“You’re taking me to a dykey-sounding place like that? On your own patch? And you’re not worried about who you might run into? Whatever happened to keeping it light between us?”
Lindsay grimaced. “This is business, not pleasure. Rubyfruits is run by Ros Crabtree, our Rupert’s daughter. The dyke that Daddy didn’t know about, apparently. And I need you there to tell me if you saw anything of Ros or her partner around Brownlow recently. Okay?”
As Deborah agreed, Judith’s car drew up outside.
She looked every inch the solicitor in a dark green tweed-mixture suit and a cream open-necked shirt. But behind the facade she was clearly bursting with a nugget of gossip that threatened to make her explode, and she was quite shrewd enough to realise that dumping it in Lindsay’s lap was guaranteed to provide it with the most fertile ground possible.
“You look like the cat that’s had the cream,” Lindsay remarked.
“Sorry, terribly unprofessional of me. We solicitors are not supposed to show any emotion about anything, you know. But this is such a wonderful tale of dirty linen washing itself in public, I can’t be all cool and collected about it. A wonderful piece of gossip, and the best of it is that it’s twenty-four carat truth. Now Lindsay, if you’re going to use this, you certainly didn’t get it from me, all right?”
Lindsay nodded, bored with yet another demand for anonymity. When she was a young trainee reporter, it had always made the adrenalin surge when people required to be Deep Throats. But cynical experience of the insignificance of ninety per cent of people’s revelations had ended that excitement years ago. Whatever Judith had to say might merit a few paragraphs, but she would wait and hear it before she let her pulse race.
“Rupert Crabtree’s will is with one of the partners in the building next to ours. Anyway, the junior partner is by way of being a pal of mine, and he’s managed to cast an eye over the will. And you’ll never guess who gets ten thousand pounds?”
Lindsay sighed. “Ros Crabtree? Simon?”
Judith shook her head impatiently. “No, no. They each get one third of the residue, about fifty thousand each. No, the ten thousand goes to Alexandra Phillips. Now isn’t that extraordinary?” She was clearly disappointed by the blank stares from her audience. “Oh Lindsay, you must know about Alexandra. You’re supposed to be looking into Rupert Crabtree. Has no one told you about Alexandra? Lindsay, she was his mistress.”
That last word won Judith all the reaction she could have wished. Lindsay sat bolt upright and spilt the remains of her coffee over the table. “His mistress?” she demanded. “Why the hell did nobody tell me he had a mistress?”
Judith shrugged. “I assumed you knew. It wasn’t exactly common knowledge, but I guess most of us lawyers had a notion it was going on. Anyway, I rather think it was cooling off, at least on Alexandra’s side.”
Lindsay counted to ten in her head. Then she said slowly and clearly, “Tell me everything you know about the affair, Judith. Tell me now.”
Judith looked surprised and hurt at the intensity of Lindsay’s tone. “Alexandra Phillips is about twenty-five. She’s a solicitor with Hampson, Humphrey and Brundage in Fordham. She does all the dogsbody work, being the practice baby. She’s a local girl, used to be friendly with Ros Crabtree, in fact. I know her through the job also because she and Ros used to kick around with my younger sister Antonia. Anyway, Alexandra came back to Fordham about eighteen months ago and almost as soon as she got back, Rupert pounced. He asked her out to dinner at some intimate little Good Food Guide bistro that none of his cronies would be seen dead patronizing. He spun the line that he wanted to give her the benefit of his experience and all that blah. And being more than a little impressionable, dear Alexandra fell for his line like an absolute mug. This much I know, because she confided in me right at the start. I warned her not to be a bloody fool and to see him off sharpish, which earned me the cold shoulder and no more confidences.
“But I saw his car outside her flat on a few occasions, and the will obviously indicates an ongoing situation. However, there’s been a whisper of a rumour going round Antonia’s crowd that Alexandra was looking for a way out. There was a very definite suggestion that she rather fancied another fish to fry. Sorry, no names. I did ask Antonia, but she’s pretty sure that Alexandra hasn’t spilled that to anyone.”
“Great,” said Lindsay, getting to her feet and pulling on her jacket. “Come on then, Judith.”
Judith looked bewildered. “Where?”
“To wherever Alexandra hangs out. I want to talk to her, and the sooner the better before the rest of the world gets the same idea.”
“But we can’t just barge in on her without an appointment. And besides, I came here to talk to Deborah about her pending court case.”
“Oh God,” said Lindsay in exasperation. “Yes, of course. But after that we’ve just got to see Alexandra Phillips as soon as possible.”
Judith, looking startled and apprehensive, rattled machine-gun sentences at Deborah. Following the demise of the sole prosecution witness, she told her, the police could offer no evidence against Deborah in the Crown Court, and the case would therefore fall since she had made no admissions of guilt. It was unlikely that the police would be able to find an eye-witness at that late stage, particularly since they were pursuing that line of enquiry with something less than breathtaking vigour.
“Except in so far as it overlaps with the murder enquiry,” Lindsay muttered nonchalantly.
“Thanks for the reassurance,” Deborah remarked. “Why don’t you two run off now and prevent the police from making too many mistakes about me?”
Judith rose hesitantly. “Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, Alexandra is something of a friend, or at least a friend of the family. I can’t imagine she’s going to take too kindly to us barging in and demanding answers about Rupert…”
“Look at it this way,” said Lindsay. “Events are conspiring to force Debs into Rigano’s arms as the obvious and easy villain. Debs is your client. Therefore you’d be failing in your professional duty if you didn’t explore every possible avenue to establish her innocence. Isn’t that so?”
Judith nodded dubiously. “I suppose so,” she conceded. “But it doesn’t mean I feel any better about going through with it.” Lindsay treated Judith to a hard stare. The solicitor pursed her lips and said, “Oh, come on then. If we go now, we’ll probably catch her at the office. I think it would be easier from every point of view if we saw her there.”
It took them nearly twenty minutes to reach Alexandra’s office thanks to Judith’s driving, rendered doubly appalling by her apprehensions about the approaching interview. Her nervousness grew in the fifteen minutes they spent in the waiting room of Hampson, Humphrey and Brundage while Alexandra dealt with her last client of the day. When they were eventually summoned by buzzer, Judith bolted into the office with Lindsay behind her. Barely bigger than a boxroom, Alexandra Philips’s office was dominated by filing cabinets and a standard-sized desk which looked enormous in the confined space.
Yet the surroundings did not diminish its occupant. Alexandra was stunning. Lindsay instantly envied Rupert Crabtree and despised herself for the reaction. The woman who rose to greet them, was, Lindsay estimated, about five-foot-nine tall. Her hair was a glossy blue-black, cut close to a fine-boned head dominated by almond- shaped, luminous brown eyes. Her skin was a healthy glowing golden. Hardly the typical English rose, thought Lindsay. The clothes weren’t what she expected either. Alexandra wore a black velvet dress, fitting across the bust, then flaring out to a full swirling skirt. She should have had all the assurance in the world, but it was painfully obvious that self-possession wasn’t her long suit. There were black smudges under the eyes, and she looked as if tears would be a relief. The exchange of greetings had been on the formal side, and Judith threw a pleading look at Lindsay, expecting her to take over from there.
Lindsay took pity and launched in on a explanation. “Judith has a client called Deborah Patterson.” Alexandra’s eyebrows flickered. “I can see the name means something to you. Debs is one of my oldest and closest friends, and the way things are going at the moment it looks as if she’s likely to stand accused of Rupert Crabtree’s murder, which I can assure you she did not do. Judith and I are determined to see that the charge won’t stick, which is why I’m sticking my nose in where it’s not wanted.”
Alexandra looked puzzled. “I don’t actually understand either your status or what you want with me.”
“I’m sorry,” said Lindsay, “you do deserve a better explanation than that. I’ve no official status,” she went on. “I’m a journalist. But as it happens my first concern with this business is not to get good stories but to make sure Debs stays free. I’m also cooperating, to some degree, with the police on behalf of the women at the peace camp. I find that people don’t always want to tell things to the police in case too much emphasis gets placed on the
