Carruthers' Demise, Chapters Twenty & Twenty One (standard:drama, 2788 words) [11/24] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Jan 05 2012	Views/Reads: 2191/1660	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Carruthers is finding out that Casey Jennings is not quite the person he thought she was. Continuation of my drama.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

from the rear garden. He wasn't of the mind to engage with anyone other 
than her, but having completed the journey his choice was in a sense, 
made. 

The gate providing access to her rear garden being unlocked, he trod the
alleyway towards it – and stopped. 

‘Jacqueline it was purely a courtesy call – I merely wondered...' 

‘Look, I'm sorry to hear of Alexander's demise and I sympathize – but I
really resent being referred to as a...'  silence followed... 

Carruthers faltered, then pressed ahead, rounding the corner just in
time to catch Casey utter the word ‘bitch,' and fling the phone onto 
the garden table. 

She looked up, startled as Carruthers' silhouette caught her eye – ‘Why
Marty,' she put a hand to her face, drawing it away with an awkward 
smile. ‘Not one of my better moments I'm afraid – a friend of mine let 
me down on a night out – would you believe that? Not that I get a lot 
of free time as you know and...' 

‘Oh, do I know him?' Carruthers cut in, assuming a casual air. 

‘Her – Jackie,' Casey uttered with a brisk headshake, not that it
matters now you're here. You should have told me you were coming Marty, 
I would have cooked us a nice meal.' 

‘I don't feel hungry as it happens.' Carruthers sniffed. ‘When were you
seeing this – Jackie?' 

Casey rifled a hand through her hair, furrowed her brow. ‘What is this,
twenty questions?' 

‘No, of course not.' If ever a name had been conjured out of the air it
was that adaptation from Jacqueline to Jackie. Why was Casey concealing 
the fact that she'd been in a heated conversation with Goldhawk's wife? 
But he felt that posing the question would get him nowhere – and right 
now he needed solace, not an argument. 

‘I could do with a drink though,' he said mustering a little cheeriness.


‘Fine.' His reply seemed to have settled Casey, she gave him a smile.
‘What can I fix you?' 

‘Oh, nothing major – a small can of beer would do me fine, I'm driving
don't forget...' 

Casey raised her brows. ‘You could always spend the night...' 

‘Don't tempt me.' Carruthers returned her smile, selected a garden
chair. ‘No – I need a shoulder,' he called as she headed into the 
kitchen. 

Returning with a beer can Casey thrust it before him, taking a seat
opposite, her expression serious. ‘Is it Chelsey, Marty?' 

Carruthers nodded, bit his lip, snapped the ring-pull from the can. ‘Yes
but not in the way you might think – the police have got some kind of 
evidence that links her to Goldhawk's death, only they're not saying 
what it is.' 

‘Rubbish.' Casey scoffed. ‘Chelsey had nothing to do with Alexander's
murder. They're either idiots or trying to pressurize you into...' 

Carruthers frowned, took a gulp from his can. ‘What makes you so sure?' 

Casey threw her head back, fixed him with an amused smile, far removed
now from when he'd walked in on her. ‘It's blatantly obvious – I've 
already tried telling you there's another guy involved. I know I'm 
telling you what you don't want to hear, but you've been taken for a 
sucker. When are you going to listen to me?' 

If Casey had been expecting an outburst from Carruthers he didn't
deliver. He gave a heavy nasal exhalation and then proceeded to outline 
the events preceding his arrival back in London.  He dwelt on Noades' 
behaviour that he thought justified his suspicions, and therefore 
provided backing for Casey's views. 

‘At last he sees the point. Very cleverly contrived I guess, but he
sounds like your man.' Casey leaned forward for the glass of burgundy 
she'd brought into the garden; she took a sip, letting it swill around 
her mouth before swallowing it slowly. ‘So what do you say, you spend 
the night here, with your best pal?' 

‘No...' Carruthers shook his head, gave her a long look. ‘Best pal'
wasn't the form of expression Casey normally used but he supposed it 
might fit the bill right now. He was sorely tempted to stay and might 
have done, but Casey's earlier lie lingered in his head like a 
hangover. Why hadn't she revealed her call to Jacqueline Goldhawk, why 
had she turned it into an outright fabrication? 

Carruthers didn't know; it was an unpleasant prospect, but he had to
find out. 

Chapter Twenty One 

Carruthers returned to Chiswick with his mind swimming in a whirlpool,
not relishing the prospect of paying Jacqueline Goldhawk a call but 
determined nonetheless to do it. Casey's bizarre and heated 
conversation needed following up. 

He drew up outside his mews house not bothering to garage his car and
set to work on the list of Chelsey's known contacts requested by 
Manners. It took his fuzzy head perhaps thirty minutes to complete the 
task, and then, on a muggy evening with dusk setting in he decided on a 
walk to the towpath. That, and a bit of air, he thought, might help him 
sleep. 

Surprised to find the red and white  tape removed and the towpath void
of police activity he strolled in the direction of Kew, a course 
frequently taken with Chelsey at his side, her hand in his, although as 
he reflected sadly, of late she'd chosen to walk alone. Why, he hadn't 
determined, but then Chelsey had a writer's mind and who knew what 
plots were bubbling inside her head. 

Except of late her writing had suffered – 

He sighed, looked up as a rowing crew passed swiftly along the Thames,
their cox letting blast through a megaphone. After they'd gone he heard 
the sound of steel-tipped heels behind him, footwear not normally 
associated with the towpath at this time of night. Carruthers turned 
quickly out of curiosity and stopped, his stomach beginning to churn. 

‘Nice evening, if not a trifle close don't you think?' Jack Manners
breathed in air, slapped his chest. ‘Out for an evening walk I see.' 

Carruthers shot a glance at the grey-suited inspector. ‘Aren't you
somewhat overdressed for these parts?' he said, aware of the sarcasm in 
his voice. ‘I take it I'm being followed.' 

‘Not necessarily.' Manners stopped, placed his hands on some railings,
the implication being that Carruthers did likewise. He fixed him with 
his cool, grey stare. ‘But the murderer has a habit of returning to the 
scene of his crime, some kind of warped conscience, you know.' 

‘I see.' Carruthers chewed his lip, laid his gaze on Manners. ‘And I
take it from your heavy emphasis on ‘his' you're implying it's me.' 

‘My position remains unchanged,' Manners said smoothly. ‘But if you
think the cap fits...' he broke off, looking away. 

‘Why aren't you telling me what you're holding on my wife?' Carruthers
snapped, irritated by the inspector's sudden appearance and his vague 
insinuations. 

‘Because it's not appropriate to do so.' Manners turned slowly back to
him. ‘At least not at the current time. I take it you've compiled a 
list of all known...' 

‘Yes – and if I'd have known you'd be following me I'd have brought it
along. I'll drop it in tomorrow.' 

‘Nine o'clock would be acceptable, any later would not.' 

Carruthers let out a sharp breath. ‘Inspector, if you've nothing
specific to ask me, I take it I'm allowed to walk home unhindered.' 

‘Naturally.' Manners eyes undertook a slow sweep of Carruthers' face.
‘Unless you know of any reason why I should detain you? 

‘No? Then please continue Mr Carruthers – and sleep well.' Manners
sneezed and walked away. ‘And I should get something for that cold,' 
Carruthers called petulantly after him. 

Sleep well! He fumbled in his pocket for his cigarettes. Manners
certainly knew how to get under a person's skin. If only he'd be 
equally adept at apprehending Goldhawk's real killer. 

Bile rose thickly in his throat as he returned to the mews in the
bitter-sweet knowledge that it couldn't have been Chelsey. He'd 
establish as much for a fact if he managed to track down Foulkes and 
Noades. 

*** 

Carruthers handed in Manners' list shortly before nine the following
morning and then set off for Jacqueline Goldhawk's house at Hazlemere, 
arriving there some forty minutes later. Unlike the evening of his 
previous visit, the place was bereft of vehicles and depressingly 
silent. It took a while for his buzz to be answered and he began to 
suspect he'd been observed and declined. But eventually Jacqueline 
appeared, looking jaded and weary. 

‘I'm surprised to find you here, Martin...' she said, her tone giving
him every indication that he shouldn't be there. Carruthers hung his 
head then met her cold stare. ‘I was sorry to hear about Alexander's 
death.' He bit his bottom lip. ‘I know we had that confrontation, but 
please believe me, I had nothing to do with it; though some might think 
differently.' 

Jacqueline's lashes met fleetingly. She looked away but held the door
open. ‘Come in, Martin.' Leading him into the lounge, she asked, ‘Can I 
get you anything?' 

‘No thanks, I won't impose on you...' Jacqueline fingered the collar of
her dark frock, steadily appraising him. ‘Sit down Martin, you look 
exhausted – stay for a cup of tea at least.' 

Carruthers nodded readily, he hadn't expected the courtesy, locking his
fingers tensely until she returned, placing a tray before him. 

Sitting on the sofa opposite, she sighed. ‘Look Martin, for what it's
worth I'm not blaming you for what happened to my husband. I've 
discovered some things recently that have been deliberately concealed 
from me – things that tell me Alexander wasn't the man I thought he 
was. If I'd have known then my lips would have stayed sealed, I 
wouldn't have been in such a hurry to report your argument with 
Alexander to the police.' 

Carruthers shook his head, took a sip of his tea. ‘I don't hold that
against you either. I would have taken much the same course.' He placed 
his cup on the saucer. ‘I need to ask you a question, Jacqueline.' 

Jacqueline brushed her frock. ‘I thought there might be more than
condolences...' 

‘I walked in on a phone conversation last night,' Carruthers said,
jumping in with both feet. 

‘I can guess, Casey Jennings.' Jacqueline took a deep breath. ‘Alexander
hasn't even been laid to rest before she's bombarding me with questions 
about whose succeeding him at...' she paused, ‘I mean how should I 
know? Look I don't want to be talking about her – that woman is as 
pushy as they come.' 

‘Pushy?' 

Jacqueline stiffened. ‘Oh, very well. I can see by your expression,
Martin, that I've surprised you. It might surprise you even more if I 
say I think there was more going on...' she added, emotion overcoming 
her reluctance. 

‘Casey?' Carruthers frowned, narrowed his eyes. ‘Casey wouldn't...' 

‘Oh don't get me wrong,' Jacqueline raised her hand, wearily expelled
air, looking back at him with eyes wide. ‘It's only since this – 
business - that I've realised what a deceitfully licentious man he was. 
The things I've found hidden away – photos, notes, you name it. God 
knows what's on his computer, I shudder to think.' She nodded towards 
the window. ‘The police have just removed them.' 

Carruthers leaned forward, took a drink from his cup and almost let it
overflow. ‘Are you saying that Casey and Alexander were having an 
affair?' 

‘Perhaps, perhaps not, but nothing would surprise me there. I do know
there was far more contact between them than need be and I don't think 
it was all my husband's fault. I was never struck on her writing to be 
blatantly honest – it wouldn't surprise me if she allowed my husband to 
take advantage of her for – well let's just say career enhancement.' 

She held up a hand. ‘Oh Martin, I'm sorry. I know you're her agent and
what I'm saying is shocking but there were times when she stuck to him 
like a leech, and Alexander being the sort of man I've discovered him 
to be – need I say more?' 

Jacqueline slouched forward, some of the anguish having vented itself.
‘I could of course be wrong, but...' 

Carruthers was rendered speechless. The idea of a strong association
between the pair hadn't entered his mind. Casey had given the 
impression of being the last person to engage in anything immoral. And 
he being her agent, representing her affairs and dealing with Goldhawk, 
hadn't had a clue – 

‘I take it no news on Chelsey?' Jacqueline had been asking; she had to
repeat her question before Carruthers' mind honed in on it. ‘No.' He 
breathed deeply. ‘Nothing I'm afraid.' He gulped down the remainder of 
his tea, sighed. ‘I'd better be going, Jacqueline.' He turned on the 
doorstep. ‘I hope they find Alexander's murderer, and that he serves 
the full term.' 

‘He?' Jacqueline's eyes widened. ‘He's been stepping on plenty of toes,'
she remarked, ‘but there's nobody more vicious than a woman scorned.' 

‘You really think that's a possibility?' 

But Jacqueline Goldhawk merely raised her brows, shrugged, and closed
the door behind him. 

*** 

The clock is ticking, my dear – it might have reached its hour, but no –
perhaps a moment too soon.  Who knows what opportunities might spring 
forth if I exercise a little patience – allow a little more time for 
the perfect resolution. After all, my penultimate chapter is not yet 
complete. The ending remains to be written, and who knows what the 
final outcome will be? 


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