Barry Maitland - The Marx Sisters

Bob Jones smiled at the recollection, and shifted his empty glass around on the table top.

‘I thought she looked just like the agitated student she’d never been at university. I much preferred her this way, excited, enthusiastic… vulnerable, I suppose, although I’d have liked it better if she could have transferred some of that excitement in my direction. Oh well.’ He shrugged ruefully.

‘Anyway, you can understand why we were so disappointed when we couldn’t get to see Mrs Winterbottom that afternoon. After we looked around at number 22, we decided to go and have a cup of tea somewhere and come back in half an hour, when she might have woken up. Actually we phoned then, but there was no reply. We tried again after another half-hour, and when there was still no reply, we walked back to Jerusalem Lane. That’s when we saw the ambulance there, and somebody in the street said that Mrs Winterbottom had been taken seriously ill. Judith was devastated, but she had to catch the evening flight back to New York and couldn’t wait.’

Jones sat back in his chair and took a deep breath. His chin sank on his chest and he seemed suddenly drained, as if completing his account had exhausted him. Kathy looked at him, wondering. She glanced at Brock, who gave no indication of wanting to pursue the interview.

‘Did you talk to Mrs Winterbottom about the redevelopment of Jerusalem Lane?’ she asked.

Jones shook his head.

‘Oh, come on. You knew what was going on in the background, the plans that were being prepared. Surely you must have been curious about how she stood?’

Jones sighed and avoided meeting her eyes. ‘To be perfectly honest, I was embarrassed. I would have liked to know if she and the other residents realized what was going on, but I didn’t want to have to answer her questions if she thought I maybe knew things that she didn’t. Also, I felt I had an obligation to Slade to keep quiet. And

… I felt guilty, I suppose. The first time we met her I did mention that I’d noticed that the bookshop seemed to have closed down. She said the Kowalskis were leaving the neighbourhood, and I asked her if she had any plans like that. It was as far as I felt I could go. She said she didn’t.’

‘What about the books and manuscript? Have you got an idea of their total value? Did Judith mention anything?’

‘No, no.’ He shook his head wearily. ‘Those figures I gave you were all that she said to me. She didn’t talk about money at all when we met last Sunday, and of course we had no idea how much stuff Mrs Winterbottom was going to come up with.’

Kathy said nothing for a moment, then quietly, ‘What were your first thoughts when you read that Mrs Winterbottom might have been murdered?’

Jones looked up at her, and she thought she saw anguish in his eyes. ‘I… I don’t know. I suppose I wondered if it could have had anything to do with what Judith was interested in, but it seemed so unlikely. I mean she may not be the only scholar in the world interested in Marxist sources, but it’s a bit esoteric as a motive for murder, isn’t it? Then I thought…’

‘Yes?’

‘I thought… about the redevelopment project. I thought about that big office in Docklands with all those blokes drawing away like mad. I thought about the cost of servicing the site purchase-funding and the cost of delays… When I asked Mrs Winterbottom about moving, she said she’d recently had an offer to sell, but she said she never would. She said they’d have to carry her out in a box.’

They returned to the car. There had been a short break in the rain, but water still coursed along the gutters.

‘Can you drop me off at the Yard?’ Brock asked. ‘I have some things to catch up on.’ He seemed preoccupied.

‘Of course.’

They drove in silence for a while. Then Brock said, ‘The lawyers would have a great time with him in the witness box. It’d take a week to get through his opening statement.’

‘He did go on a bit,’ Kathy said, glad to talk about it. ‘I didn’t really mind, though. I found the background about Slade quite interesting.’

‘Hmm.’ Brock stared out of the side window, arms folded. ‘If it’s relevant. You liked him.’ It was a statement.

‘Oh…’ Kathy hesitated. ‘Well, yes, I suppose I did. I liked the way he was honest about his failures. He was almost painfully open about them, I thought-about trying to seduce Judith Naismith, and the fiasco with his design for the Lane. And I liked his enthusiasm, the way he really believed in what he was doing.’ She glanced over at Brock. ‘You don’t agree?’

‘I kept thinking,’ Brock said after a long pause, ‘that he had an awful lot of overheads to support on one loft conversion in Maida Vale.’

Kathy stared up at the reflection of herself in the mirrored ceiling. Against the crumpled satin sheets her body and that of Martin beside her looked as if they had been pinned untidily into some giant specimen case.

‘This place is so gross,’ she said. ‘Why do all your friends have such bad taste? They think “expensive” means “smart”.’

Martin stirred and traced a finger down her side. ‘Very convenient, though. Two minutes from the office. OK?’ he murmured.

‘Mmm. Always.’ Actually it hadn’t been so good. Martin was tense and hurried.

‘Lot on?’ she asked.

‘Oh, yes. Difficult case in court later on this afternoon. You?’

‘Always variety, you know. Yesterday we went to the seaside in the morning, a funeral in the afternoon, and heard a long shaggy dog story from an architect in the evening.’

‘What was he like?’

‘Who?’

‘The architect.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Quite sweet, I suppose. Except we don’t know how much to believe.’

‘Never mind. Not long before we get away from all this.’

‘I dream about it. Seven wonderful days and nights with you, without an alarm clock or an appointment in court.’

The ostensible purpose of the trip to Grenada was Martin’s attendance at an international conference of criminal lawyers, but he would duck out after the first day. He had booked them into a hotel so luxurious that each suite had its own swimming pool.

‘How’s it going with Brock?’

‘Good. He was quite talkative yesterday. Still don’t know much about him really, except that he’s very gloomy about marriage-and just about any other kind of relationship too, as far as I can gather. “Doomed” was his word, I think.’

Martin laughed. ‘What about his big case? Did he say any more about that?’

‘Upper North? Yes, he said a bit.’ She hesitated.

‘Well?’

‘I don’t think I can tell you.’

‘What?’

‘What he told me. It was in confidence.’

‘He told you not to tell anyone?’

‘No. But I don’t think he expected me to. You’re annoyed?’

Martin had that sulky set to his lower lip which she had once thought appealing, until she had seen it on a photograph of him as a little boy standing next to his big brother who was holding a cricket bat.

‘I just wonder sometimes what kind of relationship you can have with someone you don’t trust, that’s all.’

‘That’s not fair, Martin. You don’t tell me everything about your work.’

‘Oh yes I do.’ His mood brightened. ‘I told you all about the woman with the fish.’

Kathy laughed. ‘Yes.’

‘And the man who tried to steal the three-piece suite from Harrods.’

‘Yes, yes.’ He was tickling the soles of her feet.

‘Well then, you can tell me all about the fiendish plot to recapture Upper North!’

‘No, Martin. Brock-’

But Martin had turned abruptly and pushed himself off the bed, the joke over. ‘Bugger Brock,’ he snapped, and strode out to the bathroom.