oldest established bank in Cannonbridge. It was housed in a handsome period building in Broad Street, close to the town centre; it had an atmosphere of great calm and substance.
The assistant manager was at the counter when the two policemen crossed the marble floor of the spacious hall. ‘I’m afraid Mr Colborn’s not in,’ he told the Chief. ‘You’ve just missed him. He has an appointment with a business customer, he’ll probably be with him for the rest of the morning.’ But the assistant would be happy to furnish the Chief with any information he might require.
He took the two men into an office. ‘Mrs Franklin opened an account with us after her divorce,’ he told them. Before that she had had a joint account with her husband at another bank in the town. The last contact Allied had had with her was last Friday afternoon when she had looked in for a moment to say she had decided after all not to sell some shares she held. She had spoken to the assistant; she had seemed much as usual, in good spirits.
He went through the records of her account with the Chief. All very straightforward and unremarkable. Her income came from three sources, two of them deriving from her ex-husband. The first was a fixed monthly payment of a size which seemed to the Chief of the order of what might be expected in the way of alimony from a man in Franklin’s position. In addition Franklin paid into her account every quarter a sum which varied up or down but was always fairly substantial. Venetia had lived comfortably within her income and from time to time she had, on the bank’s advice, invested the surplus that arose. The dividends from these investments provided her third source of income, very small in relation to the other two. She had never paid in any money, cash or cheques, from any other source.
When the two men left the bank they went straight over to Martleigh, to the store where Megan Brewster worked as knitwear buyer. They took a lift to her office on the top floor.
She was a tall, very slim, very elegant young woman with dark, shrewdly intelligent eyes, shining black hair fashionably cut. She was still recognizably the girl in Mrs Stacey’s photograph; she had the same direct look, the same disciplined air.
She answered the Chief Inspector’s questions readily, in a straightforward manner. She had been appalled at the news of the crime, at the brutality of the killing, but after the initial shock she couldn’t, in all honesty, say that she was totally surprised. Venetia had talked to her about visiting singles clubs and bars and Megan had thought this very unwise, had tried to warn her against it. She made a face of distaste as she spoke. She had told Venetia she believed such places acted as a magnet for every kind of undesirable. But Venetia had laughed, brushing her objections aside as prudish and old-fashioned. She was sure many of these clubs were highly respectable, providing relaxed, comfortable meeting-places for ordinary decent citizens on their own for perfectly valid reasons.
No, Megan couldn’t supply the name of any particular bar or club Venetia had visited. She couldn’t even say for certain that Venetia had actually visited any at all. She hadn’t seen Venetia for five or six weeks. ‘I’ve been in Europe on a buying trip,’ she explained. She had been away for a month, had returned a few days ago. She had last seen Venetia ten days before she left for Europe. Venetia had driven over to the store, had spent the morning shopping there, had lunched with Megan, as she had done three or four times since Megan had got in touch with her again. On this last occasion she had asked Megan to help her pick out a couple of dresses. ‘She wanted them to be high-fashion, youthful,’ Megan said. She had heard nothing from Venetia since that day. Nor had she any idea where Venetia might have intended going last weekend.
Venetia hadn’t discussed her personal affairs with her in any detail. She had given Megan a brief, sketchy account of her marriage and divorce but had shown little inclination to dwell on the past. ‘She seemed to be just beginning to realize she was free,’ Megan said. ‘That she could live her life to suit herself. She felt all kinds of exciting possibilities were opening up.’
Megan didn’t know of any close woman friend Venetia might have had. ‘She didn’t seem to have many friends of any kind,’ she told them. ‘It can be difficult after a divorce.’
Kelsey asked if Venetia had appeared to have any problems, if she had spoken of any worries, but Megan shook her head. ‘Far from it. She seemed very pleased at the way her life was opening out. And she certainly didn’t seem short of money, she seemed able to buy what she wanted when she came over here. That last time, when I helped her to pick out the dresses, she never even looked at the price tag till she’d decided what she was having. Pretty expensive dresses they were too, but she didn’t turn a hair.’
The Chief showed her the scarf but she didn’t recognize it. She said at once that she couldn’t imagine Venetia owning or wearing it.
Venetia hadn’t discussed her relationship with her ex-husband and his second wife but from passing references Megan had gathered that the relationship was amicable enough. Venetia did once mention the way in which her marriage had ended. ‘She said Roy had grown more and more critical and pernickety but she didn’t let it bother her.’ Then one day, purely by chance, she had caught him out in a lie about where he’d been the evening before when he was supposed to be on a business call. She challenged him about it half-jokingly. He hesitated and then to her astonishment suddenly told her there was someone else and he wanted a divorce. As soon as Venetia got her breath back she told him that provided he could make acceptable arrangements for herself and the children she would offer no objection. ‘She burst out laughing when she was telling me about it,’ Megan added. ‘She said she couldn’t get the divorce fast enough–though she didn’t go out of her way to make that plain to Roy.’
‘Do you know if she thought of remarrying?’
Megan shook her head. ‘I’m certain it was the last thing in her mind.’
‘Do you know of any particular man friend?’
‘I’m sure she wasn’t in love with anyone. She did once mention someone, one day over lunch, some man who was keen to marry her. I gathered she’d been having an affair with him, it had started soon after the divorce. She wasn’t serious about him, she’d plunged into the affair without much thought, a reaction from the divorce. She was cooling off by the time she spoke to me about it. He was getting too possessive. She said she hadn’t cut herself free from one set of chains to let herself be tied up in another. She wanted fun and a good time, not dog-like devotion.’
‘Did she mention his name? Or anything else about him?’
‘She certainly never mentioned his name.’ She pondered. ‘The only thing I can remember her saying–and I don’t really think it meant anything–was when she stood up at the end of lunch to go over and get her coat. She pulled a face and said: “Could you really imagine me being married to a bank manager?” I didn’t get the impression he actually was a bank manager, I think she said that to give me an idea of the kind of person he was, the sort of life he led, conventional and respectable.’
‘She didn’t enlarge?’
‘No. She came back with her coat, said goodbye and went off home. She never talked about him again.’
‘Did you get the impression that she’d finished with him?’
Again she pondered. ‘No, I don’t believe she had. I think she saw him from time to time. I remember her saying he still had his uses.’
It was two-fifteen when the two men again walked in through the massive mahogany doors of the Allied Bank. Mr Colborn had still not returned. ‘He probably stayed late with the client,’ the assistant manager told them, ‘and then went out to lunch with him. If I can be of any further assistance . . .’
Kelsey asked if the bank had records of any payments Mrs Franklin might have made in recent weeks to clubs, bars, dating agencies, singles organizations and the like. A few minutes later the assistant told him that the account showed a payment made about a month ago to a singles club, and another payment a day or two later to a travel agent. Both these concerns were in Strettisham, a small town five miles away. As if, Kelsey reflected, Venetia had chosen to begin her forays at some little distance from her own doorstep.
When