The Royal Baths Murder Read online

  As they left the Pump Room, Oldroyd chuckled to himself. He hadn’t told Andy that in the now defunct Royal Baths Hospital, the toilets had had extractor fans fitted, such were the foul smells produced by the people who had imbibed the waters.

  They found Susan Lawrence drinking coffee in the guest lounge at The White Swan after having lunch in the dining room. She was elegantly dressed as usual in linen trousers and a silk shirt, and wore her customary haughty expression. The detectives sat on a sofa opposite her armchair.

  ‘Oh, Chief Inspector and Sergeant Sidekick,’ she said. ‘What a pleasure! I take it you haven’t made any progress in bringing that woman to justice.’

  Oldroyd shook his head. ‘So you’re still on with that? Take my advice and leave it. You can’t make a person guilty just because you want them to be.’

  ‘But she’s—’

  ‘No, I don’t want to listen to any more,’ said Oldroyd firmly. ‘And if you go around causing any more trouble, you might end up getting arrested yourself. I didn’t appreciate your petulant performance last night.’ His steely grey eyes fixed her.

  ‘Well, I’m sorry about that. I’d had a few drinks and lost control a bit.’

  ‘Maybe you should be careful what you drink, then. Anyway, I want to ask you about your ex-husband.’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘You knew him for quite some time. Did he have any enemies? Anybody who would want to harm him?’ He raised a finger. ‘And don’t even think about mentioning his second wife.’

  She paused before answering. ‘No one except the people you know: Charles Derryvale, Esther Stevenson. Writers seem to hate each other.’

  ‘What about John Sinclair?’

  ‘Yes, well, I knew Damian was bisexual. He’d known John since their schooldays. Their affair was all very complicated and ended badly. Also, I think there was trouble later about money but that was after Damian and I had divorced.’

  ‘Your husband had a reputation for plagiarism, didn’t he?’

  ‘So I understand. I didn’t take much interest in his work. Damian wanted me for, how shall I put it, intimate relations, and to look glamorous. He liked to show me off.’ She frowned. ‘When I got a bit older, he traded me in for the newer model, as they say – that woman, who . . .’ She stopped herself. ‘It’s Esther Stevenson you want to question about that stealing ideas business. She’s collected a group of writers around her who claim Damian abused them.’

  Oldroyd continued to look at her very directly. ‘And what about you? You’ve just told us how bitter you are about your husband dumping you. Did you decide to get your revenge?’

  Susan laughed. ‘By killing him? When I was in London? I thought you said I was the fanciful one.’

  ‘You may not have been the person who actually carried out the murder, but you may have been involved. It was obviously a clever plan and must have involved more than one person.’

  ‘No, Chief Inspector, you’re wasting your time. I got my revenge on Damian all right. When I knew he was having an affair with Clare, I conducted several of my own amours. I was well even with him by the time we parted.’

  ‘I see.’ Oldroyd fixed her again with his penetrating eyes. ‘Anyway, why are you still here when it’s obvious your scheme to pin the blame on your rival is not going to work? I don’t think Harrogate is a place, let’s say, where you would normally tarry. If you know anything else, you need to tell us. It’s an offence to withhold information from the police.’

  Susan sniffed. ‘Well, you surprise me, Chief Inspector. You’ve shown no inclination to take any notice of what I’ve said up to now, so why do you think I would know anything important?’

  ‘OK, well, I’ve warned you. Also, I would be careful about playing games with dangerous people.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me, Chief Inspector. I can look after myself.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ concluded Oldroyd. The two detectives left the hotel, with Andy desperate for a drink to get rid of the lingering taste of sulphur in his mouth.

  John Sinclair and his partner, Ed Smith, had a decent patch of garden behind their Victorian house in High Harrogate, and they were both keen gardeners. As Ed, who ran a small hairdressing salon, was constantly complaining that John worked too hard and that they didn’t spend enough time together, John had consented to leave work reasonably early on Friday afternoon and make a trip to their favourite garden centre. Ed had left his business partner, Lesley, in charge of the salon.

  The garden centre was out on the Ripon Road near Ripley.

  ‘How have you been feeling today?’ asked Ed as John drove the car out of Harrogate, past the Exhibition Centre. Ed was quite a bit younger than John, about whom he worried a lot.

  ‘OK. You know things are difficult at the moment.’

  ‘I do, and I know who I blame.’

  John sighed in exasperation. ‘I know you do but there’s no point going through all that again.’

  Ed turned to him and his eyes sparkled with anger. ‘I can’t forget it so easily. That bastard was so nasty to you.’

  Ed knew about John’s long-ago relationship with Damian Penrose and about Penrose withdrawing his financial help. John was not sure which of these caused Ed more anguish, but he suspected there was a strong element of sexual jealousy in his hostility towards Penrose.

  ‘If it wasn’t for him, you’d be flourishing now. He withdrew his support just at the most critical time.’

  ‘Maybe, but the publishing world is tough. I knew that when I went into it. It’s not surprising that people are reluctant to put money in.’

  ‘Huh, sounds like you’re making excuses for him.’

  ‘No, he went back on his word and let me down, but I can see why. He just thought it was too risky.’

  ‘Why are you so keen to defend him when he treated you badly before that too?’

  ‘I’m not. It’s just that we should be fair and not blame him for everything.’

  Ed went silent and sullen until they arrived at the garden centre. John knew that Ed suspected him of still harbouring feelings for Damian. Was he right? Damian would always be someone who reminded him of the excitement of his youth; when they were both rebellious, carefree and later in love with each other. But it was all so long ago. How could he convince Ed, who had a jealous temperament, that it had all been over between him and Damian many years ago?

  John drove along the garden centre entrance road, which was lined at either side with ornamental shrubs and areas of immaculate summer bedding. It still styled itself in the traditional manner as ‘Ripley Nurseries’. They parked, got out and wandered up and down the neat rows of herbaceous plants, roses, fruit trees and shrubs arranged in alphabetical order. There was always so much that was tempting to buy. The problem was that their garden was already so full of plants that it was difficult to fit anything else in!

  ‘I think we need a little more colour for the autumn,’ said Ed. ‘I’ve always fancied a hibiscus. Look at this one: it’s coming into bud – beautiful mauve flowers, according to the picture on the label.’ He examined the palmate and coarsely toothed leaves with his sensitive hands.

  ‘It looks beautiful. There’s a space for it in the pinks-and-whites section near the hydrangea,’ replied John. ‘What about one of these Bishop of Llandaff dahlias? Look at that chocolate foliage and those single red flowers.’

  ‘Absolutely gorgeous! It’ll go next to that Cotinus coggygria “Royal Purple”.’

  By the time they’d finished, they’d loaded a trolley with various pots, large and small, including rockery perennials. They laughed at the absurdity of it, but they’d had a really enjoyable time.

  ‘Where are we going to put all this stuff?’ asked John.

  ‘Oh, never mind, we’ll put some more stuff in pots if necessary. There’s always room for another pot on the patio.’

  The total price came to a ridiculous amount but they just shrugged it off and loaded it all into their capacious estate car.


  On the way back, the atmosphere in the car was much pleasanter, both men having been calmed by their contact with flowers.

  ‘Sorry I went on about Damian on the way here,’ said Ed.

  ‘That’s fine.’

  ‘He’s dead now, so we can forget all about him.’

  ‘Yes.’

  John thought how he would always remember Damian with some measure of affection but he decided not to share this with Ed. He drove on, looking forward to a restful weekend together planting their acquisitions.

  Back at police HQ, Oldroyd and Andy were conducting another case meeting. There was the usual cafetière of coffee, and chocolate biscuits on the desk. Andy, trying to show restraint after Steph had told him he was getting chubbier round the waist, picked up just one of the biscuits and nibbled at it slowly throughout the meeting.

  Oldroyd sat behind his desk, leaning back in his comfortable but battered old chair. Midway through an investigation, he liked to get Andy or Steph to recap what they knew about a case while he thought about it, sometimes with his eyes closed and his hands behind his head.

  ‘So what further progress have we made, Andy? By the way, where’s Steph? I haven’t seen her for a while.’

  ‘She said she’s got some paperwork to do for Derek Fenton, so I assume she’s up there with him. You know, sir, I’m a bit worried about her, to be honest.’

  Oldroyd looked up. ‘Why?’

  ‘Ever since she started working with Fenton, she’s not been right; she looks worried. Sometimes in the night I know she’s got up, which is unusual for her; she usually sleeps like a log.’

  ‘She hasn’t said anything.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, she’s probably fed up working with him and his DCs. I can’t imagine they’re a bundle of laughs. But that’s the way it is, I’m afraid; you can’t work with who you want all the time in this job. I used to work for a DCI who was the most miserable bugger imaginable. He used to shout at you if you made the slightest error. I wouldn’t worry about her. She’s pretty tough.’

  Andy didn’t reply, but he was still unhappy. He looked at his notes and sighed. ‘We’re flatlining, to be honest, sir. According to the reports, Penrose was in reasonable health at the time of his murder and also his finances were excellent, so that finally eliminates any ideas about him staging his death. I thought that was a bit wild anyway, though this is a strange case.’

  ‘You’re right there.’

  ‘We haven’t discovered anything yet to incriminate any of the suspects. I think we’ve always known none of them could have actually committed the murder anyway, but we haven’t discovered any accomplices. This woman Susan Lawrence, though. She’s a dark horse. Her alibi for the day of the murder was confirmed. She was still in London but now she’s here, trying to pin the blame on her rival. I wonder if that’s some kind of smokescreen to cover up her own involvement.’

  ‘You may well be right. She certainly knows more than she’s told us. She hesitated when I asked her if she knew about any enemies her husband had had. If she wasn’t involved in the murder herself, she might well have a good idea who was behind it.’

  ‘Why not tell us?’

  ‘It could be good old blackmail. She’s determined to gain some benefit out of her husband’s death and her silly idea of getting Clare Bayliss arrested has clearly not worked. But I told her she needs to be careful; there are some ruthless and dangerous people behind this, as we know.’

  ‘Too right, sir. Anyway, I take it you haven’t yet worked out how the first murder was done?’

  ‘Not entirely, but I’m getting closer. The secret lies in camouflage, Andy.’

  ‘Camouflage, sir? You mean like concealing something and hiding?’

  ‘Yes – think about it.’ It was an eccentricity of Oldroyd’s that he believed in training the minds of his young detective sergeants by not immediately revealing his theories, and getting them to think.

  ‘How could you camouflage yourself in those baths? It’s all tiles and empty space, and there’s nothing to hide behind.’

  ‘Well, you carry on thinking about it. I’m not there myself yet. There are still things that puzzle me.’

  ‘So what’s next, sir?’

  ‘Any information about Patricia Hughes’s phone calls?’

  ‘Apparently they’re on to it, but they’re having a few problems with their software.’

  ‘Blast it! That information is vital. If we can find out who she called that night, it could open everything up.’

  At that moment Steph came into the office.

  ‘Well, hello, stranger,’ said Oldroyd. ‘Hasn’t Fenton finished with you yet?’

  ‘Just about, sir; just popped in to say hello. How’s the case going?’

  Oldroyd gave her a quick summary, while she thought to herself that Fenton might think he’d finished with her and was in control, but she was about to prove him wrong.

  It was late in the afternoon. Steph, Nicola Jackson, Cynthia Carey and Sharon Warner were meeting in Oldroyd’s office. Steph had checked that Fenton, Hancock and Turnbull were all out of the building. Oldroyd had told her that she could use his office anytime she needed it if he was out.

  ‘We’ll have to make this quick, Steph,’ said Cynthia. ‘I’ve got to pick the kids up soon.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Nicola.

  ‘Don’t worry, I haven’t a lot to say. The main thing is that I wanted us all to meet up, and to say thank you for coming forward.’

  ‘I can’t tell you how much better I feel, now that I know it’s happened to all of you as well and I wasn’t the only one,’ said Sharon, sounding very relieved.

  ‘We all feel better when we know that we’re not alone,’ continued Steph. ‘There’s strength in numbers, even against a man in a powerful position. If we can make an example of him, it will act as a warning to other men that they can’t get away with it.’

  ‘Yeah, fine words,’ said Nicola. ‘But I’m still not sure what we can actually do about him.’

  Steph had decided not to say anything about Fenton’s involvement in the corruption with Sandford. She wanted to keep the two issues separate, but she had a plan concerning what to do about Fenton’s behaviour towards women and his blackmailing.

  ‘OK, well, I’ve been giving this some thought, and what do you think about this as a plan?’

  Charles Derryvale was not in a good mood. He felt that the atmosphere at The White Swan was not the same since that wretched woman, Susan Lawrence, had arrived. She had spoilt the – what was it? – the feng shui of the place. She was always around with her supercilious expression. He saw her at breakfast. She hung around the lounges during the day and the bar in the evenings, making it an inhospitable place for him. He felt driven away from his customary position on the bar stool. The fact was, he had no desire to get into any further conversations with her. She was a madwoman, with her ridiculous theories, always trying to recruit people to her cause. He’d even felt sorry for Damian Penrose in the years he’d been married to her, though heaven knew why he’d ever hitched himself to such a dragon.

  During those years, she had usually accompanied Damian to Harrogate. She spent her time complaining and harassing staff running the Crime Writing Festival and the hotel, making it clear that she considered Harrogate to be a tiresome provincial backwater. Derryvale stayed in a different hotel during the festival in that period in order to get away from them both. No wonder Penrose had started his affair with Clare during one of the festivals. And it wasn’t the only time he’d dallied with women while he was in Harrogate. Usually young and vulnerable ones. Disgusting man!

  Derryvale was at a bit of a loose end. After lunch at the hotel, he had an empty afternoon ahead of him. He’d done all his appearances at the festival and his book signings, but he always stayed until the very end of the festival in order to attend the Murder Mystery Evening: an event that he enjoyed. It appealed to his sense of humour: he regarded it as a wonderful bit of
knockabout entertainment. Also, The White Swan put on an excellent dinner. The food there was always very good, which was why he’d returned to stay there in recent years, even though Penrose still commanded the same suite every year. Penrose himself had been just about tolerable: Penrose and his obnoxious first wife were not.

  There was one more day to go before the Murder Mystery Evening. He thought about doing some writing, but he never found the festival atmosphere conducive to that. He was a writer who had to be in his regular writing place in order to be creative. In Derryvale’s case this was in the room he called his study in his flat in York, overlooking the River Ouse.

  As it was a fine day, he decided to wander into the town and take a walk in the Valley Gardens, keeping a lookout for Susan Lawrence. He didn’t want to be surprised by her again, as he had been a couple of nights ago in the bar. He ambled around the stream gardens and past the ornamental dahlia display, where the plants were just starting to bloom. He admired the variety of colours and shapes for a while, and then sat on a bench and reflected. People were active on the tennis courts behind him, and he could hear the thwack of balls being hit by rackets. Penrose was gone at last! Everything seemed calm, and it was such a relief not to have to worry about that malevolent force creating discord wherever it went. Obviously things were not calm for the police or for the family of Patricia Hughes. He was sorry about her. Poor Amanda was having a hard time too. However, he could not disguise his satisfaction that he had won the unofficial bet he’d had with Penrose and survived him, although – and he smiled sardonically to himself – in a curious way, he was going to miss the old villain. Already things seemed rather flat – calm, but flat. It had been exciting to plan ways to undermine Penrose with Esther, John and other enemies of the old boy. He’d enjoyed the intrigue.

  Suddenly he had an idea. He took a small notebook out of his jacket pocket. No end of people, including himself, had been making witty comments about the merging of fiction and fact – the murder of a crime writer and so on – but maybe there really was a way to use what had happened in his writing. He’d had an idea for a most unusual and quirky crime story.