Beneath the Soil (21 page)

‘Well, that should set the cat among the pigeons when it gets out.' Millie narrowed her eyes. ‘But it won't look good for him, will it? I mean, she was only … what? … in her forties? She could have lived for donkey's years. But now she's dead and he's got his hands on it.'

Suzie brushed her hair from her eyes. The whisky was making her feel more relaxed at last. ‘Shall we just leave it to the police? It's not our business. There's nothing else we can do.'

She swirled the last of her drink round the bottom of her glass and thought of John Nosworthy as she had left him in the pub car park, pale and scared. He had told her urgently to forget all about it. He had been scared for her as well.

A door slammed in the hall. Suzie was halfway out of her seat in alarm before she stopped to think. Nick must be home only a little later than normal. She hadn't even started to prepare the evening meal. She looked a little shamefacedly at the whisky glass. It would be an admission that she had been upset. Was there time to rinse it out in the kitchen before Nick got there? Probably not.

Even as she turned towards the conservatory door, Tom came breezing through. Suzie was startled by her own reaction. Normally she would have been thrilled to see her handsome student son, savouring the precious days she had him home on vacation. Today she felt her spirits sag. It was not Nick, after all.

Recollecting their conversation, she made a face to Millie which said, ‘Don't tell him'.

She was not entirely sure why this was important, but she knew Tom well enough to fear that he might dash off and do something unpredictable.

Millie nodded, with the small, secretive smile of a younger sister who believed herself wiser than her nineteen-year-old brother. This would be between the two of them. And Nick, when he came home.

‘Dad not here?' Tom threw a cheerful look around.

‘He's working late.'

That mischievous grin. ‘Better watch yourself, Mum. That's what they always say when they're dating their secretaries, isn't it? Sorry. Only joking.' He dropped a light kiss on her forehead. ‘Tea not ready? Do you mind if I grab myself something? I'm out tonight.'

‘You've only just got in.'

‘Yeah, that's the way it goes. Busy social calendar.'

‘Who is she?' asked Millie.

‘I beg your pardon?'

‘Your date. The reason why you're in such a hurry.'

‘I didn't say it was a girl,' he retorted, colouring.

‘You have now.'

‘There's cold chicken and salad in the fridge,' Suzie intervened. ‘I was just going to start getting it ready.'

‘Stay where you are. I'll make a sandwich.'

‘Will you be late in?'

‘Maybe. Maybe not. Depends how it goes.'

Suzie felt the wrench. What Tom did with his evenings, even who he spent the night with, was no longer under her control. Tom would not be so blunt as to tell her it was none of her business. He just acted as though it was not.

She heard the sounds from the kitchen as he got himself a hasty meal.

‘Cold chicken and salad sounds perfect for a heatwave,' Millie said. ‘Shall I bring ours out here?'

‘Thanks,' Suzie smiled. ‘Would you?'

Alone on the patio, she got out her phone again. No new messages. She read Nick's over again.

‘
Working late. Don't wait supper. X
'

She sat looking at it dully. There was just that single kiss at the end. The rest was businesslike, abrupt. She remembered, shockingly, all those messages sent on 9/11, when couples pledged their undying love in a final call. If this was the last message she ever received from Nick, what would there be for her to cherish?

What an idiotic thought. It was a simple factual statement of why he wouldn't be back at the usual time. He hadn't even needed to include that kiss.

Nick hardly ever had to work late. He had said nothing to her when he left her this morning to indicate that he was meeting a client after office hours. Something must have cropped up.

‘It's all right. You can eat it,' Millie announced.

Suzie had not noticed the two plates of food that Millie had set down on the table. She had even brought a jar of mango chutney and a bottle of white wine.

Suzie gave her an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry. Miles away. This looks nice.'

She reached for the wine, then changed her mind. ‘I think I'll stick to water.'

She went into the cool of the kitchen and held her glass under the tap. She ought to be relaxing by now. She had learned a lot more today about the possible reasons for Eileen Caseley's death, but it was none of her business. All the people who had tried to tell her that were right. It was John Nosworthy's tyres that had been slashed, not hers. There was not even anything she could tell the police that they wouldn't already know.

She heard the front door shut again, more quietly. Tom would be out for the evening.

The hours passed. There was nothing she wanted to watch on television. Millie had gone up to her room. Suzie switched on her computer and got out her family history files. But for once the idea of trawling through the newspaper archives looking for more colourful stories didn't appeal to her. She tried a search for a few names and drew a blank. What then? There was that line of lords of the manor back in the middle ages. Should she take one of the women who had married into that family and search the internet to see if she could push the woman's own lineage back a few more generations? There might be documents on the National Archives website or information from someone else's family tree.

She selected Beatrice Lamont.

But again she got no further than the information that Beatrice was the daughter and co-heir of John Lamont of Combe Dennis, and that she had married Amyas Doble. Suzie had already read the history of the county's landed gentry which told her that.

It seemed that everything she tried brought her to a dead end.

Frustrated, she closed her laptop down and went to stand in the garden. The evening sun had dropped below the houses. A blackbird was singing its heart out. Nick's flower borders released the scent of lavender and roses as she brushed past. If he never came home, this garden would be his memorial.

What a strange thought to have.

She pulled herself up, shocked. What was she thinking? Nick was seeing a client. No doubt a pleasantly profitable contract hung on the result of this meeting. He might be wining and dining the client somewhere.

But it was strange that he hadn't said so when he'd dropped her off in town this morning.

Perhaps he wanted it to be a surprise. He might be planning an unexpected holiday abroad on the proceeds. They would get away from the unsatisfactory mystery which had dogged them these last few weeks.

All the same, he might have told her more than he had. He could have spoken to her, instead of texting. He should have given her some idea when he would be home.

She peered at her watch in the twilight. Ten o'clock. She had not realized she had been standing in the garden for so long.

Millie's voice came from the conservatory door. ‘He's not back yet?'

S
uzie was startled out of the paralysis that seemed to have gripped her. She moved swiftly back to the half-darkened house. She couldn't remember where she had left her bag and her mobile phone.

Millie followed her frantic searching. ‘Here, use mine.' She clicked on her father's name and handed the phone to Suzie.

The phone rang. Suzie's heart surged with joy. ‘He's switched on!'

The ringtone went on and on. Finally it died into silence.

‘He didn't pick it up,' she said helplessly.

‘You have to tell the police.'

Suzie sighed. ‘We seem to have been back to them so many times.' Yet she still held the phone in her hand, longing to do what Millie said.

‘If you don't, I will.'

Suzie moved to the phone book in the hall. Her mind was so tired she couldn't remember the police enquiry number for everything but a 999 call. There was a notepad on the small table. A name caught her eye, written in Nick's hand.
DS Dudbridge.
It was a mobile number.

Alarm fluttered across her skin, tinged with indignation. DS Dudbridge hadn't given them his personal number when he came to the house. Nick must have been in touch with him since, but he hadn't said anything.

She put down Millie's phone and dialled on the land line. The detective sergeant's answer came reassuringly swiftly.

‘Look, this is Suzie Fewings. I'm sorry to bother you so late, but my husband went out this morning and he hasn't come back. He texted me to say he was working late, but it's after ten. He's not answering his mobile.'

‘When did he text you?'

‘This afternoon. I picked it up about … I don't know … three o'clock? It wasn't there at lunchtime.'

‘Does his work often keep him out all evening? I'm sorry, I don't remember what he does.'

‘He's an architect. No, never. It's not often he's late home at all. And certainly not like this.'

‘Have you tried his office number?'

‘Yes. Just the usual out-of-hours voice message.'

‘Did he have his car with him?'

‘Yes. A Mazda Six. White.' She gave him the number.

‘I'll put a call out to see if anyone's seen it. Do you have any idea where he might have gone?'

‘No. I assumed at first he must have been meeting a client, and perhaps they went on to have a meal together. But I can't think why he wouldn't have phoned me to let me know. He must know I'd be scared, after everything that's happened. He talked to Bernard Summers on Saturday and now Bernard Summers is dead.'

‘Steady on, Mrs Fewings. Let's not jump ahead of ourselves. We don't know yet that Mr Summers' death is suspicious. It could easily have been an accident.'

‘You know it wasn't. Not after what he found at Saddlers Wood. I've talked to John Nosworthy, the solicitor. I know that Eileen Caseley left that bit of ground, Puck's Acre, to Clive Stroud. Don't tell me this hasn't got something to do with that. Very few people know about the gold, but Nick does.'

There was a cautious pause. ‘Look, Mrs Fewings, I can understand why you're upset, but there's no reason to think that your husband has come to any harm. What would be gained by silencing him? The will is bound to be public knowledge soon. And since you know about the gold, I imagine other people do too.'

‘We only know because Bernard Summers told Nick. And he regretted it immediately afterwards. He threatened Nick not to tell anyone.'

‘Bernard Summers can't harm him now.'

‘No, but whoever Bernard Summers was afraid of can.'

‘I'll get someone checking speed cameras, to see if we can pick up where Mr Fewings went. Meanwhile, try not to worry. There's probably a perfectly simple explanation. I'll be in touch if we hear anything.'

The line went dead. It was several seconds before Suzie could bring herself to put it down.

At last she looked up at Millie. ‘He's trying to be reassuring.'

Millie put an arm around her and led her back to the kitchen. ‘Tea or coffee? Or would you like another whisky?'

Suzie was annoyed to find that her hands were shaking. ‘Make that a strong coffee … How can you stay so cool?'

‘I'm shaking inside,' Millie said, with her back turned as she filled the kettle. ‘He's my dad.'

It was a long half hour later when the doorbell rang. Millie and Suzie were out of their seats instantly. They raced to the front door. Millie got there first.

Suzie's heart dropped sickeningly as she saw the two uniformed police officers on the doorstep. They showed her their IDs, but she was too alarmed to register the details.

‘Yes?' she said, hoarsely.

‘Is Mr Fewings here?'

‘No! I've reported him missing.'

The two officers, one male, one female, looked at each other. Suzie could not read their expressions.

‘Does he have a white Mazda Six?' The WPC read the number from her notepad.

‘Yes … I told DS Dudbridge that.' Fear was growing in her. She must not allow herself to imagine what they had found.

She caught the flicker of surprise on the male constable's face before he spoke. ‘I think we may have got our wires crossed here. A member of the public has reported finding your husband's car at Fullingford Castle. There was no sign of your husband, and the circumstances … looked suspicious. We thought it might have been stolen. The usual joyriders.'

Suzie stared at him blankly. ‘Fullingford Castle? That's on the other side of the county.'

‘It's not unusual,' the WPC put in. ‘They drive it until the tank runs out. But in this case, judging by where the thieves abandoned it, they'll have a long walk home.'

Possibilities were swirling through Suzie's mind. ‘You say Nick wasn't with the car? He hasn't had an accident?'

Again, the officers seemed to consult each other. ‘No,' said the male PC. ‘No, not an accident.'

A shiver ran through Suzie that she could not explain.

‘Would you rather we talked inside?' the WPC asked.

‘Sorry.' Belatedly Suzie ushered them into the sitting room. ‘I'm afraid I didn't catch your names.'

‘PC Ching and this is PC Gleaves. Mrs Fewings, you said you'd reported your husband missing to DS Dudbridge. Why the CID? Why not just to the missing persons department?'

Suzie wondered how much to tell them. She could feel the two uniformed constables' eyes on her, eager for something more than a routine car theft. Carefully she said, ‘We'd given evidence previously in the Eileen Caseley murder case. DS Dudbridge came to interview us.'

‘And you think your husband's disappearance may have something to do with that?' PC Gleaves was obviously excited now, his young face eager above his stab vest and fluorescent jacket.