‘What do you reckon, Yarwood?’
‘Old Ted wasn’t ambitious, and, by all accounts, neither was his wife. Why, if from what we know of her, would she have an affair?’
‘And why Claude Selwood? Old Ted never gained from it. He was the same person up until the day he died, and the cottage before Marge moved in was nothing special.’
‘It is now.’
‘It puts my place to shame.’
The publican came over with the pork pies. ‘Take a seat,’ Tremayne said.
‘Five minutes, that’s all I can give you?’ the publican said.
‘You’ve got your finger on the pulse in this village?’
‘I suppose I do. What do you want to know?’
‘Rumours, any current that is of interest?’
‘I’m not into local gossip, just a bit of humour here and there.’
‘You’re a man who observes and keeps his ear pricked.’
‘I’ll not deny it. That’s the function of a publican, apart from selling drinks and pork pies.’
‘What’s the reason for Old Ted’s death? There are several possible motives for Cathy Selwood’s death, none for his.’
‘Why is hers easier?’
‘Frayed family relationships, her taking over Coombe Farm.’
‘Gordon Selwood controlled the farm.’
‘You’ve met Gordon. What do you think?’
‘Not a lot. The man goes with the flow.’
‘As I said, Cathy took over Coombe Farm. She was going to make a decent job of it as well.’
‘Marge Selwood was very vocal about her.’
‘We know, but apart from her, anyone else talking about Cathy?’
‘Dowling, he seemed to know something.’
‘When, how?’
‘He was in here a few days before she died. He wasn’t talking to me, but, as you say, I hear things.’
‘Who was he talking to?’
‘A woman, same height as him, attractive, drove a Range Rover.’
‘Did you get a name?’
‘I assumed it was his wife.’
‘Fiona?’
‘I never heard a name mentioned. They were sitting at the bar talking. I didn’t pay them much heed, but I’ve learnt to pick up conversations.’
‘What did they say?’ Clare said.
‘Sorry, customer needs a pint. I’ll be right back.’
Tremayne emptied his drink of beer and shouted over to the publican. ‘Another one, and bring one for yourself.’
‘Generous?’ Clare said. She was keeping to one glass of wine.
The publican returned carrying two pints. ‘Fiona, that was probably it. I’m surprised she’s Dowling’s wife. He’s not much to look at.’
‘They’re a matched pair,’ Tremayne said.
‘What was said?’ Clare asked.
‘I only caught snippets.’
‘What were they?’
‘The woman said Cathy was standing in the way.’
‘Is that all that was said?’
‘Maybe not the whole conversation. I had customers to serve.’
‘Any more?’
‘No, that’s about it. They had the one drink and left. I’ve not thought any more about it until you asked. Is it important?’
‘Probably not,’ Tremayne said. ‘What you’ve just told us is confidential. I would appreciate if you don’t mention it to anyone else.’
‘Not me, and besides, it makes no sense to me.’
It did, however, to Tremayne and Clare.
Chapter 22
Tremayne and Clare, for once, were glad to be back at Bemerton Road Police Station. It wasn’t often that either would have said that, but there was normality in that august building that the village of Coombe did not have.
The police station had rules and regulations, decent people, as well as a superintendent who was always after Tremayne’s retirement. Out in Coombe, there had been three deaths: a vicar who regarded shooting at another man and his horse as acceptable behaviour, one of the landed gentry who saw that sleeping with his farmhand’s wife wasn’t inappropriate, and a woman who had forgiven her husband’s indiscretion. And she had a history of selling herself in her youth, the same as her eldest son’s wife.
Tremayne and Clare wondered what was coming next.
‘If Cathy Selwood had objected to the farm being carved up, then the Dowlings are thrust to the forefront,’ Tremayne said.
‘Len Dowling was always a weak character.’
‘His wife is not.’
‘Is the money that the Dowlings would make, Gordon would make, sufficient to warrant murder?’
‘We need to check, and what is it with these people? Don’t they understand we will solve this?’
‘It’s their arrogance that allows them to believe we never will.’
‘Fiona was acquitted for the accidental death of another person once before. Do you think…?’
‘It’s past history, guv. We need to focus on the present.’
‘True, but Len, not much backbone in him, certainly not enough to commit murder.’
‘It depends on the reward. Any ideas on how to find out?’
‘Peter Freestone, he’ll be able to advise.’
‘You place a lot of faith in that man,’ Clare said.
‘He’s an accountant, as well as a Salisbury City Councillor.’
It took less than ten minutes to drive to Freestone’s office in Guildhall Square. Inside Freestone’s office: the smell of his pipe, the windows open, an attempt with an air freshener. Clare appreciated that he had made an effort, knowing full well her aversion to smoking. Tremayne always liked coming on his own as he could smoke a cigarette, Freestone could smoke his pipe.
Peter Freestone, probably the closest there was to a friend of Tremayne, sat behind his desk. For once, he had cleared it of paperwork. ‘What can I do for you Tremayne, Clare?’
‘Len Dowling.’
‘What do you want to know that you don’t already?’
‘The developments out at Coombe.’
‘Dowling’s involved with all of them,’ Freestone said. ‘But that’s how the man operates. You have to give him ten out of ten for tenacity.’
‘Fiona?’
‘She’s the driving force, but Len, he works hard.’
‘That sounds like admiration for the man,’ Tremayne said.
‘Why not? You may not like him. I can’t say I do either, but he never gives in.’
‘The approvals for the development work at Coombe Farm. We need to know more about it.’
‘What’s to tell. We’ll need to approve rezoning the land from rural to residential.’
‘Difficult?’
‘Not in itself, but that’s a long way from allowing any building work on the site. We’ll need full evaluations of the environment, traffic flow, impact on the local area, infrastructure. No doubt the village of Coombe doesn’t have the electrical capacity to take on another three hundred houses. There’ll need to be an upgrading of the power transmission into the area, as well as a consideration of the number of additional vehicles, some heavy, passing through the village.’
‘Insurmountable?’
‘The planning approval or the development?’
‘Both.’
‘A hefty capital outlay on Dowling’s part initially for the planning approval. He’ll need to use independent experts to prepare the necessary reports, then there are the feasibility studies, and if they find any endangered wildlife, that’ll present another complication.’
‘Endangered wildlife?’ Clare said.
‘A pair of nesting birds not seen in the United Kingdom for over a hundred years, and the application is shelved. It’s happened before, no reason it couldn’t happen again, although it’s unlikely that will occur out at Coombe.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Statistically, the odds are against it. Similar to your horse betting, Tremayne.’
Clare sup
pressed a laugh at Freestone’s ribbing of Tremayne.
‘Last pint I’ll buy you, Freestone,’ Tremayne replied.
‘Sorry, couldn’t resist. Anyway, the amount that Dowling will need to put forward to be even considered for approval will be costly.’
‘If he does?’
‘Then there’s the locals’ right to offer comment.’
‘Against?’
‘They can submit their willingness for it as well, I suppose. But inevitably, it’s against. Molly Dempsey will be in the thick of it, not that she holds much sway.’
‘Why’s that?’ Clare asked.
‘As I’ve told Tremayne before, not sure if you were there, but Mrs Dempsey is more rhetoric than substance.’
‘And rhetoric holds no validity.’
‘Not with us, it doesn’t. If hard facts are presented, then we’ll listen and respond accordingly. Statements such as ‘it will destroy the village’, ‘it’ll never be the same again’ will achieve very little.’
‘It will destroy the ambience of the place,’ Clare said.
‘Change is inevitable. Our responsibility at the Salisbury City Council is to ensure the change is for the better, and its progressive. Men like Dowling don’t care about anything other than profit. It’s up to us to temper their ardour with reason.’
‘Dowling must be frustrated by the process,’ Tremayne said.
‘Not really. Men like him get enjoyment from pushing. He’ll be in the thick of the battle.’
‘Where does Gordon Selwood come into this?’
‘That’s up to him,’ Freestone said. ‘If he sells part of Coombe Farm to Dowling, then he’s not involved. If he doesn’t, and he intends to sell to the developers after the approvals are granted, then he’ll need to be a signatory on the applications.’
‘Is there a difference?’
‘He’d be crazy to sell it before. If the application fails, he’s sold part of the farm. If the application succeeds, the value of the land will go up significantly.’
‘We’ll assume he doesn’t sell the land, but who’d advise him?’
‘Dowling, but the man would only give advice that benefited him. Selwood needs independent advice.’
‘Profit on the development?’ Clare asked.
‘Let’s assume the approval is given, then the development costs will run into the millions. Even before they’ve sold the one plot of land, they’ll need to bring in the sewerage, the electricity, build the roads.’
‘Who’ll finance that?’
‘Dowling should be able to secure bank financing, maybe bring in an additional investor.’
‘And Gordon Selwood?’
‘That depends on the man. Is he financially smart?’
‘Unlikely. His father would have been, his mother, definitely.’
‘Then men like Dowling spit out the weak at the first opportunity. Selwood could find himself losing on the deal.’
‘Cathy would have known this,’ Clare said.
‘No doubt that was why she objected. She could see the potential problems.’
‘Cathy?’ Freestone asked.
‘Gordon Selwood’s wife. She was murdered.’
‘Because of what we’re discussing?’
‘It’s possible, although not proven.’
‘And Dowling may be involved?’
‘There’s no evidence against Len Dowling.’
‘Fiona?’
‘None against her, but she’s smarter than her husband.’
‘Fiona is ruthless. I knew her as a schoolgirl, but then you knew that.’
‘A friend of your daughter’s.’
‘It was some years ago. She was attractive back then, still is, but there was something about her. She always seemed to be calculating the odds. Once my daughter ceased to have any value, she dumped her. They’ve not spoken for years.’
‘Your daughter now?’
‘Married with two children and living in London.’
***
Rose left her house in the village of Coombe and walked to the local store. It was a trip she made most days, only a two-minute walk, and she had to admit she had warmed to the village. After her speech in the store on the day she had arrived back, in that Crispin was indeed the son of Gordon Selwood and he was legitimate, there had been no more scurrilous rumours. Not that there weren’t some people, Rose knew, who still revelled in the gossip of what went on behind the church wall all those years before. Rose realised she had developed a thick skin anyway. She thought it was remarkable as to how little the village had changed, even the people, apart from their looking older. She walked past the two houses under construction, a sign at the front indicating that they were for sale.
Rounding the corner at the end of the street, Marge Selwood.
‘How’s Crispin?’ Marge asked.
‘Fine,’ Rose replied, which was true. She realised he had adjusted to Coombe even better than she had, although he was spending too much time with his father, neglecting his school work, but, on balance, the father’s bad habits had not impacted as much as she feared they would.
‘I see that Gordon’s bought him a car.’
‘It’s not new. I was firm on that, and I objected to anything too fast.’
‘You’ve heard about the plans for the farm?’
‘I have.’
‘What do you reckon?’
‘I’ve not given it much thought. I’m just pleased to be back in the old house.’
‘You must have some sway with Gordon,’ Marge said.
‘Not really. Crispin and Gordon get on well, that’s all I know.’
‘Rekindling the romance?’
‘I’ve changed, Gordon hasn’t.’
‘That’s true. But then you were always the more sensible. Even when there was that trouble, you handled it better than Gordon. He was all for you moving into the main house and living as man and wife.’
‘Why didn’t you let us?’
‘You were children. How could you make such decisions about your future at that age?’
‘And now?’
‘That’s up to you. I’m still not speaking to Gordon, and I’m not sure he’s making the right decisions. You would be good for him.’
Rose looked at Marge, not sure of what she could see. Was it the concerned grandmother, or was it something more sinister? She knew that Gordon’s mother had been right in that Gordon was only a child back when she had become pregnant, but she was not, at least not mentally. She had just been fifteen, but she had understood who had been the driving force in removing the Selwood family from scandal; it had been Marge Selwood. The woman’s attempts at pretending to care did not work with her. Rose knew that behind every word that Marge Selwood said, there was an ulterior motive.
The two women parted. Rose entered the store; Crispin was bringing a friend from school to spend the night. She realised her son was at the age when Gordon had made her pregnant. She hoped he would not make the same mistake. The last that Rose saw of Gordon’s mother, she was walking out of the village.
Chapter 23
Fiona Dowling, the driving force behind her husband, Len, and his burgeoning property empire, had not expected to see Clare. They had met in a café in Salisbury, away from the police station, away from Len Dowling, but more importantly, away from the Salisbury City Council Chambers.
‘Neutral ground, is that it?’ Fiona said. Clare had to admit the woman still looked as attractive as when they had suspected her of manslaughter in a previous case.
‘We need to talk, that’s all. I don’t think you, as a city councillor would appreciate us calling you into Bemerton Road Police Station.’
‘What for? I’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘I was told that you’re to become the mayor of Salisbury soon,’ Clare said.
‘I’m hopeful. Why are we here? You didn’t come to talk about me.’
‘The village of Coombe.’
‘What about it?’
‘You�
�ve been there?’
‘Once or twice. It’s pleasant enough, but I prefer to be in Salisbury.’
‘Your husband is involved in some property transactions in the village of Coombe and at Coombe Farm.’
‘You should ask my husband, not me.’
‘Mrs Dowling, we know each other well enough. If your husband is involved with the development at Coombe Farm, you’ll be there advising, expressing caution.’
‘I’ll admit to that, but what’s so important in Coombe?’
‘Murder, that’s what’s important.’
‘I know that Gordon Selwood’s wife was murdered, but I never met her.’
‘But you knew her name.’
‘Cathy Selwood. I read it in the newspaper. You’re not accusing Len and me of murder, are you? We’ve been down that road once before, and you and Tremayne made us look like fools. I’ve not forgotten the humiliation.’
‘You were both cleared. Len can talk plenty, but he’s not an action man, hardly likely to be capable of killing anyone,’ Clare said.
‘But I am, is that what you’re saying?’
‘I’m not saying anything, but you’re the stronger in your marriage. Not only have you risen from adversity after your affair became public knowledge, but you’ve changed it into a virtue. And now you’re a councillor in the city.’
‘I’m proud of my achievements, as I am of my husband. We’re a good team.’
‘So were Gordon and Cathy Selwood. He was a weak man bolstered by a strong woman. You would have liked her.’
‘This is all very interesting, but what’s it got to do with me?’
‘Your husband and Gordon Selwood have agreed to develop a part of Coombe Farm. The plan is for three hundred houses.’
‘It makes good business sense.’
‘Gordon Selwood is not the most astute man. He’s basically harmless, but he’s not a businessman, just someone who’s inherited wealth.’
‘So?’
‘Claude Selwood, his father, was astute, but failing due to dementia. However, he had a strong woman behind him. Any deals that would have been concluded with your husband would have needed her approval.’
‘It’s amazing how many successful men have a strong-willed woman behind them.’
‘With Claude dead, it was up to Len to set up another deal with the son. We believe that Gordon’s wife, Cathy, had objected to the deal.’ Clare realised that was hearsay, but she thought to add it in as a possibility.
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