by Ann Granger
‘Leave it to us,’ said Morton.
But Davies had already decided to do that and had set off back to his carpentry.
‘What’s the betting,’ Carter asked, ‘that the woman will turn out to be Natalie Adam?’
‘Is she Finch’s girlfriend? The one you saw in London, at the victim’s flat?’ Morton drew up before the front door with a swirl of gravel, alongside a Mercedes already parked there.
‘That’s the woman. I should have guessed we wouldn’t have seen the last of her. We’ll walk round to the back of the house, Phil. The kitchen door will almost certainly be open. I’d like to surprise the unwelcome visitors.’
They certainly made an entry. From the kitchen they could hear the raised voices coming from the sitting room. The voices stopped abruptly as Carter appeared in the doorway, Morton’s burly frame looming behind him. Carter scanned the room swiftly, taking in the tableau presented.
An ashen-faced Harriet was standing by the Queen Anne chair, her refuge in times of distress. She rested one hand on the back of it and was clasping a handkerchief in the other, balled up and pressed to her mouth. A tubby fellow with ginger hair and a red face was over by the unlit hearth, looking as if he’d rather be a million miles away. Natalie Adam stood in the middle of the floor, hands on hips, dominating the scene.
All three occupants greeted the newcomers in individual manner. Harriet exclaimed, ‘Oh, thank goodness you’ve come!’ The ginger-haired man demanded, ‘Who the hell are you?’ and Natalie said simply, ‘Damn!’ She then turned to her companion by the fireplace and explained, ‘It’s the police.’
The ginger-haired man said, ‘Oh, bloody hell! Why did I let you talk me into this, Natalie?’
‘Pull yourself together, Henry!’ she ordered him. She turned back to the new arrivals. ‘Superintendent Carter, I see. Who called you?’
Harriet replied before Carter could. ‘Derek did. I signalled to him to fetch some help.’ Addressing Carter, she added: ‘Luckily, I saw him in the yard, through the window. Otherwise, I don’t know what I would have done. She was between me and the door over there, so I couldn’t get to a phone. Derek came, took one look, and got the message.’
Natalie scowled. ‘Who is Derek? I didn’t see him.’
‘You had your back to the door,’ said Harriet. ‘Dead keen on barring my way!’
Henry cleared his throat and said, ‘If you mean a little whiskery chap with a pencil stuck behind his ear, I saw him.’
‘Why didn’t you draw my attention to him?’ demanded Natalie.
‘Bloody hell, Nat, he was only there for a split second, and then he ran.’
‘Derek is the carpenter,’ explained Carter to Ms Adam, taking over. ‘Now then, what’s all this about? Mrs Kingsley, were you expecting visitors? Did you know either of these people before this morning?’
‘No,’ said Harriet. ‘I certainly didn’t expect anyone. They just arrived and stormed in. I still don’t know who they are. Well, she’ – Harriet pointed at the fuming Natalie – ‘she says she was Carl’s girlfriend. But I never heard anything about a girlfriend.’
‘That,’ snapped Natalie, ‘was because you wouldn’t talk to him for the past six months, at least. I know he tried to get in touch with you. You wouldn’t answer his calls or his text messages or emails or anything.’
Henry decided to put down his own marker. ‘I’m Henry Knox. I’m a work colleague of Natalie’s and I, er, just came along because she was nervous of talking to—’
‘I was not nervous!’ declared Natalie. ‘Honestly, Henry, you know perfectly well I wanted you here as a witness!’
‘You told me you were nervous of facing Kingsley and his wife together. You’d be outnumbered!’ argued Henry.
‘I understand, Mrs Kingsley,’ interrupted Carter loudly, ‘that your husband has gone to Gloucester on some business.’
‘Yes, he wanted to—’ began Harriet, but she was interrupted.
‘We didn’t come at this time because we knew that ghastly man, Kingsley, wouldn’t be here!’ snapped Natalie, tossing back her abundant mane of hair. ‘We didn’t plan to confront her alone, so don’t get that idea in your heads. We fully expected to see him. Carl said Kingsley hung round the house all the time, inventing projects that never make any money. I know he’s violent. It’s because of this that I wanted Henry with me.’
Red flooded Harriet’s pale cheeks. ‘Guy, my husband, is not ghastly, and he is certainly not violent!’
‘So what was he doing when he was in the army, then?’ interrupted Henry unexpectedly. ‘Natalie said he was in Afghanistan. He wasn’t there to take photos of the scenery, was he? He’s a trained marksman. Of course Natalie was wary.’
‘Soldiering was his job!’ stormed Harriet. ‘It isn’t now. He left the army ages ago. He doesn’t go around attacking people now!’
‘That,’ said Natalie triumphantly ‘is just where you’re wrong! He attacked Carl. I was there. I saw it!’ She whirled to face Carter. ‘I’ve already told you this!’
‘What rubbish! When?’ demanded Harriet, turning to Carter. ‘Do you know this woman?’
‘In the course of our enquiries,’ explained Carter as peaceably as he could, ‘we searched Carl Finch’s London home. Ms Adam arrived while we were there. She did tell us that your stepbrother and your husband had an altercation in the London house, in her presence, ending in a minor scuffle.’
‘She’s lying!’ declared Harriet. ‘Guy’s never been to Carl’s home. Just look at her! She’s one of those loopy people who make things up and believe their own stories. She needs psychiatric help.’
‘Steady on!’ interjected Henry. ‘If Natalie said it happened, I believe her.’
‘More fool you!’ Harriet told him crisply.
‘The incident did happen,’ Carter supported Natalie reluctantly. ‘Captain Kingsley told my colleague Inspector Campbell about it.’
Harriet released her hold on the back of the chair and sat down in it abruptly. ‘Guy didn’t say anything to me. When did this – this supposed scuffle – happen?’
‘I understand your husband went to London on some business—’
Harriet didn’t let him finish. Her face had reddened and she put up both hands, palms outwards, as if she could physically push away his words.
‘I won’t discuss this any more until I’ve had a chance to speak to Guy. I want to hear about it from my husband, and not from anyone else! He should be home in about an hour. Superintendent Carter, I want these people out of my house before he gets back.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Natalie nastily. ‘It is your house, isn’t it? Carl told me all about that, how you and your husband got your father to change his will—’
‘That’s enough, Miss Adam!’ Carter ordered. ‘I think you and Mr Knox had better leave.’ He turned to Morton, who had been listening with interest. ‘Sergeant, escort Mr Knox and Miss Adam out, would you?’
Harriet, her voice shaking with rage, shouted, ‘My father did not change his will! My father was perfectly clear in his mind what he wanted to do! This is my family home! We’ve been here for generations! It’s nothing to do with Carl. My father was very generous to him—’
‘Not now, Mrs Kingsley!’ ordered Carter. ‘Your visitors are leaving.’
‘Come along, folks,’ requested Morton, advancing into the room.
Natalie wasn’t leaving without a last verbal thrust. ‘Henry’s right. Guy Kingsley is a trained killer. What’s more, he’s got no money. It’s all hers! Kingsley always hated Carl, and was eaten up with jealousy towards him. He didn’t mean Carl to get a penny. If you want a suspect for Carl’s murder, Superintendent, you don’t have to look any further than Captain Guy Kingsley, in my opinion!’
Henry unexpectedly leaped into action. ‘Come on, Nat!’ He grasped her arm and marched her forcibly to the door.
‘What the hell are you doing, Henry? Let go of me!’ she stormed as she was pushed through the doorway into the hall.
They heard no more, as Morton had succeeded in escorting both visitors out of the house.
The room was suddenly quiet but for a lingering echo of the dispute. As it faded, Carter took a chair near Harriet and asked, ‘When do you expect your husband?’
‘Any time this afternoon, probably by three-thirty at the latest. He might grab some lunch, but it would only be a sandwich.’ She swallowed and muttered, ‘Horrid, horrid people!’
Carter glanced at his wristwatch. ‘It’s nearly one now. We’ll make sure neither of those two comes back today. But perhaps it would be a good idea for you to have someone with you until Captain Kingsley returns. How about Mrs Briggs? Would she come up and sit with you?’
‘Tessa? Yes, yes, of course, if she’s free. I’ll call her mobile.’ Harriet faced him defiantly. ‘It’s all rubbish, everything that crazy woman said. If Guy did tell Inspector Campbell he and Carl had a – a sort of fight, then it must have happened. But I still want to hear about it from him.’
‘You had no idea he’d visited Finch’s home?’
‘None at all. But I’m not going to talk about it until Guy’s explained. Whatever happened, it couldn’t have been much.’
‘I understand it was just a scuffle.’
‘I don’t believe,’ said Harriet fiercely, ‘that she – Natalie, whatever – was ever really Carl’s girlfriend.’
‘Well, Miss Adam seems a rather volatile person. He might have wanted to keep her away from the Old Nunnery.’
‘She’s nuts!’ said Harriet succinctly. ‘Totally off her trolley.’ She paused and added with less certainty: ‘But Carl must have told her all that about the will. How could he be so stupid?’
‘Perhaps he needed someone to confide in?’
‘He didn’t have to choose her!’ muttered Harriet. ‘Oh, this is awful!’ She slapped the arms of the Queen Anne chair. ‘I should have talked more with Carl before – before all this. Look, Superintendent Carter, Guy, my husband, is not a violent man! He didn’t get along with Carl, but he wouldn’t shoot him!’
Carter got to his feet. ‘Call Mrs Briggs. Oh, it’s rather chilly in here, if you don’t mind me saying so. I think you should keep warm. Light that fire, perhaps.’
She glanced at the hearth. ‘The house costs a fortune to heat. But I’ll get the logs going. I was going to light the fire, anyway, before Guy got home.’
Carter nodded his approval. ‘I’ll go now and talk to your visitors. I’m reasonably certain they won’t come back today, but I’ll make sure.’
‘Or come back ever?’ she asked hopefully.
Carter pulled a rueful face. ‘I don’t think Mr Knox will return. Miss Adam’s actions are less easy to predict. I’ll do my best. Trespass, however, is a civil matter.’
‘Can’t I get a court order?’ Harriet demanded.
‘I don’t think we’re at that stage yet. She’s only called here once. But you must let me know at once if she tries to contact you again in any way – phone, email, text, anything.’
Outside the house, Natalie sat sullenly in the Mercedes. Henry wandered up and down beside it, staring at his feet and dragging on a cigarette. Phil Morton looked on dispassionately. When she saw Carter coming, Natalie scrambled out of the car. Henry threw away his cigarette guiltily and straightened up.
‘Right!’ said Carter. ‘I strongly advise you both to return to London at once. Did you drive down today?’
‘Yesterday,’ Knox told him. ‘We stayed last night at a place called Weston St Ambrose. There’s a hotel there called the Royal Oak. You can check with them.’
Carter nodded. ‘I know the Royal Oak. If you still have luggage there, my advice to you is to go now and collect it. Then go home. I cannot prevent you remaining in the area, but I am telling you officially to stay away from this house, the Old Nunnery, and not to contact either Captain or Mrs Kingsley. This is a murder investigation, and your actions are not something we approve of. They could be interpreted as an attempt to interfere with witnesses.’
Natalie retorted defiantly, ‘Do you at least have Guy Kingsley down as a suspect?’
‘I cannot discuss the case with you or anyone else outside my team except a senior officer. I don’t want you to attempt to go over my head, by the way. The chief constable is a busy man, and he doesn’t like the general public interfering in police matters.’
‘I’m a witness, too,’ said Natalie sullenly. ‘I was there when Carl and Guy had their scrap.’
‘All the more reason for you to stay away from here and not discuss the matter with anyone, here or in London.’
‘Get back in the car, Natalie, for crying out loud!’ begged Knox.
Natalie, now evidently in a massive sulk, threw herself into the Mercedes.
They watched them drive away. Morton said, ‘I don’t envy Knox having to drive all the way back to London with her fuming alongside him.’
‘No,’ returned Carter thoughtfully. ‘Ms Adam has a somewhat aggressive disposition, Phil. She believes in action, not words. She doesn’t like being thwarted or crossed.’
‘She certainly doesn’t. She’s downright scary, in my book!’ Morton cast him a questioning look. ‘Do you believe her capable of falling out with Finch, grabbing a weapon, following him down here and blowing him away, in or near Crooked Man Woods?’
‘If I’m honest, I have to say I can imagine it all too well. She’s someone who wouldn’t have taken it kindly if Finch had told her he wanted to end their relationship. Especially if she believed she’d stuck by him through his problems. But we don’t know she fell out with Finch, so let’s not get carried away, Phil. She’s very keen to make certain we suspect Guy Kingsley.’
‘She may really believe he did it,’ said Morton.
‘Possibly.’ Carter added, ‘On the other hand, she is a determined and headstrong woman. I wouldn’t like to be on the wrong side of her. Nor is it impossible to get hold of an illegal weapon in London. She may even have access to a legal one, not held by her but by someone she knows. I’ll get on to Sergeant Mullins and ask the Met to check her out. Henry Knox, too. I dare say he knows how to handle a shotgun.’
‘Weekend shooting parties,’ said Morton scornfully. ‘Blasting birds out of the air.’ He drew a deep breath, ‘Just one thing, sir.’
‘Yes?’ Carter looked at him enquiringly.
‘The morning Finch was killed, Mrs Kingsley, we now know, drove to Crooked Man Woods. She took the Range Rover, and that’s the only car they have at the moment. I asked Mrs Briggs about that. Mrs Kingsley had her own vehicle but it’s been traded in for a new one and she’s still waiting for it to be delivered. So, on the morning in question, Captain Kingsley had no independent transport. His wife had gone off in their only vehicle. So, no matter what Natalie Adam reckons, he couldn’t have driven anywhere to meet up with Carl Finch.’
‘Unless he left very much earlier and got back before his wife left – and she didn’t know he’d gone. Good point, though, Phil.’
‘Or borrowed the carpenter’s van,’ offered Morton, unexpectedly cheerful.
‘Yes,’ Carter said. ‘Check it out, Phil.’
Morton, looking disconcerted, exclaimed, ‘I didn’t mean—! Yes, sir, I will.’
‘Well, go on, then!’
Morton set off for the rear of the premises and Carter stayed with his hands in his pockets, staring out at the view. He could understand that Carl Finch, having spent half his younger life here, felt it was his home. He must have resented Guy Kingsley. Kingsley had dispossessed him of what Carl saw as his rightful inheritance. Then Carter had a sudden nightmare thought. Suppose, just suppose, Sophie died at some future date while Millie was still a minor. He would naturally claim full-time custody of his daughter at once. But wha
t if Rodney, Millie’s stepfather, tried to contest his claim? He must check out French family law.
A crunch of heavy footsteps on gravel announced the return of Morton. His face wore a bemused expression.
‘Well?’ Carter asked.
‘Yes,’ said Morton dolefully.
‘Yes, what?’
‘Guy Kingsley borrowed the carpenter’s van earlier that morning. He took it shortly after Davies arrived, around eight-thirty. He wanted to drive to a builder’s yard and fetch some laminated board Davies needed. He didn’t take the Range Rover because Mrs Kingsley wanted it later that morning. He was gone just under an hour and he got back shortly before Mrs Kingsley returned with the Range Rover.’
‘Did he have the laminated board with him?’
‘Oh, yes, he’d got that all right.’
‘Then we’ll need to check how long it would have taken him to carry out his errand. Find out where this builder’s yard is located, Phil. Do a time check on how long it would have taken and whether it would have allowed him time to make a detour, shoot Finch, move the body and get back.’
‘The trouble is,’ Morton pointed out, ‘we don’t know exactly where Finch died. For my money, it was in or near the woods. But we don’t know the actual spot, and that’s what we need if we’re to get anywhere.’
‘We also need,’ said Carter, ‘to find Finch’s car. Because if we find that, I have a hunch we’ll know where he died. Where the hell is that Renault, Phil?’
When Guy Kingsley returned that afternoon, the first thing he saw was a familiar jeep parked before the front door. He found his wife and Tessa Briggs drinking tea in the kitchen, together with Derek Davies. Fred lay stretched out before the stove on his side like a hairy rug. The collie raised his head as Guy entered and flapped his tail against the floor tiles but didn’t leave his warm spot. Guy didn’t blame him. Davies scrambled to his feet.
‘I gotta get going,’ he said. ‘If I can just have a word with you first, show you something . . .’ He fixed Guy with a meaningful look and scuttled out of the back door towards the stable conversion.
‘Be back in a jiff,’ said Guy to the two women. They both nodded silently.