The Dead Place (33 page)

'He treats Vernon like what?'

'Shit. You know what shit is, Ben.'

'Yes,' said Cooper thoughtfully. 'You mean cack.'

'What on earth are you talking about now?'

'Just a call I forgot to make. It was something Tom Jarvis said to me when I was up there last.'

'The man with the dog that got shot? What's the latest on that business?'

'No further developments,' said Cooper guiltily. Of course, he'd had no time to do anything about finding the person who shot Graceless, but that didn't stop him feeling guilty.

'"No further developments" is what we tell members of the public,' said Fry. 'It doesn't work on me. Ben, I'd have thought you'd be more interested in it, being an animal lover and all that.'

'It got put on the back burner a bit,' admitted Cooper.

'Well, take it off and stir it occasionally, will you? It creates a better impression. By the way, did you manage to make an appointment with what's her name?'

Cooper looked at his watch. 'I'm setting off now.'

'Good.'

'By the way,' said Cooper. 'Professor Robertson - he's a widower.'

'Oh?'

'Don't get excited - there were no suspicious circumstances. His wife died of cancer.'

As soon as Fry had gone, Cooper made the call he'd forgotten.

'We'd be wasting our time,' said the forensic scientist, when he'd stopped laughing. 'All right, it might not have been exposed to the sun, but one thing you'll definitely get inside

276 a compost heap is bacterial activity. Any DNA present in cells from the gut lining will be degrading away in there and disappearing like - well, like shit off a shovel.'

In the background, his colleagues began laughing again.

'It was just an idea,' said Cooper.

'Tell you what, DC Cooper, let us know when your suspect has produced some fresh evidence.'

With deliberate tenderness, Madeleine Chadwick reached out a hand to the rose and cupped it in her palm. Its petals were still damp from the dew, and it glittered against her fingers, blood red on her white skin.

'Fair Flora,' she said. 'Yes, it's what my grandfather used to call me as a child. Flora is my middle name, you see. It's an old family name, but I've never liked it very much, so I don't use it. Besides, nobody understands the classical reference these days. It's the name of some kind of margarine, isn't it? I'm sure my parents didn't know that when they christened me.'

Mrs Chadwick was tall and straight-backed, dressed in old jeans and a baggy sweater that would have made anyone else look shabby. But she carried herself so well that on her it hardly mattered. Cooper guessed she might be in her early forties, though it was difficult to judge. She had good bone structure, and skin that had been expensively cared for.

'Your grandfather was Sir Arnold Saxton, is that right?' he said.

'Yes. And my father was James Saxton. He died recently, which is why the estate is being sold.'

'So your father didn't inherit the title as well as the estate? Wasn't he the eldest son?'

'He didn't inherit the title because my grandfather was a knight, not a baronet. There's a difference.'

'Ah.'

Cooper tried not to look embarrassed, and Mrs Chadwick

277 turned away, as if to help him. He imagined she'd wear a hat to protect her skin if it was sunny. Something with a broad brim that shaded her eyes. But today had been merely bright and overcast, no danger from the ultra violet.

'You must have been very sorry to leave Alder Hall,' he said.

'Devastated. When you've grown up in a house like that, it's very hard to leave. Fortunately, this cottage is mine. The old barn has been converted into two holiday homes, so the property brings in some income.'

Cooper looked at the house she referred to as a cottage. The views were what an estate agent would describe as 'panoramic'. The gardens alone were extensive, and there were also several acres of paddock around a modern stable block.

'You have horses?'

'Yes, but they're not kept here at the moment. They're in livery.'

'The house must be listed, I suppose?'

'Grade Two, I believe.'

Through a window he glimpsed oak beams and a spiral stone staircase, fringed lampshades and a carved horse mounted on a rosewood base. Pathways meandered through lawns and flower borders, stopping now and then at seats. An in-and-out driveway led to two double garages. One of the garage doors was open, and Cooper could see an internal WC. Who had a toilet in their garage?

There had been a gold-coloured Mercedes standing on the drive near the house. And in the depths of the garage, he thought he could also see a small blue Peugeot. He wondered if the engine was still warm, but could think of no excuse for checking.

'I visited Alder Hall earlier today,' said Cooper. 'You're familiar with the statue, I take it?'

'I used to visit her regularly when I lived at the hall. When I was very small, my grandfather took me to look at her. I

278 recall that I was bit scared of her at first. Grandfather told me I'd be a beautiful lady just like her when I grew up. But I didn't want to be a statue and stand alone in the woods all day. I thought she looked rather unhappy. But I got to know her better over the years.'

'Have you been back since your family left the hall?'

'To see Fair Flora? No, I haven't.'

'Not at all?'

She turned cool grey eyes on him in silent reproach. 'I just said so. Why do you ask?'

'I'm sorry, Mrs Chadwick. But somebody has been leaving flowers at the statue. I wondered if it might have been you.'

'Why on earth would I do that?'

But Cooper didn't answer. He was looking around her garden. It was too big to see everything from one spot. There were more flower beds beyond the trees and alongside the lawns.

'Do you grow chrysanthemums?' he asked.

Mrs Chadwick gave a faint smile. 'White ones, perhaps?'

'Yes. How did you know I was going to ask that?'

'Come this way.'

She began to walk towards the lawn. For a moment, Cooper paused to admire the way she managed to move so elegantly despite wearing sensible flat shoes and corduroy trousers worn and baggy at the knees. Then he followed her down a short flight of stone steps into an arbour, where white and yellow chrysanthemums grew in profusion.

'Mrs Chadwick, how did you know it was white chrysanthemums I was interested in?' said Cooper.

Madeleine Chadwick laid a finger alongside the tight, curved petals of a chrysanthemum head, not quite touching it as she had the rose. The colour of the flower almost matched her fingers. But the petals were stiff and brittle, like clusters of fragile bones.

'White is for death,' she said. 'I do know that. White chrysanthemums are the flowers you order for a funeral.'

279 She smiled at him again, expectantly this time. Cooper sensed a hot prickling on the back of his neck. The sun was warm in this sheltered arbour, and he wasn't dressed for the heat. Besides, he was starting to feel at a disadvantage, and he wasn't sure why. He was used to dealing with people from all backgrounds, but Madeleine Chadwick's air of secret knowledge unsettled him. Her superiority seemed effortless. It was nothing like the smugness of Freddy Robertson, who worked so hard at trying to be superior.

'I don't think I ever explained what enquiry I'm working on,' said Cooper.

'I don't believe you did.'

'Then how . . .?'

But he began to flounder, unsure what question he could ask her. Luckily, she took pity on him, and turned to mount the steps again, back into the cooling breeze.

'John Casey phoned me,' she said. 'He keeps me up to date with anything relating to the hall. So I know about your visit there.'

'Ah. I see.'

It was a relief to have the mystery explained. He should have guessed that Casey would have talked to her. But Mrs Chadwick had manipulated him so expertly that he hadn't thought of the obvious.

'But I can assure you that whoever left white chrysanthemums for Fair Flora, it wasn't me,' she said. 'That's what you came to ask, isn't it?'

'Yes.'

'I haven't been back to visit the hall since we left, two years ago. I don't want to see it empty and abandoned, the furniture sheeted up like a mausoleum. I'm happy to leave everything in Mr Casey's hands. The place doesn't belong to me, you know. It reverted to the Devonshire Trust on my father's death.'

'Yes, I'm aware of that.'

280 'So I have no claim on it, other than an emotional one.'

Madeleine Chadwick stopped by the rose bush again. She couldn't seem to keep her hands off the deep-red blooms. Their petals were a little less damp now as they moved slowly in the breeze, but their colour was so dark that they looked almost black as they turned away from the sun.

'John Casey told me that you and your colleague were particularly interested in the crypt,' she said. 'The bone collection.'

'Yes.'

'Well, the Alder Hall bones are centuries old. Surely they're of no interest to our busy present-day police force. So I'm surmising there must be rather more recent bones somewhere that you're looking for. Human remains, a victim of violence?'

'It's possible,' said Cooper. 'I can't say any more than that.'

She stroked the petals of the rose, releasing a rich scent, like port wine.

'Black Prince,' she said. 'Do you know anything about roses?'

'I'm afraid not.'

'Roses are very remarkable things. No wonder they've been revered so much through the millennia. People have regarded them with awe and reverence - and quite rightly. The plant itself isn't very prepossessing, is it? Rather ugly, in fact. And it has these sharp, cruel spikes that can draw blood in an instant. Yet suddenly, at the right time of year, this plant blooms into the most exquisite flowers, and a delightful scent fills the air. It's magical and mystical. It's a symbol of the triumph of good over evil. The idea should interest you, as a police officer.'

Cooper nodded, but said nothing. He felt ashamed of the cynical thoughts that sprang into his mind.

'A man came here a few weeks ago,' she said. 'He wanted my permission to visit the crypt and look at the bone collection.' 'Who was he?'

281 'I didn't get his name. I just sent him away. The nerve of the man, he simply appeared without warning, and he didn't come up to the cottage to knock on the door. I saw him standing over there, on the entertainment area.'

Cooper looked to see where Mrs Chadwick was pointing.

'Oh, on the patio?'

He heard her sigh deeply. Apparently, a patio ceased to be a patio when it was big enough. Cooper wondered if he should ask Mrs Shelley's permission to build himself a patio. Then he could invite his friends round for a barbecue next summer. If he still had any friends left by then.

'Could you describe this man, Mrs Chadwick?'

'Really, I didn't take much notice of him.'

'But surely you must have noticed something. His age, height, build, the colour of his hair? What he was wearing?'

Cooper was surprised to see Madeleine Chadwick looking faintly embarrassed. It was the first suggestion of a crack in her confident demeanour.

'All I can tell you,' she said, 'is that he wasn't the sort of person I would invite into my home. One often knows these things instinctively, without the need for noticing details. I hope you understand what I mean.'

She seemed to avoid looking at him as she pinched off a dead bloom. After a moment, Cooper felt a blush starting from somewhere deep in his boots. With perfect delicacy, he'd just been told that he, too, was a person Madeleine Chadwick would forget as soon as he'd removed himself from her property.

Then she suddenly seemed to relent. 'There was one thing . . .' she said.

'Yes?'

'He gave off a strange scent. I didn't get close to him, of course, but I noticed it after he left. It must have lingered, and I'm so familiar with the scent of my flowers that it was incongruous.'

'What sort of scent?'

282 She extended her tongue slightly between her lips, the way some people did when they were thinking. On Madeleine Chadwick, it looked as though she were tasting the air, testing for a scent. For a second, Cooper was reminded of the chameleon in its tank.

'Not a particularly unpleasant smell, but it didn't seem quite right on a man of his kind.'

'Could you describe it?'

'Oh, you know how a smell fades from your memory once it's gone. In any case, I couldn't identify it at the time. I felt as though I ought to, but I couldn't.'

'And this man hasn't bothered you since?'

'No, thank goodness.'

Cooper took the card from his pocket in its plastic bag. 'Do these words mean anything to you, Mrs Chadwick?'

She squinted slightly to read the card. She was probably one of those people who ought to wear glasses but didn't for some reason.

'"Watch over the bones. They must forget." Was this found with the flowers?'

'Yes.'

'I suppose it might have something to do with the bones in the crypt. Is that your conclusion?'

'It's possible. I don't suppose you recognize the handwriting?' She gave him a regretful smile. 'No.'

Cooper said goodbye to Mrs Chadwick at the gate and crossed the drive to his car. He took one look back at the garden, and saw her already bending over a plant, her hair catching the sunlight, her elegant fingers no doubt smelling of port wine.

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Madeleine Chadwick might be right about the triumph of good over evil. But the petals of a rose lasted barely a few days before they wilted and fell. Their triumph was short-lived. The thorns of the rose were different. Their cruelty lasted for ever.

283 24

Cooper tried not to look at Professor Robertson differently next time they met. He was making an effort to keep Diane Fry's comments out of his mind, not to mention his own reference to necrophilia. That was definitely one thought to rebury in whatever hole it had come from.

When he arrived at the house in Totley, the professor was in his garden, spraying ant powder on the flagged path and against the back wall. This evening, he was wearing black Wellington boots. Yet the trouser legs of his pinstriped suit were flapping outside the boots, which rather defeated the object of wearing them, surely?