Kickback (17 page)

‘Thank you,’ said Jane.

‘You’ve told me about Lady Winton. What about Mr and Mrs Mayhew?’

‘We’ve known them for years...’ said Mrs Somerville.

‘Brian and I worked together for many years before I retired. Property development, that sort of thing. He’s still at it but I got out before the crash. More through luck than judgment, I might add.’

‘What sort of developments?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Big, little...?’

‘The biggest we did was one hundred and twenty houses on the edge of Taunton. He’s into some even bigger stuff now though.’

‘Right, well, thank you for your time,’ said Dixon. ‘We’ll be in touch again in due course.’

‘What for?’

‘Just routine, Mr Somerville. And thank you for the tea.’

‘I’ll drive,’ said Dixon, as they walked back around the side of Westbrook House to his Land Rover.

‘Are you...?’

‘I’ll be fine. No painkillers today.’

Jane passed him the keys.

‘What did you make of that?’ asked Jane, as soon as the car door slammed shut.

‘Their reactions seemed genuine enough but I’m wondering who Mrs Somerville spoke to about Noel’s death.’

‘Quite.’

‘There’s another conversation to be had there. And preferably when the bloody husband is out.’

Jane nodded.

‘Let’s get over to Exford,’ said Dixon.

The drive from Trull had taken a little under an hour but Dixon had always loved Exmoor and enjoyed the trip, despite the heavy rain. He looked across to Dunkery Beacon but it was shrouded in low cloud. Jane was on her mobile phone talking to Louise but her signal went as they dropped down Church Hill into Exford.

‘Useless thing. She was about to say something about Mayhew.’

Jane looked up at the White Horse as they drove through the village. ‘Looks nice.’

‘We’ll pop in there for lunch on the way back,’ replied Dixon.

Dixon followed the road over the bridge and up out of Exford. The river beneath the bridge was a raging torrent of water.

‘What river is that, I wonder?’ asked Jane.

‘Well, given that this is Exford, the River Exe would be a canny guess,’ replied Dixon.

Jane rolled her eyes.

The road climbed steeply out of the village, forcing Dixon to change down into first gear. The Land Rover lurched forward. Monty woke up in the back and started barking.

‘Would you like me to drive?’ asked Jane.

Dixon glared at her.

Dixon made a sharp right turn before continuing the steep climb up to the moor itself. Jane’s phone rang just as he turned into the entrance to Ferndale House.

‘Voicemail,’ said Jane, listening to the message. ‘That was Louise. It seems that Mr Mayhew sits on the Exmoor National Park Authority planning committee. He’s also a magistrate and sat on the old Police Authority before it was disbanded.’

Dixon smiled. ‘Well, let’s get it over with.’

‘D’you think he knows we’re coming.’

‘Yes.’

Ferndale House was surrounded by trees, giving it some protection from the open moorland weather. It was sideways on to the road, two thirds of the way up the hill, overlooking Exford in the valley below. Dixon could see various outbuildings and stables, which appeared empty. A black BMW four wheel drive was parked outside the garage off to the left.

Dixon rang the doorbell.

‘Nobody could miss that,’ he said.

‘No barking,’ said Jane. ‘Fancy living out here and not having a dog?’

‘There are some very strange people about, Jane.’

Dixon heard footsteps on a tiled or stone floor. Then fumbling with the lock. The door opened to reveal a woman in her late fifties. She had dyed hair and wore no makeup. Her eyes were bloodshot and Dixon noticed that she was carrying a large glass of white wine.

‘Yes?’ Her speech was slurred.

‘Mrs Mary Mayhew?’

‘Who are you?’

‘Detective Inspector Dixon and Det...’

‘My husband’s in his office.’

‘Is that here or elsewhere?’

‘Here. Follow me.’ Mrs Mayhew was holding on to the door to stop herself swaying from side to side.

‘Actually, we’d like a word with you first, if we may?’

‘What about?’

‘May we come in?’

She stood to one side allowing Dixon and Jane into the hall.

‘This way.’

She opened the door to her left and stepped into the drawing room. Dixon and Jane followed.

‘We’re investigating the death of Noel Woodman.’

‘Who’s he when he’s at home?’ Mrs Mayhew was standing by the fireplace holding onto the mantelpiece.

‘Westbrook Warrior’s groom.’

‘Bloody horse kicked him...’

‘He didn’t, actually.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Noel was murdered.’

‘You’re joking, surely.’

Dixon waited. Mary Mayhew was swaying backwards and forwards.

‘How?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t reveal that at the present time.’

‘At least the bloody horse didn’t do it, I suppose. There was me thinking it was our fault somehow.’

‘How well did you know him?’

‘Hardly at all.’

She took a large swig of wine from the glass and then collapsed into a small chair to the left of the fireplace.

‘Are you alright, Mrs Mayhew?’ asked Jane.

‘You want to try living out here. It may look nice but it’s...’

‘Inspector Dixon?’

Dixon turned around to see a man standing in the doorway.

‘Mr Mayhew?’

‘Yes. Simon told me you were coming. Please forgive my wife. It’s usually mid afternoon before she’s in this state. It must be the weather.’

‘Piss off.’

‘Come through to my office, will you?’

Dixon and Jane followed Brian Mayhew along the hall. Dixon looked back at Mrs Mayhew before he left the drawing room. She was sitting with her eyes closed, tears streaming down her cheeks. He looked into the kitchen as he walked past and spotted an open bottle of wine on the kitchen table. It was half empty.

Brian Mayhew was dressed casually. Green corduroys, a brown cardigan and carpet slippers. His office was large. The curtains were closed and the room was dark. Mayhew switched on the light.

‘Sorry, I was on my computer.’

Dixon surveyed the room. It had a large desk with red leather inlay. The computer was a Mac, top of the range, or so Dixon thought. There were several oil paintings on the walls, all of racehorses, and various trophies on the mantelpiece. The open fire had not been lit. Dixon’s eyes were drawn to a gold mobile phone on Mayhew’s desk.

‘Please sit down,’ said Mayhew, gesturing to the red leather chairs in front of his desk. ‘Simon tells me the groom was murdered?’

‘He was.’

‘How?’

‘Tradition dictates that I ask the questions and you answer them, Mr Mayhew,’ said Dixon.

‘Yes, of course. Sorry.’

‘Did it surprise you to learn that Westbrook Warrior kicked him to death?’

‘I thought you just said...’

‘I did. I’m asking about your initial reaction.’

‘Oh, I see. No, not really. The Warrior can be aggressive. We all knew that. That’s why Hesp put in place strict procedures.’

‘But the horse had a special relationship with Noel, didn’t he?’

‘To an extent, yes. He still had to be careful though.’

‘Did Westbrook Warrior ever kick Noel, as far as you are aware?’

‘You’d need to ask Hesp that. I really don’t know.’

‘How well did you know him?’

‘Woodman?’

‘Yes.’

‘Hardly at all, really. He was Hesp’s employee. I don’t mix with the staff.’

‘Had you ever met Noel before?’

‘No.’

Mayhew leaned forward and moved his computer mouse from side to side.

‘Did you ever see him outside the horseracing setting?’

‘No. Look what’s this all about?’

Dixon ignored him.

‘You’re a property developer, I gather?’

‘Yes.’

Mayhew’s mobile phone rang and the screen lit up. The ringtone reminded Dixon of the bell in an old fashioned bakolite telephone. Mayhew answered it.

‘I’ll call you back, Matt. I’ve got somebody with me at the moment.’

Mayhew rang off.

‘What have you been working on recently?’ asked Dixon.

‘We’re just coming to the end of a two hundred house development.’

‘Where?’

‘Torbrook Meadow. It’s between Glastonbury and Street.’

‘How long’s that been going on?’

‘Two years nearly.’

‘How often do you visit the site?’

‘It varies. Not so much lately. More to begin with but once it’s up and running I hand it over to project managers and start looking for the next one.’

‘Have you found a next one?’

‘On the edge of Wiveliscombe. Look, what’s this all about?’

‘Just routine, Sir,’ replied Dixon.

‘Well, I don’t like it.’

‘Where were you in the early hours of Thursday 7th November?’

‘Right that’s it. Get out.’ Mayhew stood up sharply. His chair shot backwards, crashing into a small drinks cabinet. Several bottles fell on the floor.

Dixon stood up. He looked down at Mayhew’s mobile phone on the desk, next to his computer.

‘Is that real gold?’ he asked.

‘Of course it isn’t,’ replied Mayhew. ‘Now get out of here.’

Dixon and Jane followed Mayhew back along the hall to the front door. Mrs Mayhew was still in the drawing room, asleep in the chair, although Dixon felt sure that she would have been woken up by the noise of the door being slammed behind them. He turned to Jane and grinned.

‘Let’s try that pub.’

‘What the hell was all that about?’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘You practically accused him of killing Noel...’

‘I wanted to see his reaction.’

‘Why?’

They were sitting in the corner of the lounge bar in the White Horse, by the fire. Dixon had a pint of Exmoor Stag and Jane a lager shandy. They had both ordered fish and chips.

‘Ring Louise and tell her to get full accounts for Mayhew’s companies. Last three years. Details of all directors and shareholders too. And I want to know about Torbrook Meadow. Everything. Tell her to start from when the first planning application went in.’

Jane opened her handbag and took out her iPhone.

‘No signal,’ she said. ‘What are you thinking?’

‘Where is Torbrook Meadow?’

‘Glastonbury.’

‘How long’s he been working on it?’

‘Two years, he said, didn’t he?’

‘Probably longer then, with all the planning applications.’

Jane nodded.

‘He’s living in Exford, working in Glastonbury. Talk me through his journey home,’ said Dixon.

‘Well, he’d go along the A39 to the M5...’ Jane stopped mid sentence. ‘The A39!’

‘The A39. Right past the car park.’

‘We’ve got him.’

‘Let’s not get too carried away. Somerville would go that way to Trull as well, if he’s had anything to do with Torbrook Meadow.’

‘We need to get hold of Louise.’

‘We do.’

Dixon was deep in thought.

‘Stop picking at your food,’ said Jane.

‘Yes, mother.’

‘What’s the matter?’

‘I don’t know. Something’s bugging me but I can’t put my finger on it.’

Suddenly, Dixon stopped eating and looked at Jane.

‘What?’

‘Give me your mobile phone,’ he mumbled through a mouthful of food.

Jane took her iPhone out of her handbag and passed it to Dixon.

‘What network are you on?’

‘O2, why?’

Dixon looked at the top left corner of the screen. It was empty, confirming that Jane had no signal. He took his own iPhone out of his inside jacket pocket and looked at it. In the top left corner was a graph, three bars rising to the right, indicating a partial signal.

‘I’ve got a signal,’ he said.

‘What network are you on?’ asked Jane.

‘Orange. It’s not a full signal but...’ His voice tailed off.

‘What’s up?’

‘Eat up, we have to go.’

They arrived back at Bridgwater Police Station just before 3.30pm. Jane had got a signal as they climbed out of Exford and had rung ahead with the list of information and documents they needed.