Silent Crimes

by MICHAEL HAMBLING

  Her first thought was that the money in the bank had its origins in some kind of fraud involving the commune’s accounts, but this proved not to be the case. Clearly, Prentice had only been a part-time member of the farm community and seemed to have kept on working all through its existence. Lydia discovered that he’d worked as a senior economic adviser at a merchant bank, based in their Bristol offices. His money had come from several large bonuses that he’d earned from some far-sighted investments. Lydia checked through the information they already held about Prentice, gained from the boss’s visit to Salisbury. It matched. The father had said that Paul worked in investments for a few years but that he was unhappy in his work. But it didn’t answer the obvious question: what had happened to cause such a dramatic change in his lifestyle? It had to have been some traumatic event, surely? And why had he visited the north-east so often?

  She knew that Prentice and Katie had paired up at the time of the abortion. The sketchy evidence in the police records tended to indicate that they’d formed a deep bond, although that only came from the letter Jade had discovered and the observations of Paul’s parents. Lydia took another look at the contents of that letter. It pleaded with Prentice to come and rescue her, almost as if she were being held against her will. Was it possible that she’d been killed in the interim, before he could get there? How would he have reacted then? Of course, that would depend upon what the people at the commune told him. What would have been their most likely explanation? That Katie Templar had left and gone away somewhere, Lydia supposed. What would Prentice have done then? Probably made some efforts to trace her. So was that the reason behind the Berwick visits?

  She decided to change tack and check the dates of his journeys. Would Barry have an idea from his conversation with the hostel warden in Taunton? She lifted the phone, but then put it back. Something in that emotional letter Katie had written all those years ago jarred. It didn’t fit with what they knew. There it was. Katie had referred to a member of the commune who had taken on the role of medical expert. According to the letter, that person had previously worked in a pharmacy but was not a qualified pharmacist. Katie had also referred to that person as a she. Surely it was Catherine Templeton? But Catherine had insisted that she’d only joined the commune late, just before it collapsed. She’d claimed she’d never met or heard of Katie Templar. Was she lying? If so, why?

  *

  It took Rae most of the afternoon, but she finally managed to contact a woman who had been a close friend of Katie’s at university. Sandra Bulmore had been on the same degree course and had shared a flat with her during their final year. She’d found a job locally after graduation and was still living in Durham. On the phone, Sandra said that she’d kept in touch with Katie for several years, but for some reason Katie had suddenly stopped contacting her, and she’d never heard from her erstwhile friend again. What she did remember, though, was that Katie had another aunt and uncle, other than her Somerset-based guardians. They were from her mother’s side, whereas the Somerset couple had been related to Katie’s father. They had attended Katie’s graduation ceremony, travelling down from Berwick-Upon-Tweed especially for the occasion.

  Rae and Lydia went to see Sophie in her office and told her what they’d found.

  ‘There’s a link here, surely,’ Sophie said. ‘Paul Prentice made several visits to the north-east in recent years and now we discover that Katie had family living there. Rae, can you organise yourself to make a visit? See this Sandra Bulmore in Durham first, then head to Berwick. You can get a train there direct from Durham. Can you make a start tomorrow? You might have all these questions sorted and be back here by the weekend. Does that seem sensible to you, Lydia?’

  Lydia pretended to scowl. ‘Huh. I’m jealous. I’m stuck here on these bloody crutches and she’s off gallivanting around the country.’

  Sophie laughed. ‘Rae, you’ll need to bring back some local goodies, just so we stay on the right side of Lydia here.’

  ‘A six-pack of Newcastle Brown?’ Rae suggested, struggling to keep a straight face.

  ‘That isn’t remotely funny. Some local chocolate will be fine though.’ Lydia’s scowl softened into a smile.

  ‘Given what you’ve discovered, Lydia, we need to have a rethink about Catherine Templeton. She’s been lying to us and we have to find out why. Maybe she was more involved in the whole thing than she’s been letting on. Maybe she’s been pulling the wool over everyone’s eyes about the nature of her relationship with Trent Baker. Maybe the picture she’s painted of herself as the totally innocent victim of his evil manipulations is just a fiction. We need to know more about their back-story. Can you do that?’

  ‘Of course. But there’s something else you need to know. Catherine Templeton owns a car.’

  ‘Yes, we know. It’s a red Ford.’

  Lydia smiled grimly. ‘It is now. But she’s only had that one since the end of last week. She traded in her old car in part exchange. It was a white VW Polo.’

  Chapter 29: Durham and Berwick

  Thursday

  Rae loved travelling by train, so she had jumped at the chance of a rail journey to the north-east of England, particularly since she’d never been further north than York on that particular train route. She settled into her seat at Kings Cross station, thinking that she really ought to travel on across the border to Edinburgh sometime. Maybe a weekend break with Craig during the festival? He’d enjoy the fringe, especially its off-beat comedy shows. She waited until the train pulled out of the station and then took out her notes and spent much of the journey re-reading the somewhat sparse information they held on Katie Templar. It was her job to add some detail to the few facts they had. If all went well, she should be returning the next day with a much clearer picture of the young woman who seemed to have been universally liked and admired in the commune’s heyday. But maybe that perception of her had been distorted by time, and the general unwillingness to speak ill of the dead. Had she really been the paragon of virtue that people now chose to remember?

  The journey passed uneventfully, as had her early morning trip into London from Wareham, although that train ride had been more interesting in terms of the landscape. The East Coast Main Line was too flat and monotonous, until they approached York, and then both the countryside and the towns became more interesting. She descended onto the platform at Durham a minute or two earlier than scheduled, so she wandered around the station for a short while. The railway line was set fairly high above the city, partly on a viaduct, so she could look down on the old buildings and streets of the city centre, taking in the ancient cathedral and castle set on high ground above a tight bend in the River Wear. It was all very picturesque in the early afternoon sunshine. She decided to walk to the address she was visiting. She needed to stretch her legs after so much time cooped up in the train. It would probably take her about fifteen minutes to walk to her destination, a house in New Elvet. Apparently it was one of the old streets in the city centre, where the houses all looked expensive. Sandra Bulmore had also studied economics at university and maybe she had made a success of her subsequent career. She would be at home for the early part of the afternoon and, when they’d spoken on the phone, had offered to provide a lunch of sandwiches and other nibbles. Rae had gratefully accepted the offer. Anything was preferable to railway food.

  It took her less time than she’d expected to get to the house, which was a beautiful white-painted building, probably dating back more than a century. Rae rang the doorbell and was surprised when it opened and she found herself looking down at an attractive middle-aged woman in a wheelchair. She was well-dressed, with short pale ginger hair and freckles.

  She smiled cheerfully up at Rae. ‘I’m Sandra, and you must be Rae Gregson, the detective. Come on in.’

  The ground floor of the house had been adapted for wheelchair use, with open areas that Sandra sped through. Rae had trouble keeping up. They arrived in a sunny room to the rear and settled at a table set with plates o
f food.

  ‘The tea’s freshly made,’ Sandra said. ‘I phoned the station and they told me your train had just arrived. You made good time getting across here if you walked. If you took a taxi, then the driver took you for a bit of a ride. You know what some cab drivers can be like.’ She grinned mischievously.

  ‘No, I walked. I needed the exercise.’

  ‘What, a young thing like you? And in the police too. Pah! I bet you’re as fit as a fiddle.’

  Rae laughed. Sandra’s cheerfulness was infectious. ‘I’ve spent much of the day so far sitting on trains. I just meant I needed to loosen up.’ She looked around her. ‘You have a lovely home.’

  ‘It suits us. My husband runs a bookshop here in the town and our two sons are at the local secondary school. We all like it. I’ve been in Durham since I started university here. I’ve never really had the opportunity to move away, what with my disability, and I’m not sure I’d want to.’

  ‘What’s the problem, if you don’t mind me asking?’

  ‘I have a congenital defect in my joints. It first flared up badly when I was a student and it’s rumbled on ever since. I have good days and bad days. On a good day I can manage to get around with sticks but on bad days like today, I need the chair. Funnily enough, it’s why I became friendly with Katie back when we were both students here. We both took a year off, but for very different reasons. She to get the family finances sorted after the death of her guardians and me because I was getting experimental treatment that was in its infancy. When we started back on our course a year later, we recognised each other, became close friends and never looked back. Mind you, she was a lot cleverer than me. I really struggled to keep up with her.’

  ‘That’s useful to know. So she was a top student?’

  Sandra smiled. ‘Oh, yes. It wasn’t obvious in her manner, though. She was very shy and never looked as though she’d say boo to a goose, but when it came to work, she really shone. Maybe that’s why we became such good friends — we had totally different personalities. I’ve always had a bit of an in-your-face approach to life, whereas Katie could become socially isolated if she wasn’t careful. She was a lovely person, though. I’ve really missed her all these years. How did it happen?’

  Rae shrugged. ‘We don’t know. That’s what we’re trying to establish. It looks as though she was murdered, as I told you on the phone. But it was more than a decade ago, so any obvious clues have all but disappeared. But we’re putting everything we can into it. My boss is committed to getting to the bottom of it all. Our involvement started with the murder of a tramp called Paul Prentice just a few weeks ago. It’s all led on from there.’

  Sandra frowned and took another sip of tea. ‘I met Paul several times. He always seemed a genuinely nice guy. He came to visit, hoping for news about Katie, but I never had any. I kind of felt in my bones that something awful had happened to her. But why would anyone want to kill her? She had such a nice personality and he seemed a good guy. It seems wrong that two decent people should be murdered. The thought makes me shiver.’ She pulled her cardigan closer around her thin shoulders. ‘Look, help yourself to some food. You must be starving.’

  The two women were quiet for a while, digging into the ham sandwiches and fruitcake. When talk resumed, Rae decided on a more specific line of questioning.

  ‘Did you ever see Katie after she started living on the commune?’

  ‘Yes. She came up for a visit soon after my twins were born. That was the last time I saw her. She seemed anxious, more so than usual. She said she was going to chuck that moron Tim Brotherton. She’d had enough of him. I said it was about time. I don’t know what she ever saw in him or his madcap ideas. And he was cheating on her, that’s what she said.’

  ‘Was that before or after she found out she was pregnant?’

  Sandra looked stunned. ‘What? I never realised.’

  ‘Yes. She became pregnant by him and had an abortion. That’s when she became close to Paul Prentice. It looks as though he supported her through a difficult time.’

  ‘He never told me, and he only visited five or six years ago. Maybe she’d sworn him to secrecy. My God, if only I’d known, I’d have tried harder to keep in touch with her.’ Sandra looked crestfallen. ‘Now I feel even more strongly that I let her down.’

  ‘No, you didn’t,’ Rae said. ‘You had two young sons and your disability to cope with. How could you have done more? I wonder if she mentioned any other names to you? I’ll give some to you. I want you to think about each one and tell me if it rings a bell, no matter how distantly.’

  ‘Okay, go ahead.’ Sandra closed her eyes.

  ‘Trent Baker.’

  Her eyes flickered open. ‘Yes. I remember she told me about him and that he was extremely manipulative.’

  ‘Andrew or Andy Atkins.’

  This time there was a longer pause before she spoke. ‘It’s possible, but I can’t remember any context.’

  ‘Catherine Templeton.’

  The silence lasted for nearly a minute. ‘I think there was a mention of another woman with a similar name to her own. Katie said she was a bit wary of her, but I don’t think she said why.’

  So, just as they had thought, Catherine had deliberately led the police team astray. Here was the confirmation. Rae decided against further questions about Catherine. She didn’t want to give this woman any clues about the investigation, no matter how open and honest she appeared to be.

  ‘Linda Brooker.’

  Sandra thought for a while then shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Okay, that’s good. I’d like to know if she mentioned anything else about life on the farm — you know, relations within the group and all that.’

  Sandra scratched her chin. ‘Only that it was getting her down a bit and she was thinking of taking the property back. Apparently there was an escape clause in the trusteeship, and she thought it might have been triggered. If so, she’d reclaim possession of the farm.’

  Rae looked at her. ‘What? She said that?’

  ‘Well, words to that effect. This was twelve years ago, possibly more. But yes, that’s more or less what she said.’

  Rae exhaled slowly and told herself not to let her excitement show. This item of information was potential dynamite. They’d spent almost a week attempting to identify some motive for Katie Templar’s murder, and here it was. They needed to trace a full copy of the trust document rather than trying to work on the bits and pieces of it that had come from the bank. Where could it be? Maybe they would have to contact every legal practice in the area around the Quantocks. Then an awful thought struck her. Katie had completed a law unit as part of her degree. What if she’d drawn up the document herself and not deposited a copy anywhere for safe keeping? There’d be no way for them to check on this supposed escape clause.

  ‘Let’s go back to Catherine Templeton. I want you to think about it for a while and see if anything else Katie said about her comes to the surface.’

  ‘I can’t see how. It was a long time ago and so much has happened since.’ Sandra shook her head.

  ‘There’s a trick that my boss taught me to use. First, where were you when you had this conversation with Katie?’

  Sandra looked puzzled. ‘I think it was here, in this room. It was winter, though.’

  ‘So where were you both sitting?’

  ‘Across there.’ She pointed to two chairs on either side of an ornate fireplace.

  ‘Right. Let’s go over there. Sit where you sat then.’

  Sandra thought for a few seconds then hauled herself out of her wheelchair and settled in one of the chairs, indicating that Rae should take the other.

  ‘Now close your eyes and try to imagine Katie here instead of me. You’ve been chatting for a while about the farm and the group of people living there. How did this other woman’s name crop up?’

  Sandra bit her lip. ‘She was talking about her break-up with Tim Brotherton. How he’d started demanding that everyone
call him Timothy rather than Tim. He’d said that Timothy was more biblical.’ She stopped. ‘And then she said she’d discovered he’d been sleeping with another woman. She said that she didn’t care as much as she’d thought she would because she was getting sick of him anyway.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘That was when she said that the woman had a name similar to hers. She made a joke about it. Maybe Tim had been so full of his own self-importance that he’d confused another Katie with her. Either that or the drink and cannabis had addled his brain. I can remember saying that she was probably better off out of it and she agreed. I said that I’d always thought he was a poser, even when he was at university with us. She’d just been swept along by his good looks and his supposed access to plenty of money.’

  Rae was interested by this last statement. ‘Was that true? Did Brotherton have money?’

  Sandra laughed. ‘God, no. He just liked people to think that he did. As I said, he was a complete poser. If Katie’d been in her right mind, she would have seen through him right away. But she’d taken a big emotional hit after the death of her aunt and uncle and was very fragile. That toad spotted it and moved in on her.’

  Rae wondered whether the commune had ever had any chance of succeeding with its leading light being such a dubious character. With Trent Baker in the picture and Andy Atkins lurking in the background, it must have been like living in snake central.