by David Beard
Emily clenched her fist and threw her arm into the air, ‘Yes!’ she shouted.
‘Don’t speak too soon.’
‘It seems to me, Dexter, that whether it is Samantha or not, her mother knew of Crossworth’s daughter.’
‘What’s to cheer about? We can’t speak to her, can we?’ He thought for a moment, ‘We need to go through every bit of paper and her correspondence with a magnifying glass.’
CHAPTER 6
Michael Lynley’s first action on his return to Devon was to go to the morgue to formally identify his wife’s body, only to find his daughter had already done so. He returned to his ex-wife’s home in Tiverton and waited for the inevitable visit from the police.
Michael Lynley was a tall, well built man with greying hair. A first assessment of his appearance would suggest he would have been a second row forward in a rugby team. He led Smalacombe and Corndon through the hallway to the living room.
‘Mr Lynley, I am sorry there was confusion at the morgue but we were not sure when you would be available. It is absolutely essential for us to get a positive identification as soon as possible.’
‘I understand, Mr Smalacombe. At least all hope of misidentification has gone and I must now look to the future.’
Smalacombe was aware that Lynley showed very little emotion. ‘It must be extremely difficult for you, as you were away at the time.’
‘I live in Hong Kong.’
‘Not here?’
‘Let me fill you in with the details. I live in HK permanently. Heather and I are not divorced but for many reasons I decided to go it alone a long time ago. Frankly, I have only returned because of Samantha. With these things there is always a lot of business to clear up apart from the terrible emotional upheaval.’
‘I see. You split because your business interests were so far away?’
‘Partly, but we were incompatible. We have remained friends but we just couldn’t live together.’
‘May I press you on that, Mr Lynley?’ Emily asked.
‘Well, how can I put this?’ He thought for a while, ‘Heather was very gregarious; my company was never enough for her.’
‘I don’t wish to be offensive, but we need to know everything. Are you saying she had affairs?’
‘Look, she was beautiful, very intelligent and great company. She was the honey pot surrounded by flies.’
‘Bees!’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t give them that credit. But, yes, she succumbed, and often.’
‘So, you moved out.’
‘Well, I was working away in any case and I wasn’t keen on an open marriage. My business was developing in the Far East and she had no desire to come to Hong Kong with me. She had her career here.’
‘What is your business, Mr Lynley?’ Smalacombe asked, getting back to more formal things.
‘I have a software and robotics company that specialises in the clothing industry. I have recently developed a system for the cutting table that automatically designs the layouts, lays the fabric and cuts it. It saves on average eight percent of lost fabric and reduces the cutting operation time by nearly twenty percent.’
‘Very successful?’
‘At the moment, yes. I am based in HK because I have better access to the mainland and with the help of my employees there is no language barrier.’
‘And, your company is Stomely Holdings?’ Lynley nodded his head in acknowledgement.
Emily opened her briefcase and hurriedly searched through her paperwork.
‘It’s OK, Sergeant. I know what you are looking for. Yes, Crossworth had a financial interest in the company and yes, I knew him well. Next question?’ Lynley smiled but carried on before it could be posed. ‘I saw him a fortnight ago; he came out to see me.’
‘On business or personal matters?’
‘Oh, business. The other is in the past, as I have just explained.’
‘Was it a positive meeting?’
‘I am being very open with you, Chief Inspector, but there are some things I will need professional advice on before I enlarge on it.’
‘When did you last see your ex-wife?’ Smalacombe was tempted to say, and don’t say at the morgue. It chilled him that it should have even crossed his mind.
‘A few months back. You will be able to check the passport control to identify exactly when I was last in the UK no doubt.’
‘Was it amicable?’ Emily returned to the personal matters.
‘We had dinner out. Bit like a business deal really. You know, how can we help Samantha because her marriage had crumbled? What are we going to do with this place?’ he looked around the room.
‘It’s still a joint ownership?’
Lynley nodded. ‘Well, it’s just mine now I suppose. I let these things slide. I was too wrapped up in my business elsewhere. These are things we have to sort out.’
‘I must say, you have returned very promptly.’
‘As odd as it may seem, this is family stuff and Samantha needs support.’
‘Samantha has told us that you are…how can I put this,’ Emily considered how to formulate her question without alienating him, as he was being cooperative, ‘…remote, ahm, she had very little contact with you.’
Lynley smiled broadly, ‘Of course I was remote, just check the map. I don’t have regular contact with her but I am still her dad and I have helped her considerably over the years. Ask her from where she got the deposit for her house?’
‘I understand, and when will you return to Hong Kong?’
‘I expect the next utterance will be that you will need me here. Well, I will be around for a while; Samantha needs support. I have no idea when you will release the body but I will be attending the funeral. After all, she was my wife. With modern communication I can run things pretty well from here, for a while anyway.’
As the two drove back to the police station, they mulled over the day’s work.
‘Lynley was pretty open with us, Dexter. I think he is in the clear.’
‘I don’t close books this early on. What was his meeting with Crossworth about? We need to know.’
‘Well, he was thousands of miles away.’
‘Doesn’t mean he wasn’t involved in some way and we only have his word for that at the moment. Look, people handle things differently, as we have seen this morning. Some will try to intimidate us, like Rollisade, others will decide to pretend to cooperate to throw us off guard. I trust no one. I write no one off until the evidence is concrete.’
‘I see; yes, people do think and act differently. Ask a mental arithmetic question to a class of kids and I bet they will all do it differently.’
‘And wrongly!’ Smalacombe looked puzzled, what is she on about, he thought? He couldn’t resist patronising her, ‘What’s seventeen times twenty three?’
There was hardly a pause and Emily replied ‘Three hundred and ninety one. Now, how do you do it?’
‘I take out my mobile, go to the calculator and press the buttons.’
‘But how do you know if you have pressed the right buttons?’
‘I bloody don’t! That’s why I have a sergeant who fucking knows everything.’
‘Oh, I’ve upset you now. I was just winding you up.’
‘Look, winding people up is my prerogative and I am an expert at it.’
‘So I’ve been told!’
‘Emily, how do you fancy a trip to Dartmoor this afternoon? We need to visit the Woodland Hotel.’
‘We should never mix pleasure with work, but sometimes it is unavoidable.’
*
They arrived at the Woodland Hotel by mid afternoon. It was an isolated establishment with open moorland rising up behind it; a wonder for city dwellers. It looked down on a deep wooded valley with the river Dart winding through it. They were soon introduced to David Grubb, the owner and he took them to a quiet room he used as an office. They sat on easy chairs around a small coffee table. After all the introductions and small talk, Smalacombe decided it was time
to get down to business. He nodded to his sergeant.
Emily opened the file she was carrying and placed two photographs on the table. ‘Do you know these people?’ she asked.
‘Yes, they are regular visitors here. They are Mr and Mrs Crossworth. You are here because of Henry’s murder I take it?’
‘We are, but no, they’re not Mr and Mrs Crossworth, Mr Grubb, they are not even married. He is Henry Crossworth and she is Heather Lynley.’
David Grubb looked shocked. Lynley was a name mentioned in the gossip in his bar. ‘I knew them as Heather and Henry,’ he commented and he stalled trying to work out the correct answer. ‘Lynley rings a bell,’ he thought a little more and it came to mind. ‘Are you saying that she was the lady murdered at Widecombe?’ Corndon nodded. ‘And Henry was found somewhere in mid Devon of course?’
‘That’s right, at a time when they were supposed to be here.’
‘I was shocked to hear of the murders but you issued no photographs, so I made no connection between the two, I had no idea…This is dreadful. I knew Henry had been murdered but I didn’t know a Heather Lynley.’
‘But we don’t have murders down here every weekend. Surely…’
‘Oh come on, the bodies were found miles apart. How would I link the two?’ Emily was concerned that this answer seemed too pat, perhaps rehearsed.
Smalacombe took up the questions. ‘OK, let’s move on. Just tell us about last weekend.’
‘Heather booked the usual double room from Friday afternoon until Monday morning. It was a pretty regular thing although they had not been down for a while; holiday time too. Heather……,’ he hesitated in order to use the correct tense, ‘was a teacher and during term time they would come on Saturdays and leave on Sundays. Things were not right this weekend.’
‘In what way?’
‘Well, she came alone.’
‘What?’ both Smalacombe and his sergeant answered simultaneously and looked at one another in complete surprise. Smalacombe continued, ‘When did he arrive then?’
‘He didn’t and she left abruptly on Sunday. When I heard the news, I assumed she had to go because she had been told of Henry’s murder. She hadn’t settled up with us but I wasn’t too concerned; she was a regular.’
‘Can you tell us what was on the menu on Sunday?’
‘Oh, I will ask the staff what she chose.’ He picked up the phone and asked for the head waiter. There was a short conversation. ‘She will get back to me. Heather never cleared her room; her belongings are still here. I didn’t worry, I knew her and I was confident she would return.’ He looked up, ‘I rang her on her mobile two or three times but it seemed to be out of order, or she had it switched off, which was very unusual. That did concern me a bit.’
Smalacombe decided to move the conversation on. ‘You knew Crossworth and Lynley well, it seems. Did you spend time talking with them?’
‘Oh yes. Henry and I talked endlessly. We became good mates.’
‘About what?’ Emily prompted.
‘All sorts. We had one piece of common ground. I’m a Bristolian, my dad used to take me to Ashton Gate as a boy. Get Henry talking Bristol City and you could be there for a fortnight. Heather would go off and read a book…I have been to Ashton Gate with Henry: he has a hospitality suite there.’
‘Would photos have been taken?’
‘You bet! It was party time, especially if City won.’
‘Mr Grubb, you have been a great help. What about Heather Lynley’s belongings? Are they still in the room?’
‘Oh no, we need the space: it’s August. We packed it all back into her suitcases; dirty washing, everything but you are welcome to it. I will organise someone to fetch it for you.’
The phone rang and Grubb answered it and uttered just two words, ‘Thank you.’ He replaced the receiver. ‘She chose the pasta dish. It was…’
‘That’s all we need to know. We will leave you now, but we may need to see you again.’
‘That’s fine. At this time of year I don’t have time to go very far.’
Emily Corndon remembered one more thing they needed to confirm. ‘Do you remember the car she used this weekend?’
‘Well, it wasn’t the usual one - Henry’s Mercedes. I’m not sure of the make; I didn’t take much notice at the time. I can give you the number, as we always take them for security reasons.’
Shortly after, two suitcases were in the boot. Corndon checked her notes and confirmed that it was Heather Lynley’s car. As the two officers drove up Dartmeet Hill, Smalacombe had an idea. ‘Emily, do you wish to visit your namesake?’
‘I do. Perhaps, in the quietude we could think a while and see if we can put some of these strands in order.’
Smalacombe turned off the main road and turned left again to drive along a narrow lane but with open moorland on either side that led to an isolated hamlet. He parked off the road just below Yar Tor. They left the car and walked up the moorland past the Cave Penney First World War memorial and made their way to the top of Corndon Tor. They sat on a boulder, large enough for them both to dangle their feet. They sat in silence and absorbed the panorama in front of them, which included Two Crosses in the distance. Smalacombe finally broke the silence.
‘If there is a signal here, ring Sheldon and ask him to check Crossworth’s computer for photos. I am curious about the two blokes that visited Whitecroft.’
‘I’ll do it now.’ Emily tapped away and Smalacombe continued to muse.
‘Maybe it is all quite innocent but we have to eliminate them from the enquiries, or otherwise, of course. I’m not sure about Grubb: he seemed too sure of himself.’
‘Maybe he has nothing to hide,’ Emily reasoned.
‘You know my views on these things. Surely, as he knew she was a Heather, he must have made some connection.’
‘He was glib in answering that but it is a fair point that the bodies were miles apart. Don’t know. What a turn up that Crossworth didn’t arrive.’
‘I know; it threw me. The PM is quite clear that the two were murdered in the same place, at the same time and on the high moors. So, when did he arrive?’
‘He must have met her where they met their fate.’
‘It doesn’t make sense.’
‘For some reason he couldn’t make the weekend but he still wanted to see her and he managed it on the Sunday… and don’t say managed what?’
Smalacombe shook his head and smiled.
Emily decided to keep things lighter and changed the subject. ‘One thing is really amusing me, Dexter. If Samantha is right and she is the missing daughter, then it will be in her capacity to see that Rollisade is sacked. Tables turned, eh?’
‘How is it your mind works the same as mine?’
‘I can assure you there is no DNA connection between us.’
Smalacombe smiled. ‘Emily, I had a conversation with Sheila Milner. She wanted to know how we are doing.’
‘It’s her job.’
‘I have to discuss this with you. I don’t know why, but it’s the way of the world it seems. I think you are now aware of my style: it’s me, it’s how I am and I’m not about to change.’
‘Dexter, I’m OK with it.’
‘We are now in an age, I don’t know what you call it; sexual correctness?’ Corndon smiled and nodded. ‘Milner was even talking about verbal bloody innuendo…’
‘No, it is verbal innuendo; much the same, but less violent.’
Smalacombe laughed, ‘You can’t help yourself any more than I can. Look, whatever I say, there will be no personal inference I assure you. You told her of the piddle thing.’
‘I did. I thought it was quite funny actually. If it had cropped up today I would have understood it better.’
‘For me, it was just a play on words; no more. It was too good an opportunity to miss: I couldn’t resist.’
‘Poetry now!’
‘Oh, things like that ease the pressure.’
She was sometimes unnerved by his l
anguage, ‘I’d rather there were a few less fuck me’s…’ she stopped and realised he would see an innuendo in that remark and wouldn’t resist responding to it. ‘Oh no, don’t pick up on that,’ she added hurriedly. They both laughed loudly.
‘Freda would not approve. Just a figure of speech; no more I assure you.’
‘Frankly, I enjoy the puns and the lateral thought that brings out the silly remarks. Please don’t worry. I’ve learnt more about our job and people’s attitudes in the few days I have been with you than all those bloody years at uni.’
‘You didn’t enjoy it?’
‘I don’t like academia; too many self satisfied, arrogant sods around. But, if you are ambitious then you have to put up with it. Many there will look down on people like you, but you have more in your little finger than they will ever achieve. Theory is all wonderful but when you meet a shit like Rollisade, how do you cope with that?’
‘It’s an expensive business going to university these days.’
‘I worked and came out of it in surplus.’
‘You trained to be a vicar?’
There was more laughter, ‘I think it is spelt differently. You are indulging in your habit.’
‘Oh come on, you’ve always got to top it…’
‘And don’t say typical woman. At uni I used my sense of humour to good effect.’
‘What, taking the piss out of those hoity toity intellectuals?’
‘No, I didn’t want to be burdened with a huge student debt so I developed a stand up act.’
‘You’ve got to be joking…’
‘Well, of course I was, how else would I bloody……?’
‘Yea, yea, you don’t miss a chance do you? Stand up eh?’
‘I was at the UCL so there were huge opportunities all around and I was working two to three nights a week and more at certain times. I did the Edinburgh Fringe twice. At the end I was on good money.’
‘I didn’t see you on the telly.’