Common Murder

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 wrong things and innocent people start to appear in a bad light. All I’m trying to do, if you like, is to act as a sort of filter. Anything you want kept within these four walls stays that way until I get the whole picture sorted out, and I can be fairly sure of what’s important and what isn’t.”

“It’s called withholding evidence from the police in the circles I move in,” Alexandra countered. “I still don’t understand what brings you to me.”

The last thing Lindsay wanted was to start putting pressure on the young solicitor, but it appeared that in spite of Alexandra’s seeming vulnerability, that was what she was going to have to do. “Rupert Crabtree’s will is going to be public knowledge soon. If the police haven’t already been here, they will be. And so will reporters from every paper in the land. You can bet your bottom dollar they aren’t going to be as polite as me. Now, you can try to stall everyone with this disingenuous routine, but eventually you’ll get so sick of it you’ll feel like murder.

“Or you can short-circuit a lot of the hassle by talking to me. I’ll write a story that doesn’t make you look like the Scarlet Woman of Fordham. You can go away for a few days till the fuss dies down. You’ll be yesterday’s news by then, if you’ve already talked once. And by talking frankly to me, you can maybe prevent a miscarriage of justice. Now, I know you had been having an affair with Rupert Crabtree for over a year, and I know you were trying to get out of that situation. Suppose you tell me the rest?”

Alexandra buried her head in her hands. When she lifted her face her eyes were glistening. “Nice to know who your friends are, Judith,” she said bitterly.

“Judith has done the best thing she could for you by bringing me. She could have thrown you to the wolves for the sake of her client, but she did it decently.” Lindsay said with a gentleness that was sharp contrast to her previous aggression.

“You’re not one of the wolves?”