Least of Evils (28 page)

The long dark face looked so baffled that Lucy tried to cheer him up. ‘All the same, two suspects give you a better chance of a solution than one, Clyde. That's if our surmise is right and both of them are involved in this.'

Janey Johnson's room was in the new buildings at Thorley Grange, at the other end of the corridor from Chung Lee's. This was obviously where the residential members of the staff were accommodated. There were four other doors and presumably four other, similar rooms behind them.

Mrs Johnson's room was comparable in size and outlook to Chung Lee's, but it took them a moment or two to realize that, because it was much more personalized. There was a large black-and-white photograph of a young couple marching arm in arm on the promenade at Blackpool, with dozens of children leaving the sands with buckets and spades in the background and the Tower rearing towards clear sky further on still. They had the carefree look of a couple without worries and with the world unfolding before them. ‘My mum and dad in 1964,' said Janey when she saw Clyde Northcott studying it. He thought of telling her the details of the powerful Norton 500 motorcycle on the road alongside the couple, then caught sight of Peach's face and decided against it.

Peach himself picked up a smaller, coloured picture of the same couple some years later. They still looked happy, but older and less carefree – not surprisingly, as they now had three children sitting between them, two girls and a boy. ‘That's me in the middle, I was the baby of the family,' said Janey, pointing to a pretty, serious youngster with plaits and her sister's arm around her. ‘That must be early eighties, I suppose.'

There were several other photographs of the family, individually as well as in groups, but Peach walked over to look at the paintings on the walls, of which there were four, in various sizes, all landscapes and all originals. He stopped in front of a woodland scene, with autumn hues on the leaves and a stream running briskly across the foreground. ‘These are good. By someone in the family?'

Janey felt herself blushing; she couldn't remember when she had last done that. She hoped the blood didn't show in her face; it wasn't the way she had planned to begin what must be an important meeting. ‘They're mine, actually. I used to do quite a lot, in – in the old days. I don't get much time now.'

‘You should make the time. I'm no expert, but I think these are good.'

The room was a little squarer than Lee's had been, but with the same outlook over the kitchen garden of the old house to the wall of the estate and woods beyond. As if to reflect a more outgoing occupant, it had three small armchairs rather than his two. Janey had arranged them for this meeting as soon as they had announced it to her an hour ago. She now took the smallest of the chairs, with her back to the window, leaving the two larger ones to the men.

When she had heard that they wanted to see her for a second time, she had nerved herself for a full grilling about her own background, but this surprising man Peach looked round the room and offered only, ‘Very similar to Mr Lee's room at the other end of the corridor, this, but you've stamped yourself on it more firmly than he has.'

She glanced round at her personal effects. ‘I've never been in his room. He's a long way from home – his real home, I mean. Perhaps he hasn't got the things I've got to display; or perhaps men don't have the same instinct to shape wherever they live into a comfortable nest.'

Perhaps she was sending herself up a little: this capable woman struck Peach as much more than a nest-builder. ‘Do you see much of him?'

‘Chung Lee? Very little, actually. He works full-time in the kitchen and I work in the residential parts of the house.'

‘But you live very near to each other and you have considerable leisure time.'

‘Yes, that's true. But neither of us has been here for very long. We've been finding our feet in the place, I suppose.'

‘Of course. But I thought the fact that you came here at about the same time might have given you something in common.'

Janey wished they could move on to the stuff she had prepared for them. She hadn't expected to start with this. ‘In my limited contacts, I've found Chung a pleasant and polite man. I think we're both rather cautious about new relationships.'

‘And perhaps neither of you wanted to become close.'

She smiled. ‘That might also be true. From what I hear, Mr Lee is determined to make himself a master-chef and is working very hard to do that. As for me, I've learned to be cautious. Men, or at least a lot of men, take friendliness as an invitation to something more. If you don't want that, you're very cautious about the sort of conversations you get yourself into. I find it easier to be friendly when there are other women around.'

‘Let's forget about Mr Lee, then. It's just that we have certain queries about him and another member of staff suggested that you were closer to him than you obviously are.'

She wondered who that might be. But she mustn't think about it now. ‘I wouldn't want you to think that I've anything against Chung. I rather like the fact that he's quiet and polite. I feel sorry for him being so isolated, especially now that Mr Ketley's death has introduced all sorts of uncertainties about the future of this place.'

Peach, sensing that there was some other thing she wanted to add, merely helped her onwards. ‘You're right about him feeling isolated, I think. He's also pretty scared of policemen and what we might do to him. He's very conscious that he hasn't anyone to vouch for his whereabouts at the time of Mr Ketley's death. He doesn't realize that he's not the only one in that position, but it's hardly up to us to tell him that.'

Her forehead furrowed; curiously, that made her look younger and more attractive. ‘I might be able to help you there.'

‘Really?' Peach arched his eyebrows alarmingly high, but Janey was concentrating on her own thoughts.

‘I'm pretty sure he was in his room last Saturday night.' She saw Northcott preparing to make a note and concentrated even more fiercely. ‘I passed his room, because I went down to the entrance hall to check on my flower arrangement there. With Mr and Mrs Ketley both here for the weekend, I wanted to make sure it was still looking fresh. His television was on when I passed: I'm sure I heard it, because it was tuned to the wildlife programme I'd been watching.'

Clyde Northcott made his note, then spoke almost apologetically in his quiet bass voice. ‘We CID men are suspicious creatures, Mrs Johnson. We have to remember that a room is not necessarily occupied when a television set is switched on.'

‘No, I realize that, but I'm sure I saw him come out of his room as I returned to mine. We almost bumped into each other.' She frowned again, working fiercely on her memory. ‘I can remember the incident, because we both apologized at the same time and then laughed about it. He said he'd left his book in the kitchen annexe – that's where the catering staff go when they take short rests.'

The dark-brown voice said quietly, ‘What time was this, Mrs Johnson?'

‘I remember the incident clearly enough, but I couldn't have told you until now exactly what day it was, let alone what time. But that television programme helps. It must have been Saturday. And it must have been about nine, because the programme was just coming to an end when I slipped out to go down to the entrance hall.' She watched Northcott note it. ‘Is that any use? I've no idea when Mr Ketley was killed.'

Peach was almost effusive. ‘It's very useful, Mrs Johnson. I wish everyone else would go on thinking, as we exhort them to; it's surprising how often people recall significant details. This can only help Mr Lee.'

‘Good. I'm sure he had nothing to do with Mr Ketley's death. Chung seems a nice, inoffensive man, from what little I've seen of him.'

Percy knew one or two nice, inoffensive men and women who had committed murder, but he wasn't going to waste time voicing the thought. ‘Tell us about your own relationship with Mr Ketley, please.'

It was another of those abrupt switches of ground, but Janey told herself that she was prepared for it, that she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of being shocked. This was an expected question and she had an answer ready for it. ‘I scarcely knew him. He appointed me, but after that I hardly spoke to him, or he to me. I met him around the house and the business suite a few times, but it was the housekeeper, Mrs Frobisher, who allotted me my duties. I answer to her.'

‘Not to Mrs Ketley?'

‘No. It's true I've worked more closely with Mrs Ketley recently, but that's only because she wanted someone from the household close to her over the last few days. I expect that's the blow of her husband's death.'

‘And the manner of his dying.'

‘And the manner of his dying, as you say. It must have been a great shock to her.'

‘Must it?'

‘Yes, I'm sure it must.' She stared hard at him, defying him to challenge her.

‘Of those who live here, you've been closer than anyone to Greta Ketley since her husband's death. How much of a shock do you think it was?'

‘I think you may have an exaggerated idea of how close I am to Mrs Ketley. She has been kind to me and I have tried to be helpful to her in difficult circumstances. But we'd hardly spoken before last Saturday. I like her and I think she likes me. But I'd say that we're still getting to know each other.'

‘Did you know that she was conducting an affair outside her marriage?'

How abrupt the man was! How quickly he switched from the mundane to the disturbing! Janey made herself take her time. ‘Not until yesterday. Greta told me herself. It's flown round the Grange in the last few hours, as gossip will. I'm quite sure no one even suspected it earlier.'

‘No doubt you're right. If Oliver Ketley had known anything about an affair, he would have taken steps to end it very quickly.'

‘I expect you're right. You obviously know far more about Mr Ketley than I do.' She got a little pleasure from this prim reply.

‘And perhaps you know more about him than you care to admit to.'

She glanced up at him instinctively. He was observing her every reaction, as he had done throughout. She kept her voice very steady. ‘What I know is mostly second-hand. I was told early on that he was a womanizer. He gave me the impression when he interviewed me that he would welcome sexual favours. I needed the job, but I didn't give him any encouragement.'

‘And once you were living in the house, did he make any advances, welcome or otherwise?'

A little shudder ran through the slim body. ‘They would not have been welcome. And I had no real trouble. I took care not to get into situations where he might paw me or suggest private meetings.' She allowed herself a bitter smile. ‘When you are a youngish widow, you develop a certain expertise in these things.'

‘I imagine you do. What did your husband do for a living, Mrs Johnson?'

She dropped her eyes from his near-black, all-seeing pupils, finding that an aid to concentration. ‘Sam ran a general hardware store, in Preston.'

‘Ran it and owned it, did he not?'

‘We did own it, yes – with the help of a large bank loan. It didn't feel like ours, but no doubt it would have done, with time.'

‘A general hardware store with a lucrative sideline. Your husband obtained a licence to sell guns, did he not?'

‘You obviously know he did. You've done your research. But the gun trade wasn't very lucrative. Sam believed it would have become so, given time.'

‘I see.'

‘It was all strictly legal. Most of the trade was shotguns, for country shooting. There were a small number of sales of other weapons, all properly documented – licensed for use in controlled environments such as shooting clubs, I believe. I helped prepare the books for the accountants, but otherwise I know nothing about it. I've never had any interest in guns.'

‘How did your husband die, Mrs Johnson?'

She looked up at him on that, then shot at him bitterly, ‘Why ask me, when you obviously know all about it?'

Peach said with a sudden, surprising gentleness, ‘Not all. I don't think anyone knows as much as you do, Mrs Johnson. I'd be grateful if you'd answer.'

‘Suicide, everyone said.'

‘Not everyone, Janey. The Coroner's Court jury returned an open verdict. They were advised by the police to do so. The case is still officially open. I think we know that it wasn't suicide. I think we know who killed Sam, but I don't expect us to find convincing evidence at this stage.'

For a moment, she was grateful for his honesty. Then she looked at him bitterly; what was the point in telling her they knew Sam had been murdered, then saying in the next breath that he'd never get justice? She said dully, ‘Everyone who lived in the houses around me thought it was suicide. Someone went into court and said Sam had “business worries”. He hadn't; we had a big loan, but the shop was a success. We were paying the mortgage off each month, as the terms said we had to.'

‘I don't believe Sam committed suicide, either, Janey. But they sealed him in the car with the pipe running from the exhaust to the interior – one of the classic suicide methods.'

‘He was unconscious when they put him in there. No one could prove it, but I know he was. Even if he'd been in trouble, suicide would never have been Sam's way out.'

‘There was evidence of blows to the head, though nothing to prove conclusively that he was unconscious. Hence the open verdict.'

She was very white now, very determined with the memory of it. ‘The police who'd been working on it wanted a suicide verdict. To take a case off their books which they were never going to solve.'

It was possible she was right. Long-term murder enquiries absorbed precious resources, and in this case there would have been little hope of success. ‘I can't comment on that, Janey. The car was on the cliffs at Bispham, outside Blackpool. The investigation was by another force. I can only say that I am as convinced as you that Sam was murdered. And as convinced as you who it was who ordered his death.'