“Has anything odd been happening around here lately? Has Mr. Clegg received any strange messages, for example?”
“No-o.” Some hesitation there. He would get back to it later.
Banks glanced around the small, tidy anteroom. “Does everything go through you? Mail, phone calls?”
“Most things, yes. But Mr. Clegg has a private line, too.”
“I see. How did he react to the news of Mr. Rothwell’s death?”
She studied Banks closely, then appeared to decide to trust him. She sighed and rested her hands on the desk, palms down. “That’s just the problem,” she said. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since. He’s not here. I mean, he’s not just out of the office right now, but he’s disappeared. Into thin air.”
“Disappeared? Have you told the local police?”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t want to look a fool.”
“Has he done anything like this before?”
“No. Never. But if he
“When did you last see him?”
“Last Thursday. He left the office about half past five and that was the last I saw of him. He didn’t come in to work on Friday morning.”
“Have you tried to call him at home?”
“Yes, but all I got was the answering machine.”
“Did he say anything about a business trip?” Banks asked.
“No. And he usually tells me if he’s going to be away for any length of time.”
“Do you know what kind of business relationship Mr. Clegg had with Keith Rothwell?”
“No. I’m only his secretary. Mr. Clegg didn’t take me into his confidence. All I know is that Mr. Rothwell came to the office now and then and sometimes they’d go out to lunch together, or for drinks after work. I knew Mr. Rothwell was an accountant, so I supposed it would be something to do with tax. Mr. Clegg specializes in tax law, you see. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”
“Maybe you can be. It seems a bit of a coincidence, doesn’t it, Mr. Rothwell getting killed and Mr. Clegg disappearing around the same time?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t hear about Mr. Rothwell’s death until Saturday. I just never thought… ”
“Have you ever heard of someone called Robert Calvert?”
“No.”
“Are you sure? Did Mr. Clegg never mention the name?”
“No. He wasn’t a client. I’m sure I’d remember.”
“Why didn’t you get in touch with the police when you realized Mr. Clegg had disappeared and you heard about Mr. Rothwell’s murder?”
“Why should I? Mr. Clegg had a lot of clients. He knew a lot of businessmen.”
“But they don’t usually get murdered.”
She sneezed. “No. As I said, it’s tragic what happened, but I don’t see how as it connects with Mr. Clegg.”
“Maybe it does, and maybe it doesn’t,” Banks said. “But don’t you think that’s for us to decide?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” She reached for the tissue again. This time it disintegrated when she blew her nose. She dropped it in the waste-paper bin and took a fresh one from the box on her desk.
Banks regarded her closely. He didn’t think she was lying or evading the issue; she simply didn’t understand what he was getting at. He sometimes expected everyone to view the world with the same suspicious mind and jaundiced eye as he did. Besides, she didn’t know about the letter Rothwell had left in the locked file.
He sat on the edge of the desk. “Right, Betty, let’s go back a bit. When I came in, you were frightened. Why?”
She paused for a moment, then said, “I thought you might be one of them again.”
“One of whom?”
“On Saturday morning I was here doing some filing and two men came in and started asking questions about Mr. Clegg. They weren’t very nice.”
“Is that what you were thinking of when I asked you earlier if anything odd had been going on?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me then?”
“It… I… I didn’t connect it. You’ve got me all confused.”
“All right, Betty, take it easy. Did they hurt you?”
“Of course not. Or I certainly
“And these men were just rude?”
“Yes. Well, just a bit brusque, really. Nothing unusual. I mean, I’m only a secretary, right? I’m not important. They can afford to be short with me.”
“So what bothered you? Why does it stick in your mind? Why were you frightened? Did they threaten you?”
“Not in so many words. But I got the impression that they were testing me to see what I knew. I think they realized early on that I didn’t know anything. If they’d thought differently, I’m sure they would have hurt me. Don’t ask me how I know. I could just feel it. There was something about them, some sort of coldness in their eyes, as if they’d done terrible things, or witnessed terrible things.” She shivered. “I don’t know. I can’t explain. They were the kind of people you look away from when they make eye contact.”
“What did they want to know about?”
“Where Mr. Clegg was.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes. I asked them why they wanted to know, but they just said they had important business with him. I’d never seen them before, and I’m sure I’d know if they were new clients.”
“Did they leave their names?”
“No.”
“What did they look like?”
“Just ordinary businessmen, really. One was black and the other white. They both wore dark suits, white shirts, ties. I can’t remember what colors.”
“What about their height?”
“Both about the same. Around six foot, I’d say. But the white one was burly. You know, he had thick shoulders and a round chest, like a wrestler or something. He had very fair hair, but he was going bald on top. He tried to disguise it by growing the hair at the side longer and combing it right over, but I just think that looks silly, don’t you? The black man was thin and fit looking. More like a runner than a wrestler. He did most of the talking.”
Banks got her to describe them in as much detail as she could and took notes. They certainly didn’t match Alison Rothwell’s description of the two men in black who had tied her up and killed her father. “What about their accents?” he asked.
“Not local. The black one sounded a bit cultured, well educated, and the other didn’t speak much. I think he had a slight foreign accent, though I couldn’t swear to it and I can’t tell you where from.”
“You’ve done fine, Betty.”
