Tainted Ground (5 page)

‘So, if you don't mind my asking,' Carrick said carefully on her return, ‘what constitutes a person who might come to a sticky end?'

The pot poised for pouring, Elspeth said, ‘Well, the older man threatened Helen Fuller when her dog ran into the communal garden in front of the mill, and soon after they moved in the woman picked some of the daffodils along the wall in front of the Jeffersons' house.'

‘That isn't
really
serious,' Carrick pointed out.

‘James, you're not with me at all on this,' Elspeth scolded. ‘Foul language, aggressive behaviour and thieving came easily to them. Second nature. That kind of people.'

‘And the other man?' he enquired humbly.

‘Worse. Sullen, always looking over his shoulder, something to hide. Helen said he reminded her of the actors who play crooks in
The Bill
.'

‘So she had a run-in with him too?' Patrick said.

‘Well, you know Helen. A bit like her dog – often where she shouldn't be. Only this time he'd parked his car across her drive. He swore at her too. Frightened her a bit.'

‘How did you discover their identities?' I asked Carrick.

‘One of my constables is a local, he thought he recognized the woman and had seen her driving into the mill. It was then a matter of asking him to knock on a few doors.'

‘Young Tim Collins, no doubt,' Elspeth said under her breath.

Just then John entered and gave Carrick a sheet of paper. ‘That article you wanted.'

‘Many thanks,' Carrick said. ‘How are you doing, sir?'

‘Progressing well I'm told, thank you.' The rector seated himself. ‘In the article Vera Stonelake mentions sinister happenings in the past with regard to the old barn but either she didn't research those fully or didn't regard them as suitable fare for a parish magazine as she didn't go into any more details. I can tell you though that I seem to remember that when I did a bit of reading up about this village the building had been the scene of a couple of suicides, one death from natural causes, plus the finding of another body where there were suspicious circumstances.'

‘Was this all recently?' Carrick asked in amazement.

‘No, by no means. I can't recollect the exact dates but all this happened over a two- to three-hundred-year period, the last occurrence, the suspicious death, I
think
, in 1966.'

‘I doubt there's any connection but it'll have to be looked into,' Carrick said.

Elspeth moved to rise. ‘Do you need me any more, James?'

‘I was just about to ask you what you know, if anything, about Brian Stonelake, the son of the old lady who owns the farm. It's up for sale, I understand.'

Elspeth sat back in her chair again. ‘You're going to think me a horrible woman who hasn't a good word to say about anyone, but I'd be surprised if Vera's will hasn't been altered from what she originally intended.'

‘Gossip?' he enquired, tempering the question with a smile.

‘No, by no means. Vera's a little confused now, you see. And when I visited her last week she said that Brian had been to see her with another man, and she had signed some papers. He had told her not to worry and that everything would be all right but she's sufficiently switched on to be concerned as she didn't know what the papers were. Obviously, it's none of my business but the couple told John years ago that they intended to leave the farm in equal shares to their three children, Brian, who incidentally isn't the eldest, Jennifer and Susan.'

‘So if he'd somehow worked a fast one and tricked his mother into signing a new will to disinherit his sisters, would that fit in with local thinking about him?'

‘Oh, yes, he's a nasty piece of work. Always has been.'

‘T
he signatures could have been required for setting up a power of attorney so her son could manage her affairs now she's in a home,' I suggested.

‘Yes, we mustn't jump to conclusions,' Carrick said. ‘And of course we must now concentrate on the murders. I'll undertake an extensive search of the entire farm premises.'

‘I wonder if there's any buried loot there,' I said.

Carrick got to his feet. ‘I knew it wouldn't be long before your imagination leapt into action, Ingrid. Patrick, I'd like you to go and talk to everyone who lives in the converted mill and find out what they know about these characters and their movements. Ask whether they've seen any strangers hanging around or vehicles they didn't recognize. But there's no need for you to involve yourself with the first-floor apartments where the victims lived – Kevin and his scene-of-crime team will go over them later.'

‘What about the victims' cars?' I asked quickly, before Patrick could say anything along the lines of ‘Aye, aye, sir.'

‘They haven't been found yet. Which, as I'm sure you'll agree, is strange.'

‘Does Brian Stonelake actually live at the farm?'

‘No. I think the place is completely empty now,' said Carrick, heading for the door. ‘Thank you for the coffee, Mrs Gillard. No, please, I'll see myself out.'

A little silence fell after the sound of the front door closing and then Elspeth said, ‘It's really wicked to strip out your mother's home before she's dead, isn't it? I knew that some of the larger pieces of furniture had gone to auction in Bristol but people were talking about skips up at the house.' She gave herself a little shake and began to gather up the cups and saucers. ‘He's living in a rented place down where the station used to be if you want to go and smack his ears for me. In a bungalow called the Firs.' Over her shoulder she called, ‘You're not going to get your own back and make James really beg you to help him when the going gets rough, are you, Patrick?'

‘No,' he promised gravely.

Hinton Mill, like so many others in Somerset, had once been used for the production of paper. It was a handsome stone building on three floors, the window apertures edged with cream-coloured Bath limestone. We drove into an expensively paved parking area screened off from the gardens by horn-beam hedges, the gardens almost surrounding the property except for where the river formed the north boundary, where there was a wall. The drive curved round to a row of garages, also partially concealed by hedging.

We were fairly familiar with the layout as, out of curiosity, we had looked over the place when it had first come on the market, before the conversion, some eighteen months previously. The overall impression had been one of overwhelming dampness, a problem one assumed had now been addressed, and we had decided that the restoration, even if we had decided to move then, would be far too expensive for us.

‘Well, whoever undertook the work didn't do it on the cheap,' Patrick said, getting out of the car. ‘I seem to remember that this area was a mass of weeds concealing chunks of stone that had fallen off the building.' He gazed at me pensively. ‘Are you taking notes or am I?'

‘You're the copper,' I reminded him, taking my pad and pen from my bag and placing them in his hands.

‘So it would appear that none of these vehicles belong to the victims,' he said, quickly listing the two saloons, one four-by-four and a BMW sports car.

‘According to James, no.'

‘James is still being a bit awkward.'

‘He might be deliberately trying to make you lose your rag. He might also be under orders to do just that. I can't believe that the army wasn't required to forward a reference.'

Patrick made a kind of snorting sound. ‘The army was never around when I lost my rag.'

I did not comment on this and there was a short silence as we walked towards the entrance and then I said, ‘One thing's for certain, though; it's proving to be a distraction.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘When you were working for D12 what would you have done with regard to the cars?'

‘The cars?'

‘Patrick!' I yelled at him furiously.

He started. ‘There's no need to shout.'

‘What would you have done?' I repeated.

At last, everything got switched on. ‘I'd have immediately contacted base to get a check done on them.' He sort of sagged. ‘Yes, you're right. I'm allowing this thing with Carrick to get in the way.'

‘Tell yourself that he isn't a friend of yours. You don't know him. He's the boss. Solve the crime.'

‘He'd really hate me if I solved the crime.'

‘Bugger Carrick!' I hollered. ‘This is
your
new career!'

Patrick gazed around somewhat apprehensively but no one flung open windows to throw anything or remonstrate with us. ‘OK,' he said quietly and walked away for a few paces to make the call.

I went to the entrance door, expecting to have to contact those within over a security system as there was a row of bell-pushes alongside grilles and small brass plaques listing the residents but it was open. I was pleased to see that Patrick made a note of all the names as he came in and we went to the door of Flat 1, to the right in the spacious marble-floored hallway that was home to several large and exotic potted plants.

There was no reply.

Flat 2 was accessed off to the left and after ringing the bell twice we heard slow footfalls within.

‘Yes?' said a lugubrious elderly man, opening the door about twelve inches.

‘Police,' Patrick said briskly, showing his warrant card. ‘I'm acting Detective Superintendent Gillard and this lady is my training adviser. I would like to ask you a few questions about the people who lived on the first floor. I take it you've heard about the deaths?'

‘Yes, we but never saw 'em,' said the man sourly.

‘May we come in?'

‘S'pose you'd better or you'll only keep pestering me. Someone rang the doorbell early this morning, too early, but I didn't answer it. That could have been your lot.' A tall, heavy man, he led the way down the hall and into a large sunny room at the end of it. ‘Keep it short, though, the wife's in bed with shingles and I've enough to do.'

We made suitable sympathetic noises and then sat down without being asked to do so. Patrick immediately got to his feet again and went over to the window to look out, glancing quickly at his notes as he did so. ‘Mr William Brandon?'

‘That's right.'

‘Do any of your windows overlook the car park?'

‘Not likely. That's why we bought this flat and not the other one on the ground floor – it's for sale by the way and they're in South Africa so it's no use knocking there. There's a hedge but they must get all the slamming doors and engines starting up.'

‘Thank you,' Patrick murmured. ‘But you do live right beneath one of the flats where the murder victims lived.' He smiled like a death's head, one of his tricks of the trade, and even though I should be used to it by now my skin always crawls.

‘What about it?' Brandon asked sharply, duly rattled.

‘Did you hear anything odd the day before yesterday?'

‘No, nothing.'

‘Not even in the hallway outside? No sounds of extra people going to and fro, no raised voices, nothing out of the ordinary?'

‘Nothing that I noticed. It's pretty quiet here but for the people on the top floor in the studio flats when they have parties. I complained last summer when all the windows were open so you could hear their damned music even louder. Not music, an infernal racket. Loads of drink too judging by the din they made. And drugs, if the truth was known.'

‘The residents of
both
flats on the top floor have parties? What, as combined efforts?'

‘No, at different times. But they tell one another when they're going to have them so the others can go out for the evening. Or invite them. The rest of us can go to hell.'

‘Who told you this?'

‘Mrs Dewitte. She's the one in South Africa. She got invited.' Brandon guffawed. ‘She's the kind of woman who would have been called fast when I was a lad.'

‘Were there any parties last Thursday night?'

‘No, thank God.'

‘Do you know if the people upstairs, Christopher and Janet Manley and Keith Davies, were invited to the parties?'

‘Couldn't tell you. Didn't even know what they were called.'

‘The residents' names are all listed outside the main door by the intercoms.'

‘Never looked at 'em.' Brandon, who had remained standing, now sat down lumpishly in an armchair. ‘Is that all your questions?'

‘Would you mind telling me what you did before you retired?'

‘I do mind as it's none of your damned business but I'll tell you anyway. I was fortunate in being left a fairly large sum of money as a young man and having a good head for money matters I was able to put it to use. Stocks, shares, financing various projects for other people. That kind of thing.'

‘I see. Have you noticed any strangers hanging around lately?'

‘No.'

‘Where were you on Thursday night?'

‘Why here, of course. I've told you, the wife's ill. I can't bloody well go anywhere right now.'

‘Are you quite sure you didn't hear anyone living above you leave the building on Thursday night?'

‘I've just said so, haven't I?'

‘Would it be all right for Ingrid to have a quick word with your wife?'

A pair of bloodshot, somewhat piggy eyes appraised me. ‘Two minutes, then. First door on the left.'

The door was actually slightly ajar. I knocked.

‘Do close it, my dear,' said a quiet voice when she had bidden me enter. Then, as I approached the bed, ‘I did hear most of it, the acoustics of this place are rather weird. There, take a seat.'

I sat on the pink upholstered chair indicated, the hand that had pointed to it be-ringed and elegant.

‘Marjorie Brandon,' said the lady. ‘I'm sure you're not really his training adviser.'