No, what paralysed her most with dread and horror was him.
Chapter 15
Kelly pulled in to the long gravel driveway and looked up at the house. Wasdale Hall was all that remained of the Fitzgerald fortune, and it was clear that its glory days were behind it. The house itself was grand enough, with its castle-like walls and modern additions here and there. But its most attractive feature was the view. Ullswater sat seductively in plain sight. She could smell the lake, and a light breeze wafted up towards the house.
She slammed the door of the Audi and took a deep breath. Her conversation with Ted Wallis whirred around her head. Homicide. Without a doubt. The most important task was creating a sketch of the earl’s life and who was in it. She wanted to get a framework of his last twenty-four hours; Ted had confirmed time of death at around eleven on the Sunday evening. Linda Cairns, the housekeeper, had left to go home around nine, leaving only the earl’s grandson and his gardener on the property.
Framing the driveway, trees and bushes fought for space, and two battered Land Rovers were parked in front of the house. Somewhere a dog barked, or maybe there were two. There was no sign of the press. The earl’s death had made quite a stir in the local news; he was highly regarded and of noble stock. That always caused a ripple; there was nothing quite like gossip when it originated amongst the rich and famous, and the Fitzgeralds were like royalty in these parts. She had a head start, though: only she and her team were privy to Ted’s theory that it wasn’t suicide. After the initial flurry of excitement surrounding the hanging, the journos had gone back to covering roadblocks caused by flocks of sheep, and tourists stuck on the fells.
Kelly had googled the newspaper articles on the earl’s death and found herself engrossed. Xavier-Paulus Fitzgerald was an upright, noble man with a strong nose and an air of pomp. Reading the family history had taken her well into the night, and she’d opened a bottle of Argentinian Malbec to bring along for the ride. Johnny had fallen asleep beside her and she herself had eventually nodded off in the small hours. They’d talked about how similar their professions were, the only difference being that he’d dealt with murder and misdeeds on a world scale. They discussed it often: what human beings were capable of doing to one another. To other people it might sound grim or fatalistic, but to them it was the ultimate question: what turned kids into delinquents? And they frequently concluded that presidents and prime ministers were just power-hungry criminals in charge of armies. Wasn’t it Moors murderer Ian Brady who had said that he was no worse than any world leader who waged war?
She shuddered and glanced up at the windows, which looked dusty and neglected. The curtains were closed. Plump pendulums of wisteria hung around the door, and the aroma was potent as they blew gently from side to side. Like the lineage, the house had seen better days.
Kelly wondered what sort of a kid Zachary Fitzgerald was. Was all well with his relationship with his grandfather? If not, was it motive to kill? Always. She couldn’t help but feel a sense of sadness at the neglected facade: the mighty had indeed fallen, and fallen hard. She pushed the romanticism from her brain and shook her head as she remembered her latest letter from the Teacher, the serial killer who’d terrorised the National Park last year. The lunatic still hounded her from prison with poetry and rumination about the fall of mankind into despair and savagery, and sometimes she agreed.
She gazed at the lake. It was a stunning setting, and Kelly understood why, despite his long-term partner deserting him, the earl had never left. She remembered her own reasons for going, the pull of London irresistible. She shook her head, reminding herself that the elusive and elegant Delilah Mahler had never been the earl’s wife, and that made Zachary illegitimate: he might stand to gain nothing. She spotted the exclusive Peak’s Bay Hotel across the lake, and wondered if the earl had minded the intrusion of tourism on his patch. He’d sold the land for a hefty sum, getting him out of a financial scrape. She wondered how much was left; surely the house alone would fetch a million. It amused her: in London, it would go for twelve times that.
She pressed the doorbell and stood back.
A woman in her sixties answered, immediately looking suspicious. And so she might: they’d been hounded by journalists in the immediate aftermath of the earl’s death. The woman looked beyond her guest towards the gates and Kelly recognised her as Linda Cairns, the housekeeper, and she was exactly what she had expected: a proud but frumpy woman who’d given her life to serving the earl’s family. She looked tired, and hardship was etched into her deep wrinkles, as if pain was a constant visitor in her life.
‘No press. No one is home, thank you. Goodbye.’
She went to close the door, but Kelly showed her badge.
‘We’ve had the police here already,’ Linda said.
Not for the first time, Kelly felt unwelcome at the beginning of an investigation, but she persevered. This woman must know all Wasdale’s secrets, and Kelly wanted her to share them. She was no stranger to the initial responses of witnesses: they either fought, ran, froze or simply lied. This woman was potentially closer to the old earl than anyone, except perhaps his grandson, and Kelly needed her on side.
‘Good morning, ma’am, I’m Detective Inspector Kelly Porter and I’m here to ask you a few questions about the late earl. May I come in?’
‘Like I said, we’ve already had the police,’ said Linda. It was like a mantra: monosyllabic and well-practised.
‘I know, ma’am, but the case has been passed to me to take further.’
‘Why?’ Linda asked.
‘Sorry, this is not a very good start, is it? I know you’ve seen several officers already, but I have to satisfy the coroner that the details of the earl’s passing correlate with his findings,’ Kelly said gently.
‘He committed suicide,’ Linda said, still blocking the doorway. Kelly nodded.
‘That’s why I’ve been assigned the case, ma’am. It’s my job to speak to anyone who knew the earl well, and I believe you to be one of them, Mrs …?’
Linda’s shoulders sagged, and Kelly waited patiently as the woman processed her options, which were rapidly disappearing. She was touched by the housekeeper’s loyalty, but it didn’t change the fact that she needed to get on with her inquiry.
‘Cairns. I’m the housekeeper. I’ve been here for twenty years. I’m …’ Overcome, she began to cry, finally cracking under the strain. She wiped her face and shook her head. Kelly moved closer to the door, knowing this was her chance. She put a foot on the great stone step and Linda moved back.
‘It won’t take long. I know it’s a very difficult time for you all. I have a letter here requiring me to gather as much information as possible from those living here, and from the earl’s possessions,’ Kelly said, stronger now. Before Linda realised it, she was fully in the doorway and now standing in the hall. It was cool inside and she quickly scanned the place. Her earlier sense of wretchedness lingered: it was no cheerier in here. Paper peeled off walls, and damp patches decorated the high ceilings, under which hung the antlers of stags who’d met an untimely end. It was dark and dreary, and smelled of neglect. It was now clear that more than one dog lived here, and Kelly could hear somebody calming them down. A male.
‘Call me Linda, please.’
Kelly waited. She was in, and she needed to take charge, but not yet. Linda, back in housekeeper mode, led her into what might once have been a splendid reception room but was now a functionless place, unused and unloved. The fireplace was pristine and she noticed a thin layer of dust on an occasional table. Briefly she wondered how Linda Cairns earned her title.
‘Could I get you a drink? Maybe some biscuits?’ Linda managed a weak smile.
‘That would be lovely, thank you, Linda,’ Kelly said. The woman nodded and disappeared.
Kelly looked around and picked up a photo from a table. It was of a young man, handsome and smiling but at the same time distracted by something. She knew at once that she was looking at Zachary Fitzgerald.
The photo had none of the dated colours that would match the earl’s younger life, but all the characteristics of the lineage. She heard exchanged voices.
Linda came back with a tray, and set about pouring tea and offering biscuits. She was the kind of woman who, Kelly thought, soothed everything with tea and biscuits. Kelly remained standing, suspecting that if she sat, great clouds of dust would choke them.
‘Please sit down.’
She now had no choice and obliged. Predictably, a plume of particles billowed out of the cushion on which she sat and danced around in the one shaft of sunlight that pierced the room. Linda didn’t seem to notice and sat down facing her, fiddling with her apron.
‘Do you live here, Linda?’ Kelly asked.
‘No, I live on my own in the village,’ the housekeeper responded.
‘Watermillock?’
‘Sorry, yes.’ Linda coughed, her throat no doubt irritated by the grime.
‘Do you work here full-time?’
‘When I’m needed, so full-time during the week, and some weekends.’
‘But you weren’t here when the earl’s body was discovered?’
Linda looked at her hands.
‘No. I wasn’t. I wish it had been me, you know, that found him, but … Poor Zachary. It’s not right.’ Tears flooded her eyes again.
‘Is Zachary at home? I’ll need to speak to him too.’
‘He’s already gone through enough! He was questioned by a policeman that night. Isn’t that sufficient? Can’t he be left in peace? He’s nineteen years old.’ Linda was bereft once more. Kelly moved on, letting the subject of the young man go for now.
‘Apart from you and Zachary, who else comes and goes?’
Linda composed herself.
‘Well, there’s Brian, the gardener. Erm … The postman comes every day, and we get milk and eggs delivered.’
‘Did you notice anything out of the ordinary in the days or weeks before the earl’s death?’
‘No.’
‘Were there any changes to his routine?’
‘No.’
‘Did he have any unexpected visitors, or anyone you didn’t know?’
‘No.’
The whole time, Linda looked down at her knees and fussed with some imaginary thread.
‘Could you check to see if Zachary is around, please?’
‘He’s likely off fishing. He’s been doing that a lot since …’ She fell silent and stopped toying with the material. At last she got up and left the room, not once making eye contact with her visitor.
When she returned, she was alone.
‘Brian said he went fishing at six this morning. He’s usually out all day.’
‘Right, when he gets back, will you have him call this number?’ Kelly handed over a card. ‘I’d like to see Brian now, please.’
Linda nodded and wiped her eyes again. Kelly looked at the woman’s hands; they were red and angry and looked as though she’d been scrubbing with caustic soda for twenty years. She followed her through to the back of the house, and into a magnificent kitchen with a huge inglenook fireplace, inside which hung old metal pots and pans. Something bubbled on an Aga and it smelled good. A man around the same age as Linda sat at the table but stood up quickly to offer his hand. Two dogs approached her, one with enthusiasm, the other less so.
‘Get down, Delilah. Morning,’ the man said.
‘Brian, I presume? Brian Walker?’ said Kelly, petting the more confident dog.
The man nodded his confirmation and walked across to Linda, standing beside her protectively. The quieter dog followed him, and he bent over to stroke its ears. They made a simple, homely couple, and straight away Kelly detected more than just friendship between them. Her hand left the dog and it padded away.
‘As the earl’s surviving next of kin, it’s important that Zac gets in touch as soon as he returns,’ Kelly said, aware that it wasn’t just the two dogs protecting the young man.
Brian folded his arms and stared at her.
‘Mr Walker, I believe you were on the premises the night the earl passed away. Were you aware of anyone else who might have been around? Does anyone else visit?’
Brian rubbed his chin, thought about saying something, then changed his mind.
‘Isn’t it time to leave the kid alone?’ he asked.
‘I appreciate your concern, and your desire to protect Zac, but—’
‘It’s Zachary,’ he said curtly.
‘Sorry, forgive me. The safe …’
‘Zachary told us about that. We don’t go in the earl’s private rooms.’
‘Indeed. Is anything else missing?’
‘No.’ Kelly noticed that Linda had become mute, happy, it appeared, to let Brian answer for her.
‘Were either of you aware of what was in the safe?’
‘No.’ It was emphatic from both.
‘I’ll look around now, if that’s OK. Could you show me where it happened?’ Kelly asked.
Linda glanced at Brian, who nodded almost imperceptibly.
‘I’ll take her,’ Linda said quietly.
‘You cut him down?’ Kelly asked as Linda began to walk towards the kitchen door. Brian nodded.
‘Aye.’
She eyed him and noticed that underneath his shirt, his forearms must have measured the size of her own biceps.
Chapter 16
Upstairs, the study was cold and dark and Kelly noticed that, out of the presence of Brian Walker, Linda visibly relaxed. The housekeeper walked over to the window to draw the curtains. The walk up the stairs and along the hall had confirmed what Kelly already suspected: that the rest of the house probably hadn’t seen much of Linda Cairns’ housekeeping talents either. The carpets had obviously been expensive once but were now dull and worn, the door frames were badly in need of paint, and the corners of the windows were dark with mould. If someone wanted to get hold of the earl’s money, Kelly wasn’t seeing much evidence of any. She needed to know what was in the safe.
The room smelled sweet and she instantly recognised the pungency of death.
‘Linda, can you tell me exactly what happened,’ she asked gently.
Linda took a deep breath. She’d probably been over it a thousand times. Civilians often though that the police made them go over and over facts and chains of events because they were somehow incompetent, but it could prove very handy if it turned out that those details changed, however slightly, from statement to statement. So far, Linda Cairns had stuck to her script.
‘Zachary called me. He was in hysterics. I calmed him down and he told me what he’d found,’ she began. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest and her voice was emotionless. ‘It took me about five minutes to get here, and I found him … there.’
Kelly looked at the discoloration on the floor. It had been scrubbed to within an inch of its life and she figured that Linda’s hands hadn’t fared well. She had studied the photos and she knew where the stool had been, the position of Xavier’s body and what else had been in the room. She glanced around. ‘And Brian, when did he arrive?’
‘I called out for him – he was in the garden, in his shed. He brought a knife and cut him down,’ Linda said, looking at the floor. This time her voice shook, and she wiped her eyes again.
Kelly knew that Linda and Brian’s prints would be all over the place, and hoped that they were stored in the safety of the lab in Carlisle. Soon she’d know if anyone else but the earl had left any trace in here too.
‘It was gone eleven o’clock at night, Linda; what was Brian doing in the garden?’ Kelly asked. Linda’s cheeks flamed.
‘He often works late, in and out of his shed; he spends more time in there than at home, fixing things, building things, listening to his music.’
‘And where’s home?’ Kelly asked, guessing the answer.
Linda blushed. ‘He stays with me.’
Kelly nodded and glanced at the housekeeper’s ring finger. It was bare. ‘Didn’t he hear Zachary scream? H
e heard you when you called him.’
‘The police have already asked all these questions. He was listening to music. He likes it loud, and the earl never complained.’ Linda avoided eye contact.
‘Is it just the two of you, in your cottage in Watermillock, I mean?’ Kelly visualised the pretty collection of holiday lets and private stone houses where last year a woman’s brutalised body had been found in the churchyard. In a macabre twist, tourist attention was on the up for the little hamlet.
‘My son comes and goes,’ Linda said quietly.
‘And what’s his name? I’ll have to speak to him.’ Kelly flipped open her pad. Her list of statements to gather was growing.
‘Dominic,’ Linda said.
‘How old is he?’
‘Why do you need to know that?’
The question caught Kelly off guard; she wasn’t used to being challenged over an innocent enquiry.
‘For my notes.’
‘He’s twenty-three.’
Kelly added the information. ‘Surname?’
‘Cairns.’
‘Father about?’
Linda opened her mouth. Kelly had been abrupt on purpose. ‘That’s none of your business!’
Kelly smiled. ‘I’m afraid it is, if he’s also local and knows where you work, and for whom.’ She waited.
‘No. He scarpered years ago.’
Kelly held Linda’s gaze. ‘You can leave me now.’ She could tell that Linda desperately wanted to say something – to object, to stand her ground, anything to regain some form of order in this sad old house, order that had disappeared with her boss. But she retreated without a word, and Kelly heard her footsteps going down the hall.
Her mobile buzzed. It was DC Emma Hide, telling her that the earl’s will had been faxed over to Eden House by a solicitor’s firm in Penrith.
‘Most of the estate is left to Zachary Fitzgerald. But there is also a bequest to his housekeeper, Mrs Linda Cairns. He left her a hundred thousand pounds.’
Dead End Page 8