by Granger, Ann
Jess had hoped to find Penny Gower alone but when she saw Eli Smith with her, she wasn’t displeased. Now she could show them both the blown-up staff photograph taken from the Foot to the Ground’s leaflet.
Eli was glowering at her as she approached but Penny smiled a wary welcome.
‘Hello, Inspector Campbell, can we help?’
Mrrr . . . from Eli.
‘I don’t know. I hope so. I was wondering if I could show you this photograph – you too, Mr Smith, if you’ve got a moment.’ Jess turned her nicest smile on him but it bounced off.
The horse in the paddock behind them, seeing a growing number of people gathering by the gate, moved away. ‘He’s thinks I’ve arrived for a riding lesson and he’s going to have to do some work!’ said Jess, meaning it as a joking remark to encourage a relaxed atmosphere.
Her words fell into the silence like a lead balloon. Two pairs of eyes were fixed on her with stony expression.
‘Hardly likely,’ said Penny. ‘He’s out of service, as you might say.’ She smiled again but it was forced. ‘But Solo doesn’t know that, does he?’
‘He’s sick?’
‘He’s going blind.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Jess said awkwardly. Put your foot in it, Jess! Of course, that was the horse she’d attempted to pet on her first visit. Ferris had warned her. Time to move on hurriedly to the business that had brought her. She produced her photo and passed it to Penny who studied it carefully.
‘Do you recognise anyone there? Has anyone resembling a member of that group been seen in this area recently? I’m sorry the definition is so poor. It’s taken from a much smaller version in a publicity leaflet.’
Penny shook her head. ‘Sorry, can’t help. I don’t know any of them. Is it the staff of a pub round here? The two girls and the young guy are wearing some sort of shirt with a logo and that looks like a pub behind them.’
‘Yes, but you don’t recognise them? The pub is called the Foot to the Ground, do you know that?’
Again a shake of the head. ‘Sorry, no, it must be about the one pub around here I haven’t been to. Andy Ferris and I have about done the rounds of the lot! I’ve heard of it but I’ve also heard its food is pricey.’ Penny handed the photo back.
Jess handed it to Eli. He took off his cap and held it aloft while he scratched his curls with his index finger, and studied the photo. He held it some distance from him in his other hand.
Long-sighted, thought Jess.
‘I recognise the dead one,’ said Eli at last. He replaced his cap.
Penny gave a squeak.
‘You recognise the dead girl in this line-up? Which one?’ Jess asked.
He jabbed a finger at Eva. ‘This’un. She was in my cowshed.’
‘Had you ever seen her alive, before you saw her dead in your barn?’
‘No,’ said Eli. ‘You say this pub is the old “Foot”? I haven’t been in there for years. They made it too fancy and put the prices up. The beer costs too much for a poor old chap like me and I hear the food is fancy too, nothing sensible like a pickled egg.’
‘This girl’s name,’ Jess said, ‘is, or was, Eva Zelená. Have you ever heard that name?’ She glanced at Penny to include her in the question.
‘No,’ they chorused.
Jess turned her attention back to Eli. ‘You seem very sure, Mr Smith. But you only saw her when her face was distorted. You refused to take a second look, when the first police officers arrived in the patrol car. You told them you didn’t want to see her again.’
‘Course I’m sure!’ said Eli testily. ‘I’m not blind nor daft! I know that girl in my cowshed is this one here—’ He jabbed a finger at Eva in the pub line-up. ‘Course, she wasn’t smiling like she is in this photo. But you wouldn’t expect that of her, not lying dead on the ground. Her eyes were popping and her mouth was open . . .’
Another, louder, squeak from Penny Gower.
Eli glanced at her. ‘Yes, well, you saw her yourself, Inspector, when she was lying in my cowshed. She might not have been looking on top of the world, but she looked near enough like that.’ He indicated the leaflet. ‘If it was me showing you that picture, would you say, that’s her?’
‘That’s difficult for me to know,’ admitted Jess.
‘Well, it ain’t difficult for me. I might be just a poor old country feller, but I can recognise a face. That’s her.’
‘But you never saw her alive around here? Or anyone else in this photograph?’
Eli gave her an exasperated look, as someone who has been pestered by a child. ‘No. I already told you. I don’t know none of ’em. Not living and breathing, any road. I only ever saw the one of them, that young girl. And that was just the once, dead in my cowshed!’
With that Eli stomped away.
‘You’ll have to excuse him,’ Penny begged. ‘He’s really very upset. It’s because all this reminds him of the murder of his parents, and of his brother who shot them. It’s – it’s a sort of anniversary of the horrid business.’
‘Is it?’ asked Jess, surprised.
‘He told me just before you arrived. He said it would be twenty-seven years on Thursday of next week. He didn’t say it like that, that it was an anniversary. But it was clear that was what he meant.’
Jess mulled over the information. The date must be in the file and she must have read it. She ought to have remembered and made the connection. Pull yourself together, Jess! It wouldn’t be surprising that Smith wasn’t quite rational on the subject of the double murder. He would be very conscious of the approaching date, just one week away. Could he have found Eva wandering round Cricket farmyard – for a reason not yet known – lost his presence of mind and attacked her?
But what would Eva be doing at Cricket Farm and, moreover, how would she have got there? She had no transport of her own.
The silver Mercedes, thought Jess. We have to find the silver Mercedes.
Penny was looking embarrassed and scuffing the toe of her riding boot against the fence post at the entrance to the paddock. Solo had now removed himself to the far side and was a miniature horse in the distance.
‘Inspector? There’s something I’d like to say, now I’ve got the chance and there’s no one here but us. It’s nothing to do with this case you’re investigating. It’s personal to me . . . and to Andrew Ferris.’ Penny spoke rapidly and her face had reddened.
‘Look,’ Jess said soothingly. This wasn’t the first time she’d heard this kind of preamble to some personal confession. It mightn’t be anything illegal or even questionable. But people, usually the most innocent ones, felt they had to justify themselves. ‘I’m not interested in people’s private lives if it’s nothing to do with my investigations,’ she went on. ‘I do understand how it seems to witnesses. We ask all kinds of questions, a lot of them intrusive. I get embarrassed, too, believe me, asking them! But I really am only after information of use to me in finding out who killed that poor girl.’
Penny caught at a stray lock of hair that had escaped from a grip and was blowing across her face. She pushed it back behind her ear.
‘Yes, I know. But there’s still something I want to explain.’
‘Go ahead, then,’ Jess invited, curious.
‘I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea about Andrew and me. We’re good mates. He’s been marvellous helping me out. He’s a countryman at heart, even though he works in an office. He likes being here with the horses and mucking out, building jumps, riding round the fields. We are lucky with having use of Eli’s land, most of it lying fallow. There are some sheep grazing way over there . . .’
Penny pointed beyond the paddock and Solo tearing energetically at the grass. ‘Not Eli’s sheep, another farmer’s. Eli rents him a couple of fields. But that’s all there is. Otherwise you can ride out there all day and not meet anyone. It’s peaceful here. Present events apart, of course. But that’s all we are, friends. Andrew is married. It’s no secret it’s not much of a marriage. His wife is
away a lot of the time. She’s a tour guide escorting parties around Europe. They don’t have any kids. I think they’re sliding towards divorce but it isn’t because of me. Andrew’s had a lot of unhappiness. But when he’s with me, he’s happy. I’ve had my share of unhappiness, too. That’s why I’m here, hiding away in the countryside. We’ve both been hurt by relationships. I don’t mean to sound like an agony aunt.’ Penny pulled a face. ‘I just want to put the record straight.’
‘Consider it done,’ Jess said.
‘Thanks,’ Penny said briefly. She pushed herself away from the gate. ‘I’m sorry neither Eli nor I could help you with that photograph.’
‘Oh, someone will eventually,’ Jess told her, hoping it was true.
Phil Morton, given the task of checking out the pub regulars, had decided to tackle Mark Harper first. To that end, he’d driven out to Lower Lanbury House that Thursday morning, on the off chance the gentleman might be at home; or just to take a look round, if he wasn’t. But the dark red 4x4 was parked outside the portico-ed front entrance and as Morton got out of his car, the front door opened. A tall, solidly built man appeared and stopped short when he saw the visitor. Then he walked towards him, jangling car keys in his hand.
Just caught him on his way out, thought Morton. Wonder where he’s off to?
‘Something tells me,’ the man said, when he reached Morton, ‘that you’re another copper.’ His tone was insulting.
‘Mr Harper?’ Morton asked icily, producing his ID and holding it up. ‘Sergeant Morton. Have you got a couple of minutes?’
Harper reassessed the likely amount of difficulty he’d have with this one and decided to be amenable. ‘Certainly,’ he said at last. ‘You’d better come into the house. There’s no one there. No need to stand around out here.’
Where someone else might arrive and see us . . . thought Morton drily as he followed Harper to the house. He cast an eye up at the portico before passing under it. And that would never do, would it?
‘Your wife is out?’ he asked when they stood in a room obviously serving as a study.
‘Yes,’ Harper said brusquely. ‘Sit down, Sergeant, if you want.’ He gestured at a chair and seated himself.
‘You know we’re enquiring into the disappearance and murder of a waitress employed at a local pub, the Foot to the Ground,’ Morton began conversationally.
He was interrupted.
‘I already spoke to an Inspector Campbell. She came to the pub.’ Harper’s tone indicated he thought the matter done and dusted. He didn’t know Phil Morton.
‘Yes, sir. But when Inspector Campbell spoke to you, we only knew for sure that one of the waitresses was missing. We now know the body of the young woman discovered at Cricket Farm to be that of the waitress. We have an enlarged photograph showing the girl when she was alive. You told Inspector Campbell you couldn’t recall which one she was, so I wondered, if you looked at this . . .’ Morton produced his copy of the group photograph and held it out. ‘It might jog your memory.’
Harper took it reluctantly. ‘Oh, I know where you got this! It’s from that leaflet Jake produced to advertise the restaurant.’
‘This is the dead girl,’ Morton said, leaning forward and pointing at Eva Zelená. ‘Do you recognise her now?’
Harper glanced back at the photograph. ‘No, well, I might, vaguely. But they all look much the same, those girls of Jake’s. I’ve told the inspector all of this. I don’t know why you’re here.’
‘We have to track down anyone who had any contact, however slight, with the victim,’ Morton explained, retrieving his photograph.
Harper seemed glad to give it back to him. ‘Well, contact doesn’t come any slighter than mine with her! I probably bought a couple of pints from her at the bar.’
‘Were you surprised to hear she’d left unexpectedly?’
‘No, and I explained that to your Inspector Campbell, too. They’re foreign, all those girls. I’ve warned Jake he knows nothing about them. There’s no telling what they might do. She probably—’ Harper broke off.
‘Yes, sir?’ Morton asked with interest.
‘Doesn’t matter. I told you, I didn’t know her.’
‘We’re interested in any theory, sir.’
‘Are you? That desperate, eh?’ Harper grinned at him mockingly. ‘Well, if you want my guess, she was probably on the game.’
‘Why should she be working as a prostitute, sir? She had a job and accommodation.’
‘She could have been moonlighting. All those girls, well . . .’ He shrugged.
‘But you have no evidence of that?’ Morton asked silkily.
Something in his voice warned Harper he’d stepped on dangerous ground.
‘No, no evidence at all. I shouldn’t have said it. I wouldn’t have said it if you hadn’t pressed me.’
‘Never paid her for sex yourself?’
‘What? Hell, no! You have no right to suggest that! As if I’d be so stupid as to play around so close to home!’ He leaned forward. ‘Look, this is a waste of time. I wasn’t even in the area last week. I didn’t get back until Saturday.’
‘Where were you, sir,’ asked Morton politely, ‘last week?’
‘In London, on business!’ Harper snapped.
‘Someone there verify that for you?’ Morton opened his notebook.
Harper reddened in rage. ‘Bloody hell! Do I need an alibi?’
‘Routine, sir, I assure you.’ Morton held his Biro poised.
‘Well, I – I had a meeting with my bank manager on Thursday morning. He’ll confirm that.’
‘How about the rest of Thursday, sir? And Friday? You say you didn’t return until Saturday.’
Harper sat back in his chair, his hands resting on his thighs. ‘Look here,’ he said, ‘this is confidential, right?’
‘It’s a police inquiry,’ Morton reminded him.
‘I know that!’ Harper exploded again. He made an effort to be calm. ‘I mean, if it’s not relevant to your enquiries, it won’t go any further than your notebook and Inspector Campbell?’
‘If it’s not relevant, sir. So if you can just give us a name and address and we can clear all this up . . .’
‘I have a friend,’ Harper told him reluctantly. ‘I stayed with her for a couple of nights. I don’t want – there’s no reason for my wife to know about this. The lady is someone I’ve known for a very long time, since before I married. She – well, you needn’t know the background to it all. She is technically married too, but separated. Her husband lives abroad. I don’t want her alarmed or embarrassed. Her husband is a diplomat. The wrong kind of newspaper reporting could cause a lot of trouble.’
‘We’ll be very tactful, sir,’ Morton promised him. ‘Now then, her name and address?’
Harper watched him write it down, a very unhappy man.
‘Tell me,’ Morton invited, when he’d finished writing, ‘when exactly did you hear about the murder, sir?’
‘When?’ Harper glared at him in exasperation. ‘When do you think? When I got back home from London, on Saturday afternoon, as I told you. My wife told me the news. She keeps a horse down at Berryhill stables and spends a lot of time down there, lending a hand. My wife is a very keen horsewoman. Your Inspector Campbell had been there, too.’
‘It didn’t occur to you, when you heard from your wife that a body had been found at the farm, that it might be that of this missing girl?’
‘No, why should it be? Jake Westcott was convinced the missing waitress had gone to Cheltenham, probably to take up another job. Why should I think differently?’ Harper leaned back in his chair. ‘I think I’ve answered all the questions I’m going to, Sergeant. As I wasn’t in the area when all this happened, and as I’ve given you a satisfactory explanation for my absence, I really see no way in which any more can be gained by your continuing with this interrogation. If you wish to do so it will have to be at some other time and with my solicitor present.’
From the front step, Harper w
atched his visitor drive off then turned back into the hall, slamming the solid oak door behind him.
‘Blast!’ he said forcefully, the word echoing round the high ceiling.
‘Something wrong?’
Harper looked up and paled. His wife was standing in the doorway of the dining room, next to the study. She was wearing her usual daytime uniform of jodhpurs and sleeveless body-warmer.
‘Who was that?’ she asked.
‘I thought you were at the stables?’ He stared at her, nonplussed.
‘I was delayed . . . I had to deal with some post. I was using the dining-room table as a desk.’
‘Oh? Well, it was a copper. Nothing to worry about. They’ve identified that body you were on about, the one found at Cricket Farm. It’s one of Jake Westcott’s waitresses. They’re interviewing the regular customers.’
‘Did you kill her?’ his wife asked in that blasted casual way she’d developed lately; springing unexpected and awkward questions.
‘Of course not! Are you out of your mind? The cops don’t suspect me. It was just a routine call. Anyway, I wasn’t even here last week.’
‘That’s right,’ she said agreeably. ‘You’ve got an alibi.’
There was a silence. Harper scowled at his wife and glanced from the open dining-room door behind her to the open study door near him.
‘How much of that did you overhear?’ he asked cautiously.
Chapter 10
The fluorescent light tube above her head hummed gently. From time to time it flickered. Jess hoped it wasn’t preparing to implode. Outside someone going off duty shouted a greeting to someone coming on shift. The call echoed down the corridor with the tap of footsteps. She was alone in her office again, and grateful to be in a small cell of privacy. She spread out the papers from the Cricket Farm Murder file and took up her reading.
Transcript of an interview between Inspector Harris and Nathan Smith. Also present Sgt Welland and Mr P. Samson, Mr Smith’s solicitor.
Insp. H.: You are Nathan Smith and you reside at Cricket Farm?