Cambridge Blue - Alison Bruce [67]
TWENTY-SEVEN
Colin Willis’ file had been left on Goodhew’s chair, and a sheet of paper lay on the desktop. He dumped the file right next to it and the downdraught he caused sent the page floating towards the desk’s edge. He caught it just before it fell. The message was written in marker pen, and the note was headed ‘Gary Goodhew’, underlined twice.
‘10.15 p.m. Faith Carver called from the Exelsior Clinic, wanted to speak to you only. Please call her.’ Followed by her phone number.
He glanced at his watch. She was likely to already be asleep, but that was tough luck. Murder was murder.
He took up the cordless handset from his desk and dialled, then flipped open the front of the Willis file, expecting a wait while Mrs Carver stirred. A photograph of the interior of the victim’s flat lay on top, looking in a similar state of decay to the body.
Faith Carver, however, answered on the first ring, proceeding in the old-fashioned way with a recitation of her number. Goodhew instantly closed the file and responded. ‘It’s DC Goodhew here. I’m sorry if I’ve woken you.’
‘No, no, it’s perfectly all right. I decided to wait up for you to call me.’ Her voice had an official crispness. ‘I wanted to speak to you directly because I hate gossip, and what I want to say sounds as if it’s exactly that. Also, I’m hoping I can trust you to be discreet if this turns out to be irrelevant.’
‘Of course.’
‘Good. Victoria Nugent seemed very agitated after you left her today. Obviously I only met her for the first time this week. I know she can be petulant, but she’s never seemed the nervous type. So I made a point of keeping an eye on her and after about fifteen minutes she slipped out of the building.’
‘Did you see where she went?’
‘Yes and no. She walked to the far side of the punting station and stayed there for ten minutes or so. I couldn’t actually see her, but she would have had to walk back past me to go anywhere else. When she reappeared, she was closing her mobile phone, so I assume that she’d been making a call.’
‘And how did she seem when she returned?’
‘Back to normal, I’d say.’
‘And that is?’
‘Cold and borderline rude.’
‘But a moment ago you described her as petulant.’
‘I said I know she can be. She was like that on Monday. She had a bad atmosphere hanging about her like a robe all day, and she was not the least pleased when I told her that Lorna was late getting in.’
‘Do you know what she wanted from her?’
‘That’s what Lorna asked. She seemed put out when I didn’t know the answer. The gist of it was that it was very urgent.’
‘And no idea what?’
‘None.’
‘You said Lorna was late in. How late was that?’
‘Just before ten, between quarter to and ten to. I know because I checked the clock.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t approve of lateness. I believe you can tell the sort of person someone is from their timekeeping. Someone who’s consistently five minutes late is quite different from someone who’s consistently five minutes early. That may sound like rubbish to you, but it’s what I think, and I do like to know the sort of people I work with.’
‘OK. And what sort do you think Lorna was?’
‘Now she’s dead, it seems she had problems . . .’
‘But what did you think at the time?’
Faith Carver obviously deliberated for several seconds, long enough for Goodhew to have to enquire if she was still there.
‘Yes, I’m here. I was just thinking.’ She paused again, this time for longer. Goodhew waited while she patiently gathered her thoughts. ‘There are little things I’ve never considered to mention,’ she continued at last. ‘Lorna was late that day, as I said, and by the time she’d arrived, several people had been trying to get hold of her. Victoria of course, but Richard and Alice Moran had also both asked for her, something work-related I guessed.
‘Then, when she first arrived, Lorna seemed friendly, but a little tense. Maybe