OK, let’s not panic, thought Angela to herself. It could have happened that way; it’s a possible scenario. We’ll need to check his alibi. Proceed with caution, D.I. Costello. Let’s see what else we’ve got.
She sat for a while, allowing a whole collage of images from the last week to float through her memory She ran snatches of remembered conversation like a video tape before her mind’s eye.
Automatically, even as she reconstructed everything she had noticed, every detail she could unearth, she found herself writing down and drawing rings around three words: Restaurant, Sunday and Evening. In thinking about where everybody had gone after the meal, she realized that she hadn’t thought too much about what had happened before it. It had seemed the usual sort of occasion. Friends and colleagues, on the eve of an event of major importance to them all, for a variety of reasons, had decided to go for a meal together. So far so normal – that’s how it had seemed at first.
But now Angela thought about it in the light of various interviews she had conducted since then.
Petar hadn’t intended to join the others for a meal at all. Both Una and Danny had spoken of the plan for a foursome. The intention was for the meal to be a private affair to reintroduce Una back into Petar’s circle.
It had been Stewart, Angela now realized, who had turned it into a come-one-come-all event, and not so very subtly either. Before Petar had known where he was, he had been put into the position of cancelling Danny, Heather and Una and facing the prospect of an evening in the company of Stewart et al. Not the evening he’d planned at all.
In fact… Angela stopped doodling and looked down at the words on the pad. It didn’t take a big leap of the imagination to come to the conclusion that the gathering in the restaurant had been engineered by Stewart.
Angela scratched her chin as she thought. She couldn’t really believe even Stewart could want to spend an evening in the company of his ex and his current girlfriend, much less Philip and Tessa. But if he wanted to stay close to Petar then he had to try to gather a party which hung naturally enough together to cause no comment.
And it had worked. The meal had passed leaving Petar still in the area around midnight. But not Stewart. He was in bed with Candy. So if he engineered the meal – why? Perhaps you’re making too much of this business, Angela, she said to herself. Maybe all Stewart wanted was for them to all eat together like one big happy family. She thought a bit more, and dismissed her own objection. That doesn’t compute with what I know of Stewart.
OK then, Angela, she said to herself, there’s definitely a question mark hanging over this meal. And given what Michelle Davies said about a person wearing a hoodie sitting in Petar’s car, it wouldn’t hurt to have another go at Lavinia Bannister.
Ten minutes later she was behind the wheel of her car heading in the direction of Church Road.
It was another beautiful day, hardly a cloud in the sky, and although she had no doubt they had raincoats and umbrellas tucked away close to hand, everybody was dressed for summer.
People were all over the place, ambling, hurrying and standing still in front of the huge scoreboard. A waving arm caught her attention and she turned to see Gracie with another woman, white-haired with a very deep suntan and wearing a summer print frock. Ah, she thought, as she cheerily returned the wave, that must be her friend, Edith, back from the visit to Australia. Gracie made her way towards her and, realizing that it would seem rude to hurry on, Angela slowed her step until the two women had drawn alongside.
“Oh, I’m so glad I caught you,” beamed Gracie. “I want to introduce you to my friend Edith. Why don’t you join us for a sandwich? We’ve brought our own picnic lunches today and we’ve got plenty.”
Angela’s first inclination was to decline politely, but she hadn’t realized how time had marched on. In fact it was nearly past lunchtime, so why not? After the episode on Saturday, Gracie obviously felt a bond between them and was already cheerfully leading the way to a vacant bench, where she sat and spread her bag to one side and her raincoat to the other to lay claim to both spaces.
“There, that’s jolly handy,” she said. “I used always to eat my picnic lunches on the grass. I’ve still no objection to doing that, but these days I have trouble getting up again.” She laughed. Angela and Edith joined her on the bench. “Inspector, this is Edith Charlton; Edith, this is Angela Costello. She’s the officer leading the investigation.”
Angela and Edith nodded at each other while Gracie dived into the bag of food.
“I must say you’ve got a job on,” remarked Edith. “I don’t envy you at all.”
“I’m not, strictly speaking, in charge,” explained Angela. “There’s a detective chief inspector heading up the case.”
“Yes, but I expect it’s you that’s doing all the legwork,” interjected Gracie with a perspicacity that surprised Angela, as she pulled a couple of packets out of the bag. “Still, it must be good exercise for your little grey cells,” she finished, demonstrating her familiarity with at least one fictional detective.
Angela laughed. “Not just my grey cells, thankfully,” she replied. “There’s a whole team of us on the job.”
“Of course there is,” said Edith. After sandwiches of choice had been distributed and each woman had a drink, there was silence as they started their lunch.
“It’s very kind of you to share your lunch with me,” said Angela.
“Oh, nonsense.” Gracie was dismissive. “It was very kind of you to spend time with me on Saturday when I was so distressed.”
“You seem to be in better spirits now,” commented Angela.
“Well, I’m very pleased that Edith is back and that helps. I’m still upset at the way things have turned out, but I don’t see what I can do.”
“The bastards,” muttered Edith on Gracie’s other side.
“Edith!” exclaimed Gracie, scandalized.
“It’s no use, Gracie. I call a spade a spade, always have done; you know that,” replied an unrepentant Edith. She leaned round Gracie and addressed Angela. “She’s been shafted, Angela. That’s the beginning and end of it.”
“Edith!” repeated Gracie, turning a delicate shade of pink.
Edith cast an affectionate glance at her friend and clicked her tongue indulgently. “Too loyal for your own good, that’s your trouble, Gracie,” she said. Edith turned again to Angela. “You know, even after Saturday she was worried that although you were so sympathetic she’d discussed family business with a stranger and you might think badly of the Bickerstaffs because of it.”
“Well, I also want to protect Margaret’s memory, Edith,” protested Gracie. “She was a Bickerstaff as well.”
“As are you,” Edith reminded her. “Though you wouldn’t think it from the way they behave.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Angela reassured Gracie. “I don’t form snap judgments about people.”
“I’m very glad to hear it,” said Gracie, and they munched in companionable silence for a few moments until Edith spoke again.
“Shafted, that’s what,” she reaffirmed. “I was very shocked when Gracie told me about the new will. Mind you, I should have seen it coming, the way Stewart was always coming round toadying up to his aunt. I watched him as he set about charming Margaret – such a nice old lady but a bit innocent, really, just like this one.” Edith cocked her head towards Gracie. “She’s led a sheltered life. But I haven’t, and I really should have guessed what he was up to with his ‘Can I get you anything, Aunt Margaret?’ and ‘Are you comfortable, Aunt Margaret?’. Oh yes, I watched him, all right! He didn’t realize it, of course – so full of himself – ah well, there’s nothing like twenty-twenty hindsight, is there?”
“Still,” said Angela, not wanting to get caught up in Bickerstaff probate considerations, “it was Margaret’s money.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Edith. “No use crying over spilt milk.” She gazed without blinking into Angela’s eyes. “And then to come back to this news about Petar. What a shock. Giving you plenty to think about, I’ve no doubt. I’ve been reading up on it. I’m following the case as closely as I can. It seems pretty tricky.” Angela smiled at her and made no comment. “Hmm… yes, I understand. You can’t talk about it; only right, really, but I’m fascinated by the whole process.”
They finished their sandwiches. Angela thanked them for their hospitality and remained with them long enough afterwards not to appear rude.
A short while later, she found Lavinia sitting at a bar sipping champagne in the company of a man she didn’t recognize. Approaching them, Angela asked if she could have a word, at which point the man stood up and excused himself, telling Lavinia he would catch her later.
Angela sat down and apologized. “I’m sorry,” she began. “I was about to ask you to come to our room later when you’d finished your drink.”
Lavinia made a small hand-waving motion. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “We were having an informal business meeting.”
“Oh, I see. Is he one of your colleagues?”
“Yes, he’s responsible for bringing the Candy Trueman account into our company.”
“Oh,” said Angela. “Isn’t she playing today? I didn’t take note of the score as I passed the board.”
“She’s just won. She’s through to the quarter-finals,” replied Lavinia. “Have you found out who killed Petar yet?”
If you’re thinking you’re going to pressurize me, don’t bother, thought Angela. “We’re getting there,” she said. “That’s why I came looking for you.”
A look of self-importance passed across Lavinia’s face and she shifted her chair forward. “Yup, fire away,” she said.
“I need to ask you a bit more about Sunday evening. You know, when you all went to the restaurant.”
Guardedness instantly replaced all preening. “Yes?”
“How did it come about – you joining the others for a meal, I mean?”
Angela had interviewed many suspects over the years, and was instantly attuned to when someone tried to manipulate her opinion of them. She could see it happening again now. Lavinia settled on imperiousness. She raised her eyebrows in the manner of one who thinks she’s been asked a silly question. “Petar was my partner, Inspector. Why wouldn’t I go for a meal with him? Who else would he ask to go with him?”
Angela kept her expression neutral and continued. “Yes,” she said, “but that’s not how it happened, is it?” She deliberately left it there.
After a moment, Lavinia gulped down the rest of her drink in an angry gesture. “Stewart said they were going to a restaurant,” she said, looking crossly at Angela.
“Did he suggest you join them?”
Another pause. “Yes.”
Having gained a foothold, Angela ploughed on. “Lavinia, I’ve been told that you and Petar had actually – or…” she added, seeing Lavinia twist agitatedly in her seat and shake her head, “at least, that there were some problems in your relationship,” she finished. Let her save face, she thought, as long as I get the answers I need.
Lavinia’s glance took in all four corners of the bar and her empty glass before she finally met Angela’s eyes. “What couple doesn’t have problems from time to time?” she asked eventually.
“Indeed; I couldn’t agree with you more.”
“We were talking it through.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that as well,” replied Angela, cutting her a bit of slack. “Er, I gather that Petar had become aware of the fact, and wasn’t too happy to know, that you like to do a line here and there.” That’s about as diplomatic as I can get it, thought Angela as she saw a look of fear come into Lavinia’s eyes. “I’m not part of the drugs squad,” she hastened to add. “I’m trying to solve Petar’s murder.”
Lavinia relaxed. “He wasn’t very reasonable about it,” she said after a long moment. “I’ve stopped now, of course.”
“Of course.” Angela didn’t allow her expression to change by so much as a twitch.
“It’s just how I wind down – used to – now and again. But he just didn’t get it.”
Angela tried not to raise her eyebrows at this. She took a deep breath. Now was no time for pussyfooting. She had a jugular ripe for puncturing in her sights.
“How did he react when he discovered that Stewart is your connection?” she asked casually.
Alarm flared instantly in Lavinia’s eyes and Angela was reminded of her interview with Philip just a few days previously. She gazed wildly all around as if seeking a means of escape. Eventually she brought her gaze back to Angela.
“I don’t know why you think he’s my connection. What on earth makes you think that?”
“Lavinia,” said Angela carefully, “I know that Petar confronted you about your habit and you thought he wanted to try some, so you offered to score for him.”
“What were you, a fly on the wall?” Lavinia’s expression was a mixture of horror and anger. Angela kept her gaze fixed on the woman. Eventually Lavinia dropped her eyes. “He was furious. He said he was going to talk to Stewart about it,” she muttered at last.
Angela exhaled silently. Bingo.
“Did you tell Stewart that Petar knew?”
“You are joking, of course!”
“Not at all; you might have wanted to warn Stewart that Petar was aware of his drug dealing.”
“Well, I didn’t!” snapped Lavinia. “It’s just… I want a line now and again and Petar didn’t understand. I thought maybe he’d realize that it wasn’t worth bothering Stewart about, especially not before the tournament.”
Angela couldn’t decide if Lavinia was completely naïve or merely disingenuous. “I understand that you think doing a line here and there is a bit of fun; maybe you think it’s harmless, Lavinia. But for many people, most people, it’s serious – very serious. And it’s scary.” Lavinia met Angela’s gaze without blinking. “Let’s come back to last Sunday evening. How did you get to the restaurant?”
There was a long pause. “I went in Stewart’s car.”
“I see. Did Petar take his own car?”
“Inspector, I really don’t see what all this has to do with Petar’s murder,” said Lavinia, with another attempt at imperiousness that didn’t even begin to work.
Angela smiled, completely unruffled, and could tell that this annoyed Lavinia even further. “Ms Bannister, I’m trying to find out who killed a man. All sorts of questions have to be asked. Some of them might seem irrelevant and some, I admit, do turn out to be just that. But they all have to be asked, unfortunately.”
“Apart from me, everybody took their own cars.”
“Why did you leave before the meal was over?” Angela asked, and earned herself another angry glare.
“I had a headache,” snapped Lavinia.
Yeah, right, thought Angela. “The thing is, you see,” she said, “we’ve got a bit of a problem with your alibi.”
Lavinia blinked. “My alibi? What alibi? Why on earth would I need an alibi?”
“A person was seen sitting, with Petar, in his car in Church Road just prior to the probable murder time. This person could have been a woman,” Angela said, hoping that Lavinia wouldn’t ask too many precise details about the description. She needn’t have worried.
“There, I told you she did it! She must have been brooding on us being in the restaurant together.” Her face lit up in triumph. “Ha! I bet the thought of us getting back togeth… the fact that we were still together drove her frantic. She probably spent all evening going over and over it in her mind until she couldn’t stand it any more and then she drove to Wimbledon to confront him. That’s what must have happened. His relationship with me was eating her up, Inspector!”
Angela felt she now knew what it was like to have wandered into the twilight zone. She also thought it would be unproductive to point out that if Lavinia was still in a relationship with Petar, she would hardly have travelled to the restaurant in Stewart’s car, much less be present only because Stewart had invited her. In any case, she had no time for this. Jumping through the hoop would be the quickest way to progress. “You’re talking about…?”
“Una, of course! Isn’t it obvious?”
“I’ll check Mrs Belic’s alibi, naturally, but I’d like to go over yours if I may.”
“That’s a bit rich, isn’t it? I left the restaurant while they were all still eating.”
Come on, Vinni, you’re not that stupid, thought Angela. “Yes, I know that, but all the same – did you speak to anyone?”
“I don’t speak to strangers on trains.”
“Did any of your neighbours see you going into your flat?”
“I don’t know; you’ll have to ask them.”
“Do you have a hoodie?”
“A hoodie?” She could have been Lady Bracknell doing the famous handbag line.
“Yes, you know; a sweatshirt with a hood. Do you own one of any kind?”
“I know what they are. No; I don’t do hoodies, Inspector.”
I can’t think why not, thought Angela. I’m sure Gucci or Versace have a nice selection of them. She decided to leave it there. “OK, thanks for your help,” she said. “I’ll let you get back to your business.” She was reasonably certain that Lavinia’s fit of pique in the restaurant had stemmed from the fact that she had discovered what Petar had originally planned to do that evening.