Least of Evils (19 page)

Most of these powerful pistols and revolvers, purchased openly in the USA, were undoubtedly now in the hands of criminal gangs in north-west England. There was a ready demand, since the ban imposed on handguns in Britain after the Dunblane shootings in 1996 had been largely effective, making it very difficult for criminals to obtain them. The Ruger had been purchased during the previous June and smuggled through the airport a month later. It was very new: it was possible it had never been fired before the shot which ended Ketley's life.

Clyde Northcott looked at Peach as they digested this. ‘George French?'

‘Very possibly. Contract killers have their own chosen weapons, but a Ruger would have been an excellent addition to anyone's armoury. More important, if he always intended to leave it behind to allow the suicide theory, it's a brand-new weapon which is not traceable to him and thus the ideal one to leave in Ketley's grasp. We may have to take that Ruger up later with Mr French. I'll make some discreet enquiries with Manchester CID about where those weapons went to once they were in the country.'

The findings from the forensic laboratories arrived shortly after the PM report. There was no startling clue as to the perpetrator of this crime, but from what they had seen when they visited the scene, neither Peach nor Northcott had expected much. There was a smear on the carpet in the rear of the Bentley – hardly a soil sample, but enough to provide a match with the soles of the trainers that had left it, if they should ever be located. If this was a professional killer, disposing ruthlessly of his clothing after the completion of a job, those trainers were probably already under tons of rubbish on a waste disposal site.

A single hair had been retrieved from the back of the front passenger seat. It would not lead them to anyone directly, but it might eventually provide a match when a suspect was arrested and charged and compelled to provide a DNA sample. Material to clinch a case for the prosecution months from now, perhaps, but not a direct line to their killer.

This material, like everything found within the car during the minute examination by the forensic team, might be unconnected with whoever had killed Ketley, because there was no way anyone could prove it had not been there before that fatal final trip on Saturday night. According to staff at Thorley Grange, the Bentley had been valeted internally eight days earlier, so anyone who had ridden in the car during those eight days might have left behind the material which had been retrieved and analysed by the forensic team.

Janey Johnson was more comfortable in the office near the front door of Thorley Grange than most of the other people interviewed by the CID.

Most of the others had never been in there before, save for the few minutes when they had been interviewed before they were appointed. Janey had cleaned the room several times, and in recent days had come in to see to the pot plants which were kept on the window-sill of the west-facing window. The primulas were doing well, she was pleased to notice as she came in now; the vivid yellow and the red brightened a dull room considerably and reminded people that in another week it would be March, with the days stretching out and the grass beginning to grow on the long lawns by the front entrance.

Peach looked up from his chair behind the big desk and delivered the mantra he had issued to most of the staff. ‘It's just routine, this. Nothing to be afraid of.'

‘Yes. I've already seen you once. With Mrs Ketley.'

‘Of course you have. You won't need to be introduced to DS Northcott, then.'

Janey smiled cautiously at the formidable black man on Peach's right. Clyde nodded watchfully in return.

Peach said, ‘Most of the staff here have been interviewed and have signed statements for junior members of our team. You've got Clyde and me because you're one of the recent arrivals at the Grange.'

Despite his bland smile, he contrived to make the words sound like a threat. Janey settled herself with her knees primly together and said, ‘Yes. I've worked here since before the owners moved in, but I've only recently become a resident. I'll tell you whatever I can, which won't be much. I don't think I'll be able to add much to what you heard yesterday from Mrs Ketley.'

‘Really? I was hoping you'd have a different perspective and different information to give us. I was hoping you'd tell us things you didn't like to raise when the mistress of the house was present.'

His tone was light, but he was watching her closely. She realized in that moment that he would pick up any mistake she made, that he would notice any unnatural hesitations or evasions. But if you'd nothing to hide, you couldn't suffer, could you? She wondered with a shaft of sympathy how Chung Lee had fared with these two. He'd been struggling with a second language, as she was not. Even though his English was good, he wouldn't pick up every nuance, as she would – and as Peach would on the other side. She said, ‘I like Mrs Ketley and she's been a model employer. I wouldn't wish to say anything against her.'

He still had his smile, as if he recognized and was enjoying the preliminaries to something more serious. ‘I should remind you at this stage that we have now embarked upon a full-scale murder enquiry. Whatever your personal feelings, you must hold back nothing about Mrs Ketley or anyone else.'

‘I understand that. But I do not intend to conceal anything. As far as I am concerned, Mrs Ketley had nothing to do with her husband's death. But I do not know that. If I hear anything which alters my opinion, I shall not cover it up. I realize I would be very foolish if I attempted to deceive the police.'

‘I wish everyone would realize that. People who don't realize it get themselves into all sorts of trouble. For our part, I can assure you that you speak to us in the strictest confidence. Nothing you say in here will be revealed to your fellow-workers or the management – unless it becomes evidence in a murder investigation, of course.'

‘I don't think there's much danger of that, Chief Inspector.' Her small, serious face relaxed into a smile and her dark eyes sparkled beneath the short-cut dark hair, making them realize what an attractive woman she was. ‘As you said, in terms of residence, I'm a recent arrival here. In my view, it will be the people who've lived here for much longer who might have definite views on who killed Mr Ketley.'

‘I see. Well, you'll be happy to hear that one of those people, the housekeeper Mrs Frobisher, speaks highly of you and the work you have done since you came here.'

‘That is good to hear, because it's Mrs Frobisher to whom I am directly responsible. She has been very good to me; she extended my duties as soon as she decided I was competent. I think she was also widowed early in life, which no doubt gives her a certain sympathy for me.'

‘Yes. How did your husband die, Janey?'

The first intimate question, the first use of her forename. She wondered if he had been planning to dart this at her from the start. ‘Sam died suddenly. He was – he was involved in an accident.'

‘Really? It wasn't from some awful disease, then. One always tends to presume heart disease or some sort of cancer, when a man dies early, nowadays.'

‘No, it wasn't either of those. It was . . .' Suddenly she was in tears, throwing up her hands, trying to apologize, fighting for words which would not come.

The formidable Northcott was immediately at her side, thrusting a carefully pressed white handkerchief towards her. It looked even more immaculate as it passed from his large black hands into hers, which looked pale and tiny beside his.

Janey looked up, surprised by his solicitude, then nodded her gratitude, not trusting herself to speak. She was still shaken by a sob as she eventually managed to say, ‘I'm sorry. But this isn't relevant, is it?'

Peach had not moved an inch as he observed the little cameo of emotion between the two. But now he seemed genuinely shaken by his gaffe. ‘Probably not. I suppose I was trying to put you at your ease – mistakenly, as it turns out. It's a CID habit to find out as much as possible about everyone we speak to.'

‘I should be able to talk about Sam's death, shouldn't I? It's five years ago now. But it was a complete shock at the time, and it still catches me out when people raise it unexpectedly.'

‘That's quite understandable – rather to your credit, I'd say. You don't have any children, Janey?'

Another crass enquiry. It seemed for a moment as if she would lapse into tears again as she shook her head, not trusting herself with words. Northcott looked at his chief curiously, then accusingly. Peach's tone was quiet and sympathetic, but did he need to pry into obviously sensitive areas like this? The DCI didn't attempt to break the silence as it stretched through long seconds. Janey eventually composed herself enough to say, ‘We didn't have children, no. We were planning them at the time of Sam's death. Now I wish we'd done it much earlier.'

‘I see.' He shifted his position, glanced for a moment at Northcott. ‘Well, you've settled in well here, according to what everyone tells us.'

‘Yes.' She wondered if this was to remind her again that they had spoken to others and taken their opinions, that it would be unwise for her in turn to hold anything back. ‘The people I work closely with, like Mrs Frobisher, have been very kind to me. I've only lived in at the Grange for a short time and I don't know everyone.'

‘But people seem to trust you. Rely on you, even. You must have taken it as quite a compliment that Mrs Ketley herself chose to have you beside her when she spoke to us.'

‘I suppose it was. I'd rather she hadn't done that, as a matter of fact. It didn't make things easy for me with the rest of the staff.'

‘I expect some of them were jealous of you.'

A tiny shrug of the slim shoulders. ‘It's a small, rather closed world when you're a resident member of staff in a big house like this. Things can easily get out of proportion. I'm learning things like that as I go along.'

‘I'm sure you are. I'm sure you're an intelligent and resourceful woman. As I said, it's because you're a recent resident at the Grange that DS Northcott and I are speaking to you today. You must get to know some of the staff pretty well, when you're a resident.'

‘Only the ones I work closely with, at present. I see people like gardeners and the business employees sometimes at meal times, but there are still people whom I've never spoken to.'

‘I expect you know the residents well, though. You're bound to see them outside working hours.'

She looked full at him for a moment, trying to divine whether this was a serious query or merely a routine comment. Then her features slipped unexpectedly into a rueful smile. ‘I'm rather cautious with new friendships, to tell you the truth. Especially with men: some of them think that a youngish widow is fair game. “Gagging for it” was the term I heard on TV the other night. I'm fairly self-sufficient; I've had to be, over the last five years. I suppose I prefer to establish friendships on my own terms.'

It was a glimpse into a life which the two men in the room with her could only imagine. But this sturdy woman was merely explaining her conduct, not asking for sympathy. Peach accorded her sympathy, but that did not affect his persistence. He said with a hint of irony, ‘And have you made any attempts at friendship on your own terms in the last few weeks?'

Janey reflected for a moment, as the question invited her to do. It would have been easy and natural to say no, not as yet. But she had already been reminded twice that they had talked to lots of other people, who must have given their thoughts about her. She wanted to be finished with the CID and their questions, so she mustn't leave these men with the idea that she was holding anything back. ‘I've become quite friendly with Mr Lee – probably more in the days since Mr Ketley was killed than before that, I think. Chung moved into the Grange only a few days before I did and his room is just down the corridor from mine. He's keen to become a chef and works in the kitchen mostly, so we don't see each other much during working hours.'

‘But you've got to know each other quite well, nevertheless.'

She immediately bridled at that. ‘I didn't say that. We have in common the facts that we're resident and that we're alone. I didn't find him sexually threatening and you'd probably find he'd say the same about me.' She gave again that small smile, which was the more attractive for being unexpected and at her own expense. ‘Chung must feel very much alone at times. He's a long way from home and I think he's a natural loner.'

‘Yes. Mr Lee has friends in Brunton, though. He met one of them on the night when Mr Ketley died.'

‘Did he? I'm glad he's kept up with his friends. Still, he must find it strange here, operating all the time in a foreign language, even though his English seems very good. And now he's involved in a big murder enquiry. Whatever he'd anticipated when he moved in here, it couldn't have included that.'

‘Mr Lee seems pleased with his decision to come here, though. He told us he's getting the experience he wanted in the kitchen.'

‘Yes. Chung's very determined. I'm sure he'll end up as a chef with his own restaurant, one day. And I for one would be happy to eat there.'

Clyde Northcott decided that she would make a good friend, this quiet, contained, effortlessly pretty woman. Far too old for him, of course, but a good friend to have. He said, ‘Mr Lee was pleased with the financial aspects of working here, when we spoke to him. He found he lived cheaply and could save most of his wage.'

She looked at him for a moment, then gave him a smile which conveyed that she knew much more of life than he did. ‘And you'd like to know if I too am doing well for myself? Yes, I can confirm everything you say about the benefits of residence. We exist very cheaply here. And unlike the Victorian servants who lived here when the older part of the house was built, we have comfortable, well-heated rooms and we are paid a decent wage. Would you like to see my room?'