‘I’ve tried telling myself that. It doesn’t help. I keep going over it all in my mind.’
Linda and Mike exchanged glances as the elderly man buried his face in his hands.
Linda said, ‘Mr Staines, my husband and I have been rather busy of late, so we didn’t follow the trial as closely as some people. Would you tell us exactly what happened on the night of the murder?’
Staines lifted his head and the pain was clearly visible in his pale grey eyes. ‘Harold and Lucy had been engaged for about six months and were going to get married next spring. They saw quite a lot of each other, as much as their respective jobs would permit. Harold is a junior partner in a firm of architects. I don’t much care for his work, it’s too modernistic; he seems to regard himself as a sort of angry young man of design, but that’s neither here nor there. Lucy, as perhaps you know, earned her living as a fashion model. She loved her work, every bit as much as he did his. On the night she was killed they had a dinner appointment, with a theatre to follow. Harold called at the house for her around six o’clock. I should perhaps explain that Lucy and I had lived alone since my wife died during the Blitz. I offered them both a drink, then I had to go upstairs on some errand or other, and I heard them talking. Their voices grew rather heated and it was soon clear they were having a fair-sized row. It was not the first quarrel they had had.’
‘Could you hear what they were talking about?’
‘Shouting, not talking.’
‘And what was the topic of the quarrel?’
‘The same thing they always fought about: Harold wanted Lucy to give up her job once they were married. She refused. She loved the work, and quite frankly liked the money; it’s a firm that pays very well. Lucy always insisted that she was going to stay on there after they got married. It was a big thorn between them and neither was willing to give in. Lucy always was a high-spirited, independent sort of girl and Harold is too self-opinionated ever to be able to see anyone else’s point of view. It was an ugly row and frankly I was glad when they left the house to go to the theatre, or rather to have dinner first.’
‘What time was that?’
‘About a quarter to seven. As it happened, some people we know saw them at the restaurant, and they also bumped into some chance acquaintances at the theatre. Apparently they hadn’t patched things up. It must have been an unpleasant sort of evening. I expect you know the rest of the story: early next morning the police found Lucy strangled on a demolition-site in Soho. Harold tried to lie about his alibi but the police tripped him up. He had to retract his first statement. He was quite unable to give a satisfactory account of his actions between leaving the theatre and the time of the murder.’
‘I seem to remember the tangle he got into over his alibi,’ Mike put in.
‘Mr Staines, may I ask you something?’ Linda said. ‘Did your daughter have any close friends?’
‘If you mean was she consorting with other young men, the answer is no,’ came the blunt reply. ‘Weldon’s smarmy Counsel tried to insinuate something like that but he had no proof.’
‘I was thinking more of girlfriends, actually.’
‘Oh, I see. Yes, she saw quite a lot of another young girl who also works as a model at the same place in Bond Street.’
‘Do you know the girl’s name?’ Mike asked.
Staines appeared to consider for a moment, at the same time taking out his white pocket handkerchief and mopping his brow. ‘I believe her name is Peggy Bedford. Something like that.’
Linda cut in quickly. ‘You mentioned Bond Street just now. Did the girls work for one of the bigger establishments?’
‘Conway and Racy’s.’
Mike’s eyebrows shot up and Linda gave a slightly shaky laugh.
‘How odd,’ she muttered, but Staines, standing up as if to leave, dropped his stick and missed her reaction as he bent to pick it up.
‘I know you must feel I’m wasting your time, Mr Baxter,’ he said, ‘but I just had to unburden myself to someone. I cannot sleep at nights.’
‘You’ve really given me very little to go upon, you know. Even if I had the time, which I haven’t, I fail to see what there is I can do.’
‘You could try and find L. Fairfax for a start,’ the elderly man replied abruptly.
‘L. Fairfax? Who is that?’
‘The person with whom Lucy had an appointment on May 12th. It was found in her diary.’
‘The police know of this?’
‘It came out at the trial. They made a half-hearted attempt to find him, or her, but I got the feeling no one was particularly interested. Things might have been different if May 12th had been the date of her death, but as it was a few days afterwards no one seemed to find the entry significant.’
‘Was the entry in her own handwriting?’
‘Yes. “L. Fairfax. 8.30,” it said.’
‘Beyond all doubt?’
‘Definitely.’
‘I see. Well, if you really think you have told us all you can, Mr Staines …’ said Mike, rising and glancing at his wristwatch.
Staines gave him a sharp look and seemed on the point of challenging the remark, then thought better of it, nodded politely to Linda, shook hands, and left.
‘What did you make of him, darling?’ Linda asked as they sat some time later over lunch.
‘What did you?’ he countered with a grin.
‘Come off it, I asked first. Though if you want my opinion I think Hector Staines is a bit unbalanced.’
‘Interesting. In what way does he strike you as odd?’
‘Well, for one thing, did you notice how awkwardly he behaved when I asked him about his daughter’s friends? Almost as if I had asked him how big his bank overdraft is or something.’
Mike nodded reflectively.
‘Good for you. If I were interested in this case’ – he held up a hand as if to ward off Linda’s grimace of alarm – ‘I only said if. But if I were interested and didn’t know quite where to start, I think I would fancy a little talk with Miss Peggy Bedford, employee of that well-known and somewhat pricey firm in Bond Street.’
Linda laughed. ‘You know perfectly well I’ve got an appointment there at three o’clock tomorrow. Now, of course, you’ll play the gallant husband and insist on driving me there and picking me up.’
‘Darling, you malign me. I only said if I were interested in the Weldon case.’
He pretended to busy himself with his dessert, but after a moment continued thoughtfully, ‘There’s another person I should like to confront with a few pointed questions: Mr Staines himself. The grounds he gave for wanting to see me were just too flimsy for words. And another thing: do you remember exactly what he said when he was talking about having given evidence against Weldon?’
‘Something about … “I told the truth as I had sworn to do”, wasn’t it?’
‘That wasn’t all; he added a rider. “In answer to all the questions they put to me”, I think he said.’
Mike had spoken the last phrase with deliberate emphasis and watched his wife to see their effect.
‘Wait a moment! You mean he answered to nothing except what he was asked?’
‘Exactly! We may be jumping to conclusions but Hector Staines gives me the impression of a man not entirely at ease with himself, not at ease with his inner voice, not at ease with what he has told and what he has not told. I think it might be the