Twelve Red Herrings Read online

  “Now that you’re free, is it still your wish that we go on looking for Jeremy Alexander?”

  “Yes,” I replied, without a moment’s hesitation. “I’m even more determined, now that I can taste the freedom he’s enjoyed for the past three years. Never forget, that man stole my freedom from me, along with my wife, my company, and more than half my possessions. Oh yes, Donald, I won’t rest until I come face to face with Jeremy Alexander.”

  “Good,” said the Don. “Because Williams thinks Rosemary is beginning to trust him, and might even, given time, start confiding in him. It seems he has made himself indispensable.”

  I found a certain irony in the thought of Williams pocketing two salaries simultaneously, and of my being responsible for one, while Rosemary paid the other. I asked if there was any news of Jeremy.

  “Nothing to speak of,” said Donald. “She certainly never phones him from the house, and we’re fairly sure he never attempts to make any direct contact with her. But Williams has told us that every Friday at midday he has to drop her off at the Majestic, the only hotel in the village. She goes inside and doesn’t reappear for at least forty minutes. He daren’t follow her, because she’s given specific instructions that he’s to stay with the car. And he can’t afford to lose this job by disobeying orders.”

  I nodded my agreement.

  “But that hasn’t stopped him having the occasional drink in the hotel bar on his evening off, and he’s managed to pick up a few snippets of information. He’s convinced that Rosemary uses the time when she’s in the hotel to make a long-distance phone call. She often drops in at the bank before going on to the Majestic, and comes out carrying a small packet of coins. The barman has told Williams that she always uses one of the two phone boxes in the corridor opposite the reception desk. She never allows the call to be put through the hotel switchboard, always dials direct.”

  “So how do we discover who she’s calling?” I asked.

  “We wait for Williams to find an opportunity to use some of those skills he didn’t learn at butlers’ school.”

  “But how long might that take?”

  “No way of knowing, but Williams is due for a spot of leave in a couple of weeks, so he’ll be able to bring us up to date.”

  When Williams arrived back in Bradford at the end of the month, I began asking him questions even before he had time to put his suitcase down. He was full of interesting information about Rosemary, and even the smallest detail fascinated me.

  She had put on weight. I was pleased. She seemed lonely and depressed. I was delighted. She was spending my money fast. I wasn’t exactly ecstatic. But, more to the point, Williams was convinced that if Rosemary had any contact with Jeremy Alexander, it had to be when she visited the hotel every Friday and placed that direct-dial call. But he still hadn’t worked out how to discover who, or where, she was phoning.

  By the time Williams returned to the south of France a fortnight later, I knew more about my ex-wife than I ever knew when we were married.

  As happens so often in the real world, the next move came when I least expected it. It must have been about 2:30 on a Monday afternoon when the phone rang.

  Donald picked up the receiver, and was surprised to hear Williams’s voice on the other end of the line. He switched him on to the squawk box and said, “All three of us are listening, so you’d better begin by telling us why you’re ringing when it’s not your day off.”

  “I’ve been sacked,” were Williams’s opening words.

  “Playing around with the maid, were you?” was Donald’s first reaction.

  “I only wish, chief, but I’m afraid it’s far more stupid than that. I was driving Ms. Kershaw into town this morning, when I had to stop at a red light. While I was waiting for the light to change, a man crossed the road in front of the car. He stopped and stared at me. I recognized him immediately, and prayed the light would turn to green before he could place me. But he walked back, looked at me again, and smiled. I shook my head at him, but he came over to the driver’s side, tapped on the window, and said, ‘How are you, Inspector Williams?’”

  “Who was it?” demanded Donald.

  “Neil Case. Remember him, Chief?”

  “Could I ever forget him? ‘Never-on-the-Case Neil’,” said Donald. “I might have guessed.”

  “I didn’t acknowledge him, of course, and as Ms. Kershaw said nothing, I thought I might have got away with it. But as soon as we arrived back at the house, she told me to come and see her in the study, and without even asking for an explanation, she dismissed me. She ordered me to be packed and off the premises within the hour, or she’d call the local police.”

  “Damn. Back to square one,” said Donald.

  “Not quite,” said Williams.

  “What do you mean? If you’re no longer in the house, we no longer have a point of contact. Worse, we can’t play the butler card again, because she’s bound to be on her guard from now on.”

  “I know all that, chief,” said Williams, “but suspecting that I was a policeman caused her to panic, and she went straight to her bedroom and made a phone call. As I wasn’t afraid of being found out any longer, I picked up the extension in the corridor and listened in. All I heard was a woman’s voice give a Cambridge number, and then the phone went dead. I assumed Rosemary had been expecting someone else to pick up the phone, and hung up when she heard a strange voice.”

  “What was the number?” Donald asked.

  “6407-something-7.”

  “What do you mean, ‘something-7’?” barked Donald as he scribbled the numbers down.

  “I didn’t have anything to write with, chief, so I had to rely on my memory.” I was glad Williams couldn’t see the expression on the Don’s face.

  “Then what happened?” he demanded.

  “I found a pen in a drawer and wrote what I could remember of the number on my hand. I picked up the phone again a few moments later, and heard a different woman on the line, saying, ‘The director’s not in at the moment, but I’m expecting him back within the hour.’ Then I had to hang up quickly, because I could hear someone coming along the corridor. It was Charlotte, Rosemary’s maid. She wanted to know why I’d been sacked. I couldn’t think of a convincing reply, until she accused me of having made a pass at the mistress. I let her think that was it, and ended up getting a slapped face for my trouble.” I burst out laughing, but the Don and Jenny showed no reaction. Then Williams asked, “So, what do I do now, chief? Come back to England?”

  “No,” said Donald. “Stay put for the moment. Check yourself into the Majestic and watch her round the clock. Let me know if she does anything out of character. Meanwhile, we’re going to Cambridge. As soon as we’ve checked ourselves into a hotel there I’ll call you.”

  “Understood, sir,” said Williams, and hung up.

  “When do we go?” I asked Donald once he had replaced the receiver.

  “Tonight,” he replied. “But not before I’ve made a few telephone calls.”

  The Don dialed ten Cambridge numbers, using the digits Williams had been able to jot down, and inserting the numbers from zero to nine in the missing slot.

  0223640707 turned out to be a school. “Sorry, wrong number,” said Donald. 717 was a chemist’s shop; 727 was a garage; 737 was answered by an elderly male voice—“Sorry, wrong number,” Donald repeated: 747 a news agent; 757 a local policeman’s wife (I tried not to laugh, but Donald only grunted); 767 a woman’s voice—“Sorry, wrong number,” yet again; 777 was St. Catharine’s College; 787 a woman’s voice on an answering machine; 797 a hairdresser—“Did you want a perm, or just a trim?”

  Donald checked his list. “It has to be either 737, 767 or 787. The time has come for me to pull a few strings.”

  He dialed a Bradford number, and was told that the new deputy chief constable of Cambridgeshire had been transferred from the West Yorkshire Constabulary the previous year.

  “Leeke. Allan Leeke,” said Donald, without needing to be