Dev had found two spindly folding metal chairs in the parish hall next door, so they were all sitting in uncomfortable propinquity in Compton St. Cuthbert’s sacristy. The small leaded-glass window was open, but he could still smell Lady Adelaide’s Chanel No 5. He’d splurged and given his mother a bottle of it last Christmas, but she saved it for special occasions only. Dev figured Lady Adelaide splashed it on about every day.
“All right. I’m here,” Shipman grumbled. “It was most inconvenient to get back early. Canceling my appointments. Changing all the tickets. I went to considerable expense and effort. But Angela said you were insistent.”
Angela probably said a few other things too.
“Thank you, Mr. Shipman.” Dev let the silence stretch.
“So, get on with it! I’ve answered everything to the best of my knowledge. Yet you keep asking me more questions.”
“And you avoid answering them. Or lie,” Dev reminded him.
Shipman didn’t dispute this. He kept his eyes on his expensive shoes, waiting for the axe to fall.
Dev dropped it. “Tell me about meeting Lady Grant at three o’clock in the afternoon a week ago Saturday.”
The banker looked up. “How do you know I did? No one saw me there, did they? You have nothing. I told you I was in my room, ill.”
Dev removed the diary from his jacket pocket, flipped it open, and began to read each date that a “K” appeared.
Shipman raised a hand. “All right, all right. But I could deny that those entries are mine. Perhaps my wife wrote them.”
Dev had actually thought of that, but dismissed the idea. The handwriting was consistent throughout.
Unless Angela Shipman was a master forger.
“Are you denying the K stands for Kathleen? The number in the back matches her telephone number.”
“She was a client of the bank.”
“Are you still sticking to that? You were very…attentive to her, considering how small an investment you claim she made.”
Shipman shrugged. If he thought he could wait it out, he was mistaken.
“Are you denying you saw her?”
“Fine. I met her for a few minutes. But she was very much alive when I left her.”
Dev glanced at Lady Adelaide and soldiered on. “Did you have sexual relations with her?”
Shipman’s face turned crimson. “Why is she here? Is nothing sacred?”
Not his marriage vows, that was for sure. “Lady Adelaide is acting as a witness in the absence of my sergeant. Would you rather I conduct this interview at Scotland Yard?”
“No! You’re out to wreck my life, aren’t you?”
Shipman was on his way to wrecking his life all by himself. One would think with his age and experience, he would know better than to mix himself up with a woman like Kathleen Grant. “Not at all. If you are truthful, I see no reason why your name has to be revealed publicly. Sir David is anxious that his ex-wife’s name is not further compromised.”
Considering the salacious nature of the death, it had been a miracle that the newspapers had not got hold of the whole story. Mr. McGrath had not been mentioned at all, which irked Lady Adelaide.
“We—we didn’t do the usual thing. There wasn’t time.”
Dev stopped himself from asking why Kathleen Grant had removed her clothes. Perhaps she was a naturist. It was none of his business in the end, but Shipman’s admission did confirm the coroner’s report that she hadn’t been, as they so quaintly put it, “interfered with.”
“Why should I believe you?”
Shipman stood up, knocking the flimsy metal chair against the wall. “I’ll have your badge!”
“Sit down, Mr. Shipman. Perhaps you’ve forgotten—I’m conducting a murder investigation. My superiors have given me their full support, despite your meddling. According to your various stories, you didn’t know the victim. Or you were only the victim’s banker and barely were acquainted with her. Or you were indeed conducting an affair with her, and may have been the last person to see Lady Grant alive. I want the truth, all of it. It doesn’t look good for you right now. If I’m not satisfied, I’m prepared to remand you into custody for the murder of Kathleen Grant and Stuart McGrath.”
“I didn’t kill anyone! You cannot prove I did!” For all his bravado, Dev could hear the fear in Shipman’s voice.
“That remains to be seen. I think any jury would be interested in your diary.”
Shipman slumped back into the chair. Dev was reminded of a balloon that lost its air. “Kath sought my advice about some investments after her divorce. We met every now and again. It wasn’t serious. I never planned to leave Angela, and Kath knew it. She didn’t mind—she had quite a few irons in the fire.”
More than Shipman probably knew of. “Were you aware she used cocaine?”
“She dabbled. Morphia. Cannabis. Chloral hydrate. Whatever was handy. Lately, though, yes. Cocaine was her preferred method of escape. That Saturday—” He closed his eyes. “She had some vials with her in her handbag. She kept them in a little leather case.” The case had been found in her handbag, its contents missing. No convenient fingerprints, of course. “She offered to share as soon as I got there sometime before three, but I declined.”
“Were you in the habit of indulging?”
The banker’s face reddened. “No! No, not at all. Oh, perhaps once or twice. Sometimes Kath thought I needed cheering up—a boost. Running Shipman’s takes all my energy. She worried that I worked myself too hard.”
While she played too hard. “Go on, sir.”
“She unrolled her stocking and injected the stuff between her toes. Then she laughed and took everything else off before I could stop her.” He paused, obviously reliving the scene.
“I was very nervous. Afraid we’d be discovered. We were under everyone’s noses—the barn door was open. But she got on her knees—” Shipman gave a desperate look at Lady Adelaide, who was studying her black-gloved hands as if she’d never seen them before.
“I understand,” Dev said hurriedly. “Tell me how you left her.”
“There was an old blanket on a sawhorse. She took it down and lay on top of it and said some things I don’t want to repeat in front of Lady Adelaide. About what we’d do the next time. She—she touched herself. I was tempted, but I had to go. I was honest when I told you I wasn’t feeling all that well. I rushed back to the house and was sick.”
Out of guilt? Dev wouldn’t bother asking.
“When you left, were the drugs still in her handbag?”
“Yes. I wouldn’t have touched them. Wouldn’t know what to do with them by myself. She was the expert.”
“How much time elapsed between the injection and you leaving?”
“No more than five or ten minutes, if that. I really wasn’t there long.”
Long enough for his own quick, selfish pleasure, however.
“And she was lucid?”
“Yes. Brazen.” Shipman’s mouth twisted. “Happy. Euphoric.”
“Did she say if she was meeting anyone else?”
“No. Really, you might not believe me, but we barely spoke that afternoon. I assumed she was in the area to see her children. She knew we were coming down, and thought it was a lark to meet me when Angela was right across the lawn.” He gave a ragged sigh. “I’ve been a fool, Inspector. I’ll admit to that. But I swear I did not have anything to do with her death. I liked her. She was one-of-a-kind.”
“She never threatened to tell your wife of the affair?” Dev asked.
“Of course not! Why would she?”
“Blackmail, Mr. Shipman.”
The man chuckled. “You’ve got Kath all wrong. She wasn’t like that. Not a mean bone in her body.”
Not according to her ex-husband. Dev was beginning to think Kathleen Grant had had as many colorful pieces as the inside of a kaleidoscope. Each viewer saw something different—bright, quicksilver, impermanent. How much was a result of the drugs or her own personality was impossible to determine.
She’d led a severely sheltered childhood. Married young and took on motherhood too soon. Once unshackled, she pushed every limit. Who she was at heart would now never be known.
After Shipman left, with a warning, Dev turned to Lady Adelaide. “Well? What do you think?”
“Do you think he was telling the truth?”
He considered for a moment. “He’s lied religiously. The diary is damning. I could have arrested him.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No. I think he finally told the truth.”
“I think so too. Gosh, am I the only person who doesn’t use drugs? Ernest Shipman? I wonder if Angela knows all that he’s been up to.”
Dev smiled. “It’s impossible to know what goes on behind the façade of respectability.”
“I should know that. I do know that.” She shook her head, the ribbon on her straw hat fluttering. “I feel like I’m finally waking up. And I’m not sure I want to.”
“I hope you don’t become jaded. I shouldn’t have involved you. Police work can bring you into contact with too much reality.” Which was one reason he spent so much time reading philosophy. He may not have a university degree, but Dev felt he could go toe-to-toe with some of the dubiously graduated gentlemen he’d encountered.
“What are you going to do?”
“Keep plodding along. Hope to hear from the Hallidays.”
She placed a finger against her chin. “I wonder…”
Her instincts had been good so far. “What?”
“What if George did know Kathleen was his long-lost cousin? He might have gone to Yorkshire to see his grandfather.”
He’d talked to the Yorkshire solicitors a week ago, but they might not be aware the Hallidays had arrived. “That could explain why I can’t find them in London.”
Lady Adelaide frowned. “I just can’t see George—or Pansy, for that matter—doing something so heinous, even if they need the money. George is so…average. And the old man might live on forever. Unless,” she said with grisly enthusiasm, “George has gone to Yorkshire to murder him!”
“We don’t need any more murders, Lady Adelaide. Two is quite enough. And one of the deaths…I wonder. Could Lady Grant have miscalculated and overdosed? Maybe she wasn’t killed deliberately after all, and I’ve been barking up all the wrong trees. Now that we know of Miss Pryce’s participation in positioning the body, I’ve got to consider that.”
“But how did my gardener die? Unless you think he took Kathleen’s drugs from her handbag!”
“I admit that’s unlikely. Ready to go? Let’s see who looks guilty over the funeral meats.”