Cold Coffin Read online

  COLD COFFIN

  Nancy Buckingham

  Chapter One

  Mid-July, hot and sunny for once. Saturday afternoon. Thudding hooves and the thwack of polo sticks on wooden ball, the laid-back voice of the commentator echoing over the public address system. The polo ground at Dodford was magnificently situated, its wide expanse of flat turf ringed by oak and beech, an artful gap in the trees affording a view of the Elizabethan manor house set on a rounded knoll.

  Detective Chief Inspector Kate Maddox, comfortably relaxed in one of the two folding chairs her Aunt Felix had brought with them in the car, reflected that this was as pleasant a way as any to spend a few off-duty hours. The standard of play was high, even if Dodford wasn’t in quite the same classy league as Windsor, Cowdray Park or Cirencester. Neither Prince Charles nor his papa before him had ever felt enticed to pay a visit here, not even as a spectator.

  The chair beside Kate was temporarily vacant. Her aunt was on the prowl with her telephoto-lensed Canon, hoping to catch some good action shots. Casting her gaze around, Kate spotted Richard Gower standing over by the scoreboard, and waved to him. At once he started moving through the throng lining the ropes to join her. As he drew near she noted that the habitual limp which marred his ruggedly athletic appearance was more marked than usual. Reaching Kate, he sank into the chair beside her with a grunt of satisfaction and rubbed his left knee.

  “Leg playing up today?” she asked sympathetically.

  “A bit. Just to remind me that it’s there.”

  Kate knew that he still suffered a lot of pain from the injury he’d received four years or so previously when he’d copped a stray sniper’s bullet while working as a war correspondent in the Middle East. Months of hospitalization later, Richard had faced the fact that his roving career was at an end. Rejecting the soft option of a newsroom desk job, he’d taken on a new sort of challenge.

  The only thing impressive about The Marlingford Gazette, Chipping Bassett Courier and South Cotswold Post and Times was its title. Small and ailing, on the point of folding altogether, the local weekly newspaper had been going cheap. Even so, it had taken the limit of Richard’s credit potential to raise enough to purchase the premises, the ancient plant and machinery; and, as he put it, the bad will. Ten years hence, with a lot of work and a lot of luck, he might actually be turning a profit.

  His first encounter with Kate had been inauspicious. Richard Gower was the prime suspect in a hit-and-run murder case ... Kate’s baptism of fire after coming to the Cotswold Division as a newly promoted Detective Chief Inspector. In nailing the real culprit she had established Richard’s innocence, and their initial relief had firmed into friendship.

  “Got a good lead story for next week?” she asked him.

  “I’m praying for a major disaster.”

  “Gower,” she said, “you’re a ghoul.”

  “I’m a newspaperman.”

  “Richard Gower,” a voice rasped from behind them, “you’re barging in on my territory.”

  He stood up to greet Kate’s aunt as fast as his injured leg would allow. “Sorry, Felix, I didn’t realize you were back. I was only borrowing your perch for the odd minute.”

  “Oh, stay put, man, you’re welcome to the chair. It’s that thing you’ve got hanging round your neck I object to. I’m the official photographer around here, and don’t you forget it.”

  Richard patted the camera suspended on a leather strap. “Not to worry, Felix, this is for snapping spectators, not players. You know the sort of thing. Seen at the polo final on Saturday ... a few local nobs. Every mugshot I can cram in sells three or four extra copies.”

  “Just so long as you don’t tread on my toes. Talking of nobs, where the dickens have the Kimberleys got to? They’re supposed to be presenting the gold cup again this year, and the third chukka has already started.” Looking around the picturesque scene, she spotted a metallic blue Audi that was just turning in through the entry gate. “Ah, good, it looks as if they’re arriving now. I must go and have a word with them about the presentation photographs. And you keep out of it, Richard. If you want a picture of the award-giving for the Gazette, I expect you to buy it from me.”

  Felicity Moore went striding away, a large ungainly woman with a surprisingly light step. Careless about her appearance (a tent-like cotton dress in a drab tone of beige today), her hair bundled anyhow on top of her head and barely restrained by a mass of pins, she was nevertheless an impressive and formidable figure.

  Richard lounged back in the canvas chair. “Any news about that cottage you’ve got your eye on, Kate?”

  “I’ve been bloody gazumped again. Honestly, the property owners around here are an unscrupulous lot.” She rumpled her short black hair impatiently. “Some of them belong behind bars.”

  “So why don’t you put ’em there, the bastards?”

  “I intend to, the moment greed is declared illegal.”

  “So that means you’re stuck with living at Felix’s awhile longer?”

  “She makes me very welcome, bless her. I could all too easily give up the fight and stay at Stonebank Cottage permanently. But that wouldn’t do at all. I need my independence, Richard, and so does Felix. I’ve disrupted her quiet lifestyle for quite long enough. Oh ... well played!” Kate joined in the ripple of applause for a brilliant goal.

  Her aunt was back again. “Kate, come and have a word with Vanessa Kimberley, will you? She’s dreadfully worried about Sir Noah. He seems to have disappeared.”

  “What the heck does she expect me to do about it?” asked Kate, not budging. “Her husband’s probably in the marquee knocking back a large Scotch.”

  “No, I mean really disappeared. Vanessa was singing at a gala in London last night, in aid of the Children in Need Fund, and she stayed over at a friend’s house. She arrived back this morning in time for lunch and Noah was missing. Apparently he went out last night after dinner, and didn’t return. The housekeeper went to bed early and it wasn’t until this morning that she realized he hadn’t come home. Vanessa is desperately worried, naturally, so I said I’d ask you to come and tell her what she ought to do.”

  Kate shook her head. “It’s not a police matter, so I can’t get involved. Sir Noah Kimberley is a grown man and he’s entitled to absent himself for a few hours without starting a hue and cry. If he’d had an accident last night the police would have informed Lady Kimberley by now.”

  “Well yes, of course, and I’ve already suggested to her that no news is good news. But you know how devoted those two are. They’re both meticulous about letting the other one know if they’re going to be delayed. She said Noah would never let her worry about him unnecessarily.”

  “Maybe,” put in Richard, “as Lady Kimberley was away from home last night he didn’t think it mattered. Or maybe he tried to phone and the housekeeper wasn’t around.”

  “Even so, he’d have phoned again by now, surely? It’s really very strange. You must admit, girl, that Vanessa has cause to be worried.”

  “Sure I do. It’s tough on her. But husbands go temporarily missing all the time. He probably met some woman last night who was so entrancing that he’s completely lost track of the passing hours. Pound to a penny he’ll be back very soon, full of apologies and with some complicated story that his fond wife will finally swallow because she doesn’t want to have to face the truth.”

  “Oh, Kate, you are a cynic.”

  “Not a cynic, just a cop. All my rosy illusions about people were shattered years ago.”

  “Well, you’ll just have to sound sympathetic and concerned when you come over and talk to Vanessa.”

  “But I’ve just told you, there’s no justification for police action. There’s nothing I can do.”

  “I s
uppose not, but you can make the right sort of noises, can’t you? I promised Vanessa.”

  “Dammit, Felix, you had no right to drag me into it.” But remembering the stack of favours she owed her aunt from over the years, Kate lumbered to her feet. “Okay, you win. Lead the way.”

  “Mind if I come too?” asked Richard.

  “Yes, I do mind.”

  “But there might be a story in it.”

  “Listen, I’m not doing a double act with the press. See you later.”

  Lady Kimberley was hovering close to her Audi; keeping, she explained, within hearing of the car-phone in case her housekeeper rang with news of Sir Noah. She had about her the queenly presence, the slightly imperious manner, of the prima donna she’d once been. Yet despite that she possessed immense charm. She was a tall woman of generous proportions, with magnificently expressive eyes. If she gave the impression of always playing to an audience, that was forgivable in someone who was the focus of attention wherever she might be. For this afternoon’s ceremony she had chosen a fuchsia-coloured silk dress with trails of floating chiffon, and a huge cartwheel hat. By rights, she should have totally eclipsed Felicity Moore in her beige tent, but somehow she didn’t. Felix carried her own brand of charisma.

  Kate had already met the Kimberleys, at a cocktail party. They’d been married only a couple of years; she for the first time, he for the second after a lengthy widowhood. It had been the romantic story of the week in all the Sunday papers. World famous soprano’s hand finally won by devoted admirer who for years had trotted the globe just to hear her sing. Dame Vanessa Logan would be renouncing the operatic stage forthwith in favour of domestic bliss as Lady Kimberley. Sir Noah, whom Kate recalled as an ascetic-looking silver-haired man, was a biochemist of high standing in his field. He owned and ran Croptech, a small firm at nearby Little Bedham that researched into agricultural and horticultural chemicals.

  As Kate and Felix approached, Lady Kimberley dismissed the inevitable gaggle of admirers with a regal sweep of her hand. She greeted Kate dramatically, in a voice that was husky with emotion.

  “Mrs. Maddox, how extremely kind of you to come over to me. I dare not leave the telephone, d’you see. Please tell me what I should do. I am utterly distraught. My darling Noah has vanished, and I am dreadfully afraid.” The time bell sounded and there was a round of applause, with cheers from the supporters of the winning team. Lady Kimberley seemed totally oblivious.

  “There’s probably a very simple explanation for your husband’s absence,” Kate said.

  “But what explanation, Mrs. Maddox? What, other than disaster, can possibly explain it?”

  Skate around the obvious, Kate, and scrape the barrel for a few innocuous possibilities.

  “Some arrangement that has slipped your mind. Or perhaps he intended to tell you about it, but forgot. I’m sure it will turn out to be a misunderstanding of some kind.”

  “But he should be here. For the presentation of the trophies.” Lady Kimberley coughed and adjusted the trailing chiffon about her throat, lifting it higher. When she continued speaking she was suddenly husky again. “We do it together, you understand. How can he possibly have been confused about that?”

  “Well, I expect you’ll hear from him very soon. It’s far too early to start being seriously worried. Tell me, would your husband be driving? Did he take a car, I mean?”

  “Well, yes, he must have done. His Saab is not in the garage.”

  “Can you give me details of his car? The colour and so forth.”

  “Let me see, it’s dark green. And quite new. He bought it about three months ago.”

  “An F registration, then. Can you remember the actual number?”

  “I’m afraid not. Is it important?”

  “Never mind. We’ll check it out.” To damp down further alarmed questions, Kate dispensed soothing syrup. “I’ll have all possible enquiries made, Lady Kimberley. You can rest assured that we’ll be in touch with you the moment we hear anything.” With relief she saw that one of the officials was hovering agitatedly. “I think you’re needed for the presentation now.”

  “Oh dear, I ... I don’t know how I can go through with it,” Lady Kimberley said, one hand pressed to her throat. Then she braced her shoulders theatrically and her voice dropped to a brave whisper. “I suppose I shall have to manage somehow.”

  The show must go on.

  Six paces from her car, Lady Kimberley paused and addressed the crowd at large, supremely confident of being obeyed. “Somebody must stay by my car, and bring me any telephone message at once. At once!”

  Kate took the chance to escape. Lacking her own transport (they’d come in Felix’s sedate old Rover), she walked over to a police patrol car that was drawn up by the ropes further along. The two young officers inside were slumped comfortably in the front seats with their cap peaks tilted forward to shade their eyes. At her approach they glanced up casually, did a double take in unison, and snapped to an upright position.

  “Oh ... Chief Inspector, ma’am. We were just ...”

  “On the alert to quell an outbreak of public disorder? Very commendable. But the crowd here seems fairly placid at the moment, so you can run me to the Chipping Bassett nick instead.”

  Five minutes later, from the grubby and Saturday-empty CID room at the small police station, she made a call to Divisional HQ at Marlingford.

  “Sir Noah Kimberley, the boss of Croptech, seems to have gone missing since last night. You haven’t heard anything, I suppose, Bob?”

  “Not a whisper, ma’am. Want me to ask around?”

  “Well, nothing heavy. We don’t want to get too involved in what’s likely to end up as just a run-of-the-mill domestic situation. On the other hand, we want to look willing. He was driving an F reg. dark-green Saab. Check the licence number, will you, and see if it’s cropped up in any kind of incident.”

  As she put the phone down, the door opened to admit Sergeant Boulter. Kate was surprised to see him here on a quiet Saturday afternoon, but Boulter didn’t look surprised to see her. The man at the desk downstairs had obviously tipped him the wink.

  “What devotion to duty is this, Tim? Something new I ought to know about?”

  He hefted his broad shoulders moodily. “Nope. I just wanted to get the hell out of the menagerie at home. Half the kids in the street are round at our place, all yelling and shrieking in the paddling pool. I stood it as long as I could.”

  Did the silly sod imagine that desertion like this would do anything to assist his crumbling marriage? It was the demanding hours of his job that caused most of the friction between him and his wife. Julie Boulter, unlike Tim, had nowhere to run when things got on top of her at home. She was stuck there with their two young children, all day and every day, an intelligent young woman smouldering with resentment at her lack of personal fulfilment. But Kate held back from pointing this out to the sergeant. She’d poked her nose into the Boulters’ problems once before, and got no thanks for her pains.

  “Now that you’re here, Tim, there’s something I want to ask you. It’s about Sir Noah Kimberley. What kind of man is he? Julie worked at Croptech, didn’t she, before Mandy was born?”

  He nodded. “Lab assistant, she was. She didn’t have much contact with Sir Noah, of course, but she always said he was a decent enough old boy. Why, what’s up?”

  “He didn’t come home last night, that’s what.”

  Boulter cocked an enquiring eye at her. “And what makes that a police matter, guv?”

  “Nothing, officially. But ... his wife’s upset.”

  “She’ll be a helluva lot more upset when she discovers he spent the night with a lady friend.”

  “Why should you say that? Is he known as a womanizer?”

  “Not that I ever heard. But I’d give you outsider odds it’s the explanation.”

  “That’s the trouble with being coppers, Tim, it makes us think the worst of people. Just ask around about him, will you? But discreetly, mind.”
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  “Trust me. My middle name is tact.”

  “I thought it was Cuthbert.” She’d been saving that little gem for the right moment, ever since she’d spotted it in Records.

  Boulter paled a few shades. “Who told you?”

  “A little birdie.”

  “Well, for God’s sake, guv, don’t spread it around.”

  “Trust me, Cuthbert.” She stood up. “Before you do anything else, you can run me back to the Dodford polo ground. Most people will have gone by now, but my aunt and I went there together and she’s probably still hanging around in her car wondering where I’ve got to.”

  * * * *

  On Sunday evening Kate had a dinner date with Richard Gower, postponed from Thursday owing to other commitments. They usually met about once a week if they could manage to find an evening when both were free. They liked each other, and neither tried to hide the fact. On the other hand, they were allowing their friendship to coast along nice and easy; experience had made both of them only too aware of the dangers of rushing into relationships.

  This evening they went to the Black Swan in Chipping Bassett, famed locally for its good food. Their window table overlooked the river, turned now to a thousand golden ripples in the dying sunlight.

  “I went to see Lady Kimberley this morning,” Richard said as they studied their menus.

  Kate felt a prickle of irritation. She asked coolly, “Why did you do that?”

  “There might be a story for me, that’s why.” The look he shot her was challenging; but also, she thought, a mite defensive. “It happens to be the function of the press to provide news, Kate. Lady Kimberley was in a real state about her husband. She still hadn’t heard a word about him.”

  “I know. Felix phoned her earlier. Poor woman, I feel sorry for her.”

  “Yet there’s nothing you can do about finding out what’s happened to Sir Noah?”

  “I’m doing all I can—which doesn’t amount to much, I admit. Just making a few discreet enquiries here and there. But if I tried to utilize police manpower in a big way, my superintendent would have me on the carpet. And he’d be justified. A kid going missing is another matter, but if we set up a major enquiry on every missing-from-home adult, we’d have no time left for anything else. Besides, it’s a matter of freedom of the individual. An adult in this country has a perfect right to take himself off if he chooses, without leaving a forwarding address.”