wife, Claire Gilbert, kept an account here, and we believe there may be some … irregularities. We’d like to—”
“Well, I never. A commander’s wife—a common criminal. Who’d have thought it.” Cokes shook his head with relish, lips pursed now in a tut-tut pout. “And such a well-bred woman, too.”
Will answered Gemma’s querying glance with a look of surprised incomprehension.
“Whatever are you talking about, Mr. Cokes?” asked Gemma. “We haven’t suggested that Mrs. Gilbert has done anything criminal. We’d just like to clear up some questions about Gilbert himself.”
“But the other policeman—” Cokes looked from Gemma to Will. “The one who came in last week.”
“What other policeman?” Will asked patiently.
“You people really should learn to coordinate your efforts a bit better,” Cokes said a little smugly, as if he were beginning to enjoy their discomfort. “No wonder they have all those exposes on the telly.”
“I think we should start from the beginning, Mr. Cokes.” Will pulled out his wallet and extracted the photo he and Gemma had shown around with so little success at the Friary. “I take it that you met Mrs. Gilbert personally?”
“When she opened her account. I often handle new accounts—it keeps my hand in, and I like to know a bit about the customers.” Cokes took the photo from Will and examined it for a moment before handing it back. “Oh, yes, that’s Mrs. Gilbert, all right. She’s quite unmistakable. Of course, I did wonder when she asked that her statements be sent to her at work.”
“At work?” repeated Gemma. “Did she say why?”
“I’d never have asked—we respect our clients’ privacy—but she told me quite confidentially that she meant to save up enough money to surprise her husband with a holiday.” The echo of Claire Gilbert’s charm still resonated in the man’s voice and faintly wistful expression. “You can imagine how surprised I was when the first policeman came inquiring about her. And even then I’d no idea her husband was a policeman.”
Will sat forwards, and the standard-issue visitor’s chair creaked dangerously. “Tell us about this other policeman, Mr. Cokes. When did he come to see you, and what did he want with Claire Gilbert?”
Cokes made a little humming noise as he squinted at his desk calendar. “We’d had our regional branch meeting on the Tuesday last week, and I think it was the day after. Wednesday, it would have been, just before closing. He requested a personal interview with me, but once we were alone in my office he showed me his ID and said he was investigating something very hush-hush.” Leaning forwards, Cokes lowered his voice. “A check fraud ring. He said they hadn’t any hard evidence to connect our customer, but a quick look at her file would probably clear the matter up. Of course, I told him that as much as I wished to assist the police in any way, I was also under an obligation not to divulge details of a customer’s account.” Cokes gave a sniff of disapproval.
“So you’re telling us that this policeman did
Cokes cleared his throat and slid the paperweight on his desk over a fraction of an inch. “Well, I can’t be absolutely certain …” he said, refusing to meet their eyes. “I was called out of my office for a few moments, a little problem that needed my immediate attention …”
“Don’t tell me,” said Gemma. “You just happened to leave Claire Gilbert’s file on your desk. How tactful of you.”
“Well, I …” Cokes’ upper lip glistened with perspiration. “It seemed the best solution at the time.”
“I’m sure.” Gemma smiled at Cokes, thinking that she doubted Claire Gilbert would have seen his solution in quite the same light. “This policeman, Mr. Cokes. What was his name?”
Cokes cleared his throat again. “I don’t remember. I only saw the ID for a moment, and I was so startled that it quite flew out of my head.”
“What force did he say he was with?”
Cokes shook his head. “I couldn’t say. I’m sorry.”
Persisting, Gemma said, “Then tell us what he looked like, Mr. Cokes. Surely you can remember that.”
“Thin and dark.” Moistening his pink lips, Cokes added, “There was something a bit predatory about him.”
Kincaid filled Deveney in as they drove towards Holmbury St. Mary. The morning overcast had lifted to a high haze that muted the landscape and burned his tired eyes as he squinted at the road. “Claire Gilbert’s had two broken bones in the last year or so, and perhaps other injuries as well. The wrist and the collarbone just happen to be the ones I heard about in casual conversation. It’s enough to raise the possibility of spousal abuse.”
“Are you telling me that you think Commander Gilbert
Kincaid glanced at Deveney. “Don’t look so shocked, Nick. It happens all the time.”
Deveney shook his head. “I know. But I wouldn’t have thought—”
“You think Gilbert’s uniform and position gave him some sort of automatic immunity?”
“I think if you mean to get anything out of Doc Wilson, you’ll get short shrift,” Deveney countered. “But if you’re right, it gives Brian Genovase a damned good reason to want to bash Gilbert’s head in. Unfortunately, we still haven’t found a shred of physical evidence to connect him to the scene.
“The records of the on-line service confirm what Geoff told us, by the way, and our interviews with the other customers in the pub that night agree with Brian’s account of his movements. So that leaves us with a less than ten-minute window when either Brian or Geoff could have popped across the lane and done the dirty.”
Kincaid downshifted as they entered the village. “That leaves the Ogilvie end. I’ll be damned if I know how he fits into it, but I’m sure he does.” He grinned at Deveney. “Maybe I should take lessons from Madeleine Wade.”
“You seem destined to catch me in the middle of my lunch,” Doc Wilson said when she opened the door. “Oh well, can’t be helped, I suppose,” she added resignedly as she stepped back and Kincaid and Deveney crowded into the hall with its welter of gum boots, dog leads, and walking sticks.
