The Scent of Death--A Sukey Reyholds British police procedural

by Betty Rowlands

  They reached Dallington Manor just as Freeman and his group were finishing their breakfast. Some were already on their way to the Orchard Room; Freeman was at the reception desk discussing arrangements for lunch with Chapman.

  ‘Good morning,’ said Freeman. ‘I suppose you still have a few more people to interview, but you must have spoken to nearly everyone. Is something wrong?’ he added, seeing their unusually serious expressions.

  ‘I’m afraid there is,’ said Vicky. ‘There’s been an accident to Romeo’s van – it went off the road on a bend and ended up on its roof in a ditch.’

  ‘Good heavens!’ Freeman exclaimed. ‘However did it happen? Is he badly hurt?’

  ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you he’s dead,’ said Vicky. ‘He’s trapped against the driver’s door and there will have to be a detailed examination of the van before we can get him out and take him to the morgue. A post-mortem will we hope reveal the exact cause of death.’

  ‘Do you think he might have had a heart attack?’ asked Chapman.

  ‘It is of course possible,’ said Sukey. ‘Do you have any reason to think he might have had a health problem, Mr Freeman? Or did he perhaps hint that he had something on his mind that might have made him lose his concentration?’

  Freeman shook his head. He had a bewildered expression and made vague gestures in the air, as if unable to grasp the situation. ‘Far from it,’ he said. ‘Whenever I’ve seen him he’s always been full of energy and joie de vivre – never seemed to have a care in the world.’ He compressed his mouth and put his hands over his eyes. ‘Poor Romeo; such a wonderful talent wasted – I can’t take it in.’

  ‘We’ve been instructed to inform everyone ourselves,’ said Vicky. ‘Perhaps you’d call your staff together, Mr Chapman, but please don’t say why.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll do that right away; I’ll ask them to meet you here,’ said Chapman, who appeared equally shocked.

  To Freeman Vicky said, ‘If you don’t mind delaying the start of your session by a few minutes, we’ll come and speak to the members of your group as soon as we’ve broken the news to the staff.’

  He nodded. ‘That’s fine with me.’

  While they were speaking a few stragglers had passed them on their way to the Orchard Room. They had been speaking in low voices, but one or two cast curious glances at the group as if sensing that something unusually serious was being discussed. Freeman followed them up to the Orchard Room and Vicky and Sukey waited for the staff to assemble. In a short time Chapman appeared with Maxine and two waiters.

  ‘Romeo wasn’t a guest in the hotel so none of the domestic staff knew him and in any case they weren’t on duty in the afternoon,’ said Chapman ‘Maxine was here and these two waiters were serving tea yesterday afternoon. They were all able to hear him sing and said how much they enjoyed it.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Vicky. ‘Please sit down everyone. I’m afraid I have some very disturbing news about Romeo. He had an accident in his van yesterday, shortly after leaving here yesterday afternoon.’

  ‘Oh dear!’ said Maxine. ‘I’m sure we’re all very sorry to hear that. Was he hurt?’

  ‘I’m afraid he was pronounced dead at the scene,’ said Sukey. ‘What we’d like to know is, did any of you notice anything – or hear him say anything – that might make you think he had something on his mind and perhaps disturb his concentration?’

  There was a short silence. The two waiters shook their heads, but after a moment Maxine said, ‘I wouldn’t say he had something on his mind, but he did seem anxious to get away.’

  ‘Maybe he wanted to get wherever he was going before it got dark,’ suggested one of the waiters.

  ‘That’s probably it,’ said Vicky. ‘Well, thank you all very much. We’ll go and break the news to the guests now.’

  In the Orchard Room the whole group were assembled. Before either of the detectives could say a word, Eric jumped to his feet and said ‘Really, this is quite intolerable. First we have our sessions interrupted and now we have to wait your pleasure before we can even begin. Can’t you save your questions until our coffee break? We realize you have a job to do but we’ve paid good money to attend this event and this has all been very distracting.’ He glanced round for support; a few people nodded and one or two said ‘Hear! Hear!’ although in rather subdued voices.

  Vicky stepped forward. ‘You are quite right, Mr Bowen, but I have something very important to say that cannot wait,’ she said. ‘I know that a number of you enjoyed a performance yesterday of solo songs by a man you know as Romeo. Mr Freeman told us about his remarkable voice and how he usually comes to entertain members of his group if he happens to be in the neighbourhood.’ There were nods all round and a few appreciative remarks exchanged. ‘I’m sure all of you,’ Vicky went on, ‘especially those who, like my colleague and I, enjoyed his singing yesterday, will be very sorry to hear that shortly after he left there was a serious accident in which his van was involved.’

  As expected, there was a shocked silence, followed by various exclamations of ‘How dreadful!’ and ‘Is he badly hurt?’ Eric jumped to his feet again and said, ‘How did it happen? Was he in a collision? How is he?’

  ‘Tragically, he was pronounced dead at the scene,’ said Sukey. ‘It appears that his van left the road and ended up on its roof in a ditch, but I’m afraid that’s all we can tell you at the moment. We are of course appealing for witnesses.’

  There was a barrage of questions, to all of which Vicky and Sukey gave the same response, namely, ‘That’s all we can tell you at present. An official statement will be issued as soon as possible.’

  By this time Freeman had recovered his composure. ‘Perhaps the sensible thing to do now is get on with our usual programme,’ he said. ‘There may be further news during the morning – if so we’ll hear it when it’s time for coffee.’ He turned to the two detectives. ‘I take it that’s all right with you?’

  ‘That’s absolutely fine,’ Vicky assured him. ‘We still have a few people to take formal statements from concerning Mr Rainbird’s death, but they can wait until your coffee break. Enjoy the music.’

  ‘Why don’t we go for a coffee?’ said Sukey as they went back downstairs.

  ‘Good idea!’ said Vicky and led the way to the bar. ‘So,’ she went on as they settled down with large mugs of cappuccino, ‘we come back to the two possibilities: one that Romeo saw the attack on Rainbird and was trying to make some money out of it, or that he killed Rainbird himself but had to stay and give his performance to avoid drawing suspicion to himself.’

  ‘A lot will depend on what emerges from the PM and the examination of the van,’ said Sukey. ‘Romeo could have had some sort of health problem that even he wasn’t aware of. Suppose that hit him as he was negotiating that bit of road.’

  ‘That wouldn’t account for the detached brake fluid pipe,’ said Vicky.

  ‘True. And if sabotage is suspected it would mean we’re hunting a double killer.’

  ‘Who wouldn’t hesitate to kill again if he thought anyone else might have seen him.’

  ‘You’re thinking of Eric?’

  Vicky nodded. ‘We still haven’t asked him why he didn’t mention going down to his car on Friday evening. We’ll tackle him about that at coffee break.’

  They fell silent for a while. Then Vicky’s phone rang. ‘Thanks, Guv,’ she said before switching off. ‘I’ll pass it on. They’ve managed to trace Rainbird’s next of kin,’ she said. ‘Not that it’s a great deal of help. He has just one brother who’s living in Australia and hasn’t seen him for five years. They fell out over some property they both claimed ownership of – in the end the brother, Julius, couldn’t be bothered to pursue the matter further as the property was pretty run down anyway. He’d already made arrangements to settle in Oz, said the two of them were never very close, even as children, so he didn’t bother to stay in touch.’

  ‘As you say, not much help,’ Sukey agreed. ‘Just the same, it would be in
teresting to know if Lance Rainbird still owns the property and if so who will inherit. And out of interest, does anyone know what sort of education and qualifications the Rainbird brothers had?’

  ‘Good point. I’ll ask the DI if he has answers to either of those questions.’ Vicky made the call. ‘He can’t answer the first question until they’ve seen Rainbird’s will. He doesn’t see how Rainbird’s education can have the slightest effect on the case. That means,’ she continued, opening her laptop, ‘we’ll have to find out for ourselves.’

  It took only a short time to find the information they needed and they studied the screen together. They learnt that Lance and Julius Rainbird were the only children of a Millicent and Frederick Rainbird and the family home was in Surrey. Julius was the elder by three years. The father died when the boys were small and the mother, a teacher and a devout Roman Catholic, sent them to a Jesuit boarding school. Lance went to Oxford and Julius to the London School of Economics. At Oxford, Lance studied mathematics; while there he belonged to a number of music societies and regularly attended concerts and recitals. Later he took an Open University degree course in music. By profession he was a chartered accountant. Julius left the LSE after only one year and became a social worker.

  ‘Well that answers our main question and explains why Lance felt able to chuck his weight about during the music discussion,’ said Vicky.

  ‘I wonder why he kept quiet about his music degree,’ said Sukey. ‘Maybe he felt that a part-time OU degree wouldn’t count for much against Freeman’s more impressive list of qualifications.’

  ‘Could be,’ Vicky agreed. ‘He seems to have been a rather strange character all round – no close friends as far as we know, estranged from his brother and failing to mention how he came by his own musical knowledge. It’s pretty obvious Freeman didn’t know about it or he’d have mentioned it.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  As soon as the group came down for their coffee the four detectives set about interviewing the remaining people on their respective lists. Vicky and Sukey spoke to Eric Bowen first.

  ‘I’ve already told you everything I know,’ he complained.

  ‘Not quite everything,’ said Vicky. ‘You said quite definitely that you didn’t go outside after dinner on Friday evening.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘We have a witness who says you are exceptionally careful to make sure that your car is locked overnight and in fact you are in the habit of going down to check it every evening after dinner.’

  ‘So what’s wrong with that?’ said Eric. He was plainly on the defensive. ‘You can’t be too careful nowadays.’

  ‘So presumably on Friday evening you carried out your normal check after dinner?’ said Sukey.

  ‘What if I did?’

  ‘You were very insistent when we questioned you before that you went straight to the Orchard Room after dinner. Did you have a reason for not mentioning going out to check on your car?’

  ‘I suppose I must have forgotten.’

  ‘Or did you happen to see something – or someone – while you were out there and for some reason decided not to mention it?’

  There was a silence, during which Bowen took several mouthfuls from his coffee cup. Then he said, ‘I didn’t mention it because I couldn’t be sure.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Vicky.

  ‘I happened to glance across the garden and I saw a man walking down towards the lake. It was dark and I couldn’t be sure, but I assumed it was Rainbird because I’d heard him say he was going out.’

  ‘And then what happened?’

  ‘He stopped by the water’s edge and another man appeared from behind a tree on his right and they appeared to be talking. That’s all I saw – I didn’t really take any notice and having checked that my car was locked I went straight indoors.’

  ‘Did you recognize the other man?’

  ‘I told you – it was too dark to see.’

  ‘And that’s all you’re prepared to say?’ said Sukey.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘All right,’ said Vicky, ‘but as we have not yet been able to establish exactly how Mr Rainbird met his death, we can’t discount the possibility that someone attacked him. If someone saw what happened and the attacker was aware that he had been observed and by whom, he might feel it necessary to silence the observer. Do I make myself clear?’

  Bowen looked aghast. ‘Are you saying you think he was murdered, and that the murderer might kill again?’

  ‘If he felt threatened with exposure, he might well do that,’ said Sukey.

  ‘So think it over,’ said Vicky. She turned to Sukey. ‘Right, let’s go and ask Mr Freeman if he knew about Rainbird’s OU degree, shall we?’

  Freeman was surrounded by members of the group asking if he had any further news, but he waved them away, shaking his head. He still appeared unable to come to terms with the situation.

  ‘It’s like a personal loss,’ he said when they approached him. ‘In a way, I feel I’ve been his mentor. I don’t suppose you’ve heard any more?’

  ‘No so far,’ said Vicky. ‘We just wanted to have another word about Lance Rainbird. We’ve discovered that some time after he left Oxford he took a degree in music at the Open University.’

  ‘Good heavens!’ Freeman exclaimed in astonishment. ‘I had no idea; it explains his exceptional knowledge of music – but I wonder why he never mentioned it.’

  ‘As you yourself and everyone here who knew him have agreed, he was a loner,’ said Sukey. ‘He fell out with his only sibling, a brother who now lives in Australia, some time ago. It would appear that there was some kind of flaw in his personality that made it difficult for him to form relationships.’

  ‘A form of autism, perhaps,’ said Freeman. ‘Poor chap, life must have been hard for him. I suppose music was his only outlet. Well, perhaps he derived some pleasure from coming to my events. I’d like to think so.’

  At that moment, Vicky’s phone rang. She left the room to take the call; when she returned she took Sukey aside and said, ‘Guess the latest. Romeo has a brother – two brothers in fact!’

  EIGHT

  ‘We have to drop everything and get back to HQ,’ Vicky told Sukey. ‘One of Romeo’s brothers turned up at the morgue a couple of hours ago saying he’d recognized the registration number of Romeo’s van and was expecting to be able to identify him. His name is Luke Grayson; he’s been told about the circumstances of the accident and is pretty upset.’

  ‘That’s understandable,’ said Sukey. ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘At HQ. He was persuaded not to go to the scene of the accident and he agreed to wait until his brother could be taken out of the van and cleaned up.’

  ‘I take it there’s no doubt about this chap Luke being Romeo’s brother?’

  ‘The desk officer questioned him pretty closely. No one at HQ has met Romeo or knows anything about him except what we’ve given them, so they couldn’t say if there’s a family likeness or anything else of that nature. Just the same, they say they’re reasonably sure he’s telling the truth.’

  ‘Has Sir interviewed him?’

  ‘Are you kidding? Why d’you think he wants us back?’

  Sukey chuckled. ‘He enjoys having minions to do his work for him while he swigs endless cups of coffee and spends time on his computer doing research.’

  ‘I’m to tell Freeman there’s been a development in the case, but give no details,’ said Vicky. ‘All I’m to say is that we’ve been called back to HQ and we’ll be in touch. You have a word with Tim and Mike, put them in the picture and say they’re to carry on with their interviews but say nothing about Romeo’s recently discovered next of kin.’

  ‘Will do. They should be nearly through the interviews by now.’

  ‘You’re probably right. When they’ve finished they’d better ring in for further instructions.’

  At first sight it was difficult to believe that Luke Grayson was related to Romeo. He had clean cut, almos
t patrician features, thick brown hair flecked with grey brushed back from a high forehead and steady blue eyes. When Vicky and Sukey had introduced themselves and sat down opposite him in the interview room he took a colour photograph from his pocket and passed it to them. It was evidently a family snapshot of a middle-aged man with three teenage boys, two of whom bore a strong resemblance to him. A stranger might have supposed the third to be a family friend, as his heavier build, piercing dark eyes, swarthy colouring and mass of unruly black hair were in striking contrast to the conventional appearance of the others.

  ‘The one who looks like me is my elder brother Mark,’ said Grayson. ‘I’m in the middle and the one on my left – the one you know as Romeo – is our younger brother John. There were four of us to begin with but Matthew died when he was just a few weeks old. None of us ever knew him. Our parents were committed Christians – hence the choice of names.’

  ‘Your mother isn’t in the picture,’ said Vicky. ‘Perhaps she was taking it?’

  ‘No, she died when John was ten. I have her picture here.’ He passed another photograph across the table.

  ‘Well, you and Mark obviously resemble your father,’ said Sukey, ‘but I can’t see any resemblance in John to either of your parents.’

  ‘I should explain that our mother was Hungarian,’ said Grayson. ‘Our father was in the diplomatic service and she worked as a translator and interpreter in the British embassy in Budapest. They fell in love and when Dad returned to England they married and, as I said, had four sons.’ There was a silence, after which Grayson took a deep breath and said, ‘When John arrived, and was so utterly different in appearance from us, I can remember overhearing snatches of conversation between them. Mum kept saying “Please, you must believe me” and Dad saying “I want to believe you … I do believe you … I love you.” I guess he couldn’t bear to think that Mum had been unfaithful to him – and as things turned out, it was proved she hadn’t. She was a good woman and a devoted wife and mother. Anyway Dad did some research into her ancestry. He discovered that two or three generations ago one of her ancestors had married a Romany gypsy and that explained it – John was a throwback. They brought him up in exactly the same way as they brought up Mark and me, but from childhood it was obvious he was going to be different in more than just appearance. He simply couldn’t fit in to our conventional lifestyle; he bunked off school, looked down on us for liking pop music, saved his pocket money to buy classical music CDs and spent hours in his room listening to them. The only way in which he would conform was coming to church on Sunday, because our church was well known for its music. The quality of his voice from an early age was remarkable and he was a member of the choir – often singing solos – until his voice broke. By this time Dad had accepted that he was never going to settle down to a nine-to-five existence and offered to pay for him to have his voice professionally trained, but he would have none of it. I suppose he just relied on the training he’d had at church – our choir master had a fine tenor voice himself – and listening carefully to his recordings of top singers. After a couple of years or so he became the very fine singer you have heard and earned some sort of a living at, well, busking. Mark and I were getting on with our own lives and simply accepted things as they were, but Dad has never really been able to.’