The Crow Trap (50 page)

“Who called the meeting earlier in the week to discuss the future of the quarry?”

“The Fulwells. We wouldn’t have intruded the day after Edmund’s death.”

“Which particular Fulwell?” As if we don’t already know, Vera thought.

She narrowed her eyes and looked at him.

“Probably Olivia. Hoping that we’d exert some influence on Robert.

During the meeting she accused him of having gone weedy on her.”

For the first time Neville had lost his professional cool. Vera was gleeful.

“You don’t like Mrs. Fulwell,” she said, keeping her voice neutral.

“Not much. When I worked for Robert she interfered. That was one of the reasons I was glad to leave Holme Park.”

“Who else was at the meeting?”

“Pete Kemp, our conservation consultant.”

Vera stretched again, stifled a yawn. The room was very warm. “I don’t suppose it matters to him one way or the other what’s decided about the quarry. He’ll be paid for his report whether the development goes ahead or not.” “Oh, he’s already been paid,” Furness said dryly. “But it’s not precisely true that he’s nothing to gain from the development. If it does go ahead Godfrey has promised a new nature reserve close to the site. It was part of the plan. Kemp Associates would draw up the management agreement for that and provide the staff. It would be a lucrative contract.”

You don’t like Peter Kemp either, Vera thought. Why’s that, I wonder.

It annoyed her that she couldn’t make up her mind about Neville Furness. She couldn’t pin him down, work out what made him tick. It was a matter of pride to her that her first impressions of people were sound. She boasted about it to Ashworth all the time. But her impressions of Furness were confused and unreliable.

“What did you do with the key to your house on the estate when you left?” she asked, hoping to shock him.

He didn’t answer immediately.

“You did have a key?” “I’m sorry,” he said. “Obviously it’s important. I’m trying to remember. I had two keys. One to the front door and one to the back.

On a single ring.”

“Did you give them back to Mrs. Fulwell?” It was Ashworth’s first contribution.

“No. Definitely not that. I’d given my letter of resignation to Robert. I had some holiday to take so effectively I left Holme Park without notice. That was how I wanted it. I didn’t want any scenes.”

“Would Mrs. Fulwell have made a scene?” Ashworth asked.

“She’s spoilt. Given occasionally to tantrums.”

“Was your relationship with Mrs. Fulwell entirely professional?”

“On my part, certainly.”

“And on hers?” As I explained, she interfered.”

“She fancied you,” Vera interrupted with a chortle. “Don’t tell me she wanted a bit of rough.”

He blushed violently and for a moment she wondered if she had a handle on him. He was shy, a prude. There was no more to it than that. But then he recovered his composure so quickly that she thought she must be wrong.

“So far as I am aware,” he said stiffly, “Robert and Lily have a very happy marriage.” “Let’s get back to the keys then,” Vera said unabashed. “You didn’t give them to Lily. Did you give them to Robert?”

“I don’t think so. He wouldn’t normally be involved in that sort of detail.”

“So you kept them then?”

“I suppose it’s possible. I mean I suppose it’s possible that I just forgot to give them back.”

“Where would they be? At home?”

“No, I’m starting to remember. The keys to the house at Holme Park were on the same ring as the spares for Black Law. Bella asked me to have them in case of an emergency. In case something happened to my father when she wasn’t around. And I’ve always kept those here. I spend more time in the office than I do at home. They were certainly here when you asked for a key to get into the farmhouse after the girl was killed on the hill.”

He stood up and went to his desk. From where he was sitting Vera couldn’t see him open the drawer but it didn’t seem to be locked. He returned with a Wildlife Trust key ring, with three keys attached.

“These two belong to Black Law. The mortise is the front door and the Yale the back. This is for the front door of the Holme Park house.”

“What about the Holme Park kitchen door?”

“I don’t know. It’s not here. I could have sworn it was on the same ring.”

“When was the last time you saw it?”

“God knows. The last time I took them out was to give you the Black Law key. I suppose I see them every time I go into the desk drawer, but I don’t look at them. Not in any detail.”

“Who else would have had access to your desk?”

He looked at her in surprise. “We’re very security conscious. Nobody gets into this suite of offices without a pass.”

“But your desk wasn’t locked.”

“No. Nor my office. It doesn’t need to be. As I’ve explained it’s impossible for a stranger to wander in.”

“But anybody working for Slateburn or here on official business could have had access to the key.”

“I suppose so. If they’d wanted to. If they’d realized it was there.”

“Was it labelled?”

He hesitated. “Yes. Just like this one.”

He handed her the Holme Park front door key. Attached to it was a small card tag, faded but just legible with 1 The Avenue written in cramped capitals. “That’s the official address of the house.”

“Would your secretary go into that drawer?”

“I don’t think so. It’s mostly personal stuff. But you can ask her.” “Yes,” Vera said. “We will.”

Neville Furness had remained standing. Perhaps he expected them to go but they sat where they were, silent, watching him.

“I didn’t use that key,” he said quietly. “And I hate the thought that anyone else might have used it, that through my carelessness I was responsible for Edmund’s death.” Still Vera said nothing. The silence seemed to get to him because he went on, “It’s been a hellish week. The Fulwells have made things very difficult here. We don’t know where we are. If only they’d decide one way or another … We’re all rather wound up.” He stopped abruptly.

“But that’s not your problem. Of course you’ve got more serious concerns … Actually I’ve decided I need to get away from it for a while. I’m going to escape at the weekend, spend some time at Black Law. It’ll be all right, will it? You said your team had finished.”

Vera nodded. “Have you seen Rachael Lambert this week?” “Yes,” he said. “She needs a break too. She’s coming up to Black Law with me.” He paused. “Aren’t you going to ask me where I was on the day Edmund Fulwell was killed?”

“We’d have got round to it,” Vera said comfortably.

“I was here for most of the day going through the preliminary draft of the Environment Impact Assessment.”

“On your own?” .

“Yes, though I wouldn’t have been able to leave the building without going through reception and there’s always someone there. I left the office at about four and went home to change. Godfrey had been working at home all day. He’d had Peter Kemp to see him to go over the plans for the new nature reserve at Black Law and he wanted to discuss them with me. I’d been invited to dinner but he wanted me there early so we could finish the business before we ate.”

“Did you have a pleasant evening?” Vera heaved herself out of her chair.

“Yes, thank you. Very pleasant.”

He shepherded them through reception and waited with them until the lift had arrived.

Outside she stood for a moment, imagining Neville and Rachael on their own in Black Law. If he meant Rachael harm, surely he wouldn’t have told her about the trip? Or perhaps she’d just been involved in setting a very clever trap.

Chapter Sixty-Two.

Vera walked from the police station to Edie’s house in Riverside Terrace. It wasn’t far and she needed a break from the incident room, the team frenetic, desperate for her approval, waiting for her to work miracles. She hoped that Edie would remind her of Baikie’s where things had seemed clearer, that she could recapture something of the old certainties.

Edie had invited her for lunch and thinking she should make a token contribution she stopped at the small florist’s in the High Street for flowers. Flowers had been left at the mine to mark the spot of Grace’s death. Flowers for mourning. For remembrance. Or for celebration.

At the end of the terrace she stopped to get her breath. She didn’t want to turn up at the house puffing and sweaty. A car passed her, stopped outside Edie’s and Peter Kemp jumped out. He wasn’t driving the white Land Rover but something sleek and sporty with a loud engine.

He was in casual mode grey cotton trousers and a green polo shirt with the company logo embroidered on the pocket. Very corporate. He leapt up the steps and hit the doorbell with his palm.

By the time Vera reached the front door Peter was inside, in the basement kitchen. She leant over the rails but though she could see the couple she couldn’t tell what they were saying. Obviously, it wasn’t a friendly exchange. She paused for a moment but then curiosity got the better of her and she rang the bell. When Edie opened the door she was flushed.

“Thank God,” she muttered. “If you hadn’t come I might have murdered him.”

In the kitchen beside the scrubbed pine table and chairs, there was a small sofa with an Indian cotton bedspread thrown over it. Peter Kemp had sat there when Edie left the room to answer the door. He lounged, his long legs stretched length ways along the floor beside it so there was no room for anyone else to sit down. When he saw Vera he got slowly up to his feet.

“Inspector,” he said. “What a surprise. And I always thought Ms. Lambert was such an upright person. I hope you haven’t come to make an arrest.” He looked pointedly at the flowers, drooping now. “Ah no. I see it’s a social visit.” The words came out as an accusation.

His freckles seemed very prominent against his fair skin.

“Look,” Edie interrupted. “You’d better go. There’s nothing more to say.” He seemed about to argue but thought better of it, became instead concerned. “You know,” he said, “I’m very fond of Rachael. I’ve her best interests at heart. I wouldn’t want her disappointed.”

Edie let him go first up the stairs, turned to Vera and mimed being sick behind his back. As she came back into the room they heard his car roar into life and drive away. She banged around furiously, setting the table with cutlery and whatever she could find in the fridge. Vera waited until half a loaf, a pleated ball of silver foil with a smear of boursin inside, a lump of dried-up cheddar and a couple of slices of ham had appeared before speaking. Edie was by the sink, shaking a ready prepared salad from its plastic bag into a bowl.

“What was all that about?”

“He always was an arrogant little shit,” Edie said.

“What did he want?”

“He must have heard that Rachael was thinking of applying for another job. He asked me to persuade her to stay. If he gets the contract for the new nature reserve at Black Law he’s relying on her to manage it.

He’s scared he won’t be able to run the firm without her. He’s right.

He wouldn’t.”

“I suppose that’s quite flattering.”

“But it was the way that he did it. Do you know what he said? “She ought to realize that now’s probably not a good time. Prospective employers would be wary of taking on anyone who’s been linked to a murder inquiry” implying that Rachael might have had something to do with Grace’s death.”

Vera realized that Edie was close to tears. In the fridge she’d seen a bottle of wine, three-quarters full with the cork jammed back in. She took it out, poured each of them a glass, drank, winced and wondered how long it had been there.

“Why do you want to talk to me anyway?” Edie said, still angry. “You said you wanted to ask about Neville. If you come back this evening you can see Rachael. She’ll be able to tell you everything you want to hear.”

“I understand she’s besotted. That doesn’t do a lot for a person’s judgement.” “Who told you that?”

“Anne Preece. I went to Langholme to see her last night.”

“She’s still there then. I’m surprised. I thought she’d decided to leave.”

“Oh, she’s still there,” Vera said. “But she seems in a sort of limbo.

Waiting for something to happen. You haven’t any idea what she might be waiting for?”

“Some man perhaps. She’s very discreet but I gather it’s not a successful marriage. Still, how many are?”

Vera hacked a slice of bread from the loaf. “Well?” she demanded. “Is she?”

Edie, still preoccupied, looked up from her glass. “Is she what?”

“Is Rachael besotted?”

“Definitely. I haven’t seen her like this since she first started going out with that toad Peter Kemp.”

“I didn’t realize she’d been involved with him.” Vera’s voice was bland, vaguely curious, but her mind was whirring furiously. Another connection. Another complication.

“Before he was married. I never liked him. Perhaps that’s why she stuck with him so long. To spite me. I shouldn’t have made my feelings about him so plain. I could never manage tact with Rachael.”