‘And if we find the red scrunchy, we’ll know where the attack took place?’ Markby considered this. ‘It’s a fair assumption.’
‘I looked at her room but it had been cleaned up.’ Jess drew a deep breath. ‘I should have looked on Saturday evening before they got to it. It’s now as clean as a whistle. At least I’ve got the keys to Fiona’s flat in London. I thought I might go there tomorrow and take a look round.’
‘In that case I’ll tell Meredith to expect you on Wednesday morning.’ When Jess had admitted her failure to search Fiona’s room on Saturday, he’d merely nodded. That didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of the mistake. But he appreciated she hadn’t pleaded tiredness after a long day culminating in attendance at the post-mortem and a difficult visit to tell Jenner his daughter had been stabbed. Own up to your mistakes and Markby would be reasonable. Attempt to conceal them and he’d be down on you like a ton of bricks! That was the unspoken message.
Jess thanked him and added, ‘The diving team didn’t find anything in the lake which might have been the weapon and we’ve had no luck so far with the impression of the tyre tread. It’s a popular pattern. There is a vehicle on the estate which has some like it. It belongs to the gardener, Stebbings, an old 4x4. But his tyres are reasonably new and would’ve made a better imprint. I’ll phone through to the Met this afternoon and clear it with them,’ she concluded, ‘if it’s OK for me to go to London tomorrow.’
‘Fair enough. But make sure someone’s following up the original investigation into the letters themselves. It’s even more urgent that we find the writer. Because,’ Markby added, ‘if the writer didn’t have anything to do with Fiona Jenner’s death, then he or she is now one very frightened person.’
When Toby got back to Overvale House, he saw a florist’s van before the porch. The front door was open and Mrs Whittle was taking delivering of a large spray of purple iris and mauve tulips. The florist got back in her van and rattled away.
Toby went indoors.
‘Look at these,’ said Mrs Whittle to him. ‘Lovely, aren’t they?’
Toby turned the attached card so that he could read it. ‘Who are Michael and Caroline Fossett?’
‘They live about a mile away, sir. Their land adjoins ours. They farm and Mr Jenner, he leases out some of his land to them for the grazing. It’s nice of them to show their sympathy. I’ll just go and put them in some water. Mrs Jenner is lying down. There was a woman police officer here and I think it upset her. Best not to disturb her,’ Mrs Whittle added and bustled away.
The door to Toby’s left clicked and opened. ‘Oh, Toby, there you are,’ Jeremy Jenner said. ‘Come on in.’
Toby followed him into the study. There was a distinct whiff of whisky in the air.
‘Want one?’ Jenner held up the decanter.
‘I’ve been drinking at lunch, better not.’ Toby paused. ‘Some flowers came for you both, from some people called Fossett. Mrs Whittle’s taken them to put in a vase.’
‘Oh?’ Jenner didn’t appear very interested. He slumped in a chair and stared up at his cousin. ‘We had that woman inspector here again this morning. It upset Alison.’
‘Sorry to hear it. What was she after?’
‘Snooping around, asking personal questions. It’s a damn awful business.’ Jenner hesitated. ‘Look, Toby old son, you wouldn’t do a favour for a chap, would you?
Chapter Seven
Jess Campbell’s first sight of Fiona Jenner’s flat on Tuesday morning was, as she afterwards admitted to Markby, an eyeopener. She had set off for London early in the morning by train, not trusting herself to drive in the nation’s capital with its unfamiliar patterns of one-way systems. She had found her way to Docklands via the light railway and after wandering round a maze of buildings which still gleamed with comparative newness in the returned spring sunshine, and almost deserted streets, she found herself before a converted waterside warehouse. She gazed up at the deep red brick building towering above her. Its large windows, affording a spectacular view of the Thames basin, sparkled in the clear light. She consulted the scrap of paper Jenner had given her. Yes, this was it!
And there again, it wasn’t, at least not as Jess had imagined it would be. To begin with, the flat was situated on the ground floor and had an independent entrance, more in the style of a maisonette. The door was reached by crossing a minute patio containing a tub with a bay tree in it. Jess reached out and fingered one of the shiny dark green leaves. Was this just for decoration or had Fiona been interested in cooking? Jess had an idea these plants were expensive to buy.To leave it unattended out here showed a certain trust in the neighbours.
She put the key in the lock. It turned easily and the door swung open. She stepped inside.
Two things struck her in quick succession. First, a confirmation of the discovery she’d already made, that Jeremy Jenner’s description of his daughter’s purchase had been hopelessly inadequate, not to say misleading. One room, perhaps, but one room of majestic proportions, large and so high that a spiral staircase had been installed up to a mezzanine bedroom platform, supported by an iron girder. It reached halfway across the whole space. This must be what Jeremy had meant when he spoke of a balcony. Light streamed in through high windows in the far wall. Everything gleamed: the stainless steel kitchen area, the minimalist decor and furnishings, a white leather sofa, a glass-topped coffee table. There was an off-white dining set with uncomfortable-looking chairs with high narrow backs made up of a sort of framed trellis-work. In one corner was the inevitable computer work station. The walls had been left in their red brick and there was one big unframed canvas on the far wall. Jess wasn’t into art. It was just a lot of black splodges and zigzags on a white background to her eye, but it was clearly an original and probably by some well-known modern artist. The only other piece of decoration was a long mobile of silvery shapes hanging from high ceiling. It turned slowly in the draught from the opened front door with a faint metallic tinkle like distant bells. The whole place looked like something from the Ideal Home Exhibition, pristine, untouched and out of most people’s league. It also, in its cleanliness, neatness and all that white, reminded Jess of a hospital ward.
Her trained eye took in all these things in one quick sweep of her surroundings. The second thing she became aware of, almost at once, was that she wasn’t alone in here. There was someone up in the mezzanine bedroom. She closed the front door softly and stood listening. There it was: a hiss of expelled breath as someone exerted some effort, the creak of a footstep on the wooden floor and then a male voice uttering a quiet but heartfelt imprecation followed by a rhetorical question.
‘What the hell am I doing here?’
‘Just what I was thinking, sir!’ Jess called up.
There was a thud from above as something was dropped. Footsteps clattered on the spiral staircase as the other began a hasty descent which stopped abruptly, midway.
‘Inspector …’The dismay was almost laughable but Jess wasn’t laughing.
‘Mr Smythe. Do you mind telling me just what you are doing here?’
‘Jeremy asked me to come, as a favour,’Toby said dejectedly from Fiona’s white leather sofa. ‘I didn’t want to do it but the poor guy’s in such a state. How could I refuse? He’s my cousin.’ He was slumped forward with his forearms resting on his thighs. He put up his hands and rubbed them over his head so that his dark hair became more tousled than ever.
‘Family obligation doesn’t excuse what looks remarkably like an attempt to remove evidence,’ Jess told him and wished the words hadn’t come out sounding so damn prissy. She was sitting opposite him on a tubular chair and between them the silver mobile twisted in an air current, shimmering and rustling. She was angry because his presence suggested the Jenners intended to carry out the same clean-up operation on Fiona’s flat as they’d done on her bedroom at Overvale. At the same time, she felt herself curiously out of countenance. Embarrassment was what Smythe was feeling, unless he was a better actor than
she gave him credit for being. And so he should be embarrassed! Her awkwardness came from the fact that she sat here like an old-fashioned mother superior and he sat there like a kid who’d been found smoking behind the toilets. He should be wriggling with guilt, but she shouldn’t feel like this. It was unprofessional.
‘I haven’t removed a damn thing. I haven’t found a damn thing.’ He was defiant now. (I wasn’t smoking it, Sister, honest. I just picked it up to throw it in the rubbish bin.) He smoothed his untidy hair with both hands in an attempt to restore it to order, and glared at her. ‘I’d only been here about ten minutes when you turned up.’
‘How did you get in here?’ Jess asked briskly.
‘I had a key. Jeremy knew that.’
‘You had a key. Why?’ Damn Jeremy Jenner! Why hadn’t he told Jess that his cousin held a key to Fiona’s flat?
‘Through an oversight, really. When Fiona bought the place and it was still empty, she kipped over at my place in Camden. I was home on a spot of leave at the time. She had the bed and I had the sofa, in case you’re wondering. She’d bought some stuff which she stored in my flat and left me a key for this place because I’d agreed to bring it over here. At that time I still had a car in London. I sold it when I left for Beijing and bought another when I got out there. I did well on the deal. Diplomatic perk.’ He gave a wan smile which faded quickly in the face of Jess’s stony expression.
‘I’m not interested in your car,’ she said sharply. ‘So, you were given the key by Miss Jenner, so that you could deliver some property of hers.’
‘Yes,’ he said defiantly. ‘She was going away for the weekend, not to see Jeremy, somewhere else, I don’t know where.’
Toby looked round him and waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the kitchen area. ‘It only was pots and pans and stuff like that. I came over here and dumped it all. My leave was up and I flew out back to Beijing a few days later. While I was away, she moved in here. The key – the key to this place which she gave me – was left in my flat in a drawer. I mentioned it when I arrived at Overvale. We were all sitting at dinner the first evening and I said I had the key and had meant to bring it down with me for Fiona but had forgotten it. Fiona said to put it in an envelope and post it to her. Jeremy remembered.’
Remembering that cleaned and tidied bedroom at Overvale, Jess’s conviction that something was being deliberately erased from the record increased. Now was the time to find out what it was.
‘And what did Jenner want you to search for?’
Toby hunched his shoulders. ‘I don’t know. Look, honestly, I don’t know. I asked him and he turned vague. He just said I should take a look round and see if there was anything potentially embarrassing. He didn’t mean anything directly to do with her death. It was anything to do with her life which would give a story to the press. We don’t know why she died or who killed her. Jeremy’s afraid the redtop papers might get hold of all this. Fiona was a single girl and he didn’t want anything found here which might, I use his words, besmirch her reputation.’
‘Mr Smythe!’ Jess burst out. ‘Given the job you do, you can’t be so naive! Fiona Jenner was murdered and anything here might give a clue to her killer! Even if there is something her father doesn’t want to come to light, he has to face the fact that now it must! So must you! As for her posthumous reputation, I’m sorry, but in these circumstances the victim has no rights in that.’
‘“I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him,” quoted Toby gloomily. “The evil that men do lives after them, the good is oft interred with their bones.” ’
‘Mr Smythe! This is a very serious matter.’
‘I am being serious!’ Toby snapped back irritably. ‘Why does no one ever believe that I take things seriously? But old Shakespeare got it right, didn’t he? He was a wise old bird. Now Fiona’s dead anyone can say anything about her and any grubby journalist write up every little human failing for the titillation of his prurient readers. This whole thing is a nightmare. I sympathize with old Jeremy. However, believe me or not, I didn’t intend to remove anything. I work for the government. I know things have to be done by the book. If I’d found anything embarrassing I’d have gone back and told Jeremy about it so he’d be ready for it when the police found it. Forewarned is forearmed, and all the rest of it. I know, believe it or not, about evidence.’
‘Do you also know about fingerprints?’ Jess retorted silkily. ‘Yours, I presume, are now all over the place here?’
‘What?’ he gazed at her. ‘Oh, yes, I suppose they are.’
‘No “suppose” about it. Now, let’s say, for the sake of argument, you wanted to confuse the police.You might come and leave some fingerprints here today to disguise any you might have made on previous visits.’
Toby ran his fingers through his hair, dishevelling it again. ‘I’ve hardly ever been in here! I came once when it was brand new and empty, to see it, and once when I brought over the kitchen pots I told you about. I’ve been in Beijing, for crying out loud! I’d never even seen it fully furnished like it is now.’ He gazed round him critically. ‘I suppose this is fully furnished. It’s not my style. It looks like a reception area in a posh block of offces. Look, all I meant to do was have a good look round and if there was anything iffy I’d have gone back and told Jeremy about it but I wouldn’t, I repeat, I would not have removed it. You probably don’t believe that but it’s true. I’m between the devil and the deep blue sea over this. I didn’t want to upset the police but I didn’t want to argue with Jeremy in the state he’s in.’
Jess stood up. ‘You’d better show me what you’ve done and put things back as you found them.’
‘I’d just begun,’ Toby explained as they climbed the spiral stairs. ‘I started up here and meant to work my way down. But up here was bad enough. I felt like some kind of grubby pervert, looking through her stuff. It’s all perfectly ordinary. Lord knows what Jeremy thinks I might find. I’m beginning to wonder if grief has sent him a bit funny.’
On the mezzanine were twin beds, both neatly made up in matching bed linen. On one of them a well-worn teddy bear was propped surveying them with its one remaining glass eye. Jess frowned. ‘You’re sure Jenner didn’t tell you what he thought you’d find?’
‘He didn’t tell me anything. I wish he had. It was bloody impossible, looking for something when I didn’t know what it was. I looked in the drawers there.’ He pointed. ‘And I’d just opened the wardrobe when you called up. I nearly had a heart attack.’
‘I didn’t expect to find you, come to that,’ Jess said drily.
‘No, I suppose not. It’s full of clothes and shoes and things. Nothing interesting.’ He gestured towards the wardrobe.
Jess put her hand through the door and riffled through the rack of clothes. There were plenty of them all right, packed in tightly, something for every occasion. Fiona must have been shopping mad. Two or three business suits hung together. Did people who worked in television wear that sort of thing? Jess uttered a soundless whistle between her pursed lips. It was curious. Hardly any furniture in the place, yet masses of garments of all sorts, and shoes. Aware that Toby was watching her, Jess stooped and picked up a pair of low-heeled tangerine slip-ons. They looked new. She turned them over and saw on the instep the stamped impression giving the size, 51/2. She replaced them and picked up a pair of ankle boots next to them. She turned them over. Size 61/2.
Toby’s sharp gaze had registered the puzzlement on her face. ‘What’s up?’
Jess retrieved the first pair of shoes and held both out to him so that he could read the sizes. ‘What do you make of that?’
‘Bought them on sale?’ suggested Toby. ‘Thought she could squeeze her size six and a half tootsies into a pair of size five and a halfs?’
‘Unlikely. She might have varied by half a size between different designs of shoe, but I wouldn’t have thought a whole size. What size did she take, did you know?’
‘Search me.’
‘If I’ve any re
ason to think you’ve removed any item, believe me, someone will.’ Jess returned both pairs of shoes and picked up a third pair, then a fourth and fifth. ‘They’re all either one or the other of those two sizes.’
‘So? Toby folded his arms and leaned against the wardrobe, looking mutinous. ‘What does that tell your trained brain?’
‘First, it tells me you’re sulking, which you’re far too old to do. Second, it suggests to me that—’
From below came the sound of a key in the front-door lock and then the slam of the door. Footsteps crossed the wooden floor below and someone turned on the tap at the kitchen unit. They could hear water splashing into a kettle. They exchanged startled looks and, as one, moved to peer over the mezzanine rail.
A young woman in a trim charcoal grey pants suit was moving about in the kitchen area, getting out a mug and milk from the fridge. A briefcase lay on the kitchen counter.
‘Making herself at home,’ whispered Toby.
‘That’s what I was about to say,’ Jess whispered back. ‘Two different sizes of shoe suggests two different people—’
They had been heard. The girl below dropped a spoon into the sink with a clatter and whirled round, looking up. ‘What – who the …?’
Jess scrabbled hastily for her ID and held it up over the balcony though it was unlikely the girl could make it out from down there. ‘Police. Inspector Campbell.’
Still holding out the ID she hastened down the spiral stairs, Toby on her heels.
The girl was tall and slim and her dark hair was trimmed into a twenties-style bob. Freckles spattered her nose and high Slavic cheekbones. She snatched Jess’s ID from her and glowered at it before returning it. She didn’t, thank goodness, ask to see Toby’s.
‘It doesn’t explain what the hell you’re doing here. Why were you up in the bedroom? It’s not a ruddy drugs bust, is it? Because, if it is, you’re out of luck. Neither Fiona nor I do drugs:
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