Remains to be Seen (23 page)

‘I missed something out of my report, sir.' The syllables fell out as if they were all part of one word, like that long Welsh place name he could never remember.

Percy Peach waited until the man in front of him looked again into his face. It took a long time, but eventually the hapless constable's eyes returned tremulously to base, like those of a monkey hypnotized by the cobra which is going to kill it. In contrast to the way the man in uniform had spoken, every syllable was distinct as Peach said, ‘Let's hope it's not something important, shall we, Constable Jeffries? I'm not quite sure what will happen to you if you've omitted something vital, but I don't think there is much call for eunuchs in the modern police service.'

Jeffries tittered, an involuntary, nervous sound, which rang round the small room and took a long time to disappear.

Peach did not join in this graveyard hilarity. He said, ‘I'm not laughing, lad. And I hope some murderer isn't laughing at Brunton CID because of you.'

‘All it is, sir, is that I forgot to mention something in my report. It's probably not important at all. Probably has no bearing at all on the killing that you're investigating.'

‘Perhaps you'd better let more experienced officers be the judge of that, Constable Jeffries,' said Peach with ominous control.

‘Yes, sir. Of course I should, sir. Well, it's just that a man came and looked at the crime site, sir. Came over the back wall of Marton Towers, I think. That's certainly the way he left, anyway. I started to follow him, but decided I couldn't leave the crime scene unattended. I was on my own up there at the time.'

Peach gave him a withering look. Nigel Jeffries duly withered.

He said desperately, ‘I acted according to the book, sir, which says that a crime scene should not be left unattended.' He glanced fearfully at the DCI, then ended tremulously on a dying fall. ‘But I did forget to include this man's appearance in my report.'

‘So you noted the precious facts of the times of your attendance at the scene, and the names of the officers from whom you took over and to whom in due course you handed over this onerous task. And forgot to record the appearance and departure of a man who may in due course prove to be an arsonist and a murderer.'

‘Yes, sir. That's about it, sir. Sorry, sir.'

Peach regarded him steadily for several seconds, then said, ‘You're a bog-roll, PC Jeffries. A wet, useless, disintegrating bog-roll. Let's have your description of this man.'

Nigel sensed that the worst was over. He had this information at least ready to deliver, though his tongue felt like dry leather against the roof of his mouth. ‘Young. Aged about twenty, I'd say. Caucasian. Height about five feet eleven. Weight difficult to assess, because he was wearing a loose-fitting navy anorak and lighter blue tracksuit trousers, but I'd say around a hundred and sixty pounds. Maybe a little less, because he was slightly built. Dark hair. He didn't come close enough for me to see the colour of his eyes or the shape of his features. No visible distinguishing marks.'

Peach regarded him balefully until he was sure there was nothing else to come. Then he said, ‘If you forget something as important as this again, lad, you'll be on your bike and looking for other employment. You can get your arse out of here now.'

PC Jeffries was only too ready to do that. He blurted a hasty, ‘Thank you, sir!' and turned so rapidly upon his heel that he almost fell over. He had his hand upon the door handle when the voice behind him said, ‘You were right to come in here and confess your sins, lad. You got one thing right, at least.'

Nigel Jeffries bolted to the male officers' washroom and followed a rapid and copious evacuation of his bowels with a series of deep breaths in the privacy of the cubicle.

In his office, DCI Peach looked up Lucy Blake's account of the interview she and DC Northcott had conducted at Brunton Golf Club. He decided that it looked as if Ben Freeman, cocaine user and former assistant to their murder victim, had visited the scene of his former employment at Marton Towers on the day after the fire.

S
ally Cartwright had always had the capacity to look calm when her inner emotions were in turmoil. It had been a valuable asset to her in a rather chequered working life. It had certainly helped to get her the housekeeper's post at Marton Towers. The capacity to remain calm, or at the very least appear calm, when domestic arrangements failed was a most valuable thing in one responsible for ensuring that the daily arrangements in the great house went smoothly. Neville Holloway had recognized and rewarded this capacity to remain composed and dispassionate while others panicked in a crisis.

It was a virtue which did not fail Mrs Cartwright even now, in this most extreme of crises. She had never been in a situation like this before, and she was feeling her way, but no one would have known that to look at her. She sat with her hands in her lap in an armchair covered in a crimson which matched the two sofas at the edges of the comfortable, low-ceilinged room. The window was open on the wall which faced the low March sunshine, but all traces of the scents of wet charcoal and fireman's foam which had been evident on their last visit had now disappeared.

She offered them tea, which Peach refused. Lucy Blake complimented her upon the decor of her sitting room, and she accepted the comment with a little shrug of her shoulders. ‘I was lucky, being in this end cottage of the stable block, I didn't have to move into new accommodation like some of the others.' She knew they had things to raise with her; she found that she wanted these harmless preliminaries to be over and out of the way as soon as possible.

As if he read her thoughts, Peach said bluntly, ‘You weren't completely frank with us when we saw you on Saturday.'

Sally had already decided that she wouldn't deny it if he opened with something like this. She would let them make the running. See how much they knew and not give away anything that she didn't have to. She said obliquely, ‘I was a newly bereaved widow. I expect I am allowed a little leeway for that, even by the CID.'

‘Indeed you are. I have to say that you haven't behaved like the bereaved widows we usually see.' It was bold, almost insulting, but Peach was nettled by the self-possession of this blonde woman with the blue eyes and pleasantly plump physique. She was into her forties and her pale skin showed a few lines around her sharply intelligent eyes; she was anything but the dumb blonde still beloved of Hollywood.

Sally Cartwright assessed him and his words for a moment, wondering whether to offer him any reaction at all. She glanced at the wedding photograph on the top of the television in the corner of the room and said quietly, ‘There will be a time for grief, in due course. At the moment, I still feel stunned by Neil's death. When you are able to tell me who killed him, when you release his body for a funeral, I might be able to allow myself the luxury of grief.'

It was too composed, too much a clever argument, for a woman in her position. Peach said abrasively, ‘If you want us to discover who killed him, you shouldn't conceal the reality of your relationship with him.'

This time she said nothing, acknowledging the challenge of his statement only by the slightest widening of those observant blue eyes. Without the assistance of a denial, Peach was forced to develop his theme for himself. ‘When we saw you on Saturday, you didn't tell us about the breakdown in your marriage. You withheld all mention of your husband's sexual relationship with Michelle Naylor.' He thought he caught the first hint of anger in her features with the mention of that name, but it passed in a flash and he went on, ‘That is hardly conduct which is calculated to help us find out who killed him.'

She transferred her hands slowly from her lap to the arms of her chair, then looked down at them for a second or two before she spoke, as if congratulating herself on the fact that her fingers were so still and relaxed. ‘I object to your word “breakdown”, Mr Peach. You should not assume that a marriage is at an end because of an affair. Such things do not help many marriages, but nor do they necessarily destroy them.'

She sounded as if she was debating an interesting proposition which had no personal application for her. Peach tried not to let his irritation show as he said sourly, ‘Are you now trying to argue that it was helpful to conceal this affair from us when we came here on Saturday?'

‘No. That would be absurd. I can see that in your position I should want to know all the facts. But a little imagination would tell you that it was natural I should conceal this rather sordid interlude from you. It does not enhance Neil's memory, and an affair with a younger woman is scarcely flattering to me. I submit that it is something which few wives would wish to enlarge upon.'

‘Maybe. But you are intelligent enough to realize that in a murder enquiry, things change. Important facts cannot be concealed.'

She gave him a small smile, which was a mixture of acknowledgement and denial. ‘Perhaps concealing the sordid detail of his tumblings with Michelle Naylor was the last service I could render to a dead man.'

Peach had had enough of her calm prevarications. ‘That might be the case if this was an ordinary death. It is emphatically not that. So why did you elect to deny us this knowledge – in effect, to lie to us about important aspects of your husband's final days?'

Sally Cartwright felt her pulses quickening at what she knew she must now deliver, but she remained as outwardly poised as ever. ‘I didn't see any reason to make myself more of a suspect. I know perfectly well that the spouse of a murder victim is always a leading suspect. Telling you about Neil's squalid love life would have informed you also that I had a strong motive for wanting to dispatch him.'

Lucy Blake had so far contented herself with studying this remarkable widow. She felt a reluctant admiration for the woman's self-assurance in the face of Peach's annoyance, but she knew also that such aplomb was admirable equipment for a murderer. Lucy said quietly, ‘The fact that you lied about this, or to put it charitably held things back, now makes it seem more likely that you killed Neil. You must see that.'

‘I do. I did what seemed to me right at the time. Since you seem to be making notes of this conversation, I should like you to record my formal declaration that I did not kill my husband.'

‘When did you last see him?'

‘I told you that on Saturday. He was supposed to be visiting his sister in Scotland for a few days. I watched him drive his car out of here at about one o'clock on the Sunday when he appears to have died.'

Peach said, ‘We needed to ask you that, in case you had chosen to modify that information also. Neil's car was found this morning.' He threw the fact in suddenly, watching for a reaction from this obstinately calm woman.

There was none that could be read in the open, unworried face. ‘And where was it found?'

‘On an unpaved road leading to a disused quarry near Clitheroe. It was under overhanging trees. A farmer out lambing noticed it earlier in the week. He didn't report it until two hours ago.'

‘Does it take you any nearer to solving the mystery of Neil's death?'

‘It may do. The forensic people are giving the vehicle the most thorough examination known to man at this very moment.' He looked again for apprehension in her, and saw none. ‘I'm very hopeful that clothing fibres or hairs will tell us who drove the vehicle to that isolated spot.'

‘Then let us hope that your optimism is justified.'

He thought he detected the faintest note of ironic amusement in her comment. Controlling his own reaction to that, he said tersely, ‘We've been examining various bank accounts since this death. It's quite usual for us to be given access which wouldn't normally be accorded to us, when we're investigating a crime as serious as murder.'

‘And no doubt you've found more than you expected in Neil's account.'

She was ahead of them, even here, controlling the tone of these exchanges, anticipating the revelation with which he had hoped to shock her. ‘We did indeed. Mrs Cartwright, how did you know that we would discover this?'

A little shrug of the broad shoulders above the nicely rounded breasts. ‘I didn't know. But I suspected that you might find something like that. We had a joint account into which our salaries from our work here were paid. This would be a separate individual account of Neil's. Probably with a different bank.'

It was so accurate that Peach wondered if it was knowledge rather than speculation with which she was teasing them. He did his best to appear unruffled as he said, ‘There is a sum of over forty thousand pounds. Most of it seems to have accrued over the last eighteen months.'

She shook her head sadly. ‘That doesn't surprise me.'

‘In that case, please be good enough to tell us where this money came from.'

She shook her head again, this time with the ghost of a smile, and in that moment Peach and Blake knew that she was relishing this, enjoying the little game of ploy and counter-ploy which she had done so much to introduce and control. ‘I can't do that. I'm surprised that you don't already know the source of this money.'

‘We have our own ideas about it. I think you have too.'

Sally nodded. This didn't threaten her: she could indulge herself a little with these two now, secure in the knowledge that this particular line of investigation wouldn't compromise her. ‘Drugs, I should think. That wouldn't surprise you, in view of the raid you conducted here last Wednesday night. You must have been in possession of a lot of information, to swoop on Richard Crouch and his cronies like that.'

‘You knew that the owner of Marton Towers was heavily involved in trafficking illegal drugs?'

She smiled more openly now. ‘Suspected, Detective Inspector Peach. Not knew. In my opinion, practically everyone who was a full-time employee at Marton Towers must have had a fair idea of where the money to run all of this was coming from. But we had jobs and prospects which we wouldn't have had without Richard Crouch, so most of us were sensible enough not to ask many questions.'