Hilary Bonner - When the Dead Cry Out

“And perhaps you could explain to me exactly what that entails.”

She nodded. “Ricky runs the marina and I run the office, answer the phone, do all the paperwork, send out invoices, pay the bills.”

Jennifer Roth had a very educated voice. Definitely public school, and with more than a little of the inborn sense of superiority which came with the territory, Cooper suspected, despite its having been shaken somewhat that day. He wondered fleetingly about her background.

“I see. And how long have you known Ricky and worked for him?”

“I’ve worked here for about four years now. I got the job quite soon after Ricky took over here.”

“Did you know him before that?”

Jennifer looked uncertain and said nothing.

“Did you know him before that?”

“No,” she said.

“So how did you get hired?”

“I answered a newspaper advertisement,” Jennifer replied quickly enough, but she still seemed unwilling to meet Cooper’s eye and her face was distinctly flushed.

Cooper studied her for a moment or two.

“You seem a little upset,” he said gently. Jennifer looked up, meeting his gaze at last. She looked as if she didn’t know how to respond. She opened her mouth as if she were about to say something and then closed it again, remaining sullenly silent.

“Are you upset?” he asked, a little more firmly.

She shook her head.

“I think you are,” Cooper persisted.

“Well, a bit, maybe. But wouldn’t you be if your boss had just been taken away in handcuffs?”

Cooper bowed his head slightly, acknowledging her point. He was pretty sure it was more than that. But Jennifer Roth seemed to be warming to her theme, or perhaps she just felt this was ground that she could safely explore.

“I mean, what do I do? There are checks here that need signing. It’s Friday. Half the world will descend on us tonight wanting to go out on their boats for the weekend. Ricky does all the basic maintenance work, he’s not a qualified mechanic but he’s very knowledgeable and he gets the boats ready for most of the owners. Makes sure everything’s in working order, and calls in extra help if needed. That’s his big Friday job. What am I going to say to them?”

“That’s up to you,” responded Cooper. “We are investigating a very serious matter here, you do realize that, don’t you?”

Again Jennifer Roth looked as if she didn’t know what to say. Cooper waited until she eventually spoke. He had learned over his years of questioning people that if you presented them with silences which lasted long enough, the vast majority would say something as if somehow compelled to fill the vacuum. And very often he found it a most effective technique.

“Well, I assumed so,” said Jennifer Roth. “You wouldn’t have taken him away in handcuffs if that wasn’t so, would you?”

“Absolutely right. And have you any idea what this serious matter is?”

Yet again Jennifer Roth hesitated.

“No,” she said eventually.

“Are you quite sure of that?”

“Quite sure, I’ve just told you,” Jennifer snapped the reply. She looked petulant more than anything else now. Petulant and sulky.

“We have just arrested the man you know as Ricky Maxwell on suspicion of the murder of his wife and children.”

“Oh.” Jennifer Roth closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair.

“Is that all you have to say?”

Jennifer opened her eyes. Small, vaguely blue eyes, matching the size of her features. Cooper thought he could see panic in them. He wasn’t quite sure. Hers was a very strange reaction, not easy to assess.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t seem surprised.”

“Of course I’m surprised. Shocked is more the word. I’m shocked.”

Cooper studied her appraisingly again.

Her face was even more flushed. But if that was panic he had seen in those small, now veiled, eyes she gave no further sign of it. She seemed quite calm. Cooper waited to see if she would say any more, ask him any questions, even.

“Is there nothing you want to know about this?” he said after a bit. “Aren’t you curious?”

She half-shook her head, half-nodded. She was confused, you could see that clearly enough.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“You haven’t even asked when this happened, have you?”

“No. No.” She leaned back in her chair, tipping the two front legs slightly. She looked even more sulky and petulant. Certainly unwilling to cooperate. Then she sighed, in a resigned sort of way.

“OK. When did it happen?” she asked, her voice heavy with exaggerated weariness.

“Twenty-eight years ago,” Cooper replied, and he could not have explained why he was so sure that she already knew the answer. But he was sure. Quite sure, even though she responded only with a slight nod and said nothing more at all.

Abruptly he swung on to another tack.

“So how well do you know Ricky?” he asked.

“I don’t know, really. Quite well, I suppose.”

Cooper sighed. His patience was running out. He wasn’t sure whether Jennifer Roth was being deliberately obtuse, or whether, perhaps, she wasn’t the brightest young woman he had ever encountered.

He took an oblique approach.

“Could you give me your address please, Miss Roth.”

The young woman hesitated just for a moment.

“Flat 5, Heron View Court, Poole,” she said eventually.

Cooper studied her thoughtfully. This was really a result. It was not only the address of one of the luxury apartments in the marina complex, it also had another significance. Cooper had somehow already suspected it, had a gut feeling, but he knew better than to rely on gut feelings and hunches, indeed always thought that hunches were at best a policing myth and at worst a dangerous alternative to a properly conducted investigation.

Somewhat ostentatiously he took his notebook from his pocket and flicked through it, as if checking something. He actually had no need to check anything. But it was several seconds before he looked up and spoke again. Several seconds which he hoped had been at least a little uncomfortable for Jennifer Roth.

“Same address as Richard Marshall,” he remarked expressionlessly.

She glowered at him then, suddenly displaying a flash of raw defiance.

“Ricky. Ricky Maxwell. That’s his name.”

“That’s the name he chooses to use in order to put his past behind him. A past that involves the murder of three people.”

“I don’t believe it,” she said. “It’s just not true. I’ve never believed it.”

“A moment ago you said you knew nothing about it.”

“I’m in shock. I didn’t know what to say. I was trying to think what would be best to say.”

“I’ll tell you what it’s best to say, always best. The truth. And my advice to you is to stick to it rigidly, Miss Roth.”

There was still defiance in her. She was, he thought, tougher than she looked. She rounded on him indignantly.

“Why are you speaking to me like that? You don’t have any right. I’m not being accused of anything. I’ve never committed any sort of crime in my life. I just know that Ricky is innocent and I don’t want to say anything to make things worse for him. That’s all.”

Cooper more or less ignored the outburst. “How long have you been living with Ricky?” he said, putting lightly ironic emphasis on the assumed name.

“Almost four years,” she answered quickly enough.

“So, more or less ever since you’ve been working here.”

“Yes. Right from the start. I came here to live with Ricky. That’s why I moved here.”

“And a very nice address too, if I might say so. Marshall owns the place, does he?” Cooper glanced through the window at the apartment blocks alongside the marina. In this area, one of the most expensive in the UK, the flats with views out across Poole Harbour must be worth a cool half million, he reckoned.