Murder at the Old Abbey

by Pippa McCathie

  Fabia took a deep breath and made herself smile. “Okay, well, I hope those notes prove useful.”

  “I’m sure they will.” Matt sounded brisk now, and he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I’ll see you out.”

  “No need, I know my way.”

  “I’d better come down with you, security and all that.”

  “Of course,” Fabia said, kicking herself for being such an idiot. She should have realised that.

  The atmosphere between them as they made their way back downstairs was full of things unsaid. As Fabia started up her car, she felt a wave of regret that she was no longer an integral part of the life the building contained and deep frustration that her relationship with Matt seemed to be so difficult to navigate.

  Chapter 19

  Matt stood watching as Fabia drew out into the traffic. It had been going so well, he thought, and then the mood suddenly seemed to change. He shouldn’t have been so dismissive about that dream. And then following that up with talking about love, of all things; what had possessed him? Back at his desk he picked up the memory stick, but all he did was twist it over and over in his long fingers. He was still sitting there, staring into space, when Dilys came in a few minutes later.

  “We’ve got some more from that computer in Mansell’s study.” She stood waiting for his response. “Sir?”

  “Sorry, Dilys, I was miles away. Okay, what have you got for me?”

  “The computer in the study,” she said again, settling herself in a chair. In her hand were several sheets of paper clipped together. “There are reams of e-mails back and forth between Mansell and his granddaughter. They go back to the end of August when she first got in touch with him. She told him she’d been contacted by someone called Branwyn Pierce, whose father,” she checked the notes, “was Mansell’s batman when he was in the Welsh Guards.”

  “So, how did this daughter find out about the connection?”

  “I’m coming to that. Anjali told her grandfather it was only recently that Branwyn Pierce had gone through her father’s papers, when she moved house. She lives in Swansea now. Anyway, that’s when she discovered loads of his letters and photos, which made it obvious her father had kept contact with Anjali Kishtoo’s grandmother for years after he and Caradoc Mansell were sent home from Mauritius. It seems Mansell was pretty dubious at first, but you can tell from the way the tone of the e-mails changes that he came around quite quickly. And then there’s this.”

  Dilys undid the bulldog clip keeping the papers together, selected one and handed it over to Matt, who glanced at the heading.

  “But this is to John Meredith.”

  “Yes, read it,” she said, “and look at the date.”

  “Twentieth of November,” Matt muttered, then read slowly down the transcript of the e-mail. “So, he told John he’d decided to change his will. What’s this? ‘In line with what we discussed’ and he asked him to draw it up ready for signature on the twenty-ninth.” Matt frowned. “But that doesn’t fit. He was dead by the twenty-ninth.”

  “Exactly,” said Dilys, excitement in her voice.

  Matt grabbed his mobile and scrolled down. “I’m going to check with John.”

  He was lucky, he didn’t have long to wait.

  “Granger, Meredith and Llewellyn.” It was John’s PA, Stephen Powell.

  “Chief Inspector Lambert here, could I have a word with John Meredith please?”

  “I’ll just check if he’s in, Chief Inspector. Hold on please.”

  A moment later John was on the line. “Hallo, Chief Inspector. What can I do for you?”

  “It’s about Caradoc Mansell’s will. We’ve been going through the e-mails on his computer and it seems he made a date to come in and sign the new one on the twenty-ninth, is that right?”

  “Yes, but he changed his mind after meeting Anjali in London.”

  “Ah, then when did he actually sign it?”

  “He came into my office on his way back from London on the twenty-third. He was like a different man. I’d never seen him so – I don’t know – so delighted with life is about the only way I can describe it.” John paused, then added, “Poor old chap.”

  Matt said nothing, but it dawned on him that John was speaking of a friend, and that friend had been murdered. Ripples in a pool, he thought.

  “Anyway,” John said, “what difference does it make?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but thanks for that, John. I’ll come back to you.”

  Matt ended the call, looked across at Dilys and sighed. “Sometimes I forget these puzzles we unravel are – oh, I don’t know.”

  “I know what you mean,” Dilys said, her tone sympathetic. “It’s not always your ordinary villain we’re dealing with.”

  “Yes, that’s just it.” He leant his crossed arms on his desk. “So, for a start that computer was available to anyone in the house, and since the keyboard was wiped clean, we can’t check who did and didn’t use it, and all these e-mails were on there for anyone to access.”

  “That’s about it.”

  “That means anyone in and out of the Abbey could have accessed them. And anyone who thought they were going to lose out to Anjali would want to prevent him from signing the new will and, if they saw this e-mail to John, they’d think they had until the twenty-ninth to do something about it.”

  “And,” added Dilys, looking slightly smug, “there’s this, dated a couple of weeks earlier.” She selected another piece of paper and handed it over to Matt.

  He read through it slowly then looked up at her, his eyes wide. “Well, well, so not only had he discussed the changes, he’d e-mailed a list of them to John, and in detail too. This is beginning to make sense.”

  “There’s one more thing that Aidan found that’s interesting.” For the third time she passed him a piece of paper. This time it wasn’t an e-mail, it was a simple list, the first item on it was ‘Elizabeth’s Fabergé egg’. “Now, we’ve compared the two inventories, the one we made and the Mansells’ insurance one, and nearly everything on that list we found on his computer corresponds with what’s missing off the Mansells’ list, although some of the descriptions are slightly different. So, if Caradoc Mansell made that list, not only did he know that stuff was going missing, but he actually knew what specific pieces.”

  “And if he tackled whoever he thought was responsible?”

  “Yet another motive,” said Dilys with a satisfied nod. “All of this widens the field, doesn’t it?”

  “It does, Dilys, it does.” Matt pushed a hand through his hair. “But none of it gets us much further. Maybe I should just resign myself to taking Fabia’s hunches more seriously.”

  “She’s pretty perceptive, is Fabia.”

  “I know, but this time I think she’s gone out on a limb.”

  “Why? What’s she got a hunch about?”

  But Matt didn’t want to tell Dilys about Fabia’s dream and the suggestion she’d made. He was quite willing to tease Fabia himself, and laugh at her premonitions, but he didn’t want anyone else doing so.

  “Nothing specific, but she did bring in some notes I asked her to make, I’ve got them on this,” he picked up the memory stick. “Anyway, I need to stretch my legs, I’m going to go and get a sandwich, do you want anything?”

  “No thanks,” she said with a smile, and Matt guessed she knew he wasn’t telling her everything. It wasn’t just Fabia who was perceptive.

  * * *

  After the row with Delma and her revelation about her affair, Rodric had de-camped to one of the spare rooms, unable to contemplate sharing a bed with his wife, but he’d hardly slept at all and, in the end, he got up at half past five. It was still dark outside as he made his way downstairs in the quiet house. He wanted to look for an article he’d seen in the local newspaper.

  Mabel looked up from her basket as he came into the kitchen, then put her head down and went back to sleep, this was far too early for her. He made his way to the old larder off the kitchen where Nonna st
ored the recycling. Pulling up a chair, he leafed through the pile of papers, and finally found the one he wanted. Yes, here it was, an interview with the vet, Stewart Parker, about his plans to start up a business travelling round local sheep farmers with a mobile sheep dip.

  In the middle of the night he’d decided he must tackle Stewart Parker, so this would be a good excuse. He phoned as soon as he thought they’d be open to make an appointment.

  “Yes, Mr Mansell,” the receptionist said, “he’s got a cancellation at half past eleven so he could see you then.”

  “Thank you,” Rodric said, and ended the call.

  * * *

  Some time later, as he drove along the road towards Brecon Rodric thought back on all those years being in the shadow of his father, who’d once told him, in the middle of a blazing row, that he was weak and gutless. The old man would never believe that he was on his way to tackle his wife’s lover and tell him to keep away from her. He felt quite proud of himself but, by the time he’d parked outside the surgery, he was regretting his decision to come. No, he told himself firmly, he had to go ahead. Weak and gutless? He’d show the old man yet.

  Rodric was not kept waiting long. Stewart Parker came out and greeted him with a handshake.

  “Good morning, Rodric, good to see you.” Parker, normally a confident, assertive man, looked unsure of himself for once.

  All to the good, Rodric thought.

  “Come along to my room,” Parker said, and the two men went down a short corridor to a room at the back. There was the usual stainless-steel covered table, a glass-fronted cabinet full of drugs of different kinds, and charts on the wall outlining various problems that small animals may have. To the side was a desk and two chairs in front of it. Parker indicated Rodric should take one, then sat down in the other.

  “So, my receptionist tells me you wanted to ask about the mobile sheep dip I’ve invested in.”

  “That was what I told her,” said Rodric, “I thought it best not to tell her my real reason.”

  “Oh? And what is your real reason?” Parker didn’t sound so friendly now.

  “First of all, did you know that my father was killed by an injection of a tranquiliser normally used on large animals?”

  “I should have said – um – please accept my condolences on your loss.”

  “Never mind about that,” Rodric snapped, “did you know?”

  “I did not. The police were here a couple of days ago.” He didn’t look Rodric in the eye. “But they didn’t say anything about that.”

  Rodric didn’t believe him, but he didn’t say so. “Okay, so there’s one thing I want to tell you and one thing I want to ask you.” The atmosphere in the room had chilled considerably.

  “Go ahead.” Parker folded his arms across his chest. Rodric had an urge to smash his fist into the man’s smug face.

  “I want to tell you that I know about your affair with my wife.”

  Parker opened his mouth to speak, but Rodric didn’t give him the chance. “Don’t bother to deny it,” he snapped. “Delma has told me all about it. She also told me it ended some time ago, but I don’t believe her. I know you visited the stables recently.”

  “Yes, to see to her stallion, Moonlight, a very valuable horse.”

  “And were you seeing to my wife at the same time?”

  “I resent–”

  “Resent away,” Rodric said, his voice full of scorn. He leant his elbows on his knees and stared across at the man opposite him. “But there’s a far more serious matter, and I would like an honest answer to this question. You could say your career depends on it.” He noticed the blood drain from Parker’s face. “Did you allow Delma to have access to the tranquiliser? Did you give her some to keep in the stables in case Moonlight became uncontrollable?”

  “Absolutely not. How dare you suggest such a thing?”

  “I dare,” Rodric replied, “because my father has been murdered, pumped full of that drug you used on Moonlight, and it seems logical to me that Delma got it from you?”

  “But– but– has she been arrested?” There was real fear in his eyes now.

  “No. Not yet.” Rodric wanted to get away from this place now, this man. He rose from his chair and said, his voice quiet, “I’m going to leave now but, if you supplied my wife with that drug, I expect you to go to the police and tell them you did.”

  Parker jumped up, stumbled into speech. “But I didn’t, I told them–”

  “Oh, shut up, man,” Rodric said, deep contempt in his voice. “Do it, or I’ll tell Delma she has to go to them, and, the way I feel now, I will do so, believe you me.”

  He left the room, head held high, fully expecting Parker to come after him, but he didn’t. He got back to the Land Rover and sat for a moment with his hands on the wheel, heart hammering, feeling dazed; then he manoeuvred the car from its parking space and, hardly aware of what he was doing, began the drive back down the valley to the Abbey.

  * * *

  Fabia was determined to get some work done when she got home. She still hadn’t arranged to collect the paintings that hadn’t sold. She also needed to get her brain round the commissions that had come out of the exhibition. At least all this would take her mind off Matt and the troubles at White Monk Abbey, wouldn’t it? She smiled to herself, ruefully, as she pulled up in front of her house. Probably not was the answer to that question.

  As she opened her front door, the house seemed strangely empty. Over the last few days she’d got used to having company. Although she relished the peace and quiet, part of her, the part that had nightmares, was afraid of the loneliness. She went straight through to the kitchen and turned on the radio, then through to her dining room and did the same there, hardly registering what the programme was, but glad of the voices rumbling away in the background. She made herself a mug of instant soup and carried it into the dining room, sat down at her computer and began to go through the list of commissions.

  A couple of hours later she had e-mailed everyone involved, made a couple of appointments with those who wanted portraits painted, and then she phoned Cath.

  “Hallo, love.” Cath’s warm voice lifted Fabia’s spirits. “I’ve been wondering how you were getting on. How’s Anjali?”

  “She’s gone up to London for the weekend, but John’s asked her to come back on Monday, he needs her here when he goes through the details of the will with the family.”

  “Ah, that’s not going to be easy for anyone.”

  “No.”

  “Is there any more news, from Matt I mean?”

  “About the murders?”

  “Murders plural? Oh lord, don’t tell me there’s been another one.”

  “I’m afraid there has, at least, that’s what it looks like. I’d forgotten I hadn’t spoken to you for a couple of days.” She told Cath about Mike’s accident, and Garan’s possible involvement. “Poor Bella is so worried, and so’s Sheryl. It’s awful for them all, in fact.”

  “And for Delma Mansell,” Cath said.

  Fabia grimaced. “I’m not so sure about that. I don’t think there was much love lost between sister and brother; he was a very nasty piece of work. I have a feeling she might be quite relieved he’s out of the way.”

  “Do you think she was the one who drugged him?”

  “I don’t know, Cath. It’s all a bit of a mess. This morning I took some notes I’d made about the family into Matt’s office, but I’m not sure they’re going to help much.”

  “You went to the station?” Cath said, sounding as if she could hardly believe it.

  “I did, and it was all very strange, and rather disturbing. People were watching me out of the corner of their eyes, probably speculating on why I was there, and when I left, Matt said he’d have to escort me downstairs for security reasons, that really got to me.”

  “I’m not surprised.” But then she added, in what Fabia thought of as her ‘must be fair’ voice, “I suppose he has to obey the rules.”

  “B
ut that’s the problem with Matt,” Fabia protested, “he’s always obeying the rules and refusing to look at things from a wider perspective. For instance, I had another of those nightmares the other night.” She heard Cath make a small sympathetic sound, but went on before she could interrupt, “And I’m sure it was, sort of, telling me something, but when I told Matt all about it, he just laughed at me.”

  “Actually laughed?”

  “Well, no, but grinned. Sometimes I think I really don’t like him, and I told him so.”

  “Good for you, but you know you love him really.”

  This echoed what Matt had said so closely that Fabia found it quite disturbing. “No, I–”

  But Cath wasn’t listening. “I’ve just had a really good idea. Since Anjali is away, why don’t you ask Matt to come around, say tomorrow, for a meal? I’m sure it’d do you both good to have some time together. The two of you really need to talk, Fabia. And you can use those notes you did for him as an excuse – phone and ask what he made of them, then segue neatly into asking him for supper. Brilliant! What do you think?”

  Fabia poured cold water on this idea but, an hour later, found herself scrolling down to Matt’s number on her phone and, slightly nervous, waiting while it rang.

  * * *

  As Rodric walked into the hallway, Nonna hurried from the kitchen.

  “Rodi! Where have you been? I’ve been searching for you. We have a real problem now.”

  “A real problem?” Rodric said, shaking his head in disbelief, “I thought all the problems we have at the moment were pretty real.”

  “Yes, yes, of course, but this just adds to them. Delma’s gone.”

  “Gone? Where?”

  “I don’t know, I’ve just been up to your room and found this note on the bed.” She held out a sheet of paper.

  Rodric snatched it from her and began to read.

  “Dear Rodi, I can’t stand this anymore, I’ve had enough. I’m going up to London to stay with a friend for a few days, don’t try to contact me. I’ve arranged for Paula and her brother to come in and look after the horses. I’ll let you know when I’m coming back, Delma.”