s idea is a very good one, and we would be failing in our duty if we didn’t take samples of the plants, just in case whatever substance is responsible for the death is growing there.’ If he had any suspicion about the way everybody in the room gazed at him with innocent, attentive expressions, he didn’t show it. ‘A poisonous plant isn’t automatically recognised as such, so the job will take the best part of the morning.’ Stanway gazed over the heads of them all as he spoke. Angela had to hide a smile as Stanway ploughed on. ‘I assume you’ve all got your tasks?’ He looked with an enquiring glance at her.

‘More or less, Sir,’ she assured him. ‘But I’ll go over it again before we get started.’

‘Good, good.’ Stanway looked at his watch. ‘Well, I told forensics I’d meet them outside as soon as possible so I’d better get going. Keep me up to speed. We’ll touch base later, Angie.’

‘Yes, Sir,’ called Angela to Stanway’s retreating back.

Rick turned away from watching the door swing shut and grinned at her. ‘I always knew he was very proud of those roses he grows in his office, but I’d no idea how passionate he was about gardening.’

‘Nor did I, not fully,’ replied Angela. ‘He’s now wangled himself a morning at the Chelsea Flower Show, and if any of us end up back there during this investigation we can safely assume he’ll find a reason for tagging along. OK, let’s get down to business.’ She moved to the space at the front of the room vacated by Stanway. ‘Apart from the lines of enquiry we mentioned yesterday I’m intrigued by this garden designer turning out to be a cousin of Griff Madoc’s. As you know, Gary and I spoke to Griff yesterday — and guess what he didn’t say?’

‘He didn’t say he’s first cousin to Alwyn Maddox, guv?’ said Leanne.

‘Absolutely right, Leanne; this is intriguing, so Gary and I will head for the Madocs first. I want to talk to Mr and Mrs in much greater depth. Rick and Jim, make sure you speak to Gareth Morgan and Alwyn Maddox again before you do anything else. Who chose what plants? I saw Griff being interviewed on TV and talking about having rhubarb on pedestals — so it’s not just herbs, we need to know everything that’s there.’ Angela paused, thinking. ‘On that note, I think I should take a look at it myself. We all piled straight into the building yesterday and got busy, but that garden and what’s growing in it might turn out to be very significant. I’ll try and get over there later, once Stanway’s gone.’

‘Will he go, though?’ asked Jim with a chortle.

Angela laughed. ‘I take your point. Perhaps, once he’s seen the forensic team in place, he’ll do what he started to do yesterday and sneak off for a surreptitious look round the rest of the show. He’s got his gardening preferences and I don’t think herbs float his boat.’

‘Yes,’ added Rick. ‘If we need him we just have to head for the rose section.’

‘You’ve read the man well,’ agreed Angela. ‘OK, when you’re talking to the designers, well, Alwyn anyway, you know what’s required.’

‘Oh yes,’ answered Rick as Jim nodded. ‘We want the full story on him and Griff being cousins. Good thing he mentioned it, as Griff didn’t see fit to do so.’

‘Yes,’ said Angela, ‘I’m not suggesting that Griff deliberately concealed the information, though — I daresay it wasn’t uppermost in his mind when we spoke to him earlier.’

‘Right, don’t worry, Angie, we’ll make sure we check it out.’ said Rick.

‘Good-oh; Leanne and Derek, I want you to dig into the backgrounds of everybody there, starting with the victim, of course, and moving on to the most prominent attendees. So far, all we’ve got is a very puzzling conundrum. Somewhere along the line we must surely find something that’ll make sense of it all. OK, everybody. Let’s all get going.’

About an hour later, having made good time through the London traffic, Gary drove the HAT car past a series of expensive-looking detached houses in Harrow until they came to the one inhabited by Griff and Pauline Madoc. A wide gate led into a spacious driveway allowing room for four or five cars. Gary drove in and pulled up beside the only other vehicle, a Mazda sports car. ‘Hmm, nice,’ he said, looking across with an admiring glance.

‘I imagine that belongs to Pauline,’ said Angela. ‘I don’t know what sort of schedule Griff has but I would think if he’s not at the TV studios making his programme then he’s probably at his restaurant. From speaking to him yesterday I’m of the opinion that he has good reason to spend as much time away from home as he can.’

‘That’s really sad.’

‘You’re right,’ agreed Angela. ‘But you remember what he said?’

‘Yes, I do. It doesn’t sound like they have much of a marriage. And if he’s come back to being a devout Catholic, then divorce is a no-no, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, but maybe his obvious distress yesterday is because of the situation as it stands and we’ve still got to find out what that is, exactly. For all we know, he might be doing all he can to win his wife back, to build up a solid marriage.’

‘That’s true. I’ll reserve judgement.’

‘Yes; I’ve been doing a bit of research on the way up here,’ said Angela, scrolling down the screen on her phone. ‘It seems they were childhood sweethearts, they got married when they were in their early twenties, so, about ten years ago, give or take. She worked in the local chemist’s shop and he was doing a catering course at a nearby college.’ Angela looked up at the house. ‘Well, as a young married couple, if he was still a student, I should think they struggled a bit, but things have definitely improved for them since, financially at least, even if the marriage is hanging by a thread.’

‘We’ll have to tread carefully.’

‘Yes, Gary, we will. I know I was wondering aloud about Mrs Madoc and Neville Ingram yesterday, but we’ll have to put that right out of our minds and come at this interview fresh.’

‘No leading the witnesses.’

‘Or the suspects.’

‘You know what I think, Angie?’

‘What?’

‘I think this investigation is going to be like wading through treacle.’

‘You’re a proper little ray of sunshine, aren’t you?’ rejoined Angela with a laugh. She put her phone in her bag and unclipped her seat belt. ‘Come on, let’s get started.’

Pauline Madoc opened the front door and showed them into a light, airy living-room decorated entirely in shades of blue, ranging from midnight (pelmets and carpets) through forget-me-not (curtains and upholstery) to light periwinkle (wallpaper). Angela and Gary sank down into the luxurious sofa and gazed up into the – still red-rimmed – eyes of their hostess. ‘Can I get you anything to drink?’ she asked.

‘A coffee would be much appreciated,’ responded Angela. Pauline nodded and left the room.

‘She looks close to tears, doesn’t she?’ said Gary.

‘Yes,’ answered Angela. ‘And I don’t think our questions are going to help that situation.’

Pauline must have already boiled the kettle before their arrival, because she came back in a few minutes with a fully-laden coffee tray. She put it down on a small table, sat down in the nearest armchair to it, and proceeded to pour and distribute the drinks. The whole process must have helped to steady her because when she finally sat back with her own cup, she even managed a tiny smile. ‘I know we were warned yesterday that you might want to see us again, but I really don’t know what else I can tell you,’ she began.

‘You’d be amazed at what people know without being aware of its significance,’ said Angela, determined to maintain a conversational atmosphere, but knowing that her first question wouldn’t fall under anybody’s definition of ‘small talk’. She sat forward a little in her seat. ‘I’m sorry to have to ask you this, Mrs Madoc, but do you know of any reason why anybody would want to kill your husband?’

Pauline closed her eyes and moved her jaws as though gritting her teeth. ‘I’d just nearly calmed down yesterday when it occurred to me that the drink might have been meant for Griff.’ Her eyes opened wide and she stared at Angela. ‘I’ve hardly had a wink of sleep all night.’

‘I can imagine.’

‘I know what it must look like. I mean, I just picked up the last glass. How was I to know, I mean, I presume there was something in it. It was that, wasn’t it? How could I have known?’ Her eyes became wild again and tears threatened.

Angela hastened to reassure her. ‘We can’t be certain yet, of the cause of death,’ she said, making a mental note to touch base with the incident room as soon as she could to see if the result of the post-mortem had come in. ‘But in any case, nobody is accusing you. Please don’t alarm yourself, Mrs Madoc.’

‘Pauline.’

‘Pauline, yes, thank you.’

Pauline took her time over blowing across the top of her coffee before sipping at it. She raised her eyes to Angela and Gary again. ‘I can’t think why anybody would want to kill my husband, Inspector. He’s completely harmless.’ Angela could hear the note of disdain laced with cruelty in the words and had to stop herself from wincing. A brief picture of the humiliation in Griff’s face and tone of the day before flashed across her inner vision, but a moment later she was glad she’d used restraint because Pauline spoke again. ‘I’m sorry, Inspector, that was uncalled for. And it was unkind.’ She paused to take another sip and place the cup and saucer on a small table set near her chair. ‘Things haven’t been great between us lately, but all marriages go through their bad patches and I’m working on the situation.’

Angela grasped the opening. ‘The situation being?’

‘The usual situation that occurs when you take each other for granted. You think it won’t happen to you but, of course, it can happen to anyone. We’ve become a bit stale and drifted apart. But, as I say, I’m working on it.’

‘I hope things work out.’

‘Yes, thank you. I’m sure they will. Griff’s basically a good man. You read about so many men having a problem with commitment but that doesn’t apply to him. Of course, lately, his views on the sanctity of marriage have deepened, so we’re in it for the long haul, until death do us part.’

There would be nothing to stop you from divorcing him, though, thought Angela – but she didn’t voice it. She shared Griff’s strong views and, in any case, couldn’t see what bearing it had on the investigation. She kept her expression neutral as she looked into the other woman’s face. ‘It takes two, doesn’t it? You both have to work at it.’

‘Exactly. I’m hoping to get him away for a holiday after the current series is finished. He needs a break.’

‘What about — have you any children?’ asked Angela. She suddenly remembered there’d been no mention of children in the research she’d done.

Pauline shook her head with a decisive movement. ‘Never on my agenda, Inspector.’

I wonder how that sits with Griff’s new-found Catholic faith, thought, Angela. That is very definitely none of my business though: I’d better get back to the matter in hand. She smiled. ‘We’ve strayed somewhat from my question.’

‘Yes, no, I can’t think of anybody who would want to kill him. Are you sure he was the intended victim?’

‘We’re not sure of anything at this stage, which is why we’re asking. We’re also looking into motives to kill Neville Ingram, of course.’

A gasp escaped Pauline. ‘I can still see him there… writhing.’ Tears filled her eyes and she quickly grabbed a tissue from a box on the table and brought it up to her face.

Angela knew she had to allow her a little space. She looked at Gary, remembered that he and Madeleine went to a gig recently and was puzzled to find that her thoughts flew straight to the poet, Stevie Smith. That made it the second time in a couple of days. Admonishing herself for irrelevancy she turned back to Pauline. ‘I’m sorry, I know it’s distressing,’ she soothed.

Pauline waved her free hand. ‘It’s all right. You have your job to do.’ She wiped her eyes and dabbed tears away from her cheeks. ‘OK, I can carry on.’

‘Did you see anybody at the buffet table, anybody doing anything suspicious for instance?’

Pauline shook her head. ‘Everybody was milling around, “darling” this and “sweetie" that; you know how they do at this type of event.’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘To be honest, Inspector, if that glass was poisoned, anybody in the room could have done it, if you ask me. Most people went over and admired the buffet, well, it did look lovely, and by then most of us were hungry.’

‘What about Griff’s business? He has a restaurant, doesn’t he?’

‘Oh yes, and very successful it is too, near Knightsbridge, top-notch clientele. I don’t think investigating that angle will do you much good. Marcel started off as the sous-chef and he’s Griff’s partner now.’ She laughed. ‘Unless of course he wants to take over completely.’ She became silent as a thought seemed to take hold. ‘Well, I suppose that could be a motive. Things change, don’t they?’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t like to point the finger, though.’

‘Don’t worry, we’re casting the net as wide as we can at the moment,’ replied Angela.

Pauline nodded. ‘Now I’m thinking about it, I suppose he could have another.’

Angela and Gary exchanged glances. ‘Oh really?’ asked Gary.

‘Well, his workload is much heavier now that Griff’s away so much, making his TV programme. That can’t be easy for him. He might resent that.’

Gary nodded. ‘You never know, do you?’ he said, writing in his notebook.

Suddenly Pauline gave a shudder, shut her eyes tight and opened them wide again.

‘What is it?’ asked Angela.

Pauline gulped. ‘I have had a horrible thought. You did say you’re only casting the net at this stage, didn’t you? Nothing is binding, is it?’

‘Yes, of course,’ answered Angela. ‘Everything will be properly investigated.’

‘I don’t know if I should say this.’

‘Trust me,’ said Angela.

Pauline took a deep breath. ‘It’s just that if the intended victim was Neville, well, Griff’s contract with him had five years left to run and although we hadn’t discussed it I think he would have preferred to have a different manager.’

‘That’s interesting,’ said Angela. She kept her voice level and her face expressionless as she made a note. Is this how you plan to mend your marriage, she thought, by telling us that your husband has a motive for this murder? She looked up at Pauline. ‘How did you meet Griff?’ she asked.

Pauline sat up a little straighter and seemed to switch into what struck Angela as ‘professional interviewee’ mode. ‘I was working for Mr Davies, the local chemist, in the shop and he — Griff — kept coming in. He’d buy some aspirin one time and then come back ten minutes later for some hand-cream for his mum. A little while after that he’d be there again for something else. I soon cottoned on to the fact that he was in love with me.’ Pauline patted her hair and smoothed an eyebrow. ‘Like a big puppy-dog, he was.’

‘Did it embarrass you?’

Pauline smiled broadly at the very suggestion. ‘Not at all; I was used to it. Half the boys in the town were after me. I’d been elected local beauty-queen two years running by that time, see. It got on Mr Davies’ nerves, having Griff coming in so often, but that didn’t bother me, well it wouldn’t, would it? I was really cheesed off at being stuck behind the counter, I can tell you. I expected something better.’ She broke off and looked about her. ‘Well, I got that in the end, didn’t I?’

Angela had to make another effort to keep from visibly wincing. She cast a brief glance across at Gary and had the impression that he, too, felt uncomfortable with what he’d heard. She made an effort and smiled. ‘So, love blossomed in the local chemist’s shop?’

‘Something like that,’ admitted Pauline. ‘I was at a bit of a loose end, see. I’d had a couple of dates with a boy from out of town but he was about to go back home. He’d come down from the north for a temporary job, working on the municipal gardens. This boy I’d been dating, a college student he was, he took one look at me and asked me for a date. Fancied me rotten he did, and we went out a few times.’ Pauline paused. ‘Now this is interesting, have you come across this yet? He only had a couple more days with us when I told him one of the local boys was in love with me. Griff and I had already gone out together a few times by then but I wanted to wind Alwyn up, make him jealous. Well, when I pointed Griff out he went rigid and asked me all sorts of questions, wanted to know his surname, and the names of his parents, if you please. It turned out, would you believe it, that he and Griff were cousins but they’d never even met. There’d been some big family feud way back in the past. He made me promise not to give his secret away, said it would have dire consequences or something. A bit melodramatic, if you ask me, but I never said anything. To be honest, I forgot all about it very soon. Alwyn Maddox, that’s the cousin, he left for home the next day and I didn’t meet him again until I walked into the book-launch yesterday.’

‘That must have been quite a surprise.’

‘Well, it would have been, but I saw him on TV a week or so ago, on a programme about the run-up to the flower show. It was — one afternoon it was.’ Pauline’s face suddenly crumpled and tears brimmed at her lower eyelids, but she breathed deeply and gained mastery of herself. ‘I got the shock of my life at that point but I recognised him instantly. There he stood, large as life and, to be honest, a great deal more handsome than when he was a student. I quite fancied him all over again for a minute.’ Fully recovered, Pauline gave what she no doubt thought of as a mischievous grin. Angela bent her head over her notebook as she wrote, and was aware of Gary doing the same. She could tell that he found it as difficult to engage with Pauline Madoc as she did. So, thought Angela, Alwyn Maddox fancied you so ‘rotten’ that he walked away at the end of his time in your town and made no contact with you whatsoever. And, that, I presume, would have still been the case if you hadn’t happened to come together yesterday at the Royal Hospital Chelsea.

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Mr Maddox has mentioned the relationship between himself and Griff to us.’ She looked down at her pad and saw that she’d written ‘Alwyn Maddox’. She circled it. They would have to see this cousin and find out what the feud had all been about.

Murder could sometimes be seen as a very efficient way of settling a family dispute.

Chapter 10

Melanie Ingram took her sons to school and came straight back to the house. She dropped her keys and handbag on the sofa as she entered the living room. Going into the kitchen, she switched on the kettle and got the coffee out of the cupboard. She jumped, startled by the emptiness of the house, then laughed at herself. The next moment her eyes filled with tears. She wiped them away; they weren’t a sign of grief, just the shock she still hadn’t got over. When he heard the kitchen cupboard open, Neville usually came in from the room they used as a study. They’d sit and have a drink together while they went over the work schedule. Melanie flicked the switch on the kettle as she thought about this. These morning sessions had become increasingly difficult for her as she found it harder and hard to put a positive spin on the reason why the business hadn’t been doing well. She’d begun to tire of the effort, and knew she wouldn’t have maintained it much longer. Neville had been baffled, genuinely baffled, that a flourishing agency couldn’t hold its clients. Melanie hadn’t. She knew exactly where the problems lay and very soon she would have taken decisive action to wrest control back from him.

She shook her head to rid herself of these thoughts, but the instant they disappeared, their place was taken by the image of Neville writhing on the floor in his death-throes. Melanie shuddered. It had been a horrible death – and for that she was sorry – but Neville would not be missed, not by her, at least. The only sorrow she felt was on behalf of her sons – and tears started in her eyes again as she remembered how they had taken the news, bewildered, tearful and brave by turns. She was just remembering how the eldest, Robin, who was just eight, had declared ‘I’ll look after you and Thomas now, Mummy’ when the telephone rang.

She picked up the receiver. ‘Hello?’

‘Mel?’

Melanie thought she recognised the voice immediately. ‘Is… is that Luke Prentice?’

‘Yes; I know it’s been a long time since we’ve spoken but I wanted to call. I would have come across to you yesterday when we were all waiting in that room, but it didn’t seem appropriate somehow; I didn’t want to intrude. In any case, Tricia was quite upset and I felt I ought to sit with her.’

‘Not a problem, Luke, but I appreciate your call.’

‘Trouble is, now I’m on the phone with you, I don’t know what to say.’

‘That makes two of us.’

Luke gave an audible sigh. ‘We go back a long way, after all, and well, yesterday, terrible business; I’m still reeling from the shock and I wanted to offer my condolences.’

‘That’s very kind of you, Luke, thank you.’

‘You sound amazingly calm.’

‘As you say, Luke, we’ve known each other a long time. I didn’t lie to the police and I’m not going to lie to you. My stepping back from the business and letting Neville take the reins only revealed how incompetent he was and how ill-matched we were. Quite frankly, his death has saved me the bother of divorcing him.’

‘Ah!’

‘So if you have comfort to offer a grieving widow, you’ll need to go and find one who would benefit from it.’ She paused, a small smile playing about her mouth. ‘You might try Pauline Madoc. She was in hysterics yesterday, though she does have drama-queen tendencies — and of course she’s not a widow, as such.’

‘Ah.’

Melanie’s smile grew wider. ‘I never remembered you being so monosyllabic during our intern days.’

‘I wasn’t sure how much you knew.’

Melanie laughed out loud at this. ‘Oh, please! Luke, I might have retreated into domesticity but I didn’t move to another planet. I made sure I kept up with what was happening. Though, to be honest, I didn’t need anyone telling me about Neville’ affairs. Whenever he started a new one, I always knew about it, right from day one. And I became an expert in mapping the course of them.’

‘So it’s not a taboo subject, then?’

‘Not taboo, no, but I don’t particularly wish to discuss it. Anyway, on a related topic, what’s with your niece and Griff?’

‘Ah, you do keep your ear to the ground, don’t you?’

‘I do. So…?’

‘Yes, well, I think Tricia’s in love but she’s a devout Catholic, as is Griff, these days, and since he’s a married man it doesn’t look like it can go anywhere.’

‘Which is a real bummer when you consider who Griff’s married to and her track record.’

‘Yes — it doesn’t seem fair, does it? Tricia thinks she’s being tested. She’s trying to maintain a “just good friends” scenario because that’s the only thing that’s appropriate.’

‘She must be very strong minded.’

‘She is, as it happens, but even so, I don’t think it’s wise to associate with someone in one way that you really like in another, if you get me? She’s making herself vulnerable to temptation.’

‘Yes, I can see that she would be. I don’t follow any particular religious faith but I must admit, I wish I hadn’t been so quick to jump into bed with Neville. I’m sure it clouded my vision.’

‘Sex can do that.’ Luke paused. ‘Anyway, Mel, I just wanted you to know that if there’s anything I can do for you… Mel? Mel, are you still there?’

‘Yes, I’m still here, Luke. I’m just wondering.’

‘Wondering what?’

‘Why you’ve really called.’

‘I just told you — ’

‘Yes, your condolences, you said; and you meant it, I could tell. And I’m grateful. But I also know you. You’ve always taken the long view. You lay very good foundations for any project you’re planning.’

‘You think I have an ulterior motive? I’m disappointed.’

‘Don’t be. It’s not necessarily a bad thing. I’m sitting here with a — currently failing — agency and a dead business partner. My first thought is that I have nothing you could possibly want.’

Pause. ‘What’s your second thought?’

‘I built up the agency from scratch, and before Neville came along I had a thriving concern.’

‘And why is that?’

‘Because I’m good; I’m damn good.’

‘You are, Mel. I’ve always known that. Okay, I won’t insult your intelligence. I’ll put all my cards on the table. We’ve always got on well and my expression of condolence is genuine, as is my offer to help, if you need anything.’

‘But?’

‘Not a “but” really… a “furthermore”; neither of us is stupid. You’ve lost some important clients in the past couple of years. You must have supposed that one or two of them would end up with me.’

‘Yes, that’s a reasonable assumption.’

‘In fact, I’m doing very well. My agency is thriving.’

‘I don’t suppose you’ve rung me to gloat, Luke, so would you mind getting to the point?’

‘I know it’s a bit gross, the day after Neville’s death but I’m not the only one who admires your business acumen and I wanted to be the first in the queue.’

‘Queue?’

‘There will be one, you know. I want to float something past you.’

‘OK, float away.’

‘I’m looking to expand.’

‘By swallowing up a failing agency?’

‘That’s unworthy of you, Mel; I, at least, assume that Ingram and Ingram won’t be failing for long.’

‘It’s a tough market and I’ve got a long haul back to where I was. I’m not as young as I was. I’m not sure I have the energy I once had.’

‘All the more reason to listen to what I’ve got to say.’

‘To get myself swallowed up, you mean?’

‘Not swallowed, merged.’

‘“Merger” can be just a euphemism for “takeover”.’

‘This won’t be like that, I can assure you. We’ll be Prentice and Ingram, a true partnership. It’ll be a proper deal. I think we could really go places. We both know how to work this market, Mel, and we’re good at what we do.’

‘This is true, but are you sure you want to do business with a murder suspect?’

‘You didn’t kill him.’

‘You sound very sure of that.’ Melanie paused and thought. ‘It wasn’t you, was it?’

A loud guffaw of laughter came down the phone. ‘No way!’ A silence followed Luke’s assertion.

After a moment Melanie spoke again. ‘Luke? Are you still there?’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Luke hurriedly. ‘I hadn’t thought of that, that I could be a suspect, I mean, but I suppose I have to be.’

‘We all are. Where were you when it happened?’

‘On the other side of the room.’

‘Are you sure? I thought I saw you on the buffet side.’

‘Well, I… oh — did you?’

‘Yes, because I remember thinking to myself “oh, there’s Luke. I haven’t seen him in ages; I must get hold of him and catch up”.’

‘Oh yes, yes that’s right. I checked out the food. I was feeling quite hungry, as I remember.’

‘Well who doesn’t go and see what’s on offer on that sort of occasion?’

‘True.’

‘So… it could have been more or less anyone, I should have thought. How long does it take to sprinkle something lethal over a glass of champagne?’

‘Seconds, I imagine. Come to think of it. I think I overheard you arranging with that woman to take a glass to Griff.’

‘Ah! You were up that end, then. You misheard us, though. I didn’t arrange anything. Pauline Madoc and I were standing next to each other when she noticed that Griff didn’t have a drink and she thought he ought to have one, and the next thing I knew that dowdy-looking woman, who later sat in the room with her rosary beads on display, was taking a glass of champagne across to him.’

‘Whatever… it’s all a bit of a blur now. It’s not a nice thought, being a suspect. A couple of police officers asked me a few questions and then they let me go, well, after they’d searched us all and taken our fingerprints, of course. I assumed that was that.’

‘Did you see anything suspicious?’

‘No, Mel, I didn’t. It all looked to be a normal, common-or-garden book-launch- stroke-media event. I’ve been to many of these occasions, as have you, of course, and this one was progressing pretty much par for the course from what I could see.’

‘Of course, the actual cause of death is still not confirmed.’

‘We were both there; Neville took a sip of champagne and died. It’s not rocket science.’

‘True; but so public, everybody milling around as they were. Somebody took a huge risk.’

‘My goodness, didn’t they just? A very open field, when you think about it, which is why we’re all under suspicion, I suppose.’

‘I’m probably the main suspect. Don’t they always look to the spouse first? Anyway, what motive could you possibly have?’

‘Ah! I think I might have just shot myself in the foot. My reason for this phone call gives me a motive.’

Melanie gave a chuckle. ‘Oh yes, you get Neville out of the way so you can take over my agency.’

‘A merger.’

‘Yes, I hear you, Luke. Look, I appreciate the call and once the dust has cleared I’ll give it some thought, but I’m not promising anything.’

‘Ingram and Prentice, if you prefer it to the other way round.’

‘Not Ingram. I’ll go back to my maiden name, whatever I choose to do.’

‘Beattie and Prentice.’

‘Prentice Beattie runs quite nicely.’

‘It does. So you’re taken with the idea?’

Melanie smiled. ‘Get off the phone, Luke, before I really start to believe you did it to get the business.’

Melanie put the phone down and sat in silence for several minutes, a smile on her lips. It looked as though things might turn out even better than she could have foreseen.

Chapter 11

On the way back from Harrow, Angela took the wheel while Gary got busy on the phone. The Hangar Lane roundabout loomed on the horizon before he’d got the answer to his first question. ‘Thank you,’ he said to the person on the other end of the line. He finished the call and looked across at Angela.

‘Well?’ she asked.

‘Cyanide poisoning,’ he said. ‘As we surmised, it was in the glass of champagne.’

‘The poor bloke never stood a chance.’

‘No, he didn’t.’

‘Are you thinking there’s not much point in checking out the herb garden at Chelsea?’

‘I suppose I was, but the forensic team will continue anyway, won’t they? I mean, to quote one of your favourite phrases, they’ve got to — ’

‘Tick the box!’ they said together and laughed. ‘In any case,’ continued Angela, ‘you’re forgetting one element in relation to the flower show.’

‘Oh really, what’s that?’

‘The DCI element.’

‘Ah yes, I expect he’s there still, y’know, supervising.’

Angela smiled. ‘Yes, let’s say supervising. I’m sure he’s capable of finding an excuse to be there until they start dismantling the whole thing.’

‘He’s really that keen?’

‘Oh yes. In fact, if forensics have finished, which they might have done by now, he’ll be pleased when we turn up. We’ll be this afternoon’s excuse.’

‘Are we going there now, then?’ asked Gary.

‘Yes, I think so. Oh, hang on, good point; check on the whereabouts of Griff Madoc and Alwyn Maddox, please Gary. I’m assuming they’ll be at the show but, of course, there’s no guarantee. We need to get an angle on this family feud business.’

‘I thought Rick and Jim were talking to Alwyn Maddox.’

‘They were, but we’re going to steal him. Can you call Rick or Jim and tell them?’

‘Will do,’ answered Gary as Angela negotiated their way down the North Circular Road before turning to the east and making for Chelsea.

By the time Angela and Gary arrived at the flower show, they knew Griff and his cousin were both on site, and Rick and Jim had happily offloaded one of their tasks.

Angela and Gary, taking their time, set off in search of Griff’s herb garden, aided by a map provided by a uniformed police officer. The Royal Hospital and its gardens basked in a warm, soothing sunshine and a festival atmosphere pervaded throughout. Summer vesture could be seen everywhere in the light-coloured, open necked shirts and cheerfully patterned dresses. Keen gardeners and corporate free-loaders rubbed shoulders as they clustered around the plots. Woodland scenes recalled many a British childhood to mind while, in close proximity, exotic tropical plantings conjured up images of places far removed from the Thames Embankment.

‘I wonder if Griff will be at his garden,’ said Gary speculatively.

‘I wouldn’t think so, not unless Forensics have already done their stuff and given him the all-clear. But I want to check it out anyway. I like to get the atmosphere of any location involved in a crime I’m investigating, even if it turns out not to be relevant. If I don’t, I always feel as though there is a gap in my overview of the case, even when it turns out that the location is exactly as described.’

‘That attitude paid off when we were investigating the murder of Kirsty Manners, didn’t it?’ Gary reminded her.

‘I’ll say,’ agreed Angela. ‘Big time.’

‘What’s in there?’ he asked, pausing and staring up at a large marquee on their left. ‘Oops, sorry!’ He swerved quickly to avoid a collision with a hurrying passer-by carrying a large jug of Pimm’s.

Angela leaned forward. ‘Well, what do you know, flowers,’ she grinned. She glanced at the map. ‘Actually, if we go through it we can get to our destination that way.’

They entered through the wide entrance of the main marquee, and their mouths dropped open in wonder at the sight that met their eyes. Row upon row of beautiful blossoms arrayed in every conceivable colour, and even a few they wouldn’t have thought possible.

‘Wow!’ exclaimed Gary. ‘Look at that! I thought carnations were just carnations but look at all those different varieties.’

‘And those narcissi,’ said Angela. She tugged at his arm to deflect his attention elsewhere. ‘And have you seen those tulips? They’re amazing.’ They continued their progress through the marquee, their heads turning constantly, trying to take it all in.

‘Actually,’ remarked Gary, as they neared the exit on the opposite side from which they’d come in, ‘Checking out the plants in Griff’s garden probably won’t reveal anything because I don’t believe you can grow anything that goes into cyanide.’

‘You might be wrong about that, Gary. I think cyanide is found in a few plants but I don’t know which ones.’

‘Really? That’s interesting; I’ll look it up. Will the DCI know the cause of death yet, do you suppose?’

‘Quite possibly not.’

Gary grinned. ‘If I was a passionate gardener I would make sure I didn’t find out until I’d taken another opportunity to go round this place.’

‘You’ve read our boss very well,’ replied Angela. ‘Ah, I think we’ve arrived.’

They had no need to check the map or look for any signs. Crime-scene tape surrounded Griff Madoc’s herb-garden, and a couple of uniformed officers kept the curious moving past at a good distance. Angela took her ID out of her jacket pocket and approached a white-plastic-suited officer standing on the edge of the path. She nodded and smiled.

‘How’s it going?’ asked Angela.

‘Gone,’ corrected the officer, a diminutive blonde woman, a little swamped by the suit she wore. ‘We’ve just about finished. We’ve taken samples, of course, but it looks to be mostly what it says on the tin; herbs and more herbs. I’d never heard of some of them, to be honest. We did find one thing that raised our eyebrows but I don’t know that it will be of significance, now.’

‘Now?’

‘Sorry, my boyfriend works with the pathologist and he texted me the result of the PM a little while ago. We’ve found no trace of cyanide here, in any case.’

‘What did you find, though?’ asked Angela.

‘Rhubarb,’ replied the officer, pointing behind her to some flowers set in large tubs set on plinths.

‘Rhubarb?’

‘The leaves definitely are poisonous. But they don’t contain cyanide.’

Angela raised her eyebrows. ‘Yes, I saw on a TV programme about Chelsea that rhubarb would be on display. I suppose you’re wondering, why grow a poisonous plant in a herb garden?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘I think it’s just to make the point that some plants can dangerous, whilst herbs are wholesome.’

‘Oh, I see.’

Angela glanced behind the woman into the interior of the site, but she could see nobody other than the forensics team. ‘Has DCI Stanway been here this morning?’

‘He was here earlier; gave us all a little pep-talk about what we’re supposed to be looking for and then decided he shouldn’t get in our way while we searched.’

Angela’s eyes met those of the other woman and she saw in them the same kind of tolerant scepticism she was sure must be reflected in her own. She had no plans to show open disloyalty to her boss, though, so she moved on to the matter in hand. ‘I’ll catch up with him pretty soon, I imagine. Do you know where we might find Griff Madoc and the garden designers?’

‘They cleared out when we moved in. I think there’s something called an Exhibitor’s Restaurant, they might be there.’

Angela nodded. ‘That makes sense, there’s bound to be something like that.’ She moved away. ‘OK, thanks for your help.’

They located Griff Madoc first. The person they asked for directions explained they might find him in the restaurant itself or in one of the places nearby, where the exhibitors could sit back and take a breather away from the hubbub of the gardens. Even as she thanked the man for his help, Angela wondered how many of those involved actually found much time for taking a breather. The show only ran for five days, after all, and surely it was in everyone’s interest to do as much business as they could while they had the opportunity. She got the answer to her question when they came upon Griff, seated low down in the soft cushions of an armchair in an area set about with similar chairs. He was the only one there, a newspaper open on his lap, and he’d been sipping at a cup of coffee. As she walked towards him she noted afresh what an attractive man he was. Patrick’s comment that she was smitten came to her mind and she had to stifle a smirk. Griff looked up as Angela and Gary’s shadows fell across him.

‘Ah, Inspector, good morning.’ He made to rise – no easy task given the depth of the chair – but Angela stopped him.

‘Don’t get up, Griff,’ she said, seating herself nearby. She nodded at Gary and he found himself a similar perch. ‘We have to ask you a few more questions, I’m afraid.’

He smiled. He seemed a lot calmer this morning than when she had last seen him. ‘I’ve been expecting you,’ he replied. ‘We didn’t get very far yesterday; it all suddenly hit me.’

‘I can understand that,’ said Angela. ‘We’d established that you don’t think anyone has any reason to kill you — but we hadn’t got very far with the question of whether or not Neville Ingram had any enemies.’

‘Do you know the cause of death yet?’

‘Cyanide poisoning.’

Griff winced, but Angela got the impression that relief was mixed in with his emotions. ‘A very painful death, I understand, but mercifully quick, at least.’

‘Why did you ask about the cause of death?’

‘You’re a perceptive woman, Inspector. I had a slight, a very slight, fear at the back of my mind.’

I bet I can guess what that is, thought Angela, but I’ll let you tell me. ‘And that is?’ she asked.

‘We’ve got rhubarb in our garden. We thought it had better not be all herbs, and Gareth suggested rhubarb. I wasn’t sure at first, but he put it to me that some plants give life and some can take it, and it might be worthwhile to highlight this. I agreed in the end; I thought it would give more depth and context to our garden, you know…’

‘Everything in the garden isn’t lovely?’ suggested Angela.

Griff returned her smile. ‘Something like that, although the point doesn’t carry, not literally, because even poisonous plants can be lovely to look at.’

‘Um,’ said Gary and stopped as two pairs of eyes swivelled in his direction. He blushed a little. ‘Sorry, it’s just that I don’t think rhubarb is particularly beautiful.’

‘I agree,’ said Griff. ‘In a contrary sort of way, that’s why I liked the idea of having it there. I do know that there are plants that contain cyanide.’ Angela and Gary exchanged glances, remembering their recent conversation on the subject. ‘But we don’t have any of them in this garden, luckily for me,’ finished Griff. A brief, mirthless smile escaped him. The comment seemed to raise a question in his mind and he stared into the middle distance, a small frown forming between his eyes. ‘I think I’ve heard somewhere that there’s a way to make it in a chemistry lab as well,’ he said, still staring. ‘But I wouldn’t know how.’

Angela made a note of his comments. However, the source of the poison wasn’t her chief concern right at this moment. She remembered Griff’s emotional response and abrupt departure yesterday, and she could only hope he had had a restful night’s sleep. She didn’t see any alternative but to carry on from where they’d left off. ‘Do you know if Neville Ingram had any enemies?’ she asked.

‘Apart from me, you mean?’

Angela looked into Griff’s face and for just a moment saw a flash of the same bleak emotion she’d witnessed the day before. ‘Were you?’ she asked.

‘Both an enemy and a friend, I suppose,’ replied Griff, after a pause.

‘Would you like to explain that?’ asked Angela.

‘It’s very simple. I’m a chef, Inspector. And a very good one, though I say it myself. I know how to cook and I know how to run a restaurant. One of the reasons my restaurant became so successful is because I engage with my clients. I like to go out and greet them, ask them if the meal is to their satisfaction; all that stuff.’

‘You’re a people person,’ remarked Gary.

‘You could say that. I had no idea that one of my customers, one who became fairly regular, also worked for a TV company, and when they all sat around in their boardroom and decided they needed a new cookery programme, he thought of me.’

‘Ah! Is that how the whole TV chef thing took off?’

‘It is, but here’s the thing. At the time they first approached me I was a complete novice in the world of the media.’

Angela grinned. ‘So you needed someone who could guide you through all the negotiations and handle things for you, which is where Neville Ingram came in.’ Angela hoped she didn’t sound too abrupt, but she wanted to cut to the chase.

‘Exactly right; I have to admit I was really excited by the prospect of being a TV chef, but overwhelmed by it all at the same time. I clung to Neville like a drowning man to a lifebelt. He seemed to know the answer to every one of my questions and he was so at ease in the whole media world.’

‘OK, so that’s what makes him your friend. What makes him your enemy?’

Griff paused and narrowed his eyes at Angela. ‘It’s naïve of me, I know, but I’ve only recently become aware that I’m locked in to his agency for the next five years. Somehow that little fact slipped by me, and I’m still not sure how I feel about it.’

‘What else might make you his enemy?’ she asked.

A shadow flickered across Griff’s features. ‘He was sleeping with my wife.’

Chapter 12

Angela paused. She thought back over her earlier meetings with Pauline Madoc. During the first interview she’d found herself wondering about the relationship between her and the dead man. The second time they saw her, Pauline admitted her marriage to Griff had been in the doldrums but she’d insisted she was determined to mend things. And now here was Griff, declaring in a matter-of-fact voice that he knew all about his wife’s infidelity. There seemed no point in being delicate about it. ‘This would give you a strong motive,’ she said, finally.

‘It would, I agree.’ Griff seemed to make a decision and looked Angela full in the face. ‘Inspector, if I were to kill someone for sleeping with my wife, I would have left a trail of dead bodies behind me stretching back over several years.’

Angela blinked.

‘I’ve shocked you.’

‘Not at all; I’m just trying to decide on the best way to proceed.’

Griff smiled. ‘I’ve exaggerated a little. Pauline wasn’t perpetually having an affair with someone. We’ve even been happy together, here and there, and I have to admit, building up my business kept me working long hours and made me very tired when I came home.’

‘I see,’ replied Angela. She raised her eyebrows in enquiry hoping, he would take the bait.

He did. ‘I suppose I must take my share of the blame. I probably became over-confident after we’d married.’

‘Would you like to explain that?’

‘Just that, having managed to win the best-looking girl in town, the one all the boys were after, I probably got complacent.’

‘Started to take her for granted?’

‘Something like that.’

‘But you must have been very much in love in the beginning,’ said Angela.

A faraway look came into Griff’s eyes. ‘I was besotted, to tell the truth, which I now know isn’t love. I couldn’t believe my luck that such a girl would take any notice of me, let alone go out with me.’

‘And how did things turn out?’

‘Pretty much love’s young dream for the first three months. It seemed only natural to Pauline that her husband should worship the ground she walked on. But, of course, you can’t live with someone even for that short while without discovering each other’s faults and flaws.’

‘Of course not.’

‘Then reality set in. I eased up on the worship, the novelty, for Pauline, of wearing a gold band on the third finger of her left hand wore off, and I got accepted for catering college.’

‘But you’re still together,’ Angela pointed out.

‘Ah yes, well, it’s been expedient, Inspector. I think the affection of her various lovers has only been skin-deep, and I’m someone safe to come home to. Even though I wasn’t practising any sort of religious faith in those days, I’ve always believed in the sanctity of marriage, and I suppose I hoped, for a long while, that we’d muddle through the difficulties and come out the other side. Moving to London helped.’

‘Oh really?’

‘Yes, as I said in my earlier interview, those beauty contests gave her notions. The work in the chemist shop frustrated her and she always felt she was cut out for more than what’s available in a provincial town. When I was offered a very good position in a West End restaurant we both felt it was the beginning of an upward journey for me.’ Griff smiled and spread his hands. ‘I wasn’t wrong.’

‘You weren’t,’ agreed Angela.

‘Of course, Pauline’s affairs continued, but I knew she wouldn’t leave me. She likes the lifestyle, the jet-setting, the designer clothes, the smart cars.’ Griff leaned forward in his chair. ‘Pauline’s not a stupid woman, Inspector. She knows that I’m her ticket to these things. Of all those boys in the town who wanted her, it’s only the spotty, nerdy one who can give her what she wants. And, I’m the only one likely to turn a blind eye to the infidelities.’

‘Have you always been faithful to her?’ asked Angela.

Griff gave her one of his charming grins. ‘I’ve been too busy to be otherwise,’ he replied. ‘I’ve kept my nose to the grindstone, or my head in the mixing bowl, to make it more of a cooking metaphor.’

‘Until recently,’ ventured Angela.

Griff cast her a shrewd glance. ‘Ah yes, I see where you’re going with this. You’ve heard that I’ve formed a, well, a friendship with Patricia Prentice.’

‘That’s the Tricia I’ve got on my list, right?’

‘Correct, Inspector. There’s a whole part of me that I sent into a coma several years ago, but now it’s finally regaining consciousness.’

‘Are you having an affair with Tricia?’

‘No; she holds the same views on marriage as I do. We met coming out from evening Mass at the Jesuit parish in Farm Street a few months ago.’

‘That must make life difficult.’

Griff’s expression became guarded. ‘It can. It hasn’t yet. I shall think things through carefully, Inspector. I made a very rash decision when I married and that taught me one thing above all others; not to rush into anything.’

‘Very wise,’ responded Angela, aware that she’d strayed slightly from her main point. She paused to make a note before smiling up at Griff. ‘So, if you were the target, we’ve established that your wife has no motive, and if Neville Ingram was the intended victim, since she was his lover; that would also seem to rule her out.’

‘Yes, that just leaves me with my wrangle about the five-year clause in my contract with Neville. But Neville was only one half of the agency. Even with Neville dead, my contract stands.’

‘So, not such a strong motive there, then,’ replied Angela. Pauline’s adultery was quite strong enough to be going on with but she thought she might as well clear up the representation business. ‘Our understanding is that you were looking to move to a different management company. And if that’s the case, this five-year business would prove a stumbling block, wouldn’t it?’

‘Ah! Isn’t it amazing how rumours travel? I’d barely got past the thinking about that stage.’

‘Barely?’ queried Angela.

‘Luke Prentice and Tricia’s father are siblings. During one of our conversations I’d mentioned that I wasn’t altogether happy with Neville. The more I’ve advanced into the public domain, the more I’ve become aware of Neville’s inadequacies as a manager. Anyway, Tricia told me about her uncle and mentioned the names of one or two of his clients, very big names. Obviously I was impressed, and she asked if I’d like her to set up a very informal meeting with Luke. We had to be a bit cloak-and-dagger about it, you know, secret messages and the like, because I didn’t want to alarm Neville unnecessarily. To be honest, I warmed to Luke much more than I did to Neville, and the idea of working with him is a very attractive one, but we really hadn’t got to the stage of speaking about what sort of contract I had with Neville. I can assure you I wouldn’t have murdered him over that, but I suppose you have to consider it.’

‘Means and opportunity would seem to be the sticking point with you, though.’

Griff appeared to consider this. ‘Yes, I suppose they would,’ he mused after a few moments. ‘I don’t know how I could have managed to do it, had I wanted to — well, not in the way it happened.’

Angela began to rise. ‘Well, thank you very much for your time, Griff. We might need to talk to you again.’

Griff got up as well. ‘Not at all, Inspector; I’m happy to help.’

‘Right, well, I wonder where we might find your cousin. Do you have any idea?’ Angela hadn’t been looking directly at Griff as she spoke and when she turned to him she got a shock.

Griff stood stock-still, staring at her, his eyes wide, his mouth open. ‘My cousin, Inspector? You did say “cousin”, didn’t you?’

‘Yes.’ Angela cast a brief glance at Gary who gave an infinitesimal shrug. Belatedly, she remembered the detail about the family feud and the fact that Alwyn Maddox had sworn Pauline to secrecy all those years ago. However, Alwyn had volunteered the information without any prompting, so presumably he must have moved on. She made a show of consulting her notebook to allow a small space of time before continuing. After a moment she looked up from the relevant page. ‘Alwyn Maddox,’ she answered. ‘He told me he’s your cousin.’

Griff stared at her. ‘This is the man working with Gareth Morgan, the garden designer, you’re talking about?’

‘I don’t know of any other Alwyn Maddox.’

Griff’s face took on a faraway look. ‘I wonder if that’s Uncle Huw’s son,’ he mused, more to himself than to the detectives.

‘You obviously haven’t kept in touch with this branch of the family,’ said Angela.

Griff came out of his reverie with a little start. ‘What? Oh no, no, I’ve never met this particular cousin, well, that’s a lie because I was speaking to him yesterday, but I had no idea he’s my cousin. My goodness… I don’t know what to… How to…’ Griff looked back at Angela. ‘I only really know my relatives on my mother’s side, and I don’t get to see them often.’ He stared into the middle distance. ‘Wow! Cousin Alwyn.’

‘You did know of him, I presume.’

‘Oh yes. My dad told me some years ago when I started asking why we never met any family on his side. He told me there was some dispute way back.’ Griff paused, thinking. ‘Let me get this straight,’ he said. ‘My knowledge is patchy but, as I recall, my grandparents owned their own farm. Grandad inherited it from his father. About a year after their marriage they had a son, my uncle Huw, and for the next fourteen years that was it; it looked as though Huw was going to be the only child. But then my dad, Rhys, came along. Granny and Grandad were over the moon with their two sons and everything looked rosy for them. But Huw had already had fourteen years of assuming that one the day the farm would be his, and his alone. And he loves the land, apparently, he never wanted to do anything else but farm this patch of earth. He became very bitter and jealous of my dad. My dad once told me that they never got on, not for a moment. I don’t remember uncle Huw at all, but my father told me he’s a brute and a bully. In fact, he often said he felt sorry for little Alwyn, growing up with such a father. He only knew him as a little boy.’

‘That’s a shame. Did your grandparents favour him?’

‘Oh no, I don’t think so. They tried to be scrupulously fair. In fact, according to my dad, it’s their fairness which brought the situation to a head.’

‘Oh, really?’

‘Yes, they were very good managers, they even expanded their property and it was — well, still is, probably — a very large, very prosperous farm. They decided to leave it to their two sons, equal shares.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘Yes,’ Griff nodded. ‘They were good people and wanted their sons to be partners, but it was never going to work. Huw declared himself to be the primary heir and made no secret of the fact that he thought everything should come to him.’

‘But if there’s a will, surely?’

Griff smiled. ‘There’s a properly drawn up will, but my father didn’t hang around to make a claim.’

‘Oh really?’

‘Yes, my dad could never prove it, but he was convinced Huw made two attempts on his life, a faulty brake cable on his first car nearly sent him off the road one time and then a rung that broke near the top of a ladder just when he was climbing up to clear some guttering.’

‘Goodness!’

‘Yes, and after that he never let his guard down. Then he married my mam and I came along. He was never quite sure, but he thinks Huw tried to push me out of an upstairs window when I was a toddler. He was just coming up the lane and he saw me being held up high in the open window and he called out. Apparently, Huw jiggled me up and down a bit like you do with children, and said he’d been playing with me, which was weird in itself, according to my mam, because uncle Huw wasn’t the type of man to play with babies, especially not this baby — but that was enough to alert them. Dad packed us all up one night and we came down to Cardiff. That’s when he changed the spelling of our name. Madoc is a variant of Maddox, see? He phones his parents from time to time but he wouldn’t ever let on where we’d gone. To be honest, my dad never wanted to be a farmer. He was much more fascinated by farm machinery than by farms. He told Grandad several times as he was growing up, but the old man never took it on board, not according to my dad, anyway. He couldn’t get his head round anybody not wanting to work on the land. My dad certainly regretted having to come away in the manner he did, but he got a job in an engineering factory and was able to take a degree. He never looked back.’

‘So this will…?’

‘Oh, it’s still valid. My dad has a copy locked away in a drawer at his home.’

Angela narrowed her eyes as she considered what she was hearing. OK, she thought, Griff’s father is the legal beneficiary of half a prosperous farm in North Wales and his cousin, the son of the other beneficiary grows a poisonous flower in Griff’s garden. She turned to Gary and blew out her cheeks. ‘We need to think about this, Gary. Let’s get a cup of coffee.’

They found themselves an isolated spot in a corner of the exhibitors’ restaurant and put their coffees on the table. ‘This is a turn-up, isn’t it?’ said Angela, ‘a possibly murderous uncle in the background?’

‘Yes, and that book-launch was packed. He could have been there, too, for all we know.’

‘Hmm,’ mused Angela. I didn’t take a close look at the list of names, but I don’t remember any other Maddoxes, apart from Alwyn. Not that that means anything. We’ve definitely got to talk to Alwyn next but I need to think about what to say.’

Gary took a sip of his coffee and put the cup back down. ‘Why don’t you just wing it?’

Angela looked across at Gary with a puzzled expression only to find him staring across the restaurant. She followed the direction of his gaze. Alwyn had just entered and was in the process of getting himself a coffee. She turned quickly back to Gary and grinned. ‘OK, let’s go for it.’

Gary called out to attract Alwyn’s attention and when the garden designer turned round, he waved him over to join them. Alwyn came and sat down.

‘We’ve just been talking to your cousin Griff,’ began Angela.

Alwyn raised his eyebrows at her and took a sip from his cup. ‘Have you now?’ he asked.

‘Have you never had any contact with him at all, before the flower show, that is?’

Alwyn shook his head, then stopped. ‘Oh, no, I tell a lie, although it wasn’t really contact. I had a holiday job near his home once. I hadn’t quite finished at college. Gareth’s father had the contract to do the municipal gardens in the town where he lived, and he invited me to go with him and help. Towards the end of my time there I met Pauline and we went out on a couple of dates. She was already going out with Griff.’ He paused. ‘She didn’t seem to bother too much about sticking to one boyfriend at a time. Anyway, Pauline pointed him out in the street one day and I was really struck by the family likeness; it’s very strong. I asked about his name and when she told me, that made me wonder a bit. So I asked more questions about him. Of course, that roused her curiosity and I said I thought we were cousins but our families had lost touch. She offered to introduce us but I refused. She found that amazing.’

‘Weren’t you even curious?’

Alwyn paused. ‘A bit,’ he said, after a moment, ‘but, growing up, my dad had always spoken of his brother and family as our deadly enemies. I knew if I told him I’d met Griff he’d want to know all the details and I didn’t see how I could get away without telling him. He’d get it out of me somehow or other. He often wondered where they’d gone and talked about what he wanted to do to them if he found them. Well, I couldn’t handle my dad, not then.’

Angela noted the slight pallor in the man’s face. It strikes me you still can’t, she thought. You’re afraid of him, even now.

‘Does he know you’ve been working on Griff’s garden?’ asked Gary.

Alwyn turned towards him but remained silent for a long while. ‘Yes,’ he said eventually.

‘And what does he think of that?’

The silence dragged on even longer this time. Angela was just about to reiterate Gary’s question when he spoke.

‘He wants him dead,’ he replied.

Chapter 13

Angela looked into the strained face of the man opposite and remembered what Griff had said about his uncle Huw being a brute and a bully. Growing up in a household ruled by such a man couldn’t have been easy. She noted the bleakness in Alwyn’s tone of voice as he said, ‘he wants him dead’. She sensed the conflicting emotions fighting with each other inside him: fear of his father and distaste for the task he’d been given, but she decided that playing Nasty Cop would provide the quickest route to where she wanted to be. ‘So what happened?’ she asked. ‘How did you come to kill the wrong man?’

His eyes opened wide and he nearly jumped out of his chair. ‘What? NO! You’ve got it all wrong.’

Since the cause of death hadn’t yet been made public, Angela pushed a little more. ‘But there’s rhubarb in the garden,’ she insisted. ‘I’d wondered why you’d chosen a poisonous plant.’

‘No! No. No.’ A line of sweat had broken out on Alwyn’s upper lip and she could see the panic mounting in his eyes. He made a visible effort to calm down. ‘Look, you need to know how it is with my dad. I’m scared of him, OK? I’ve always been scared of him. I’m scared of his hatred and his obsession. All my life I’ve lived with this. I left home as soon as I could because I couldn’t stand it anymore, but it’s hard to get away. Even from a distance he exerts control. I suggested the rhubarb because he kept asking me what I was going to do to fulfil my duty; that’s how he puts it. My duty. I don’t think my dad has any moral sensibilities or scruples.’

‘But nonetheless,’ continued Angela in a more gentle tone.

Alwyn recognised the lessening of pressure. He took a deep breath to steady himself. ‘I know it looks bad, the fact that the rhubarb was my suggestion. I found a philosophical reason for it that kind of served the purpose.’

Angela nodded. ‘Mm, herbs are good for you; they give life. Rhubarb stalks are very tasty but the leaves bring death.’

‘Yes, that’s it, more or less. And I had something to tell my dad, to make him think I’m on the case. But I can absolutely swear to you that I didn’t kill that bloke. I mean, I didn’t try to kill Griff and get the wrong man. I haven’t even touched those plants since we brought them in.’ He paused, thinking, before looking up at Angela with a wondering expression. ‘Actually, I wouldn’t even know how to extract the poison and fortunately my dad hasn’t thought to ask me about that.’

‘We’re still looking into the cause of death,’ replied Angela, cutting him a bit of slack. ‘Nothing’s been made public so far but, as I’m sure you’re aware, we’ve got to consider every angle.’ Alwyn nodded and gave the ghost of a smile. He was visibly much more relaxed now. ‘OK,’ continued Angela. ‘I know you’ve spoken to two of our officers but can we go over what you said to them?’

‘Sure,’ answered Alwyn.

‘Can you take me through your movements at the book-launch?’ she asked – and was surprised to see a wry grin flit across his face.

‘I was trying to hide,’ he said.

Angela gave him a quizzical look. ‘Really? From whom?’

‘From Pauline Madoc. You know I said we had a couple of dates, years ago?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I could tell from the start that she’s a bit of a man-eater. And when she wants something she doesn’t let much get in her way. I found her scary back then and she looks even more so nowadays.’

You must have spent quite a bit of your childhood and youth being scared of one thing or another, reflected Angela.

‘You had no trouble recognising her, then?’

‘Oh no; Oh, I grant you she’s come a long way. She’s got the clothes and the poise and the grooming of a very rich woman these days but it’s the same look in her eye. “I want what I want and nobody’s going to stop me getting it”. She reminds me a bit of my dad in some ways.’

‘So you were hiding.’

Alwyn smiled, a small, whimsical smile. ‘I knew it was a bit useless. It’s not like I could go away. I had a job to do.’

‘Which was?’

‘Looking after the floral display. You know how the room was set out?’ Angela nodded. ‘Well, Gareth and I had set up a big floral display between that cardboard cut-out of Griff with his mixing bowl and the table holding the books, and I was seeing to that when I saw her out of the corner of my eye. I tried to hide behind the cut-out but she came over and spoke to me. She was pretty amazed that I still didn’t want to meet my cousin — she mentioned it almost immediately. She’s got no idea what it was like growing up with a dad like mine. Anyway, thankfully she didn’t stay long. I excused myself by saying I had to deal with the flowers, which was true, anyway. I had to get some water for the Oasis, you know, the green stuff the plants are stuck into, and I walked away.’

‘What did you do then?’

‘Exactly that, I went to fill up the watering-can and I’d just got back into the room when it all happened.’

‘OK,’ said Angela. ‘Let’s go back a bit. Did you notice the drinks table when you were doing the flower arrangement?’

Alwyn screwed up his face as he thought. ‘I can’t say I noticed it specifically. I was aware of some caterers setting things out on the tables and it’d be a very strange buffet that didn’t have a drinks section. Oh yes, I remember, I could hear the chinking of glass as they got them out of the boxes. And now I come to think of it I heard a couple of corks being popped.’

‘Exactly what you’d expect to hear, in fact,’ replied Angela. ‘I think that’s as far as we can go for now so we’ll let you get back to your duties.’ She rose, made to move and stopped. ‘Oh, I think it’s only fair to warn you that I’ve broken your cover. I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry.’

Alwyn turned a bemused face towards her. ‘My cover? This reminds me of that old Welsh joke about “Jones the spy”.’

Angela laughed. ‘No, I just mentioned a cousin to Griff and he was amazed. I had no idea that he didn’t know about your relationship.’ A thoughtful look stole across Alwyn’s face. ‘I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn.’

Alwyn waved away her apology. Angela had the sense that he might even be relieved. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘It was naïve of me to think I could work so closely with him on this garden project without the truth coming out.’

‘Has he changed much since you saw him all those years ago?’

‘Oh yes; he wasn’t much to look at back then, but now… I don’t watch TV much, so it’s only very recently that I’ve came across Griff Madoc the TV chef.’

‘Pauline has spoken to us of knowing both of you back home in Wales.’

‘Yes, as I said, she offered to introduce us. It must have seemed very strange to her that I refused. Apart from that, I’d decided by then that I didn’t want to go out with her again. Over the years I suppose she’s got the full story from Griff.’

‘Insofar as he knows it,’ replied Angela. ‘As well as keeping his location secret, Griff’s dad got busy building himself a career as an engineer. From what Griff says, I don’t think he spends a lot of time brooding over his lost inheritance.’ Angela watched Alwyn closely as she spoke the last sentence, to see if it provoked him – but her words only produced a look of pain on his face.

‘That’s the trouble,’ he said. ‘My dad is totally blinkered. It never occurs to him that someone might actually just go away and get a life somewhere else.’ He looked at her, his expression bleak. ‘Do you know why he’s preserving this wonderful farm? Don’t get me wrong, by the way; it’s a very prosperous, successful place. But do you know why he’s doing it?’ Angela shook her head. ‘For me, that’s who. And you know what else?’

‘What?’

‘I don’t want it either.’

Angela and Gary left Alwyn to finish his coffee and pretended not to notice, as they walked away, that Griff hadn’t moved from the seat where they’d found him earlier. ‘Are you wondering what I’m wondering?’ asked Angela as they set off in search of DCI Stanway.

‘That Griff was waiting for us to go?’ suggested Gary.

‘Exactly; I wouldn’t mind being a fly on the wall in that restaurant for the next half-hour or so.’

‘It could turn out to be an interesting experience,’ agreed Gary.

‘Let’s wait a moment,’ suggested Angela. ‘Stanway will keep.’

Back in the restaurant, Alwyn had just decided to get another coffee when a shadow fell across the table at which he sat. He looked up to see that Griff had approached silently and was standing very close to him with a hesitant look on his face.

‘You’re my cousin,’ said Griff in what came out as a cross between a question and a statement.’

Alwyn nodded. A bleakness flashed into his eyes. ‘Yes, wicked uncle Huw’s son.’

‘Did you come here to kill me?’

Alwyn blinked. He made as if to speak but no words came out. He ran a tongue around suddenly dry lips and slowly shook his head. ‘I’m sorry about my dad.’

‘Thanks to him I don’t know half my relatives.’

‘I’m sorry.’

Griff gave a gentle half-smile. ‘It’s not your fault. The sins of the fathers are visited on their children.’ Silence. Then, slowly, very slowly, he held out his arm. After a long moment, a smile turned up the corners of Alwyn’s mouth. He stood up and shook his cousin by the hand.

‘My mam was very close to yours. She missed her when you all disappeared.’ began Alwyn.

‘My mam still speaks very fondly of Auntie Gwyneth.’

‘I have to be honest, I suggested the rhubarb so I could have something to tell my dad, to appease him, but I had no intention of using them.’

‘Did it work, did it appease him, I mean?’

‘Not really. He thinks poisoning is for wimps and I’m not man enough to do the job properly. Tripping you up at the top of a flight of stairs or pushing you off a high cliff; that would be his way.’

‘Is he likely to come to London and try anything?’

‘Well, that’s the trouble, see, because of the way he is, he’s become hoist with his own petard, so to speak. He has some friends, but none living close by. He finds it difficult to get anyone to look after the farm. He’s so unpleasant that nobody wants to oblige him. But if he can find a way, he will. He’s disgusted with my lack of commitment.’

‘It’s ironic, isn’t it?’ remarked Griff.

‘What do you mean?’

‘My dad never wanted to be a farmer anyway. He came down south and got into engineering, which is what he really wanted all along. He’s as happy as a sand-boy.’

‘My dad won’t see the funny side of that. Your dad’s entitled by law to something my dad thinks should be all his. And he’ll fight tooth and nail to keep it.’

Griff looked at the coffee in Alwyn’s hand. ‘Shall we go somewhere and get something stronger?’

‘Yes, let’s.’ agreed Alwyn. The two men turned and walked toward the exit.

From a safe distance behind some bushes, Angela and Gary watched the two men emerge and pass out of sight. ‘What do you think, Angie?’ asked Gary.

‘I think two things,’ she answered. ‘One; that looks like a very touching family reunion — and I do truly hope it is.’

‘And two?’

‘If Griff’s story is to be believed — and I see no reason why not — Alwyn’s father has already tried to kill Griff’s father twice and Griff himself, when he was a toddler. The legal position regarding the farm near Prestatyn hasn’t changed, and therefore the threat remains. I want Leanne and Derek to find out all they can about Huw Maddox, especially his recent movements. For all we know, he was at that book-launch. I don’t suppose for one moment that Griff would recognise him.’

‘Alwyn would have seen him, though, surely.’

‘Yes, but would he betray his own father, especially given that he’s so afraid of him? And we have to be open to the possibility that they’re in it together.’

‘Alwyn would be a very unwilling accomplice, I think.’

‘I’m under the same impression, but he could be putting on an act.’

‘Yes, you’re right. And even if he’s not, the habit of obeying his father is very deeply ingrained, and a few years away from home learning how to design gardens won’t necessarily have done much to change that.’ Gary paused. ‘So, Alwyn stays high up on the list of suspects and we look for Daddy.’

‘Indeed we do.’

Chapter 14

The team gathered together in the incident room after their excursions of the morning. Angela had just turned round to face them when she saw Stanway slipping through the door. He nearly fell over a chair, his attention being wholly taken up by a fine-looking red rose pinned to his lapel.

‘Right,’ began Angela.

‘Before you begin, Angie,’ said the DCI, ‘sorry to interrupt but I’ve got to go to a meeting and I’d like an overview on whom we’re looking at. You can bring me up to speed on the details later.’

‘Yes, Sir, we haven’t made a final decision on who the intended victim is but my money’s on Griff Madoc.’

‘OK, put that thought on hold for a moment. Let’s be methodical about this and argue that the dead man was actually the target.’

‘Sir.’

‘What motives do we have?’

‘So far, we’ve discovered him to be a serial adulterer, but since she’s the one who told us, this is not news to his wife, Melanie. She’d been planning to deal with it in her own time, and through divorce, not death. The latest of his paramours, however, was Pauline Madoc.’

‘Ah, putting Griff Madoc right in centre frame.’

‘Yes, Sir, it also seems that Griff was increasingly frustrated with the service Neville Ingram had been supplying, as his manager, but was locked into a contract with him for the next five years and might have wanted out — ’

‘Depending on how that contract is worded that might not be such a strong motive. But we’ve got enough for us to be looking closely at Griff as the murderer.’

‘Yes.’

‘Hm, Griff Madoc and Melanie Ingram, those are possibilities. Whatever the wife says, she might have preferred death to divorce and we’ll have to keep them in the frame. Fair enough, you have to plump for one or the other. What about this woman who brought the fatal glass over to him?’

‘Della Burnett, Sir. She seems to a big fan of Griff’s.’

‘A big fan?’

‘Well, more like stalker, really. Worships Griff Madoc from as near as she can get and, I think, has narrowly avoided being in trouble with the law because of it.’

‘Ah! Unlikely to want to murder her hero, then?’

‘I wouldn’t think so, Sir. Of course, we may discover she has a motive for wanting Neville Ingram dead. We’re going to take a closer look at her, of course, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she was the unwitting tool, used to transport the poisoned glass across the room.’

Stanway frowned as he thought this over. He absently brought the rose up to his nostrils and a pleasant smile stole across his face. He became aware of the team silently waiting for him to speak, and quickly turned his expression into a business-like one. ‘Where does the business partner come in to all this?’

Angela experienced a momentary panic. ‘Business partner, Sir,’ she replied, trying not to make it sound like a question. She glanced across at Leanne who smiled and cast her eyes up to the whiteboard. Angela followed the direction of her gaze and saw the name Marcel Lambret very near to the top of the list. She quickly signalled her thanks to Leanne. ‘Oh you mean Griff’s business partner, in the restaurant.’ She saw Leanne and Derek sitting up straighter on their chairs and opening their notebooks. ‘Leanne and Derek covered him.’ She nodded in their direction.

‘Yes, Sir,’ said Derek. ‘We spoke to him after the launch but, in fact, he was a little late in coming into the room. He’d seen an old friend from his catering college days working with the hospitality of the show in the grounds and he stopped for a chat. The murder had already happened by the time he arrived.’

‘Perhaps we should move him down the list,’ suggested Leanne, looking up at the board.

‘No,’ said Stanway. ‘Leave him there. We’re moving on to looking at Griff Madoc as the intended victim, and a business partner could be of great interest to us. I think we’ve already established that there could have been some sort of remote control aspect to this murder, if we’re talking about the stalker lady being used as an unwitting tool.’

‘I think the perpetrator would still need to have been in the room, even so, Sir,’ said Angela.

‘You’re probably right — but don’t make any alterations to the list yet.’

‘Quite, we’ve only got his word for it that he stopped to talk to an old college friend,’ agreed Angela, aware that she’d been dug out of a little hole and making sure she stayed on solid ground.

Stanway nodded. ‘Let’s move on. Griff Madoc, intended victim. Have you turned up anything on that?’

‘We can throw a family feud and an inheritance fight in to the motive pot.’

‘Ah! This is a healthy sign,’ beamed Stanway. A chuckle rose up from everyone present and Stanway seemed to realise the significance of what he’d said. ‘Well, you know what I mean,’ he qualified. He slewed his eyes back down to his lapel and smiled in admiration.

‘Been sampling the exhibits, Sir?’ enquired Angela with a smile.

‘This is a beauty isn’t it, Angie? I got into conversation with… oh, never mind. We need to keep our minds on the job. Carry on with what you were saying.’

Angela did so. ‘Griff Madoc’s father, Rhys, has an older brother, Huw, and he’s a thoroughly nasty man, from what I’ve been able to gather so far. He’d been an only child for years and expected to inherit the family farm in North Wales. Then at the age of fourteen he found himself the elder of two sons and he didn’t like it one little bit.’

‘That can be a tough call,’ murmured Rick.

‘Yes, indeed it can. However, sibling jealousy is one thing, murderous intent, let alone attempt, possibly with an “s” is quite another. The full report of our conversation with Griff Madoc about this will be available later but the bottom line is that Griff’s dad became suspicious about one or two incidents that might or might not have been accidents and which could have killed him. Once Griff had been born, Rhys Madoc became concerned enough about the safety of his son at the hands of uncle Huw that he packed the family up and moved them down south, effectively sinking without trace until baby Griff turns up three decades later, on the telly, as a fully-grown chef — and all sorts of alarm bells start ringing up in Prestatyn, even though Rhys Madoc changed the spelling of the family name from Maddox to the variant by which he’s known today.’

Jim screwed up his face. ‘…To the variant by which he’s known…?’

‘She’s just having one of her formal moments, Jim,’ said Stanway, sniffing blissfully at his rose. ‘I assume you’ve got the gist.’

‘Oh yes, Sir,’ replied Jim, hastily, a slight blush spreading across his features. ‘There’s certainly a likely-looking bug crawling out from under the Madoc/Maddox family woodpile.’

‘That’s exactly it,’ confirmed Stanway. ‘Does a list of those present at the launch include somebody who might be Huw Maddox or,’ he grinned at Angela, ‘a variant spelling thereof?’

‘Not on the face of it, Sir,’ replied Angela. She had taken the precaution of running her eyes quickly over the list of names before the meeting started, and was now very glad she had. ‘We shall be digging more deeply into that, of course,’ she assured him, ‘double-checking the names and, in particular, the addresses.’ She cast a glance in the direction of Derek and Leanne. They nodded at her in unison.

Stanway got up and move in the direction of the door. ‘Good, good,’ he said. ‘I’ll catch up with you later, Angie.’

Angela waited until the door had closed behind him before she spoke again. ‘Right, folks, we need to make certain that none of those people at the launch could possibly have been Huw Maddox in disguise. Can you all get started on that?’ She looked towards Gary. ‘It’s an interesting thought, what the boss-man said.’

‘What — about the business partner?’

‘Yes, can you set it up?’

‘No probs,’ replied Gary, picking up the phone. Ten minutes later, she and Gary were sitting in the HAT car heading for Knightsbridge.

Marcel Lambret opened the door to them himself and led them through a dining-room empty of people.

‘You’ve managed to get clear of the lunch-time diners, then,’ remarked Angela, noting the tables all laid up ready for the evening.

‘Yes, so it seems,’ he replied. So it seems? That sounds a strange answer, thought Angela. Her puzzlement must have showed on her face because Marcel launched into an explanation. ‘I haven’t been here this morning,’ he said. ‘I had a family funeral to attend. I only got back about five minutes ago and I’ve been stuck in the office since then.’

‘Oh, I see,’ she answered. As she followed him she became suddenly aware that the gap between them had lengthened and Marcel had already disappeared through the door into the kitchen. She hastened her step behind him and, coming into the kitchen, saw his back view passing through a door at the end of the room. As she reached the threshold she saw him behind a desk looking down at a red covered notebook, open on its surface. She just managed to catch a glimpse of what looked like a list of names with figures beside each one before he hurriedly snapped it shut. Marcel’s movements took on studied casualness now. He smiled as she and Gary entered. He moved slowly across to the filing-cabinet and deposited the book in the top drawer. Hmm, she thought. Are you trying to hide something, or just tidying up?

He looked up at them and smiled. ‘OK, let’s make you comfortable, shall we?’ The desk, two chairs and a filing-cabinet with a television on top was about all the room could take, but Marcel dragged a stool in from the kitchen and indicated that Gary should sit on it while he and Angela took the chairs.

‘The non-glamorous side of a Knightsbridge restaurant,’ she said, sitting down. She took out her own notebook and made a note of the little scene she had witnessed, just in case.

‘You’ve got that right,’ he said with a little grin, taking his own seat. He picked up a ballpoint pen and tapped gently at the blotter in the middle of the desk’s surface. ‘OK,’ he said, after a pause. ‘I presume you want the low-down on Griff.’

Angela blinked; then smiled. ‘What makes you think that?’

Marcel met her smile with one of his own. ‘I wasn’t in the room when the murder took place, and if I had anything to do with it I would have made damn sure I was. In any case, I’ve already spoken to a couple of your officers, so I guess I’m not in the frame.’

‘You could have hired someone else to do the deed.’

Marcel’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. ‘Wow! You know what? That never occurred to me?’ He thought for a moment. ‘I’m sure a contract killer wouldn’t go about things in such a chaotic manner.’

‘You thought it was chaotic?’

‘Well, hit-and-miss. You could so easily get the wrong person in a situation like that.’

‘It possible the wrong person was killed,’ said Angela.

Marcel blinked, paled a little and didn’t speak for some moments. ‘You mean — do you mean — Griff?’ He swallowed. ‘I hope you’re wrong.’

In the car on the way to the restaurant Angela and Gary had agreed they’d stick solely to the angle of Griff being the intended victim, whilst staying alert to any hint that he might be the perpetrator. She opened her notebook and got started. ‘The glass was handed to him in the first place, remember,’ she said.

‘Ah yes — but I’ve since been told who brought it to him. Oh, hang on.’ He stopped. ‘The person who doctored the glass and the one who carried it over could be two completely different people.’

‘Yes,’ said Angela.

Marcel grimaced. ‘Have you met Della Burnett yet?’ he asked.

‘We have.’

Marcel grinned. ‘She’s completely obsessed with Griff. If he’s in a room, for her nobody else is present and she’ll take any excuse to get near him. There’s no way she would have handed the glass to anybody else. She came into our kitchen here one night and tried to take his clothes off. She managed to spill a whole tureen of vichyssoise in the process. She said she “knew” it was time to consummate their love.’

‘How did she claim to know that?’

‘Ah, that’s an interesting point. There’ve been a couple of things she claims to have “just known” in the past, but since Griff has rediscovered his faith and started going to church again, she’s changed tack. Now it’s all “God has told me this that or the other”. It’s a shame really; she’s cracked.’

‘She didn’t come across as altogether stable when we spoke to her,’ conceded Angela. ‘We appreciate that an unseen intelligence was at work behind this event and, on the basis that it went wrong at the last minute, we need, as you put it when we arrived, to get the low-down on Griff.’

Marcel nodded. ‘I haven’t a clue,’ he said.

Angela smiled and raised her eyebrows. ‘I haven’t asked you a question yet.’

‘I’ve no idea why anybody would want to kill Griff.’ Marcel raised his shoulders and let them fall again. ‘Isn’t that the first question?’

‘What if we start with you?’ suggested Angela. I wonder how you’re going to take to such a direct approach, she thought – and when she saw Marcel completely unfazed by her question, added in your stride, I see.

‘Yes, well, I know you have to consider everyone,’ he said. ‘Griff and I are very good friends and I don’t want any of my friends to die. I can assure you I didn’t kill — or even try to kill him.’

‘Let’s put friendship aside for the moment,’ replied Angela.

‘OK, yes, obviously you have to do that. You’ve got to look at the cold, hard facts. I understand. The cold hard fact in this case is that Griff is worth a lot more to me alive than dead. We’re partners in this place, but since he’s become a celebrity chef you have to book several weeks in advance to get a table here. I couldn’t generate that type of business on my own. It means he’s not around as much as he used to be, of course, and I probably rely a lot more on the sous-chef than I would if Griff hadn’t made it big, but even so I really don’t think I’d be able to run this place by myself.’

Angela nodded and glanced across at Gary, giving him a silent signal to take over.

‘What do you know of his family circumstances?’ he asked.

‘I’ve met his parents several times, of course,’ said Marcel. ‘They’re nice people. His dad’s got his own engineering company and is looking to sell up and retire within the next few years, I think. His Catholicism comes from his mum’s side of the family. Her family is a bit scattered but there are some cousins in Ireland, in and around Killarney, I believe. He gets to see them now and again. I think there’s a Declan and a — ’

‘We don’t need to know their names,’ said Gary. ‘We can find them out easily enough. What about his relatives on his father’s side?’

Marcel’s mouth formed into an O, and he stared silently at them for a long moment before speaking. ‘Yes,’ he said finally, letting out his breath noisily. ‘He’s not in touch with any of them and it’s all because of some feud or something from years ago. He mentioned it once. You don’t suppose — ? I mean, there’s no… Welsh Mafia, is there?’

Angela broke in with a laugh. ‘We don’t think so. What can you tell me, though?’

Marcel shrugged. ‘Not much, I’m afraid. They lived up in North Wales, I think and his dad and mum upped sticks and came down south when he was a baby because of — well, whatever it was. Is that what it’s all about? It sounds a bit melodramatic to me.’

‘This is just a line of enquiry we’re obliged to follow through,’ replied Angela, trying to make it sound like a throwaway comment. ‘Do you have any more details about this?’

Marcel shook his head. ‘No, sorry.’

‘OK, let’s move on then, shall we? How does Griff get on with his wife?’ asked Gary. He and Angela had decided on the way to the restaurant not to assume that Marcel would know about Pauline’s infidelity, and that an outsider’s perspective on the Madoc marriage might be useful in any case.

Marcel’s expression froze, and when it unfroze again both officers could see clear signs of embarrassment. They made a point of not looking at each other but could each sense the other’s heightened alertness. ‘She’s OK. I get on all right with Pauline,’ answered Marcel, eventually.

That’s not what you were asked, thought Angela and was pleased when Gary didn’t allow himself to be deflected. ‘Yes, but how does Griff get on with her?’ he insisted.

Marcel’s eyes took in the filing-cabinet, the small television standing on top of it, and an in-tray packed with papers before he began tapping with the pen again. ‘They seem to get on fine,’ he answered.

Yeah… right, thought Angela. I hope you’re a better chef than you are a liar. ‘That sounds very correct and proper,’ she said. ‘And like a lot of correct and proper things, I’m sure it’s not the whole story.’ Marcel looked at her with something close to panic in his eyes. ‘We’re trying to solve a murder,’ she added, keeping her tone gentle. ‘I appreciate you want to be loyal to your friend and business partner, but the best way of doing that, believe me, is by telling us everything you know.’

‘It’s got nothing to do with the death.’ A hint of assertiveness could be detected in his tone, but for the most part his voice was already admitting defeat.

‘Why don’t you let us be the judge of that?’ said Angela.

Marcel gave a brief nod and dropped the pen onto the blotter. ‘Pauline wouldn’t have tried to kill Griff,’ he said. ‘He’s her meal-ticket.’

‘That doesn’t answer the question,’ she replied, intrigued.

‘It’s very simple; without him, she wouldn’t have the lifestyle she enjoys — and she really enjoys the high life. She has a quasi-celebrity status, you know, red-carpet stuff. Without Griff, it would be back to the chemist’s shop in Wales. That would be her only option. Why kill the goose that lays the golden eggs?’

Angela nodded and took her time noting the information, remembering that Pauline had put forward reasons why Marcel should be numbered among the suspects. I wonder if you’re aware of the note of disdain that’s crept into your voice, she wondered. ‘You say you weren’t in the room when the incident took place.’

‘No, I’d seen an old college buddy and stopped for a chat.’

‘We’ll need to verify that,’ Gary put in.

Marcel remained completely unruffled. ‘Yes, of course. I did give his name to your officers at the time but I can tell you as well if you like.’

Angela studied the man as he gave a name, which Gary wrote down. Wanting to take over a business could be a motive for murder, and this was a very good business. Angela still had a very vivid image in her head of Marcel hiding a red-covered notebook as she entered the office. Names and figures, eh? She wondered what they signified.

And what Pauline Madoc had said could also be a factor. An extended work-load could build a great deal of resentment, especially with Griff being so obviously successful in the other areas of his life. And he could only pursue those other projects if he had a loyal and competent partner in the restaurant.

Chapter 15

‘What did you make of that?’ asked Angela as they drove away from the restaurant.

‘Seems OK to me,’ answered Gary. ‘Mind you, we’ll have to verify his alibi, such as it is, with this friend he’s supposed to have met.’

‘Yes, and even then, he’s not necessarily in the clear. But actually, I didn’t mean that. I wondered what you made of that notebook business. I got the distinct impression he didn’t want us to see what was written in it.’

‘I came into the office behind you,’ Gary reminded her. ‘I didn’t see it open. His behaviour didn’t particularly strike me as furtive, though. He just put it into the filing cabinet and got us settled. Mind you,’ he added, ‘on reflection, I did notice that he went through the kitchen pretty sharpish. When we were in the restaurant he told us he’d only been in for five minutes and the next thing I knew, he was in that office and we’d hardly got into the kitchen.’

‘Yes, I noticed that too. My reading of that is that he remembered he’d left the notebook open on the desk and wanted to close it before we got there.’

‘That’s interesting, then, isn’t it?’ said Gary.

‘It is, and it bears closer scrutiny.’

‘Shall I get on to the Financial Services Unit and ask them to take a look at his finances?’

‘Exactly what I was going to suggest.’

‘Consider it done,’ he replied. Their journey continued in companionable silence for a few moments before either of them spoke again.

‘There’s something I’d like to go over, if that’s all right,’ said Gary as he turned the car left into the Earls Court Road.

Angela looked across at him. ‘Fire away.’

‘Stanway was in a bit of a rush this morning so he hasn’t got the full story on Griff Madoc. I’m looking at Neville Ingram as the intended victim and Griff as a suspect.’

‘Right, go on.’

‘Obviously, Stanway’s right, adultery is a strong motive. But we know that Griff’s been putting up with his wife’s adultery for several years, and he hasn’t killed any of her former lovers, has he?’

‘This is true. Our DCI probably hasn’t read all our reports yet. But let’s run with this. How did he do it?’

‘I don’t think he could have, not on his own. He would have needed help.’

‘Yes, I agree. Does anybody come to mind?’

‘Della Burnett,’ said Gary.

Inwardly Angela winced, but her professionalism forced her to look at the possibility logically. ‘Yes, of course. She’d do anything to get in with Griff. It’s a big pro as to why she might be involved. I can see her as a very willing helper.’ Silence reigned in the car and neither of them spoke until Gary had turned into the Fulham Road heading towards Putney Bridge.

‘But…’ she said eventually.

‘Yes, that would give her a hold over him and I can’t believe he’d want that. He’s already threatened legal action against her once, remember.’

‘Yes, that’s true, so now we’ve got a reasonable con,’ agreed Angela with a smile.

Gary cast a quick glance at her. ‘You don’t want him to be guilty, do you?’

‘No, I don’t, particularly,’ replied Angela. ‘I think he’s a nice bloke who’s just doing his best at what he knows. But I shall remain objective. It could be him and we’ve got to look at it thoroughly. So, what are our questions?’

‘We’ve got motive, and opportunity; we need means though, don’t we?’

‘Good thinking. Yes. How would he have obtained the poison? Let’s ignore the fact that it’s found in some plants. Chasing that trail makes life far too complicated for the moment.’

‘You can probably buy it off the internet.’

‘I’m sure, but also, I think you can buy the ingredients in the High Street and cook up in your own home.’

Gary cast a brief, doubtful look in her direction. ‘But it would still be dangerous, wouldn’t it? I mean, you’d have to know what you’re doing.’

‘I expect you can Google the method.’

‘I’m sure you can but even so… for instance, could you wash out the pot you’d used and cook the potatoes in it the next day?’

Angela laughed. ‘I certainly wouldn’t.’ She stopped for a moment. ‘Now that’s raised an interesting point. If he — no, forget Griff for the moment. If the perpetrator has made their own cyanide, we can reasonably expect him or her to have bought new kitchen utensils or have a special bowl. It’s something to look out for if we go to search anybody’s property.’

‘It strikes me as too much hassle, Angie,’ replied Gary. ‘I think it much more likely that the murderer bought the cyanide, probably off the internet.’

‘I think you’re right but that still doesn’t explain what happened to the traces.’

‘Traces?’

‘Wherever he or she got the cyanide, they must have taken it to the launch in something, a phial, a plastic pouch of some kind — what?’

‘Ah yes — and that container would probably contain traces of the poison.’

‘But nothing was found. And we searched everyone.’

‘We did indeed, and the room.’

‘And the landing.’

‘And even the loos — I think.’

‘But there must have been something; you don’t just carry cyanide crystals around in the palm of your hand, ready to sprinkle them over the glass you’ve earmarked,’ insisted Angela. ‘So somebody’s been either very clever or very fortunate.’

‘We’re going to have to see the main players again, aren’t we?’

‘We are indeed, Gary. And I think I’ll have a word with Stanway about search warrants. I’m sure he’ll say we haven’t got enough to go on as yet, but it wouldn’t be any bad thing to have the possibility on the radar.’

‘This radar’s getting a bit crowded,’ murmured Gary.

‘I think it might get worse before it gets better,’ replied Angela. ‘I’m wondering if we’ve paid enough attention to Tricia.’

‘Who’s Tricia?’

‘I rest my case.’

Gary laughed. ‘Oh hang on… it’s coming to me — ah yes, that woman from the studio.’

‘That’s the one. She’s formed an unspecified relationship with Griff.’

‘Yes, I know who you mean.’ He looked puzzled. ‘She wouldn’t have a motive for killing Griff, though, and I can’t imagine why on earth she would want rid of Griff’s wife’s lover, even supposing she even knew about the affair.’

‘Don’t forget she’s a niece of Luke Prentice, who, so rumour has it, is hoping to become Griff’s next manager.’

‘Oh yes.’ Gary put on a pained expression. ‘My brain hurts.’

Angela laughed. ‘I’m not surprised. Do you know what I think we ought to do?’

‘What?’

‘I think we ought to feed our stuff into the computer, meet up with the others, make sure we’re all up to speed, then go home and try to forget all about it. I just do not wish to hear any more about this case until tomorrow.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ replied Gary. ‘Between the wicked uncle, the hopeful uncle, the lover, the traces of poison and the would-be girlfriend, I don’t know which way to turn.’

Three hours later, Patrick leaned back from the table wiping a few drops of mornay sauce from his lips. ‘Is this recipe from the book by that chef involved in that case we’re not talking about at the moment? — That was delicious, by the way.’

‘Thank you, Paddy,’ replied Angela, spearing the last potato from her plate and popping it into her mouth. True to what she’d told Gary, she had come home and done her best not to think about work. This involved taking over the kitchen from Patrick — who’d been planning to make do with a sandwich — and getting stuck into a meal that involved a good deal of dicing and slicing.

‘It tasted lovely but I’m not sure the vegetables had to be quite so julienned,’ he said.

Angela laughed. ‘I did rather go at them, didn’t I?’

‘Angry that someone might have tried to off your crush?’

‘I didn’t feel anger, I was using an excess of activity so that I didn’t have to think about it. And he’s not my crush, Pads, you are.’

Patrick grinned. ‘I know, cute Celt, that’s all. Anyway, I presume the tactic worked, but I would say that you can stop now.’

‘What — stop not thinking about it?’

‘Yes.’

‘I was planning to carry on not thinking about it until tomorrow morning.’

Patrick’s eyes crinkled into a smile. ‘You’re not going to be able to hold out that long.’

Angela grinned and narrowed her eyes at him. ‘You think not? I’m hardly expecting the Spanish Inquisition tonight.’

Patrick twirled an imaginary moustache. ‘Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.’

Angela beamed at him. ‘Ah! You want to know where we are with it all, don’t you?’

‘I must say it looks fascinating,’ he admitted. ‘But as it happens, I popped along to the church to give a hand with the accounts before I came home tonight, and I got talking to Martin.’ Father Martin Buchanan was the priest at the Immaculate Conception parish, which Angela and Patrick attended.

‘Yes?’

‘He was asking me lots of questions, that’s all,’ said Patrick. ‘I think he’s got a bit of a particular interest.’

‘Really? — well, I don’t think I’m going to be able to satisfy his curiosity but, who knows, if he’s got some sort angle on it he might end up giving me ideas. Goodness knows I need them,’ she sighed. ‘Why didn’t you invite him for dinner, anyway? He’s about due an invitation.’

‘I did,’ he answered. ‘He already had something in the oven so I said to come round for a coffee later.’

‘Ever since he became involved in the Kirsty Manners case he’s shown quite a bit of interest in police work.’

‘You have to admit he was instrumental in uncovering a very nasty racket on that one.’

‘I’ll say! That bit of leg-work he did all, on his own, helped to crack the case wide open,’ agreed Angela.

Just at that moment the front doorbell rang. ‘Wow! Talk about timing,’ said Patrick, getting up from the table and heading for the door.

Seconds later he reappeared in the dining room, accompanied by Father Martin, who crossed the room to greet Angela. ‘Hi, Angie, no, don’t get up,’ he said, leaning down and placing a kiss on both cheeks. ‘Did Patrick tell you he’d invited me round for coffee?’ he asked, taking a place at the table.

‘Yes, he did about two minutes ago,’ grinned Angela. ‘Good to see you, Martin. Have you got some room for dessert?’

‘Is the Pope Catholic?’ he asked. Angela and Patrick laughed, and Patrick, having volunteered to fetch it, got up and left the room. ‘So,’ continued Martin. ‘This business at the Chelsea Flower Show looks very puzzling, from what I read in the papers. Can you dish the dirt?’

‘It’s very early days yet,’ replied Angela.

Martin nodded and tapped the side of his nose with a forefinger. ‘Got to keep schtumm, eh? I get it.’

‘What do you think of it, from what you’ve read and seen on the telly?’ asked Angela.

Martin blew out his cheeks. ‘I haven’t really got an opinion,’ replied the priest. ‘I’m quite struck by how low-key the reporting is, given the venue is so high-profile and that a celebrity chef is involved. That’s partly why I jumped at the chance to come round. You lot are obviously holding things very close to your chests.’

Angela nodded, hoping that she looked as though this were a deliberate and clever policy, and not a disguise for the fact that she and her team were still stumped by the case. ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘Sometimes it helps to appeal to the public and trawl whatever information might be out there, but we’ve decided to keep the lid tight on this one. Patrick said you had a particular interest.’

Martin gave a sheepish grin. ‘It’s a bit tenuous,’ he admitted. ‘I’m just using it as a lever to gain your confidence in the hope I can find out more.’ He paused. ‘Just because I’m nosy.’

Angela laughed. ‘Lever away then,’ she said. Patrick came back carrying three pots of crème brulée, a steaming cafetière, and an extra cup and saucer on a tray.

‘Mm, that looks lovely,’ said Martin appreciatively. ‘It’s just that a few days ago some of us got together and went for a meal.’

‘Some of us?’

‘A couple of the guys I was at the seminary with and some others that I’ve become friendly with since.’

‘Oh, a priests’-night-out, you mean,’ said Patrick, pouring them a coffee each.

Martin smiled and took the dessert and coffee. ‘You could say that. Anyway, one of the party was the priest who’s in a parish in Harrow and the subject of Griff Madoc came up.’ He looked from one to the other. ‘I don’t know if you know much about Griff Madoc’s cookery.’

‘You’re eating a “Madoc dessert”,’ replied Patrick. ‘Somebody around here is into him, big-time.’ He cast his eyes across at Angela. ‘Mention no names but follow the direction of my eyes.’

Martin laughed. ‘And to very good effect, if I may say so,’ he said, spooning some into his mouth. Anyway, what you might not know — ’ He stopped and looked at Angela. ‘ — although, on second thoughts, you probably do, is that recently Griff Madoc has come back to the Catholic faith which he abandoned as a teenager — Ah, you did know,’ he added as he saw Angela and Patrick nodding at him.

‘Yes, we’ve read about it in a couple of places,’ said Angela. ‘I don’t suppose you’re about to tell me he’s been to your friend and made a full confession to the murder of — oh, hang on, this was a couple of days ago, wasn’t it?’

Martin nodded. ‘Yes, before the event. As a matter of fact Ray, that’s Father Raymond Kerr, says he hasn’t seen him at Mass yet but one of the others seemed to think that he’s going to the Jesuit parish in Farm Street.’

‘Ah, Mayfair,’ said Patrick.

‘Well, yes, from what I gather he’d wandered in there one evening and felt… whatever he felt.’

‘He didn’t say too much in the interview I read,’ answered Patrick. ‘For which I can’t blame him; these things are very personal and it’s sometimes difficult to put them across. Suffice to say that he felt he’d come home, and he’s very happy to be back.’

‘Yes, indeed. So that’s why Ray hasn’t met him yet even though he’s living in the parish. But he has met the wife.’

Angela paused in the act of raising her cup to her lips. ‘Really? That’s interesting. Did Raymond happen to mention how he’d come to meet Pauline Madoc?’

‘Pauline! That’s the name; I couldn’t remember it,’ replied Martin. ‘Yes, I think she just wanted to get an angle on the change in her husband. Ray said she wasn’t showing any interest in becoming a Catholic herself, just asked general questions.’

‘I suppose it must seem strange,’ mused Angela. ‘To live with a man for many years and then this big change comes over him, so after that, he’s praying and toddling off to Mass. It could take some getting used to.’

‘I suppose it must,’ agreed Martin. ‘It would impact in all sorts of ways, I expect.’

Patrick drained his coffee and put the cup down. ‘Let’s just hope,’ he said, ‘that Griff Madoc hasn’t followed up his spiritual awakening by committing murder.’

‘Ouch!’ exclaimed Martin. ‘That wouldn’t be a good sign of conversion, would it?’

Chapter 16

Angela gazed round at her team the following morning and decided to start with Leanne and Derek. ‘Have you got anywhere with the possibility of Uncle Huw being present at the launch?’ she asked.

Leanne and Derek exchanged sheepish smiles. ‘We thought we had at first,’ admitted Leanne. ‘We got quite excited at the presence of two other Madocs on the list. They must have spoken to a uniformed officer at the event when everybody was being questioned. But then we remembered that the cousin spells his name with an “X”.’

‘And two “D”s,’ added Derek.

‘So then we saw the initial of one of them. It’s an “R” and we realised they must be Griff’s mum and dad.’

‘Oh yes, Rhys and Constance,’ said Angela and stopped. She remained still, with a frown on her face, for a few moments. Something flashed through my mind and disappeared just then. ‘Why am I thinking they’re still worth checking out?’ she asked of nobody in particular. A selection of puzzled faces greeted her. ‘Ah! I know. Given the family history Griff probably doesn’t know what his uncle looks like. He would have been little more than a toddler the last time he saw him.’

‘What, no family photographs sent back and forth?’ objected Jim.

‘As far as I can make out, there hasn’t been any contact since Rhys and Constance left the farm when Griff was a baby,’ replied Angela.

‘That’s a point,’ said Rick. ‘But even after thirty years, Rhys Madoc is bound to recognise his own brother.’

‘I would think so,’ agreed Angela. ‘I’ll leave that with you and Jim to deal with. I expect he and Mrs Madoc have gone back home now, but check first. You don’t want to drive all the way to South Wales unless you have to.’

‘But if we do have to…’ ventured Rick.

‘There’s no need to stay overnight. You can get there and back in a day,’ replied Angela correctly interpreting the unasked question. She turned to Leanne and Derek. ‘Can one of you get me a picture of Alwyn’s dad? It would be helpful, I think. You might have to ask Alwyn.’

‘Yes, guv,’ said Leanne. ‘Will we be going to see him as well, do you think?’

‘Not at this stage — but for someone we only know by hearsay, Huw Maddox has a very commanding presence on the radar, so who knows? Keep pushing at that connection.’

Angela looked up at the board and caught sight of the arrows which had been added, linking the names of Pauline Madoc and Neville Ingram. ‘I don’t think we’ve talked about this much. Do any of you have anything to say?’

‘It gives Griff Madoc a motive for killing Neville Ingram,’ said Jim.

‘Yes, Gary mentioned that yesterday,’ admitted Angela.

‘It might give Pauline Madoc a motive for murdering him as well,’ he added.

‘Pauline: a motive? How do you work that one out, Jim?’

‘Well it seems she’s very keen on keeping her marriage going. Perhaps she tried to break it off with the victim and he threatened to tell Griff.’

‘O… K,’ nodded Angela, without enthusiasm. ‘Personally, it doesn’t strike me as likely. Griff already knew about Pauline and Neville.’

‘Yes, but Pauline might not know that,’ countered Jim.

‘True,’ ceded Angela. ‘Let’s keep that idea on the back burner. We’re dealing with such a conundrum here that anything’s possible. I’ve even heard from an independent source that she’s been to visit a Catholic priest, presumably as part of the fence-mending exercise.’ She looked across at Gary. ‘Can you set up a meeting with Pauline Madoc, please? I expect she’ll be at the Flower Show again today.’

‘I presume you want to see her on her own,’ said Gary.

‘Oh yes, indeed. We want her onside.’

‘Thinking we’re keeping her secret.’

‘That’s right. As we would, of course, if that ship hadn’t already sailed.’ She glanced over them all. ‘Right, you all know what you’re supposed to be doing.’

‘I know we’ve played with a few theories, but are we definitely settling on Griff being the intended victim?’ said Rick.

‘Oh, I think so,’ replied Angela. ‘I’ve just got to question Pauline again, to see if that throws up anything new, but my feeling is that nobody in their right mind would offer a poisoned glass of champagne to someone in the hope that it might be handed to the person standing next to him.’

A brief silence reigned in the room and Angela became acutely aware that they all shared the same thought, the image of the person who had handed the glass to Griff, followed immediately by a question about her mental capacity. If she’d needed confirmation of this communal mind process, it came straight away from Derek, who shook his head and spoke for everyone. ‘No that doesn’t stack up; she fancies herself madly in love with the bloke, doesn’t she?’ They all nodded and smiled their agreement.

‘I’m glad you mentioned Della Burnett, Derek,’ said Angela. ‘We’ve just done the basics with her. She was very shocked and upset, as you’d expect, but we can’t just leave things as they are. We’ll need to see her again.’ She caught sight of Gary raising his eyebrows and blowing out his cheeks and she grinned in sympathy. ‘Yes, she’s not an easy interviewee, I know, but we must try and go a bit deeper.’ She moved across the room towards the door. ‘OK, everybody, let’s get on with it.’

By the time she and Gary got into the car he’d ascertained that Pauline was at the Flower Show and arranged for them to meet her there.

Another bright, warm day had dawned over Chelsea Embankment, and the hospital gardens were thronged with plant-lovers and socialites, all determined to make the most of the occasion. Angela and Gary, now familiar with the layout, made their way to the exhibitors’ area where they had interviewed Griff and Alwyn the previous day.

Pauline Madoc sat waiting for them in a secluded corner.

‘Thank you for agreeing to see us again,’ began Angela as she and Gary sat down facing her. ‘We know you must be busy.’

Pauline nodded. ‘I’m just taking a break, but I’ll be back on the stand soon to give Griff a turn. My presence also helps to restrain some of his more enthusiastic fans.’ She gave a small, conspiratorial smile. ‘You wouldn’t believe some of the things they write in their letters to him.’

Angela smiled. ‘I think I probably would.’

‘Very blatant, some of them are, and one or two not quite the full shilling, like that one that gate-crashed the launch. I won’t be leaving him on his own for too long.’

Angela’s thoughts went off at a tangent and she decided to postpone her planned questions and follow it up. ‘Did you have any involvement in the garden before the show?’

‘What, in the designing and all that?’

‘Yes, getting it all together. It sounds like it could have been an exciting project.’

Pauline’s face showed that this was a new idea to her. She shrugged. ‘I’m not very much into gardening. I mean, I can appreciate a nice one, the layout and all that. There are some lovely ones here. Have you been round?’

‘A little,’ replied Angela.

‘Yes, so you’ll know, then. Amazing, some of the gardens are, but I wouldn’t be up for all the hard work that goes into them.’

‘Yes, gardening can take a lot of effort,’ agreed Angela. ‘So, did you meet the design team on Griff’s garden before the show?’

Light dawned for Pauline. ‘Ah, you mean Alwyn, Griff’s cousin. No, as I said before, I didn’t meet him until I walked into the launch.’

‘How did the cousins get on?’ asked Angela, wondering if Pauline would be taken in by her display of ignorance.

Pauline showed no surprise at the question. ‘As far as I know, they don’t. They still haven’t met. And I’m certainly not going to interfere.’

Angela and Gary made a point of not looking at each other, to avoid alerting Pauline, but from the sudden raising of his head Angela sensed that Gary recognised the comment and what it signified.

How interesting; we watched the family reunion yesterday but Griff obviously hasn’t told you about it, said Angela to herself.

Pauline turned wide blue eyes on the officers. ‘I mean, you just never know, do you? That branch of the family sound quite murderous. Can’t blame Griff’s dad for bringing them away, can you? If you want to know who might kill Griff, you’ll need to find out where Huw Maddox was on the day. And as for Alwyn, he looks like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth but they say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree…’ Pauline’s voice trailed off into a meaningful silence.

Angela cast a brief glance at Gary, who fleetingly returned her look and raised his eyebrows as he went back to his note-taking. Pauline had presented her with a smooth way back to her planned questions and she took the opportunity. ‘This is very interesting, thanks for filling us in on the background,’ she said. ‘We’re looking at all the possibilities, but right now I want to focus on the man who died, Neville Ingram.’

There was no mistaking the pain that flashed across Pauline’s eyes. Angela found herself thinking, once again, about Stevie Smith. She supposed this memory kept popping up because so much of poetry deals with strong, sad emotions. She blinked and shook her head as if to clear it. ‘Will you tell me,’ she asked, ‘exactly what was your relationship with him?’

In spite of her distress, Pauline made a creditable attempt at feigned innocence. She widened her eyes and there was no mistaking the question mark in her tone. ‘Relationship?’ she asked. ‘He was Griff’s manager. I knew him through Griff.’

‘I’ve no doubt that’s how you met,’ replied Angela. ‘But we’ve been told you were having an affair with him.’

Pauline abandoned the air of puzzlement for one of anger. ‘That’s a lie! Who said that?’

‘It doesn’t matter who told us,’ said Angela.

She widened her eyes again, this time in genuine alarm. ‘No!’ She almost shouted. Angela watched her expression change again; resignation this time. She nodded. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘I admit it. We had been having an affair. But I was on the point of finishing with him.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘He died before I could get around to having that talk with him but I think he knew it was coming. I just hope whoever told you doesn’t go and tell Melanie. She doesn’t need this on top of losing him altogether. I mean, this doesn’t have any bearing on the death, does it?’

Angela didn’t know the answer to this and didn’t see any point in not saying so. ‘We’re not sure yet. An enquiry of this sort will throw up all sorts of information and much of it will have no relevance to the case.’

Pauline nodded; she had visibly relaxed. ‘I’m not proud of myself, Inspector,’ she continued. ‘It’s true, I’ve been very stupid, but this whole business has — well, woken me up, I suppose. I realise now what a risky game I’ve been playing and what I’ve got to lose. Griff is a good man and I’m determined to make our marriage work.’

Angela didn’t really know what to make of this statement. Very commendable. Thankfully, it’s not my place to tell you that Griff knows all about your affairs, thought Angela as she made a note. ‘So,’ she continued, looking up from her notebook, ‘how long had the relationship been going on?’

‘About three months.’

‘How much contact did you have with each other?’

‘Quite a bit, while Griff’s been filming the programme.’

Angela bit back an expression of impatience. ‘I don’t mean that.’

Pauline lowered her eyes as if embarrassed but there was no accompanying blush. ‘Is that relevant, Inspector?’

‘OK, let’s try this another way. Did Neville Ingram ever confide in you that he thought he had an enemy?’

A blush appeared now and she smiled as if at her own denseness. ‘Oh, I see what you’re getting at. No, no he never said anything about an enemy, and I’m sure he would have told me if he thought he had any.’

Angela nodded. ‘Had he fallen out with anybody?’

Pauline shook her head and then stopped and frowned as though something had occurred to her.

‘Yes?’ invited Angela.

Pauline shook her head again, more decisively this time. ‘No, it’s daft, Inspector.’

‘Will you let me be the judge of that, please?’

Pauline straightened in her seat and pushed back a lock of hair which had fallen forward. ‘I’m sure this is nonsense, but a few days before the launch we were… together, and he mentioned that he’d heard a whisper that Griff was casting around for a new manager. He was a bit concerned because he’d seen Luke Prentice around a bit and he didn’t often run into him.’

Angela hunched herself over her notebook. So, this thread appears again she thought. ‘You’re saying that Griff wanted to get out of his contract and go with Luke Prentice, which might have made Griff his enemy?’

Pauline turned down the corners of her mouth. ‘I’m not happy to be talking about my husband in this context. I’m sure it’s nonsense. In any case, Griff is locked into his contract with Neville for the next five years. I suppose it’ll be handled by Melanie now.’

Angela continued to stare down at her notebook as she wrote. ‘I’m sure it’s nonsense?’ she repeated to herself. Is this another thing your husband hasn’t shared with you? At length she became aware of the prolonged silence and looked up to see both Pauline and Gary looking expectantly at her. ‘Sorry,’ she forced a smile to her face. ‘Just getting carried away there.’ She paused, thinking over what Pauline had said. ‘So Melanie will take over the agency, is that right?’

Pauline shrugged. ‘As far as I’m aware, she’s the joint owner. She hasn’t been very active for a few years but, if you ask me, she’s more shrewd at business than Neville ever was.’

‘Oh really? What makes you say that?’

‘Just a couple of things here and there, when we’ve been together and Neville had to take a business call. He’s mentioned a couple of accounts and how they were run. It sounded like clever management and I said so, and he told me they were Melanie’s idea and she’d set them up in the first place.’

Angela nodded, thinking back over her interview with Melanie Ingram. She remembered her intelligent responses and her matter-of-fact approach, and had no trouble believing in her business acumen. Her thoughts were interrupted by Pauline’s voice. ‘Of course, I hadn’t thought about it before, but she might have been worried about losing Griff’s account.’ She said this in a throw-away tone but her eyes were locked on to Angela’s.

Angela blinked. Yes, I get it. Melanie might have done the deed in order to get rid of Neville, the incompetent business partner. How many more people are you going to point the finger at? she wondered. She formed her mouth into a professional smile. ‘We will be considering every possibility,’ she assured her. She stood up and Gary did likewise. ‘Thank you for your help, Mrs Madoc,’ she said. ‘If anything else occurs to you that you think important, you’ll let us know, won’t you?’

‘Yes, of course, Inspector,’ Pauline replied demurely.

Chapter 17

Angela and Gary made their way back to the main showground. ‘I wonder what it must be like to be a fly on the wall in the Madoc household?’ he wondered aloud.

‘Very dull, I should think,’ opined Angela.

‘Yes, she doesn’t know anything about what he thinks of Neville Ingram as a manager and doesn’t have a clue that Griff and the cousin have now met up.’

‘Quite.’

‘And she doesn’t balk at putting Griff forward as a suspect.’

‘Yes, she qualified that, though.’

‘All the same…’

‘I take your point.’

‘So… do we bump her up the suspect scale?’ asked Gary.

‘Good gracious no! She’s no more a front-runner than any of the others. Remember what we’ve now got from both Griff and Marcel Lambret. She likes a lavish lifestyle and being the wife of a celebrity.’

‘Ah, yes, I remember.’ Angela hurried on and Gary fell into step with her. ‘So where to now, then?’

‘Well, I think we’ve got to have a last-ditch go at the idea of the intended victim being Neville, and maybe we could push on that a little. I’d feel happier writing it off altogether after that.’

‘You mean, the idea of Griff and Della Burnett being in on it together?’

‘As unlikely as that seems, yes.’

They found Griff seated in a little hut at the back of his garden. It was cleverly constructed in such a way that he could sit down out of sight of passers-by. ‘This is cosy,’ remarked Angela, stepping through the doorway and gazing down at the TV chef relaxing on one of the more luxurious types of garden chair. ‘No, don’t get up,’ she continued as he made to rise. ‘We just want a quick word.’

Griff swung his feet to the floor and indicated the newly-freed-up space at the end of the lounger. Gary perched himself on a high-legged stool, the only other piece of furniture in the place. ‘How may I help you, Inspector?’ asked Griff.

‘I’m curious about Della Burnett.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Really?’

‘How often did you see her?’

Griff shrugged. ‘Too often for my liking but, even then, not on a regular basis. Sometimes I was aware of her being out there, but so long as she behaved herself and didn’t try to come into the restaurant I just ignored her.’

‘What about at the television studios?’

‘Ah, that’s easier to handle because you need tickets to get in. I think I saw her in the audience once. That’s all.’

‘So how often would you say you’d spoken to her?’

Griff’s brow furrowed as he considered the question. ‘A few times, I suppose.’

‘Do you know how she managed to gate-crash the launch?’

Griff spread his arms wide. ‘Search me, Inspector. I know they keep security as tight as they can but she was at the show anyway, and the hospital is open to the public, after all.’

‘When did you first become aware of her?’

‘I know I was in the middle of a conversation and I think I felt a bit of a nudge on my arm. I looked round and there she was. A most unwelcome sight, I can assure you.’

Angela sighed and thought for a moment. Her heart wasn’t really in these questions and she had nowhere to go with them anyway. They would need something a great deal more concrete to go on before they could reasonably pursue the notion that Griff and Della were acting in concert. She looked at Gary and jerked her head to indicate the end of the interview. They thanked Griff for his time and took their leave.

In another part of the flower show, Rick and Jim ran into Alwyn, buying himself a sandwich. ‘Ah, Mr Maddox, we were hoping to find you at some point. May we have a word, please?’ asked Rick.

‘Sure,’ replied Alwyn and led them to a secluded bench nearby. ‘You don’t mind if I…?’ He raised his sandwich before them.

‘Not at all, you carry on,’ said Rick. ‘We’ve just got one more question.’ He paused, knowing it might sound strange.

Jim, not having the same delicacy of touch, picked up the thread. ‘Yes, we just want to ask you about your dad.’

‘My dad?’ Alwyn stopped, the sandwich halfway to his mouth.

‘Yes, his name’s Huw, right?’

‘Right,’ said Alwyn.

‘Yes, we want you to confirm whether he was or wasn’t at the flower show on the day Neville Ingram was killed.’

If Alwyn hadn’t been so nonplussed by the question he might have looked more closely at Rick and noticed a slight eye-rolling. For his part, Rick noted the paling of the Welshman’s complexion and a fleeting look of horror. Recovering quickly from the suggestion, Alwyn gave a faint, grim smile. ‘Well I can only confirm one of those, can’t I? Which one do you want?’

Jim recognised his own clumsiness and didn’t bother to hide his irritation. ‘I think you know what I mean,’ he replied.

Alwyn shrugged. ‘He wasn’t there.’

‘OK,’ nodded Jim. ‘That’s all for now.’ He turned round and walked away, leaving it to his partner to smile pleasantly at Alwyn and thank him for his time.

On the way back to the car, Rick didn’t bother to remonstrate with Jim for his unfortunate manner; he knew it would be a pointless exercise. Instead, he waited for Jim to speak. ‘That didn’t get us very far, did it?’ he said eventually.

‘Did you think it would?’ asked Rick.

Jim shook his head. ‘Not really. We could have laid odds that he’d say his dad wasn’t there.’

‘He might not have been.’

‘Yes, but even if he was, Alwyn wouldn’t say, would he?’

‘No, not if they’re involved in a conspiracy to murder Griff,’ agreed Rick.

‘So it was a bit pointless, but it had to be done.’

‘I don’t know that it was completely pointless,’ replied Rick. ‘I watched him carefully when you asked him the question, and something made him very uncomfortable at that moment.’

‘Ah! So we might be on to something.’

‘It’s possible. I know Angie has mentioned that Alwyn seems to be afraid of his dad, but it’s always possible that he’s nervous about being caught up in a plot to murder Griff.’

‘So we’ve got to be definite about whether the old man came to the launch or not.’

‘Yes; and as we said yesterday, even after thirty years, you’d recognise your own brother.’

‘I’d think so,’ agreed Jim. ‘OK, let’s find out where Rhys Madoc is and pay him a visit.’

Pauline Madoc made her way through the crowds, conscious that here and there passers-by stopped and looked and nudged their companions. She even heard snatches of the whispered conversations: ‘Do you know who that is?’ ‘Ooh, yes, I’ve seen her in the papers, hang on…’ ‘Yes, it’s Griff Madoc’s wife.’ ‘Lucky thing, he’s really cute.’ She loved it; she basked in the glory reflected from Griff. She considered she had a role to play. For this she wore designer clothes and flawless make-up. She, Pauline Madoc, was the wife Griff needed to have by his side. She could do it, the red carpet, the film premieres, the award shows. She looked good beside him. They looked the perfect couple. He needed her. Her! Not that earnest holy-roller he’d met at the Jesuit parish. The corners of Pauline’s mouth turned down in disdain at the thought of Tricia Prentice. She could make big eyes at him and ‘be there’ for him as much as she liked but she, Pauline, had her name on the marriage certificate, so she held all the cards. She thought again of the visit she’d paid to the priest in the parish near where they lived. He’d made the Church’s teaching on marriage very clear. He’d also talked about forgiveness and reconciliation, but she’d stopped listening by then. Pauline hadn’t ever had much regard for fidelity but Griff had stuck to it through all their years together; she’d swear to that on a stack of Bibles. She smiled as she walked along. She had to mend her fences with Griff; that had to be the way forward. He’d been besotted with her in the early days of their marriage and she knew exactly how to recapture that. She slowed as she walked along. Goodness, she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d made love with him but she could recall, to the minute, the most recent meeting with Neville. Sudden tears welled up in her eyes and she hurried on, shivering as the full horror of Neville’s death came upon her again. People were still looking, noticing her. She hustled her thoughts resolutely on. In spite of what she’d told the policewoman, she hadn’t been about to terminate their relationship. There had been a lot of life left in that affair. She even thought it could have gone on indefinitely. She’d been very fond of Neville; two of a kind they were, they both liked their fun and knew how to enjoy themselves. She shivered. Thoughts of Neville inevitably led to thoughts of his death, and if she didn’t turn her attention to something else she’d be overwhelmed. She shook her head as if to rid herself of the images in her mind. She couldn’t handle them, not now, not ever.

She arrived at Griff’s herb garden and eased her way through the large knot of people standing outside its perimeter fence admiring the display. Amid yet more comments and more recognition, she stepped into the tiny hut at the back so recently vacated by Angela and Gary.

‘That policewoman’s been to see me again,’ she began.

‘Yes, she’s been here, too,’ answered Griff.

‘Asking me if you were looking for new management, she was,’ Pauline continued. Griff nodded but said nothing. Pauline frowned. She suddenly realised that there had been a time when such a comment would have caused Griff to launch into a speech about all the things he’d been up to and the plans he was formulating. She would have nodded here and there, barely listening. Now he’d become the one who nodded. She cast a sidelong glance at him. ‘I told her I thought it was nonsense.’

Another nod from Griff. A small feeling of discomfort clutched at the centre of Pauline’s stomach. Had he stopped being the malleable man she’d married? She brushed the notion aside and continued blithely on. ‘If you ask me, they’re barking up the wrong tree.’

‘Oh?’

There it was again, just the one syllable, no qualification; nothing. ‘Yes, I reminded them about why your dad and mam brought you down south from Prestatyn when you were a baby. That’s where they should be looking.’

Griff looked in silence at Pauline for a long moment. ‘I met him yesterday,’ he said, eventually.

Pauline’s sense of discomfort increased. ‘Who?’ she asked, although she guessed who he meant.

‘Alwyn Maddox; cousin Alwyn.’

‘My goodness, Griff. Your uncle Huw’s son? Here? I think you’d better tell the police.’

‘They already know. And I know you dated him when we were first going out, as well.’

Pauline smiled, unsure of herself. ‘Griff, I was young, we’re weren’t committed at that point.’

‘Committed, is it?’ Griff gave a mirthless laugh. ‘No matter. And there’s no point in pretending to be surprised he’s around because I also know you approached him yesterday.’

‘I wasn’t sure it was him, after all these years.’ The lie came swiftly and easily, but for the first time Pauline recognised disbelief in Griff’s eyes; for the first time she wondered if it had always been there and felt herself shiver a little.

‘I think he’s harmless,’ replied Griff. ‘I like him.’

‘Harmless! Are you mad, cariad? She paused. She hadn’t used a term of endearment to Griff in a long time. She saw his eyes flick towards her as he registered the word. ‘He’s your uncle Huw’s son,’ she continued. She turned slightly and pointed at the potted plants standing on plinths in the garden. ‘He’s the one who brought in that rhubarb, remember. He must have known they’re poisonous. How do you know they haven’t worked out some plot to kill you?’

‘I don’t,’ replied Griff in a serene voice. ‘But I’ll ask him later.’

‘What?’ Pauline faced the fact they she had no control in this exchange, an unfamiliar feeling – and she didn’t like it.

Griff stood up, making himself visible to those members of the public gathered on the other side of the garden fence. They heard a couple of ‘oohs’ and a ‘look, there he is’ drifting towards them across the display of herbs.

‘He’s my cousin and I want to get to know him. I’m going out for a drink with him when I finish here tonight,’ he answered, stepping out into the garden. He paused and turned back, speaking in a low voice. ‘Don’t wait up,’ he said.

Chapter 18

Rick Driver found it difficult not to let his concentration slip from his immediate surroundings to the vista stretching out in front of him, a beautiful panorama of sea, sky and the other side of the bay at Cardiff. The drive had been long, and the lunch they’d decided to have before interviewing Griff’s parents was probably just a bit too heavy, which amply explained why keeping his mind on the job was such an uphill task. He made a determined effort, blinked, and focussed on the man sitting between him and the view through the window. Just at that moment the door opened and Constance Madoc entered. Black hair, with just the beginnings of greyness, framed a tanned, olive-shaped face. Moving gracefully, she brought in four steaming cups of coffee on a tray and handed them round. Rick thanked her and took his eagerly; a shot of caffeine might just do the trick.

Rhys Madoc took a sip from his cup and leaned further back into the easy chair in which he sat. ‘So, you want to ask me some questions about the book-launch,’ he said, following on from the telephone conversation he’d had with the two men when they called him earlier that morning to set up the meeting.

‘If you don’t mind, Sir,’ answered Jim.

‘Not at all, fire away.’

Jim cast a brief sideways glance at Rick and shifted further forward in his seat. They’d decided on the way there that he should open the questioning. He’d taken advantage of the journey and the fact that he had a captive audience sitting in the car with him to make his resentment felt with regard to the fact that Rick always seemed to take the lead. Since this was the truth, Rick couldn’t think of a good enough argument for countering this claim without coming right out and saying that the reason for this lay in the fact that Jim had no delicacy of touch and could sometimes set people’s backs up. Having no rank to pull, Rick found himself without any choice but to agree to take a back seat in the forthcoming interview.

Jim flicked his notebook open with what Rick recognised as a defiant little flourish. ‘I know you were at the launch,’ he began.

A shadow flitted across the Rhys Madoc’s features. ‘Yes, of course. We’re very proud of how far Griff has come.’ He paused, remembering the event, and closed his eyes briefly. ‘It was supposed to be a happy occasion,’ he finished.

Jim looked down at his notebook. ‘What we’re trying to ascertain is, whether or not you saw your brother there.’ Inwardly Rick groaned. Jim seemed impervious to the fact that the effects of shock were still with the man. He’d worded the question somewhat bluntly, and now sat waiting for an answer as a look of pure astonishment and horror crept slowly across Rhys’ face.

Rhys couldn’t speak immediately. ‘My brother… Huw?’ he managed to ask eventually. ‘Was he there?’

‘We don’t know,’ replied Jim. ‘That’s what we’re asking you. We reckon you and Mrs Madoc would be the only ones there who’d recognise him, if he was, except for your nephew, of course, but he’s not saying.’

‘My nephew!’ Rhys gasped and put his coffee down on the arm of the chair with shaking fingers. Rick fought the temptation to throw his hands up in the air. He moved forward in his chair but Jim turned a venomous look towards him, telling him to back off.

Fortunately, with Rhys in a state of shock and rendered temporarily speechless, and Jim waiting for an answer, Constance, who’d watched the exchange and read the situation between the two policeman very well, came to the rescue.

She put a hand on top of her husband’s and caressed it gently before addressing herself to both officers. Rick saw that her gaze rested slightly longer on him, and a stiffening of Jim’s jaw told him that Jim saw it too. ‘We didn’t see Huw at the launch,’ she said, in a gentle voice. ‘We haven’t seen him in over thirty years, but I’m sure we’d recognise him straight away and I can guarantee you he wasn’t invited.’ She paused. ‘But, this nephew…?’

Jim consulted his notes. ‘Alwyn Maddox.’

‘Maddox? Oh yes, of course, Maddox. My goodness.’ She thought for a moment. ‘But are you sure it’s our nephew? Alwyn Maddox isn’t that common a name but…’

‘Oh, it’s definitely your nephew,’ said Jim. ‘Your daughter-in-law confirmed it. It seems…’ Here Jim had the grace to pause and think before proceeding. ‘Well, it seems that he did a summer job in your area as a young man and that she met him then.’

Rhys Madoc curled his lip in contempt. ‘Oh there’s no need to go on, officer. We know Pauline very well, unfortunately.’

Constance pursed her lips. ‘She’s never limited herself to one man, not before she married, nor since.’

Rhys shook his head. ‘It was a bad day’s work, Griff did, the day he married her.’

Jim looked a little uncomfortable and didn’t seem to know how to proceed. Rick took the opportunity to speak. He saw a chance to deviate briefly from talk of Huw or Alwyn and cushion the effects of the shock. ‘He must have been in love with her, though,’ he ventured.

Rhys turned a cynical smile on him. ‘Thrall, officer; he was in thrall to her. But he thought it was love. She’s lucky she got someone who was prepared to be faithful through thick and thin, because mostly it’s been very thin,’ he continued. ‘And she knows he doesn’t believe in divorce, so she’s sitting very pretty. Oh, she’s on to a very good thing is Pauline Madoc. Back then, when they first met, he wasn’t very confident, see; spotty, shy, you know how it is. He could hardly believe such a stunning girl would deign to go out with him.’

‘And she was stunning,’ added Constance. ‘And she knew it. She always had such big ideas about herself.’

‘She definitely thought she was too good to be stuck behind that chemist-shop counter, that’s for sure,’ agreed her husband.

‘Mind you, I could see her point about that,’ said Constance.

Rhys thought for a moment and conceded the point. ‘You may be right.’ He turned his face towards the two policemen. ‘I’m not at all happy that my nephew Alwyn is on the scene. He was a baby the last time we saw him. What was he doing at the launch?’ The tension had come back into Rhys’ entire demeanour and could be heard clearly in the tone of his voice.

‘He’s part of the horticultural team laying out the garden.’

‘Has he introduced himself to Griff?’

‘We believe it’s possible, Sir,’ said Jim, remembering Angela and Gary reporting on the meeting between the two cousins. They’d all agreed that they couldn’t possibly know exactly what passed between the two men and it was even possible Griff hadn’t revealed to Alwyn his knowledge of the relationship.

‘I don’t like the idea of Huw’s son being in striking distance of my Griff. I moved us all down south to get away because I feared for our safety. Any child brought up by Huw is not someone I would want to be alone with, and I don’t like the idea of him being around my boy.’

Rick stifled the urge to grin. Griff Madoc had a growing fan-base, a well-established career and a popular TV presence, but to his father he was still ‘my boy’.

Jim closed his notebook, got up and looked at Rick. As far as he was concerned, he’d got the information they’d been sent to obtain. Huw Maddox hadn’t been at the launch. If he was behind the attempted murder of Griff, it seemed most likely he had worked through the agency of his son, and their search for the killer now led back to London and not up to Prestatyn.

Rick got up slowly. Somewhere in the conversation he felt an interesting thread had opened, only to be closed again. But if pushed he would have to admit this to be a nebulous idea. And he knew that Jim would pooh-pooh the notion. Finally, he shrugged and joined Jim in thanking Rhys and Constance for their time before taking their leave. Jim was due to do the driving on the way back, which would give Rick the opportunity to make his own report of the entire conversation and try to pinpoint exactly what he thought had been missed.

Angela, listening to her mobile phone, walked from the car to her house, followed by Gary. ‘OK, Rick,’ she said. ‘I get what you’re driving at. Write it all down and we can go through it tomorrow. I’ll see you at the briefing.’ She finished the call, put the phone in her bag and fished around for her keys.

‘Have Rick and Jim finished in Wales?’ asked Gary.

‘Yes,’ said, Angela turning the key in the lock and pushing open the front door. ‘They’ve just crossed the Severn Bridge, so they’ve still got a few hours’ driving to do.’

‘Did they find out anything useful?’

‘On the face of it, no, well not according to Jim, but I think Rick has one or two thoughts.’

‘Which he’ll share with you privately?’ surmised Gary.

Angela smiled sardonically as she stood back to let him into the house. ‘You know Jim,’ was all she said. Patrick appeared in the hallway and bent down to kiss his wife. ‘Evening, darling,’ she said, raising her face to his.

Patrick turned to Gary. ‘Her ladyship’s upstairs getting ready. What are you doing this evening?’

‘A DVD and a takeaway; just a quiet night in.’

‘No more gigs at the moment?’

‘No but there’s a couple coming up that I fancy — what?’ he asked as he saw Angela staring at him.

She frowned. ‘I don’t know really. Something about you and Maddie going to a gig recently keeps making me think of the poet, Stevie Smith. Oh yes I know! I ended up spending that evening helping Patrick to clear out a load of books which included some poetry that he used to read to me when we were first courting.’

Gary raised his eyebrows at Patrick. ‘You’ve got more imagination than I have when it comes to wooing, Patrick. If I was into reading poetry to a lady, I’d play it safe with something romantic. Didn’t she write the “not waving but drowning one”? I admit it’s very poignant but… Angie?’

In the ensuing silence both Patrick and Gary gazed bemusedly at Angela who had given out a silent gasp and was now staring thoughtfully into the middle distance. ‘I wonder,’ she murmured.

‘What do you wonder, darling?’ asked Patrick.

‘Hm?’ She blinked, looked at them and seemed to come back to earth. ‘It’s just that this poetry has come back to me once or twice during the interviews on this case and I couldn’t figure out why. But I’ve just had an inkling. And it’s not the event itself but that particular poem which is making me think.’

‘Why?’ asked Patrick.

‘I don’t know yet; I’ve still got to figure that out.’

‘A process that can’t be hurried,’ said Patrick. ‘Are you going to have a drink before you go, Gary?’

Just at that moment, footsteps could be heard overhead and Madeleine appeared at the top of the stairs. As the two young people smiled in greeting at each other, Patrick nodded to Angela and they moved into the kitchen.

‘They still seem to be love’s young dream,’ remarked Angela, closing the door behind her.

‘I like him,’ said Patrick. ‘He seems to be a solid, decent type.’

‘He is,’ agreed Angela, ‘and he’s shaping up well as a policeman. He’s only on the bottom rung, but already I trust his judgement more than one of my sergeants.’

‘Ah! I presume you’re referring to whatsisname, Jim?’

‘Yes, Rick called me just as I got home. I think he had a frustrating time with him today.’

‘Oh really?’

‘Yes — they went out to South Wales very early this morning to talk to Griff’s parents, and Jim insisted on doing the talking.’

‘They’re equal in rank, aren’t they?’

‘Equal in rank doesn’t mean equal in capability. I’ve noticed it before; Jim doesn’t pick up on the nuances of a person’s conversation.’

‘Yes, but Rick could have chipped in, couldn’t he, if he felt the need?’

‘That’s just it. I think Jim’s got an inkling about his own shortcomings and instead of trying to improve, he’s just developed a chip on his shoulder. So, with him, “I’m-running-this-interview” means, “butt out, Rick”.’

‘Yes, I see, and Rick’s got to work with him so doesn’t want bad feeling; tricky.’ Patrick nodded in sympathy.

‘Anyway,’ continued Angela with a smile. ‘If Jim missed any opportunity to dig a bit deeper today I’m sure it’s nothing Rick won’t be able to put right with a phone call or two.’ She sniffed the air appreciatively. ‘I must say, something smells good.’

‘I’m doing gnocchi and that’s the sauce for it,’ replied Patrick, pouring each of them a glass of wine and handing Angela’s to her. ‘It’s nearly ready.’ They chinked glasses. Patrick lifted the lid of the saucepan and closed it again, satisfied with what he saw. ‘You know, all murder is horrible, it goes without saying, but I find something particularly nasty about a poisoning.’

‘Oh really, why is that?’

‘Well,’ he continued, perching himself on a tall kitchen stool and pulling her into his embrace. ‘The thing is, the only purpose of a gun is to shoot someone or something. Knives can be for benign purpose, like cutting up vegetables even though they’re still intrinsically dangerous. It’s not the same with a cord for strangling, I know but, when you touch on food… I know the poison was in the drink but food, drink, the same difference in a way. I remember being very struck by a homily I heard about a year after Louise died.’ Angela nodded understandingly. Patrick’s first wife, Madeleine’s mother, had died when Madeleine was a child. ‘It was Madeleine’s First Holy Communion and I remember being really churned up because, well…’

‘Because Louise wasn’t there?’

He nodded. ‘I was also aware that I needed to start getting on with my life and didn’t know how. Anyway the priest, it was the last-but-one before Martin, had decided to work his way to the significance of the Eucharist by talking about what it means to have a meal with friends, to invite someone into your home, and he said that whenever you give someone a meal, you’re really saying you want them to have life.’

‘That’s interesting. He’s right. When you think about it, I don’t suppose there’s a single culture in the world that doesn’t have some sort of significant meal in its rituals. It makes sense, food being such a fundamental need.’

‘Yes, a meal is so often a bonding or celebratory thing.’

‘You’re right.’ Angela thought for a moment. ‘I like that, about wanting to give life.’

‘Yes, anyway, that’s what got me started in thinking about food, and then I got into cooking and that helped me out of that dark period.’

Angela leaned forward and hugged him. ‘Actually,’ she said, after a moment. ‘It’s no great leap from a farm in North Wales to being a TV chef either, is it?’

‘What, going from growing the food in the first place to becoming someone who prepares it?’

‘Yes, except that I’ve missed out a step there. Griff was too little when he left to have any experience of farming and his father set up in business as an engineer.’

Patrick grinned. ‘Does he make cookers, by any chance?’

Angela laughed. ‘Farm machinery, I think.’

‘So — how’s the case coming along?’

Angela took another mouthful of wine and thought for a moment. ‘Hmm, that’s difficult to say. Now the preliminary interviews are in the system and we’ve got a bit of an angle on the personalities involved and possible motives, a few other considerations are floating into my head.’

‘Such as?’

‘The murder weapon.’

‘The poison, you mean.’

‘Exactly.’ She looked at him. ‘Your considerations about food aside, I’ve been so caught up in everything else it’s only just struck me how odd it is.’

‘What?’

‘Apart from the stuff in the actual glass, we haven’t found a single trace of cyanide.’

Patrick looked at her as he thought aloud. ‘You searched everybody as soon as you could.’

‘Yes — and the room where the launch was.’

‘And the surrounding areas?’

‘Yes, loos and corridor in this case.’

‘So somebody came to that launch and went away again with the empty container, probably still containing traces of the cyanide.’

‘Yes, but we did all we could, and at the time we didn’t know what we were looking for.’

‘I’m not criticising, darling. I’m just setting out the facts in my head. Cyanide is volatile stuff. If somebody found it, not knowing what it was, you could have been looking at another dead body.’

‘Yes; ghastly thought. We could search the home of everybody who was present, but I think any trace would have been well and truly disposed of by now. Whoever did this is very calculating. They’ve just slipped up the once; I’m sure of it.’

‘In Neville Ingram getting the glass?’

‘Yes.’ Angela fixed Patrick with a thoughtful look. ‘Of course, you know what this means, don’t you?’

He grimaced. ‘Yes, whoever it is might try again.’

In a quiet, cosy corner of a Chelsea pub, for the second evening in succession, Griff Madoc and Alwyn Maddox sat facing each other across two pints of bitter. Griff had asked for a recent picture of his uncle and, Alwyn having obliged, he’d just put it into his wallet.

‘He’s a brute and a bully and I have to admit I’ve been scared of him all my life,’ said Alwyn, watching the wallet disappear into Griff’s inside pocket. ‘I couldn’t wait to grow up and leave home. My mother’s completely cowed. None of us knew where you’d all gone, all these years. But then he saw your programme on the telly. He’s not a big telly watcher and certainly not cookery programmes, but he must have been surfing the channels and caught your show.’

‘But he hadn’t seen me since I was a toddler,’ replied Griff.

‘That’s just it, see,’ explained Alwyn. ‘We’ve still got some pictures of your parents and you in our family album. To be honest, if I just saw you passing in the street I’d stop and look at you twice and wonder if you’re related; then, when he heard your name he started to wonder. He doesn’t do the internet; he’s too proud to admit he’s a bit baffled by it, so if he wants anything done online he phones and gets me to do it.’ Alwyn smiled at the memory. ‘After he’d seen that programme he called and told me he’d “goggled” you.’

Griff laughed. ‘Yes, my dad didn’t make much of a change to the family name, did he? I asked him about it once, and he said we’d already been driven from our home and he’d be blowed if we’d have our name taken from us as well.’

Alwyn reddened. ‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered.

‘What for?’

‘For what my dad did; for the injustice of it all.’

Griff shrugged. ‘Not your fault.’

Both men fell silent until Griff spoke again. ‘It’s a shame, though, neither of us have siblings and it would have been nice to grow up together.’

‘Yes, we could have been, like, brothers.’ Griff nodded and another silence followed, this time broken by Alwyn, who took a deep breath before speaking. ‘All the same, I think your dad did a wise thing in getting you all away.’

‘Were we seriously in danger? I often thought my dad was being melodramatic.’

‘He acted wisely, believe me. To be honest, my dad isn’t thinking things through properly at all. If he was, he’d have told me to get your father’s address out of you before I try anything. But that’s my dad all over, acting without thinking.’

‘Yes, because getting rid of me doesn’t really solve his problem, does it?’ Griff paused, taking in the implications. After a moment he grinned. ‘It worked out very well for us. My dad’s heart wasn’t really in farming anyway and he built up a successful business.’

‘That’s a concept my dad couldn’t get his head round, someone’s heart not being in farming, not when they’ve been born to it. He’s totally fixated on the fact that he only owns half of it.’

‘Yes, granddad didn’t do us any favours with that will, but I suppose he meant it for the best.’

‘My dad’s convinced that you and your dad will come back one day and claim it.’

Griff shook his head. ‘There might have been a time when that was true, but not anymore, not for a long while, in fact.’

‘My dad won’t believe that. He thinks his brother will want what’s his and he’ll thwart that in any way he can.’

Griff frowned. ‘Does that mean my family is still in danger from him?’

Alwyn looked at his cousin for a long moment. ‘Not immediately.’

Griff returned his gaze. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Well I’m here, aren’t I? His man in London, as he sees it; he’s brought me up to this. He expects me to do the dirty deed.’

Chapter 19

‘Have there been any developments on the uncle?’ asked Stanway the following morning.

‘No. His son says he wasn’t there.’

‘If they’re in on a plot together he’s bound to say that, isn’t he?’

‘Yes, Sir, I’ve got — ’ Angela stopped abruptly. She been about to say that Rick and Jim would be following that lead, but she suddenly remembered Rick’s dissatisfaction over Jim’s handling of the interview with Griff’s parents. Even allowing for a swapping of roles she suddenly wondered if sending the two sergeants had been such a good idea. Huw Maddox had, so far, only hovered in the background, but he loomed large, nonetheless, and could even turn out to be a main player. Jim demonstrably lacked a delicate touch, and Rick didn’t have the authority to counteract him. ‘I think Gary and I ought to take a trip up to Prestatyn and talk to him.’

Stanway nodded. ‘Good idea; will you make it an overnighter?’

‘If that’s all right with you, Sir; it’s quite a drive.’ Angela reviewed the options and made the decision. ‘How about if Gary and I leave this afternoon? We can see Huw Maddox first thing in the morning and be back by tomorrow evening without too much strain.’

‘Sounds good to me, Angie. Keep me informed.’

‘Will do, Sir.’

‘Right-oh; and what about the agent angle?’

‘The possibility that Griff was thinking of taking his business away from Neville Ingram? That’s an interesting line. The agency was Melanie Ingram’s in the first place, and she wasn’t at all happy with the way her husband was running it into the ground.’

‘That gives her a motive for killing her husband, surely?’

‘Oh, Sir, don’t.’

Stanway sighed. ‘That’s the trouble with this case. Even though we’ve decided Griff Madoc was the intended target, we keep coming against this small seed of doubt.’

‘I’ll make sure we look into it properly, Sir, but I’m going with the decision we’ve already made. Melanie Ingram’s an intelligent woman. To be honest, she was planning a divorce and I’ve no doubt she had retained a controlling interest in the business even though she’d stepped back from the day-to-day running of it. I’m sure she could have got what she wanted without resorting to murder; mind you…’ Angela fell silent.

‘What?’ prompted Stanway, after a few moments.

‘We’ve only spoken to her once, immediately after the killing, and the interview only covered the basics. But she was right there in the thick of things.’

‘Ah.’

‘Yes, we need to see her again.’

‘Yes, you must. Get Rick and Jim to deal with that.’

Angela nodded enthusiastically. She suspected Jim, for all his obstreperousness, would be intimidated when faced with the confident, assertive Melanie Ingram. He would be unlikely to quibble about Rick doing all the talking.

‘But is there any angle we’ve neglected, Angie?’

‘I don’t think so, Sir.’

‘What about Griff; his private life? He’s got a girlfriend, hasn’t he?’

‘I’m not sure that “girlfriend” is the right word, Sir. After being lapsed for many years, apparently Griff had a spiritual experience several months ago and he’s come back, full on, to the Catholic Faith. I believe she’s involved in that process somehow but I’m not sure how.’

‘So he’s a devout Catholic and a married man.’ Stanway leaned his head to one side and looked enquiringly at her.

Angela smiled. ‘Yes, so this Tricia is a no-no as a girlfriend but she’s obviously a support to him.’

Stanway raised his eyebrows.

‘Don’t worry Sir, I’ll check out all the facts.’ Angela left Stanway’s office, closing the door behind her, leaning back against it with a deep sigh. Just at that moment Leanne came past her on the way to the incident room.

‘Oh, you’re not in trouble are you, guv?’ she asked.

‘What?’

Leanne jerked her head in the direction of the DCI’s office. ‘You look like you’re coming out of a difficult meeting.’

‘Oh no, I’ve brought Stanway up to speed. But that’s only made me aware of how very little we have to go on. I feel as though I’m wading through treacle on this one.’ Angela stood away from the door and she and Leanne made their way along the corridor. ‘Gary and I are going to check out the wicked uncle.’

Leanne grinned. ‘That sounds like something from a fairy tale, guv.’

Angela smiled. ‘I wish it was. I think we’ll be gone until tomorrow evening. Can you and Derek look into Griff’s relationship with this woman from the TV show?’

‘Tricia Prentice?’

‘Yes, try and get an angle on that. She’s something to do with him coming back to the Church and they’re friends, obviously, but I’d like to know what kind of friends.’

‘Just-good-friends only, if he’s serious about the Faith,’ said Leanne.

‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But we need to be sure. It’s more than that, though. There’s this business of the possibility that, if Griff left Neville, he might have gone with Luke Prentice’s agency.’

‘Oh yes, of course, he’s her uncle, isn’t he?’

‘Yes, so it’s worth looking at, even if only to eliminate it.’

‘OK, will do, guv,’ replied Leanne with a grin. ‘I hope no more uncles turn up in this case, unless it’s Bob of course.’

‘Bob?’

Leanne grinned. ‘Yes, guv, you know, when things get sorted out — Bob’s your uncle.’

Angela laughed. They’d now reached the incident room and she pushed the door open. ‘If only,’ she commented wryly.

Angela drove the first part of the way. She avoided the Severn Estuary route which Rick and Jim had taken. She took the motorway and kept to the English side of the border until they reached the Potteries, where she cut across country, heading to the north-west. A hospitable cup of tea with the local constabulary revived them after the long drive and, to their surprise, gave them a foretaste of what they could expect when they arrived at their destination.

‘You won’t get much out of him,’ said Sergeant Hopkins, round of girth and round of face, as he put a plate of Rich Tea biscuits down on the desk between them.

‘He’s a man of few words,’ added Constable Johns. In contrast to his colleague, Johns was a small-featured, slight man. ‘And most of them rude. We don’t see him much. He sticks to the farm.’

‘We see his wife all the time, though,’ added Sergeant Hopkins. ‘Church choir, flower arranging, meals on wheels, amateur dramatics… very active she is, always in town, well, not surprising, is it?’

‘Isn’t it?’ asked Gary. He found it difficult to follow the accent.

Constable Johns took over from his colleague. ‘When you meet Huw Maddox you’ll soon see why his wife spends as much time as she can away from the farm.’ Angela and Gary looked at each other and grimaced. ‘Welcome to Wales,’ beamed the constable.

‘Difficult man, is he?’ asked Angela.

‘Pugnacious,’ said Sergeant Hopkins.

‘Anti-social,’ added Johns.

‘But you must see him around the place, surely?’ asked Angela.

‘Oh yes, he comes in when he has to.’

‘Did you see him on Tuesday, by any chance?’

The two policemen immediately realised the point of Angela’s question and exchanged glances as if each was trying to help the other to remember. ‘Did we now?’ mused Sergeant Hopkins narrowing his eyes at his junior officer.

‘No, we wouldn’t have done,’ asserted Johns. ‘He was away at the beginning of the week.’ The eyes of all three of his listeners rose simultaneously.

‘Do you know where he went?’ asked Angela.

Johns nodded. ‘Yes, see, Mrs Maddox ran out of bread and she popped into the bakery — ’

‘Ah!’ said Hopkins, as if that explained everything. He saw that Angela had turned towards him, studying him intently. ‘Hopkins’ Auntie Bronwyn works in the bakery, mornings only,’ he explained. ‘Mrs Maddox would have had a bit of a chat, see.’

‘Birmingham,’ said, Johns.

‘Are you sure?’ asked Angela.

Johns nodded. ‘That’s what Mrs Maddox told Auntie Bronwyn. He said he had some business to do in Birmingham and he would be away for a couple of days. She was glad of the opportunity to air the mattress so she was going to sleep in the spare room for a couple of nights.’

What a bummer, thought Angela, even as she hid a smile at the domestic insight. From Birmingham it’s so easy to hop on a train to London. We’re just going to have to beard this lion in his den.

The following morning, having followed detailed instructions from the sergeant, Gary turned the car from a narrow road into a pleasant, gravelled area in front of a cheerful-looking farmhouse. The paintwork gleamed in the morning sun and clean white net curtains hung at the windows and behind the glass of the front door. A line of healthy-looking plants ran along the whole length of the building, broken only by a small porch surrounding the front door. ‘Everything looks very well-kept, doesn’t it?’ remarked Angela.

Gary nodded his agreement. ‘I expect this is Mrs Maddox’s domain.’

‘So, she must keep herself as busy in the house as she does in the town.’

‘Looks like it,’ agreed Angela, getting out of the car. ‘OK, let’s get this started.’

Just as she raised her hand to ring the bell, the door opened and she found herself gazing into a pair of worried-looking dark eyes. ‘Mrs Maddox?’ she asked.

‘Yes?’ She looked from one to the other as Angela and Gary held out their ID cards.

‘We’re from the Metropolitan Police. We’d like to speak to your husband, please.’

The worry lines in Mrs Maddox’s face deepened, but she nodded and stood back to let them into the house. She led them to seats in a spotlessly clean and tidy living room, sat them down and offered them a cup of coffee, which they politely refused. ‘I suppose it’s about this business of what happened in London at the Chelsea Flower Show, isn’t it?’ she asked, rubbing her hands together. ‘Alwyn phoned me the night it happened. I’ve not seen Griff since he was a babe-in-arms. You could have knocked me down with a feather when I learned he was on the television; amazed, I was. Turned into a nice young man, from what I can see.’

‘Yes, we understand there’s been no contact for many years,’ said Angela.

‘No, well, it’s not for me to tell my husband how to get along with his side of the family, is it? But that’s right; there’s been no contact, so I’m not quite sure why…’

‘We need to follow up every little thread,’ replied Angela. ‘We think your husband might be able to clear up one or two puzzling details for us.’

A brief smile lit up Mrs Maddox’s face before it settled back into a worried expression. ‘Right then, I’ll just call him. He’s in the barn.’ She left the room.

‘Is she distancing herself from it all, do you think?’ ventured Gary. ‘Washing her hands of what goes on in “his side of the family”?’

‘Possibly,’ replied Angela. ‘We mustn’t jump to conclusions. It’s too early to even know if there’s anything to distance herself from.’

They heard a door opening and banging shut at the back of the house and both looked in the direction of the noise. Footsteps charged along the corridor and a moment later Huw Maddox was standing in the doorway. Angela and Gary saw a stockily-built, dark-haired man. He thrust his upper body forward and gave them no smile of greeting. Instead, with a look that couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than aggression, he barked out one word at them.

‘Yes?’

Chapter 20

Angela saw a flash of delight spring into his eyes and recognised his pleasure at facing a woman police officer, someone he thought could be cowed into submission. She’d come across that attitude before, both from fellow officers and suspects. It didn’t work. Something about her didn’t intimidate easily and the intelligent ones recognised the futility of trying. Even the playground bullies at school had learned to give her a wide berth. Huw Maddox hadn’t had a chance to discover this yet, however, and he continued to stand in an aggressive posture, glaring at her, a small smile playing around his mouth as if in anticipation of a bit of fun.

‘Mr Huw Maddox?’ she began in a polite tone.

‘There’s nobody else here by that name. Who wants to know?’ he barked. His wife slipped into the room, sat down in one of the armchairs and gazed down at her hands, folded neatly in her lap.

‘I’m Detective Inspector Angela Costello and this is Detective Constable Gary Houseman,’ said Angela in a level voice. ‘We’re from the Metropolitan Police and we’re following up leads following the death of a Mr Neville Ingram at the Chelsea Flower Show on Tuesday.’

‘And this has something to do with me, has it?’ He thrust out his chin just in case she hadn’t quite picked up on the aggression in his manner.

‘We believe the intended target to have been your nephew, Mr Griff Madoc.’

‘Do you indeed, shame they got the wrong person, then.’

Angela stood up. Although he only stood at about five feet seven inches Huw Maddox managed to pack all his pugnaciousness into a stocky, muscular frame. She wanted to make it more difficult for him to tower over her. Gary followed her example.

‘Are you saying you bear your nephew ill-will?’

‘I ran the whole lot of them off the place once, and I’ll do it again if they come round here trying to take what’s mine.’

Angela decided to cut to the chase. ‘Where were you last Tuesday afternoon, Mr Maddox?’

‘Birmingham.’

‘Can anybody verify that?’

‘Yes.’

‘We’ll require their names.’

‘Why, am I a suspect?’

Mrs Maddox broke in. ‘I can give you the names of the people he was meeting, Inspector.’ Maddox ignored her.

‘Thank you, Mrs Maddox,’ said Angela.

‘Is that it, then? Have you finished?’ growled Maddox.

Angela turned back to him. ‘Have you been in contact with your son recently?’

‘I phoned him last week, is there a law against that now?’

All bullies require a reaction to their aggression. Angela didn’t give him one. Let’s see if I can rattle your cage a bit, she thought. ‘You talked about “seeing the lot of them off”; do you mean Griff and his parents?’

‘Who else?’

‘But, as I understand it, your father’s will leaves the farm to both you and your brother in equal shares.’

An angry red glow crept over the man’s face. ‘It’s mine!’ he almost screamed. ‘He told me. It was always going to be mine. Long before Rhys was even born my dad — my father, he told me it would all be mine. He’s becoming demented now and I’m only protecting what’s mine. In any case, he should have cut Rhys out once he came home with a black woman for a wife.’ Angela stared at the man, rendered speechless by this blatant display of racial prejudice – though perhaps she shouldn’t have been surprised, given his other unpleasant character traits. A picture of Griff rose in her mind’s eye. He had curly black hair and dark eyes but, she would have said, pale skin, pretty typical of many Welshmen, she thought. She turned to Gary. With a puzzled expression on his face he raised his shoulders and let them drop again.

‘Black?’ she asked.

Huw nodded and smiled as if he’d scored a point. ‘That’s made a difference hasn’t it? Yes, my brother Rhys couldn’t settle for any nice girl from round here; had to go away and get entangled with some Jamaican’s daughter.’

‘Dominican,’ said Mrs Maddox, quietly. Her father is a sailor from Dominica. Her mother comes from Liverpool Irish stock.’

‘What’s the difference, she’s black whatever you call it,’ asserted Maddox, barely acknowledging his wife’s presence. ‘I didn’t want her sort on my land and I didn’t want her brat associating with my son. Who knows what sort of ideas he might have got?’

God forbid! Thought Angela. He might have learned a bit of tolerance and picked up one or two decent manners. She had a sudden sense of what it must have been like growing up as the child of this man. She shivered.

‘Mr Maddox, have you been colluding with your son to bring about the death of Griff Madoc?’

It finally seemed to dawn on Maddox that Angela wasn’t intimidated by him. He drew his chin back a little but held her gaze. ‘No. Now I’d like you to leave.’

It will be a pleasure, she thought. She turned to Mrs Maddox. ‘If you’d just give us the names of the people in Birmingham…’

Mrs Maddox sprang out of the chair and left the room.

‘You can wait in the car,’ said Maddox. ‘She’ll bring it out to you.’

‘No wonder his wife does a lot of stuff in town,’ said Gary, five minutes later. They were both sitting in the car waiting for Mrs Maddox to emerge with the details of the people her husband had been seeing in Birmingham earlier in the week.

‘He’s certainly got being thoroughly unpleasant down to a fine art,’ agreed Angela.

‘Last week it looked to me like Alwyn and Griff were getting to know each other, and if that’s the case, uncle Huw is not going to be a happy bunny.’

‘I expect, if they form a friendship, they’ll keep him ignorant of that fact. I’m sure Alwyn’s learned, over the years, not to disturb that ivory tower his dad lives in.’

‘Ivory being the salient point; his wife does the same I should think,’ replied Gary as the sound of the front door opening caught the attention of both of them and they turned towards it.

Mrs Maddox had an A4 manila envelope in her hand and held it out to them as she reached the car. Gary lowered the window and took it. ‘Thank you very much, Mrs Maddox,’ he said.

She hovered, looking at them both. ‘It’s a group of farmers, they’ve got to know each other over the years and formed a kind of, well, men’s club, I suppose you’d call it. They share farming news, that sort of thing. They like to meet up now and again, somewhere different each time. They send out a newsletter,’ she added, nodding towards the envelope in Gary’s hand. ‘Nothing very sophisticated, it’s his only… he doesn’t have any hobbies or other interests. I’ve printed out the contact list as well for you.’ She hovered, clearly not finished. Angela and Gary waited. ‘I’m sorry…’ She said at length, ‘the way he is.’

‘Don’t worry, Mrs Maddox,’ answered Angela. ‘We meet all sorts in this job.’

‘It’s just that he grew up as an only one until he was fourteen and his dad always said this would all be his one day.’ She shrugged, raised her hands and dropped them again in a hopeless gesture. ‘Then along comes a little brother and he never got over the shock.’ Angela and Gary nodded in sympathy. ‘He loves this place, see, it’s his life.’

Angela leaned across Gary. ‘I believe your brother-in-law runs a very successful engineering company and has no taste for farming,’ she said.

Mrs Maddox shrugged. ‘Huw wouldn’t believe that, he couldn’t see how anybody born on a farm would want to do anything else. He thinks Rhys is just biding this time and he’ll come back and claim half.’ She gave an apologetic smile. ‘And then, of course, there’s the “black” thing. I know it doesn’t seem important these days but Huw’s very blinkered.’

What a masterpiece of understatement, thought Angela, smiling at Mrs Maddox to reassure her.

She and Gary thanked Mrs Maddox and set off back towards the border.

Silence reigned in the car as Gary concentrated on the driving and Angela looked through the information Mrs Maddox had given them. ‘That woman must be a saint,’ said Gary, after a while.

‘Hmm, he didn’t strike me as being an easy man to live with, but you never know what it’s really like for other people,’ replied Angela. ‘If she’s in town a lot, as the two officers were telling us, she’s obviously developed her own way of coping.’

‘Why she stays with him is a wonder to me.’

Angela looked up from the papers on her lap and smiled briefly across at Gary. ‘Love is about putting the other person’s needs before your own, and I expect she takes her marriage vows seriously.’

‘So does her nephew, by all accounts, he sticks with his wife even though he knows she’s a serial adulteress.’

‘From what we’ve been told, Griff seems to have strong religious reasons for putting up with Pauline’s behaviour, and that must help him. But in both cases, I suppose they’d say they married for better or for worse and the fact that it’s worse than they’d hoped is no reason to jump ship.’

‘It’s a tough call, all the same.’

‘Oh yes, no doubt about that. OK, now, I’d better get started on some research. I’m presuming the name of the hotel in Birmingham is somewhere in these papers — oh, yes, here it is.’ She took out her mobile and began dialling. After a moment the call was answered and a conversation ensued. Three minutes later Angela thanked the person she had been speaking to and finished the call.

Gary glanced across at her. ‘The woman on the front desk?’

‘Yes, you could tell I was talking to a hotel receptionist, couldn’t you? She’s the woman who was on day-duty at the reception all last week. She looked up the records and told me Huw Maddox booked in on Monday afternoon and she remembers him leaving his key at the desk before going out after breakfast the following morning.’

‘Leaving his key at reception? Who does that these days? Or is it a retro hotel?’

Angela laughed. ‘Is there such a thing? Anyway, key-card is what I meant. It seems he had difficulty getting back into his room when he went up after breakfast, so he left it with her when he went out, which was about ten. He asked her to re-programme it.’

‘When did he come back?’

‘Not until after six o’clock that evening.’

‘Aha!’

‘What’s more, the receptionist remembers a call coming through from another hotel in the city. A gentleman called asking her to check if Huw Maddox was in his room and if not, wanting him paged, because he hadn’t turned up for a meeting.’

‘Double aha!’

Angela laughed. ‘Indeed, is this alibi falling apart? Let me just check on the train journey time between London and Birmingham.’

‘It’s a cinch, Angie. You can easily be at a book-launch in the afternoon in London and be back in Birmingham in time for dinner. I had a girlfriend once who — ’ He stopped, a blush appearing on his face and neck.

Angela smiled. ‘There’s no need to be coy just because you’re dating my step-daughter, Gary. I didn’t ever suppose she was your first girlfriend. So, come on; how long does it take to get from London to Birmingham by train?’

‘A high-speed train will do it easily in an hour and a half.’

‘So, if he did the deed and legged it while everybody was running around like headless chickens, he wouldn’t have had a problem getting back up-country by early evening.’

‘I wouldn’t have thought so.’

‘Good-oh, now let me just check out the people he was supposed to be meeting. One of these names,’ she tapped the page, ‘is probably the same person who called the hotel looking for him.’

‘What kind of meeting was this anyway?’

Angela studied the page for a moment. ‘As Mrs Maddox said, it looks like some sort of farmers’ association. The heading is The Spring Gathering. This is their newsletter and it reads quite informally and in a friendly sort of way, so they must know each other quite well. In “members’ news” people are referred to by their first names and there’s a bit of banter.’ Angela made another call, and then another to confirm, at the end of which she put the phone back in her pocket and leaned back in the seat. ‘He didn’t turn up to the meeting, which, so far as I can gather, involved pre-lunch drinks and a very drawn-out meal followed by a walk.’

‘They probably would need a walk after a long meal.’

‘Quite.’

‘So he doesn’t have an alibi.’

‘Well…’

Gary shot Angela a brief glance. ‘Well, what?’ he asked turning his eyes to the road again.

‘This newsletter,’ she said, tapping it again. ‘Wives are mentioned. And in several cases it’s clear that they’re present at this gathering. Yet from Mrs Maddox you’d get the impression that it’s a men only thing and more of a business meeting, at that.’

‘Triple aha!’

‘Are we on the same page here, Gary?’

‘I think so. Maddox told the other farmers he would be there. He told his wife he was going but, in fact, he had another agenda, like popping down to London to murder his nephew?’

‘There is another option. He could have gone to Birmingham on the pretext of this farmers’ get-together in order to meet someone completely different.’

‘Like a mistress, you mean?’

‘Yes.’

‘I get you.’

‘Hmm.’ Angela gazed thoughtfully ahead as they turned towards the south and began to skirt the Midlands. ‘The only problem with this is that he might still have an alibi, but it could be one that he’s very reluctant to own up to.’

‘He obviously didn’t tell his farmer pals.’

‘Not if one of them phoned the hotel and asked where he was, that’s true.’

‘Do you want me to turn the car round and go back?’

Angela smiled to hear the reluctance in Gary’s voice. ‘No, don’t worry, Gary. I’ll give him a call. And if another visit seems indicated I might send Rick and Jim. Given Jim’s stroppy tendency, he might be just the person to deal with Huw Maddox, she thought. She glanced quickly across to see if Gary’s expression showed any indication that he understood her motive, but his eyes were fixed firmly ahead as he negotiated a roundabout. Moving on, she said to herself. ‘Let me see if I can contact any more of these farmers. You never know, he might have been closer to one of them and confided in him.’

‘He didn’t strike me as being a very confiding type, but you’ve got to give it a go,’ agreed Gary.

Silence reigned in the car as Angela dialled a couple of numbers. But nobody answered her calls and, after leaving a couple of messages, she gave up and settled back to enjoy the ride.

Chapter 21

‘I didn’t think Griff’s mum looked particularly black,’ said Rick at the debriefing the following morning. Angela had just finished updating the team about the visit to North Wales. ‘In any case, what’s his problem?’

‘I don’t think she’d have to,’ replied Angela. Having a West Indian father would be enough of a hook for him to hang his prejudice on. ‘It’s his problem. Still, it’s useful to know these details.’

‘You didn’t get much out of him,’ said Stanway, from his chair at the side of the room.

‘You’re right Sir. He’s a very tight-lipped, hostile man. I believe he thinks he’s managed to see us off — and maybe he has — but if he imagines we’re going to forget all about him, he’s very much mistaken.’ She turned to Rick and Jim. ‘I want a thorough check on all those people in this farmers’ group. One of them might have an idea where he was on Tuesday.’

‘Right, Angie,’ said Rick.

‘Tell you what, Rick,’ said Angela, suddenly remembering Rick’s comments after he and Jim had been to South Wales and realising she had the perfect excuse for a division of labour. ‘You chase up Griff’s parents again; see if you can get any more out of them. Jim, concentrate on trying to find out where Huw got to on Tuesday.’ She paused for a moment, suddenly distracted. I’d love to be present at a meeting between Huw Maddox and our stroppy Jim, she thought, and had trouble hiding a smile. To deflect her wayward thoughts she glanced at her team in time to catch a satisfied look on Rick’s face, and recognised his pleasure at being given permission to fill in what he undoubtedly thought of as the holes in Jim’s interviewing technique.

‘Is he a serious contender, do you think?’ asked Stanway.

‘To be honest, I don’t. The two previous attempts on Rhys Madoc, were mechanical, tampering with a car brake and a ladder rung. And Rhys was only ever suspicious about interrupting an attempt on Griff when he was a toddler. And while I can believe he has murderous intent he’s quite crude in his approach. We’ll check his alibi thoroughly, of course but I’m pretty certain he didn’t come secretly to the book launch. Even if he did try to kill Griff, it wouldn’t solve his particular problem. His brother Rhys still has a right to claim half the farm.’

‘But he has an agent in situ so to speak.’

‘Same objection, Sir, plus, a more half-hearted hit-man, you’d have trouble finding. But, you’re right. We’ll cover all options because one thing is very clear, Huw Maddox isn’t really thinking logically. He’s a man obsessed and wants the whole lot of them dead.’

‘But you don’t think he brought about this particular death?’

‘No, Sir, I don’t.’

‘What about the wife of the man who died?’ asked Stanway.

‘Melanie Ingram. Of course, she’s a possible. Griff is her husband’s most lucrative client and the word is that he, Griff, that is, was looking for alternative management. In which case, persuading him to retain their services would have been the way forward, not killing him. I mean, why would she?’

‘What about her killing her husband, though?’

Angela thought for a moment. ‘She said, right at the beginning, that she had plans to divorce him.’

‘Divorcing him, and getting completely rid of him, might have meant having to buy his share of the business.’

‘Of course, Sir, and she might not have been able to afford that.’

‘Much more convenient to drop something nasty into his drink.’

‘We’ll dig a bit further into her background, Sir, and see what we come up with.’ She glanced pointedly across at Derek and Leanne sitting near each other at the side of the group. They understood her unspoken message and nodded.

‘And the business partner?’

‘We’re not sure how the business stands in the event of either of their deaths but we’ll be looking into that later as well.’

Another pointed look towards Leanne and Derek; more nods.

‘What about the woman who handed the glass over?’

‘Della Burnett? Unlikely, I would have thought. I can’t imagine what motive she’d have for killing Neville Ingram and I’m certain she wouldn’t want to harm Griff Madoc.’

‘What’s her background?’

‘In her original interview she said she’s the sole carer for her elderly mother. I would imagine she leads a lonely existence relieved only by her fixation on Griff.’

‘Nonetheless, we have to presume she wasn’t always her mother’s carer. She might have had a job at one time.’

Angela nodded, seeing where Stanway’s thoughts were leading him. ‘Or even a flourishing career, and a thriving social life, Sir.’

‘Yes, we mustn’t fall into the trap of dismissing her obsession with Griff as mere fan activity. Fans can be dangerous.’

Angela nodded. ‘Especially if they come on more like stalkers. You’re right; she warrants a closer scrutiny.’ On the other hand, thought Angela if Della was involved in a plot to kill Neville Ingram, her co-conspirator could only be Griff. She felt as though a shadow had fallen across her. She blinked and gave her head a small shake to get rid of the unwelcome thoughts provoked by Stanway’s words. ‘We’ll get on to it, Sir.’

The DCI didn’t seem to notice Angela’s sudden bleakness. He continued, intent on the job in hand. ‘I see you’ve got the usual bookies’ favourite way down the field.’

‘The bookies’ favourite? Oh, you mean the wife.’

‘Exactly.’

‘No motive, from what I can see.’

‘She sits lightly in front of her conjugal obligations, from what I can gather.’

‘That’s been the case, apparently, but she’s trying to mend her fences now, by all accounts.’

‘Hmm… she might be at the bottom of the list but keep her on it, nonetheless, Angie.’

‘I will, Sir.’

‘The thing that worries me,’ said Stanway, ‘is; assuming Griff to be the target, how much access the murderer has to him now.’

Angela’s heart sank. She knew where the DCI was heading and, faced with the impossibility of putting a twenty-four hour watch on Griff, had been trying not to think too much about it. ‘The person with the best access is his wife, Sir, and we can hardly — ’

‘ — Stake out his bedroom, yes, I see the problem, Angie. Motive aside, how likely a suspect is she?’

‘As far as opportunity goes, she can be considered one of the front-runners because she was among all those near the buffet table at the launch. I don’t know about means, though. How would she get hold of the poison? She’s an ex-beauty queen who worked in a local shop when they met and — though I hate to stereotype people — I didn’t get the impression she’s all that resourceful. In fact, in spite of her philandering ways, she’s pretty much dependent on Griff staying alive in order to carry on enjoying living her life the way she seems to want to.’

‘Hmm, contrary to the traditional picture, it’s the husband here, who’s the long-suffering spouse.’

‘It would seem so, yes, Sir.’

‘Hm; moving on. What about Tricia Prentice?’

‘She’s an outsider. I’m not very enthusiastic about the strength of her motive.’

‘Which is?’

‘It could have been her way of getting Griff out of his five-year obligation to Neville. But we haven’t looked at the contract yet and it’s possible that Ingram’s death wouldn’t release him.’

‘Yes, I expect the contract is with the agency, not the man and there’s a surviving partner. Of course she might not have thought that through but I see what you mean. To continue the racing analogy, she only makes long odds but she’s got to be included.’

‘Yes, Sir. She was certainly there but she seems to be on the periphery. Gary and I are going to check her out as soon as we can,’ replied Angela, suddenly realising that of all the people surrounding the event, after the preliminary questioning, Tricia seemed to have been more or less forgotten about. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Gary look up at her and she was aware of a slight smile on his face as he guessed she was thinking on her feet.

Once Stanway had gone back to his office and the team had dispersed to their various tasks Angela sat for a while staring at the blank computer screen in front of her. She’d elected, for the moment, to work in the incident room. Some days she preferred the buzz of activity around her to the solitude of her office. A shadow loomed up silently at her side and she looked up to find Rick standing over her. ‘Yes, Rick?’

Rick turned slightly so that he faced away from Jim. ‘Is your office empty, Angie?’ he asked very quietly.

Angela saw the situation immediately. She slewed her eyes a little to the adjoining desks shared by Rick and Jim. Jim sat in his customary place and when both of them were at their desks it was impossible for one of them to have a conversation the other didn’t overhear. In demonstration of this fact they could both hear that Jim, following instructions, was busily engaged in trying to get hold of another member of the farmers’ association. ‘How long will he be in the barn?’ he was asking, and then, ‘Does he have a mobile I could ring him on?’

She brought her attention back to Rick and jerked her head in the general direction of her office. ‘Be my guest,’ she said.

‘Thanks,’ he said in an undertone, and slipped out of the room.

Angela turned back to her contemplation of the screen. After a while, a cup of coffee appeared on the desk. She looked round and grinned at Gary.

‘You looked as though you needed it,’ he said.

Angela took a sip. ‘Thanks, much appreciated.’

‘And I arranged for us to see Tricia later. She’s working until six and then she’ll wait in the studio bar for us.’

‘Great; I’m embarrassed to admit it but she’d fallen off my radar.’

‘She was never one of the main players, was she?’ said Gary. ‘And it’s not like you’ve been idle.’

‘This is true, but…’

‘But what?’ asked Gary after Angela had sat in silence, frowning at the computer screen for a few moments.

‘I’m missing something. And I get the feeling it’s something really obvious. Every time I do a mental review of the case it’s like there’s a hole in the middle of it all.’

‘Are you sure you’re not making it too complicated?’

‘What’s your take on it, then?’

‘After our visit to Wales, it seems to me that the most likely contender is cousin Alwyn as the puppet, with uncle Huw pulling the strings.’

Angela sighed. ‘Yes, you might be right. He has motive, means and opportunity.’

‘As regards means, he’s probably better placed than the others to concoct some cyanide in his garden shed.’

Angela nodded. ‘Yes, I don’t think you’d need a degree in chemistry to get it together. He was undeniably on the spot and he’s been indoctrinated in hatred by his father.’

‘So, like, programmed to kill.’

‘Yes, indeed, from Huw Maddox’s point of view that would be the case, but…’

‘But?’

‘But Huw Maddox probably only sees what he wants to see. He’s taught his boy to hate Griff and his parents and he assumes that’s what his boy does, but we’ve both met him, Gary. He seems such a gentle soul.’

‘That can mask a ruthless nature.’

‘Yes, I know.’ Angela shook her head as if to rid it of confusion. ‘Enough of this; let me go through these witness statements again. Then I’m going to take a walk round the block.’

‘OK,’ said Gary, standing up. He recognised that she wanted to be on her own. ‘I’ll catch up with you later.’

Angela turned back to her screen and brought up the first of the statements taken on the day of the murder.

The phone rang in the house overlooking Cardiff Bay and was picked up and answered by a gentle, lilting voice. Rick, feeling a bit of an interloper behind Angela’s desk, wondered if he could now hear a distinct echo of the Caribbean mixed into her accent, or whether that was just hindsight. ‘Mrs Madoc?’ he asked.

‘Yes, who’s speaking?’

‘Mrs Madoc, this is Detective Sergeant Rick Driver from the Metropolitan Police. You remember? I came to see you with my colleague, DS Jim Wainwright.’

‘Ah yes.’ Constance paused. ‘You’re the other one.’

‘I was the silent partner on that occasion,’ he confirmed.

‘What can I do for you, Sergeant?’

‘Mrs Madoc. I’m sorry to bother you but I wonder if you can spare the time to answer a few more questions. Something wasn’t quite clear to me at the time we came to see you, and I’d like to clear it up now if that’s all right.’

‘I was hoping someone would,’ she said.

Angela’s walk around the block didn’t do anything to clear her head, and she felt glad when the time came to set off for the appointment with Tricia Prentice. They recognised her immediately when they arrived in the noisy, busy bar of the television studios. She’d managed to find herself a small corner table in the crowded room. She stood up and waved when Angela and Gary entered. ‘Ah, there she is,’ said Angela, pushing Gary slightly in the other direction, towards the bar, as she did so. ‘Mine’s a fizzy water, please.’

‘No probs,’ replied Gary, diving into the crush of people blocking the way to his destination.

Angela made her way to the table and sat down opposite the young woman. ‘Thanks for agreeing to see us, Patricia.’

‘Please, call me Tricia. It’s no problem. I wish I could be of some help but I didn’t notice anything at the time.’

‘I’d like to get a bit of background, if I may,’ said Angela. ‘You’re OK, are you, for the moment?’ she added, pointing to a half-full glass of wine in front of Tricia.

‘What? Oh yes, this is all I want, thanks anyway. What sort of background?’

‘About Griff and Pauline and about Griff and you, to be exact.’

Tricia looked down at her glass as she considered this. ‘Griff’s had a spiritual reawakening in the past few months but I don’t think it would be appropriate for me to — ’

‘No, I don’t mean that,’ said Angela. ‘I’m just trying to flesh out the background and it occurred to me that he might confide things to you.’

‘Things about…?’

‘His marriage, for instance.’

‘You really should be asking Griff about this.’

‘I’d be grateful for anything you can tell me.’

Tricia swallowed; for a moment it looked as though tears had started to her eyes but she gained command of herself. ‘Griff wants to do the right thing and I admire him for it. He really does try to give Pauline the benefit of the doubt.’ A sceptical expression crossed her face for a moment. ‘And believe me there’s a lot of room for doubt. He’s well aware of her past, her affairs and all that, but lately she’s been trying to build bridges with him.’

‘So, has she really turned over a new leaf, do you think, or is it because you’ve come on the scene?’

A brief, cynical laugh escaped from between Tricia’s lips. ‘That’s exactly my question. I mean, she’s not to know we haven’t actually done anything.’ She looked from Angela to Gary. ‘This coming back to the Church, it’s genuine, in case you’re wondering. So we’re keeping things chaste. In fact, we haven’t even come right out and said we’re an item but we both know how we feel about each other. As far as Griff and Pauline are concerned I do happen to know that they haven’t slept together in ages. He says that side of things has been dead for a long while.’

‘But if Pauline’s trying to mend their marriage…’

A shadow passed across Tricia’s features. ‘Yes, another reason not to jump the gun, sex-wise, I know I could end up even more hurt. It’s not over till the fat lady sings and she hasn’t even reached the stage. Pauline’s trying hard and I don’t kid myself about the weapons she has at her disposal.’

‘Which are?’

Tricia shrugged, at attempt to appear pragmatic. ‘Their shared history, for one thing; they’ve been together for many years and that produces a lot of emotional ties. He fell for her, big-time, when he was just a kid, so really, she’s the only girlfriend he ever had. And she knows him very well. Better than I do, of course. I’m Jenny-come-lately.’ This time the tears sprang into her eyes and she raised a hand suddenly to her mouth. Angela felt sorry for her. You poor thing, you really are in love, thought Angela, I bet you lie awake at night torturing yourself with all the reasons why this attempt at reconciliation is going to work and telling yourself it’s only right and proper it should. She and Gary looked at each other and made a play of comparing notes until Tricia gained mastery of herself again and raised her eyes. ‘Also,’ she said. ‘She’s, well, she’s the wife, after all, and I’m no marriage breaker.’

‘What form is this rapprochement taking?’ asked Angela.

‘Well with the latest lover dead, she’s obviously at home a lot more.’ Cynicism flashed across her face. Angela couldn’t avoid a low guffaw of laughter. Tricia gave a brief, mirthless, grin before continuing. He’s getting a lot more texts, lovey-dovey ones, you know. And now she’s bringing out the big guns. She wants to cook him a romantic candle-light dinner – to rekindle the flame. He’s noticed she’s bought some sexy night-things. I expect she’ll do her best to seduce him before they get to the dessert.’

Angela noted the bleakness in Tricia’s tone. Yes, you’re tormenting yourself with this prospect. She remembered the recent comment about the significance of wanting to give someone a meal, and wondered if Pauline had heard the same thing.

‘I should think it would take more than one romantic meal,’ she said.

Tricia’s expression brightened. ‘Actually, you might be — well, no, I can’t let myself believe you’re right.’

‘Is Griff going along with this?’

‘Half and half. He said “OK” but then turned the idea into a dinner party. So the cosy meal is on hold for the moment.’ Her eyes took on a fresh misery. ‘That could just be a stay of execution for me, of course.’

But even so, thought Angela, as a devout Catholic you wouldn’t be happy marrying a divorced man, would you? She mentally shook her head and decided it was a good time to move on to the other purpose of her visit. ‘Where were you at the time of the murder?’

‘At the actual time I was in the room with everyone else.’

‘I know you’ve already made a statement, but can you go through what you saw?’

‘It was getting a bit noisy, you know how it is when you’ve got a roomful of people talking to each other, meeting and greeting and all that stuff. I saw my Uncle Luke standing by the buffet and I went over and joined him.’

‘Hold on a tick,’ said Angela. She made a pretence of needing a little more time to write as alarm bells rang in her head. The initial statements didn’t say Luke Prentice had been near the buffet, she thought. She let it be seen that she’d finished writing and smiled up at Tricia, careful not to alarm her. ‘I didn’t realise he had been at that end of the room,’ she said.

‘We both were, at first.’ Tricia gave a gentle smile. ‘I think Uncle Luke was being sensitive to me. We stood there for a minute, admiring the spread — it was really lovely, actually — when we saw Pauline coming over. She hadn’t seen me at that point but I could feel myself blushing, and Uncle Luke said something like, “let’s clear a space here, shall we?” and we moved away. We were somewhere else when the screaming started.’

Angela nodded as she wrote. So, Uncle Luke could have doctored the drink and monitored proceedings from the other side of the room. It’s not impossible. Angela became aware that she felt slightly depressed as she nodded at Tricia to continue.

‘We were just chatting about nothing in particular when it happened. I heard a crash, which I now know was the sound of the glass going flying. I looked towards the noise and saw Neville gasping and staggering forward. I didn’t immediately realise anything serious was happening.’

‘How could you?’

Tricia nodded. ‘I suppose I assumed something he’d eaten or drunk had gone down the wrong way. But then he keeled over. It was weird, there was this sudden moment of stillness… like… nobody moved or said anything. Then it all went mad.’ Tricia stopped and looked from one to the other, a diffident expression on her face. ‘I’m ashamed to admit I had a very uncharitable thought about Pauline.’

‘Oh really?’

‘Yes, she started screaming hysterically, really loudly, and all I could think was, “oh she’s just got to be the centre of attention, hasn’t she?”’

Angela turned a sympathetic smile towards her and shook her head slightly to dismiss the confession as inconsequential. ‘What happened then?’

‘We could tell, by then, that something serious was going on and people started moving forward. Somebody or other said to move back and let him have some air and another person called out to get some help. I think a few people went out looking for a first-aider or a doctor. They did eventually find a doctor but by that time he was dead.’

‘Then the police arrived and took over.’

‘I was really pleased they did. None of us knew what to do. The whole book-launch went sour so quickly and, to be honest, it became a bit embarrassing. We couldn’t continue to party, and yet most of us knew we had to hang around.’

‘Quite right.’ Angela didn’t see where else she could take this interview for the moment so she thanked Tricia for her time and made her usual comment about the possibility of having to speak to her again when more evidence became available. She didn’t speak as they left the studios and headed towards the car. Gary sensed her preoccupation and wisely remained quiet. She’d strapped herself into the front passenger seat before she broke her silence and then it was only to send forth a deep sigh.

Gary shot a glance across at her. ‘You don’t think it was her, do you?’

‘No, I don’t.’ She stared straight ahead as Gary pulled out of the car park. ‘I mean, any one of them could have done it. They were all standing near the buffet. They all had access.’

‘But?’

‘Yes, “but”; only one of them did and I don’t think it was Tricia Prentice. Logically, she wouldn’t want Griff dead and getting rid of Neville achieves nothing for her. That’s all quite apart from the fact that she’s a lady with a very sensitive conscience. I don’t see how she could kill someone and live with herself afterwards.’

‘What about another tack? You said you were missing something earlier; more thoughts on that?’

‘No, unfortunately, except that now I’m more convinced that whatever it is, it’s pivotal.’

Chapter 22

Patrick leaned over towards Angela’s plate with his fork poised, ready to swoop. ‘Are you going to eat that or just play with it?’

‘What?’ Angela looked up at him.

He nodded at her plate. ‘You’ve been pushing that final piece of potato around on your plate for at least ten minutes and if you can’t do justice to it, I certainly can.’

Angela laughed and brushed his fork away. ‘Gerroff, it’s all mine.’ She scooped up the potato and put it into her mouth. ‘What were we saying?’

Patrick turned a mock-glare towards her. ‘We weren’t saying anything. That’s the problem. You’ve been poking at your food and staring at the tablecloth, more or less since we sat down. I did mention a couple of funny things that happened in work today, but gave up the unequal struggle to get your attention quite a while ago.’

Angela put her fork down on the plate. ‘Sorry, darling; you’re quite right. I’m completely distracted.’

Patrick raised his eyebrows. ‘No! Really?’

Angela laughed and threw playful punch in his direction. ‘Any one of those at that buffet table on the day could have done it.’

‘I thought you had a promising-looking uncle in North Wales. I mean, that was the whole point of trailing all the way up there, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes, and interestingly enough, he’s the only one I can be sure wasn’t standing at the buffet table at the book-launch.’

‘So, if he wasn’t at the table, why the trip?’

‘He could still have been in the room and it’s possible he could have doctored the drink. I mean, the perpetrator didn’t have to be standing by the table. In any case, his son was nearby.’

‘And they could have been working together.’

‘Yes. This uncle Huw claims an alibi but it looks dodgy. Jim is checking it out.’

‘So is the uncle your best bet?’

‘Hmm, it looks likely. He might have already tried to kill Griff once before, according to Griff, that is.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, when Griff was a toddler; it’s a very bad case of sibling jealousy between Griff’s dad and his very much older brother. Huw Maddox made no secret of the fact that he’d driven Rhys Madoc from the farm once and would do the same again. There’s also a bit of racism mixed up in there.’

Patrick’s eyebrows went up to his hairline. ‘Racism?’

‘Yes, apparently Griff’s mum is half Afro-Caribbean.’

‘Oh please!’

‘Quite, darling, you should have met him. He’s a very obdurate man.’

Patrick paused, thinking for a moment, a grin appearing on his face. ‘Is that why you’ve got Jim checking him out?’

Angela smiled. ‘You know me too well.’

‘So if his alibi checks out, is there anybody else apart from the two women and the stalker?’

‘Luke Prentice; he’s the uncle of — ’

‘Another uncle?’ Patrick’s eyes lit up. ‘Is he wicked as well? Are you sure you’re not getting mixed up with the plot of Hamlet?’

Angela laughed and playfully mimed slapping him round the cheeks. ‘There’s only one uncle in Hamlet, and Luke Prentice doesn’t seem wicked. I must arrange to see him soon. He runs a management agency and, from what I can gather, hoped to wrest the Madoc account from Neville Ingram. He’s been interviewed once already, of course, but I didn’t know until today that he had been standing by the buffet just before it all kicked off.’

‘Ah! That might give him a motive for killing Neville Ingram.’

Angela sighed. ‘Yes, I know.’

Patrick reached out and laid his hand on Angela’s. ‘Sorry for my flippancy. I know this case is a bit of a nightmare for you.’

Angela smiled and held on to his hand. ‘That’s OK, I’m glad of a bit of light relief.’ She released his hand, stood up and went into the kitchen. ‘Where are the lovebirds tonight?’ she asked, coming back with two filled ramekins on a tray.

‘They’re here, having dinner. One of them is very relieved the sweet has arrived.’

She smiled. ‘Of course we are. I meant the younger lovebirds.’

‘I know you did, and the answer is, I don’t know. Wherever they are I don’t expect they’re eating as well as us.’ He put his spoon into his dessert. ‘This is delicious. Do I have to thank a certain Welsh chef for the inspiration behind it?’

‘You do.’ She looked into her dish. ‘These don’t come up very big, do they? I’ll make a double portion next time.’

He took another spoonful and made a play of savouring the taste with a blissful expression. ‘Mmm… That’s true, but even so, I’m doing rather well out of your crush, food-wise.’

Angela laughed. ‘Honestly, Paddy. You’re my only crush.’

‘I’m very glad to hear it.’ He finished off his pudding, looked at her and waggled his eyebrows. ‘How about a demonstration of that fact? We can do the dishes later?’

She smiled. ‘What a good idea. Here, let me just finish this. Actually,’ she added, spooning up the last mouthful, ‘since this case began, my chief emotion with regard to Griff is pity.’

‘Pity?’

‘Well, admiration and pity.’

‘You don’t normally hear those two words together. What do you mean?’

‘Well, as I’ve discovered, he’s got an unfaithful wife and I get the impression he hasn’t played the what’s-good-for-the-goose-is-good-for-the-gander card. As far as I can see he’s just buried himself in his work and built up a small, successful empire in the process and, moreover, hasn’t given Pauline her marching orders. Recently, he’s had a spiritual awakening and at the same time has formed a close friendship with another woman. Obviously, the Church doesn’t acknowledge divorce, so he’s stuck. And he’s doing his best to do the right thing and not jump into bed with this new friend.’

‘A rare bloke.’

‘Yes, I think so,’ she said. A silence ensued which was interrupted by the ringing of Angela’s mobile. She picked it up and saw Rick Driver’s name on the screen. ‘Ah! Sorry, Paddy, I have to take this. Rick?’ she said.

‘Sorry to call you at home, Angie,’ began Rick, ‘but I got through to Griff’s mother today and she told me something I think you ought to know.’

‘Carry on, I’m all ears.’

‘OK, here goes.’

Ten minutes later Angela turned her phone off and joined Patrick in their bedroom.

‘Did Rick have anything helpful to say?’ he asked.

‘Oh yes,’ said Angela, all smiles. ‘He’s discovered something very interesting.’

‘Good,’ said, Patrick pulling her down on to their bed. ‘Did you make a note of it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Even better; now you’ll be able to forget all about it until tomorrow.’

‘Indeed,’ she replied.

A renewed sense of energy could be felt at the briefing the following morning. Angela, keen to get it over, hurried through the account of Rick’s call to Constance Madoc, but her effort to deflect Jim’s ire was wasted. Red in the face, Jim stood up at that point. ‘I already interviewed her,’ he said, glaring at his partner.

‘Jim,’ broke in Angela. ‘We constantly tell the public that if anything, even something tiny, worries them, they should share it with us. Rick was perfectly right to clear up the points that were bothering him. We’ll revisit them once they’ve been researched.’ Moving on swiftly, she thought. ‘OK, Jim, your turn. How did you get on with Huw Maddox?’

Barely mollified, Jim sat back down. ‘It’s like getting blood from a stone, talking to that bloke,’ he complained. ‘And he’s grumpy with it.’ Every one of his colleagues made a point of not looking at each other.

‘Did you manage to find out anything?’ asked Angela.

‘As it happens I did,’ he said. He looked across at Rick, anger visible in his expression. ‘Do you want to ring and check it out in case I didn’t ask the right questions?’

‘All right, Jim, that’s enough.’ Stanway’s voice cut in. Jim jerked slightly. It looked as though he had forgotten the DCI’s presence. ‘If someone here can’t pick up the slack for a colleague now and again,’ continued Stanway, ‘I don’t want that person on my team.’

Jim’s face turned crimson and he bought himself a few moments’ recovery time by flicking through his notebook as if searching for the right page. ‘He didn’t want to talk to me,’ he said, staring intently down at the page. ‘He said, and I quote, “I’ll say what I have to on the day I’m arrested, which won’t be happening because I haven’t done anything. Is that all?” Then he slammed the phone down on whatever surface it sits on but he didn’t hang up and I could hear him walking away complaining to his wife about me.’

‘Hmm,’ said Angela. ‘Pretty much the same as when Gary and I went to see him. But you said you managed to find out something; how come?’

Jim forgot to be angry. He smiled and threw a quick glance at Rick, a mixture of amusement and triumphalism. ‘Yeah; I could hear them talking in the background and just as I’d decided to hang up, his wife came on the line.’

‘Oh yes?’

‘Yes, she apologised for her husband.’

‘I expect she has to do that a lot,’ remarked Gary.

‘Probably,’ agreed Jim. ‘I didn’t know what to say. I mean, telling her that her husband wasn’t where he was supposed to be on that day might have worried her. Anyway, she kind of hesitated, as if she didn’t quite want to finish the call but didn’t know how to proceed, so I said I was just checking up on Mr Maddox’s whereabouts. I said, “I believe he was at a meeting of the farmers’ association he belongs to, is that right?” And she said, “well, er, actually, he probably wasn’t, officer.”’

‘Ah!’ said everybody at once.

Jim’s flush was one of pleasure and amusement this time. ‘So, of course I asked her to explain and she told me to hold on a minute. I could hear her going over and shutting the door. When she came back to the phone she sounded much more relaxed but she kept her voice down. “It’s like this you see, officer; he was probably with his lady friend.”’

‘I felt a bit embarrassed, but as she’d introduced the subject I just went with it and asked for the lady’s name and number. It turns out, get this, she found out about this woman some years ago and the two of them are good friends and often chat on the phone. They even meet up for lunch now and again and they swap knitting patterns and recipes and stuff. Huw Maddox has no idea the wife knows anything about his little game, but Mrs Maddox says she’s grateful. She said, if this lady in Birmingham can satisfy what she called “his needs” then it saves her the job as nowadays she’d much rather have nothing to do with “that side of things”. That’s how she put it.’ Jim beamed around the room, fully reintegrated.

‘Imagine that,’ said Angela. ‘She must lead a parallel life to her husband.’

‘She must,’ agreed Stanway. ‘Well done, Jim, so did you check on the alibi?’

‘It was quite late yesterday when I got through to the Maddox’s, Sir. I’ll do that this morning.’

‘Right, so that’s everyone occupied.’ He looked round at them all. ‘Derek and Leanne, you’re going to research Rick’s findings so we can look at them again and Angie, I presume you and Gary are off to talk to Luke Prentice.’

‘Yes, Sir; that’s next on the agenda.’

‘Good-oh; well done everyone.’

An hour later, in a narrow mews near Bond Street, Gary pressed the doorbell marked ‘Prentice Management Limited’.

‘The trouble with this business,’ said Angela, ‘is that the buffet table ran along one wall so nobody could get on the other side of it and all those in front of it were looking out into the room waiting to meet and greet and mingle.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Gary. ‘It wouldn’t take much dexterity to have the poison ready, concealed in the palm or something. All the murderer had to do was reach a hand back, sprinkle some of it and slip the phial, or whatever, into a handbag or a pocket.’

Angela nodded. ‘Easy-peasy, virtually everybody’s attention was taken up with celebs and what-not pouring through the door. Oh, hello?’ she said suddenly as a voice came through the intercom asking who had arrived. ‘This is D.I. Costello and D.C. Gary Houseman. We’re here to see Mr. Luke Prentice.’

‘Come up to the first floor,’ said the disembodied voice as the door opened with a buzz.

They found Luke Prentice waiting for them in the outer office of his suite of rooms. He smiled pleasantly at them and showed them through to his office, where he sat them down and arranged coffee before leaning back in his chair and asking how he could be of further help.

Chapter 23

Luke Prentice had a pleasant, fresh face. The way he smiled reminded Angela of Tricia, but that was the only likeness she could detect.

‘Thank you for your time, Mr Prentice,’ began Angela. ‘The thing is, we didn’t realise, until we’d spoken to your niece yesterday, that you’d been standing by the buffet table only a few minutes before the death.’

‘Yes, that’s true.’ A puzzled look appeared on his face. ‘I’m sure I told the officers who interviewed me at the time.’ A hand rose to his mouth and his fingers moved along his lips. ‘Oh, hang on; they asked me where I was when Neville Ingram keeled over — by which time I was at the other end of the room. I see what you’re getting at. I could still have had access to the poisoned glass.’ He tried to smile but failed as the colour drained from his face. ‘That’s a very unpleasant thought.’

‘Unfortunately it’s one we need to explore,’ replied Angela. ‘How well did you know Neville Ingram?’

Luke shrugged. ‘I only knew him superficially. Nodding terms, I suppose. We ran into each other on a fairly regular basis at a variety of functions and said “hi” and that might or might not have been followed with “bye” when it came time to go.’

‘You were business rivals, I understand.’

He gave another shrug. ‘Only in the sense that we operate in the same business. We have different client-lists.’ Luke attempted a nonchalant study of perfectly manicured nails, but she noticed he couldn’t resist a quick nervous glance at her as he did so.

‘I’ve heard there’d been a bit of attempted poaching going on recently.’ Angela knew her words sounded provocative, as she’d meant them to. They bore immediate fruit.

A flicker of anger appeared behind his eyes and the returning colour faded from his face again, but he quickly mastered his emotions. ‘If you’re referring to the Griff Madoc account, you’re mistaken,’ he said. ‘Griff approached me of his own free will. He didn’t say so, but I got the impression he hadn’t been too happy with the way Neville handled things.’

‘How far had negotiations got?’

‘Not very far; most of our contact was in the third person, through my niece, Tricia, who’s formed a friendship with Griff. As far as Griff and I went, we’d had a couple of emails and one telephone call. We still hadn’t managed a preliminary meeting when Neville… you know.’

‘I see. But there was movement. Griff had definitely been planning to look for new management?’

A small, satisfied smiled escaped Luke Prentice. ‘I don’t think there’s any doubt about that. It’s been the story of Ingram and Ingram for a while now, their clients looking elsewhere; which is a great shame because Melanie had built up a very solid agency from scratch. I could do with someone like — ’ He stopped abruptly. ‘Sorry, running ahead of myself.’

His comment sparked a memory for Angela. ‘I believe Griff isn’t free to look for alternative management, is he, though?’

Again, her intention was to be provocative but he didn’t allow himself to react this time, other than by a slow blink of the eyes and a small, knowing smile. ‘It’s true, Griff’s contract ties him in to Ingram’s, but there might have been — might still be — room for negotiation. We hadn’t got to that stage.’

Angela allowed her mind to wander briefly over the possible scenario that Melanie Ingram could have killed her husband in order to join forces with Luke Prentice. She couldn’t afford to overlook the possibility. Of course, that changed the identity of the intended target.

Angela sighed inwardly; whoever the target, the glass had contained poison and her first task was to find out who had added it. She had to ask the question even though she could guess the answer. ‘Did you see anybody behaving suspiciously near the drinks?’

Luke relaxed. ‘Sorry, can’t help you with that one. To be honest, I don’t think I even saw the drink, not to notice it, as such. Obviously, I knew it was there but lots of people were standing in front of it, including me, as you’ve now reminded me. We all had our backs to the table and were looking out into the body of the room.’

Angela quelled a sigh. This is the perfect set-up for someone well-prepared with a little phial in their palm to lean back and do the deed, she thought. The people on either side provided the perfect cover and I almost don’t care who it was meant for. She stopped the thought abruptly and gave a small cough. No, of course I don’t mean that. This is not worthy of you, Angela, she told herself. And most unprofessional; press on, woman.

She turned to a fresh page in her notebook. ‘What can you tell me about the state of the Madocs’ marriage?’

An amused look appeared on Luke’s face. ‘I’m hardly a fly on their bedroom wall.’

‘Yes, but you seem to be close to your niece, who’s recently formed a friendship with him. Has she confided anything to you?’

‘If she’s told me anything, it’s been in confidence,’ he said.

‘This is a murder enquiry,’ Angela reminded him.

Luke inclined his head. ‘Fair enough,’ he acknowledged. He looked up at them with a smile. ‘To be honest, Tricia has supplied some insider gossip, but much of what she’s said is stuff I’ve known about Pauline for a long time. She takes her pleasure where she finds it and she generally doesn’t seem to have looked for it from Griff.’ He paused. ‘Curiously enough…’ he stopped.

When he didn’t continue Angela looked up from her notebook to find him staring speculatively into space. ‘Yes?’ she asked.

He turned focussed eyes towards her. ‘This is something I’ve picked up from Tricia and not my own observations,’ he said. ‘You know that he and my niece met in church.’

‘Yes.’

‘Yes, Griff hadn’t darkened the door of a church for many years but coming back has had a profound effect on him. As well has making him very happy, he’s determined to do things properly. Tricia admires him for it, of course she does, but it also means she’s being tested and I think she’s finding that difficult.’

‘She must be,’ agreed Angela, remembering her interview with Tricia. ‘This, “doing things properly”, does it mean giving Pauline another chance?’

‘Tricia hasn’t said that in so many words. I haven’t mentioned it because I don’t want to upset her any more than I can help. In any case, what I do know is that now Pauline seems to be doing all the running.’

‘She wants a reconciliation?’

‘Well, that’s just it. I suppose, that’s not quite the right word since they haven’t split up in the first place, but Griff would have had to be an idiot not to know what she’s been up to — and he’s definitely not that. She’s now doing “wifey” stuff, staying in a bit more, sending him lovey-dovey texts. She even invested in some very slinky negligées, which, I happen to know, have yet to be taken out of the wrappings they came in.’

‘So it’s not working?’

He shrugged. ‘Behind closed doors who knows what’s going on, but I think Griff is playing things his own way.’

‘Yes, I understand from Tricia that Pauline’s been trying to get him to sit down to a romantic meal.’

‘So I gather; I expect she’d get caterers in to do it. She’s no great shakes in the kitchen. But as it happens, Griff has taken the suggestion on board but turned it into a dinner party.’

‘Yes, Tricia mentioned that.’

Luke’s smile contained very recognisable irony. ‘That’s what I mean about him playing things his own way. Ten or so years ago Pauline married a nerdy, shy young man who could hardly believe his luck. He’s not the same person now. Pauline is beginning to sit up and take notice but I’m wondering if it’s all too little too late. I don’t think she’s quite caught up with the successful, confident man he is today — and if she thinks sweet-talking texts, some sexy nightwear or even a cosy diner-á-deux is going to redress the balance between them she is seriously naïve. Griff has always taken marriage seriously, even more so lately, as you can imagine.’

‘So, this party…?’ said Angela.

‘Yes, he has a birthday coming up very soon; did you know?’

‘I didn’t know that.’ I’m sure if I was as big a fan as Patrick thinks, I would know this detail, she thought. I bet Della Burnett could have told me. ‘Do you know who’s on the guest list?’ she asked.

Luke smirked. ‘I am, for one, which, I’m telling myself, bodes well for my professional ambitions. So is Tricia.’

‘Tricia? Really? That sounds odd, given the circumstances.’

‘I haven’t spoken to her, of course, but I’d bet she’s not Pauline’s choice of guest, nor am I, I’m sure. It just shows that Griff is completely in the driving seat on this and Pauline’s got to like it or lump it.’

Back in the car, Angela stared into space, frowning.

‘Are you crossing another suspect off the list?’ asked Gary as he belted himself in behind the driving wheel.

‘I think I am. OK, he had the opportunity and, for all we know, the means, but I just don’t see what would be his motive.’

‘He wants the Madoc account?’

‘Yes but killing Neville Ingram wouldn’t necessarily get it for him.’

‘True, quite apart from the fact that he wants it, as anybody in his business would, he’s actually doing OK without it.’

‘Quite, unless I can find another motive I can’t seriously keep him in the frame,’ said Angela and lapsed into silence.

‘Penny for them,’ said Gary, after a while.

‘Marriage,’ said Angela.

‘Marriage?’ he echoed.

‘Griff and Pauline’s; it features very largely in this case. Have you noticed?’

Gary pulled out from the kerb. ‘I suppose so. I mean, once we decided he was the intended victim, we had to start investigating his life, didn’t we? And his domestic set-up is interesting, to say the least,’ he answered.

Angela nodded. ‘I’m still figuring it out in my mind. But after years of seemingly carefree infidelity, Pauline is suddenly trying to mend her marital fences, and I have to ask myself why.’

‘Perhaps she’s had a spiritual awakening, too.’

‘Goodness! You know, that thought never occurred to me.’

‘Didn’t you say recently that she went to see a priest, someone your Father Martin knows?’

Angela slapped her forehead. ‘You’re right! I did. We just surmised on the reasons for that and forgot all about it. Hang on let me get this sorted while it’s in my mind.’ She scrolled through her contacts until she came to the priest’s number, she called it and listened. ‘Blast,’ she said, after a few moments. ‘He’s not there. I’ll leave a message.’ She did so, telling Martin she wanted to pick up on their recent conversation about Pauline Madoc. ‘That’ll intrigue him,’ she said with a smile as she finished the call.

‘Will he be able to tell you, this priest, I mean? Wouldn’t the conversation be ultra-private?’

‘It won’t carry the seal of the confessional, Gary.’

‘Ah, right, and this is a murder enquiry, after all.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Where to now?’ he asked.

‘We need to see Della Burnett again,’ said Angela, flicking through her notebook in search of the address and telephone number. I hope she’s in and can see us.’

‘Gulp,’ came the reply.

Angela grinned. ‘Got to be done, I’m afraid. Ah! Here it is. I’ll just give her a call. Go west, young man.’

Gary negotiated Piccadilly Circus and pointed the car in the direction of Hyde Park Corner. ‘There is something that occurred to me,’ he said, after a few moments.

‘What’s that?’

‘This party.’

‘Ah yes! I know what you’re going to say, but say it anyway.’

‘If you have a book-launch you invite all your family and friends; it’s only natural.’

‘Yes, so when you have a birthday party…?

‘The same bunch of people turn up.’

‘Indeed, Gary. Luke and Tricia Prentice have been invited, as we already know. Pauline will be there, of course, as she’s planning the whole thing — ’

‘ — Sort of planning. Her original plan for a romantic meal has been hijacked.’

‘Just so; I don’t imagine Della Burnett will be able to wangle herself a proper invitation, but I wouldn’t put it past her to find some way in through the back door, even if she doesn’t make it out of the kitchen.’

‘You might be right. We never did get to the bottom of how she came to be at the launch but she’s very resourceful. So, what about Melanie Ingram?’

‘I would think so, wouldn’t you? She’ll probably be invited, at least. And reservations about Uncle Huw aside, when we saw them together, relations between Griff and his cousin looked cordial, didn’t they?’

‘So we include Alwyn, as well.’

‘We do. So that’s…?’

‘All the suspects.’

‘Spot on, Gary. I think I’d be failing in my duty if I missed the opportunity to have a word in Mr Madoc’s shell-like.’

Gary grinned and headed through Kensington as Angela got her mobile out of her bag. She brought up Griff’s number and pressed ‘dial’ and put the phone’s speaker on for Gary’s benefit. ‘Griff? D.I. Costello here.’

‘Hi, Inspector, how are things?’

‘I think we’re making a bit of headway,’ answered Angela, turning her head and grimacing at Gary. ‘I’m actually calling because we’ve just been to see Luke Prentice and I’m slightly concerned about this birthday party you’re going to have.’

‘Concerned, Inspector? Do you think the poisoner will turn up and have another go?’ he asked. Angela couldn’t tell if he was poking gentle fun at her fears, or if his Welsh lilt sounded a little more pronounced than usual.

‘I have to confess it had crossed my mind.’

‘And do I think it’s wise to go ahead?’

She could definitely hear amusement in his voice now. She and Gary exchanged puzzled glances. ‘Well, yes.’

‘I’ve got to eat, Inspector.’

‘Yes, I know that.’ Angela felt a bit silly for having called, but Griff’s next words cheered her.

‘I appreciate your concern, Inspector and I know you have a job to do, but I can’t let myself be ruled by fear.’

‘I understand that. Would you mind telling me who you’ve invited?’

‘Not at all.’ Griff had a definite smile in his voice. My parents will be there, as will my cousin Alwyn. They’re all looking very much forward to meeting up after all these years. I mean, I know they met each other in passing at the time of Neville’s death but they didn’t know they were related then — ’

Angela broke in, concerned by his insouciance. ‘Again, Griff, do you think this is wise? It sounds like you’ve got — ’

‘All the suspects together?’ replied Griff, making the same observation as Gary. ‘Yes, I suppose I have, except, if you’re counting Della Burnett; she won’t be invited.’

‘I know you’ve invited Luke and Tricia. What about Marcel?’

‘Yes, he’ll be there, but on call, so to speak, in case our sous-chef runs into any difficulties. Oh, and Melanie Ingram. Do you know, I’ve got a feeling Luke and Melanie could end up as an item, now wouldn’t that be nice?’

Angela shook her head, distracted by Griff’s cheerful, conversational tone. ‘When is the party?’ she asked.

‘We haven’t set the date yet.’ There was a pause. ‘Do you want me to notify you?’

‘Yes please. I think I need to know.’ Angela hoped that the seriousness of her tone might make him think again.

A pause. ‘All right, I’ll make sure to tell you once we’ve decided.’

Angela thought that maybe his cheeriness sounded a little forced now, but she couldn’t be sure. ‘Griff, I’m working on a new angle at the moment. It wouldn’t be appropriate to talk about it but I do most strongly advise you not to go ahead with this dinner party.’

‘And I appreciate your concern, Inspector, but I’m alert to the danger, believe me. I’ve no wish to die, not when things in my life are resolving themselves so wonderfully. Believe me, I shall be very careful.’

Angela realised the futility of trying to persuade him further, finished the call and sat staring ahead with the phone in her hand for a few minutes.

‘You did your best, Angie; that’s all you can do,’ said Gary, eventually.

‘Hmm… I’ve got a feeling he’s up to something.’

‘What, like, you don’t mean you think he’s the guilty party and is going to try again at this dinner?’

‘No, not at all. If Griff’s the guilty party he got the intended victim the first time. No, I think he’s going to try and flush the perpetrator out.’

‘That’s a dangerous game to play.’

‘It is, Gary. I want the whole team on standby.’

Chapter 24

‘The murder happened over a week ago and I don’t feel we’ve got anywhere with this case,’ remarked Gary later that day, as he led the way to a West London front door.

‘I feel much the same,’ agreed Angela. ‘It’s a funny old investigation.’

‘Are we likely to be working this weekend?’ he asked.

‘I wouldn’t think so, not unless something astonishing crops up.’ She gazed at the door in front of them. ‘Let’s see what this meeting brings forth.’

Gary rang the bell, and a moment or so later Della opened the door, nodded her head in recognition, and before either of them could speak she put a finger to her lips. Angela bit back the words of introduction she had been on the point of uttering. Della inclined her head and they slipped quietly into the passage. She closed the door gently and led them towards the back of the house into a bright and airy kitchen where they all sat down around a pine table.

‘It’s Mother,’ she said. ‘She’s asleep in the front room and she gets very agitated if she’s woken up. She used to go to the day centre but sleeping there, sleeping here, what’s the difference? And this way I don’t have the struggle of making sure she’s ready when the transport comes. She might be old and frail but it can be the devil of a job getting her into a cardigan if she doesn’t fancy wearing one, or putting on her sensible shoes when she’s taken it into her head it’s the middle of summer and she wants to wear her sandals. She’s not weak when it comes to shouting at me about what she wants and what she doesn’t want.’

Angela and Gary nodded in sympathy and Angela let a small pause elapse. Hm, she thought, I was hoping that her garrulousness was just her way of coping with the shock of being so close to a murder. It looks like I might have been mistaken and she’s just like that all the time. ‘Thank you very much for agreeing to see us at such short notice,’ she began. Having decided that they needed to speak to Della Burnett again she’d wanted to do it as soon as possible, but inwardly Angela’s heart sank a little. Going through the sequence of events with her could turn into an arduous business; but she stood at the hub of all the activity surrounding the murder and they couldn’t afford to ignore what she had to say.

‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ asked Della. ‘It’s only breakfast, I normally have some Earl Grey in, but even with that you have to be careful which brand; one of them leaves a funny aftertaste. At least you know where you are with English Breakfast.’

Yes, I was wrong, said Angela to herself. This is just the way she is and we’re going have to take it all on board and sort out the wheat from the chaff later. She took a breath. ‘The thing is, as I indicated at the time, we need to go over the sequence of events with you again.’

Della paled a little and a shudder went through her. ‘Awful it was. When I think how close it came to Griff, you know. And it was Veuve Cliquot as well. They weren’t cutting corners with Prosecco, not that it’s just a cheap option these days, but it’s only right that Griff should have the best, I’d have been surprised if it’d been anything else. And when I think… I go all hot and cold just thinking about it.

Angela very nearly shuddered herself. She quickly took her notebook out of her bag and flipped it open at the page where she’d recorded the first interview with Della. ‘So you were at the buffet table near Pauline Madoc and Melanie Ingram when one of them said, “they haven’t got a drink”.’

‘Yes; now that’s an irony. He’s a chef, at a book-launch for his own cookery book, it’s a big celebration and he’s without a drink. Either that or he was just so caught up with things, he didn’t get time. I expect it was that, really. I could see the filming going on from a distance earlier and then he went straight in to the launch. It had been a very busy day for him.’

I don’t need an explanation as to why he didn’t have one, thought Angela. I just want to go over what happened and who said what. She put the thought aside, there was no point. ‘Who was standing closest to you?’

Della’s eyes narrowed and she demonstrated that she could be monosyllabic when it suited. ‘Her,’ she replied with a touch of venom. Remembering their first interview, Angela guessed whom she meant.

Gary broke in, just so they could tick the box properly. ‘Her?’ he queried.

‘Yes, Pauline Madoc. She might be his wife by law but I don’t know what sort of wife she is to him, in reality. She sits outside his restaurant on the phone to her boyfriend; I saw her at it, just a couple of weeks ago. Who’d have thought anyone could be so brazen. Right outside his business, that he built up from nothing. She’s pleased enough to take his money, I dare say, so she can buy all those designer clothes and go round looking like a model; she loves all that. She loves herself, she does. My Griff deserves better.’

For the first time, Angela felt no impulse to stem the flow.

‘Do you know the identity of the boyfriend?’ she asked, wondering how far Della had managed to infiltrate the circle around Griff.

A silence greeted this question and the expression on Della’s face could only be described as chagrin. ‘No,’ she answered, the regret in her voice unmistakable. ‘I just heard her once when I was… when I was passing. But it was a boyfriend all right; all lovey-dovey with him she was.’

‘Which of the two ladies mentioned that Griff didn’t have a drink?’ she asked, looking down at her notes. A sudden silence reigned in the kitchen. It seemed an oddity with regard to this particular witness. Angela and Gary exchanged glances before looking at her. ‘Della?’ asked Angela, eventually.

‘I’m not sure,’ she confessed at last.

‘You know Pauline Madoc’s voice, though,’ Angela pointed out, the image still very strong in her mind of Della outside the Knightsbridge restaurant eavesdropping on a phone conversation between Pauline and Neville Ingram.

‘Yes, but I wasn’t really listening at first. I was trying to keep my eye on Griff and looking at the pile of books as well — set out lovely they were, although the flower arrangement hid one part of the display but then, flowers are lovely to look at anyway, aren’t they? So I suppose that didn’t matter too much when everyone could see what they were, the books, I mean and let’s face it, that’s what everybody had come for. To be honest,’ she continued, changing tack, ‘I started to feel a bit awkward.’ The expression on her face became a little pathetic and Angela felt a stab of compassion. She thought back to the day of the murder and cast a surreptitious glance over Della’s plump figure and dowdy clothing, taking in her pasty complexion and slightly greasy hair. She had no trouble guessing that at the book-launch Della had suddenly felt overcome with embarrassment as the room filled up more and more with glamorous, designer-clad, confidence-oozing media types; people who, moreover, had genuine invitations to the event.

‘I can imagine,’ she replied with empathy. ‘It must have seemed a bit overwhelming as the room filled up.’

Della flashed her a quick, grateful smile. ‘I don’t normally feel out of my depth but until I got into the room I didn’t realise how cheeky I was being — but I am a member, after all, and I thought I could pull it off but… So when I heard the women talking about them not having a drink I thought, this is something I could help with. We were standing by the drinks table, after all.’

‘So that’s when you offered to take a drink over to them.’

Della nodded. ‘I wanted Griff to see me. I want him to understand that I’ll be faithful to him; not like her. And of course, I like to see him enjoying himself.’

Even as Angela replied she found herself remembering Patrick’s words about how giving someone food is a sign of wanting them to live. ‘So they were both equally involved in the conversation.’

‘They seemed to me to be,’ agreed Della. ‘Mind you, I expect it was the other one more than her: I can’t imagine Pauline Madoc bothers herself too much with Griff’s needs, not on any level, if you get my meaning. How can she, dressed up to the nines and out gallivanting with her boyfriends all the time? He needs someone who’s really going to love him, a proper homely sort.’

A wave of sympathy for the woman washed over Angela. ‘Did you address one of them rather than the other when you offered to take over the glass?’

‘Both of them; when I heard them talking I turned round and looked at the table and saw the last glass there.’

‘You turned round? So you were facing away from the table at this point?’

‘Yes, we were all looking into the room, watching more people come in. How on earth do some of those women manage on those heels? I’d break my neck, I’m sure, I would.’

‘So everybody’s attention was turned away from the food and drink table and directed towards the body of the room and the people still coming in?’

‘Yes, and quite noisy they were too, “sweeetheart!”, “dAHling, how lovely to seeee you”, here there and everywhere,’ she mimicked. Angela and Gary hid smiles. The imitation sounded realistic. ‘I was pleased to have something to do,’ continued Della. ‘I mean, I wasn’t part of their conversation, not really, and I wasn’t part of… anything else. All I wanted was to get close to Griff. I tried to make it sound like I had a right to be there but I was worried that someone would come and ask to see my invitation so I just said “I’ll pop this across to him, shall I?” I think one of them said I’d never get through the crush so I took that as kind of permission, and went before they could change their minds.’

Angela nodded. She could see the situation very clearly, Della, dowdy, desperate and, as the room filled up with glitterati, feeling increasingly like a spare part, wanting to have some quasi-valid reason for getting close to Griff. She wanted to hold out some sense of fellow-feeling for the woman. It might even help the interview along. ‘I can understand how you feel,’ she said. ‘He comes across great on TV, doesn’t he?’

‘Yessss!’ breathed Della. Her eyes lit up at the prospect of a fellow devotee. ‘How can anyone not like him? Right from the start I’ve felt this really deep bond, a spiritual connection.’ A calculating look appeared in her eyes, which puzzled Angela. ‘I think we’re soul mates, Griff and I,’ she said studying Angela. A sudden glint of hostility had appeared in her eyes.

Light dawned for Angela. You think I’m a possible rival for his affections, don’t you? she thought. ‘Really?’ she answered. ‘That’s fascinating. No wonder you go to such lengths to get near him.’ Della relaxed and smiled, pleased with the response, but Angela got the sense that a bit more fan credibility was required. ‘It’s easy to see why. I find him very attractive and I never miss his programme. He could produce beans on toast in every programme and I’d still watch it,’ she said.

Della remained silent as though thinking something over. Angela slewed her eyes across to Gary, and at the back of her mind felt amused to witness his bewilderment at the turn the conversation had taken. She gave him a minimal nod to reassure him. Girl stuff, Gary, roll with it, she thought. Gary returned the nod.

Della, missing the signals between the two police officers, had made up her mind. ‘Do you want to see something?’ she asked.

‘See something? What do you mean?’ Angela looked quickly at Gary who’d moved forward in his seat. Della was also aware of the movement and Angela warned him with a glance to relax.

‘It wouldn’t interest you,’ Della said to Gary in a tone that meant, ‘it had better not interest you’. ‘I don’t suppose you’re into Griff Madoc, are you?’

‘Not really, but I do like good food,’ he said.

‘Where is this “thing”?’ asked Angela.

‘It’s upstairs.’

‘Oh really? I’d love to see.’ Angela glanced at Gary and was relieved to see that he’d got the message completely.

‘I’ll wait down here,’ he said.

A smiled of relief appeared on Della’s face. ‘This way,’ she said to Angela, heading for the door. Angela followed her along the passage and up the stairs. ‘You’ll be amazed at what I’ve built up,’ said Della, as she went ahead.

You’re right, I am, thought Angela two minutes later as she stood in the doorway of the smallest bedroom and gazed around. It’s… it’s a shrine, she said to herself, my goodness. I never thought I’d see a statue of the Blessed Virgin playing second fiddle to a celebrity chef. She became aware of the other woman’s eyes on her, slightly nervous, waiting for her reaction. Angela raised her eyebrows. ‘Wow! This is amazing. What a collection!’

Della relaxed and smiled, pleased at the response. ‘It’s taken me months,’ she said.

Angela nodded. ‘I can imagine,’ she replied. Her eyes roamed over the big photograph of Della and Griff in pride of place and took in the menus; everything lovingly framed and hung with care and precision. Her glance rested briefly on the items on top of the little altar. Oops, don’t call it an altar, Angie, she admonished herself slightly, studying the little desk and recognising that the ‘shrine’ analogy had taken root. The comb, she guessed to be one of Griff’s, as was the handkerchief, no doubt. Towards the back of the display Angela’s eyes fell on the wristband she had noticed before on Della, as well as on several people at the launch party. Della’s hand went involuntarily to her mouth in a gesture of sudden embarrassment and she remained uncharacteristically silent. Alert, Angela smiled pleasantly at the woman so as not to alarm her, and picked up the band. ‘This is how they do the security, I suppose,’ she said. Della nodded. Angela’s awareness of the woman’s feelings increased in the continuing silence and, intrigued, she turned the band round to read the name: Pauline Madoc.

Angela kept her voice light, a casual enquiry only. ‘Is this how you managed to get in to the launch?’ Della nodded, still mute, now chewing on a fingernail.

‘How did you get hold of it?’

Della found her tongue. ‘I found it, when I was watching the filming earlier. I’m not surprised she took it off, wouldn’t go with her designer gear, would it? I thought I’d take it to her and return it.’

No you didn’t, thought Angela. You thought you’d use it to gate crash the launch. ‘Where was it, exactly?’ she asked.

‘Just on the ground. I think it might have fallen out of her bag. I could hardly believe my luck, to be honest; I’m not in trouble, am I?’

Angela smiled. ‘Probably not. We have to take note of all sorts of things. I shan’t be reporting you to the Royal Horticultural Society, if that’s what you mean.’

She heard a breathy ‘thank you’ as she continued to study the display, but was aware that Della hadn’t relaxed as might have been expected. If anything, strangely, she had become even more tense. Angela cast her eyes across at her to be greeted with a quick, nervous smile, and her curiosity switched to full power. Angela had questioned too many guilty suspects not to feel immediately alert. She let her gaze roam over the top of the desk and looked casually again at Della. Yes, the bright smile again, only this time Angela recognised the fear that accompanied it. Della tried to hold her gaze. So we’ve dealt with the wristband but she still doesn’t want me to look too closely at the desk, I think, she surmised. She allowed her eyes to be locked on to Della’s, saw a faint hint that the fear at the back of them had lessened slightly. Once she knew she had Angela’s attention Della spoke. ‘Of course, you’ll be wanting to see a copy of the book. I don’t suppose you’ve had a chance to buy it yet, have you? It’s really well-produced, the pictures make all the dishes look delicious. I’d got that downstairs; we’ll have to go back to the kitchen.’ She moved towards the door unable to conceal her haste to leave the room.

I just know I’m on to something here, thought Angela ignoring Della’s body language and turning back to the table. ‘You’ve certainly made it into a lovely display,’ she said, taking it in again. The photographs, the comb and handkerchief, pretty much standard fan trophies – Ah! Her eyes focussed on a small black pouch just next to the wristband, but nearly hidden behind one of the pictures. Yes, Della had stopped half in-half out of the door, and she could sense the tension rise in her again. Keeping her voice casual, she pointed to it. ‘That looks interesting,’ she said.

‘Oh, that; I’m not sure I’m going to use it.’ Della gave a small giggle and injected a careless note into her voice, which was quite impressive but failed to convince. She waved her hands and shrugged to show just how unimportant the matter was. Angela, nodded, smiled, looked back at the pouch and waited. Of all the people she’d ever interviewed, this woman was one who would have great difficulty in remaining silent. Her patience was rewarded. Within a few seconds Della had launched herself into an explanation. ‘It just reminded me of one that I thought Griff has — ’ She stopped with a gasp, realising where such an admission might lead and hurried on with another little wave of the hands and an inconsequential shrug. ‘I haven’t opened it yet, I haven’t had time. I was going to look at it more when the time was right — when I had a few moments to spare. You know how it is.’ Angela did know how it was. For a fan, the moment had to be approached with a degree of reverence; it could almost be a ritual. Something having a connection to her hero had to be built up slowly and with due ceremony. Della would take her time. ‘As it happens, the zip is stuck in the fabric and I need to be careful. There’s no point in tearing it by being in a hurry. But now I come to think of it, the one I saw probably belonged to his wife. They were packing to go on holiday in this magazine, you know, an article in a mag… it was ages ago. And I saw this, but now I come to think of it, it’s nothing like the one in the picture and, of course, I only want stuff that actually belonged to Griff and this didn’t so…’ As it happened, Angela remembered the magazine article. It had been in one of the glossies and she didn’t think it had been so long ago. She made a mental note to check it out.

‘Where did you get it?’ she asked, abandoning all pretence that they were a pair of Griff Madoc fans cooing over memorabilia.

Della gulped and had another stab at projecting ‘inconsequential’. ‘Oh, I really can’t remember,’ she answered. But she finished on a half-strangulated sob that was considerably more eloquent than her words.

Angela responded with a gentleness she didn’t truly feel. ‘I don’t think that’s true, is it?’

Della gave another half-sob and brought a hand to her mouth. ‘It was nothing to do with anything, I didn’t, I wouldn’t. It wasn’t even in the same room.’

The soft tone of Angela’s voice didn’t disguise the core of steel running through it. ‘Did you find this at the Chelsea Flower Show on the day of the murder?’

Della’s eyes brimmed with tears and she nodded dumbly.

‘More specifically, was it in the hospital, close to where the death occurred?’

Della sat down heavily on the only chair in the room, tears now coursing freely down her cheeks. She gave another nod and tried to excuse herself. ‘It’s all right; it was away from where it all happened.’

‘Where did you find it?’

Della gave a deep shuddering breath. ‘In the toilets, in one of the cubicles.’

Angela took a deep breath. The very area they had searched, looking for signs of poison. ‘Della, you took what could be evidence away from the scene of the crime. That’s a very serious offence.’ Della’s plump shoulders shook uncontrollably as she wept. Angela walked to the door and called down the stairs. Within seconds Gary appeared in the room and Angela pointed to the small black pouch. ‘Della found that in a cubicle in the ladies’ toilets on the day of the murder.’

‘What the toilets in the — ’

‘The Chelsea Hospital, yes; the ones nearest to where the book-launch was held?’

Gary raised his eyebrows and took an evidence bag out of his pocket.

Angela turned back to Della. ‘Della, we’re going to have to take this item.’

Della nodded between her sobs.

‘And I can’t guarantee there’ll be no repercussions from this, but if I can help you I will. I need you to be completely frank with me, though.’

Della nodded and sobbed at the same time. ‘Yes, yes, yes,’ she breathed. ‘I’m so sorry, so sorry. It’s just that, it’s Griff. It’s so like his one; I couldn’t resist.’

‘I understand,’ said Angela. But even though you might have a boring, dull life, relieved only by your unwelcome pursuit of Griff, you’re not stupid and you must know that removing evidence from a crime scene is a serious offence. ‘OK, we’ll be off now. I’ll be in touch as soon as I need to speak to you again.’ She nodded at Gary and they left her, calmer now, in the little shrine dedicated to a man whose chief response to her had been a request that she stay away from him.

In the car on the way back Angela called DCI Stanway and told him of their find. The hopeful tone in his voice didn’t really raise her spirits. She found it difficult to break her mind away from the pathetic little shrine she’d found in the upstairs bedroom of Della’s house. Angela sighed as she considered the parameters of this woman’s existence, a depressing thought.

Chapter 25

Back at the office, Angela looked into the incident room, prior to going along to Stanway’s room when her attention was caught by something different on the whiteboard. She studied it, trying to figure out what it was.

Jim, sitting at his desk, spoke up. ‘Another one bites the dust, Angie.’

‘Really? Tell me what I’m looking at, Jim.’

Jim pointed. ‘I finally got through to the lady friend.’

‘Ah! Huw Maddox. Oh I see, his alibi holds good. They were together the whole day and even visited her sister. Hmm, that’s that, then.’

‘Shall I let the DCI know, Angie?’

She shook her head. ‘No, that’s OK, I’m on my way to see him. I’ve got a couple of things to talk about. I’ll tell him.’

Five minutes later, Stanway crossed the name Huw Maddox off his list of suspects with a philosophical shake of the head. His expression was a great deal more alarmed when Angela told him about the dinner party. But, being a pragmatic man, he didn’t waste time dwelling on something he couldn’t do anything about, especially not when they had something much more pressing to discuss.

‘So tell me again about this woman and the pouch,’ he said, dragging his eyes away from a newly-acquired mini-orchid sitting in a bright yellow pot among the more familiar collection of roses on his window sill, and beamed at her. You’re obviously still in flower show mode, she thought, suppressing a smile. ‘Well done, by the way,’ he added. Angela, sitting across the desk from him, smiled in gratification. ‘Given that we searched the whole place and everybody in it, not finding any trace of the poison was totally baffling. What about this woman, is she culpable, do you think?’

‘I wouldn’t say so, Sir. I don’t think she actually had the intention of removing evidence.’

‘But that’s exactly what she did.’

‘She was collecting a souvenir.’

A puzzled frown appeared on Stanway’s face. ‘A souvenir… of a murder?’

‘Not as such; she’s an obsessed fan of Griff Madoc.’

Stanway’s frown deepened. ‘But he’s a cook, isn’t he? It’s not like he’s a popstar or an actor; even a sportsman I could understand.’

Angela had to stop herself from laughing out loud. ‘A celebrity chef, Sir, and he’s really rather a dish — pun intended.’

Stanway looked very dubious. ‘Hm, if you say so, Angie, I’ve never seen his programme.’

Angela kept her face straight. ‘I think it clashes with Garden Time, Sir.’

‘Ah, that would explain it. So tell me about this woman, then.’

‘I feel a bit sorry for her. She can’t really see beyond her fixation and she recognised the pouch as being just like one that she knows Griff owns.’

‘So she took it, yes I see, Angie. Is she aware she could get into serious trouble for this?’

‘I’m not sure. I did try to explain. I don’t suppose she thought things through at the time, just acted on the spur of the moment.’

‘If it does turn out to be the murder weapon she — ’

‘ — Yes, Sir, that had crossed my mind. The zip is stuck and she hadn’t got around to trying to get it open.’

‘That might turn out to be very fortunate for her. OK, Angie. Well, we’ve got to wait for forensics to work their magic. In the meantime,’ he tilted his head and smiled at her, ‘this pouch…?’

‘Yes, it must have had an owner before Della got hold of it.’

‘Exactly.’

Angela rose and pushed her chair back under the desk. ‘I’m on my way, Sir,’ she replied.

Back in her office she fired up her computer, went on to the internet, strolled through a variety of glossy magazines and found the article that had come to mind during her conversation with Della, TV CHEF HOPING TO BROWN IN THE SUN. Not having a subscription to the magazine, she couldn’t access the whole article but she didn’t need to. A large photo showed Griff leaning over a bed, smiling at the camera, as he deposited some clothing into an open suitcase. The pouch stood on top of a pile of more clothes alongside, neatly folded and waiting to be packed. She printed up a copy. Not remarkable, the bag looked to be a good quality item. Angela studied it as best she could but couldn’t see any obvious designer labels. A movement behind her caused her to turn round. Gary had come into the room.

‘Ah, Gary, evidence sorted?’

‘Yes, they’re going to do it as quick as they can but ask for at least twenty-four hours.’

‘Good-oh.’

‘What’s that?’ he asked pointing at the paper in her hand. She held it out to him, showing him the printed side. ‘Oh, I see,’ he said, peering at the picture. ‘Yes, I wonder if it’s the same. It looks identical to the one we’ve just found, doesn’t it?’

‘It does indeed,’ she replied. ‘Our next task is to try and find the owner of the one you’ve just dispatched to the forensic department, keeping in mind that it might, or might not be, this exact one in the photo.’

‘Are we starting with Griff Madoc, then?’ he asked.

‘I rather think we will,’ she said. ‘Which reminds me, Marcel Lambret is likely to be there as well and — ’

‘Ah, yes, I haven’t heard anything from the financial team yet. I’ll chase that up later.’

They found Griff in the little office at the back of his restaurant. He and Marcel were poring over what looked to be their accounts. A couple of ledgers lay open on the desk and each man had a calculator in front of him. Angela resolutely put the smaller red notebook of their previous visit out of her mind for the moment. Griff closed the books and stood up when the two police officers entered. ‘I’ll make myself scarce,’ offered Marcel.

‘It’s not necessary,’ replied Angela. ‘We’ll be asking you the same question.’

‘OK, two birds with one stone, then.’ He grinned. ‘I’ll find a couple of chairs.’

He disappeared and came back a moment later with two folding chairs. Once they were all seated Angela produced the page she’d printed and held it out to Griff. ‘Take a look at this please, Griff,’ she said.

Griff took it with a puzzled look but immediately his expression lightened. ‘Oh I remember this. Last summer, my goodness, such a lot has happened since then. If you’d told me how things could change I wouldn’t have believed it.’ His puzzled expression returned and he looked up at Angela. ‘I’m not sure what relevance…?’

‘Bear with me, Griff.’ Angela leaned over and tapped the washbag in the photograph. ‘A bag identical to this one has turned up and may have relevance to the murder of Neville Ingram.’

Griff raised his eyebrows. ‘Has it indeed.’ He passed the page to Marcel and waited.

Marcel looked puzzled for an instant then his brow cleared. ‘Ah, the anniversary presents,’ he said. ‘I’m still using mine.’

‘So am I, as you can see,’ said Griff with a smile.

‘Anniversary presents?’ asked Angela.

Marcel explained. ‘Early last year we had a double celebration. It was five years since Griff had opened the restaurant, and four years since we’d officially become partners in it. In fact, we delayed signing the agreement so it could be on the same date. Anyway, we had a party, and we gave out these washbags as favours to our staff. We’ve got a very nice team and we appreciate them. We put some good stuff in, expensive toiletries, nail-scissors, a little magnifying mirror, an international travel adaptor, stuff like that. They went down a treat.’

‘It’s interesting you saying that a bag like this has cropped up in your enquiry,’ remarked Griff, with a thoughtful look. ‘I’d love to know how.’

‘It wouldn’t be right to go into details at the moment,’ parried Angela. ‘Can you tell me how many people working for you have one of these bags?’

‘Ten,’ said Griff without hesitation. ‘Assuming they’ve all still got them, that is.’ ‘Plus Marcel and myself. We both liked them and decided we’d have a couple for ourselves while we were at it. I remember giving the order to Tricia for twelve bags.’

‘Tricia?’

Griff smiled. ‘Yes, it was soon after we met and… everything changed for me. I was talking to her on one occasion about the forthcoming anniversary celebrations and saying that we wanted to give our staff some nice practical gift; nothing major, just a token but a good one. In fact it was her suggestion. She’d received the same sort of thing the previous Christmas from her uncle, Luke Prentice. She told me he had the same bag and decided to get one for her and fill it with goodies. It’s a good quality one but not with any particular designer label, which suited us; we didn’t want to go overboard. Anyway, like a lot of men, I don’t have the shopping gene but Tricia volunteered to get them for me. Bless her, she also sourced everything that went into them, which I really didn’t have the time to do right then.’

Angela felt her heart sink. ‘So Luke Prentice, Tricia Prentice, the two of you and ten members of your staff all have bags like this?’

‘I’m sure loads of people have a bag just like this, Inspector,’ said Marcel. ‘Ours came from a West End department store but I’m sure you could get them elsewhere.’

‘Yes, I’m sure you’re right,’ replied Angela, standing up. Gary also rose. They thanked the two men for their time and left the restaurant.

‘So that’s that, then,’ said Gary once they were back in the car. ‘And we still don’t even know if this bag is relevant.’

‘True — but if it turns out that it contains the poison, we’ll know where to start the next stage of our enquiry.’

‘We’ll have fourteen people to chase up.’ Just at that moment his mobile rang, but since he was behind the wheel Angela answered it and pressed the speaker so they could both hear the call.

‘D. I. Costello?’ she said.

‘Ah, Inspector. This is Brian Mathers of the Financial Service Unit. D.C. Houseman asked me to look into the affairs of Marcel Lambret, Griff Madoc’s business partner.’

Angela and Gary exchanged speculative glances. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That was a request on my behalf. Have you got anything for us?’

‘Oh yes, we didn’t have to dig very deep to discover that Mr Lambret has considerable debts, all from gambling. He seems to have quite a problem.’

‘Ah,’ said Angela, remembering the notebook and wondering if what she’d seen referred to these debts. ‘I wonder how the death of his business partner would help, though.’

‘It depends how tight a rein his partner keeps on things. This is the case of that killing at the Chelsea Flower Show, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘So the partner we’re talking about is Griff Madoc. We’ve come across his name several times so far; an astute business man, if what I’m finding is anything to go by; got things tied up quite efficiently. If, say, Marcel Lambret needs to raise a loan, one option would be to use the company as collateral. To be honest, it doesn’t look as though he has any other avenues to try. His share in the restaurant is his only business venture. And if Griff Madoc vetoed using that to raise a loan, which is what I would do in his shoes, I mean, gambling debts are just throwing good money after bad, aren’t they? So I would think he’ll be pushed to find the amount he needs. We’re talking about quite a wedge. However, if the partner isn’t around anymore, depending on who inherits Mr Madoc’s share of the business, this might free him up to dig himself out of his hole.’

‘I think Griff Madoc’s wife would be his heir.’

‘Well then, you’ve got all sorts of scenarios that could ensue. For instance, she might not be so keen on the restaurant. She might let him do as he likes, happy just to take her cut and ask no questions. She could even accommodate him using the business as collateral against a loan. You just never know.’

‘Of course this is all just speculation at the moment,’ cautioned Angela.

‘There’s nothing speculative about these debts,’ countered Mathers. ‘Mind you,’ he added, ‘there’s a ray of hope.’

‘Oh really?’

‘For his gambling addiction, I mean. A couple of very recent payments indicate that he’s now seeking help. One is to Gamblers Anonymous.’

‘That’s a good sign,’ agreed Angela.

‘Yes, can’t be much fun. OK, I’ll keep on the job and see what else I turn up. I just thought you’d want to know.’

‘Yes, I do, and I’m grateful for your quick work.’ Angela finished the call and looked across at Gary. ‘So,’ she said.

‘A motive for Marcel Lambret.’

‘Yes indeed. But what about means and opportunity?’

‘He’s probably got as good a chance of getting his hands on cyanide as any of the suspects. I mean, none of them are chemists or involved in the kind of industry where you could come by it easily.’ Gary pointed out. ‘So whoever did the deed had to make an effort to get hold of the stuff.’

‘True. That probably means buying it, and Leanne and Derek should uncover the purchase in their research.’

‘I would have thought so,’ agreed Gary.

‘That leaves us with opportunity. We need to speak to this catering college pal he’s supposed to have hooked up with.’

‘Yes, I’ll see if I can set something up when we’re back.’

After a few moments silence Angela spoke again. ‘You know, re: this alibi, something’s occurred to me.’

‘Oh yes, what?’

‘I’m just wondering how helpful this buddy from Marcel’s college days is going to be.’

Gary threw a quick glance across at her. ‘How do you mean?’

‘Think about it. He, the friend is working in some hospitality tent at the show. We both now know how crowded and busy the show gets.’

‘Not much time to stop and chat, I would have thought,’ said Gary.

‘Yes, there’s that, but I’m sure they did meet up and talk, and Marcel then went on his merry way — but unless the friend is a real stickler for time he probably couldn’t be exact about when their conversation took place.’

‘I see what you’re getting at. The murder scene was chaotic by all accounts, but it was pretty much contained within the hospital building.’

‘Yes, so we’ve got Marcel chatting to his old pal. But, apart from his word, we don’t have any way of verifying that he wasn’t in the room, or very close by at the relevant time.’

‘Of course, and in all the brouhaha his presence or absence wouldn’t really be noted.’

‘Yes, we’ll check with this friend but, for my money, Marcel’s alibi has just become very elastic.’

Chapter 26

‘A party?’ mused Patrick that evening at dinner. ‘You’re on standby? That makes you sound like one of the catering staff, you know, in case not enough waiters turn up.’

‘No, of course not, Pads — ’ Angela stopped and looked at Patrick for a moment. ‘You know, I didn’t think of that. It’s not a bad idea.’

‘Having the police there disguised as waiters, you mean?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’d have to draft in some unknown faces. You’re too well known to them, which is a shame.’

Angela was momentarily deflected. ‘Why “shame”?’

Patrick grinned. ‘I rather fancy the idea of you in a short black skirt and a little white pinny.’

Angela laughed. ‘I’ll think about it, for a birthday treat, maybe.’

‘Whoo-hoo, a waitress-o-gram. Seriously, darling. First thing, are they getting caterers in to do it?’

‘I don’t know, someone said, somewhere along the line that Pauline would have to as she’s not much of a cook and she wants to impress Griff. But now that Griff’s taken over, it does seem rather daft that a top chef would get caterers in to cook at his own dinner party.’

‘Personally, I think it’s unlikely, which is another cause for shame.’

‘Oh, why’s that, this time?’

‘No chance of a doggie-bag.’

‘That’s not a shame, that’s a tragedy.’

‘Hm, I strongly suspect you’re just going to do your “standing by” outside with your faces pressed to the window, so to speak.’

‘I think you might be right.’

Just at that moment they were interrupted by the phone ringing. ‘I’ll get it,’ said Angela. She picked up the receiver. ‘Hello?’

‘Hi, Angie, it’s Martin, just responding to your voicemail. I hope I’m not calling at a bad moment but I’ve got to dash out soon and won’t get another chance for a couple of days.’

‘Oh, great! Thanks for calling me back, no, it’s OK, I can talk.’ Angela saw the questioning look on Patrick’s face and pointed to the phone. ‘It’s Martin,’ she mouthed. Patrick nodded.

‘Sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to you,’ continued Father Martin. ‘Ray’s been away on a retreat. He only got back yesterday.’

‘No problem, it’s kind of you to help me out. What did Father Ray say?’

‘Well, the theory that Mrs Madoc is trying to mend fences with her husband continues to look good. She paid Ray a couple of visits, the first time to ask questions and the second time to make sure she’d got the information correct.’

‘This information being?’

‘She wanted all the gen on convalidation.’

‘Convalidation?’ Angela’s mouth dropped open and she stared, unseeingly at Patrick.

‘Yes, it’s when the Church — ’

‘Thanks, yes, thanks, Martin. Sorry to interrupt you but I need to make notes before I do anything else. I know what convalidation is. Pauline Madoc obviously wants to do the right thing by Griff and their marriage. You’ve been very helpful, thanks. We hope to have you round for dinner again soon.’ She finished the call and replaced the receiver, still staring into space.

‘Did I hear the word convalidation?’ asked Patrick.

Angela blinked. ‘Yes, you did.’

‘So, the Madocs must have got married in a registry office and now she wants to get it confirmed in a church.’

‘That’s what it looks like. You know, this raises several questions in my mind.’

‘I don’t know why. It’s very commendable, trying to do what she thinks is important for her husband.’

‘Well, we did come to the conclusion she was working on her marriage, didn’t we?’

‘So what now?’

‘Nothing immediately; I need to see if, and where, it fits into everything.’ He smiled. ‘What?’ she asked.

‘Just thinking about waitress uniforms,’ he said.

‘Have you heard any more about this dinner party, Angie?’ Asked Stanway the following morning.

‘Not yet, Sir.’

‘In any case, I hope you counselled him against it.’

‘I did.’

‘I don’t like sound of it at all. What’s his little game?’

‘He didn’t say, and I couldn’t ask him, but it’s my belief he’s got a notion of bringing things to a head.’

‘Playing amateur sleuth, eh; is he extraordinarily naïve?’

‘I don’t think so, Sir. I’m sure he will be watching the food very closely.’

‘That doesn’t ease my misgivings in the slightest, Angie. We need to put a stop to this.’

‘We can’t prevent a private citizen from holding a party in his own home.’

Stanway frowned, tutted, sighed, ran his hand across his mouth several times and frowned some more.

‘All right, so who else is on the guest list?’

‘Everybody of concern to us, Sir.’

‘That’s exactly the right word, and I am, deeply concerned. So should you be, Angie.’

‘I am, Sir. I’m putting the whole team on standby.’

Stanway sighed again and nodded in resignation. ‘Yes, yes, I suppose it’s the best we can do. OK, since he still hasn’t come back to you with a date, let’s not talk about that for now. Have you got anything fresh?’

‘Yes, Sir, Luke Prentice and Marcel Lambret have both moved centre stage with the other main suspects.’

‘Ah yes, the chap who wants the Madoc account and Griff Madoc’s business partner.’

‘Yes, one definitely and the other, possibly, present at the scene and both in possession of an excellent motives.’

‘So tell me about them.’

‘Luke Prentice, first: he’s urbane, sophisticated, intelligent, more than capable of carrying out a murder, I should have thought. And we picked up on a long-standing association with Melanie Ingram.’

‘Ah!’

‘They’ve known each other for years, apparently, started out as interns together. Luke made no secret of his admiration for her business acumen. In fact, I got the distinct impression that he would happily share the corporate bed with her, if you see what I mean. And Griff thinks they could get together, as a couple, I mean, so he’s obviously aware of some kind of attraction between them.’

‘Really? This is becoming interesting.’

‘Well if, as we surmised the other day, Melanie Ingram would have needed funds to buy her husband out…’

‘A deal with Luke Prentice might be just the thing, yes, yes, this has distinct possibilities, Angie.’ Stanway rubbed his palms together, looking altogether more cheerful. ‘And what about Marcel Lambret?’

‘He’s got huge gambling debts. As far as we know, either being able to raise money on the restaurant or coming into his share of it in the event of his partner’s death might get him out of the hole he’s in.’

‘And what about his alibi?’

‘Yes, Sir; that might be more problematic, but Gary and I were discussing it yesterday.’ Angela quickly outlined the scenario she and Gary had talked about.

Stanway nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I can see how that might work, Angie. Have you got Leanne delving into their affairs?’

‘I’ve got her delving into most of them but I’ll add Luke Prentice to her to-do list and ask her to liaise with the Financial Services Unit, who are already scrutinising Marcel Lambret’s.’

‘Right, I think we’re covering everything we can. I wanted to have as broad a picture of the case as we can because we’ve had a development.’

He picked up a sheaf of papers from his desk and held them out to her.

‘Ah, Sir, are those the forensic reports on that little bag we found in Della Burnett’s room?’

‘And the contents thereof, yes. It makes very interesting reading.’

‘Yes, I could feel there was something inside it,’ replied Angela, studying the papers. ‘Like a little phial or container of some sort.’ She read through the first page and looked up at Stanway. ‘Hmm…’

‘Yes, it’s a phial and it did indeed contain traces of the cyanide. That silly woman removed vital evidence from the scene of the murder. Yes, yes, I know it wasn’t from the actual scene itself, but very close, and you’d have to be an idiot not to wonder, at least, if there’s a connection between the washbag and what had just occurred at that “do”. And — ’ continued the DCI as he saw Angela getting ready to speak. ‘Apart from the obsession with Griff Madoc, which I find quite incomprehensible, I don’t think she’s an idiot. I’ve a good mind to throw the book at her.’

Angela thought back to the pitiful scene she’d left in Della’s room as she took the bag away. She realised the futility of explaining; Stanway wouldn’t get it. Deflection seemed to be the way forward. She glanced at the second page and something caught her eye.

‘Ah, they managed to lift a fingerprint from the phial. Oh, wow! That surprises me.’

‘Really? I hadn’t got that far when I saw you passing. Let’s have a look.’

Angela handed the papers back to him and waited as he scanned the information. ‘Oh my.’ He looked enquiringly at her. ‘I think that wraps it up, don’t you?’

‘Do you think it’s possible another innocent person, one between the murderer and Della, handled the bag? I mean it was found in the toilets, after all and anybody — ’

‘Could have put it there or handled it before, Della. But the teeth of the pouch were stuck. Della only handled the outside of the bag. So the murderer is the one who left the fingerprint.’

‘Possibly, Sir, but let me play devil’s advocate for a moment. Suppose the murderer didn’t leave the fingerprint and at the time of abandoning the pouch the zip wasn’t stuck?’

Stanway ruminated for a few moments. ‘So, another party found the pouch, delved inside, touched the phial, leaving the print, and then, perhaps realising he or she was holding something lethal in their hands hurriedly zipped the pouch up, catching the teeth in their haste and disposed of it as soon as possible. Very reprehensible, if that’s the case, nearly on a par with taking evidence from the scene but, OK, I see what you’re saying, Angie, and it’s entirely possible. But it’s also possible that we’ve found our culprit.’

‘Hm… yes, Sir.’

‘You’re not happy about this?’

‘Not at all, Sir. I just want to make sure we’ve covered all out options. Since this evidence was removed from the scene, we can’t be sure whose hands it passed through.’

‘I don’t see how it could have passed through many, Angie, but I take your point.’ He put his head to one side and studied her for a moment. ‘So what do you plan to do about it?’

Angela realised she was being given an order. ‘Oh, I shall act on it, Sir. I would like to have a look at all the motives again first, though.’

‘No problem. Get it as watertight as you can.’ He nodded towards the forensic report. ‘But we can’t ignore facts.’

‘We won’t, Sir,’ Angela reassured him as she left the office.

On her way back to the incident room her mobile rang.

‘D.I. Costello?’ she answered, distracted, her mind still half on the forensic report.

‘Inspector?’ The soft Welsh cadence coming at her through the phone brought her back to the present moment with a start.

‘Griff, how many I help you?’

‘You wanted me to let you know when the famous dinner party is going to be.’

‘Ah yes, I did.’

‘I’m sorry it’s such short notice, but we’re having it tonight.’

‘Oh my goodness. That is short notice. But thank you for letting me know.’ She paused then spoke again. ‘Griff, I’m still very concern — ’

‘It’s all right, Inspector, I know what you’re going to say and I’m grateful. But I can’t live with this shadow over me.’

‘If you could just bear with us, Griff.’ Angela glanced down at the forensic report in her hand. ‘I can’t go into details, obviously, but we are making headway, believe me.’

‘That’s good to hear. Your procedures might not be quick enough for me, though. I want to clear things up and get on with my life.’

‘I understand, Griff,’ replied Angela. ‘Er, did you get caterers in, by the way?’

She could hear the puzzled amusement in his voice as he answered. ‘Why would I need caterers to provide a dinner-party for nine people? I’m a chef, Inspector.’

‘Yes of course, silly question, really. Please promise you’ll call me if you need me.’

Griff duly made the promise and Angela had to be content with that. An hour later she’d presented the forensic report to her team. The initial reaction had been one of jubilation, which had turned to sober reflection when she pointed out her objections and they settled down to discuss things.

‘It’s a bit like the business of doctoring that drink in the first place, isn’t it?’ opined Rick. Any one of them could have done it.’

‘I think we should take it a face value,’ said Derek. ‘If the owner of the fingerprint isn’t the guilty party they’ll have an explanation for why they took the pouch and chucked it away in the ladies.’

‘It must have been a woman,’ remarked Jim.

‘Not necessarily,’ came two or three voices back at him. Jim shrugged.

‘I know we’ve got to confront this person,’ agreed Gary, ‘but it would be better if all the suspects were together. We could watch how the others react.’

‘They’ll all be together at this dinner party that’s coming up,’ offered Leanne.

‘Ah, yes, that’s something else I need to tell you. I had a call from Griff Madoc before coming in here. This “do” is on for tonight. Now, just so we’re all singing from the same hymn-sheet. This is the dinner that was supposed to be a romantic diner-à-deux, for the two of them and now it’s a full-blown banquet. Griff and Pauline’s marriage looms large in all this,’ she remarked almost to herself. ‘And I can’t really figure out why.’

‘I’ve looked into it, guv,’ said Leanne. She leaned back on the desk at which she normally worked and picked up some sheets of paper. She handed them over Angela. ‘It’s all very straightforward. Their marriage licence is in with that stuff. Mind you, it was a registry office ceremony and now that he’s back as a full-on Catholic again I expect he’ll be wanting to sort that out. I mean, it’s a legal marriage, but the Church won’t recognise it so he’ll have to — ’

‘Yes, yes! I know what’s required.’ Angela realised she had snapped at the detective. ‘Sorry, Leanne; I didn’t mean to bite your head off. I’ve got some kind of little niggle about this marriage. It’s significant in some way but I can’t grasp exactly why and it’s driving me crazy. Actually, I found out from an independent source last night that Pauline Madoc went to a local priest and asked about convalidation.’

Several of the team shared puzzled glances at this, but Leanne merely nodded. ‘I think it’s a simple enough process. I had an uncle and aunt in that situation. They hadn’t been near nor by a church in years, had a civil wedding ceremony and then decided, in their fifties, there must be a God after all and came back. They then had their marriage convalidated by the Church. My cousins kept joking about how, all the time they were growing up, their parents had actually been living in sin. Of course, lots of people don’t worry about that sort of thing nowadays.’

‘Living in sin? Is that how Griff would now look at it?’ asked Rick.

‘I imagine he must,’ agreed Leanne. ‘Still, it sounds, from what the guv just said that, even though she’s not a believer herself, that Pauline Madoc is doing her best to accommodate him. The report on the interview with Luke Prentice even mentioned that she’s got some sexy underwear.’

‘From what I hear, she’s not making much headway with her plans,’ said Angela.

‘Ah yes, but if this dinner was originally supposed to be a romantic thingy she’s obviously going to keep trying. Bit funny, though, agreeing to have her dead lover’s wife there. I don’t think I’d fancy that. Of course, she wouldn’t know that we now suspect Luke Prentice and Marcel Lambret more strongly. But she must guess we’ve got our eyes on Alwyn. Perhaps she doesn’t care about any of that. She might just be very keen to please Griff because she’s realised how close she came to being a widow. A shock can do that can’t it?’

Angela went rigid. She stared into the middle distance. The team became aware of her introspection and waited. A moment later every one of them jumped when she shouted. ‘I’ve got it!’ She looked around the room. ‘Gary, can you get me a copy of the list of property from when we searched everyone.’

‘Yes of course,’ said Gary.

‘Good, we’ll need that; it will help.’ She nodded, still deep within her own thoughts. ‘Gracious,’ she said at last, ‘it’s so simple!’

‘It is, guv? Do you mind sharing it with the rest of us?’ asked Derek.

Angela seemed to be on some other plane. She didn’t appear to be conscious of the others. ‘Oh yes,’ she breathed, relaxing. ‘Of course.’ And then, after a few moments she suddenly sat bolt upright, a look of alarm on her face. ‘YIKES!’

Leanne jumped. ‘Guv?’

‘Guv?’ repeated Derek after a silence. Again, everyone else waited.

Angela jumped up. ‘We’ve got to stop it!’

A flurry of activity ensued as they all moved. After a moment they all stopped again. ‘What are we stopping, Angie?’ asked Gary.

‘The dinner tonight, the one at which most of our suspects are on the guest list.’

‘Yes we know this but… but, Angie, you’re not… are you serious?’

‘Never more so.’ She beamed round at them all. ‘I now know who tried to kill Griff at Chelsea. That attempt failed and Neville became the unfortunate victim. The murderer hasn’t given up, though, and tonight’s gathering will provide another perfect opportunity.’

‘Oh no!’

‘Oh yes; let’s get going. We’ve got a murder to prevent.’

Chapter 27

Angela gave them a brief run-down of her latest thoughts, and they all agreed that they had a case for gate-crashing the dinner party. They didn’t stop to think much about who had which car. Angela, Gary and Leanne piled into Derek’s, while Jim and Rick followed in the HAT vehicle. They made slow progress in the early-evening traffic as they skirted the western edge of London. Twilight had crept over them by the time they parked a little way along the road from Griff and Pauline’s detached house in Harrow. Apart from one or two dog-walkers and a few homecoming cars the street remained quiet.

They waited.

Rhys and Constance Madoc arrived first; their majestic silver Lexus swept through the front gates and disappeared from view, followed soon after by Alwyn in a Smart car. ‘It’s still a bit early for a dinner-party, as such, isn’t it?’ ventured Gary.

‘I would expect the invitations to be something like eight for eight-thirty but maybe Griff’s parents and Alwyn have been asked deliberately early to give them the chance to have a family reunion,’ suggested Angela.

‘Oh yes, of course; they’re aunt, uncle and nephew, aren’t they?’ said Leanne.

‘So we just wait until everybody’s arrived, do we?’ asked Derek.

‘Oh yes,’ confirmed Angela. ‘There isn’t any point otherwise. The killer needs everybody present.’

After another half-hour a dark blue BMW turned into the spacious drive. Luke Prentice could be seen behind the wheel with Melanie Ingram in the front passenger seat. Tricia Prentice leaned forward from behind.

‘It doesn’t look as though Melanie Ingram will be alone for long,’ said Leanne.

‘Who knows how that’s going to go,’ replied Angela. ‘But to be honest, I think she’s already been alone for quite some time.’

They fell silent again until a red Toyota driven by Marcel Lambret went past them and followed where the previous cars had gone.

‘Full house,’ said Gary.

‘What now, guv?’ asked Leanne.

Angela swallowed. Her inclination was to let the party get past the meet-and-greet stage, but she felt convinced that as long as the murderer could throw suspicion on everybody else present, there was no need to observe any social conventions. Hark at me, she thought to herself with a secret, grim, smile. I’m actually thinking the murderer wouldn’t want to kill somebody during the hors d’oeuvres but would rather wait until everybody’s seated. ‘Let’s go,’ she said.

Griff opened the door to them. Even though she wouldn’t have expected anything to happen this early, Angela felt so relieved she couldn’t speak for a moment. Griff beamed at her. ‘Inspector, you’ve gone quite white, you know. Are you surprised to see me standing here, hale and hearty? Were you concerned for my welfare?’

Recovering herself, Angela returned his smile as she crossed the threshold. ‘Yes, somewhat,’ she admitted.

He stood back to let them in, leaning towards her as he closed the door. ‘Have you come to arrest someone?’

She nodded, not quite sure how to respond to his matter-of-fact attitude. ‘I have, I’m afraid.’

‘What a party-pooper you are, Inspector. We were just about to get stuck into the starter, a very nice gazpacho soup, just right for a pleasant warm evening. Still, needs must. You have a job to do.’ He led them to the dining-room and threw open the door with a flourish. ‘Slight change of plan, everybody,’ he called. ‘There’s some entertainment laid on, courtesy of the Met and it’s happening before we eat, not after.’

Angela and Gary followed him into the room and saw nine place settings laid at intervals on a snowy white cloth. The seven guests were all in their places. Most of them already had their entrée, the gazpacho, Griff had mentioned. Pauline gazed at them from the kitchen as she pushed the last of the bowls through the serving hatch. Angela couldn’t gauge her expression but everybody else turned puzzled faces towards them. Rhys and Constance Madoc sat on the far side of the table, Alwyn on Constance’s right. Luke Prentice sat on the near side flanked by Tricia and Melanie Ingram. Marcel had a place at one end.

An awkward silence reigned.

It was broken by Luke Prentice who looked around and gave a slightly embarrassed laugh. ‘Well, we’re all here, Inspector, all the usual suspects.’ In spite of his words the underlying tension in his voice couldn’t be mistaken.

Griff wagged a mock-admonitory finger at him. ‘Now, now, Luke; this is a serious business,’ he said. He tried to smile but couldn’t quite make it, betraying an inner tension.

Picking up on Griff’s mood, Luke tried to match it and help to lighten the atmosphere. He put a finger to his lips. ‘Sorry,’ he said. His voice fell away into a strained silence.

‘I’m sorry to spoil your party, ladies and gentlemen,’ began Angela. ‘I’ll come straight to the point.’ I don’t suppose anyone will feel much like eating afterwards, she thought. ‘I have reason to believe some of the food here is poisoned.

‘WHAT! Are you crazy?’ Pauline stormed out of the kitchen, appearing seconds later in the dining-room. All the colour had drained from her face but her eyes flashed. ‘No way! This is stupid.’ She moved towards Angela and stood in front of her, shaking. ‘That’s preposterous, Inspector.’

Angela kept her voice deliberately calm. ‘We had no choice. Once we had gathered all the evidence we were fearful of another attempt.’

‘You’re here on a wild-goose chase.’ Pauline spoke with complete disdain, the gaze she turned to Angela, stony cold.

‘I wish that was true, Mrs Madoc,’ said Angela. ‘But one man has already been killed.’

‘And everybody in this room was there on that occasion as well,’ added Griff, making Angela even more convinced that he’d engineered this dinner-party with the intention of flushing out the killer.

Pauline gasped, and if she was about to say anything more she was prevented from doing so by a groan from one end of the table. Everybody looked in that direction to see that Marcel had sunk his head into his hands. ‘Oh no,’ he moaned. He looked up at Angela. ‘I hoped I would be able to answer a few questions and sink into the background.’

A singularly naïve hope, thought Angela. ‘All sorts of things come to the surface in a murder investigation,’ she said.

Marcel nodded, his face miserable. ‘I hedged a bit about where I was at the time of the murder.’

‘We thought you might have,’ she answered. ‘We hadn’t got around to checking your alibi yet but it was on the agenda.’

‘I didn’t want to put my head above the parapet. I was afraid my sordid little secret would come out.’

‘Best come clean now, Marcel,’ said Griff in a sympathetic voice. ‘I’m sure it won’t go further than this room.’ Several nods and murmurs of agreement greeted his words.

Marcel sighed. ‘I’ve a bit of a problem with gambling.’ He looked around at them all. ‘I’ve finally joined one of those twelve-step programmes. I’m hopeful.’

‘Debts?’ queried Rhys.

Marcel nodded again. ‘Huge.’

‘Ah, I see,’ said Rhys.

‘Sorted now,’ Marcel added.

‘Really?’ asked Angela.

Marcel looked at her. ‘Do you remember when you came to see me the other day? I said I’d just come back from a funeral?’

‘Yes,’ replied Angela, remembering also, Marcel’s sprint to the office at the back of the restaurant kitchen so that he could hide a notebook from her.

‘I’d been paying my last respects to a great-aunt. She’s the one who put me through college, in fact. Anyway, I heard from her solicitor this morning. She’s left me a generous bequest.’ The relief could be heard in his voice and seen in the smile that appeared on his face. Angela decided not to point out that at the time of the murder he still had a motive. But motive must have been on Rhys’ mind because he spoke again.

‘In any case,’ he asked, ‘why would you want to kill Neville Ingram? You didn’t have any connection with him, did you?’

‘Er…’ An embarrassed look appeared on Marcel’s face and his eyes travelled from Griff to Angela as she struggled with an answer.

Angela paused before answering. ‘Right from the start there’s been a question mark over whether Neville Ingram was the intended victim.’

Rhys’ brow concertinaed as he considered this. Then the colour drained from his face and his expression turned to one of horror as the implications of Angela’s words sank in. His eyes went straight to his nephew. Alwyn held up his hands in a gesture that was half-protest, half-defence; he shook his head with considerable vehemence.

Rick, watching from the doorway, remembered the day he and Jim had gone to interview Rhys and Constance in Cardiff and the protective attitude of the father to his ‘boy’. ‘I must be stupid,’ said Rhys, almost to himself. ‘That never for one moment occurred to me.’

‘It did to me, dad, but I didn’t want to worry you and Mam,’ said Griff.

‘We’ve had to consider the possibility,’ said Angela.

Pauline sat down at her place. ‘This is very upsetting. I can’t believe anybody’s brought any, any… poison into this house.’ She turned worried eyes to Angela. ‘Is that what you think? The same sort of thing again, like what happened to Neville?’

‘We believe so,’ answered Angela.

‘Well, we’re all here, none of us has moved since you came in, Inspector,’ said Rhys. ‘If someone’s brought something in with them they shouldn’t, you’ll find it, or the evidence of it, won’t you? You’ll be wanting to search us and our belongings, I presume.’

What a cool head you’ve got, thought Angela, turning her face towards him. You saw danger for your family all those years ago and moved them away from it. I’m not in the least surprised you went on to build up a successful business. ‘Yes,’ she answered, gazing around at them all, the women mostly in blouses with either skirts or trousers; one, Melanie, in a dress; the men in shirts and ties, a couple of the ties already loosened. The invitation had obviously been for ‘smart casual’ and they’d robed accordingly. ‘Let’s do the easy bit first. Did you all bring jackets or coats?’ she asked.

‘The little cupboard by the front door,’ said Griff. ‘They’re all hanging in there.’

Angela cast her eyes past Gary, Rick and Jim to where Leanne and Derek stood in the hall. They raised their eyebrows enquiringly at her and she nodded. They took some gloves out of their pockets and put them on. Everyone in the room could hear them stomping to the area by the front door and opening the cupboard.

The uncomfortable silence in the dining room was broken by a half-concealed sob. All eyes turned towards a very distressed looking Tricia. She glanced round apologetically. ‘This is just horrible,’ she murmured. A tear rolled down one cheek. Griff made an involuntary movement towards her but checked himself, glancing at his wife. All those present couldn’t help but notice. Pauline flashed a venomous stare in his direction.

Luke put out a hand to his niece and laid it on top of hers on the table. ‘Don’t worry, babes. It’ll be all right.’

‘You don’t know that,’ snapped Pauline. ‘I mean, none of us know anything, do we? This is awful.’ She played with the cutlery by her place in an agitated manner.

After a few moments, Derek called from the hallway. ‘Guv!’

Everyone in the room jumped. Angela went out to where Derek and Leanne stood. Each was now holding an object. Wordlessly they held out their finds. Leanne held a pair of balled-up rubber gloves and a small phial half-full of some colourless crystals. Derek held a man’s sports jacket and a lady’s blazer by the collars. ‘Bring them in,’ she said, leading the way back to the dining room. Leanne and Derek followed her, carefully holding the objects so that they touched nothing else.

Griff looked at them, his mouth forming a thin line and his face becoming otherwise unreadable. Pauline jumped up from her chair with another gasp. ‘Oh! Oh my goodness, what have you got there?’

Two other people also reacted. Tricia gave out a bewildered, ‘hey, that’s my blazer,’ and on a sharp intake of breath Luke stood and said ‘no way!’

Angela turned to Luke and Tricia. ‘Do these garments belong to you?’

Tricia nodded, visibly distressed. ‘That’s my blazer,’ she said in a small voice, more tears rolling over her cheeks. She pointed a shaking finger at the objects in Leanne’s hands. ‘I’ve never seen those things before.’ Luke put an arm round her shoulder and drew her close to him, his face solemn. ‘And I own up to the jacket but not what you’ve found,’ he added.

‘Evidence bag, someone,’ said Angela. A bag appeared and Leanne dropped the gloves and phial into it.

‘Is that the poison, then?’ asked Pauline. ‘This is just awful. I don’t know what to say.’

‘We won’t know until it’s analysed,’ replied Angela. ‘But it doesn’t look good.’

Luke looked across at Griff. ‘Griff, I can assure you — ’

Griff gave him a bleak smile. ‘It’s OK, Luke, don’t worry.’

Pauline reared up. ‘DON’T WORRY! What, do you mean, cariad?’ She glared at Luke and Tricia. ‘This pair have brought poison into this house with the intention of killing you. And you say, “don’t worry”? I don’t understand you.’

‘It could have been planted,’ said Griff. ‘It would have been very easy to plant those gloves and that phial in their pockets. Anyone could have done it.’

Pauline glanced round the table. ‘Who?’ Her eyes met those of Alwyn. ‘Don’t worry, Alwyn, I don’t think it was you for a moment.’ She turned back to her husband. ‘One way or another everybody else here has a previous connection with each other. Those are the only two strangers here. What more evidence do you need?’

‘It’s just circumstantial,’ protested Luke. He tightened his arm around his niece.

‘Yes, that’s all it is. On its own it wouldn’t stand up in court,’ agreed Griff.

Pauline moved around the table to be nearer to Angela. ‘Well, that’s up to the police.’ She looked directly at her. ‘You’ll find whatever other evidence you need, I’m sure?’

Angela was on the point of replying when Griff spoke again. ‘This charade has gone on long enough,’ he said. He addressed Angela. ‘Luke’s right, you will need more evidence than what you’ve found.’ He looked down at his place, heaved a deep sigh and nodded as if making up his mind about something. Then he picked up his bowl of soup and held it out to her. ‘I’m sure you noticed that the phial you found is only half full. The rest of the crystals are in here. I witnessed them being sprinkled with my own eyes.’

Angela met his eyes. ‘There’s no turning back now, Griff.’

‘I know,’ he replied.

Angela’s gaze travelled to his wife. ‘Pauline Madoc, I’m arresting you for the murder of Neville Ingram and the attempted murder of your husband, Griff — ’ The rest of her words were drowned out by the shrill scream Pauline gave as she launched herself onto Angela and began to beat her about the head.

Chapter 28

Angela couldn’t see anything for a moment, conscious only of a pair of hands flailing around her head. But she could hear. She heard a chair fall backwards and a strident Welsh accent roaring. ‘You whore! You bitch! Kill my boy, would you? Get away from him!’

Gary, Rick and Jim moved even more quickly and pulled Pauline away from Angela. Once she could take in the scene, she could see that her attacker had been pinned down in her chair by Rick and Jim, who held on to a shoulder each. Pauline’s chest heaved as she took in air in noisy, angry gasps in an attempt to catch her breath. Rhys had an arm round a distressed Constance and was muttering softly to her in Welsh. Most telling of all, Tricia had come round the table to be enfolded in Griff’s arms, where she cried softly into his shirt. Luke stood just behind Melanie, one of his hands laid on her shoulder. The thought flashed through Angela’s mind that she was looking at a snapshot of the future. She shook her head as if to clear it and went through the arrest procedure again, but Pauline seemed to be fully engaged with the sight of Griff and Tricia.

‘And you can get away from him,’ she snarled at the younger woman. ‘He’s my husband, not yours.’ She turned back to Angela and the look she cast on her was one of almost triumph. ‘You have to prove means for a start,’ she said. ‘Would you mind telling me how I managed to lay my hands on the poison? Because I can assure you, Inspector, you won’t find any trace of a purchase to me.’

Angela remained calm. I notice you don’t ask me about motive, she thought. ‘You didn’t have to buy it,’ she replied. ‘You could get the ingredients and make it.’

Her word were greeted with a bark of derisive laughter. ‘You. Are. Not. Serious.’

‘But yes,’ said Angela. ‘I heard how you met Griff when you worked in the chemist’s shop back in Wales. You were stuck behind the counter and bored with your job. It would be reasonable to assume you were fed up because you had been voted the local beauty-queen two years in succession and thought you should be doing something more glamorous, in line with the modelling career you pursued for a while. I assumed that, too. But I was wrong. She turned and nodded in Rick’s direction. He sketched a small smile in return and flicked a brief glance towards Constance Madoc. A hint of uncertainty appeared in Pauline’s eyes but her gaze didn’t waver. Angela continued. ‘I know more about your history now. You’re a bright lady with a degree. In chemistry. Of course you wanted something more challenging than selling cough-drops and cosmetics.’ Pauline opened her mouth as if to speak, then shut it again. ‘I don’t think the production of cyanide would present you with any great difficulty,’ concluded Angela.

Pauline gulped and tried not to show desperation. ‘You still can’t prove it! How on earth am I supposed to have done it? You’re forgetting; someone else took the glass over to Griff.’

‘Yes, that was a clever bit of manipulation. You got yourself an unwitting accomplice in Della Burnett.’

‘Don’t make me laugh. How could she have been my accomplice? How was I supposed to know she’d even gate-crash the party?’

‘You knew all about Griff’s stalker. You knew she always tried to get in wherever Griff went. All the guests at the launch were issued with an identity wristband, but I don’t suppose for one moment the security guards needed to look at yours; they knew you so well; you could come and go without it. When we searched you all, you weren’t wearing one but Della was — your one. You only had to make sure she saw you dropping it. There’s no way she’d miss a golden opportunity to pick it up and use it to come in to the launch. You knew this.’

‘It still could have been anybody there.’

‘Yes, I think that’s what you were banking on,’ said Angela. ‘In all the confusion any one of the women could have extracted a small phial from a pouch hidden in their bag.’

Pauline blinked, registering the description of what had contained the cyanide. ‘And the men could have concealed the stuff in their pockets. And a lot of them had briefcases.’

‘All true,’ agreed Angela. ‘But the fingerprint we found belongs to you.’

Pauline slumped down into her chair, defeated. She stared sightlessly in front of her. ‘No,’ she muttered through a slack mouth. ‘No.’

‘You’re under arrest,’ said Angela.

Pauline seemed to be dialoguing with some inner voice. ‘No!’ Her head rolled from side to side. ‘This isn’t right. This isn’t… this isn’t…’

‘How it was meant to work out?’ suggested Griff. ‘I know that.’ He turned his face to Angela. ‘I knew the minute Neville died that I’d been the intended target.’

‘And I know why, now,’ said Angela. ‘I couldn’t understand the motive at first, not until this afternoon when I was talking to one of my team.’ She turned back and smiled at Leanne.

‘It’s really very simple,’ said Griff.

‘Oh yes, I’d overlooked the obvious,’ agreed Angela. She looked at Rick and Jim and jerked her head in Pauline’s direction, indicating they should take her away. The two men moved to the now quietly sobbing woman, helped her to stand and ushered her gently through the door. A moment later three sets of footsteps could be heard scrunching across the gravel drive and out into the road where the sounds were replaced by the opening and shutting the HAT car doors. Nobody spoke until the noise of the engine finally purred off into the night.

Wordlessly, Angela took a pair of gloves from her pocket, put them on and took the plate from Griff. She looked around at her now depleted team. Derek stepped forward with an evidence bag and held it open. Angela dropped the whole lot in and watched as Derek sealed it before turning back to the room.

‘I’m sorry to have spoiled your evening, ladies and gentlemen,’ she said.

‘I can live with a spoiled evening,’ answered Rhys. ‘If you hadn’t turned up it would have been totally destroyed.’

Angela smiled across at him. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said. Griff has a cool head, too, she thought. Like father, like son.

Rhys realised what she meant. He smiled at his son and looked back at her. ‘I see what you mean.’ He considered the matter for a few moments. ‘What were you going to do?’ he asked Griff. ‘We were all at the point of starting on the first course.’

‘I hadn’t made a concrete plan. I only knew I wasn’t going to eat it and I would have excused myself and called Inspector Costello.’

‘This is like taking part in some sort of Greek tragedy,’ said Melanie. Her mouth quivered a little. She took a deep breath. ‘She planned to kill her husband and ended up killing her lover.’ Her voice broke a little. Luke squeezed her shoulder and drew her a little more closely to him. She didn’t resist. Sudden movements from Rhys and Constance and a short protesting sound from Marcel caught her attention and she turned to them. ‘It’s all right, Marcel, don’t try and spare my feelings. I knew about Neville and Pauline, right from the start. I always knew. She wasn’t the first and she wouldn’t have been the last.’ She turned her attention to Griff’s parents. ‘I suppose this might be news to you.’

‘News, but no surprise,’ replied Rhys.

‘So Griff was the intended victim all along.’

Griff gave a short mirthless laugh. ‘I seem to be blessed with murderous relatives, one way or another.’

Alwyn jerked his head towards the top of the table. ‘You’ve got nothing to fear from me, cousin. And what’s more, next time I speak to him I shall be telling my dad what he can do with his nonsense.’ He looked across the table at his uncle. ‘I can now. Keeping me from knowing my relatives… When I think what my poor mum has put up with all these years.’

Rhys Madoc gave a grim smile. ‘I should have sorted something out a long time ago. I got so busy building up the business I didn’t think much about what else might be going on. I’ll get my half of the farm made over to him. It’s all he’s ever wanted and, quite honestly, he’s welcome to it.’

Angela turned back towards the door and Leanne, Derek and Gary moved to follow her lead. ‘As I said, I’m sorry to disturb your dinner-party.’

‘Think nothing of it, Inspector. You have a job to do,’ answered Griff, rising. ‘I’ll see you out.’ He turned the full beam of his charming smile on her and led them to the door.

They left the house and stood briefly on the pavement. Along the road to their left stood Derek’s car in which they’d arrived.

‘Oops, I shouldn’t have let Rick and Jim depart so quickly. We’re without a vehicle now, Gary.’

‘We can drop you,’ offered Derek as he and Leanne made their way to his car.

‘Thanks, Derek,’ answered Angela. She turned to Gary. ‘Are you supposed to be seeing Maddie tonight?’ she asked.

‘Yes, but it was just a staying-in kind of date.’

Angela laughed. ‘Just as well, given that the evening is nearly over. What are you looking at?’ she finished as she saw Gary looking across the road with a very puzzled expression. She followed the direction of his eyes. Parked on the other side of the street, Patrick was sitting behind the wheel of their car. Gary looked at her. ‘Any chance of a lift to your place?’

‘Of course.’ She looked along the road to where Derek and Leanne had now reached their car. ‘Can you just nip along and thank Derek and Leanne for the offer and let them know Patrick’s turned up for me?’

‘Sure.’ Gary set off along the road. Angela went over and slid in beside Patrick. ‘Well?’ she asked after a few moments.

He turned and smiled at her. ‘I called your office and was told you’d all piled into a couple of cars and gone charging up to Harrow. I guessed the case had come to the boil and realised you’d have issues with transport if you made an arrest.’

‘Derek and Leanne had offered, but it’s very sweet of you darling.’ Silence reigned in the car until Angela spoke again. ‘You weren’t secretly worried about my crush, were you?’

‘Not at all. No. Not really. Maybe, the tiniest, weeniest, bit of thingy.’

‘I just love it when you talk specific.’

Patrick smiled. ‘I can live with his superior culinary skills, so long as I’m still the cutest Celt.’

‘You’re definitely that, Paddiwack.’

‘Besides, I fancied a drive.’

Angela smiled, leaned over and hugged him. Along the road the three junior officers could be heard calling out cheery ‘goodnights’ as their brief conversation came to an end. Gary broke away from the other two and came towards Patrick and Angela. ‘Are we taking Gary back to our place?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

The back door opened and Gary got into the car. ‘Evening, Patrick,’ he said. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’

‘Not at all,’ came the reply as Patrick put the car in gear and pulled away from the kerb. ‘From the general demeanour of you all, I gather the outcome was satisfactory.’

‘Yes; it was as I thought,’ replied Angela.

‘There’s a big hole in it for me, Angie,’ said Gary.

‘Oh really?’

‘Yes; I know you went through it but we were all focussing on getting up to Harrow and hoping Pauline hadn’t tried her hand too early so I kind of didn’t get why she wanted Griff dead.’

‘I suppose it comes down to rendering unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s and to God the things that are God’s.’

Gary coughed. ‘You haven’t made it any clearer’.

Angela and Patrick laughed. She turned in her seat to face him. ‘I suppose it might seem a bit specialised. It comes down to two things, really. The worm turned. Then he looked round him and realised he had options.’

‘The option being to divorce Pauline is what I presume you mean. What I can’t tie it up with is his newly-found faith. I thought Catholics don’t believe in divorce and Griff’s supposed to be devout now.’

‘Right on both counts, Gary.’

‘But; there is a “but” coming, isn’t there?’

‘Yes, the Catholic Church doesn’t recognised divorce, but, it also doesn’t recognise Griff’s marriage.’

Gary’s brow concertinaed in a very comical manner. ‘Eh?’

‘This is where I didn’t look into the background of the characters enough. Griff wasn’t a church-going person at the time of his marriage, even though he always retained a very strong belief in the sanctity of marriage. However, he got married in a registry office.’

Patrick spoke up. ‘The Church doesn’t have anything to say about how the rest of the world manages its affairs, but it’s very concerned with the spiritual welfare of Catholics.’

‘In the eyes of the Church he was living in sin,’ added Angela, ‘and now that he’s back in the fold, his marital status became a concern.’

‘Pauline obviously woke up to this fact,’ added Patrick.

‘But she’s been trying to mend her fences, work on their relationship,’ protested Gary.

‘Yes and she hasn’t got very far,’ Angela pointed out. ‘Remember Luke Prentice telling us about the sexy underwear that hasn’t yet come out of the wrapping.’

‘Yes, that puzzled me, too.’

‘The thing is, Gary,’ said Patrick, his eyes on the road ahead as he slowed to negotiate a busy roundabout, ‘when Griff married Pauline, from what Angela tells me, he wasn’t exactly the answer to any maiden’s prayer and he could hardly believe the girl of his dreams had consented to become his wife.’

‘But now…’ interjected Angela.

‘Yes, now he’s a confident, successful businessman and celebrity. It’s Pauline who needs to count herself the fortunate one.’

‘I still don’t see why, after all her recent efforts at reconciliation, she wanted to kill him.’

‘Because Griff was — is — going to divorce her and she will lose her marvellous lifestyle.’

‘But how can he divorce her if he’s so devout? Ah!’

Patrick and Angela looked at each other and smiled. ‘The penny’s dropped, has it?’ he asked.

‘I think so,’ said Gary. ‘If the Church doesn’t recognise his marriage it’s hardly going to have a problem with him getting a divorce.’

‘Exactly,’ replied Patrick.

‘If things had been different, and he still wanted Pauline as his wife he would have been seeking to have the marriage convalidated in a Church ceremony,’ explained Angela.

‘Oh yes, “convalidation”; that’s what Pauline went to see Father Martin’s friend about.’

‘Yes, that must have been when she discovered that her good Catholic husband could divorce her and marry someone else in a Church wedding without even the slightest twinge of conscience. Whatever… she realised her days of taking Griff for granted were numbered.’

‘So Griff decided to start afresh. I can’t say that I blame him,’ said Gary.

‘It’s not just that,’ answered Patrick. ‘Marriage is a serious business. If he wanted to stay with Pauline he would have to consider her suitability in the light of what the couple promise.’

‘She doesn’t seem to have taken the bit about being faithful unto death too much to heart,’ admitted Gary.

‘There’s that,’ agreed Angela. ‘And she’s always denied him children, which is another stumbling-block.’

‘OK, I get all that,’ said Gary but I’m still missing something. ‘She making up to him, big-time because she doesn’t want him to divorce her, yet…’

‘Ah yes! I see what you’re getting at,’ said Angela. ‘Yet she tried to kill him. I can see the contradiction there but it’s really very simple. There were only two ways Pauline could hold on to her lovely life.’

‘By things staying the same,’ put in Patrick. ‘Hence the reconciliation attempts.’

‘Or, second-best, by becoming his widow before he has a chance to change his will,’ finished Angela. ‘She’s still his sole legatee, at the moment, and the inheritance would at least tide her over until she can find her next meal-ticket.’

Gary flopped back in his seat. ‘Yes of course! Once Griff divorces her the will becomes invalid as far as she’s concerned, and she’s basically out on her ear. She wouldn’t get any alimony, I don’t suppose, not these days, with no children needing support, just the usual half-share of the family home, which wouldn’t be enough for her.’

‘Exactly,’ said Angela. ‘And, to be honest, I wouldn’t imagine those reconciliation attempts were that serious.’

‘Probably not,’ agreed Patrick. ‘Just buying time and making everything look OK until she could try again.’

‘Yes, becoming his widow was her best bet.’

‘And Griff knew that all along,’ said Gary in a thoughtful voice.

‘It seems to me Griff understands Pauline a great deal more than she would find comfortable,’ replied Angela.

An hour later the car pulled up in front of Angela and Patrick’s house. Angela inclined her head towards the back seat. ‘Fancy pot-luck with us, Gary?’

Gary leaned up from his lounging position. ‘That’s nice of you to offer, but I fancy a bit of a walk first. I hope you don’t mind, but I think I’ll see if Maddie’s up for a stroll along the river and a pizza somewhere.’

‘No problem,’ said Angela as Gary slid across the seat, stepped onto the pavement and made for the front door. Angela and Patrick watched as he looked back at them with a grin before turning to ring the bell.

‘I’m sure we’ve got a pizza in the freezer,’ said Patrick.

‘I think he’s being discreet,’ replied Angela.

‘Discreet?’

‘Your arrival in Harrow probably puzzled him. He might wonder if we’ve got issues between us.’

‘Can’t a bloke pick his wife up from work?’ protested Patrick.

Angela laughed softly. ‘It was very sweet of you, darling. And I’m also very touched that you were just the teensiest bit jealous of Griff.’ She turned to Patrick. ‘It sent me a signal as well, a very welcome one.’ They leaned towards each other and kissed.

‘So why are we sitting outside our own house when we could be in the warm?’ he asked.

‘Because we’re being discreet.’

‘Ah.’

Later, much later, Angela and Patrick lay awake together in the darkness of their room. The house was quiet.

‘When did you first suspect Pauline?’ asked Patrick.

‘Not straight away. We did have some rather juicy candidates to focus on, after all. I didn’t think too much about her but I suppose she was lodged in the back of my mind for the usual reason.’

‘Because she’s the spouse and it’s so often the spouse?’

‘Yes.’ Angela thought for a moment. ‘It was two things. When the incident was first called in the Gary took the call and couldn’t hear all the message properly at first because he could hear a woman screaming in the background. Then he said the screaming stopped and I remember him saying that maybe someone had managed to calm the woman. But supposing that wasn’t the reason the noise stopped? Suppose it stopped because the screamer had dashed out of the room?’

‘Ah, yes, devastated because she’d got the wrong man but in enough possession of her wits to go and dispose of the evidence.’

‘Indeed, and it could have been very easily done. There are toilets very close to the Great Hall and the chapel in the Royal Hospital. The police acted promptly on the day and they got everyone into one place very quickly; it wasn’t long before the only way you could go outside was under police escort. By the time our lot got there all the suspects and relevant people were present and correct, including Pauline and Della.’

‘So she just had a small window of opportunity for dumping the stuff in the loo to be found later by Della when she paid a visit.’

‘Escorted by a WPC, yes. But a very tiny window; that was all Pauline needed.’

‘What else made you think of her?’

‘This is really nebulous, darling, and would never had stood up in court. Do you remember us getting on to the subject of modern poets that night Maddie said she was going to a gig with Gary?’

‘Yes.’

‘That Stevie Smith poem we mentioned?’

‘Yes, such a poignant poem, the poor swimmer is waving from the waves and the people on the beach are all waving cheerfully back but the swimmer isn’t waving to be friendly, he’s calling for help.’

‘Yes because he’s not waving but drowning. It was the “not… but” thing. I kept thinking of Stevie Smith and I didn’t know why. Then I realised it wasn’t just the shock of the event that affected her, it was something more… anguish. And I thought; shock I can understand. Even grief, once I knew they’d been lovers, but why this sense of anguish from her?’

‘Hmm, I see, “not shocked but anguished”. A good piece of discernment, as it turned out, but you’re right, it wouldn’t have stood up in court.’

‘No, it got me thinking, though. And then I looked at all that marital bridge-building in a different light.’

Silence.

‘Speaking of marital bridges…’ said Patrick after a moment.

Angela turned and moved over to his side of the bed.

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