‘Miss Vaughan, we have had indications from several sources that whilst Mr Beaumont ran his business as an autocrat and built his life around it, it was not as you claim “his whole life”. We have it on good authority, indeed, that he had involved himself over the years with quite a stream of women.’
She wanted to tell him to go back to that good authority and get his information there. But that source, whoever it was, might tell them about her. She was suddenly not sure how much the people who worked here knew about her, how much they might try to incriminate her in a situation like this. She said dully, ‘I’ve heard that, too. About the other women, I mean. He said his wife was an invalid, but some people say he exaggerates that to get sympathy. I can’t help you. I don’t know any details about these other women. Maybe they were all in the past, for all I know. He was late fifties, wasn’t he? Perhaps he’d given up that sort of thing.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Lambert. His tone on the single word seemed to convey how easily deceived she was, how little she knew of life compared with the two men opposite her, whose work had left them with few illusions. ‘He didn’t make any suggestions to you that you might like to see him away from work, then?’
If only it had been as polite and civilized as that, Sarah thought bitterly. She was tempted for a moment to tell them about those terrifying minutes in the big blue Jaguar. But her resolution held. She mustn’t even hint that she’d had any sort of motive for disposing of him. The quickest way to send the CID away was to distance yourself as far as possible from the victim. ‘No. I didn’t see any evidence of the womanizing I heard people gossip about. For all I know, that was all it was — gossip.’
She sounded like a prim twenty-year-old rather than a woman of thirty-three who had seen much of the world and was making her way steadily in it. But at least she would have the sense not to try to change that with more words. If they thought of her as unworldly and inexperienced, they would be less likely to think of her as a murderer.
Hook, his wide brown eyes seeming now as searching as those intense grey ones of Lambert, said calmly, ‘Where were you last Wednesday night, Miss Vaughan?’
‘I was here until about six. Then I was at home. I cooked myself a lasagne I’d picked up from Waitrose and curled up on the sofa to watch the telly.’
‘Is there anyone who can confirm this for us?’
‘No. No one spent the night with me and I didn’t go out again, once I’d got home and garaged the car. A couple of friends rang me during the evening.’
It had all come very promptly, but that was fair enough; the time of the death was public now, and you would expect an intelligent woman to have thought about how she was going to account for herself. ‘Can you recall the time when you received these calls?’
‘I can’t pinpoint the times exactly. But I think both of them were between eight and nine.’ She’d been tempted to say they were much later than that, but they would check them out with the callers. And if they found her lying about one thing, they’d suspect everything else she’d said.
Lambert studied her face for a moment. It was anxious, pale, taut, looking a little older and more worn than when they had begun the interview. He said, ‘You’ve had some time to think about this death now. Have you any views on who might have killed Martin Beaumont?’
‘No.’ It had come too promptly, almost before he had finished the question. Sarah had thought about many things before they came, but had not realized that even the timing of her replies might seem significant. ‘As you suggest, I’ve thought about it a lot over the weekend. I don’t even know Mrs Beaumont. And I can think of motives for most of the people here. But I can’t imagine that any one of them would have killed Martin. None of them seems like a murderer.’
‘That is a sentiment we hear often, Miss Vaughan. Our experience tells us that even the unlikeliest person can commit murder, given the right set of circumstances. You say you can think of motives. Let us into that thinking, please.’
An invitation to divert the attention away from herself, to suggest more rewarding targets for their efforts. But she mustn’t seem too eager or go too far. She forced a smile. ‘You mention the unlikeliest person to commit murder. In my opinion, that would be Gerry Davies, our shop and sales manager. He’s liked by everyone here, including Martin when he was alive. He’s been a good friend to me, as I’ve found my feet here, and I’m sure to lots of other people as well. As for the others, well, I sense that most of them would have liked more say in the future of the company, as it becomes more and more successful. That’s naturaclass="underline" there’s a general feeling that two or more heads are better than one, that a growing firm needs to take account of all the ideas available if it is to grow successfully.’
For a moment, she was back again in one of her essays for the Business Studies degree, throwing out the phrases she had used successfully there. She hoped these grave-faced men did not recognize them as the glib cliches they now seemed to her. Apparently they didn’t, for Lambert said as he stood up, ‘We shall be seeing Mr Davies later today. We shall bear in mind your glowing opinion of him, though of course we shall not retail it to him. Like other things you and other people have volunteered to us, it will remain confidential. If you have any further thoughts, please get in touch with the Oldford CID section immediately — ask for Detective Inspector Rushton.’ He set a card carefully upon her desk.
Sarah saw them out, then shut the door firmly and slumped thankfully into her chair. It hadn’t gone too badly, she decided. They’d seemed happy enough with what she had been able to tell them, and she hadn’t revealed what she was most anxious to conceal.
Sarah Vaughan would have been less sanguine if she had heard the conversation in the police Mondeo as Hook drove it towards the station. They had travelled a mile and more before Lambert said, ‘What did you think of pretty young Miss Vaughan?’
Hook grinned. ‘She isn’t a girl, John. You’re getting older. But there were moments in the interview when she’d have been happy if we thought of her as at least ten years younger and very gauche. She’s concealing something.’
‘I agree. Whether it’s significant or not remains to be seen. But I think we shall need to see the glamorous Miss Vaughan again, in due course.’
‘Life has its consolations, if you work at it,’ said Bert Hook, his attention studiously upon the road ahead.
NINETEEN
Lambert glared at the television set resentfully. ‘It’s far too early for them to be playing one-day cricket internationals. We’re scarcely into spring yet.’
Christine set his sandwich in front of him and smiled tolerantly. ‘It’s May the eighteenth and the longest day is in five weeks. You’re just annoyed because you won’t see much of it. If I know you, you’ll be off out again in half an hour. How long is it since you were last home for lunch?’
‘I don’t know. A few weeks, I suppose. Everything seems to fly past too quickly, nowadays. I suppose you’re going to tell me I’m getting old.’
‘I wasn’t, but you are. You must learn how to wind down. You’re better than you were at relaxing, but there’s still room for improvement.’ Then, running against her own advice but sensing that he wanted her to ask, Christine said, ‘How’s the case going?’
‘That’s why I’m here, if I’m honest. To get away from the string of pressmen ringing in and wanting a quote from John Lambert about the progress of the case. You can’t even digest what you’ve learned properly at the station, with people buzzing around your ears all the time.’
‘I heard you’d talked to Tom Ogden.’
He grinned resignedly, where once he might have been annoyed. ‘Local grapevine in operation, I suppose. I expect no less.’