by Ann Cleeves
And Benson beamed, almost as if he believed him.
George was looking for Oliver Adamson. He knocked at his bedroom door but there was no reply. He tried the restaurant and then the bar. There was no sign of Oliver but Rob Earl was there. He sat on a stool drinking beer. It looked as if he had been there for some time.
‘George!’ he said. ‘Where the hell have you been?’ He seemed to have been the only person to have noticed George’s absence.
‘Following the investigation on your behalf,’ George replied pompously.
‘I could have done with you here.’ He sounded like a sulky child. ‘You don’t know what it’s like George. All the whispering. It’s one thing to have been accused of murdering Mick. He was a grown man, wasn’t he, and should have been capable of looking after himself. Besides, they didn’t really have the chance to get to know him. But Esme Lovegrove! Dear, sweet, dippy Esme. She irritated them to hell when she was alive but she’s achieved sainthood in the last twenty-four hours.’
‘Feeling sorry for yourself won’t help.’
‘I know. But I can’t prove I didn’t kill her and that makes me feel bloody helpless. And shit scared. You do realize they have the death penalty here George? It’s not like at home where they can release you with a fat compensation cheque if they cock up, and you can make a fortune by selling your story to the papers.’
That was something George had tried not to think about. He ordered a beer. ‘When did you last see her?’ he asked.
‘I’ve been through all that with the detective.’
‘But perhaps you could tell me.’ George allowed his impatience to show. Rob seemed not to notice.
‘The Lovegroves came with me on the trip to the coast yesterday morning. They stuck to me like glue and they wouldn’t stop talking. I’ll admit that I was pissed off with them. You know what it’s like, George, when you’re trying to ‘ scope up a big flock of duck, get an accurate count and at the same time pick up anything out of the ordinary. You need to concentrate. And I was trying to suss things out for the Birdathon on Sunday.’
‘You surely don’t intend to go ahead with the bird race now?’
Rob seemed surprised. ‘I think so. No one’s said anything about cancelling. Why?’
‘You don’t think it’s a little insensitive?’
‘Because of the murders? No I don’t. And I’ve already put a lot of work into it. I hope it goes ahead.’
‘So you were with the Lovegroves all yesterday morning?’
‘Yes. They wouldn’t stop sniping at each other Talk about murderous.’ He paused, then continued flippantly. ‘That’s a point George. Perhaps Joan took advantage of Mick’s death to knock off her sister. It would be brilliant cover, wouldn’t it? Everyone would assume both murders had been committed by the same person.’
‘I take it you’re not being serious.’
‘Of course not. They were pains in the bum but I think they were fond of each other. The rowing had become a habit. It was just incredibly wearing to anyone who had to listen to it, and I don’t suppose that’s a real motive. We might all have felt like hitting Esme over the head to shut her up, but I can’t see anyone actually doing it.’
He pushed an empty beer bottle away from him.
‘Did you see Esme at lunch?’
‘Yes. They sat at my table.’ He paused, then went on, horrified. ‘Did you know that they wanted to be part of the Birdathon team?’
‘No,’ George said. ‘What did you say?’
‘Well I could hardly say that we needed someone who could tell the difference between a robin and a rhinoceros. I said that I’d asked Russell May and he’d agreed to do it. Then Esme went all coy and reminded me that there had to be four team members. “There’s you, Mr Adamson and Mr May. That leaves room for one more. Now who will you choose? Joannie or me?” I said I couldn’t choose between them. It just wouldn’t be gallant.’
‘Then you escaped?’
‘Yes. I said they could have a free afternoon.’
‘Did you tell anyone where you were going?’
‘No. The last thing I wanted was anyone tagging along. That’s why I took the mini bus and went to Anahuac. I’d be less likely to bump into them there. Most of them haven’t got transport. The Mays were talking about hiring a car for a few days but they haven’t got round to it yet.’
‘Did you meet anyone on the refuge?’
‘Not to speak to. I think a car load registered after me, but I didn’t see them again. It’s such a huge space. The marsh goes on for miles. It was just what I needed. I went for a long walk and I was back later than I intended. When I arrived everyone was discussing Esme’s disappearance.’
‘Then you went straight upstairs to change? George asked.
‘That’s right’
‘You didn’t go outside first?’
‘Of course not. The detective asked me that. What is this about George?’
‘If Esme was murdered just before she was put by the staff house there would have been blood. Obviously they’re interested in anyone who changed clothes during the evening.’
‘Oh, Christ, George, they can check my things.’
‘I think perhaps they’ll already have done that.’
The barman brought them two more bottles of beer without their asking.
‘Are you sure Mick had a girlfriend when he was at college?’ George asked. ‘He hadn’t dreamed one up so as not to be different? It wasn’t a figment of his imagination?’
‘I don’t think so. He was posting those letters to someone. And if he’d dreamed her up she wouldn’t have been so ordinary. A schoolgirl, living at home with mummy and daddy. Not much of a fantasy, is it?’
‘He must have spoken about her by name.’
‘I suppose so, but I can’t remember it now.’
‘Could it have been Nell?’
‘Yes!’ He banged his fist on the counter so the beer bottles rattled. ‘Little Nell. Like in Dickens. That’s what he called her. Her proper name was Helen.’
‘Does knowing the name make it easier to remember anything else about her?’
He shook his head. ‘ Sorry.’
But he seemed to consider the discovery of the girl’s name as some sort of success and he added almost jauntily: ‘What’s the plan then George? How are you going to get me out of this mess?’
‘I wish I knew,’ George said. ‘I’ve been looking for Oliver. Do you know where I can find him?’
‘I expect he’s with dear Julia. They seem to be spending a lot of time together lately. It’s almost as if he liked her.’ He put two fingers towards his mouth and made a face like someone being sick. The schoolboy again.
‘I’ll have a look in the garden.’ George was almost out of the bar when he stopped and turned back.
‘Does the name Paul Butterworth mean anything to you? He was a friend of Mick’s. Before he went to university.’
Rob shook his head then said with stunning arrogance: ‘I didn’t think he had any real mates until he met us.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
In contrast to the other shocked and excitable hotel residents, Julia Adamson had become calm. She had even stopped worrying about the effects of the sun, and lay, a large white grub, on a lounger by the pool. She turned, intending to rub more oil on to her legs when she saw the old man who had flown out from Britain to save Rob Earl from arrest. At least that was what Oliver had told her though she could hardly believe it. He seemed too much of a gentleman to be a friend of Rob Earl’s.
He walked across the lawn towards her and she felt an unfamiliar anxiety. It was the nervousness of a spoilt child, coming into conflict with authority for the first time. He sat beside her choosing one of the more upright chairs, so she felt at a disadvantage, sprawled. She turned on to her back and shut her eyes, refusing to acknowledge his presence. He said nothing. She lay for a few minutes waiting for him either to speak or to go away, feeling herself become more and more tense. When at last
she opened her eyes he was looking into the distance but he must have heard her move because he spoke immediately.
‘Mrs Adamson. I wonder if I might trouble you for a while?’
The voice was polite but quite firm. There was no question that he was begging for a favour. She got up and chose a chair like his. She was uncomfortably aware that her stomach, which was quite flat when she was lying on her back, sunbathing, now sagged slightly over the waistband of her bikini. Her clothes were folded in a neat pile on an empty chair. She fumbled for a shirt and pulled it on. He waited, politely, as if he had all the time in the world.
‘I should have spoken to you before,’ George said. ‘To apologize for having intruded the other day in the wood. You and your husband were having something of an argument.’
She looked at him blankly.
‘But perhaps you didn’t realize I was there. It was the day I arrived.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I didn’t realize.’
‘Well I’m sorry anyway …’
There was a silence and she felt her flabby stomach contract with panic. It was none of his business and certainly she did not owe him an explanation but she found herself stuttering. ‘It’s the heat isn’t it? Or the humidity. It seems to make us all short-tempered.’
She thought with anger of Oliver who had told her there was nothing to worry about.
‘Oh, yes,’ he agreed. ‘It’s very wearing.’ But while she felt the perspiration on her forehead and running between her breasts he seemed to show no sign of being hot.
‘Of course one must forgive your husband for being emotional,’ he persisted. ‘He had just lost one of his closest friends.’
‘Not so close,’ she snapped. ‘They hadn’t met for twenty years.’
She tried to remember exactly what they had shouted to each other in Boy Scout Wood. How much had Palmer-Jones overheard? Not much, she thought suddenly. He’s fishing. The panic subsided and something of the old confidence returned.
‘Mr and Mrs Brownscombe visited Britain occasionally on business.’
‘Did they? Well they never got in touch with us. I suppose they might have contacted Oliver at work.’
‘He didn’t mention it to you?’
‘No.’
‘They might have met through his business,’ George said. ‘I understand that he specializes in charity law.’
‘Yes.’ Her monosyllabic answers made it clear that it was only good manners which kept her participating in the conversation.
‘He represents wildlife charities?’
‘Not exclusively,’ she said haughtily. ‘ If he did he’d never make a living.’
‘What about the Wildlife Partnership?’ George asked. ‘It’s an American non-profit organization. Has Oliver had any dealings with them?’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ Julia said.
‘But Laurie Brownscombe mentioned the Partnership at dinner on your first night at Oaklands.’
‘Did she? I remember her talking about some charity, giving us the hard sell actually. But she didn’t mention a name. I would have remembered if she had.’
Why? George thought. Why would the Wildlife Partnership mean anything to you?
‘Your daughter is one of its supporters,’ George said.
‘Is she? She tends to support all those causes. Whales, seals, bats. It was working on that television programme. I expect she’ll grow out of it. They usually do, don’t they?’
‘Did your husband grow out of it?’
‘Did he grow out of what?’
‘A commitment to nature conservation.’
‘Oh, that!’ She leaned forward with her elbows on her pink, oily knees. ‘I’ll tell you one thing Mr Palmer-Jones. Oliver is a lot more interested in money than he pretends to be.’
‘Does the name Cecily Jessop mean anything to you?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Should it do?’
She looked at him as if he were an idiot and he was quite convinced that with that reply, at least, she was telling the truth.
‘Would you mind telling me what you and Oliver did yesterday?’
‘I don’t see why I should. I’ve already talked to that detective.’
‘There’s no reason, of course, why you should but I would find it very helpful. Did you go with Rob’s party to the coast?’
‘No!’ She was horrified at the prospect. ‘Actually we were out all day. We went to Galveston on the ferry, had lunch in rather a pleasant seafood restaurant in a converted warehouse by the docks. Did some shopping. You know, normal things. The things people do when they’re on holiday.’
‘So you wouldn’t have seen Esme Lovegrove?’
‘I saw her at breakfast. She was flirting dreadfully with Mr May. Poor man. He didn’t know where to put himself.’ She obviously had no qualms about speaking ill of the dead.
‘What time did you arrive back at Oaklands?’
‘In time to change for dinner. About six-thirty I suppose. We’d just got into the bar when Joan Lovegrove started making the scene about her sister. I’m afraid I didn’t take much notice of her. One didn’t take much notice of either of them.’
George sat for a moment in silence, then stood up.
‘I was actually looking for Oliver,’ he said. ‘Do you know where he is?’ She didn’t answer immediately.
‘He’s botanizing,’ she said. ‘As if birds weren’t enough! Miss Cleary apparently knew that he was interested in plants too. She wondered if there was anything special in the Oaklands woods. If you wait a moment I’ll come with you, show you where he is.’
‘No, no,’ George said. ‘Please don’t trouble. I’ll find him.’ He very much wanted to talk to Oliver on his own.
And while Julia was still struggling into her sandals he had disappeared, moving remarkably quickly for an elderly man.
He found Oliver in the small patch of woodland which Mary Ann planned to turn into the wildlife refuge. He was wearing white trousers and a crumpled linen jacket. George thought the effect was supposed to be suave and colonial but it had not quite come off. He looked as if he were dressed in somebody else’s clothes.
‘Ah,’ Oliver said. ‘You’ve decided to avoid the madhouse too. I couldn’t put up with it. All the false sentiment and gossip. Mary Ann asked me at the beginning of the week if it was worth doing a botanical survey of the wood. It gave me an excuse to escape.’
‘Is it false sentiment?’
‘Well I’m afraid I find it hard to get worked-up about the death of Esme Lovegrove. I hardly knew her. I wonder how many of those people felt any real sense of loss. On the whole we’re really very selfish. Don’t you think so George? We care about ourselves and our families. Beyond that the horror and the frenzy is a show.’
‘What about our friends?’ George asked. ‘Do we care about them?’
‘Well of course I’m sorry Mick was killed.’ Oliver was almost dismissive.
‘I went to Brownscombe Associates office this morning.’
‘Oh?’ Oliver was affable but still determinedly detached.
‘I was interested to see if there was any evidence to support the view that Laurie might be behind the Wildlife Partnership fraud in the UK.’
‘Oh, George really! Not that again! You must realize by now that Mick’s death can’t have had anything to do with some petty deception which took place thousands of miles away. If that were the case why is Esme Lovegrove dead? This is the work of a lunatic. I can’t believe that the business with the Wildlife Partnership had any relevance at all.’
‘You seem very certain,’ George said. And it’s odd, he thought, that you haven’t asked what I found out at Brownscombe Associates. Aren’t you interested in discovering if Laurie was involved? Or do you know already?
‘What do you mean?’
George paused then spoke deliberately, willing Oliver to understand. ‘It’s quite possible that the Wildlife Partnership is a distraction. If we could clear that matter up it would allow the officers to con
centrate on more important areas of investigation.’
Sod the officers, he thought irreverently. If we could clear that up it would help me see the wood for the trees.
‘Do the authorities know about the Wildlife Partnership?’ For a moment Oliver lost his poise.
George did not answer the question. ‘ Why don’t you just tell me what you know?’ he said.
They stood for a moment in silence, staring at each other.
‘You do understand what I’m saying,’ George persisted. ‘ I want to keep the matter in perspective. If you tell me what you know it won’t necessarily have to go any further.’
They were standing on the edge of the wood with a clear view of the house. Over Oliver’s shoulder George could see Julia crossing the grass towards them. Oliver had his back to her. She had put on a long floral skirt over her bikini, and a big straw hat. She might have been the lady of the manor, dressed for opening a garden fête. She bore down on them. George knew he did not have much time.
‘Well?’ he demanded.
‘I have already explained that I have no personal involvement in the Wildlife Partnership.’ But the response was equivocal. It was a lawyer’s answer.
‘That doesn’t mean you didn’t know what was going on!’ George almost shouted with impatience.
Oliver pulled at the waistband of his trousers, a nervous gesture. The knees were stained green. He must have been kneeling, taking his plant hunting seriously.
He seemed about to answer when he heard a movement behind him. He turned, saw Julia and greeted her with relief.
‘Darling.’ He touched her arm and George saw that his finger nails were dirty. It spoilt the effect of the white suit. ‘George has some strange notion we can help him with information about the peculiar charity which Laurie was representing.’ It was almost a question. He wanted her to make the decision about what should be told.
‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘What nonsense! What on earth would we know about that?’
George let them walk back together across the grass, arm in arm in their fancy dress. He knew there would be no point in following them.