An hour passed with reading; she’d even ventured into the section on sex tips, and had to admit there might be some things worth learning. She could have a laugh over this with Kate and Aisling when she got home. Switching off the bed-side lamp, but keeping the television on, she lay down hoping to sleep. As her eyes began to rest, her mind suddenly returned to thoughts of why she was embarked on this investigation, this quest on behalf of Callum Armour. She needed to find out more about the relationships between the students captured in the photo from the ski trip ten years ago. Somehow those people held the key to why Justin Kingsley had disappeared. They may also hold the key as to why he had returned, apparently, intent on murder. As sleep finally arrived, her last thought was her unease that Callum had told Egerton-Hyde of their plans to visit Canterbury and of their intention to meet with Charlotte Babb.
CHAPTER 28
Breakfast was a strained affair. Callum showed up late, dressed in his new clothes but unshaven.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked when he noticed her frowning at him.
‘What happened to your effort to remain tidy?’
‘Not meeting anyone today, are we? And you’re not exactly dressed as you were yesterday.’
She wore a leopard-print stretch top and slim-fit jeans. This guy was all charm. There was only so much she could take. He’d lost his wife and child, understandably devastating, but was he going to live the rest of his life being rude, because every day he wanted to play the victim?
‘No one specific,’ she replied. ‘But if you do not return to your room, and make yourself a bit more presentable I am out of here right now. Alone!’
He looked at her, but she stared him out. A schoolboy scolded.
‘Can I have breakfast first?’ Demonstratively, she looked at her watch.
‘You’ve got five minutes to do as I ask. You decide if you have time for breakfast. We’re already late as it is.’
An hour later they were on the M25, anticlockwise, headed for Kent. Her frustration with Callum continued to simmer. That combined with his apparent sulk resulted in a lack of meaningful discussion of the case. Case? First time she had thought of it as such. She was in for so much trouble when she returned home, she hardly dared think about it. But she was fast running out of sensible things to consider. She switched on the CD player and let rip with The Foo Fighters, hoping it would annoy the hell out of him. What had Tilly Reason ever seen in him?
She had followed the signs for the Cathedral, but found herself on a road that seemed to encircle the old city. Eventually she chose one of several signs indicating a car-park and drove into a long strip of Pay & Display spaces beneath the city walls. On foot, they turned right into Burgate and five minutes later stood admiring the magnificent Christchurch Gate. They paid, or rather Tara paid, for them to pass through the gate into the Cathedral precincts. It was impossible not to look upwards, even as she wasted little time in entering the glorious building. She had come here firstly to get a view of the murder scene, although she doubted it would tell her much and, secondly and more importantly, to find someone who would have known Peter Ramsey well. Conducting a police style interview was, of course, out of the question. She was certain that Kent Police, and Detective Inspector Iain Barclay in particular, had performed a thorough investigation. Any friends or colleagues of Ramsey were likely to have endured a police interview already. They would certainly wonder why a Liverpool cop was interested in the case. She already knew the circumstances of the murder, but what she hoped to gain was information on Peter Ramsey, the kind of man he was and what motive anyone could have for taking his life.
Entering the Nave by the south-west door she lifted a guide leaflet in English and, glancing through it, soon identified the location of the Martyrdom. Callum wandered off into the Nave. She would have preferred him to stay close by in case they came across someone who knew Peter Ramsey, but she let him go. Maybe he could do just that on his own. Save her the trouble of pretending to be his friend.
Comparison stories on the murders of Peter Ramsey and Thomas Becket had been rife. Open season for press speculation, it sold newspapers. From where she stood in the Martyrdom, it was difficult to imagine any murder ever having taken place. A man and woman, early twenties, she guessed, swarthy, foreign students perhaps, gazed upon the spot where, it was said, Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, had perished in 1170. They inspected a small bouquet of flowers, carnations and chrysanthemums, lying close to the floor-tile marked ‘Thomas.’ Tara read the notes on her leaflet on the murder of Becket, wondering about the comparison made to Peter Ramsey. She paused on the supposed words of Henry II, ‘Who shall rid me of this meddlesome priest?’ Four of his knights had duly obliged. Had Ramsey been regarded by someone as a meddlesome priest? When the couple moved on, Tara examined the small card attached to the flowers. It read simply, ‘In remembrance of Peter Ramsey.’
Emerging from the Martyrdom she spied Callum, standing on the Crossing above the Nave, close to the Quire entrance, in conversation with a man dressed in a black cassock. As she approached them Callum turned and smiled, holding his hand out to her.
‘This is my friend, Tara,’ he said. The man smiled warmly. He looked about forty, sturdy build, the leather belt around his waist a little strained. He had light brown hair, curling and drooping over his ears, and gold-rimmed glasses.
‘Very nice to meet you, Tara,’ he said, in a sedate voice, and offering his hand. ‘I’m Stephen Hadleigh, Canon Pastor.’
‘Hello,’ Tara replied, feeling her hand caressed in his gentle grip.
‘Please, may I ask if you are from the press? We have had so many reporters here, inquiring about Peter; I don’t think we can say much more about the tragic event.’ The man looked nervously from Tara to Callum and back to her. She decided on the spot that he deserved the absolute truth. Besides, she wouldn’t feel right telling fibs inside a church. Who knows, small white lies might well be magnified a hundred-fold because the church happened to be a huge cathedral? Callum seemed to wait for her lead.
‘No, Stephen, we’re not from the press. I am a police detective, but I’m not assigned to the murder investigation in any way.’ Removing her warrant card from her handbag she gave it to him. He studied it for a few seconds before handing it back.
‘Why are the Merseyside Police interested in Peter?’
‘They’re not. I’m here only as Callum’s friend. He knew Peter well from their time at Oxford.’
‘I just wanted to see where he died,’ said Callum. ‘And to speak to someone who knew him during his time here.’
‘Oh. I see.’ Hadleigh did not appear entirely convinced. He looked Callum up and down, perhaps wondering, Tara thought, that Callum didn’t strike him as an Oxford graduate. Dear knows what he would have thought if he’d seen him a few days earlier, or even first thing this morning. Navy trousers, heavily creased and a casual striped shirt, he didn’t look particularly dapper.
‘My wife died three years ago. She also knew Peter at Oxford.’
‘Ah, would that have been the author, Tilly Reason?’
‘Yes, it was Tilly. Our daughter Emily died at the same time.’
‘I’m so sorry for your loss. Peter was very upset by the news. He was living with us at the time, my wife Alice and our two children.’
‘Stephen, this may sound very peculiar,’ said Tara, ‘But we believe there may be a connection between Tilly’s death and Peter’s.’
‘Goodness me. But if I remember correctly, Callum, your wife died in a car accident?’
‘I think she was murdered.’
‘My goodness. But why? What possible connection?’ Hadleigh was looking at Tara.
‘We don’t know,’ she said. ‘There’s been a third murder, another of Callum’s friends from Oxford. His name was Zhou Jian. Do you recall Peter mentioning the name?’
Hadleigh shook his head, deep in thought or deep in shock, perhaps both.
‘I realise the local police are in
vestigating Peter’s murder,’ Tara continued. ‘But can you think of any reason why someone would want to kill him?’
‘No, absolutely not. Peter was such an easy-going chap. Didn’t take life too seriously. Strange, you might think for someone in our profession, but it was part of his charm, the reason why he related so well to the people who come here.’
‘Did he ever mention the name Justin Kingsley?’ Callum asked. Tara inwardly applauded his question.
His gaze to the floor, Hadleigh again shook his head. Then he glanced at his watch.
‘I’m not entirely the best person to answer your questions, but if you have a few moments I could call Alice, get her to come over. She and Peter used to natter away over coffee every morning after service. If you give me fifteen minutes we could meet up; there’s a coffee shop just outside Christchurch Gate.’
Twenty-five minutes later Stephen and Alice Hadleigh entered Starbucks and joined Tara and Callum at a table by a window, looking out to the war memorial in the ancient square. Stephen had cast off his clerical attire, and wore a check shirt with short sleeves and beige trousers. Alice Hadleigh, a slightly plump lady in a green flowery dress, had thick curly hair and a round face. She smiled instantly and offered her hand to Tara as her husband introduced them. Once they were settled with mugs of coffee, Alice, in a cheery voice, took up the reins of the conversation.
‘You were asking about Peter? He spoke of you several times, Callum.’
‘We were wondering,’ Callum replied, ‘If he ever mentioned Justin Kingsley?’
Alice nodded two or three times as if she fully appreciated the implications of the question.
‘Yes he did, many times. Peter cherished his days at Oxford. Happiest days of his life, he often said. Particularly, Callum, after your wife died, he never stopped talking about college. Oh, Peter wasn’t one for looking on the dark side of things, but he often wondered what had become of this Justin Kingsley. He thought it strange that he’d lost two friends from his college days at such young ages. He appeared very fond of Tilly. Used to read her books to our children.’
‘Did he believe that Justin was dead?’ Tara asked.
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘Did he ever mention anyone he thought might do him harm?’
‘Not to me.’
‘Anything that may have troubled him?’
‘Nothing except for the obvious.’
Stephen Hadleigh sat back from the discussion with a deep-set frown on his smooth face.
‘The obvious?’ asked Tara. Alice looked at Callum with some degree of surprise.
‘Stephen doesn’t like to speak of such things, but Peter was gay.’
Tara glanced at Callum for some corroboration, but he looked as surprised as she did.
‘Oh, he didn’t have a partner, or anything like that. Certainly not since he came to Canterbury, but he did tell me it was highly unlikely that he would ever marry.’
‘That didn’t make him gay, Alice,’ said her husband, sitting with arms folded, clearly finding the conversation very uncomfortable.
‘I know that, darling, but Peter did tend to confide in me. He told me once over coffee that physical love, particularly with women, held no particular attraction for him. And there were the letters.’
‘Letters?’ Tara repeated.
‘Yes. Peter lived with us for most of the time he was here. He only moved to his own flat about six months before he died. He left a few boxes and things that he didn’t have room for in his new place. We still had them when he was killed.’
‘We thought we should go through the stuff and send anything important to his parents in Gloucester,’ said Hadleigh. Alice waited for her husband to finish speaking, but clearly she wanted to be the one to explain.
‘I found a bundle of letters tucked away in a cardboard box. Most were simply correspondence he’d gathered over the years. He had a pen-pal in New Zealand since he was nine years old. Isn’t that amazing? Anyway, there were a few letters from his pen-pal, a few from his sister at home and at least a dozen from a friend at Oxford. They were quite intimate in places. And then, in the most recent of the letters, there seemed to have been some disagreement or break-up. It wasn’t entirely clear.’ Alice ceased talking, and took a sip of her coffee.
‘Do you know who that person is?’ Tara asked.
Alice Hadleigh shifted position on the leather sofa, her bright face suddenly fraught with the realisation of what she was about to say.
‘Stephen told me that you are not working officially on this case, Tara. That you believe there is a connection between Peter’s death and that of your wife, Callum?’
‘That’s right,’ Callum replied. ‘And with the murder of Zhou Jian in Switzerland. He was a good friend of mine.’
‘Oh, my Lord. What is going on?’
‘Mrs Hadleigh,’ said Tara, ‘Do you know who wrote those letters to Peter?’
‘Stephen felt we should pass them on to the police, you know. In case they were of use in their investigation. They were from a long time ago, ten years or more, I’m sure.’
‘Can you tell me the name, Mrs Hadleigh?’
Alice Hadleigh stared into her coffee. It seemed she had tuned herself out of the conversation.
‘Alice dear, please answer the question for these good people,’ said her husband, his hand set on her lap, his expression now strained.
‘All the letters were merely signed, Eggy,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you can guess, Callum?’
‘Anthony Egerton-Hyde.’
CHAPTER 29
‘I thought you were an intelligent man, Callum. Still, at every turn I get surprises.’
‘Didn’t think it was relevant.’
They were seated in her car, still parked below Canterbury’s city walls. She was damned if she was driving anywhere until she had it out with him.
‘I’m the cop. I’m the one who decides what is relevant. I asked you to tell me everything connected to your friends at Oxford.’
‘I didn’t know that Peter had a thing going with Anthony. As far as I was concerned they were mates. They went to the same school; you know what they say about those public schools?’
‘You didn’t know Peter Ramsey was gay?’
‘No. I don’t think anyone did.’
‘Well it seems that Egerton-Hyde was well aware of it. Can’t you see what this means?’
‘Those letters were from a long time ago. Alice said there was nothing recent passing between Peter and Anthony.’
‘At least two of the letters, Alice said, were written after they graduated from Oxford. It’s a motive, Callum. A possible reason why Peter was murdered.’
‘You’re suggesting that Anthony Egerton-Hyde is the killer, not Justin?’
‘It is possible. You’ve directed all your attention at Kingsley. He disappeared ten years ago. No one seems to know why. But you’ve branded him a murderer. Anthony Egerton-Hyde is a public figure. He’s married to a famous woman. If he’s never admitted to being in a gay relationship, do you think he would want it to come out now?’
‘But he always joked about finding a beautiful filly to produce his heir, to run his family seat. He was always fondling the girls. And what about Tilly? And Jian? Why kill them?’
Tara had to admit she had no ideas on that score beyond what she initially thought when Callum had first explained his theory. They had come all this way only to find a more obvious answer.
‘Callum, we can think of no reason whatsoever why Kingsley or Egerton-Hyde would have killed Jian. It’s cheap to say it, but maybe it’s not connected to the other deaths. Jian was under threat at home in China. He’d crossed a lot of people in what he published about food safety. You told me that yourself. You’ve heard of these Chinese mafia gangs. It isn’t difficult in this day and age for his murder to be arranged, even in a country like Switzerland.’
‘And what about Tilly and Emily?’
‘Were you ever threatened, or felt you were in
any danger because of your job? You and Jian worked on the same projects.’
Callum shook his head.
‘Our kind of research had a much lower profile in the UK than in China. Some of our results impacted on food companies when we discovered traces of toxins and chemicals that shouldn’t be in our food. But at most it amounted to product recalls, a few court cases and fines. It was bigger news in China. Company directors were jailed or even executed for causing widespread health issues in food. I suppose Jian definitely rattled a few cages there.’
‘Is it possible that someone who had been affected by your work set out to get back at Jian and you?’
‘You mean someone killed Tilly and Emily to get at me? Someone who didn’t like the research I was doing?’
‘I’m just asking you to consider the possibility. Did you ever receive threats?’
He shook his head once again.
‘No, except for the sympathy card. And your theory doesn’t explain who killed Peter. He had nothing to do with Jian’s work or mine.’
An Early Grave Page 18