Murder in Adland (Detective Inspector Skelgill Investigates Book 1) Page 6

  ‘You know what they say about the corporate ladder, Inspector.’

  Skelgill permits himself a restricted grin. But he does not let this quip draw him off track.

  ‘And you’ve been in charge of this office for about a year, I understand?’

  ‘I was promoted last summer. I was in the London office for nearly four years.’

  ‘And you worked with Mr Tregilgis then?’

  ‘Some of the time. My line manager was Krista Morocco, but Ivan preferred to work directly with me on my accounts.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  Julia Rubicon looks at him as though this is a rather pointless question.

  ‘Perhaps he thought we did a better job that way.’

  ‘And more recently – Mr Tregilgis worked mostly with Ms Morocco?’

  She shrugs indifferently.

  ‘I imagine so.’

  ‘And how did she get on with Mr Tregilgis?’

  ‘She seems to get what she wants.’

  ‘Why would that be?’

  Again comes the shrug. ‘I suggest you ask her.’ The hostility is creeping back into her manner.

  ‘Don’t worry, Miss Rubicon. We shall.’

  *

  ‘Thought you gave her a bit of a hard time, Jones – given we’ve not yet got so much as a stray hair on Tregilgis’s pillow.’

  They are back inside Skelgill’s illegally parked car, lunching on healthy vegetarian rolls purchased by DS Jones, in Skelgill’s case supplemented by potato crisps and a chocolate bar.

  ‘I think she’s got a guilty conscience, Guv.’

  Skelgill might wonder if Julia Rubicon’s somewhat exotic appearance had brought out the fighting spirit in his sergeant. Certainly the pair are well matched, being of a similar age, and equally attractive in their different ways. His decision to let DS Jones lead the interview was probably wise; he perhaps could not guarantee himself immunity from Julia’s charms.

  ‘When you say guilty?

  ‘I remember when I was about thirteen; we’d played a game of consequences in class that turned a bit blue. The Deputy Head found the screwed-up notes in a waste-paper basket and interrogated us one at a time, trying to extract confessions. I hadn’t even written anything bad. But that feeling of answering questions, knowing you were covering up – for yourself and your friends. You just don’t act natural. You don’t question the questions. That was how Julia Rubicon behaved.’

  Skelgill nods – perhaps she has listened more closely than he.

  ‘I mean, Guv – if you were completely innocent, how would you react if a copper asked you to drop your skirt?’

  ‘You didn’t do that?’

  ‘No, Guv – I just checked the label at the back.’ DS Jones grins, amused by his widening eyes. ‘But you can see she’s not a small anyway.’ Now she pauses and glances at Skelgill, perhaps recognising her lapse. ‘But why not tell me to get lost, Guv? Or at least ask what it’s all about. And she wasn’t affronted at being accused of having an affair. Nor did she want to know who told us. That’s why I think she’s hiding something.’

  ‘So why would she lie about having an affair with Tregilgis?’

  ‘Perhaps she thinks we can’t prove it. If they were careful and didn’t leave any incriminating messages – it’s her word against ours, Guv.’

  ‘I reckon most folk would deny they were having an affair. It’s human nature. And she’s scared.’

  ‘She didn’t spare the rod when it came to her colleagues – so much for company solidarity.’

  ‘You heard what she said about the corporate ladder, Jones.’

  ‘Look down and all you see is brains?’

  Skelgill glances sideways at his subordinate – she has not completed the aphorism – but instead is grinning mischievously.

  ‘Aye, well – the rest of it doesn’t apply in our case.’

  14. ELSPETH GOLDSMITH

  ‘Yes, we’ve just finished the kitchen... one’s house is so much more of a home with an Aah-gah, don’t you think? My honey-and-tarragon roast chicken from the slow oven is simply divine.’

  Skelgill, staring vacantly across the greedily expansive artificially stressed oak dining table, looks like he is ready to put his head in his hands. However, salvation comes in the form of a large plate of jumbo scones, which glides into land upon the great deck, at the head of a squadron comprising china, silverware, butter, clotted cream and preserves. He perks up.

  ‘Not too early for a spot of afternoon tea, I hope, Inspector?’

  She speaks with an exaggerated military delivery, and an officer-class accent.

  ‘Very kind, Mrs Goldsmith – I hope we’re not putting you out.’

  ‘Must keep up one’s strength, Inspector – especially after this awful business. Dermott and I are simply devastated. Such a loss to the industry.’

  Elspeth Goldsmith, however, is evidently not sufficiently devastated for it to have affected her appetite. She immediately sits down and sets to, and it looks like she will give Skelgill a good run for his money. In appearance, she bears a striking facial resemblance to her spouse; early indications suggest she is also his equal in the self-promotion stakes. Only in circumference does she noticeably differ, and Skelgill has no doubt already dismissed from his mind any requirement to ask her the embarrassing ‘underwear question’.

  Skelgill’s strategy, as outlined to DS Jones en route from the centre of Edinburgh, is based on the premise that Elspeth Goldsmith probably knows more about the company and its goings on than most. However, she is unlikely to be forthcoming if she senses the police have Dermott Goldsmith in their sights. To this end, he has decided to leave the latter to stew, while he applies flattery to his wife.

  ‘I gather you’re a bit of an advertising whizz yourself.’

  ‘Oh no, just a humble housewife.’ Elspeth Goldsmith sends a great wave of false modesty crashing over them. ‘I simply offer a little creative direction now and again. Before we set up GT&A I used to work in one of the big London ad agencies – TW&TS, you’ve heard of them, of course? Hard to believe I met Dermott there when he was a mere trainee Account Executive.’

  ‘If you don’t mind me saying so, Mrs Goldsmith, you come across as a pretty capable individual.’ Skelgill raises his half-eaten scone, as if to indicate that his assessment extends to her home baking. ‘Mr Goldsmith no doubt relies on your judgement in a number of respects?’

  Elspeth Goldsmith’s dark piggy eyes glisten with pleasure. Perhaps she is unaccustomed to this kind of praise. Preening – and brushing crumbs from her ample bosom, she simpers affectedly.

  ‘Well, behind the scenes, naturally, I effectively make a lot of the key decisions for the company. You could say I’m Dermott’s sounding board.’

  ‘Well, perhaps you could help us in much the same way.’

  Skelgill’s entreaty is plausibly earnest.

  ‘I should be delighted to assist, Inspector. Another scone?’

  ‘Don’t mind if I do, madam.’

  ‘Bother! We need more clotted cream.’

  She heaves herself to her feet and pads across to a skyscraper of an American refrigerator.

  ‘Mrs Goldsmith.’ Skelgill evidently decides to keep going while there is momentum. ‘The murder of Mr Tregilgis bears all the hallmarks of a bungled robbery by an intruder – but until we get a clear lead, protocol demands that we eliminate everybody who was on the inside, so to speak.’

  Elspeth Goldsmith, leaning into the fridge and obscured by its great door, seems momentarily frozen. However, as she emerges, the apparent explanation for her hesitation becomes clear: she is swallowing a mouthful of something, and indeed as she approaches licks what looks like custard from her lips.

  ‘I quite understand, Inspector – I’m a bit of a crime fiction aficionado myself – so I’m well versed in your procedures.’

  Skelgill manages to resist launching into his usual diatribe about what scant resemblance crime fiction bears to reality. Instead, he continues bu
ttering-up, both metaphorically and literally.

  ‘Then you’ll appreciate, madam – more than most – how we have to turn some stones that would be better left undisturbed.’ He pulls an apologetic face. ‘Unfortunately, things tend to come out about innocent people’s private lives that in the final analysis have little bearing on the case.’

  She nods with enthusiasm, and her jowls follow suit with a small delay.

  ‘Absolutely, Inspector – it just can’t be helped.’

  Skelgill assumes a conspiratorial air, leaning over his plate and fixing her with an inquiring stare.

  ‘Is it possible that Mr Tregilgis was having a relationship with one of the females in the company – Miss Rubicon, for instance?’

  Elspeth Goldsmith raises a finger – and then notices a dab of cream on the nail and sucks it off.

  ‘It’s odd you should say that, Inspector.’ Her voice becomes a little hushed. ‘Because I’ve had Dermott working on it for the last couple of months.’

  ‘With any success?’

  ‘Apparently whenever Ivan came up to Edinburgh, Julia always wore more... well, tarty clothes and make-up – if that were possible.’ She adds the last phrase sniffily. ‘And they spent a lot of time out of the office together.’

  ‘What made you suspect in the first place?’

  ‘Well, Inspector – Ivan would always have some excuse for booking into a hotel in town – that he would be out late with clients, that sort of thing.’ She waves a regal hand upwards. ‘We have six bedrooms here – seven if you include the maid’s room – what possible reason other than if he were seeing Julia could he have for not staying with us?’

  Skelgill affects a convincingly perplexed expression.

  ‘I really can’t imagine, madam – but could it be that Miss Rubicon just was wanting to impress him with her work?’

  ‘But, Inspector – I understand she has no boyfriend – and she has been in Edinburgh for almost a year now.’

  ‘Do you think they were having a relationship during the time she worked in London?’

  ‘Well, that’s another thing, Inspector. I was catching up on the goss from Mel on Saturday night – that’s Mel Stark in the London office. She says there was all sorts of friction between Julia and Krista before Julia left – the girl was strutting about as though she owned the place. Mel thinks Julia got the promotion ahead of her – that Ivan pushed it through to get Julia out of their hair and calm Krista down.’

  ‘What did Miriam Tregilgis think about all this? I take it you know her quite well?’

  Elspeth Goldsmith taps the side of her nose.

  ‘Still waters run deep, Inspector.’

  Skelgill appears puzzled.

  ‘Could you elaborate on that, Mrs Goldsmith?’

  ‘Talk to her and you’d think she doesn’t know what’s going on under her very nose – Ivan – the money – but I don’t believe it.’

  ‘When you say the money...?’

  ‘Likes her lobster thermidor at The Savoy. And what with the five hundred thousand from the cross-option agreement, and Ivan’s life insurance – she’s sitting pretty isn’t she? Meanwhile we’re left to keep the company afloat.’

  Skelgill raises his eyebrows – it seems that Elspeth Goldsmith is better informed – ostensibly at least – than her Financial Director husband.

  ‘And are you suggesting she’s not exactly upset about losing Mr Tregilgis?’

  ‘Always acted a bit aloof, I thought – and never slow to find fault.’

  ‘Is it possible she has another man?’

  ‘Well, not wishing to spread scandal, Inspector.’ She folds her plump arms and leans forward, rather indecently exposing her cleavage. ‘Mel was saying that Geri, one of the juniors in the London office, has spotted Miriam at the same gym she uses. You know – with one of her personal training clients? He’s a well-known professional footballer. Apparently the sessions sometimes get rather intimate.’

  ‘When were they seen together?’

  ‘It’s been within the last couple of months.’

  ‘It sounds like Mrs Stark is well informed.’

  ‘Well, like I say, Inspector – I’m not one to gossip myself – but she’s my eyes and ears in the London office.’

  Skelgill glances at DS Jones, who raises her pencil to indicate to him that she wishes to ask a question. She has been reading a message just delivered to her mobile. Skelgill more pointedly turns to her, so that Elspeth Goldsmith can see that he is handing over the baton.

  ‘Mrs Goldsmith, if I could just ask you for a second about your conversation with Mrs Stark.’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  DS Jones glances at her notes.

  ‘You mentioned in your statement that when the alarm was raised at about three-fifteen a.m. on Sunday morning, you were together in the hotel bar?’

  ‘That’s right – that’s when she was telling me about the toy-boy, so to speak.’

  ‘And you joined with the others to see why there was a commotion in the bedroom corridor?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘Can you recall if you took anything with you, from the bar?’

  Elspeth Goldsmith strums her fleshy lower lip as she reflects.

  ‘You know – I don’t think I was drinking – I was on mineral water by then – but wait – yes! I believe I may have done – it’s a bit embarrassing, actually – but it was a long time since dinner – we’d raided the refrigerator and found some delicious cheesecake – so I may have taken the dish with me – and of course I would have lost track of it while I was trying to calm Miriam down.’

  DS Jones nods and looks to her superior for him to resume. Skelgill picks up where she leaves off.

  ‘How was Mrs Tregilgis at that moment?’

  ‘Positively deranged.’ Elspeth Goldsmith’s eyes widen, and her expression becomes animated. ‘Screaming, bloodstained – trying to fight us off like she was having a night terror. We all got thoroughly soaked in blood.’

  ‘What did you do then?

  ‘A couple of the girls and I shepherded her into the bathroom, splashed water in her face, got her to sit down on the seat of the loo. Then when she’d recovered a little we changed her into a hotel dressing-gown and took her into my bedroom.’

  Skelgill nods. Then he suddenly looks a little disconcerted and begins to push back his chair.

  ‘All this tea, and talk of loos, Mrs Goldsmith – if you don’t mind I’ll just nip to yours before we leave?’

  Elspeth Goldsmith, though still seated, manages to affect a little upper-body swagger.

  ‘There’s a choice of six, Inspector – the nearest is out in the hallway – but you must see our new en suite – first floor, second door – we’ve just had the most marvellous heated marble tiles fitted.’

  Skelgill takes some time to complete his expedition, though it is not the most marvellous heated marble tiles that detain him, but an extraordinary exhibition of photographic enlargements that lines the walls of the public areas. Dermott Goldsmith with a TV soap star; Dermott Goldsmith with a famous sportsman; both the Goldsmiths with well-known film director; and so on. Curiously, there is an impression that it is the grinning Goldsmiths who are the subject of these pictures, while the bemused celebrities are muscled into the background.

  ‘What did you think, Inspector?’ Elspeth Goldsmith is waiting with DS Jones at the open front door. ‘Best part of a hundred pounds a shot. Not something you’ll see every day, even in this part of the city.’

  ‘It’s certainly a pleasant area.’

  ‘More than pleasant, Inspector.’ She sweeps an arm towards the driveway. ‘This is Ravelston.’

  Skelgill nods politely, though evidently with insufficient recognition to satisfy Elspeth Goldsmith.

  ‘The home of Scotland’s Great and Good, Inspector. I grew up in this very house.’

  ‘I didn’t realise you were Scotch – your accent sounds more English.’

  ‘Scots, Inspector.’ Elspeth
Goldsmith frowns as she corrects him. ‘I’m a MacClarty – I simply went to the right school. So important, don’t you think?’

  Skelgill looks like he is grappling with the urge to run away. It is just as well that he resists, for he would miss one final nugget of information that Elspeth Goldsmith wishes to dispense. She shadows them to their car and lowers her moon face close to the open driver’s window.

  ‘Did I mention Ivan and Krista Morocco?’

  ‘Er, I don’t believe so, Mrs Goldsmith – was there something?’

  ‘Well, of course... its just the old industry grapevine – but word is they had a clandestine fling before Ivan married Miriam. In those days Krista was a client of Ivan’s former firm, before she joined us. Naturally, client-agency liaisons are frowned upon – never mind the fiancée, eh, Inspector?’

  ‘We’ll bear that in mind, Mrs Goldsmith.’ Skelgill is fumbling for reverse gear. ‘You’ve been very helpful, madam.’

  As she waves them off, Skelgill notices through his rear-view mirror that she hauls a mobile phone from the hidden depths of her ample chest.

  15. CALTON HILL

  ‘She obviously didn’t want to let go of her cheesecake, Guv.’

  ‘Aye – what was all that about?’

  ‘I got a message from the office, Guv – the fingerprints on the dish that you tasted in the Tregilgis’s room were hers. I thought it would be interesting to ask her how it got there. It seems the beer bottles had been left by a couple of the lads who’d gone in to help.’

  Skelgill nods pensively. He has decided to postpone their interview with Dermott Goldsmith. The more they hear the more he feels it is important to be fully informed before that meeting takes place. Instead, and perhaps with an ulterior motive in mind, he has suggested they kill a little time in order that he can show DS Jones “the best view in Edinburgh”.

  To this end, they have parked near St Andrew’s House, home of Scotland’s civil service, and climbed the stone steps to the summit of Calton Hill. One of Edinburgh’s ‘Seven Hills’, and just two minutes from the east end of Princes Street, a short scramble rewards the breathless visitor with what is arguably the most dramatic urban panorama this side of the Atlantic.