by Celina Grace
“Has he confessed to anything yet?”
“Not yet. No commenting himself all the way, at the moment.”
Kate rolled her eyes. “What do you want me to do?”
Olbeck rubbed at his jaw, where the dark tips of stubble were just beginning to surface. “Keep at him. I’m going to head home before Jeff divorces me.”
“Has Neville had a break?”
“Of course, what do you take me for? We got him up again at eight for questioning.”
“Okay, leave it with me.”
Kate gave him a quick goodbye kiss on the cheek. As Olbeck walked away, Kate had a thought. “What does he like drinking?” She gestured to the boy inside the room.
“Black coffee, I think.”
“Righto. See you later.”
Before she entered the interview room, Kate got a steaming mug (a mug, not a plastic cup) of black coffee, some of the nicer, wrapped biscuits and a pack of tissues. Then, carrying these things on a tray, she manoeuvred her way into the room. It was time for Good Cop, see if that made a difference.
She smiled kindly at both Oliver Neville and his solicitor and proffered the drinks, introducing herself in a slightly breathless, scatty way (very much not her usual modus operandus, but she had a feeling it might work in this case). Up close, despite his hipster trappings, Oliver looked like nothing so much as a grubby-faced boy, with suspiciously red eyes. Kate knew that Olbeck was a sensitive and careful interviewer but if this lad had gone a few rounds with Theo, as seemed the case, he would probably definitely be feeling a little psychologically tender.
“So, Oliver, could you just take me through what happened last night?”
Oliver dropped his eyes to the shimmering black circle of his coffee mug. “No comment,” he muttered.
Kate nodded, not letting her impatience show. “You’re a student, aren’t you, Oliver?”
The question clearly took him by surprise. “Yeah,” he answered, before he could think to give his usual answer.
“Where do you study?” Kate kept her tone as casual, matey and non-threatening as she could.
Oliver looked her full in the face and she saw his pupils widen as he looked at her properly for the first time. Well, well, thought Kate, amused. That could help.
“Um – um, at Abbeyford Arts.” That was the town’s premier art and drama college – Kate knew it quite well. Her younger brother Jay had studied there and there had also been a series of suicides there some years before*. Kate thought of that time with an inner shudder and then dismissed the memory. She nodded at Oliver encouragingly. “What exactly are you studying, Oliver?”
“Art.”
“Oh, my brother did the same,” Kate said, allowing some gentle enthusiasm to enter her voice. She smiled at Oliver, holding his gaze for a moment longer than was strictly necessary. Tentatively, he smiled back and she clenched her fist in triumph, out of sight, under the table. “He had some great teachers there. He was doing hyper-realism – you know, when the paintings look like a photograph? What about you? What kind of things are you doing?”
Hesitatingly, and with many a encouraging nod and smile from Kate, Oliver began to tell her about his course, the exhibition he was hoping to hold, the fine art degree he hoped to go onto after he finished at his college. The feet and his arrest were never mentioned, either by Kate or by himself. She didn’t even make notes, knowing that the entire interview was being recorded. It was much more like a therapy session than an interview.
*See Creed (A Kate Redman Mystery: Book 7)
If only she could get rid of the bloody solicitor! Kate had a feeling that a confession might be imminent but with his brief sat there, what chance did Kate have of encouraging him to come clean. She let no hint of this show in her face, which she kept in a gentle smile, holding it until she felt her face begin to ache.
Then, seemingly as a gift from the heavens, the solicitor asked to be excused for a moment. Comfort break, Kate thought, remembering Theo’s rather more ribald term for it. The memory threatened to make her giggle and she turned it into a cough, indicating with her head that the woman should go on ahead.
Once she and Oliver were alone, she knew she’d been right. He was bursting to tell her and immediately leaned forward. Kate mirrored him, keeping that kindly smile on her face.
“I didn’t mean any harm,” said Oliver, almost whispering. “But it was for my show, you see, I just thought it would be so – so powerful. You know, like, really meaningful.”
A little lost, Kate just nodded. Oliver continued, clearly encouraged by her interest. For the first time she wondered whether there might be something – well, whether he might have some additional needs.
“It’s called Disintegration, the show, I mean. Like, the decay of everything, society and politics and the environment, only I’m using kind of everyday objects to highlight it. You know, juxtapose decay against a living backdrop.”
Kate wouldn’t have termed severed human feet as ‘everyday objects’ but she said nothing, nodding again. She was beginning to feel like one of those silly novelty dogs that lie on the parcel shelf of cars, their heads dipping back and forth with every bounce of the suspension. Should she ask him where he got the feet? But no – he was finally talking freely now and Kate kept her mouth shut, even as the mousy solicitor came back into the room and sat back down again next to her now loquacious client.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“A bloody art exhibit,” grumbled Theo later that afternoon. “I’ve heard it all now, I seriously have. And you’ve let him go.”
“I had to, you know that. Besides—” Kate paused, thinking of the conversation she’d had with Olbeck before Oliver Neville’s release. “What exactly were we going to charge him with?”
Chloe, who’d been listening in as she packed up her desk, spoke up. “Surely – well – unlawful disposal of a body? Something like that?”
Kate shook her head. “No. The CPS would laugh us out of court.”
“Well, what then?”
“I’ve got it,” announced Theo. Kate and Chloe looked at him. “Littering.”
That made them all snort. Shaking her head, Kate looked down at the notes she’d made. “I had to let him off with a caution. There is one interesting thing, though.”
“One interesting thing...” Theo ambled over and perched on the edge of her desk. “What’s that?”
“Well, remember how we were all debating where on earth anyone would be able to have three separate human feet in their possession?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, now we know. Oliver got them from an on-line auction. They were scientific exhibits, medical curios, I suppose you would call them.” Mentally, Kate saluted Anderton, who’d been bang on the money with that one.
Chloe looked puzzled. “Well, that’s an explanation of sorts but I don’t quite see—”
Kate flicked over a page of her notebook. “The auction was selling off a lot of stuff from a closed-down art gallery. Anyone heard of it? It was on Bridge Street, in the Old Town. Granello Fine Arts?”
Chloe and Theo were looking blank. To be fair, Kate had never heard of it either, she didn’t exactly have cause to patronise fine art galleries particularly often.
She went on. “Anyway, I did a bit of digging, called the auction site. The sale was because of probate – the owner of the art gallery had died.”
“Come on,” said Theo. “There’s obviously more.”
“You are the world’s worst at the big reveal,” agreed Chloe, grinning.
“Huh.” Kate pushed her hair back and went on. “Anyway, the co-owner of the gallery, along with the dead guy is – guess who?” Over their audible groans, she smiled and added, “Okay, okay. It’s Terence Buchanan, the guy with the head in the jar.”
“What?” Chloe raised her eyebrows.
“I know. Odd coincidence, hey?”
“Seriously?” asked Theo.
“Yes. He and his partner, the guy that died – his na
me was Matteo Granello, by the way – opened it in the late nineties.”
“So, why didn’t he tell us about the feet?” Chloe asked.
“Well, to be fair, he may not have known about them. But I’m going to go and ask him, just to wrap things up.” Kate threw her notes into her handbag and picked up her coat. “So I’ll be out for the afternoon. Can someone organise some flowers and a card for Rav and Jarina?”
The good weather held. Kate drove along the rapidly greening lanes, enjoying the sight of the spring flowers and the leaves on the trees opening into that fresh green colour that lasts so little time before darkening. She’d called ahead to ascertain that Terence would be at home. What a strange little case this had turned out to be...
He greeted her politely at the door and ushered her once more into the drawing room. Kate explained, quite simply, why she was there. “It’s a matter of tying up loose ends, Mr Buchanan. Thank you for seeing me.”
“That’s quite all right, DI Redman. How can I help?”
Kate brought up the gallery and his partnership with the late Mr Granello. “Were you aware that he stocked this kind of – well, curiosity?”
Terence shook his head. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I had no idea. I was very much what they call a ‘silent partner’ in the business. It was Matteo’s baby – he was the artist and collector.” He smiled rather sadly. “I was, I suppose, the money. Anyway, we dissolved the business partnership a few years ago and Matteo took it on by himself. He was making enough money by then to do so.”
Kate caught the change of expression. “May I ask what Mr Granello died of? I’m sorry if it’s a painful subject, I’m just trying to get the whole picture, if that makes sense.”
“Yes of course. Poor Matteo – he had pneumonia.” Terence hesitated and added, “Actually, sorry, I don’t know why I’m fudging it – it hardly matters now. But Matteo, well, to put it bluntly, he had AIDS. The pneumonia was a complication of that.”
“Oh, I see,” said Kate. She was a little shocked. Did people really still die of AIDs in this day and age? She’d thought that the drug treatments were really effective now. But of course, there had to be exceptions. Looking at Terence, she wondered at the extent of his partnership with Matteo Granello. Had they been in a relationship? She could hardly ask him if he were gay...
Terence was still speaking. “Anyway, he bought all sorts of things. Fine art, yes, but he loved the more – quirky – collectables.”
“Like your head in the jar.”
The sadness dropped from Terence’s face and he actually chuckled. “That he did. He actually used to call it Graham.” Kate laughed while Terence shook his head. “I’d forgotten that.” He paused and added, the laughter dying away, “I miss him.”
“I’m very sorry,” said Kate, reflecting that she had seemed to say nothing much else over this case. “Anyway, thank you for your time, Mr Buchanan. I’ll leave you in peace now.”
“Let me show you out.”
At the front door, Kate hesitated and held out her hand. Terence shook it, saying goodbye courteously, before shutting the door behind her.
Kate walked down the entrance steps to her car. She sat for a moment in the driver’s seat, looking up at the house. There was a tiny thread of disquiet running through her, so tiny as to almost be dismissible. Was it the case? She saw, for a moment, Terence Buchanan framed in the window of the drawing room. Their eyes met and after a long moment, he smiled.
Kate smiled back, forcing it. Come on, woman. There’s nothing more you can do here. She lifted a hand in farewell and drove away, putting that momentary flicker of unease to the back of her mind. Home time.
EPILOGUE
Terence Buchanan watched as the inspector drove away, the smile dropping from his face. He waited for several long minutes, until he was sure DI Redman wasn’t coming back. He hadn’t liked the look on her face when she’d met his gaze.
After twenty minutes, he knew he was safe. He went into the corridor. The ceiling hatch here was hidden in darkness at night, unless the hall lights were put on. Terry flicked the switch to illuminate the hatch, making very sure that the plush red velvet curtains that hung on the hall’s only window were tightly shut. Then he fetched a dining room chair – these Georgian ceilings were so high – and reached for the hatch, catching the interior ladder before it fell on his face. He moved the chair and settled the ladder, climbing up to the dark heights with the usual growing excitement and anticipation. It had been too long. Should he wait? The sensible thing would be to best to wait until all this ridiculous foot business died down. No, he wanted to do it, he longed to - and Mother would be out for hours...
He climbed the ladder and stepped carefully onto the boarded floor of the attic. He felt for the keys in his pocket and opened the two heavy-duty padlocks that kept the treasure inside the large chest freezer safe from view. As he raised the lid, frosty air swirled out, hiding the contents for a few seconds. Used to this, Terence blew warm breath over the coils and they abated. He gazed down at the beautiful things inside.
“The police are fools,” he said, because he often talked to her. “As if I’d have anything to do with those disgusting old feet.” He picked up one of the icy packages and regarded its contents with a smile. “Whereas your feet, Poppy my darling, I think I could stomach. Yes, I think I could.” He replaced the package into neat order and added, “Soon. Soon we’ll be together, even more of you.” He blew what was left of her a kiss and closed the freezer door reluctantly, locking it up again so as to keep his special girl safe.
THE END