by J. R. Ellis
‘It is,’ said Douglas. ‘And it’s one we’re going to be trapped in for some time.’
‘So before we start, let’s recap some of the basics.’
Oldroyd and Steph were in their makeshift but rather comfortable ‘office’, reclining in the easy chairs in the little sitting-room section. Coffee and biscuits had been provided.
‘First, we believe these murders are linked, but we don’t yet have the proof. Second, they are likely to be the work of a number of people, because of the complexity of what’s involved with that trick. Robinson probably had some technical knowledge and has been silenced.’
‘So, sir, you’re thinking of probably about three or four?’ said Steph as she sipped her coffee. She needed the caffeine: last night had been very long and traumatic, and she felt tired.
‘Yes. Any more than four is rare and leads to complications, in my experience; someone usually rats on the others for a reward or to try to get themselves out of trouble. Then there’s the question of motive. We’re starting with the family, which is always the most likely place to find someone with a motive for murder.’
‘As they were all there in that room with us watching the trick, they were clearly not directly carrying out at least the first murder.’
‘Yes – and they’ve thus provided themselves with a wonderful alibi. However, rich people never do their own dirty work, even if they’ve planned it – they get others to do it for them.’
‘Do you think the murders were carried out by a professional hitman?’ Steph refilled her cup; she was feeling better already.
‘No, not in this case. The killers all had to know about the trick and there must have been meticulous planning; you couldn’t just bring in outsiders to do it. It also involved getting the confidence of the victim.’
‘Yes: Lord Redmire knew his killers; they were the people who shared the secret of the locked room with him and operated it last night.’
‘Exactly. In fact, you could say that he planned and cooperated in his own murder.’ Oldroyd shuddered; it was not an agreeable thought. Death was never pleasant, but the idea of unwittingly planning your own violent demise was positively macabre.
‘How do you think it was planned, then, sir?’
‘Clearly Redmire knew nothing of the trick until recently, or he would have used it before. Maybe he was gullible because he could see the financial rewards of the live TV performance and the consequent visitor potential. What I think could have happened is that these people, whoever they are, approached him saying they’d discovered how this thing works. They agreed to stay quiet and help him, maybe for a reward. They stayed quiet all right: they weren’t going to reveal the murder method!’
‘Wow!’ exclaimed Steph softly. ‘And then they got rid of one of the group. Why Harold Robinson, sir?’
Oldroyd shrugged. ‘We don’t know yet. Maybe he was threatening them somehow or they couldn’t trust him for some reason. The fewer people in the know, the better. And that’s assuming we’re right that the murders are linked.’ They’d both finished their coffee and Oldroyd stretched in his chair. ‘Well, better get started. I expect it’s going to be long and complicated. I want you to tell me what you instinctively feel about them all. I know we have to have evidence but an experienced detective develops a feeling – almost a smell – for falsity, guilt and lies, and it’s often a good place to start. You often find then that the evidence follows to support your hunches.’
‘As long as you don’t try to fit the evidence to your hunches,’ replied Steph with a mischievous smile.
‘Absolutely; we’re not into that. That’s when the police start to make fools of themselves and get people wrongly convicted. Let’s start with his ex-mistress and her boyfriend.’
Richard Wilkins was out on what he called his ‘rounds’. He was tired after a poor night’s sleep, but part of his normal routine was to spend some time walking around the estate checking that everything was going smoothly. The Hall had been closed to visitors for an indefinite period. He hoped the police would not take too long in their investigations because the estate badly needed the revenue.
He passed the estate entrance and the Redmire Hall gift shop, both in darkness, and the forlorn, empty café with its terrace overlooking the walled kitchen garden. He looked up at the now brightening sky in exasperation: that terrace and the garden should be full of people on a day like this, bringing the money rolling in. He continued through an opening in the ancient brick wall overhung with a beautiful climbing rose and reached the main herbaceous borders.
The gardens were constructed as a series of ‘rooms’, divided by hedges and linked by paths. Redmire’s grandfather, a keen gardener, had taken inspiration from Lawrence Johnston’s famous gardens at Hidcote Manor in Gloucestershire. The expansive double borders running from the house down to the river constituted the largest ‘room’ and one of showpieces of the house.
Wilkins found the gardening team at work here, no doubt taking advantage of the absence of visitors to get ahead with their tasks. Wheelbarrows and buckets lined the edge of the central lawn and the gardeners were weeding between the huge, colourful clumps of delphiniums, rudbeckia and phlox. The head gardener, David Morton, was directing his team. Morton had worked at the estate since he left school in the late 1960s. He was past retirement age, but was deeply devoted to the gardens at Redmire and refused to step down. As he was so skilful, and because under his leadership the gardens had won several awards, there was no immediate pressure on him to go. Wilkins went over to have a word.
‘Morning, David. Taking the chance to get on with things without having to work round the public, I see.’
Morton stood up and leaned against his border fork. He was strongly built, with a greying beard.
‘Morning, Richard. Yes, the show has to go on, doesn’t it? The weeds don’t stop growing because His Lordship’s dead.’ He shook his head as if he could still barely believe that fact.
‘No, and I’m sure he’d have wanted you to carry on keeping things as good as they are.’
‘Yes.’
‘Have the police been to talk to you yet?’
‘No. I’m expecting them at some point.’
‘Yes. They’ll want to talk to everyone who works here and had anything to do with the people who were murdered; anyone who they think may have had a motive for killing them.’
‘To be honest, we know His Lordship was a bit of a rogue – I can imagine there were lots of people who might be glad to see the back of him. But Harry? I’ve known him for years. Nice chap, harmless; no enemies that I can think of. Who’d want to kill a man like that?’
‘Well, someone did. Anyway, I’ll be off and leave you to get on. I sometimes think you lot would have an easier job if there weren’t any visitors; they get in your way, don’t they?’
Morton laughed. ‘Yes, the public can be a nuisance, stumbling into plants and breaking them, leaving litter, trampling on the grass instead of staying on the paths. Still, I don’t suppose we could do without them. See you later.’ He returned to his border and Wilkins headed back to the estate office.
As he passed across the front of the house, Andrea Jenkinson came out to greet him. ‘Richard, how are you?’ She looked concerned.
‘OK, I think – bearing up, as they say. What about you?’
‘The same. I’ve been ringing round cancelling things and there’ve been a lot of calls giving condolences. It’s all really weird.’
‘I know.’
‘It’s worse for you, though; it’s a hell of a responsibility to organise things for the police and the family and then keep everything going when we – you – reopen.’
Wilkins shrugged. ‘All part of the job, I suppose.’
‘Maybe, but don’t overdo it. Don’t make yourself ill for them.’ She nodded back towards the house. ‘They’re not worth it.’
‘I know.’
‘Anyway, better get back; no doubt the phone will be going. Bye for now.’<
br />
‘Bye.’
Wilkins continued on to the visitors’ entrance, where everything was quiet. The house was not as popular with visitors as the gardens and play areas. Entry cost extra, which deterred families, and there was not a great deal inside for children anyway. Nevertheless, the interior had some magnificent decorative plasterwork, paintings, furniture and collections of china. Most people who made it into the house were not disappointed.
Celia Anscomb was in charge of the interior. She organised the voluntary guides and supervised conservation work, which was ongoing and expensive. Wilkins popped into her small office next to the entrance. She was in there alone.
‘Good morning, Celia, how are you?’ Celia had very short hair and she wore large glasses and a long skirt. She looked very worried.
‘Hello, Richard. What on earth’s going on? I can’t believe it. Two murders here last night, in a quiet stately home in the country? Is the world going mad?’
Wilkins blew out his cheeks and shook his head. ‘I know, it’s unbelievable.’
‘Do the police know who did it? Harry was a nice man; I can’t think who would have wanted to kill him. I can imagine that Lord Redmire might have had some enemies, though.’
‘Yes, but the answer to your question, I think, is that the police not only don’t know who killed either man; they also don’t even know how Lord Redmire was murdered.’
‘So we’ll have to stay shut for the time being?’
‘I think so.’
‘I thought as much, but I wanted to talk to you about that, Richard. We can’t really afford to lose the revenue, otherwise the conservation programme is going to grind to a halt.’
‘Yes, I understand.’
‘I spoke to Lord Redmire only the other day and told him that we’re underfunded here in the house, but he never seemed to see it as important. Quite the reverse. He’s been poking around recently looking at stuff and asking me to get valuations on things. Even the Gainsborough.’
A huge portrait of an eighteenth-century Lord Redmire and his family that hung at the top of the stairs was the centrepiece of the Redmire art collection. It had been commissioned by that lord and been on the same wall in the house ever since its completion.
‘It obviously made me wonder if he was thinking of selling things to make ends meet. We all know – because enough rumours have been going round – that he was always short of cash because of his gambling. That was bad enough. But now, the longer we’re closed, the worse it will get. That plaster in the green bedroom will literally start falling off the ceiling if we don’t start work on it soon.’
‘I know, I know,’ agreed Wilkins. ‘Look, between you and me, Lord Redmire did have some plans to generate revenue but I don’t know any details. It might have involved selling some valuable objects in the house – I don’t know. He never discussed the details with me. It’s probably the wrong thing to say, but, for everyone who’s worked hard to keep the house and the rest of the estate in the condition it’s in and wants to see it all remain intact, it’ll be much better when Mr Alistair takes over. I’ve just been talking to David Morton and I’ll bet he feels the same.’
Celia raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, I suppose you’re right, Richard; I hadn’t thought of it like that. Mr Alistair certainly gives the impression of being really attached to the place. So maybe every cloud has a silver lining, eh?’
‘You could put it like that. Let’s not pretend that his father was the greatest person to work for, though I know you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.’
‘No, I agree.’ As Wilkins turned to the door, Celia said, ‘Just before you go, Richard, could you have a word with the police? Just to ask them when we can reopen? Explain the financial difficulties.’
‘I’ll do my best but I don’t think it’ll cut much ice. They’ve got a murder enquiry on and that will be their priority, not the viability of this place. Anyway, bye.’
‘Bye.’
He trudged back to his own office, feeling weary and hoping for a break, but when he arrived he found the ever-keen DC Jeffries waiting for him with a long list of demands for information.
Three
‘So, I understand that you and the deceased Lord Redmire had a relationship over a number of years?’ Oldroyd and Steph were interviewing Alex Davis, who had been persuaded downstairs and now looked uncharacteristically tense and uncomfortable in the makeshift incident room. She was wearing dark glasses and a cashmere cardigan even though it was a warm day.
‘Yes, Chief Inspector,’ she replied wearily. ‘It was well known; we didn’t try to conceal it. Freddy and I were very close for a long time.’
‘And what brought the relationship to an end?’
She gave Oldroyd a filthy look, but knew she had to reply. ‘Oh, this and that. Time passes, things change. Freddy’s not renowned for his fidelity; he began to stray.’
‘How did you feel about that?’
‘By that time it was obvious that he was ready to move on; I’d started to stray, too, with James, who became my partner.’
‘And had been Lord Redmire’s business partner?’
‘Yes.’
‘That sounds extremely messy. I assume Lord Redmire wasn’t too pleased about it?’
‘No. But he could hardly complain, could he?’
Steph watched Alex Davis closely. She felt ambivalent about this woman: she was part of that arrogant rich elite who’d been ‘born with a silver spoon in their mouths’, as her mum would have said, but she admired the way she had not allowed powerful men to trample all over her and in fact had given as good as she’d got.
‘Nevertheless he must have felt it more keenly, as you went off with his friend,’ continued Oldroyd.
Alex sighed. ‘I’m not sure that James was really Freddy’s friend. I don’t think Freddy had any proper friends.’
‘Well, whatever their relationship was, I take it this must have soured it.’
‘Yes.’
‘And was that when their business venture came to an end?’
‘It was certainly a factor, but it was more complicated than that. You’ll have to ask James.’
‘Did you know anything about what was planned here last night? Did Lord Redmire tell you anything about this locked-room trick?’
‘No, nothing. James and I got the invitation and I wanted to come, because I thought it would be fun. We don’t get many invitations to stately homes like this.’
‘And what did you do when you arrived?’
‘James and I were shown to our room. Later I came down to get a drink in the drawing room. James went for a walk in the gardens, then we all met for dinner and after that, you know.’
‘Have you ever met Harold Robinson?’
‘No.’
Oldroyd paused and looked at her. ‘It must have felt awkward, coming here; you knew his ex-wife and his family would be around. Are you sure it wasn’t because you wanted to see Lord Redmire again? How did you feel about him? Were you still angry?’
Her answer was unexpectedly frank. ‘Yes, I was angry with him – I still am. Freddy and I had the kind of feelings for each other that never entirely die, although I’m happy with James and would never have gone back to Freddy.’
‘Were you still in love with him?’
She took off her glasses and looked straight at Oldroyd. ‘I always will be, Chief Inspector. That’s why I left him: because he had the power to hurt me and he did – too many times. But I didn’t kill him.’
Despite the fact that he seemed the epitome of cool, in a cream linen jacket, blue jeans and brown brogues, Oldroyd and Steph could sense the tension in James Forsyth, who lounged in his chair in a rather exaggerated fashion.
‘You knew Lord Redmire for many years, I believe.’
‘I did.’
‘How would you describe your relationship with him?’
Forsyth thought for a moment. ‘Freddy and I got on very well when we first got to know each other through the Vintage S
ports Car Club. We were young in those days and we both liked driving fast cars, going for a drink afterwards – you know the sort of thing.’ He smiled.
Steph knew that there were few things Oldroyd despised more than wealthy young men, probably alcohol-fuelled, tearing around the rural roads putting people’s lives in danger.
Oldroyd said nothing, but did not smile in return. ‘Did this fast life include pursuing women?’
‘I can’t deny we did a fair amount of that too, Chief inspector. They were very exciting times. There’s nothing a woman likes more, in my experience, than being driven at speed through the countryside in an open-topped sports car.’
Steph shook her head and bit her tongue. ‘I think you were probably doing more than driving them around in sports cars.’
‘Yes, we were.’ Forsyth’s smirk sickened Steph. It reminded her of men she encountered in bars who came up behind you and started massaging your shoulders.
‘Am I right in thinking that Lord Redmire was still messing about with women after his marriage?’
‘He was, though I have to say not with my approval. I was very sorry for Antonia.’
I don’t believe you, thought Steph. You’re enjoying this. You haven’t even asked why the boss is asking you about your private life.
‘I’m just trying to establish the origins and background of your relationship. Can you give me some idea of the time scheme in relation to when you went into business with Lord Redmire and when Alex Davis came on the scene?’
‘Freddy and I had known each other for about ten years when he suggested the idea that we should start up a company selling vintage cars. I should have known better; going into business with Freddy was always going to be a mistake. He only suggested it because his funds were low; his lifestyle and his gambling consumed vast amounts of cash. I should have realised that he had no idea about running a business – or work of any kind, for that matter. He’d lived like a playboy all his life.’
‘What about you?’
‘My father ran a business: high-class furniture – very successful. So I had much more business knowledge than Freddy.’