The Devil's Dice

by Roz Watkins

  ‘Was there anything in this casket?’ I moved closer to the screen and zoomed right in. ‘Is that a combination lock?’

  ‘Yes, it is. Word-based. They’re working on it, trying to get in without smashing it if possible.’

  ‘So he might have taken something out of the casket? Just before he went to the cave and died?’

  Jai looked up from the screen and nodded.

  I folded my arms. ‘That’s no suicide.’

  *

  Fiona and I drove away from the Station, following directions to Felix Carstairs’ house. Richard had grudgingly agreed that the casket changed things, and I could carry on investigating, which was just as well since I already was.

  ‘Are you feeling okay?’ Fiona asked in a hushed voice. ‘Did you fall right on your head?’

  ‘I’m fine, thanks, Fiona. Did you look at the notes from Felix Carstairs’ and Edward Swift’s interviews?’

  ‘Yes. They were inconsistent. And Felix was rather cagey.’

  ‘Indeed. And very keen for us to think it was suicide. Let’s see if we can get any more out of the bugger today.’

  I pulled left to let an insane motorcyclist shoot past me.

  Fiona tutted. ‘Honestly, they deserve to end up as road-kill.’

  ‘Well, they probably will. I just hope they don’t take us with them.’ A whole posse was trying to pass, engines revving aggressively behind us. ‘Did you find anything more about the history of the cave house? And the carving?’

  ‘Not much,’ Fiona said. ‘There was a reference to a healer living there in Victorian times, who starved herself to death. I wondered if she was the ghost my granny was on about.’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘But there was nothing about the carving at all. I can’t find anyone who knew about it, or any mention in the history books.’

  ‘But our experts are adamant it’s old?’

  ‘Yes, Victorian.’

  ‘It’s hard to believe it’s not relevant in some way. And the man who chucked himself off the cliff outside their house ten years ago left a book full of sketches of the Grim Reaper.’

  ‘I saw. It’s so creepy. And the cave had the dead man’s actual initials carved into the wall. What’s the chance of two different people having the same three initials?’

  ‘Very roughly fifteen thousand to one. I worked it out. I thought the odds would be better than that, given how few people have names beginning with “x” or “z” or whatever, but it turns out “h” isn’t that common. Unless they were related, of course.’

  ‘See. You are a geek.’

  ‘Who said I was a geek?’

  ‘Oh… Just Craig.’

  ‘I don’t suppose it was a compliment.’

  We passed through Matlock Bath, the shimmering limestone crag of High Tor piercing the horizon on our left. I peered upwards, whilst obviously also paying attention to the road. ‘That’s supposed to be the last place in England where eagles nested.’

  We turned off the A6 before the improbably named Whatstandwell and climbed into open countryside. After a couple of miles, we found Felix’s house, approached by a long driveway edged with pristine post and rail fencing and surrounded by glistening green fields.

  ‘Wow,’ Fiona said. ‘It’s like the road to Chatsworth.’

  We parked in a courtyard in front of a huge barn conversion. A woman emerged from a block of stables and approached us, looking like one of the Made in Chelsea crowd when they were in their country gear. And was there something familiar about her?

  We left the car and I introduced us. ‘Is Felix Carstairs in?’

  Her face fell. ‘Oh, about poor Peter. Of course. I’m Olivia, Felix’s wife. Felix and I were so upset to hear what happened. Suicide, wasn’t it? How terrible.’

  ‘Did you know Peter Hamilton well?’

  She hesitated a moment too long. ‘We were all at uni together. Felix and I lost touch with him for a while but obviously since they set up the firm together, we’ve seen more of him.’

  I walked a few steps across the courtyard to lean against a fence overlooking fields. The countryside spread away below us, woods and valleys patterned bright and dark by the shadows of the clouds drifting above. In the distance, a cloud the colour of charcoal was moving in our direction. Olivia moved over to stand next to me. I sent Relax and Tell Us All Your Secrets vibes to her. Fiona popped in next to us.

  ‘Where did you go to uni?’ I asked.

  ‘Cambridge.’ She said it the way I tended to. Studiously casual, with a touch of apology. I remembered why her face was familiar. She was the beautiful girl in Peter Hamilton’s university photographs.

  ‘What did you study?’

  ‘Maths. But I didn’t finish. I got pregnant with Rosie. I know, I know – how dumb is that? My periods were always light and they didn’t stop, so by the time I knew, it was…’ Olivia paused. ‘Oh, I’m giving you far too much information, aren’t I? Felix says I always talk too much.’ She looked away. ‘Anyway, we have Rosie so it was worth it, even if I don’t have a fancy career. I suppose I could get a job but it all seems a bit pointless when Felix earns what he does. And it’s not so easy to get back in if you didn’t even finish your degree.’ She ran a delicate hand through her hair. ‘Oh, sorry, I’m doing it again. You don’t seem like a detective.’

  ‘No, no, carry on.’ These kinds of witnesses were great. Whole life story and we’d only just met. And that was my speciality – not seeming like a detective.

  ‘What else do you need to know?’ Olivia said.

  ‘Do you know Edward Swift from university as well?’

  ‘No, Felix met him when they were doing their patent exams. They bonded through the trauma of it all.’

  ‘So, are Felix and he good friends?’

  ‘Well, I’m not sure good friends is quite right. But we end up doing quite a few things together. Work things and some social stuff. You know men, they don’t make friends outside work. Edward’s a bit odd though. Not much fun, to be honest. His wife’s the same. Apparently she was brought up by religious nuts in America, so she’s not your classic party animal. Not that I am either but, you know, I can let my hair down.’ She gave me a quick smile, showing neat, white teeth. ‘Grace is okay though. She gives Rosie extra maths lessons.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ I said. ‘I met Rosie at Edward and Grace’s house.’

  ‘Being driven mad by Alex I suppose?’

  ‘She was, actually.’ I glanced up at the sky. The black cloud was moving closer and lower. ‘Why don’t you help Rosie with her maths?’

  ‘Oh, she won’t take it from me. Grace is very patient and her maths is decent. She’s freakishly intelligent actually, and a techno-wizard, just like Edward. She fixed our burglar alarm when it conked out and it was an utter mystery to me. She’s not your average hick from some Deep South town full of fundamentalist loons.’

  I laughed, reminding myself not to warm to the witnesses.

  Olivia led us to the front of the house, our feet crunching on the pristine gravel. Something caught my eye in one of the first-floor windows. A girl, pressing her face to the glass, but looking up rather than down at us. She was incredibly still. My eyes kept being drawn back to her. I didn’t want to stare but there was something uncanny about her pose. She still hadn’t moved.

  ‘Is that Rosie up there?’ I tipped my head in the direction of the window.

  Olivia looked up. ‘I think that’s the picture, not the girl.’

  ‘Sorry?’ I couldn’t stop staring.

  ‘Oh, Rosie drew a picture of herself looking out of the window. She leaves it in the window to creep people out.’

  ‘That’s a bit strange.’ It had worked. It was creeping me out. It was a damn good picture.

  ‘Yes, she’s been a bit of a teenager recently.’

  The face moved. Fiona grabbed my arm and I jumped backwards. We exchanged a quick, embarrassed look.

  ‘So now we’re all accustomed to thinking it’s the pictur
e, she must have put her face there instead.’

  Olivia pushed open a heavy door and let us into a spacious hall. An oak staircase swept away from us, and Rosie appeared at the top. ‘Did I freak you out?’ she shouted. She looked younger than I remembered – gangly and long-limbed but small.

  ‘Not really,’ Olivia said, before whispering, ‘Best to ignore it,’ through the corner of her mouth.

  ‘I drew a picture of Medusa, and then when I saw it, it made me turn to stone.’ Rosie started to descend, more slowly than I’d expected.

  ‘Well, I’d better make sure I don’t look at that picture.’ Olivia turned to me. ‘Rosie’s developed an interest in Greek myths, the more gruesome and sinister the better.’

  ‘It’s not my fault. We did them at school.’ Rosie gave me a shy smile. ‘Daddy won’t want to see you.’ She reached the bottom of the stairs, but lost her footing and tripped down the last step. She looked up at us. ‘There’s something wrong with me. But nobody knows what it is.’

  ‘Nothing not being a teenager wouldn’t cure,’ Olivia said.

  ‘I have mood swings and depressive incidents,’ Rosie said. ‘And I keep dropping things.’

  ‘All right, Rosie, this isn’t about you. Where’s your father?’

  ‘I wouldn’t fancy disturbing him. He’s in the foulest mood.’

  ‘I’m sure the detectives are accustomed to dealing with difficult men.’

  I laughed. ‘Have you met our boss?’

  ‘He threw a mug at the wall,’ Rosie said.

  Olivia stiffened. ‘Where is he, Rosie?’

  ‘He didn’t even clear up the mess. He said this is all he needs and it would have helped if Peter hadn’t been so fucking behind—’

  ‘Okay, Rosie, that’s enough.’

  Rosie raised her eyebrows. ‘Just repeating what he said for the detectives. He’s in his office.’

  Olivia gave us a nervous smile. ‘I’m sorry. He’ll be fine with you. Come through. He gets a little… stressed. About work. He takes it very seriously.’

  She led us down the high-ceilinged hallway, tapped on a door at the end and nudged it open. ‘The detectives. To talk to you about Peter. I’ll bring you some coffee.’

  Oak bookshelves lined the walls and an antique desk faced the door. These weren’t the sort of people who’d had to buy their own furniture.

  Felix sat behind the desk like a monarch on a throne.

  ‘Take a seat.’ He waved at a pair of antiquey-looking chairs angled in front of the desk.

  I instinctively brushed non-existent cat hairs from my trousers before sitting down, wondering if the wicker seat was rated for my weight. Fiona sat lightly next to me.

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘You told us the other day everything was fine with Peter. But others have said he was drinking, not performing well, that you and Edward Swift were worried about—’

  ‘He was a bit behind but nothing we can’t handle.’

  ‘But you’ve just hurled a mug at the wall.’

  Whoa, that changed things. The shiny, happy shell shattered and Felix projected a wave of anger so strong I braced and clutched the arm of my chair. I was definitely jumpier since my fall. More alert to the menace in things.

  ‘I did not hurl anything at the wall.’ Felix’s voice filled the room. ‘I dropped a cup. Rosie’s being utterly ridiculous at the moment.’

  ‘But there were problems with Peter’s work, weren’t there?’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake.’

  ‘You were concerned he’d missed a deadline.’

  ‘I give up. So much for trying to preserve the poor man’s good name.’

  ‘Come on, you know better than that.’

  ‘He was an alcoholic and he was having an affair with one of his clients. Happy now? Maybe they can put it in his obituary.’

  ‘Who was he having an affair with?’

  ‘That appalling Bell woman.’

  ‘Lisa Bell? The one who was in your office when we met the other day? How do you know they were having an affair?’

  ‘He was under-charging and it was obvious when you saw him with her. His wife may have found out – she went and stayed with her parents in Bakewell for a week. They were having problems. Got the impression she wanted kids and he didn’t. You know. The usual tedious stuff.’

  ‘And he was drinking too much?’

  ‘I’d say so. Since he couldn’t walk down the stairs without falling over and his secretary had to check his drafts for stupid errors.’

  ‘Okay, thank you. That’s very helpful. Can you think of anything else that might be relevant?’

  ‘No. Can I get back to this urgent work Peter’s left me?’

  ‘What size feet do you have?’

  ‘Why?’

  I let the silence sit between us.

  ‘Size nine,’ he said at last.

  ‘And do you possess any wellies?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No wellies?’ I looked out of the window at the acres of land which he clearly owned.

  ‘Since you ask, they disappeared from our shed a couple of weeks ago.’

  I raised my eyebrows. ‘Just your wellies?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure I left them in there, but it’s never locked. Anyone could have taken them.’

  I sighed. ‘Okay, I’ll let you get on. Please do let me know if you think of anything or if the wellies turn up.’

  Felix took my card and we left his office.

  Olivia appeared in the hall. ‘Oh, I’m sorry! I forgot the coffee.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ I noticed a Georgian bureau sitting by the door. ‘You have some lovely furniture.’

  ‘Oh, it’s all from Felix’s family.’

  If these people were landed gentry, due to inherit millions from Downton Abbey-esque relatives, then a financial motive for Peter’s killing seemed less likely.

  ‘Lucky you,’ I said. ‘It must be nice to have well-off relatives who give you furniture.’

  She grimaced. ‘You haven’t met his mother.’

  I laughed. ‘Could you show us the shed?’

  We followed her out of the front door and to a wooden shed standing on its own across the courtyard. Olivia pulled open the unlocked door.

  ‘Why do you want to see the shed?’

  ‘Is this where the wellies went missing from?’

  ‘Oh. Yes, that’s right. And some gloves disappeared too, I think.’

  Now we were away from the main house, I seized my opportunity. ‘Olivia, does your husband have a bad temper?’

  She was silent for a few seconds, then spoke firmly. ‘Not really, no.’ She touched the high collar of her blouse, then whipped her hand away. ‘Nothing out of the ordinary.’

  Chapter 15

  We pulled onto the lane outside Felix and Olivia’s house. The charcoal-coloured cloud had landed overhead and was dumping rain on us as if it was being paid by volume. The car steamed up within seconds, and the wipers were squeaking and not clearing the windscreen properly. I swore at myself for not fixing them. Why was I such a procrastinator?

  I wiped a smeary visibility-hole and drove through a puddle that turned out to be a pothole, jarring all my aching bits. ‘Ouch,’ I said. ‘Why don’t they ever repair the bloody roads? I’m always driving into potholes.’

  ‘How’s your head?’ Fiona asked.

  I touched my bump. ‘Oh my God, it’s the size of an orange now.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’

  I wasn’t sure at all. I had a shocking headache and an underlying feeling of dread. My worries about Mum clouded my brain like fog. But it was better to keep busy. ‘I’m absolutely fine, thanks.’

  Water was running in streams down the lane. I kept to the centre. I knew these deluges eroded ditches in the grass verges. They filled with water and concealed themselves as puddles to trap unwary drivers. I thought of the sand bags back in Eldercliffe, and hoped they’d stuck them in front of their doors.

  By the time we arrived at t
he Station, it was raining so hard that the trip from car to building was enough to make us look like we’d been dunked head-down in a fast-flowing river. Fiona disappeared to perform a mysterious grooming ritual which would make her look like an Olay advert again, and I headed for my office, wishing there was a bath in there.

  Jai appeared in the corridor. ‘God, life’s tough. You dive down stone steps onto your head, and then someone chucks a bucket of water over you.’

  ‘Thanks for the sympathy,’ I said.

  ‘You should have parked in one of the marked police vehicle spaces, like Craig does.’

  I laughed. ‘Do we have any towels here?’

  ‘Towels? What do you think this is – a luxury hotel? You’ll have to stuff your head under the hand-dryer in the bogs like everyone else does.’

  I took his advice and went off to the toilets, muttering about the Derbyshire weather, which was even worse than sodding Manchester.

  When I returned, I found Jai leaning against the edge of my desk. His inability to sit still combined with his lanky body made me imagine he slept perched on a post like a large bird, rather than in a bed like a normal person.

  I grabbed my chair and wheeled it close to the radiator, so I could quietly steam.

  ‘Looking glam,’ Jai said. ‘Seriously, are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine. Anyway, what did the post mortem say?’

  Jai gave me a despairing look. ‘Okay, I give up trying to ask you if you’re alright. Let’s talk about the corpse instead. Oh my God, is that where you hit your head?’

  ‘No, Jai, I always had a protrusion the size of a grapefruit on the back of my skull. I was born like it. Nearly killed my poor mother.’

  ‘Okay, okay, the post mortem confirms it was definitely cyanide poisoning. The pathologist was quite excited.’

  ‘Potassium cyanide?’

  ‘Yep, in the cake but not in the cannabis. Time of death between 11am and 2pm on Monday.’ Jai shifted to sit on the desk, with his feet on a chair. ‘And we confirmed his business didn’t have professional indemnity insurance. Peter did forget to renew it. It’s back in place now. And there’s a life insurance policy with his two partners as beneficiaries, to the tune of half a million each.’

  I whistled. ‘Wow. That could come in pretty handy. Especially if he made a cock-up which left the firm exposed financially. I can’t imagine Felix or Edward taking to a life of poverty.’