Chapter 17

THE FIRST SIGNS of spring had been swallowed into a dark and chilling late afternoon. The sky outside was grey, the suddenly still air was like invisible ice. Detective Constables Lister and Maine had been up all night, so had many of their colleagues. This was a high-profile case and the boss wanted an arrest by the end of the day. It was looking increasingly likely that would happen.

DC Lister stifled a yawn. She’d taken a quick shower in the WPCs’ locker room earlier, but it hadn’t done much to revive her. DC Maine didn’t look any better.

Inspector Hollander was scanning the early statements they’d taken, and lists of already documented evidence. Though he didn’t look up, he was listening closely as the two detectives briefed him.

‘The time of death has been established as being between seven fifty and eight o’clock,’ Maine said. ‘Cause of death was pretty obvious, list of suspects tentatively increased to three after Shelley Bronson called late last night to report a bronze figure missing from her flat. She says she first noticed it had disappeared after a visit from Bob Jaymes, Allyson Jaymes’s husband. She’s not saying she’s sure he took it, because apparently Allyson Jaymes has got a key to the flat and could have let herself in any time without Shelley Bronson knowing.’

‘And this figure was some sort of gift from Allyson Jaymes?’ Hollander said, looking at the scribbled notes that had been added to Shelley’s statement.

‘Yes. It’s also now been confirmed as the murder weapon since Allyson Jaymes brought it in this morning.’

It was DC Lister’s turn. She was a tall, large-boned woman with greying hair and deep-set eyes. She had taken Allyson’s statement the night before, she was also who Allyson had asked to see when she and her mother, a proud but frightened-looking old lady, had come to the station earlier with what Allyson was claiming was a gift from Shelley. ‘She says she gave the figurine to Shelley Bronson at Christmas, but Shelley gave it back to her last night, wrapped up in a bloodstained make-up gown.’

DI Hollander’s face showed his dislike of the way things were going. ‘So has someone talked to Shelley Bronson since we got the figurine?’ he said.

‘I did,’ Maine answered. ‘I went over to her flat earlier. She got pretty upset when I told her we had the figurine and what Allyson had said about it. She says the gift she gave Allyson last night was a Lalique clock, an item from her own collection that Allyson had always admired.’

‘So where’s the clock now?’

Maine looked at Lister, who shook her head. ‘No-one seems to know,’ he answered.

Hollander tugged at his lower lip. ‘Things aren’t looking very good for Mrs Jaymes, are they?’ he commented. ‘We’ve got at least a dozen witnesses who claim to have heard her threaten to harm the girl, and in some instances even kill her. We all know her husband left her for the girl and now, according to Shelley Bronson, she believed her new boyfriend, Mark Reiner, was also having an affair with the girl. Has anyone talked to Reiner?’

‘I did,’ Lister answered. ‘He says he wasn’t having an affair with Tessa Dukes, but that Shelley Bronson had intimated to Allyson that he was.’

‘Oh, the tangled webs,’ Hollander remarked, sighing. ‘And Bob Jaymes? Do we have a statement from him yet?’

‘Yes, it’s there, sir,’ Maine answered. ‘He says he was at the Arsenal match last night and reckons the first he heard of anything was when he got home and turned on the news. We’re still checking his alibi.’

‘And the cars?’ Hollander asked.

‘So far we’ve checked out Allyson’s, Shelley’s and Bob Jaymes’s,’ Lister answered. ‘Oh, and the Butler-Blythes’, Allyson’s parents. All have come back with clean bills of health.’

‘Which can mean everything and nothing,’ Hollander responded. He looked up. ‘So what we’re really saying here is that our chief suspect, our only suspect, is Allyson Jaymes, whose only alibi for between six and nine last night is a father who doesn’t know what day of the week it is.’

‘That’s right,’ Lister confirmed. ‘She says she was looking after him while her mother went for a bite to eat with her sister-in-law. Apparently her mother was slightly late getting back, which was why Allyson didn’t get to the restaurant until around nine fifteen.’

‘Mmm,’ Hollander grunted, still looking at Allyson’s statement.

‘Meanwhile, Shelley’s stuck in traffic caused by the bomb scare in Chelsea last night,’ Maine added.

‘She was on her way from the office?’

‘Yes. She says she left around eight with the intention of going home to change. But when she saw the traffic she realized she wasn’t going to have time. So she went straight to the restaurant and arrived just after Allyson.’

‘Did she see Tessa before she left?’

‘She says only briefly. She went to check on her in the editing room and that was the last time she saw her.’

‘And there was no-one else working late?’

‘Apparently not. Except the editor, of course.’

Hollander was reading again. Then sighing he looked at Lister. ‘What a bloody circus this is going to be,’ he grumbled. ‘Where’s Allyson Jaymes now?’

‘Still downstairs with her mother. They’ve been here all day. I think they’re too afraid to go home.’

Maine rubbed a hand over his face. ‘I say everything points to her. Let’s wrap this up and go get some sleep.’

‘Hey!’ Lister protested. ‘I know we’re all tired, but don’t let’s make any hasty decisions. After all, Shelley Bronson we know was at the scene of the crime.’

‘And three hours is plenty of time for Allyson Jaymes to get in her car, go to Shelley’s flat and get the figurine, take it to Fulham, bash the victim’s head in, get back in her car and drive back to Chelsea. And from what you’re telling me about the old boy he wouldn’t even know she was gone.’

‘But we’ve checked her car. And her parents’ car too,’ Lister reminded him. ‘They’re clean. Forensics have been over her flat, but we already know the murder weapon was there.’

‘What about Shelley Bronson’s flat? Are they checking that too?’

‘Nothing,’ Maine informed him.

‘Yet,’ Lister added.

Maine threw her a look. ‘I for one am totally satisfied with Shelley Bronson’s story,’ he said. ‘It was bedlam out there last night, just like she said. The bomb scare brought everything to a standstill.’

‘But how do we know she was in it?’ Lister asked. ‘Did anyone see her?’

‘Where’s her motive?’ Hollander asked.

‘Allyson claims Shelley was having an affair with her husband, prior to his affair with Tessa. She also claims that Shelley was jealous of her relationship with Mark Reiner.’

‘Leading us to?’

‘A frame-up, according to Allyson. In other words, if Allyson’s sent down on a murder charge then Mark Reiner might rediscover his interest in Shelley.’

‘Rediscover?’

‘They had some kind of fling, apparently, prior to Reiner getting involved with Allyson. Both he and Allyson say that he dumped Shelley in favour of Allyson.’

‘Ah, the hell hath no fury motive,’ Hollander declared. ‘Always a good one.’

‘But what we all seem to be forgetting here,’ Maine pointed out, ‘is that there’s not a single shred of evidence pointing to her. Unlike Allyson Jaymes, who not only has motive and opportunity, but actually turns up with the murder weapon in her hand. What more are we looking for?’

Hollander turned to Lister.

‘The restaurant owner’s confirmed that he saw Shelley handing Allyson a box last night that was large enough to have contained the figurine,’ Lister said, looking up as a uniformed officer put his head round the door.

‘There’s a woman downstairs claiming to be some kind of therapist to the deceased,’ he told them. ‘Name’s Laura Risby.’

All eyebrows rose with interest. ‘I’ll talk to her,’ Lister said. ‘Just don’t get carried away with any arrests until I’m back.’

The longer DC Lister listened to Laura Risby the more she was being forced to admit that things were looking grim for Allyson Jaymes. It seemed that Tessa Dukes had had some kind of fixation on Allyson, which in itself didn’t amount to much, but when weighted with everything else could easily add another motive for the killing.

‘It was all rather tragic,’ Laura Risby was saying about Tessa. ‘She grew up in a household where both her father and older brother regularly abused her, sexually, and her mother either turned a blind eye, or simply didn’t know. We’ll never know which, but it’s my guess that she didn’t want to know, and when Tessa forced her to acknowledge it her answer was to laugh. It was undoubtedly nervous hysteria that provoked that reaction, but Tessa didn’t understand that. They had a terrible fight, during which Tessa tried to strangle her mother. The father broke it up and the next day the mother shot and killed both her husband and her son and then herself. Tessa was sixteen when it happened. When she was eighteen, just after she started university, she had a breakdown, which was when I first met her. We’ve been seeing each other ever since, though not as regularly as I’d have liked, and I don’t think Tessa’s ever got any closer to understanding why her mother killed herself. She truly loved her mother, even though she blames her for what happened with her father and brother. They never had a chance to work anything through, and on the surface at least, I’d say Tessa seems to have been more traumatized by her mother’s suicide than she was by the abuse. I think what she’s been doing since is trying to recreate her family. Bob the father, Julian the brother and …’

‘Julian?’

‘A young man who works for the programme too. But he was with me last night, talking about Tessa and trying to understand why she’s the way she is.’

Lister wrote Julian’s name down, then nodded for Laura to continue.

‘He told me he’d been worried about her lately, since she’d got back from Italy. She’d seemed depressed and withdrawn, and more preoccupied with Allyson than ever. You see, she’d cast Allyson in the role of her mother, someone she loved deeply, but wanted to punish too. She blamed herself for her mother’s suicide, and with Allyson, in that cruelly perverse way the mind sometimes has, she was trying to see if she could do it again. I don’t believe she wanted to succeed, quite the reverse in fact. She wanted Allyson to be stronger than her mother, that way her own faults might not be so much to blame for the suicide, if they weren’t capable of provoking it again.’

Lister inhaled. ‘Sounds like the girl had a lot of problems.’

Laura nodded. ‘In recent weeks Tessa and Bob broke up,’ she went on. ‘It appears that Allyson’s interest in him had faded, so Tessa’s did too. Also, despite what we’ve read about Bob Jaymes in the press, the drinking, the loss of his professional standing, etcetera, I don’t think he proved as malleable as Tessa’s father who she could get to do anything in exchange for her favours.’

‘You mean she was encouraging her father in the abuse?’

‘Sometimes, yes. And her brother. Other times they beat her and forced themselves on her. She says she never discussed it with her mother until the end, but I think she was always trying to tell her mother in other ways. She was an exceptionally intelligent girl, but terribly damaged and very confused when it came to communication. She expected people to understand a lot more than they possibly could. Allyson was one of those people. She wanted Allyson to love her, but at the same time she was doing everything she could to make Allyson hate her, because deep down inside she doesn’t feel worthy of love. So going after Bob was an attempt to become a part of the love Allyson shared with him, to feel as though she belonged to them both, as she had to her parents. It was also a way of hurting Allyson, in the same way she’d hurt her mother by trying to make her father love her more. Then, when it became known that Allyson was involved with Mark Reiner, Tessa tried to get involved with him too. As far as I’m aware Mr Reiner never allowed their relationship to go beyond the professional, but Tessa can be very persuasive and I hadn’t seen her in a while. Maybe something did happen between them, and maybe that’s why Allyson …’ She stopped, suddenly uneasy, but Lister knew what she’d been about to say. Maybe that’s why Allyson finally lost control and killed her.

‘So there you have it,’ Lister said, finishing up Laura Risby’s story for Hollander and Maine. ‘One severely damaged teenager with a mother fixation on Allyson Jaymes, whose life she was systematically taking apart.’

‘I remember that case,’ Hollander said. ‘When the mother shot herself after killing her husband and her son. Everyone wondered what would happen to the girl … Well, I guess now we know.’

They were silenced for a moment by the horrible tragedy of it all.

‘So do we arrest her?’ Maine said.

Slowly Hollander nodded. Then rubbing his eyes he said, ‘It’s not every day we get a suspect who brings in the murder weapon themselves then sits downstairs waiting to be cuffed.’

‘Which is what bothers me, sir,’ Lister said.

‘I know. It bothers me too. But you’ve heard the evidence, Sheila, now you give me one good reason why we shouldn’t arrest her.’

Lister’s eyes remained on his, until finally, feeling heavy with fatigue and defeat, she got up from her chair and walked to the door.

Allyson and her mother were in the station canteen, at a table that had been cleared many times of its empty milk packets and plastic coffee cups. They’d been there ever since speaking to DC Lister that morning, when they’d decided between them that the only sensible thing to do was take the figurine, together with the make-up gown it had been wrapped in, to the police.

Allyson looked exhausted. They both did. Neither of them had slept, after Allyson had driven over to her mother’s last night to tell her what had happened. It had taken a while to calm Peggy down, for her shock and fear were as great as Allyson’s. Then, feeling they should have a man to help them, Peggy had wanted to call Bob, but Allyson wouldn’t. She’d wanted only to try and make her father remember that she had been there the entire time between six and nine last night. But of course he didn’t. He didn’t remember her at all.

‘You should go home and see to Daddy,’ Allyson said now. ‘We could be here for hours yet.’

‘Aunt Faye is looking after him. He’ll be fine.’

‘But you’re tired and …’

‘I’m not leaving you here,’ Peggy said.

DC Lister came into the canteen and walked over to them. ‘Hello,’ she said.

Allyson’s heart was in her mouth. Something had happened, she could tell by the policewoman’s demeanour.

‘I’d like you to come with me,’ Lister said, looking at Allyson.

Allyson glanced at her mother, then stood up. ‘What’s happening?’ she said. ‘Where are we going?’

Lister looked down at Peggy, then back to Allyson.

Panic swelled in Allyson. ‘You’re going to arrest me, aren’t you?’

Lister nodded.

‘No!’ Allyson cried. ‘I didn’t do it. I swear I didn’t do it.’ She started to turn away, as though to run from the room. Several officers rose from surrounding tables, but Lister caught her and held her tight.

‘No,’ Allyson sobbed. ‘No, no, no.’

‘She didn’t do it,’ Peggy sobbed too. ‘I know my daughter. She’d never kill anyone. Please. You’ve got to believe her.’

Lister looked into Peggy’s terrified face and wished there was something she could say, but all she managed was, ‘I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry.’

After Allyson’s personal effects were taken she was led to a cell and locked in. Her mother sat on a bench in the corridor outside and refused to leave. She had to be near her daughter, couldn’t leave her to deal with this alone.

DC Lister made the call to the Butler-Blythes’ family lawyer on Peggy’s behalf. He was going to sort out the best man for the job, then come with him to the station. He spoke to Peggy, but couldn’t persuade her to go home. Lister was concerned about her. She wasn’t a young woman, and this trauma was taking its toll. But she understood the fierce and protective love of a parent, she had parents and children of her own.

Were it not for Peggy’s vigil Lister might have gone home after the arrest, but not wanting to leave the woman without a friend she lingered awhile, returning to her desk and going over the statements again, trying to find something that would satisfy that niggling doubt in her mind that some crucial factor was being overlooked. But though she searched and searched she just kept coming back to the facts that were right there on the page.

So maybe it was simply that she didn’t want it to be true. She liked Allyson, the whole world liked Allyson, and no-one wanted the shining image of a woman who was known for her compassion and kindness to turn out to be the glittering and angelic front for a monster. The problem was, there was nothing in the evidence to support any doubt. What was more, Allyson didn’t only have one, she had several motives, as well as a publicly declared intent, the opportunity, and, as Maine had pointed out, ultimately the murder weapon itself. And Lister had to admit, if she had some cocky young kid trying to screw up her life and make her pay for sins that weren’t even hers, she’d want to be rid of her too – though of course she wouldn’t resort to murder. But that was her, and no-one was investigating her, so the real question was, would Allyson Jaymes resort to murder?

Lister turned her thoughts to Shelley Bronson, the wronged and rejected woman. The only one who really stood to gain with both Tessa and Allyson out of the way. The gain being the extremely eligible and apparently fantastically rich Mark Reiner, who was repeatedly calling to ask if he could either see or speak to Allyson. Lister noted that the husband hadn’t called at all, or certainly not that she knew of, but maybe someone else had answered the phone.

She read Shelley Bronson’s statement again, then on a hunch she picked up the phone and called the uniformed officer who had driven Shelley home after her initial interrogation at the Soirée offices. The lad wasn’t happy about being dragged out of bed, but by the time their call was over Lister’s adrenalin was starting to pump. The young officer had merely confirmed everything that was in his report: how he’d driven Shelley back to the restaurant she’d been at earlier with Allyson, watched her get into her car and drive off, then he’d returned to the scene of the crime. The only thing he’d omitted from his report was the make of Shelley’s car.

Armed with this new information Lister made a few more calls, upset a few more people by getting them out of bed, then went to consult the large map of south-west London that was pinned to the office wall. The clock on her desk was ticking into the early hours as she traced all the possible routes from the Soirée offices to the restaurant, then from the Soirée offices to the restaurant via Shelley’s flat in Kensington. Had they not all been so tired they’d probably have worked this out a lot sooner, but going without sleep rarely sharpened the mind.

It was just before two in the morning that Lister got a call back from the owner of a car-hire company confirming that one of his staff had rented a black Volkswagen Audi to Shelley Bronson on the morning of the murder. She’d returned it early the next day, already washed and vacuumed, and had paid in cash. The car the young uniformed officer had returned Shelley to, which had been parked a few streets from the restaurant, was a black Volkswagen Audi. Shelley’s own car, the one that forensics had gone over, was a silver Lexus.

Lister got on the phone to her colleague, Geoff Maine. ‘Shelley Bronson hired a car on the day of the murder,’ she said. ‘She returned it the next day, already cleaned and paid for it in cash. The roads between the office and her flat weren’t affected by the bomb scare, meaning she had time to get home, change and drive to the restaurant by nine fifteen.’

‘Jesus Christ, Sheila,’ he grumbled. ‘What time is it?’

‘The reason we couldn’t find anything in her car was because she was driving a rental!’ Lister almost shouted.

Maine was still coming to. ‘So we talk to her in the morning, right?’

‘No, we go now.’

‘Now!’

‘Trust me on this, Geoff. We need to go now.’

Even with no make-up and her hair tousled from sleep Shelley Bronson still managed to look gorgeous. Lister noted the expensive nightwear, the perfume, and the exceptional collection of furniture, all from the art deco period. Lister could even name a few of the designers. For example, she knew who had made the exquisite fan dancer that had been put to such heinous use, she also knew that Shelley had put in a request to have the dancer returned when everything was over.

As Lister had expected, this dead of night visit had unnerved Shelley, though that in itself proved nothing, as a visit from the police at that time would unnerve anyone. And despite her unease, Shelley wasn’t hostile, in fact she was perfectly polite as she invited them to sit down and asked if she could get them a drink.

They sat, but refused the drink. Shelley sat too, drawing her fine satin robe more tightly around herself. Lister guessed she was naked underneath, and noticed that Maine was probably coming to the same conclusion.

‘So, what can I do for you at this hour?’ Shelley asked.

Lister smiled. ‘We just need you to clear something up for us.’

Shelley glanced at Maine, showing she would be more comfortable if he were in charge.

Lister continued. ‘You said in your statement that you left the office around seven fifty, possibly a little after, and were stuck in traffic more or less until you got to the restaurant.’

Shelley nodded. ‘I was going to go home, but when I saw how bad it was I decided I probably wouldn’t … have enough time.’

Lister noted the slight tremble in her voice. ‘Can you remember where you were when Allyson called you on your mobile to say she was going to be late?’

‘I think I was by the cinema. The one on the corner of Beaufort Street. I can’t say for certain though.’

‘And that was about what time?’

‘Just before nine, I think.’

‘You knew Allyson was babysitting her father that evening?’

‘Yes. She told me earlier in the day.’

Lister smiled. ‘Good, so that all checks out.’ She glanced over at Maine, though not before she’d seen the relief in Shelley’s eyes.

Shelley was about to get up when Lister started talking again.

‘Why didn’t you mention you were driving a hire car on the day of the murder?’ she asked.

Panic stripped away the relief. Shelley’s lovely face was now deathly pale. If she was wise, Lister thought, she’d refuse to say anything now without a lawyer.

Her voice was husky, cracked. ‘My car was in the garage. I always hire another when mine’s in the garage. You can check. It’s something I always do.’

‘And do you always clean it before you take it back?’

Shelley’s eyes darted to Maine. ‘Sometimes,’ she said.

Lister could almost smell her fear. ‘We’d like to take a look at the clothes you were wearing on the day of the murder,’ she said.

Shelley’s eyes were almost wild. ‘They’re at the cleaners.’

Of course.

‘I think I should call a lawyer,’ Shelley said.

‘Yes, Miss Bronson,’ Lister responded. ‘I think you should.’

Shelley could feel the cold seeping far into her bones. DC Lister was still with her. Maine had looked as though he wanted to stay, but after some quiet consultation with Lister he’d left. Her lawyer, who was in Wales, couldn’t be there until morning.

She didn’t speak to the policewoman, she had nothing to say. Her words were all wrapped up inside her, entangled in images of the past two days. She was more afraid than she’d ever been, yet she felt disconnected, apart from the reality of the nightmare, as though it were happening to somebody else and she was just a horrified observer. Her mind was assailed by flashes of all that had happened, and what might have happened. She could see the abstract figure that had walked into the edit suite and stood over the girl. She could see its shadow, looming on the wall, its eyes looking down at Tessa’s small, still head, studying the little whorls and tufts of shiny dark hair, hearing the sounds of the film, seeing the unmanicured hands on the console. Then she was hearing the wild and crazy thoughts, seeing the venom, feeling the hate …

She stifled a cry at the image of the statue rising, then swinging down brutally on the fragile skull. How many times? Someone had said five.

And now Tessa was dead.

But she couldn’t be. It was inconceivable; beyond comprehension that Allyson’s plump and pretty nemesis was lying cold and stiff under a sheet somewhere, no longer able to inflict herself on other people’s lives. Shelley had never liked the girl and she had no pity for her now. All she had was anger – and a hot, paralysing fear that was blurring her senses and crushing her mind.

By the time she was ready to leave the sun was filtering through the clouds, cresting the rooftops in a sluggish pink glow as a new day began. She felt frighteningly calm. Calm and exhausted. Lister must have thought she might kill herself, because ever since reading her her rights the woman hadn’t left her side. Not even while she showered and dressed for what could be the last time in her beloved home, had Lister left her.

She walked into the sitting room and looked around. Her courage was now no more than a plucky flame in a dying fire. How could she bear to leave? What could she do to stop this nightmare going any further? She imagined them all talking about her in the office. It was difficult to envisage the place without her in it. They’d been her family for the past eight years, but they’d all scorn her now. Would Allyson, she wondered.

Quite suddenly she started to scream. The noise tore from her in harsh, petrified cries, breaking her out of the hypnotizing horror of what she was facing. Suddenly it was real. All so horribly, terrifyingly real that she might go insane.

Lister caught her by the shoulders and held her tight.

‘I didn’t do it,’ she sobbed. ‘I swear, I didn’t do it.’ Her face was ravaged, almost demented, her body was shaking so hard she could barely stand.

‘It’s OK,’ Lister soothed. ‘It’ll be OK.’

‘Noooo! You don’t understand. I didn’t do it! I didn’t kill her.’

‘Sssh,’ Lister whispered. ‘Of course not.’ It was what they all said when finally they realized it was the only thing left to say.

A few miles away, in the chill early morning, a young PC escorted Allyson and her mother through the drizzling rain to their car. Allyson’s face was chalk-white, her eyes were bloodshot and shadowed. She was weak with relief, yet heavy with fear. She knew they’d gone to arrest Shelley, but what she didn’t know was what Shelley would say, or where any of it would end.

The PC slammed her car door and waited for her to start the engine. As she drove away there was no-one from the press to record her release, no-one to witness her return to freedom – or to tell her how long she might keep it. After all, they’d believed in her guilt enough to arrest her once, what might Shelley tell them to make it happen again?