Guns in the Gallery (17 page)

‘Sure. I also heard that you were the one who found the body.'

‘Yes.' Jude had a sudden thought. ‘Was that why you wanted to talk to me?'

‘Sorry?'

‘Is that why you asked me to stay behind after the launch?'

Sam Torino looked puzzled. ‘Hell, no. I asked you to stay behind because you're a healer. Because you're doing wonders for the pain in my hip.'

‘Oh, good.'

‘Why would I want to talk to you about Fennel?'

‘I don't know. Sorry, I wasn't thinking straight.'

‘Ned's in a terrible state about it.'

‘I know.'

‘He always was besotted with that girl. Fathers and first daughters, you know . . .'

‘Whereas Sheena . . .?'

‘Hell, who knows what goes on in a mind like hers?' Sam Torino clearly had less time for Fennel's mother than she had for her father.

‘Did you know Fennel?'

‘I met her a couple of times. Ned brought her along to a few charity things. I think the idea was to promote her career as an artist . . . you know, get her some wealthy contacts who might commission stuff from her. I don't think it paid off. Ned can sometimes be a bit naive in the workings of the celebrity circus.'

‘How did Fennel strike you when you met her?'

Sam Torino shrugged. ‘Pretty. Nice kid. If I hadn't heard from Ned about her mental problems I'd never have guessed there was anything wrong.'

‘Has he talked to you much about her illness?'

‘Not a lot. He told me when she made the first attempt.'

‘You already knew him then?'

‘Sure.'

‘Did he give you much detail about what happened?'

‘No, he just told me that she'd done it. Up until then, like I said, I wouldn't have known there was anything wrong with her. But from that time on I could see how much it got to him. Worrying about Fennel was a constant anxiety to him, and a constant drain on his energy.'

‘Did Ned tell you about her death before today?'

‘Sure. He called me the weekend it happened. He was in a hell of a state.'

‘Yes. I saw him soon after.'

A new shrewdness came into Sam Torino's eyes. ‘He was also worried about local gossip.'

‘Oh?'

‘Even the suggestion that some people thought it wasn't suicide at all. That Fennel was murdered.'

‘When something like that happens in an area like this,' Jude responded breezily, ‘you're bound get a lot of crackpot theories doing the rounds.'

‘Ned said there were a couple of things you thought were odd when you found Fennel's body.'

‘Well, really only the fact that there was no sign of her mobile.'

‘Hm.' The famous eyes were turned searchingly on to Jude. ‘So does that mean you're one of the people who thinks it might have been murder?'

Jude was torn. Part of her wanted to admit the truth, in the hope perhaps of getting more information out of Sam Torino. But she knew the dangers of spreading suspicions and allegations. She also got the feeling that anything she said would get straight back to Ned Whittaker. And she didn't want to do anything that might add to his misery.

So all she came up with by way of reply was: ‘I suppose I just didn't want to think it was suicide, so I considered all of the other options.'

‘And are you still considering them?'

‘Maybe a bit.'

Sam Torino nodded slowly. ‘But the police took the suicide at face value?'

‘Oh yes. Sam, don't you worry about what I'm thinking. I've allowed myself to get rather emotionally involved.'

Another slow, thoughtful nod.

‘No, really, I'm sure it was suicide,' Jude lied. ‘When Ned talked to you, did he have any idea what might have tipped Fennel over the edge?'

‘No. But she'd been ill for a long time. And I can't think getting involved with that little shit Denzil Willoughby can have helped.'

‘You know Denzil?'

‘Sure.'

‘Why, have you bought stuff from him?'

Sam Torino's fine nose wrinkled with disgust at the suggestion. ‘Hell, no. If I buy art, I go for the real McCoy. If I want a Damien Hirst, I get a Damien Hirst. Not Denzil Willoughby's kind of imitative rubbish.'

‘So how did you meet Denzil?'

Through his father.'

‘Oh?'

‘Addison Willoughby. You heard of him?'

‘I've heard the name.'

‘Founded one of the biggest advertising companies in the world. Another of the super-rich mafia.'

‘Whom you have met at charity events?'

‘Exactly. He brought Denzil along to a few, maybe trying to do the same service as Ned was for Fennel.'

‘Was that when the two of them met?'

‘I don't know about that. They may have known each other before. All I know is that when I heard from Ned they were an item, I thought: “Uh-oh, that's going to mean trouble.”'

‘Why did you think that?'

‘Denzil Willoughby once had a thing with a girlfriend of mine. She didn't enjoy the relationship one bit.'

‘Why? Because he's so up himself?'

‘No, she could have coped with that. She's a model, she's used to dealing with egos. You wouldn't believe how many dickheads hang around the catwalks. No, with Denzil Willoughby, it was the physical violence she couldn't put up with.'

‘Really?'

‘Yes, that boy's got a sadistic – not to say murderous – streak in him.'

‘Has he ever been charged with anything?'

‘Girlfriends have tried, but they've all been bought off. By Addison.' Sam Torino grinned cynically. ‘Amazing how flexible the law becomes for those who can afford it.'

NINETEEN

O
f course, the Whittakers had a driver. And of course he looked as unlike a uniformed chauffeur as it was possible to be. The laid-back style of Butterwyke House was carried through in all its domestic staff. Though they were undoubtedly servants, they dressed and were treated more like members of the family. Ned and Sheena still weren't quite at ease with their huge wealth.

The driver's name was Kier. In his early thirties, casually dressed in a crisp white T-shirt, well-ironed jeans and neat moccasins. Chervil had arranged before Jude started her session with Sam Torino that he would drive her back to Woodside Cottage and he was hanging around Walden when she appeared from the treatment yurt. But Kier didn't look as though he were waiting in a professional capacity. That wouldn't have been cool. He somehow managed to make it appear as if he just happened to be there, and yes, he'd be happy to take Jude home.

He drove a very new-looking Toyota Prius. Of course, the Whittakers would run green cars. Though their contribution to saving the planet might have been a little diminished by the size of their fleet of Toyota Priuses.

Jude was pleased to have the opportunity to question someone with perhaps a different view of recent events at Butterwyke House. And though, as ever, she was emotionally drained by her healing efforts, she quickly got on to the subject of Fennel Whittaker's death.

Kier, she found, was more than ready to talk about it. In fact, from the fervency of his words, she got the impression that he might have held a candle for the dead girl for some time. He certainly didn't have much time for Denzil Willoughby.

‘I used to drive the two of them around a bit. Ned's very generous with my services.' He didn't sound as though he were entirely happy with that state of affairs. ‘And of course when it came to Fennel . . . well, he could never refuse her anything.'

‘No. I saw him earlier in the week. He was terribly cut up about what happened to her.'

‘I don't think he'll ever recover,' said Kier, as if stating an unarguable fact. ‘I think she could have got better. There seem to be lots of new treatments, drugs, talking therapies . . . It's probably the best time ever to suffer from depression, in terms of getting the condition cured.'

‘Is it something about which you know a lot?' It was the polite way of asking whether Kier himself suffered from depression.

‘No. Not really. I've got most of what I know from talking to Fennel. She was up with all the latest treatments. She was absolutely determined to get better, somehow. That's why I was so devastated when I heard that she'd actually done it.'

This was good news to Jude. It meant that she wasn't the only person who had found positivity in the girl's mindset. ‘And you think she did actually do it?' she asked gently.

The slowness of Kier's response showed that the idea of murder had never entered his head. ‘How d'you mean?'

‘Well, I'd seen her a couple of times in the weeks before her death and, like you, I thought she seemed quite up, certainly not on the verge of topping herself. So, if she didn't commit suicide . . .'

‘Well, it sure as hell wasn't an accident.' Kier was again slow – or perhaps unwilling – to make the logical connection. ‘Are you suggesting that she might have been murdered?' he asked at last.

Jude shrugged. ‘As Sherlock Holmes put it, “Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.”'

‘Yes, I've read some of those stories,' said the driver thoughtfully, still trying to come to terms with the new idea. ‘I think I'd rather believe that Fennel was murdered . . . you know, as opposed to killing herself.'

‘If that were true, we'd be back to the old question: “Who Done It?'

Kier nodded slowly. ‘Yes, we would.'

‘Any thoughts?' asked Jude. ‘Anyone you'd cast in the role of murderer?' He remained silent. ‘You probably know as much as anyone about what goes on at Butterwyke House.'

‘Yes, I see quite a lot.'

‘And you probably know how the different family members get on together . . .' Jude knew she was pushing her luck. The Butterwyke House staff she'd met all seemed extremely loyal and might be reluctant to confide anything to their employers' discredit.

But Kier seemed to be too caught up in the ramifications of the new idea to feel such scruples. ‘Well, Chervil and Fennel always had a fairly volatile relationship, but I think basically they were OK with each other. I mean, I think Chervil resented Fennel's illness . . .'

‘That's the impression I got.'

‘At times she almost seemed to suggest her sister was putting it on . . . you know, just to draw attention to herself.'

‘And do you believe that?'

‘No,' he replied vehemently. ‘I've seen the states Fennel used to get into . . . you know, when I was driving her around. No, the illness was genuine. I even . . .' He stopped himself.

‘You even . . . what?' asked Jude softly.

He paused, as if deliberating whether to tell her or not. Then he said, ‘I drove her back to Butterwyke from the Pimlico flat . . . you know. Well, perhaps you don't know . . . when—'

‘I did know about her previous suicide attempt, yes.'

‘We were all very shocked by that. Ned in particular. He was in a terrible state. I mean, up until then we knew Fennel had problems, but we'd never have guessed they were that serious . . . you know, that she'd go as far as to . . .'

‘You say you drove her back to Butterwyke House. Was she not hospitalized after the attempt?'

‘No. Chervil found her in the flat and managed to wake her up. Got her to sick up most of the pills, bandaged the cuts and filled her full of black coffee. Then she called Ned. I drove him up to London. God, the red lights we shot through that day, I was lucky not to be booked twenty times. And when we got to the flat, Ned checked Fennel out and reckoned she'd be OK to be taken back to Butterwyke and treated there. He didn't want the publicity, both from Fennel's point of view and his own. And he knew if the press got a sniff of what'd happened, it'd be over the front pages like a rash. Besides, down here he's got a doctor who he knows is very discreet.'

‘Did Chervil drive back with you that day?'

‘No, just Ned and Fennel. He was cradling her in the back of the car, like she was a baby, and he was crying all the way there.'

‘Any idea where Chervil went?'

‘I think she sorted out someone to clean up the flat.'

‘Again someone discreet?'

‘You betcha. Ned and Sheena have got quite good at preserving their privacy over the years. They've needed to. You know how obsessed the papers are with people who've got money. Anyway, Ned and Sheena know the right people to pay to ensure that they are left alone.'

‘And tell me, Kier, did you actually see Fennel's . . . you know, where she made the attempt?'

‘I saw the bathroom. There was blood all over the place. But Chervil had tied torn-up towels round her sister's arms and got her lying down on the bed by the time Ned and I got there.'

‘And you didn't see a suicide note?'

‘No. Chervil said there wasn't one.'

‘Right.' Jude suppressed a yawn. The session with Sam Torino had really taken it out of her. ‘So . . . back to the Who Done It question . . .'

‘Well, it seems hard to imagine that anyone . . . certainly nobody in the family.'

‘Are you sure about that?'

‘Look, you've seen the state Ned's in. Nobody would bring that on himself.'

‘No, probably not. What about Sheena?' Again Jude worried whether she was pushing too hard. ‘She doesn't seem to be making any secret of the fact that she's relieved by her daughter's death.'

‘Yes, she's a strange one, Sheena. I shouldn't say this, but I think she did rather resent Fennel's hold over Ned. Still, harbouring those kind of feelings . . . well, it's a long way away from murdering someone.'

‘Yes. But it's interesting to weigh up the possibilities.'