Just Murdered Page 16

  ‘No, really. Thank you, but that’s not necessary. I must have got the day wrong. I was sure Terence Blair said our date was for Friday, but he definitely told me he played here every Tuesday and Thursday, so maybe I mixed things up. I can come back another time.’ Peregrine pulled away, just enough to get her hand back without bruising Randolph’s ego. She smiled coquettishly.

  ‘You’re here now. Shame to miss out. Besides, I haven’t seen Terence Blair for months.’ He flashed his teeth again.

  ‘Months?’

  ‘That’s right. Now, I’ve got a free court and I see you’ve got a racquet, so let me show you how to play the game.’ He reached out again, this time hovering his hand behind Peregrine’s shoulder.

  ‘I’m sure you’ve got other things to do, Randolph,’ Peregrine protested.

  ‘Not for the next hour. And please, call me Randy.’

  Peregrine smiled again and allowed herself to be ushered into the heart of the Royal Southern Squash Club.

  The squeak of their shoes on the wooden floor echoed as Randy led her onto the squash court and closed the door behind them. He’d collected a racquet on the way, but now he set it down in the corner.

  ‘Won’t you be needing that?’ Peregrine asked.

  ‘Not yet. First we have to discuss grip and swing.’ Randy flashed his broad, toothy smile.

  ‘Actually, could we discuss Terence Blair first?’

  ‘Blair?’

  Peregrine nodded. ‘You said you hadn’t seen him for months.’

  ‘Nope. Here, let me show you how to grip the racquet.’ Randy stood close behind Peregrine and, reaching around, wrapped his right hand over hers and the handle of the squash racquet.

  ‘Are you sure? Because he told me he was here every Tuesday and Thursday evening.’ Peregrine tried to lean her body forward.

  ‘I’m here most days and every evening, and he hasn’t been in. Now, your back swing should be …’ He moved Peregrine’s right arm back, bringing her shoulders against his toned chest.

  ‘Have you seen him at all in the last few months?’ Peregrine tried to ease the left side of her body away.

  Randy shook his head and she could feel his chin brushing her hair. ‘A couple of Saturday mornings, but never during the week. Here, you need to square your body up.’ He used his free hand to pull Peregrine’s left shoulder back against him. ‘Bend your knees a little …’ Randy pushed his own knees into the back of Peregrine’s legs. ‘I’ve got a couple of balls, so if you’re ready … ?’

  ‘Oh, I’m ready.’ Peregrine sounded sweet but her teeth were gritted.

  Randy kept hold of her racquet as he pulled a squash ball from the pocket of his shorts then reached forward with his left hand. ‘Get ready to swing! On one, two …’ He tossed the ball into the air. ‘Three!’

  Peregrine slammed her head backwards, catching him hard on the lower part of his face.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Randy yelled, releasing his grip and pressing his hands over his mouth.

  ‘I’m so sorry! I was trying to watch the ball as you threw it in the air. Oh dear. Are you okay, Randy?’

  ‘Are you nuts? I think I broke a tooth. Ow.’

  ‘I think maybe I should go,’ said Peregrine, already halfway out the door. ‘Really sorry, Randy, but thanks for the game!’

  Peregrine drove straight to the police station. She didn’t want to go inside and risk running into Inspector Sparrow, so she parked where the Austin-Healey wasn’t too obvious but still gave her a good view of the front door. Even though she hadn’t quite forgiven Detective Steed for being so prickly, Peregrine needed him if she was going to exonerate Florence, which meant telling him what she’d uncovered.

  Sitting in the dappled shade of a magnificent elm tree with the convertible’s top down, Peregrine finally felt the knot between her shoulder blades begin to loosen. It had already been a long and rather difficult day, and she was looking forward to immersing herself in the hot scented water of her divinely deep bathtub, drink close at hand, and organising her jumbled thoughts. Until then, the balmy air was a welcome reviver.

  She’d been sitting in the car for half an hour and was just wondering whether it would be easier to pass the information to Constable Connor instead when Detective Steed appeared, pushing his hat on as he came down the steps of the police station two at a time.

  Peregrine got out of the car and waved. Steed saw her immediately. He stopped, slowly shook his head, then with a single backward glance at the police station he put his hands in his pockets and strolled over to join her. They leaned side by side on the bonnet of her car.

  ‘Busy afternoon? he said, staring pointedly at Peregrine’s squash attire.

  ‘Yes, actually,’ she replied coolly.

  Steed swallowed and looked Peregrine in the eye. ‘Listen, Miss Fisher. Before you say anything I want to apologise for the way I reacted earlier. You were right about Maggie Blair disappearing for several hours on the day of the bridal show, and Colin Blair did go to South Yarra police station.’

  ‘See?’ Peregrine tried to keep the triumph out of her voice. ‘Did you talk to Colin?’

  ‘Yes. I asked him why he’d said nothing and he got very defensive—almost aggressive! He’s very protective of his mother.’

  ‘And?’ Peregrine prompted.

  ‘He told me it wasn’t relevant to anything and therefore none of my business. I reminded him it was a murder investigation, which made everything my business.’

  ‘Yes, but where was Mrs Blair?’ Peregrine was getting exasperated with the pace of the detective’s storytelling.

  Steed, however, was clearly enjoying himself and Peregrine’s mounting frustration. He smiled and relented. ‘Colin Blair claimed his mother’s medications had been changed recently and they were putting her in a bit of a mental fog. Apparently she’d simply wandered off in a daze.’ He held up a hand before Peregrine could ask the next question. ‘And, yes, I confirmed the new medication with her doctor.’

  ‘So Maggie Blair has no alibi for the time Barbie Jones was killed.’ Peregrine frowned and bit her lip.

  ‘Miss Fisher, didn’t you hear what I just said? She was in a drug-induced state. Hardly capable of murder.’

  Peregrine shook her head. ‘You confirmed she was taking a new medication but not that it was causing her problems. You still only have Colin Blair’s word for that—and, as you just said, he’s very protective of his mother.’

  ‘But why would Maggie Blair kill Barbie?’

  ‘Because her husband was having an affair with Barbie Jones!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’s the mystery boyfriend!’

  ‘How did you find that out?’

  ‘From a necklace—two, actually. Terence Blair gave his wife and girlfriend identical necklaces, and he was meeting Barbie every Tuesday and Thursday night when he was supposed to be playing squash.’

  ‘Well, that explains your little dress.’

  Peregrine pinched the sides of the short skirt and bobbed her head, miming an ironic curtsy. ‘Just confirming the facts, Detective.’

  ‘But you’ve seen Maggie Blair. Even if she wasn’t in a daze, she’s not strong. Certainly not strong enough to strangle a healthy young woman like Barbie then pose her on the cake like that.’

  ‘Passion and anger can give you amazing power. Besides, who’s to say these drugs you keep talking about didn’t cause some sort of weird thoughts or give her super strength? I’ve heard that can happen.’

  ‘I still don’t see it, but I’ll do some more digging,’ said Steed begrudgingly.

  ‘While you’re at it, have another look at Terence Blair.’

  Detective Steed pulled off his hat, ran a hand roughly through his hair and let out a frustrated sigh. ‘But I thought you just said Maggie Blair—’

  ‘Both of them had motive. Mrs Blair’s was jealousy, but think what it would mean for Terence Blair if the world found out he had a pregnant model mistress! Mr Blair could have killed Ba
rbie because she’d become a problem.’

  ‘Fine! I’ll go over the file again and see if anything stands out about either of them.’ Steed closed his eyes and took a deep breath. ‘Thank you for the information, Miss Fisher.’ He inclined his head in Peregrine’s direction.

  ‘You’re welcome, Detective Steed.’ She smiled at him, then winced and ducked her head slightly. ‘Just one other thing.’

  ‘Out with it.’

  ‘I know you don’t want to hear it, but Sparrow took that money from Terence Blair. Your boss is covering up for something.’

  Peregrine could see the muscles in Steed’s jaw working, and it took a moment before he finally spoke.

  ‘Just leave well enough alone, Miss Fisher, or you’ll get us both in trouble.’

  Steed moved over to the driver’s door of the Austin-Healey and opened it. He jerked his head towards the car’s interior.

  Peregrine locked eyes with him for a moment before she calmly stepped past, sat sideways on the driver’s seat and gracefully swung both legs in.

  ‘Thank you, Detective. I’ll be seeing you.’ She turned the key in the ignition and waited for him to close the door.

  Steed stepped back. ‘No doubt, Miss Fisher.’

  Peregrine dropped the handbrake and accelerated away, leaving Detective Steed standing in the road.

  After the Austin-Healey had disappeared from view, James Steed walked slowly back into the police station. It was late in the afternoon, and the detectives’ room was largely empty: only two desks were occupied and the door to Inspector Sparrow’s office was closed. There was a small chance the boss was still in the station, but it seemed unlikely; the atmosphere lacked a certain tension. Then Steed caught sight of Constable Fleur Connor standing by his desk, clearly loitering with intent. He didn’t need any more drama, and it was almost enough to send him back out into the street, but before he could react she’d spotted him.

  ‘Detective!’ she called.

  ‘Constable Connor. What is it?’ He threw his hat at the coat rack as he passed and felt slightly better when it found its mark rather than falling to the floor.

  Fleur Connor was looking decidedly cagey. She stood with her shoulders pressed against the bank of filing cabinets, keeping the entire room in view, and waited until he’d sat down before stepping forward. Pulling a hand from behind her back, she slid a file onto his desk blotter.

  ‘Someone dropped this,’ she said quietly, with a glance across at the other detectives.

  James Steed stared down at the folder on his desk. It was damp and slightly water-stained, the corners singed and blackened. ‘Dropped it where?’ he asked loudly, looking from the file to Fleur and back again.

  Fleur Connor grimaced and patted the air with her hand to shush him.

  ‘Dropped it where?’ Steed asked again, this time in an undertone. ‘In the bin for destruction. I was emptying everything into the incinerator when I saw … when this one slipped off the top.’ Steed studied the constable’s face, but Fleur had plenty of practice at hiding emotions and her expression was a professional blank. He turned his attention back to the folder, opened the cover and looked at the topmost page. His eyes widened.

  ‘This is the Barbie Jones file!’ he hissed.

  ‘Is it?’ Fleur said blandly. ‘I thought it looked important.’

  Steed began turning pages, scanning the details, moving faster and faster. ‘Everything is in here. This is still an active case!’ His voice rose again and one of the other detectives looked up curiously. Steed met his eye and nodded in apology, waiting until the other man returned to his work before picking up the next page. He frowned.

  ‘This can’t be right,’ he muttered.

  Fleur Connor leaned in, glanced at the heading and stood up straight. ‘I daresay you’re correct, Detective. It’s not right. It’s not right at all.’

  Steed glanced at her sharply. ‘This is the autopsy report for Florence Astor. What’s it even doing in this file?’

  ‘I believe Inspector Sparrow had the file last, sir. Perhaps you could ask him?’

  ‘Damn it.’ Steed swore softly. Then he looked up at the policewoman. ‘Thank you, Constable Connor.’

  ‘My pleasure, sir. If there’s nothing else …’

  ‘No. Go home. And, Constable? I think it best we keep knowledge of this file’—he gestured to the damaged documents—‘to ourselves for now.’

  ‘What file, Detective? I just tip the bin into the incinerator; I have no idea what might be in there. Goodnight, sir.’ She gave him a quick professional smile and walked briskly from the room.

  James Steed remained in the office long after the last detective had left and the night shift had taken over at reception. He sat at his desk, illuminated only by the circle of light cast by a battered Planet lamp, and read through everything. Nothing had changed since he had last looked at all the interviews, reports and photographs relating to the death of Barbie Jones, but this was the first time he had seen the pathologist’s report on Florence Astor. As the significance of what he was reading sunk in, Steed realised a couple of things. The first was that Peregrine Fisher was right—again—and Florence Astor had not killed herself. The second was that Inspector Sparrow had a hidden and highly suspect agenda of his own and unless he, James Steed, did something, Florence Astor would be blamed and the real killer would go unpunished.

  The problem was that any serious attempt by Steed to confront his boss over the case would result in his instant transfer to a one-man station somewhere in the back of beyond. He only had one choice. Steed slammed the file shut and snapped off the light, plunging the office into darkness.

  Peregrine stood in the doorway wrapped in her aunt’s silk robe, tendrils of hair escaping from her up-do and curling damply around her neck.

  ‘As you can see, I wasn’t expecting company.’ She turned and started up the stairs, leaving the door open. ‘And I certainly wasn’t expecting you.’ Her bare feet left damp footprints on each tread.

  Detective Steed stepped across the threshold, closing the door behind him. He had one foot on the stairs when, in a sudden burst of caution, he went back and threw the deadbolt, locking the door securely.

  Peregrine was standing in the middle of the lounge room when he got there. She’d put on a pair of fluffy mule slippers but otherwise had made no concession to his presence and the robe clung to her damp skin.

  ‘Well, Detective?’

  Steed hesitated. ‘Look, Miss Fisher, I owe you another apology for my behaviour earlier.’

  ‘Yes, you do.’ Peregrine folded her arms.

  ‘And I’m sorry. I really am. It’s just a very difficult situation and I have to tread carefully. My boss—’

  ‘Sparrow.’

  ‘He was a good cop once and he’s still a good detective—he’s taught me a lot—but something happened, years ago. I don’t know what, I’ve only heard rumours, but he changed.’

  ‘If you’re trying to make me feel sorry for him …’

  ‘I’m not. The thing is, in the force everyone, including Sparrow, has to answer to someone, and for the moment I have to answer to him. I don’t always like it, but if doing my job—and continuing to do it as best I can—means putting up with Sparrow’s occasional digressions, well …’ Steed shrugged.

  Peregrine sniffed, unimpressed. ‘How you deal with Sparrow is entirely up to you. I just don’t want Florence Astor’s name and legacy ruined. Not to mention the fact that there’s still a murderer on the loose.’

  ‘I agree completely, which is why I’m here.’ Steed reached inside his overcoat and pulled out the damaged file. He held it out to Peregrine. ‘You didn’t get this from me and you can’t tell anyone you have it or mention the information you find in it. Well, anyone other than the Adventuresses, I should say, because I know you’ll tell them anyway.’

  Peregrine frowned. ‘What … ?’ She took the file and leafed through the first few pages, then stared at him in astonishment. ‘You’re giving
me a police file?’

  ‘Officially that file no longer exists and I’ll deny ever being here. Unofficially …’ Steed rubbed a hand across his jaw and from where she stood Peregrine could hear the faint scratch of his five o’clock shadow.

  ‘Unofficially?’ she echoed, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘Unofficially, take a look at the post-mortem report on Florence Astor.’

  ‘What am I going to find?’

  ‘The pathologist says quite plainly that not all of Miss Astor’s injuries are consistent with a fall from a height.’

  Peregrine closed her eyes and clutched the file to her chest. ‘I knew Florence wouldn’t kill herself.’

  Steed nodded. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Fisher.’

  ‘And you’re really not going to do anything about it? Two women are dead!’

  Steed dropped his head, unable to meet Peregrine’s fierce gaze. ‘My hands are tied.’

  ‘Rubbish! I know Sparrow’s type. I’ve met plenty of men like him before and trust me: if you back off or keep quiet, they don’t stop; they just keep grinding you down. The only way to deal with bullies is to defy them. Refuse to be a victim. So stand up to Sparrow and don’t be so spineless!’ Peregrine slammed the file down on the coffee table and, unable to contain her anger, began pacing the room.

  ‘Don’t you think I’d do that if I thought it would achieve anything?’ Steed said.

  Peregrine came to an abrupt stop in front of him, hands on hips.

  ‘Don’t you think I’ve been trying to think of a way to deal with this?’ Steed sounded close to breaking point. ‘A way that wouldn’t end up with Sparrow taking it out on me, you and probably the entire Adventuresses’ Club? Because believe me, when Inspector Sparrow’s unhappy, everybody’s unhappy. And he has powerful allies.’

  Peregrine’s face softened and she reached out to place her hand on his arm. ‘I’m sorry, Detective,’ she said. ‘I’ve had a small taste of what Sparrow can be like, but I guess I hadn’t quite understood the position you’re in.’

  Steed nodded miserably. ‘I’m sorry too, Peregrine … Miss Fisher. In the end, giving you this file was the only solution I could think of. But if you and the Adventuresses come up with any solid leads, the investigation will have to go further and there’ll be nothing Inspector Sparrow or anyone else can do.’