Crow Trap

by Ann Cleeves

  By the time Vera reached the front door Peter was inside, in the basement kitchen. She leant over the rails but though she could see the couple she couldn’t tell what they were saying. Obviously, it wasn’t a friendly exchange. She paused for a moment but then curiosity got the better of her and she rang the bell. When Edie opened the door she was flushed.

  ‘Thank God,’ she muttered. ‘If you hadn’t come I might have murdered him.’

  In the kitchen beside the scrubbed pine table and chairs, there was a small sofa with an Indian cotton bedspread thrown over it. Peter Kemp had sat there when Edie left the room to answer the door. He lounged, his long legs stretched lengthways along the floor beside it so there was no room for anyone else to sit down. When he saw Vera he got slowly up to his feet.

  ‘Inspector,’ he said. ‘What a surprise. And I always thought Ms Lambert was such an upright person. I hope you haven’t come to make an arrest.’ He looked pointedly at the flowers, drooping now. ‘Ah no. I see it’s a social visit.’ The words came out as an accusation.

  His freckles seemed very prominent against his fair skin.

  ‘Look,’ Edie interrupted. ‘You’d better go. There’s nothing more to say.’

  He seemed about to argue but thought better of it, became instead concerned. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘I’m very fond of Rachael. I’ve her best interests at heart. I wouldn’t want her disappointed.’

  Edie let him go first up the stairs, turned to Vera and mimed being sick behind his back. As she came back into the room they heard his car roar into life and drive away. She banged around furiously, setting the table with cutlery and whatever she could find in the fridge. Vera waited until half a loaf, a pleated ball of silver foil with a smear of boursin inside, a lump of dried-up cheddar and a couple of slices of ham had appeared before speaking. Edie was by the sink, shaking a ready prepared salad from its plastic bag into a bowl.

  ‘What was all that about?’

  ‘He always was an arrogant little shit,’ Edie said.

  ‘What did he want?’

  ‘He must have heard that Rachael was thinking of applying for another job. He asked me to persuade her to stay. If he gets the contract for the new nature reserve at Black Law he’s relying on her to manage it. He’s scared he won’t be able to run the firm without her. He’s right. He wouldn’t.’

  ‘I suppose that’s quite flattering.’

  ‘But it was the way that he did it. Do you know what he said? “She ought to realize that now’s probably not a good time. Prospective employers would be wary of taking on anyone who’s been linked to a murder inquiry” implying that Rachael might have had something to do with Grace’s death.’

  Vera realized that Edie was close to tears. In the fridge she’d seen a bottle of wine, three-quarters full with the cork jammed back in. She took it out, poured each of them a glass, drank, winced and wondered how long it had been there.

  ‘Why do you want to talk to me anyway?’ Edie said, still angry. ‘You said you wanted to ask about Neville. If you come back this evening you can see Rachael. She’ll be able to tell you everything you want to hear.’

  ‘I understand she’s besotted. That doesn’t do a lot for a person’s judgement.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘Anne Preece. I went to Langholme to see her last night.’

  ‘She’s still there then. I’m surprised. I thought she’d decided to leave.’

  ‘Oh, she’s still there,’ Vera said. ‘But she seems in a sort of limbo. Waiting for something to happen. You haven’t any idea what she might be waiting for?’

  ‘Some man perhaps. She’s very discreet but I gather it’s not a successful marriage. Still, how many are?’

  Vera hacked a slice of bread from the loaf. ‘Well?’ she demanded. ‘Is she?’

  Edie, still preoccupied, looked up from her glass. ‘Is she what?’

  ‘Is Rachael besotted?’

  ‘Definitely. I haven’t seen her like this since she first started going out with that toad Peter Kemp.’

  ‘I didn’t realize she’d been involved with him.’ Vera’s voice was bland, vaguely curious, but her mind was whirring furiously. Another connection. Another complication.

  ‘Before he was married. I never liked him. Perhaps that’s why she stuck with him so long. To spite me. I shouldn’t have made my feelings about him so plain. I could never manage tact with Rachael.’

  ‘But she carried on working with him.’

  ‘That was pride, I think. She didn’t want to be seen to be running away.’

  ‘According to Rachael they’ve more work than they can handle. And he’s just given her a pay rise. To bribe her to stay, I suppose.’

  ‘So he’s not short of money?’

  ‘Apparently not though I hear his wife has very expensive tastes.’ Edie pulled a face. ‘Sorry, that was bitchy. I can’t help listening to gossip.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with gossip, pet. It’s what my job’s all about. What else does the gossip say?’

  ‘That he married her for her money then discovered she wasn’t as loaded as he thought. Daddy’s wealthy but not very generous.’ Edie drank the last of her wine. ‘Rachael’s not been happy at Kemp Associates for a while. I suppose Grace’s death pushed her into looking actively for something else. There’s a research post for the RSPB which interests her. It would be based in Wales. I know she’s ready for a move but I’d miss her. Especially now. We’ve been getting on better lately.’ Edie paused. ‘And she’d miss Neville. Perhaps that’s why she’s taking so long to decide whether or not to go for it. Secretly she’s waiting for him to sweep her away to Black Law so she can live with him happily ever after.’

  ‘Is that likely?’

  ‘God knows.’

  ‘Perhaps that was what the scene with Peter was all about.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Edie bristled again at the mention of Peter.

  ‘That he’s still fond of Rachael and he doesn’t want to lose her to Neville. I suppose it’s even possible that they’ve been having an affair. If Peter’s not happy with his wife.’

  ‘No!’ Edie was horrified. ‘Rachael wouldn’t be so dumb. Not even as a way of getting back at me. And jealousy’s such a very human emotion. I don’t think Peter Kemp’s capable of it.’

  Neville might be though, Vera thought. But where does that take us?

  ‘Did you know that Neville was planning to take Rachael to Black Law this weekend?’

  ‘She has mentioned it. Once or twice. She’s like a kid who’s never been on holiday before.’

  ‘And you’ve agreed?’

  ‘It’s not my place to agree or disagree, is it? She’s an adult. Too old for a lecture on safe sex.’ Edie looked at Vera thoughtfully across the table. ‘Unless there’s something you think I should know. Even then I can hardly invite myself up there as a watchdog or chaperone this time.’

  ‘No.’ Vera refilled both glasses. ‘I suppose not. What do you make of Neville Furness?’

  ‘I can see why Rachael’s attracted.’

  ‘Yes,’ Vera said. ‘So can I.’

  ‘I hope he’s not mucking her about.’

  ‘Do you think he might be?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I think perhaps he’s just very shy, very private. He doesn’t give anything of himself away. I should be used to that in Rachael. I think I should trust her judgement.’

  ‘Have you seen much of him?’

  ‘He’s very much the gentleman. Whenever he calls to take her out he makes a point of letting me know where they’re going and what time he’ll be back. You know they’ve seen each other every day since we moved back to Kimmerston.’

  ‘I had been keeping an eye on him. Discreetly. But after Edmund’s death we didn’t have the men to spare.’

  ‘Do you know where he was on the afternoon Edmund Fulwell was killed?’

  ‘I know where he says he was. Of course we’ll check. Why?’

  ‘He used to live in that h
ouse.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Should I persuade Rachael not to go with him at the weekend? She might listen to me. As I say, we’ve been getting on better lately.’

  ‘No,’ Vera said quietly. ‘Don’t do that.’

  ‘I’d not have her put in any danger.’

  ‘No,’ Vera said. ‘Nor would I.’

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Vera decided to call on the Waughs unannounced. Neville Furness had given her an excuse. She needed to check his alibi for the afternoon and evening of Edmund’s death and the Waughs’ house was on the way home. Almost. Even without the excuse she would have made the visit. Anne Preece had roused her curiosity. She wanted to see the family together.

  She had grown up with a rosy picture of conventional life and blamed the lack of it for the fact that she’d turned out such an awkward cow. In her work though she’d hardly come across a great deal of domestic bliss and the colleagues who played most at happy families were the ones she suspected of jumping into bed with anything that moved. Living a sham. Not Ashworth though. He was the exception. He restored her faith in her childhood dream.

  She timed her visit carefully for seven o’clock. Godfrey Waugh should be home from work by now. Surely this would be a time they would spend together. But when she pulled up onto the gravel drive the house was lifeless and she thought they must be out. After the thunderstorms of the week before the weather had changed again. It was warm and still and the hills seemed distant, hazy in the heat, yet none of the windows were open. She listened for the sound of a television or children shouting but everything was quiet.

  After ringing the bell she turned back to look out at the garden because she expected no answer and was surprised to hear the catch being lifted, the door opening. Inside stood a woman, holding a tea towel. She wore pink rubber gloves which reached almost to her elbows. Underneath them, Vera knew, would be manicured nails. The woman smiled pleasantly enough but Vera had taken against her. Even washing pans she wore make-up. Vera had an image of her sitting at her dressing table preparing herself carefully for her husband’s return from work. Through desire? Duty? Either way it was letting the side down.

  ‘Are you Mrs Waugh?’ The question came out more abruptly than Vera had intended. She found it hard to reconcile the picture of this self-confident creature with Anne Preece’s description of an anxious woman, a victim, the subject of bullying.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Inspector Stanhope. I’m investigating the murder of Edmund Fulwell. Would it be possible to speak to your husband?’

  ‘Of course.’ Barbara Waugh took off a glove and held out her hand. Vera, stretching out hers, was aware of her own nails – bitten, split, slightly grubby. The woman shouted back into the house, ‘Darling, it’s Inspector Stanhope. She’d like to speak to you.’

  It was impossible to tell what she thought of the intrusion.

  Vera followed her into the hall. Through an open door she saw into a small room, brightly painted, with a shelf of toys beyond a pine desk. A girl sat in front of a computer screen. She was playing a game intently, clasping the joystick with both hands. The sound had been turned off and the aliens on the screen were being zapped, silently. A flashing green light indicated the final score and the girl’s concentration was momentarily relaxed. She turned and Vera had a glimpse of a pale, rather puffy face before she had to greet Godfrey who was walking down the hall towards her.

  He had changed from his office clothes and had the look of a politician who has been told to dress casually. He wore thin cord trousers and a checked open-neck shirt. If it had been colder he would have gone for a patterned sweater.

  ‘Inspector.’ He frowned. If anything, Vera thought, he seemed the more anxious of the couple though he covered it well. ‘Is anything wrong?’

  ‘No,’ she said. Thinking, except that two people have been killed. A father and a daughter. Just like you and the child playing on the computer. ‘It’s a routine visit. I had a few questions and as I have to pass here anyway on my way home . . .’

  He led her into a sitting room which smelled of beeswax polish. An oil painting of their daughter hung prominently over the fireplace. It was too accurate to be flattering but Vera muttered something polite about how pretty she was. Her dealings with Ashworth had taught her how to talk to parents. She had obviously pressed the right button because Waugh responded warmly. His voice was local but the words, carefully chosen, a little long-winded, also had something of the politician about them.

  ‘We’d almost reconciled ourselves to being childless, then Felicity arrived. Perhaps because it was so unexpected it was a real joy.’

  Barbara, standing in the doorway, smiled too but a tension about her eyes made Vera think that the strain of caring for the child meant that for her the joy wasn’t entirely undiluted. She felt a sudden sympathy for the woman and wondered if perhaps Anne Preece had been right. It was up to her, after all, if she wanted to tart herself up.

  ‘Would you like tea, Inspector? Or coffee? Then I expect you’d like to speak to my husband alone.’

  What I’d really like, Vera thought, is a beer. But she said that tea would be very nice. ‘And I hope you’ll be able to join us, Mrs Waugh. I’d appreciate your opinion.’

  Barbara seemed pleased by this but once she’d left the room Godfrey said, ‘I don’t know how my wife can help you, Inspector. She stays at home and cares full time for our daughter. Since the young woman was killed on the hill she’s been reluctant to leave the house on her own.’

  ‘I thought she was a partner in your business.’

  That surprised him. It was as if he had forgotten the fact. ‘Officially yes, though she takes no active part.’

  ‘How does she feel about the development of the quarry?’

  Godfrey paused, gave a thin little smile. ‘She has a rather sentimental view of the company, I’m afraid. Her father was a craftsman and she doesn’t always understand that we’ve had to move on from that scale of business. It’s not a cottage industry any more. We have to survive.’

  ‘If it came to a vote would she support you?’

  There was a brief frown of irritation then the smile returned.

  ‘It would never come to a vote. What would be the point? We’re the only two partners. We’ll come to a decision together. Though of course there are other people involved. The present landowners – the Fulwells. Without their agreeing to lease the land the proposal would come to nothing.’

  ‘And Neville Furness?’

  ‘Neville’s an employee. I value his judgement but he won’t be involved in the final decision.’

  ‘It’s not been made then?’

  He hesitated. ‘No. We all felt we needed a few days to consider the matter. We’re meeting again on Friday.’

  He stopped abruptly as Barbara Waugh came in. She was carrying a tray and the child followed with a plate of home-made biscuits. She handed them to Vera and her father, then put the plate on a coffee table and made to leave the room without a word. Vera saw that she had three of the biscuits clasped in one hand and winked at her as she was shutting the door. The girl glared back, stonily.

  ‘Will you be at the meeting on Friday, Mrs Waugh?’ Vera asked conversationally.

  ‘What meeting?’

  ‘The meeting to decide whether or not the quarry should go ahead.’

  Godfrey interrupted quickly. ‘Barbara doesn’t need to involve herself in the day to day running of the business. She leaves all that to me.’

  ‘But I thought a decision had been made.’ Barbara sat across the room from them, knees firmly together, hands clasped on her lap. Convent educated, Vera thought. I can always tell. ‘Godfrey, didn’t you say the plans would be dropped for the present?’

  He shrugged. ‘Livvy must have been putting pressure on Robert. He called this afternoon just before I left work, and said he thought it would be worth our getting together again.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me.’ Suddenly she was c
lose to losing control. ‘I’m not sure I can stand all this again. The publicity. People talking.’

  He leant back in his seat. In the gesture Vera sensed distaste, even a mild revulsion, but he spoke kindly. ‘That’s why I didn’t tell you. I knew you were relieved that the project had been put on ice. And really that’s still the most likely outcome. Robert isn’t at all keen and he can be very stubborn.’

  ‘Nonsense. Once Livvy Fulwell and Neville Furness get together neither of you will be able to stand up to them.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous. Neville won’t even be at the meeting. He’s taken Friday off. And you have to trust me to do what’s best for all of us. One day this business will be Felicity’s.’

  He was making an effort to keep his voice even but had begun to sound irritated. Vera thought, So, that’s what makes him tick. That’s where the ambition comes from. He doesn’t want the girl to have to struggle. And she thought of her own father whose only ambition was to collect successive clutches of eggs from every bird breeding in the county. Who’d never thought of her once.

  Now Waugh seemed embarrassed. ‘Look,’ he said quietly. ‘We’ll discuss this later. The inspector doesn’t want to hear all this.’

  Vera reached out to dunk a biscuit in her tea. ‘Don’t mind me, it’s fascinating. I’m just glad to get the weight off my feet.’

  ‘How can we help you?’

  ‘As I said. Details to check. Very boring but necessary. Neville Furness used to work in Holme Park. He lived in the house where Edmund Fulwell was killed. It seems that he still had a key to the house.’

  ‘Neville wouldn’t have killed anyone.’

  ‘It’s not a character reference I’m after, Mr Waugh. He says he was here on the evening Edmund Fulwell was killed.’

  ‘He was. Peter Kemp had drawn up some interesting proposals for the new upland nature reserve on the Black Law site. I needed to discuss that with him. We thought it would provide positive publicity to coincide with the publication of the Kemp Associates report.’