Dying Fall, A (16 page)

‘They’re an odd bunch,’ she says. ‘The head of department only really cares about making money out of Dan’s find. One of his colleagues was really nice and genuinely devastated about his death. The others seemed a bit . . . I don’t know . . . I wondered how much they really cared about Dan. I was going to ask—were any of them at his funeral?’

Caz pauses, pine nuts in hand. ‘I think so. There was a man and a blonde woman. She seemed very upset. I remember wondering if she was a girlfriend. She didn’t come back to the hotel with the rest of us. I wondered if she didn’t want to meet Dan’s ex-wife.’

Guy and Elaine, thinks Ruth. Or Sam and Elaine. Was Elaine Dan’s girlfriend? It’s possible, she is glamorous enough in a hard-faced way. That might explain her attitude towards Ruth and her rather brittle behaviour at the party. At any rate, she at least had been sad at the funeral. And what about Guy? Where does he fit in? He seemed very close to Elaine, rushing over to comfort her when she was crying. Is he her boyfriend or just a devoted follower?

‘What about the man? What was he like?’

‘Medium height. Sandy hair. He seemed nice.’

Sam Elliot. So neither Guy nor Clayton Henry had been at Dan’s funeral. So much for the whole department being heartbroken. And despite Clayton’s claim that Dan ‘didn’t have an enemy in the world’, the police think that someone murdered him. She decides not to say any of this to Caz.

‘That looks delicious,’ she says. ‘Can I do anything to help?’

Sandy McLeod and Harry Nelson are together again. They are Starsky and Hutch, Bodie and Doyle, the Sweeney, the good-looking ones from
The Bill.
Or rather, they are two middle-aged men driving too fast in a Ford Mondeo. When Sandy asked Nelson if he’d like to go with him to interview Professor Henry from the university, Nelson had jumped at the chance. He wanted to find out what happened to Ruth’s friend and he liked the thought of spending some time with Sandy, but more than anything, he was desperate to get away from Maureen.

‘Asking you to work in your holiday,’ said Maureen. ‘What a cheek.’

‘All part of the job,’ said Nelson, waiting by the door so that he could be away as soon as Sandy drew up outside. The last thing he wanted was for Maureen to lure him in for a cup of tea.

‘You’ll miss our trip to the Trough of Bowland.’

‘I know. I’m that disappointed.’

Michelle looked sceptically at her husband. She had heard him on the phone to Sandy and the word ‘disappointed’ hadn’t come up once.

Now Sandy and Nelson are bowling along the A583 to Kirkham. Nelson approves of Sandy’s driving style. So many young PCs these days have done advanced driving courses and drive like old ladies in hats but Sandy has a fine disregard for speed limits. ‘There’s not a traffic cop in the area would dare pull me in,’ he boasts. Nelson would like to say the same but he’s afraid that the uniforms (like the WPCs) are not as amenable in Norfolk. He is starting to wish that he’d stayed in Blackpool and become a fully fledged rule-breaking chauvinist. The move south has emasculated him.

‘Who’s this bloke we’re going to see?’ he asks as they bounce merrily over a mini roundabout.

‘Head of the history department at the university,’ says Sandy. ‘He was Dan Golding’s boss. He ought to know if there was any funny business going on. Mind you, most of these academic types are on a bloody different planet half the time.’

Nelson thinks of Ruth Galloway, who is definitely an ‘academic type’. Is she on a different planet? It’s true that sometimes their priorities don’t coincide—Ruth has, for example, signed Katie up with a library but hasn’t yet even thought about schools—but, for the most part, Ruth is definitely of this world. What’s more annoying, she’s currently in
his
part of the world. What the hell is she doing in Lytham? She knows that Dan’s death is being treated as suspicious, how dare she bring Katie anywhere near a murder enquiry? He fumes silently, watching the countryside fly past.

The windmill takes them both by surprise.

‘Bloody hell,’ says Sandy, as they screech to a halt on the gravelled drive. ‘Does he actually live in this thing?’

‘It’s like something from a crazy golf course,’ says Nelson, who played this particular game yesterday with his older sister Grainne and her family.

‘Must be worth a pretty packet,’ says Sandy. ‘How much do these lecturers earn?’

‘Not much,’ says Nelson, thinking of Ruth and her poky cottage on the edge of nowhere. ‘He must be a closet pop star or something.’

But Clayton Henry, who comes bustling bare-footed across the paved courtyard to greet them, doesn’t look like a pop star. True, he is wearing a top which instantly makes Nelson categorise him as ‘eccentric, possibly gay’, but he is also overweight and slightly anxious, rubbing his hands together and laughing loudly at Sandy’s windmill jokes.

Sandy introduces Nelson and Henry says, with a nervous attempt at banter, ‘Two DCIs. I’m honoured.’

‘It’s a special offer,’ says Sandy, deadpan. ‘Buy one, get one free.’

Professor Henry ushers them into the windmill and up what seem to be hundreds of twisty metal steps. Eventually, they reach a room at the very top of the house which Henry describes as his study. To Nelson it looks like something from one of those poncy design programmes that Michelle likes so much. The walls are glass, the floor shiny wood and there is nothing as utilitarian as a desk or an office chair anywhere. Sandy and Nelson sit on low sofas and Henry (to Nelson’s amazement) on what looks like a giant beach ball. ‘It’s for my back,’ he explains, bouncing gently. ‘Ergonomically sound.’

‘I’ll take your word for it,’ says Sandy. ‘Now, Professor Henry, as I said on the phone, I’d like to ask you a few questions about the late Daniel Golding.’

Nelson admires Sandy’s complete lack of what Judy would call ‘empathetic echoing’. He simply gets out a notebook and barks questions. How long had Professor Henry known Daniel Golding? Five years, ever since he came to work at Pendle. Was he a good archaeologist? Yes, excellent. He could probably have taken a more prestigious job elsewhere but his wife had got a job at Preston University and wanted to move north. (Nelson sympathises with this; it was at Michelle’s insistence that they moved to Norfolk and, deep down, he’s never forgiven her.) Was Golding still married? No, they divorced about three years ago, it was very sad. Girlfriends? Don’t know, but he was a good-looking chap, so it’s possible.

‘Was Daniel Golding popular in the department?’

For the first time, Clayton Henry falters. The ball stops bouncing and seems to deflate slightly.

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘He was a lovely man. Everyone liked him.’

‘Could you give me the names of his closest friends?’

‘Look,’ says Henry. ‘What’s all this about? Daniel’s death was a tragedy. There was nothing sinister about it, was there?’

Interesting choice of word, thinks Nelson. Also, by his reckoning, Henry should have asked this question about ten minutes earlier.

Sandy hardly looks up from his notebook. ‘We’re treating his death as suspected murder, Professor Henry.’

‘What?’ For a second, Henry seems to lose his balance and rocks wildly on the ball. His feet scrabble on the floorboards. Nelson looks at him with distaste—in his book bare feet are for women or children.

‘The fire in his house was started deliberately,’ says Sandy.

‘Oh my God.’

‘So we’re interested to know if anyone had a grudge against Golding, either professionally or personally.’

All the bounce has gone out of both Henry and the ball. He stands up and walks quickly round the circular room. Sandy and Nelson both watch him impassively.

Eventually, Henry comes to a halt between the two policemen. He sits heavily on the sofa next to Nelson.

‘I can’t think of anyone who would do this,’ he says. ‘Daniel was very popular, a little reserved perhaps, but a charming, personable man.’

‘Professor Henry,’ says Sandy. ‘In the past Pendle University has had trouble with the extreme right. Is there any chance that Daniel could have been involved with one of these groups?’

Henry laughs. For the first time, he sounds almost natural. ‘Daniel? Never! He was a real
Guardian-reading
liberal. Like the rest of us in the history department.’ Nelson thinks of Ruth, who also reads the
Guardian
. He can’t really see the point of newspapers himself, he prefers to get his news from the TV, but Michelle rather likes the
Daily Mail.

‘Could these right-wingers have had something against Golding?’ asks Sandy.

‘Why?’

‘Maybe because he was Jewish?’

Henry is silent for a moment, then he says, ‘I don’t know. You can’t put anything past these idiots. But most people didn’t even know Daniel was Jewish. He wasn’t a religious Jew. Didn’t make a song and dance of it.’

‘He didn’t refuse to work on the Sabbath?’ asks Sandy. Nelson doesn’t know if he’s joking or not but Henry takes the question seriously.

‘No. On the contrary. He did most of his digging—archaeology, you know—at the weekends.’

‘Professor Henry,’ says Nelson. ‘Is it true that Daniel Golding had recently made a significant archaeological find?’

Sandy looks at his friend in amazement but Henry answers eagerly.

‘Yes. How did you . . .’

‘I have my sources,’ says Nelson grandly. ‘Was there any controversy linked to this discovery?’

Now Henry really does look worried. He glances from one policeman to the other and then down at his feet. Nelson waits. He knows the power of silence, of leaving a space for the suspect to convict themselves, and is, therefore, rather irritated when Sandy butts in.

‘Answer the question please, Professor Henry. Was there any controversy attached to this archaeological discovery?’

Henry rubs his face with his hand. Eventually he says, in almost a whisper, ‘The right-wing group on campus, they’re racists, idiots, not a brain cell between them. But there’s a sub-group, a kind of secret society. They call themselves the White Hand. They’re obsessed with history, particularly with King Arthur.’

‘King Arthur?’ echoes Sandy.

‘Yes. That’s what Dan thought he had discovered. The tomb of King Arthur.’

Sandy and Nelson look at each other. Sandy says, ‘Isn’t he meant to be buried in Cornwall somewhere?’

‘There are all sorts of legends,’ says Henry. ‘And some link Arthur to this area, to the northern borders. The thing is, this group, they’ve got a special thing about Arthur.’

‘What do you mean, a special thing?’ asks Sandy, sounding impatient. Nelson would have been impatient himself once but his association with Ruth has made him more tolerant.

‘For them he’s the big English hero,’ says Henry, still sounding scared. ‘They call him the White King, the High King. They wouldn’t want him associated with the Romans. They see the Romans as foreigners, invaders. And that’s where Dan uncovered the tomb. At Ribchester, a famous Roman site.’

‘And was Golding aware of any intimidation from the group, the White Hand?’ asks Sandy.

‘I don’t know,’ says Henry miserably. Nelson wonders if he’s telling the truth.

‘Do you know the names of anyone involved with this group?’

‘No,’ says Henry. ‘It’s all deadly secret. They wear masks when they appear in public, on demos and the like.’

‘Would they have known about Daniel Golding’s find?’

Clayton Henry attempts a jocular tone. ‘You know what universities are like. Nothing stays secret for long.’

‘No, I don’t know what universities are like,’ says Sandy. ‘Barely managed CSEs in art and metalwork. So you think that someone in this secret society may have found out that Daniel Golding had discovered the lost tomb of King Arthur?’

‘It’s possible,’ says Clayton Henry miserably.

‘Is it possible that one of these White Hand people killed Daniel Golding?’

‘No,’ says Clayton Henry. ‘I can’t believe that anyone would do that.’

‘You’d better believe it,’ says Sandy brutally. ‘Daniel Golding died of smoke inhalation. The door of his house was locked from the outside.’

Clayton Henry puts a hand over his face. ‘Don’t.’

‘Ever see anyone dead after a fire?’ asks Sandy. ‘Pretty nasty way to die.’

Henry’s shoulders shake. Nelson wonders if he’s going to break down altogether. Sandy, obviously thinking the same thing, moves in for the kill.

‘Professor Henry, do you know anything about Dan Golding’s death?’

Henry says nothing but another voice cuts through the air.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

The two policemen turn as a tall woman stalks into the room, followed by a small fluffy dog. The woman hurries to Clayton Henry’s side and puts her arm round him.

‘It’s all right, Clay. It’s all right.’

The dog, sensing tension, starts barking wildly. Nelson sees Sandy’s foot itching to kick it.

‘What’s going on?’ The woman looks up. Despite being casually dressed in sports clothes, she is extremely attractive, with the sort of classic good looks that need no adornment. Nelson guesses that she’s in her early forties. Is she Henry’s personal assistant? His therapist?

‘I’m Pippa Henry,’ says the vision. ‘Clayton’s wife. Can you please tell me what’s happening here?’

Nelson and Sandy exchange glances. Clearly there’s more to the bare-footed, ball-bouncing Henry than meets the eye. Not only does he live in a
Grand Designs
show home, he also has a show wife. A show wife who is looking distinctly angry. She scoops up the dog and glares at Sandy.

‘Well?’

‘We’re police officers,’ says Sandy woodenly. ‘Investigating the death of Daniel Golding.’ He shows his warrant card.

‘What’s that got to do with Clay? He was devastated by Dan’s death.’

‘We’re following several lines of enquiry,’ says Sandy.

‘Well, you’ll have to come back another day,’ says Pippa Henry. ‘Unless you want to arrest him, that is. Can’t you see how upset he is? He’s been under a lot of strain lately.’

For a second they glare at each other, the lugubrious policeman and the whippet-slim woman. The dog lets out a single shrill bark. Clayton sobs silently in the background.