‘And Rose?’
‘What did you reckon? From a woman’s perspective, that is.’
‘They’re lovers.’
‘Is it love?’
‘Not from Rose. She’s matured, Gordon hasn’t. She doesn’t come with Cathy’s baggage, and she’s got a comfortable existence in the village. She may move in with Gordon at some stage, or she may not.’
‘The mother,’ Tremayne said.
‘It’s late to go knocking on doors.’
‘She’s the one who wants to know if Gordon is her son. We’ll do it for her legitimately, not through a third-rate laboratory overseas. Whatever the outcome, the Selwood family will have to deal with the facts.’
Marge Selwood did not appreciate being woken. The pieces were fallen together, Tremayne knew it, and nobody, not even the formidable Marge Selwood, was going to stop him.
Thirty-five minutes later, a sample of the woman’s DNA was in Tremayne’s possession. In Salisbury, Forensics had a record of Claude Selwood’s DNA on file.
It was three in the morning before Clare made it home, and Tremayne wanted her in the office by seven. Her cat was occupying her side of the pillow as she pushed it gently to one side.
Chapter 26
Fiona Dowling was not pleased. Molly Dempsey, a known opponent of her husband’s property developments, had been murdered. Not that the woman’s death concerned her, only the impact it would have on her becoming the next mayor of Salisbury. Guilt by association as she saw it.
Her husband disappointed her. He had let one old woman jeopardise his business plans, and for what? There had been no substance in the Dempsey woman’s arguments, and she had been largely ignored in her community and at the Salisbury City Council meetings, but now, she had been murdered.
Fiona Dowling knew what it would mean. The dead woman would become a martyr for the cause of restraint, for leaving sleepy villages such as Coombe as they were. There’d be an investigation into who could have killed her, who had a reason to want her to be dead, who would have been delighted.
Fiona knew the answer to the last two: her husband, Len. But he was a weak man. That was why she had picked him as her mate when they had been in their teens. He had been the most likely candidate to mould to her satisfaction. The man, never as intelligent as her, had the drive, the ability to charm, to convince, and above all, the ability to follow her directives.
She had warned him about impinging on her run to become mayor, and what had he said. ‘Don’t worry. Coombe will cause us no trouble. I’ve got Gordon Selwood under control, and, as for that interfering old woman, she’s just the laughing stock of the village.’
And now that laughing stock was dead, and people would realise she was only interested in her community, and those who had persecuted her with their unreasonable greed were responsible for her death, even if they had not thrust her head into the fish pond.
Fiona drove down to her husband’s office in town. She parked in Guildhall Square as she always did, and walked across to her husband’s office. Inside, the receptionist. ‘Mrs Dowling, how are you?’
‘Don’t give me any of your sweet words. I want that bastard who’s going to destroy us.’
The receptionist said no more. She had not seen the woman in such a mood before. Len Dowling came out from his office. ‘Fiona, come in.’
Inside Len’s office, his wife took a seat. ‘Are you still screwing that bitch outside?’
‘Please, Fiona, you know I’m not.’
‘What do I care? You’ve really done it this time.’
‘What?’
‘The old woman out at Coombe. The one they found dead.’
‘Molly Dempsey.’
‘Did you kill her? No, you couldn’t have. You don’t have the backbone.’
‘Fiona, you’ve got to stop with this paranoia. I’ve done nothing wrong. I’ve certainly not slept around, that’s more for you than me, and as for killing people, I’m innocent.’
‘Gordon Selwood’s wife was against your developing of Coombe Farm, so was the Dempsey woman, and they’re both dead.’
‘Are you concerned about them, or becoming the next mayor?’
‘I’m concerned about us. I’ve guided you over the years, carefully weighed up the pros and cons, and as for my affairs, I’ve always been careful.’
‘You’ve made a career out of them. The prodigal daughter returned from sin and back to the path of righteousness, that’s you. And you’ve got all those social-climbing friends of yours kissing your feet. Fiona, you’re pure evil. You don’t care for anyone, not even me, only yourself.’
‘You were meant to do what you were told. If you could have resolved Coombe without killing people, then fine, but not you. You kept pushing, riling the natives, hoping they would back off, and they haven’t. And now, they’re dying, and I’m going to have to take the flak for you.’
‘Fiona, think about what you’re saying,’ Len Dowling said. ‘You blame me now, but we’ve been through worse than this.’
‘Len, you’re a fool,’ Fiona said, her frustration exhausted. ‘It’s up to me again to get you out of this mess.’
‘It is a mess, I’ll agree, but I did not kill Molly Dempsey. Her death makes no sense. She had only just made an agreement with Marge Selwood to oppose what we wanted to do on Coombe Farm.’
‘Marge Selwood!’
‘Yes, Marge Selwood. You know what that means.’
‘She’ll hold it up forever.’
‘Not forever, but certainly for long enough to make it not feasible.’
‘Are we in for much money?’
‘Gordon Selwood can take the cost.’
‘Has he agreed?’
‘He signed the documents.’
‘How do we isolate you from Coombe?’ Fiona said.
‘And ensure you become the mayor.’
‘I’ll take care of that. You can deal with Selwood.’
‘We shelve our plans?’
‘Get real, Len. Just put them on hold until I’m the mayor. Once it’s in the bag, then you can go back to Coombe.’
‘With you as the mayor, it should be easier.’
‘It may be, it may not. I suggest you go and tell Gordon Selwood the good news, and the village if they’ll listen to you. Something along the lines of “in consideration of the sad and unexpected death of Molly Dempsey, we’ll be holding back on the development of Coombe Farm to allow a full and consultative approach with all the good people in the village of Coombe”.’
‘How long are we delaying?’
‘Six months, no more.’
‘And the consultative approach?’
‘That’s what you tell the country yokels.’
‘We’ll make you mayor first, take Selwood for the costs incurred so far, and then we’ll come back with a more obliging council.’
‘Don’t mess up, Len. I’m tired of getting you out of your disasters.’
‘Disaster, I don’t think so. We’re going to clean up here.’
‘You do your part, I’ll do mine.’
***
Rose Goode had incurred the criticism of the village of Coombe once before, but then she had only been fifteen, and she had left the village that same night.
What she encountered now was far worse. She had seen it the first time she had entered the village store. The scathing attitude of the shopkeeper muted when she had announced that Crispin was legitimate, and where she had become a regular since. On each occasion, the lady behind the counter had been friendly, although always prying for any gossip.
Inside the store this time, the other patrons giving Rose a wide berth; not so easy, as the shop was only small. ‘What do you want, Rose?’ the lady from behind the counter said.
Rose had sensed the curtness, the unwillingness to indulge in the usual harmless banter. ‘I’ll look around, see what I need.’
‘As you wish,’ the shopkeeper said. Rose knew that in the past, the woman would have been telling her what wa
s on special-offer. ‘You’ve heard about Molly Dempsey?’
Rose realised it was a dumb question. It was a small village where news travelled fast.
‘She harmed no one. She only cared for this village, and now, that bastard developer and your boyfriend have murdered her.’
Rose did not intend such a slur to go without a response.
‘Mrs Golding, you have a foul mouth. Gordon Selwood, who’s not my boyfriend, did not murder Mrs Dempsey, and I doubt very much if Len Dowling did, either.’
‘It’s suspicious, that’s what everyone is saying.’
‘And who’s everyone? You and the other frustrated women in this village. Is this how you get your kicks, sticking your nose in where it’s not wanted, accusing people of crimes without proof? It’s slander, you know. You could be charged with a criminal offence.’
‘Your threats don’t hold sway with us.’
The other patrons in the shop left, although not without offering whispered comments as they brushed past Rose.
‘Gordon would not kill anyone,’ Rose said. She had not expected such hostility in the village that she had come to appreciate. However, as she stood there, she realised that nothing had changed since she had left the village seventeen years previously.
At that moment, standing in front of that shopkeeper, she realised that she hated them all: Gordon, his mother, the shopkeeper, the women who had brushed past her. She regretted returning to the village; she regretted sleeping with Gordon on the night of Crispin’s friends visiting. She left the store without purchasing anything and drove up to see Gordon.
Gordon opened the door to her at Coombe Farm. ‘Rose, it’s all gone wrong,’ he said.
Rose, angry with him before, calm now on seeing the downcast expression on his face. ‘What is it?’
‘Dowling’s pulling out.’
‘Why?’
‘He says that with Molly Dempsey’s death, public sentiment would be against the development of Coombe Farm.’
‘The village is blaming you for her death. I’ve just had an altercation with the woman down at the store. The mood on the street is ugly, and they’re making every effort to shun me, and all because of you.’
‘Dowling, he wants me to pay my share of the costs.’
‘Can he?’
‘He says it’s legally binding. I don’t have that sort of money, and he’s stopping work on the two houses in the village.’
‘What for? They’re half-complete.’
‘That’s Dowling. Tremayne told me to be careful.’
‘We need to get you out of this.’
‘You’ll help?’
‘You’re Crispin’s father. What else would you expect?’
‘You were always a better person than me,’ Gordon said.
‘What sort of costs are you up for?’
‘I don’t know yet.’
‘Then you’d better find out. Your brother’s an accountant. Phone him up.’
As Gordon sat on a chair phoning Nicholas, his brother, Rose realised that he needed someone to look after him. She saw it as her duty, not out of love, but for Crispin. He could not have the ignominy of reconnecting with his father, only to find out the man was a fool, and that if life had not given him a privileged upbringing, he would have struggled to find his way in the world.
‘Nicholas will be here within the hour,’ Gordon said.
‘How much, more or less?’
‘One to two hundred thousand pounds.’
‘You don’t know with any more accuracy?’
‘Dowling was keeping the account. I just needed to know that it was in safe hands.’
‘Gordon, argue with your mother, shun your brothers, but never forget, they’re Selwoods. Whatever happens, they’re your family, Dowling is not.’
‘Tremayne warned me the other day when we were looking at the Aston Martin. He also said to be careful of his wife; she’s running for mayor in Salisbury.’
‘She’d not want any dirt sticking to her. That’s why Dowling’s pulling out.’
Rose picked up her phone and made a call. ‘We need you at the main house,’ she said.
‘Who did you call?’ Gordon asked.
‘Your mother. She’s the best person to deal with this, not you.’
‘If it hadn’t been for my arrogance.’
‘Don’t go soft on me and pretend you’re the little boy lost. You’re a man. Stand up to your mother, take her advice when it’s given.’
‘You’ll be here?’
‘I will, on Crispin’s behalf. You’ll need someone to handle the family discussion for you. If your mother wants me out, you resist. Is that clear?’
‘It’s clear. Thank you.’
‘Don’t thank me. I’m doing this for Crispin, not for you.’
Chapter 27
‘You’ve got your murders in Coombe now,’ Superintendent Moulton said as he walked into Tremayne’s office.
‘More than I expected.’
‘Anything tying them together?
‘Coombe Farm’s the key.’
‘It’s always you and Yarwood, isn’t it?’
‘We work best that way. We had a young constable once, but he was killed in the line of duty.’
‘Yes, I remember. We never found a murderer.’
‘It wasn’t murder. It was an unfortunate chain of events that killed him and the woman in the passenger’s seat.’
‘Sergeant Yarwood always thought it was more than that.’
‘That’s not why you’re here, is it? You’re not into reminiscing.’
Clare came into the office and gave both men a cup of coffee. She left straight afterwards.
‘You’ve done a great job with her.’
‘She’s a fine police officer,’ Tremayne said.
‘Praise indeed from you. You were never keen on a partner before.’
‘Maybe I wasn’t, but I’m fine with Yarwood.’
‘Run the motives past me, Tremayne.’
‘Coombe Farm, as I said, is the crux. Claude Selwood, the patriarch of the Selwood family, was the first to die.’
‘Patriarch?’
‘You’ve read the reports.’
‘Humour me.’
‘Okay. The Selwood family goes back several hundred years. The land was originally bequeathed by a grateful king for services rendered by an ancestor. A murdering bastard if the stories about him are true.’
‘More violent times back then.’
‘I only deal with the present. Anyway, Claude Selwood is killed in a riding accident, the horse trod on his throat. His death is accidental, although he’d probably still be alive if the Reverend Walston hadn’t started shooting pellets from an air rifle at the man and his horse.
‘Why not murder?’
‘The pellets wouldn’t have killed Selwood.’
‘So why does a man of the cloth shoot at someone?’
‘He said it was a warning to leave him and his church alone.’
‘Do you believe him?’
‘Not totally. We should interview him again in light of Molly Dempsey’s death.’
‘After Claude Selwood?’
‘Old Ted, the farmhand.’
‘He was shot?’
‘A .22. The motive for his death still remains unclear. The man knew all of the Selwood family’s secrets, but the man was the soul of discretion.’
‘Soul of discretion?’
‘Old Ted minded his own business, never spoke unless spoken to. He had the dirt on everyone, but, even to us, he wouldn’t talk. And then we find out that Claude Selwood had an affair with Old Ted’s wife around the time of the birth of the eldest son, Gordon.’
‘Good God, Tremayne. Where do you find these people?’
‘They may be a little extreme, but most families have plenty of secrets. It’s just that we’re paid to find them. It’s a good job I’m able to go home at night and switch off.’
‘Yarwood?’
‘She’s not learn
t to detach totally, not yet. She’ll get there.’
‘And become old and cynical like you,’ Moulton said with a smile.
‘I’d prefer mature and realistic.’
‘I’ll accept that. Old Ted’s wife and Claude Selwood, what happened?’
‘The affair ended, and nothing is said by Old Ted, not even to Claude Selwood.’
‘This Old Ted appears to be an odd character.’
‘Out of time, I’d say. But he killed no one. He was the first murder victim. After that, there is Cathy Selwood, the wife of the current owner of Coombe Farm. Here’s where it becomes more complicated. There’s a battle royal between Gordon Selwood and his mother, Marge, the widow of Claude. Gordon, he’s a decent man, not as smart as the others in the family, and definitely not a farmer. Claude Selwood was showing the early stages of dementia. The tradition in the family was that the eldest son would inherit. The will, however, been drawn up some years earlier when Gordon was younger. Marge Selwood realised that with her husband’s health ailing, she needed to go against tradition and to draw up another will, making her the beneficiary.’
‘And she did?’
‘It was drawn up, but Claude died before he could sign it. After that, Gordon attempts to take control, the law’s in his favour. Marge, his mother, a tough woman, attempts to as well. And then, you’ve got Cathy Selwood, Gordon’s wife, and she’s as strong-willed as Marge. She would have made a go of the farm with Gordon’s blessing. All he wants to do is to mess around with old cars.’
‘Old cars?’
‘Vintage. They don’t do much for me, but supposedly they’re worth a fortune to those who are interested.’
‘They are. Carry on.’
‘Cathy’s shot, a bullet to the head. The motives start to become obscured. On the one hand, Cathy’s taken over Marge Selwood’s position as the lady of the house and of the farm, and also, unknown at the time, she’s attempting to talk Gordon out of progressing with a residential development on the farm.’
‘The last murder?’
Death at Coombe Farm Page 20