Reckless Endangerment(55)

‘You did what? You silly little cow. Now they’ll think I was mixed up in Sharon’s murder.’

‘Where were you, then, Gordon?’ asked Shona.

‘None of your damned business. But when they start probing they might uncover things that I don’t want uncovered. Now get yourself up to the bedroom. It seems to me that it’s the only place where you know what you’re doing.’

‘What did you make of that, Liz?’ I asked, as we drove out of Glenn Road.

‘As I went into the hall, Shona shot upstairs. She’d obviously been standing in the hall listening to our chat with Harrison. Anyway, I cornered her in the bedroom and asked her about the night Sharon Gregory was murdered. She said she wasn’t here at all that evening. Her full name’s Shona Grant and she claimed to be employed as a West End nightclub hostess most evenings, including the twenty-ninth of July. Personally I think she’s a stripper in this nightclub, but I’ll check it out. I thought that Harrison came up with what he was doing that night just a bit too glibly, sir; it’s bound to be untrue.’

‘I thought so too, but we’ll need a lot more evidence before we can think about arresting Harrison. It’s just possible that he had another bird with him. But if that was the case, why not say so?’

‘Perhaps he got confused.’ Lizanne laughed, and without taking her eyes off the road, took a small plastic envelope from her jacket pocket and handed it to me. ‘This might help,’ she said. ‘I took a couple of hair samples from his comb when I used his bathroom. The boffins should be able to get a DNA sample from those.’

‘And if it matches the DNA from the fetus that Doctor Mortlock found when he did the post-mortem on Sharon, we might be getting somewhere.’

‘But you said that Harrison had admitted having sex with her, sir.’

‘Yes, he did.’

‘And from what we know about her, so did a hell of a lot of other men. So that doesn’t necessarily make Harrison her killer, does it, sir?’

Frank Digby lived in what was known as a chalet bungalow in a quiet road in Chalfont St Giles. Predominantly white, the house had brown windows and doors, and decorative brown shutters that were fixed permanently to the walls.

It was half past midday when Dave pulled up on the drive next to a Ford Galaxy, and he and Kate Ebdon alighted.

Kate rang the bell and waited for some two or three minutes. She was on the point of giving up when a man opened the door. A good-looking thirty-something, he was tall and muscular, and had a clipboard in one hand and a pen lodged behind an ear.

‘Good morning.’ The man glanced at his watch. ‘Or, should I say, good afternoon.’

‘Mr Frank Digby?’

‘Yes, I’m Frank Digby. Sorry to have kept you waiting, I was dealing with an order on my computer. How can I help?’ Digby smiled at Kate and rapidly appraised her figure, his glance travelling from head to toe and back again.

‘We’re police officers, Mr Digby. I’m Detective Inspector Ebdon and this is Detective Sergeant Poole.’

‘Oh! I was hoping you’d come to buy some wine.’ Digby laughed nervously. ‘But if it’s about the licences, I can assure you that all the paperwork is in order.’

‘I take it you’re a wine merchant, Mr Digby.’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘It’s not about wine or the relevant paperwork; that’s nothing to do with us. We’re from Scotland Yard and we’d like to speak to you concerning another matter.’

‘This is all very mysterious. You’d better come in,’ said Digby, as he showed the two detectives into a living room at the front of the house. A young woman in a plain cream dress was reclining on a sofa, her feet tucked up beneath her. She put down the magazine she was reading, lowered her feet and pushed them into a pair of mules. ‘The police have come to see us, Fi.’ He turned to Kate. ‘Fiona Douglas is my partner. And my business partner.’

‘How d’you do?’ said Fiona.

‘Ripper, thanks,’ said Kate.

‘Ah, you’re Australian,’ said Digby, as he recognized the accent and the colloquial response. Kate, as she always did, had mistaken the customary English greeting for a question. Brock thought she did it on purpose. ‘You have some fascinating wines Down Under. There’s quite a market for them here these days.’

‘Yes, I’m sure there is, but as I said just now, we haven’t come here to talk about wine.’ Kate shot a glance in Fiona Douglas’s direction. ‘D’you travel to Miami very often, Mr Digby?’

‘Occasionally,’ said Digby, but the response was guarded, hesitant almost. It was a loaded question and he recognized it as such. ‘I more often go to California. The New World wines have become increasingly popular over here. But what’s with Miami? I think I’ve only been there two or three times.’ As if sensing what was coming next, he glanced at his partner. ‘Be a pet, Fi, and check on the orders and send them to the warehouse. Practically all our wine business is online, Inspector,’ he explained, as his partner left the room. ‘If we don’t keep up with the orders, it quickly gets out of hand. Now, then, what’s this interest in Miami?’