Kith and Kill (4 page)

“Mummy’s gone to the hospital to be with Auntie Jane,” Fiona, the younger daughter explained in a matter of fact tone. The elder daughter looked at the officers with suspicion and said nothing.

“Daddy had to drive because Mummy was too upset,” Fiona added.

Amos glanced at DC Smith, who took the hint that the girls might be more comfortable with a female officer.

“Did you go to your Grandad’s funeral?” she asked.

It was a start, although it was obvious from the black dresses they were still wearing that this had been the case. Fiona confirmed their presence at the events earlier in the day.

“You must have been very close to him,” Smith continued uncertainly, trying to draw on anything she could remember of what Amos had asked Luke’s wife and daughter.

“S’pose,” Jackie said.

“Who was at the funeral? Just family?”

“Course.”

“And at the wake?”

“Same.”

“Did you see any strangers, anyone try to gatecrash at the pub?”

“Naw.” This time the uncommunicative Jackie added a shake of her head.

“How was your Uncle Matthew? Did he seem OK?”

“He was fine.”

“He didn’t seem a bit queazy towards the end? Could anyone have spiked his drink?”

“Who are you accusing?” Jackie snapped.

“We’re not accusing anyone,” Amos butted in. “We’re just checking what happened. We’ll come back when your parents are at home.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Smith blurted out as they returned to the car and they heard the house door close behind the two girls. “I thought you wanted me to question them. I made a real mess of it, didn’t I?”

“Absolutely not,” Amos said reassuringly. “Yes, I did want you to put the questions because there was a better chance they would open up to someone more their own age. You asked the right sort of questions. We just weren’t going to get any more out of them.

“It was my fault for not cutting you off sooner. If there’s any comeback, I’ll take the blame.”

Chapter 7

There was better luck with Mark Wilson, who was not only at home but welcomed the two detectives into his home expansively.

It was funny, Detective Inspector Paul Amos thought, how the two brothers had more modest homes than the two sisters he had visited so far. Although girls had far more educational and employment opportunities than when Amos had started out in life, the odds still favoured the boys.

Perhaps the brothers had expensive wives and the sisters generous husbands. Or perhaps the girls, facing tougher barriers, had tried harder.

“Don’t suppose I can offer you a drink,” Mark said as he ushered Amos and DC Smith into his small front room. He walked over to the sideboard and picked up a glass containing an amber liquid that Amos assumed was scotch.

Mark took a swig.

“That’s fine, thank you Mr Wilson,” Amos said politely.

“I’m afraid I’d already had a drink when we heard about poor Matthew,” Mark Wilson explained, “otherwise I’d have dashed down to the hospital myself. Only a small one, of course, but I never know how much takes you over the limit so it’s best not to chance it.”

“Very commendable,” Amos said simply and unconvincingly. “I‘m sure the Chief Constable would approve.”

Mark looked at him curiously, unable to work out whether Amos was being sarcastic or patronising. He took another swig of his whisky and decided to ignore the remark.

“Your wife couldn’t have run you down?” Amos asked.

Mark looked uncomfortable and merely shook his head, then took another swig.

“I gather the wake for your father was held at a pub so I suppose there was a bit of drinking there as well,” Amos went on unabashed.

“Are you accusing me of getting drunk at my own father’s funeral?” Mark demanded hotly. “How dare you. I can hold my liquor. Not that I had more than one drink,” he added hastily, realising what he had said.

Amos leant forward and spoke coldly: “Your brother’s death is sudden and as yet unexplained. We have to ascertain what happened.”

Mark took another swig and topped up his glass from a rectangular cut glass decanter half full of scotch. Next to it on the sideboard was a round decanter with a wide base. This contained a deep red liquid that looked like port. No other alcohol was readily visible.

“Sure you won’t have one?”

Amos shook his head.

Mark added some ice that he extracted with a pair of tongs from a small round ice bucket next to the decanters.

“Was Matthew all right at the funeral itself?”

“Yes, I think so. I didn’t notice anything.”

“And at the wake?”

“Yeah, I suppose so. I don’t know really. We didn’t talk much. I wasn’t in the mood for small talk.”

“Perhaps you didn’t like the way he had taken over all the arrangements for the funeral.”

Mark looked at him curiously.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said. Oh yes you do, Amos thought.

“I gather he had to be forced to have a funeral service at the Chapel, it was his idea not to have the minister at the graveside, and he booked the pub for the wake off his own bat.”

“Well, someone had to do it and I didn’t want to make all the arrangements. He was the eldest after all. Matthew was in his element. At least it made him happy in the last thing he did.”

“Who did he talk to if it wasn’t you?”

“I didn’t say he didn’t talk to me,” Mark said irritably. “I just meant he didn’t talk to me in particular. He went round everyone – and there were quite a lot of people to get round. We’re a big family. Like you say, he’s head of the family now. I mean, he was,” Mark added hastily.

“Did you notice how much he had to drink?”

“Not really. I don’t think much. None of us did. Come to think of it, I don’t think he had more than a pint. Half the time he didn’t have a drink in his hand. It was a pint, I think, but I can’t particularly remember. It could have been a half. It didn’t seem a big deal at the time.”

“Did you see anyone other than the family in the room?”

“Apart from the chap behind the bar? No.”

“Did you know him? Had you ever seen him before?”

“Didn’t know him from Adam. I’d never been in the pub before. I didn’t even know it existed. I don’t think any of us did apart from Matthew.”

“Anyone hanging around the door?”

“Oh, you mean that woman? No, I didn’t see her but Agnes - my wife - said something about her. Agnes went over to the door and asked her what she wanted. The woman beetled off and Agnes closed the door. We didn’t see her again.

“I missed all the excitement. I was down at the other end of the room.”

“That was the end where the bar was, I understand,” Amos said innocently.

Mark glared at him but said nothing.

“Perhaps we could ask your wife for a description of the woman,” Amos said.

“Then you’ll have to come back another time. She’s not here.”

“Where is she, Mr Wilson?”

“She’s down at the hospital with Jane.”

Chapter 8

Mary Wilson was the youngest of the Wilson siblings and the only one who was not married. She still lived at what had been the parental home, a modest terrace house that looked hardly big enough to have once accommodated such a large family.

How on earth did so many people cram into these tiny rabbit hutches, Smith wondered with an internal shudder.

Mary eyed the detectives with suspicion but grudgingly allowed them into the house and showed them into what she referred to as “the room”. The suite of a settee and two arm chairs did not look expensive but it was hardly worn. Amos assumed that “the room” was used only on special occasions. Perhaps, he thought, he should feel flattered to be regarded as a sufficiently important visitor.

Amos and Smith took the two chairs. Mary thought for a moment or two as if considering whether she could get rid of the officers quickly enough to make sitting down a waste of effort. A glance at Amos making himself comfortable dispelled that hope.

As Mary reluctantly occupied the settee, the inspector glanced round the room. It was spotless: no dust to be seen, not a speck on the carpet.

“It’s about your brother, Matthew,” Amos began.

“Yes I know what it’s about,” Mary cut in irritably. “I’m not completely stupid.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Wilson,” Amos said courteously. “I was not sure that you knew what had happened and his sudden death would have been a nasty shock to you if you hadn’t heard yet.”

“Well I have heard,” Mary Wilson said ungraciously. “They did at least manage that much. I must say he looked a bit squiffy at Dad’s wake. You’d have thought he could manage to stay sober for that. And he’s not even the drinker in the family.”

“Was he drinking much?”

“Well he must have been, mustn’t he? “

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, the way he was staggering about at the end. Jane and James had a job to get him to the car.”

“Did you actually see him drinking?” Amos persisted. “What was he drinking?”

Mary looked at Amos curiously, as if he had taken leave of his senses.

“He was drinking beer,” she said scornfully as if addressing an imbecile. “In pints. Yes, I saw him actually drinking it at one point. I don’t know how much he had because I didn’t see him at the bar. There always seemed to be something in his glass, though, so I assume he kept topping up. He must have got through three pints at least.”

“Did you see him eat anything? I gather there were sandwiches?”

Mary decided that this was a sufficiently sensible question to warrant consideration.

“Yes, there were sandwiches and pork pie and crisps,” she said after due consideration. “Matthew had organised it. There wasn’t a lot because it was only the family. Now you mention it, I think he was the only one eating the stuff. He looked as if he wanted to get him money’s worth. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. Is it important?”

“Probably not,” Amos answered, “but I just need to build up a picture as it was a sudden death and he doesn’t seem to have been on any medication or have any health problems.”

“Yes, but it is just routine, isn’t it. I mean, it was natural causes?”

“We have to wait for the post mortem but in the meantime we have to treat this as an unexplained death.”

Mary Wilson looked unconvinced.

“I gather your brother Matthew made all the arrangements,” Amos stated.

“Oh yes, he certainly did that,” Mary said bitterly. “Always performing the ‘I’m the eldest’ routine whenever there was anything big but he never had time to help when little things needed doing. Where was he when Mum and Dad needed looking after?

“He never did a stroke to help. Always too busy. None of the boys pulled their weight. The girls always had to clear up after themselves and their brothers when we were young. Then when Esther and Ruth got married I was stuck at home doing it all. They all had educations, careers, homes. I had nothing.

“Nobody appreciated it. You noticed the names? They wanted another boy. I was a big disappointment to them.”

The reference was lost on DC Smith, who was surprised to see Amos nod his head.

“Ah yes,” he said sympathetically. “It had occurred to me. The three boys have the names of the first three gospels. The first two girls used up the only two books of the Bible named after women.”

“I should have been John. Instead I got Mary. Born without sin – which is more than you can say for any of the boys. They were always spoilt and they led sinful lives as a result.

“I’m the only one who still goes to chapel. The others have forgotten what they were taught at Sunday School.”

Mary sighed and paused but Amos was not inclined to interrupt while she was being loquacious. You never knew what insight she might let slip. She was staring vacantly out of the window, almost as if the two police officers were not there.

“Now God is testing me again,” she finally said quietly and sadly. “I shall be homeless. I’m the only one who needs a home, the one who is most deserving, and I have been left out of the will. Disowned when it is too late to start my life all over again.”

“You’ve been left out of the will?” Amos echoed in surprise. “Do you know for sure? Have you seen the will? Do you have any idea why your parents would not provide for you? Who does inherit?”

“Oh I know, all right,” Mary said, the bitterness once more overcoming her desire not to fail God’s test. “Take my word for it. I know.”

Amos decided to take her word for it. There would be time to read the will, if one existed, and see whether she was right.

As they left her house, Amos said to DC Smith: “Thanks, Susan. I’ll drop you off at home. That’s all we can do for now. We’ll gather the team together tomorrow.”

“Am I in the team?” Smith asked eagerly.

“You are now,” Amos replied.

Chapter 9

Detective Sergeant Juliet Swift was back alongside Paul Amos the following morning as they drove to the veterinary practice that ranked Esther Bell among its staff.

Amos had quickly updated his team on developments so far, leaving detectives in the office to check on the backgrounds and bank statements of the six members and five spouses of the Wilson family.

DC Smith had been briefed to work her way through the younger generation of Wilsons, taking care not to interview any under-aged offspring without at least one parent being present. Amos reckoned that Joseph Wilson’s grandchildren were less likely than their parents to hold the key to the investigation but if they did then a younger detective stood a better chance of finding it. Amos had in any event seen three of them the previous night and would have plenty of opportunity to talk to them himself if the need arose.

The owner of the vet’s surgery stepped forward to greet the inspector as they arrived, introducing herself as Vickie Johnson.

“Detective Inspector Amos, I assume” she said gushingly.

“Were you expecting us?” Amos asked casually.