Hill adjusted his expression to one of concern. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Business problems, I suppose – what with the recession and so on.’
‘Recession?’ The girl’s brow wrinkled in perplexity and Hill had the impression that she was unsure of the meaning of the word. ‘I don’t know about that, but he’s always having to go off on trips – abroad mostly.’
‘Yes, I’m told that business people have to do a lot of travelling. It must be very stressful, with jet-lag and all that.’
‘That’s just it. And then losing his Uncle Oliver, poor man…’
Hill’s pulse gave a blip, but he kept his tone casual as he asked, ‘What happened to Uncle Oliver?’
‘He died very suddenly. Mr Loveridge had only just come back from a trip abroad when he got the news. He was in reception, just rushing off out when his aunt phoned to tell him and he took the call right here.’ She pointed to the instrument on the desk with a shudder, as if blaming it for having been the harbinger of bad news. The recollection seemed to unleash a flood of emotion; the girl’s mouth trembled and her eyes filled.
‘Here, let me…’ Hill took a tissue from a box beside the phone and gently wiped the tears away.
‘Thank you, you’re very kind.’ She sniffed, took a second tissue and blew her nose. Then she pulled herself together, assumed what she doubtless considered to be a correct, businesslike manner and said, ‘I’m afraid Mr Loveridge isn’t in the office this morning. You could have a word with his PA, Ms Nightingale, if you like.’
‘That would be very helpful.’ Hill treated her to another dazzling smile.
She gave him a shy smile in return and asked, ‘What’s your first name?’
‘Tony. What’s yours?’
‘Linda. My sister’s boyfriend’s called Tony – he’s ever so nice. You must think it’s silly of me to get so upset,’ she went on apologetically, ‘but if you’d seen Mr Loveridge’s face when he got the call from his aunt… it must have been a terrible shock to him, being still jet-lagged after his overseas trip. It was very stressful, so Anne – Ms Nightingale said.’
‘I’m sure it was,’ Hill agreed sympathetically.
‘I’ll tell her you’re here.’ Linda reached for the telephone, but Hill, sensing that he might glean a little more information from her, put a hand on the receiver.
‘Do you happen to remember what Mr Loveridge said when he took the call from his aunt?’ he enquired.
She thought for a moment before replying. ‘I think it was something like, “Just keep calm and wait at home, I’ll be with you as soon as possible,”’ she said slowly. ‘I can’t remember exactly. He never came back that day and he was away from the office every morning last week. Anne wouldn’t say why, but I know she had to reschedule lots of his appointments.’
‘So you don’t know what actually happened to his uncle?’
She shook her head and pouted. ‘Anne wouldn’t tell me that either,’ she said with a touch of resentment. ‘She said it was none of my business and I wasn’t to say anything to anyone, so I hope you won’t let on I mentioned it.’
‘Don’t worry, we detectives know when to keep quiet.’ Hill lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper and she gave a nervous little giggle. ‘As Mr Loveridge himself isn’t available,’ he went on, ‘it would be helpful if I could have a word with Anne if she’s free.’
‘I’ll find out for you.’ Linda screwed up the tissues, threw them into an invisible bin under her desk and reached for the phone. This time, Hill made no attempt to stop her.
It turned out that Anne Nightingale was able to spare him a few minutes. Linda replaced the instrument and directed Hill to an office on the first floor. ‘You can take the lift if you like, or the stairs are over there,’ she said. He told her she had been very helpful and she simpered in delight. She seemed sorry to see him go.
Loveridge’s personal assistant was a very different character from the impressionable Linda. When Hill knocked on her office door, her ‘Come in’ sounded more like a command than an invitation and she continued – very pointedly, he felt – to study some papers on her desk before condescending to raise her head and greet him with a curt, ‘Detective Constable Hill?’
‘That’s right.’
‘What is it you want?’
‘It’s really Mr Loveridge that I wanted to see, but I understand he’s unlikely to be available for a day or two. We’re hoping he may be able to help us in our enquiries into the murder of Percy Burrell of the RYCE Foundation. As I’m sure you’re aware, Mr Loveridge was there when it took place and—’
‘—and was subjected to a considerable amount of questioning at the time,’ she interrupted, fixing Hill with frosty blue eyes. ‘He’s aware that you wish to speak to him again, of course, and he has no intention of being obstructive or elusive, but he has many calls on his time and I think it’s been made clear that he has nothing to add to his original statement.’
‘Oh, quite.’ Hill eyed a chair which was obviously intended to accommodate visitors, but received no invitation to sit down.
Ms Nightingale smoothed the collar of her severely tailored white blouse and fingered one of the stud earrings which matched the pearl choker at her throat. Her nails and lipstick were the colour of blackcurrant juice. ‘So how do you imagine I can help?’ she asked.
‘Am I correct in assuming that you made the arrangements for him to attend a course at RYCE?’
‘You are.’
‘When did you make the booking?’
For the first time, her poise appeared momentarily affected, but she quickly recovered and said, ‘It was the day he got back from his Far Eastern trip. He was quite exhausted and his doctor recommended a complete break. He didn’t feel able to take the whole week off, but it so happened that I knew about RYCE and their programme of morning or afternoon sessions, so I booked him in there.’
Hill made a note. ‘So it was on your recommendation that he chose RYCE?’
‘Haven’t I just said so?’
Hill gave a conciliatory smile, which evoked no visible response. ‘I just want to make sure I’ve got it clear in my mind. Do I take it that you’ve attended a course there yourself?’
‘I?’ The carefully shaped eyebrows lifted in scorn. ‘Certainly not.’
‘Then presumably you know someone who has, and benefited from it?’
‘Oh, I see what you mean.’ Again, she appeared vaguely disconcerted. ‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Could you possibly give me the person’s name? It’s just that we’re trying to fill in as much of the background to the murder as possible. Obviously someone had a grudge against the victim, but we’ve drawn a complete blank as far as the people who were present at the time is concerned.’ Hill waited for a moment, but she made no comment. ‘The name of this person who recommended RYCE?’ he prompted.
‘I’m sorry, I can’t remember. It was probably someone I met casually, at a business meeting, or maybe a party…’
She was definitely rattled. Hill was quick to press home the advantage. ‘Did you have any difficulty in making the booking for Mr Loveridge? It was pretty short notice, and I understand there’s a considerable demand for the courses.’
‘That’s right, but it so happened there had been a cancellation, which was very fortunate.’ She began shuffling the papers on her desk. ‘Now, if that’s all—’
‘Just one thing more. Apart from the strain of his Far Eastern trip, did Mr Loveridge have any other problems that you know of! His health? Worries concerning the business? Or…’ Hill paused to give the impression that he was mentally seeking other possibilities ‘… some family difficulty, perhaps? A sudden bereavement, for example. Do you know of anything like that?’
Beneath the carefully applied make-up, Hill saw her colour rise and for the first time she avoided his eye. ‘Mr Loveridge never discussed his personal affairs with me and I wouldn’t have dreamed of questioning him,’ she said. Her tone was dismissive, with an u
neasy edge to it.
‘Oh, I’m sure you’re the soul of discretion,’ said Hill smoothly. He put his notebook in his pocket, turned and reached for the door handle. ‘Thank you for sparing the time to talk to me, Ms Nightingale, you’ve been very helpful. Good morning.’
She responded with a brief nod. He left with the distinct impression that she was relieved the interview was at an end.
Shortly after eight o’clock that evening, while Sukey was writing out her reports on the day’s cases, DI Castle put his head round the office door. Seeing her alone, he came in and sat down. ‘Had a good day?’ he asked.
‘Pretty routine. How about you?’
‘Some interesting developments in the Burrell murder. Guess who’s been having it off with the vicar?’
Sukey’s eyes saucered as he regaled her with the saga of Mary Hargreaves and the Reverend Hubert Phillips. ‘Well, that’s a turn-up for the book,’ she commented with a chuckle. ‘Not much help with the inquiry, but an interesting diversion. You know,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘I’d have sworn that their responses to Freya’s exhortations were genuine, but it seems odd for church people. Although, come to think of it, there’s nothing in the RYCE teaching that’s incompatible with religion – it simply boils down to a kind of heal thyself philosophy.’
‘Maybe they’ve been kidding themselves that it was the Almighty’s way of giving the OK to their amorous adventure,’ Castle observed.
‘You old cynic!’ Sukey said reproachfully. ‘It might be a genuine grande passion that they’ve been resisting for years.’
‘Maybe. Anyway, you’re right; assuming there’ll be a negative result from forensics we’ve written them out of the frame. Likewise Dan Foster.’ He sketched in the details that Radcliffe had turned up. ‘Your hunch about him was spot on, and the same applies to your doubts about Loveridge. You’ll never guess who he’s turned out to be.’ She shook her head. ‘Oliver Drew’s nephew.’
Her jaw dropped. ‘You’re kidding!’ She listened in growing amazement to his account of DC Hill’s investigations. ‘Tony says it was pretty obvious the secretary knew more than she was prepared to admit, but the receptionist was much more susceptible to his charm.’
‘That accounts for Jennifer’s change in attitude,’ Sukey commented. ‘The idea of persuading me to go to RYCE with her was to look for evidence of skulduggery and I fully expected her to be on the phone every evening wanting to rake over everything that had gone on during the day in the hunt for clues. When it didn’t happen I put it down at first to a genuine change of heart, but as I told you I had some doubts about the way she reacted to Loveridge’s ranting, and when she kept insisting that she was convinced she’d been barking up the wrong tree it didn’t quite ring true.’
‘It’s possible that when nephew Mervyn returned from his wanderings and learned about his uncle’s suicide,’ Castle continued as she paused to consider the implications, ‘he agreed with Jennifer about the possible cause and decided to join in the hunt for the presumed blackmailer. That would explain why Jennifer gave you the brush-off.’ He glanced over his shoulder; the office door was closed and there were no sounds to indicate the presence of anyone in the corridor. He leaned towards Sukey, took one of her hands in both his and put it to his lips. ‘Got to hand it to you, Sook, you’re a real little bloodhound at times,’ he murmured.
She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek. ‘Just put it down to feminine intuition,’ she said smugly. ‘I suppose you’ll be pulling both Loveridge and Jennifer in for questioning?’
‘Of course, although I’m a bit puzzled at the moment as to motive. On the face of it, it’s difficult to see what they had to gain from killing Burrell, other than revenge for his supposed responsibility for Oliver Drew’s suicide. Maybe somehow or other they’d turned up what appeared to them to be proof of that.’
‘You’ve probably hit on it. “Revenge” is the name Jennifer gave her “demon”, remember?’
Twenty-Two
Sukey and Fergus were eating a late supper when Jim phoned.
‘I thought you’d like to know we think we’re on to something,’ he told her. ‘We pulled in Loveridge and Jennifer Drew for questioning and they both kicked up a great fuss. She became hysterical, he hurled abuse at the officers who brought him in and they both asked for a duty solicitor. That struck us as odd – you’d expect people like them, especially Loveridge, to have their own legal advisers.’
‘So?’
‘So we started probing around. We got the name of Loveridge’s solicitor from his secretary; he was extremely concerned when he heard what prompted the enquiry, but couldn’t offer any explanation as to why he’d been passed over. And then Lisa Crombie said Jennifer Drew was in such a state that she sent for the FME, who was sufficiently concerned about her mental condition to arrange for her to spend the night in hospital. She gave her mother’s name as her next of kin, so we contacted her. The result was very interesting.’
Sukey swallowed the mouthful of grilled lamb she had been chewing and said, ‘But I understood they weren’t on good terms because Mum disapproved of Oliver.’
‘That’s what Jennifer kept saying, but we went ahead anyway. Lisa had a most revealing chat with Mrs Newlyn, during which it emerged that she objected solely because of the disparity in ages, but she was much more forthcoming about Mervyn Loveridge – says he’s a nasty piece of work. It seems that as the result of some dodgy business deal a few years ago, her son-in-law altered the terms of his will so that his nephew would no longer inherit a controlling interest in Drew’s business. In recent months, Loveridge has been making great efforts to worm his way back into Uncle Oliver’s good books – persuade him that he’s seen the error of his ways and all that and try to get him to reverse the decision. He was also hoping to touch him for some more immediate help. Mrs N says Loveridge International has been going through a rough period lately.’
‘So when Uncle goes and tops himself before he can take the necessary action and Loveridge learns of Jennifer’s suspicions, he decides Burrell is responsible for blowing his little scheme out of the water and kills him out of revenge. Is that what you’re saying?’ Sukey speared a piece of potato with her fork and popped it into her mouth.
‘It seems a strong possibility. Take a Brownie point for suggesting we go into Loveridge’s background – you could well have saved us hours of spade-work.’
‘Thank you.’
‘By the way, your question about the free therapy session – all the others were offered one, so it looks as if Serena just forgot to mention it to you.’
‘I suppose she must have done,’ said Sukey absently. She reached for the last piece of grilled lamb and chewed it thoughtfully. While they were speaking, her mind had switched back to the events of that fateful Thursday morning in a series of impressions running before her mind’s eye like a video on fast forward: the general lightening of the atmosphere: Serena’s unaccustomed word of welcome as she circulated with her tray of drinks: Freya’s normally sombre attire given a lift and sparkle with that scattering of sequins and the flowers in her hair: the positive response from some of the ‘initiates’ and the almost palpable sense of excitement as they awaited Xavier’s appearance. Then came the horror of the discovery: the arrival of the police and her own overwhelming sense of relief as responsibility was lifted from her shoulders. After that, the memory became less clear and she had a feeling that somewhere along the line there was something she had missed. She puzzled over it as she swallowed the last of the meat and reached for her glass of water. ‘You don’t seem all that interested.’ Castle sounded slightly put out. ‘I thought you’d be thrilled to know that your hunch looks like turning out to be correct.’
‘Sorry, of course I’m interested. Tell me more.’
‘That’s pretty much it for the time being. You would have thought,’ Jim added, evidently well pleased by the early breakthrough in what had threatened to be a long and difficult investigation, �
�that a man who’s built up a hitherto thriving company would have weighed things up a bit more carefully before doing something as drastic as murder, but his run-in with you proved he doesn’t take kindly to being crossed, and Sergeant Radcliffe and DC Hill confirm that he showed every indication of having an explosive temper. His brief warned him several times to cool it.’
‘Have you found any evidence to link either of them to the killing?’
‘Not so far, but we’re confident one or other of them will crack under questioning. We reckon it was Loveridge who actually committed the murder, but it’s more than likely Jennifer’s implicated in some way. Look, I’ve still got a mountain of paperwork to deal with so I’d better go now. I’ll keep you posted.’ As further evidence that his thoughts were completely focused on the job in hand, he hung up without the usual exchange of endearments.
‘What was that about?’ Fergus asked eagerly as his mother put the phone down. ‘Has there been an arrest?’
‘Jennifer Drew and Mervyn Loveridge, but only on suspicion. There’s no evidence so far.’ Sukey repeated the gist of the conversation while Fergus cleared the table, brought plates for their dessert and took a tub of ice cream from the freezer while she began cutting slices of Bakewell tart.
‘You don’t sound very excited about it,’ Fergus commented, unconsciously echoing Jim’s sentiment. ‘I’d have thought you’d be thrilled to have your hunch confirmed.’
‘I suppose I am, but the more I think about it the more it seems just a little too obvious. And not the way I’d expect a hard-headed businessman to go about getting his own back on someone he suspects of doing him down.’
‘But if he was out for revenge…’
‘Put yourself in his position. Uncle Oliver tops himself before he can be persuaded to reinstate him as his heir to the business. Furious at being thwarted in his ambition and persuaded by Jennifer that Oliver was being blackmailed by someone at RYCE, Loveridge sets out to find evidence. Assuming – as Jim seems to be doing – that he and Jennifer between them turned up that evidence, he would be in a strong position to expose them and ruin their business. If revenge is what they were after, surely that would be much more satisfactory – and far less risky than committing murder.’
Death at Burwell Farm Page 20