“I tell you, my garden back on to hers. When hot in evening, I sit on balcony with drink, can see her house. Summer no curtains drawn. That evening I see her all evening.”
“What was she doing?”
He shrugged. “She move round house from room to room. Like she nervous. I don’t know. But she not go out.”
“Are you sure she didn’t? Even later? Midnight? One o’clock? Hadn’t you gone to bed by then?”
“No. I go to bed much later. Sometimes not at all. No point in going to bed if you do not sleep. I did not see Connie leave all night.”
“Well, that’s good, thank you. I’m glad she’s off the hook. I’d hate to think of her being in any way involved in what happened to your daughter. But the one other person who we now know did have keys to the back door of the salon is her ex-husband, Martin Rutherford. Do you know who I mean?”
“I know him, I tell you. I live in house long time. I saw him back when they two still married.”
“Well, Martin’s got an alibi for the night Kyra died. He was at a conference in Brighton and – ”
“He not at conference in Brighton.”
“What?” asked Jude, thunderstruck. “How do you know?”
“I see him.”
“You saw him that night? At the salon?”
“No, not at salon. I in my house all night. Eleven o’clock maybe I see him in Connie’s house.”
“Really?”
“He come through back garden. Way into house people not see. Only I see. He go to back door. Connie let him in.”
“And then what happened?”
“I not know. They close curtains.”
Jude took a triumphant sip of her sticky Becherovka, and felt the cough medicine taste burn in her throat. This was a result. The night Kyra Bartos died, Martin Rutherford had actually been in Fethering.
Thirty-Six
The Worthing branch of Martin & Martina was still busy when Carole arrived. All the stylists seemed to be occupied, and it looked unlikely that they could all be finished by the six o’clock closing time. There was no sign of either of the proprietors, but the girl at the desk said she was expected and directed her to the staircase that led up to Martin’s office.
The two-room suite had been designed by the same person who had done the salon downstairs. The Martin & Martina logo was very much in evidence, and all the furniture featured black glass and brushed aluminium.
Martin, who must have been alerted to Carole’s arrival by the receptionist, was standing in the outer office, waiting for her. He shook her hand, the model of urbanity, but she could feel the tension in his body. “Please come through.”
She did as she was told, leaving the door between the two offices open. Although the presence of all the stylists and customers downstairs gave her some security, she still wanted to have an escape route.
Martin Rutherford gestured her to a chair and sat down behind the black glass top of his desk. As ever, he looked what he was, the successful entrepreneur, hair subtly darkened, teeth expensively straightened.
“So, what can I do for you, Carole? I’m sorry I can’t be long. As I say, I have somewhere to go this evening.”
“With your wife?”
“No, Martina is going to Prague to see her mother, who’s very sick. She gets the 21:05 flight from Heathrow. I have to be away by six.”
“What I have to say won’t take very long.”
“Good. Now, something about red roses, wasn’t it…? How romantic.” The laid-back flippancy of his tone was contradicted by the unease in his darting brown eyes.
“Yes. As I say, I was told this by the missing boy Nathan Locke. When he arrived in the back room of the salon that night, the red roses were already there.”
“Perhaps Kyra had another admirer…?”
“That’s rather what I was thinking, Martin.” He looked genuinely puzzled for a moment before he caught on to what she was saying. “Oh, me? Are you suggesting that I had the hots for Kyra?”
“She used to work for you, right here in this salon.”
“A lot of young women work for me, in this salon and in many others. That doesn’t mean I fancy any of them.”
“No, but Kyra Bartos left the job here, because you were sexually harassing her.”
“Oh, we’re back to that again, are we? Incidentally, where did you hear about it?”
“Your ex-wife Connie told my friend Jude.”
“Ah. Yes.” The explanation seemed in some way to relax him. “Of course, your friend Jude. The other half of Fethering’s very own Marple Twins.”
Carole didn’t react to the gibe. “So there might be a logical connection between your ‘coming on’ to Kyra when she worked for you and your giving her red roses when she no longer worked for you.”
“There might be, but I wouldn’t say it was that logical. Nor would I say it’s the kind of thing that would be possible to prove.”
“Did the police ask you about the red roses?”
“Sorry? No, not at all. Remember, I only talked to them right at the beginning of the case. Then all they wanted to establish was the set-up at Connie’s Clip Joint…you know, the fact that Connie was my ex-wife, what our financial arrangements had been since the divorce. They didn’t ask me anything connected with the actual murder case.”
“I wasn’t referring to the first time, Martin.”
“What?” He looked puzzled.
“Not the first time the police talked to you, immediately after the murder. I’m talking about when they questioned you about having been in Connie’s Clip Joint last Sunday morning.” Now it made sense to him. “Because Connie told them about that break-in. And you’re not going to tell me they didn’t follow up on it with you.”
“No. No.” Martin Rutherford looked thoughtful. Then he said, “You know, Carole, I think you and your friend Jude are very stupid to get involved in situations like this.”
“Oh? Why?”
“Because they’re potentially dangerous.” There was no twinkle in the brown eyes he fixed on hers. “It’s very common that someone who is about to be exposed for committing one murder doesn’t have much compunction about committing another.”
Jude was full of her news. When she got back, she went straight round to High Tor to share it with Carole. But there was no reply, just a disgruntled barking from Gulliver.
She returned to Woodside Cottage, the information about Martin Rutherford still bubbling inside her. Then she rang through to the Crown and Anchor, to see whether Carole had gone there, according to their earlier arrangement. But Ted Crisp said she hadn’t been in. Jude moved round the house, unable to settle to anything, and kept looking out of her front window to see whether the Renault had reappeared.
Martin stood up from his chair and moved round to the front of his desk. He sat on the edge, in what should have been a casual posture. But his body was tense, in the grip of some strong emotion. He was only a few feet from Carole, and she could feel the energy sparking off him.
“There’s a lot you don’t understand,” he said at length. “A lot of secrets that should stay secrets.”
“If keeping things secret leads to people being murdered, then I would have thought perhaps they ought to be made public.” The sentence was a lot more articulate and confident than Carole felt.
“Huh.” Martin Rutherford rubbed the back of his hand wearily across his brow. “It’s terrible how easily things go wrong, how easily they get out of hand.”
“Are you talking about what you did to Kyra?”
“I did nothing to Kyra.”
“No? Do you deny that you went round to Connie’s Clip Joint the night the girl died?”
He slowly blew out a long breath, then said, “No, I don’t deny it.”