by Granger, Ann
Carter said aloud, ‘I’d put my last penny on his not having changed a jot!’
Jess went to find Phil Morton. ‘Phil? What did Roger Trenton have to say when you spoke to him yesterday evening? I know you’ve written it all up in your notes, but I’d like to hear your impression of him.’
‘I’d put him down as a local busybody,’ said Morton. He pushed his chair back from his desk, stretching his arms above his head. ‘I’m sure he’d take a keen interest in anything going on, but as the house stood empty, all that was going on there was that squatters broke in from time to time. Trenton ranted about the council. He reckons some official somewhere should have done something about it. When it came down to exactly what the council was supposed to have done, he rambled on about making the place secure. But that would have been the job of the absent owner. Trenton grumbled about him, Crown, in general terms, as well. But he hadn’t seen him in some years so was short on specifics. Pompous old buffer didn’t have information of any interest, when it comes down to it, apart from Foscott’s Solicitors being the firm handling the owner’s legal business. Trenton hadn’t seen any strangers about apart from the elusive squatters. He’d got them on the brain. But he can’t describe any of them, or say exactly when they occupied the house. He makes a lot of noise and it’s difficult to stop him talking, but he doesn’t actually tell you anything.’
‘I might talk to him again, even so,’ Jess said thoughtfully. ‘He might not have any information himself but he might give a lead to someone who does. Gervase Crown is on his way back to this country, by the way.’
‘So he is in Portugal?’ Morton sighed. ‘Not him in the ashes, then. Well, who is he, our victim?’
‘That’s our priority, Phil. No news from the fire service investigation?’
‘Yes, there is.’ Morton picked up a notebook with a scribbled message on it. ‘They’ve been in touch. The fire was started deliberately, they believe, in the area of the kitchen where the body was found. An accelerant was used, probably petrol. I suppose that doesn’t tell us much we didn’t already suspect.’
Jess had not telephoned ahead to Ivy Lodge to forewarn Roger Trenton she was on her way. In her experience, it was better to catch people unawares before they had time to start imagining what they saw or knew. But it did sometimes mean a wasted journey.
‘He’s not here,’ said a plump but attractive middle-aged woman with thick, bobbed, iron-grey hair. ‘He’s driven into Cheltenham. Can I help? I’m Poppy Trenton, his wife.’ She had been sweeping up leaves when Jess arrived, and now leaned on her broom.
‘Perhaps you can, Mrs Trenton. Did you know the Crown family when they lived here?’
‘I knew Sebastian when I was in my teens,’ said Poppy. ‘We used to go to the same parties, as youngsters do. Gervase, on the other hand …’ She hesitated. ‘I can’t say I really knew Gervase very well. I used to see him around when he was a little boy. Then he had to go off to school at a very young age.’
‘I understand Mrs Crown left the family home,’ Jess prompted.
‘Yes.’ Poppy’s voice was suddenly bleak. ‘It didn’t work out.’ She saw Jess had raised her eyebrows enquiringly. ‘Their marriage,’ she said crisply. ‘Sebastian’s marriage. His wife’s name was Amanda.’
‘Do you know where Mrs Crown went, after leaving the family home?’
‘No idea. No one knew. I can’t be sure Sebastian knew, although they must have been in touch, I suppose, through lawyers, to get a divorce. But I really don’t know anything about it.’ Poppy spoke firmly.
They gossip around here, thought Jess, but only up to a point.
‘What about Gervase Crown when he grew older? He went through a wild patch, I believe.’
Poppy was beginning to look unhappy and fidget with the broom, making brisk brushing motions.
That question has upset her, thought Jess. She waited.
At last, Poppy said, ‘I don’t think Sebastian understood his son. Gervase probably felt his father ignored him and his mother, well, she abandoned him. Even before that, he was packed off when such a little boy to spend all that time away at school. I doubt Sebastian realised how lonely the child was. He must have had school friends, of course, but he was isolated at home. During the school holidays he wandered around the place like a little lost soul. I tried to bring up the subject once with Sebastian, but got rebuffed in double-quick time! I don’t suppose his father ever gave a sympathetic ear to anything Gervase said. Sebastian was a businessman. He understood profit and loss. Perhaps the desertion by Amanda had damaged him, too. He believed he’d done his bit in educating the boy. One can’t blame Gervase for – being a little foolish as a youngster. There was no one to guide him …’
Her voice had become sad. She gave herself a little shake and added, ‘I can’t be of much help to you, I’m afraid.’ She hesitated. ‘Although, it was a funny thing …’
‘Yes?’ Jess encouraged her.
‘No, no, it’s nothing!’ Poppy obviously regretted her last remark.
‘If it’s nothing, I’ll disregard it,’ Jess told her gently. ‘But I’d like to hear it.’
Poppy was turning a colour that reflected her name. ‘It’s such a silly thing and it happened about two weeks before the fire, so really of no interest to you. It’s just that I thought I saw Gervase.’
‘Saw him? Here?’ Whatever Jess had expected, it wasn’t this.
‘Yes, that is to say, at Key House. I’d gone for a walk. It was a little late in the day for it and I’d already decided I should turn back. It was starting to get dark early. The road is little used, but that means motorists tend to roar down it as if it were a racing track. I was passing by Key House when I saw a light, moving about in the garden. I was suspicious, because I knew the house was empty and no one should be there. On the other hand, I didn’t want to face a gathering of drug addicts all on my own! Roger’s seen people of that sort there. He told the sergeant who called here yesterday evening, Sergeant Morton. But I was curious and I thought I ought, as a local resident, to take a look. So I crept up very cautiously and peeped over the wall. As I did, a young man came round the corner. He was holding a torch – it had really got that dark. He was playing the beam all over the outside of the house and, as I watched, he stopped and shone the light through a window, trying to light up inside. I was really worried and wondered if I ought to call the police on my mobile. But just then, he moved and the torch jerked in his hand and the beam played over his face. It gave me such a shock. I thought it was Gervase. He must be on a visit to England and checking out the condition of the exterior of the house. I knew he couldn’t be staying there because the power had been cut off and there wasn’t a stick of furniture in the place.’
‘Did you call out?’
Poppy hesitated. ‘I was going to. It would have been nice just to say hello to him. But then the man switched off the torch. He turned and left, striding off quickly across the garden and out of the front gate. I saw then that there was a car parked up under the hedges. I hadn’t noticed it. He opened the door and got in and the light inside the car showed me his face again. It looked very like Gervase … that is to say, like Gervase as I remember him. I could have been wrong, because we haven’t seen him around here for quite a while. He didn’t see me behind my wall. He drove off and I lost my opportunity. I felt quite sorry about it. But then I thought perhaps it wasn’t him. But if it wasn’t, who could it be? I worried about it for a while. If it had been Gervase I saw that evening, I thought he’d come back again, so for a few days I kept an eye open. Only whoever it was didn’t come back again to my knowledge.’
Poppy fell silent and stared down at the little heap of leaves she’d amassed.
‘Did you mention this to your husband?’ asked Jess, thinking that if Poppy had, then Roger hadn’t seen fit to mention it to the police. Nor had Poppy spoken of it when Phil Morton had called to see them.
Poppy looked up in surprise. ‘To Roger? Of course not! He’d ha
ve said I was being silly. Or worse, he’d have started phoning the council again, or the solicitor who acts for Gervase. Roger has a bee in his bonnet about Key House standing empty, you understand. It would never have done to encourage him.’
That was why Poppy hadn’t mentioned it to Morton in her husband’s presence, Jess decided, and it was understandable.
Poppy had also realised she perhaps ought to have spoken out before. ‘I wasn’t really sure it was Gervase,’ she said earnestly. ‘The more I thought about it, I felt it couldn’t have been. So, in the end I decided it was probably just someone interested in the house. It’s a very desirable property. Or it was. It’s not now, of course.’ She sighed. ‘Goodness knows what Gervase will do with it now. Anyway, when the house caught fire, I started worrying about Gervase again, in case it had been him I saw that night a week or two earlier. He might have gone back and been there when the fire broke out. So, in the morning, while the fire engines were still at the house, and Roger was up there watching it all, I rang Serena Foscott.’
‘Serena Foscott, the solicitor’s wife?’ Jess asked in surprise.
‘Yes, and she told me Gervase was still in Portugal. So that put my mind at rest – and it was a big relief because the man I’d seen had looked so like him. It doesn’t explain whom it was I saw, if it wasn’t Gervase. That’s a mystery.’
‘Mrs Trenton,’ Jess asked, ‘may I ask why you rang Serena Foscott to find out where Mr Crown was?’
Poppy appeared mildly surprised at the question. ‘I asked Serena because her husband, Reggie, handles Gervase’s business in this country. He’d have known if Gervase had come over. But Serena told me Reggie hadn’t said anything about it and she thought he’d have told her.’
‘Forgive me keeping on about this,’ Jess continued, ‘but why would Mr Foscott tell his wife about a client’s movements and she pass it on to you?’
Poppy looked dismayed. ‘You make it sound so suspicious! Reggie wasn’t – or wouldn’t have been – breaking any confidences. He wouldn’t talk about Gervase’s business details, I’m sure! He’d never do anything so unprofessional. But he would have told his wife if he’d seen Gervase, or Gervase was in the country, because Serena Foscott is his cousin.’
‘Mrs Foscott is Gervase Crown’s cousin?’ Now Jess was startled.
‘Oh, yes, old local families, you know; they are all connected.’
Ian Carter will be interested to know that! thought Jess. I don’t think Reggie mentioned the relationship to him when they had their chat.
But Poppy was looking a little alarmed again, but this time staring past Jess. ‘Here’s Muriel,’ she said.
Jess turned and saw Muriel Pickering walking towards them in her yellow coat and trousers, this time with a matching yellow plastic hat jammed on her head. The pug plodded along beside her.
‘Ho!’ said Muriel, coming to a halt at Poppy’s front gate. ‘Got a visitor, have you?’ The words were addressed to Poppy but the speaker fixed Jess with her truculent gaze. ‘You’re the policewoman, the inspector. I saw you at the scene of the fire.’
‘You did, Mrs Pickering.’
‘Snooping around, are you?’ Muriel demanded ungraciously. ‘I suppose it’s what you’re paid to do. Asking questions and wanting to know everyone’s business.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Jess cheerfully. ‘That’s a fair description of a detective’s job.’
Her equanimity appeared to disconcert Muriel who sniffed loudly and squinted at Jess as if to see her better. Hamlet gave a little yelp of impatience.
‘Snooping,’ Muriel repeated eventually. ‘One of your chaps came to talk to me at home about Key House. Not that I could tell him anything. Hamlet didn’t take to him. He was very restless all the time the fellow was there. Hamlet is usually pretty good with visitors but he didn’t like your Sergeant Morton at all. He was being protective of me, you see. Dogs are very protective of their owners.’
Jess took another look at Hamlet, who returned her gaze with a low growl.
‘See?’ said his owner triumphantly. ‘Hamlet knows you’re a copper, not a friend or a normal visitor.’
‘Can I do anything else for you, Inspector Campbell?’ Poppy asked politely.
‘No, no, not at the moment. Thank you for giving me your time, Mrs Trenton. Good bye, Mrs Pickering.’
As she drove away, Jess found herself thinking: Hamlet didn’t like me, I don’t think Muriel Pickering likes me much and I’m pretty sure Poppy Trenton wasn’t delighted by my visit. Is there something, I wonder, they don’t want me to know?
Chapter 4
Carter drove out to Weston St Ambrose that evening to collect Millie. He found her ensconced, with the cats and MacTavish, on a battered sofa before a crackling log fire. His child was sorting, magpie-like, through a cardboard box containing old buttons and colourful glass beads from broken necklaces, a treasure trove of shiny objects.
‘Ah, there you are, Ian,’ said Monica Farrow comfortably. ‘Right on time. Millie and I made a quiche this afternoon. We have been waiting for you to come to sample it. I thought we could make it our supper.’
After they’d eaten, Carter carried a pile of dirty dishes into the kitchen and, carefully closing the door, turned to Monica. She raised her eyebrows and waited.
‘Monica, I know I’ve picked your brains before, your local knowledge,’ he began apologetically. ‘I hope you won’t mind if I do it again. Did you know a family called Crown?’
‘The only Crowns around here lived at Key House, the place that’s just gone up in flames. We all heard about a body being found there.’ Monica paused, then asked with a worried note in her voice, ‘The dead man – it’s not young Gervase, is it?’
‘We believe not. Gervase Crown has been living abroad and is, as we speak, preparing to return to this country to deal with the situation regarding his property here. I haven’t met the fellow, but of course we hope to interview him – even if he was in another country when the house caught fire.’ He paused and added, knowing he sounded censorious, ‘He’s thirty-five now.’
Monica pursed her lips and looked reflective. ‘Yes, I suppose he must be. Time flies. Poor little boy – I mean, he was when I knew him. His mother left them, bunked off and never looked back. He was sent off to boarding school even before that, at a very young age. I felt very sorry for him. It couldn’t have been a happy home.’
‘Sebastian Crown, the father, didn’t remarry?’
‘No, never. Threw himself into his business and made a fortune, I believe.’
‘Oh, he did that all right,’ said Carter.
‘Has Gervase married?’ asked Monica suddenly.
Carter realised that he’d never asked Foscott whether Gervase Crown had a girlfriend of any sort, let alone a wife.
‘I don’t know, Monica. All I know is that he plays golf, surfs and rides horses.’
‘Horses?’ Monica sounded surprised. ‘It used to be cars when he was young.’
Carter felt his mental antennae twitch. ‘Smashed up a couple, I’m told.’
‘Oh, yes …’ Monica turned aside, suddenly unwilling to talk.
‘A young girl was badly injured, do you remember that?’
‘Petra Stapleton, she still lives locally.’ Monica pressed her lips tightly. This was not up for discussion.
The kitchen door creaked open and Millie, clutching MacTavish, appeared framed in it, suspicion writ large on her face.
‘What are you talking about?’ She looked from one to the other of them accusingly.
‘Nothing of interest to you, young lady!’ Monica told her. ‘Have you put the lid back on the box?’ Millie nodded. ‘And got all your belongings? Because Daddy wants to be off.’
Millie disappeared to collect her other baggage. Even going somewhere just for the day, Carter had discovered, involved packing a rucksack of necessities for his daughter, just as if she were going on a journey.
‘When I come tomorrow night for her,’ he said to Monica. �
�I might have Jess Campbell with me. You remember Jess?’
‘Indeed I do! I’d like to see her again.’ Monica could not hide a note of curiosity.
‘I’d like her to meet Millie,’ Carter said, wondering if he’d done the wrong thing and started some speculation.
‘Good idea!’ said Monica cheerfully, which didn’t allay his fears at all.
As he was checking that her seatbelt was properly fastened, Millie leaned forward and said in his ear, her voice holding a kind of contained ferocity, ‘I’m interested in everything!’
So am I, thought Carter, if it has anything to do with Gervase Crown. Then he thought, do I tell her now about Jess coming with me tomorrow? No, I’ll wait.
‘Petra?’ Kit Stapleton called loudly from the middle of the paved area that was in lieu of a front garden. A neat wooden board at the gate announced that the property was called The Barn although the name accounted jointly for two buildings on the site.
This gave Kit a choice. Either her sister would be in the cottage, over on the right, or she would be in the actual former barn directly ahead of Kit, where Petra had her studio. She knew her sister was around the place somewhere because her invalid-driver adapted car stood in its usual parking spot.
‘In here …’ called a faint voice.
Kit made her way towards it and peered through the door. Most barns are shadowy places, but this one had a whole section of roof replaced with glass to give her sister the necessary light for her work. She was an accomplished painter of animal subjects and made a fair living out of painting portraits of people’s pets and, when lucky, won a commission to illustrate children’s books on animal themes or occasionally a jacket for an adult book. Not surprisingly the barn was cluttered not only with stacks of canvas and general artist’s necessities, but with a variety of ‘props’. Her sister was currently working on the jacket of a new edition of the Victorian classic, Black Beauty. There was reference material in a side-saddle hanging on a peg and an antique dressmaker’s model clothed in a red velvet lady’s riding habit, itself almost a hundred years old. Kit paused by the door, as she always did, to pat the head of the venerable rocking horse. This noble steed had once amused Kit and Petra as children, and various other family members before that. Now, in his old age, he had cantered his way across a variety of infant tales. Petra sat with her back to her visitor, before an easel. She didn’t turn her head. She was concentrating.