The Green Remains (19 page)

Chapter Forty-three

“The manner of Hercules Flood’s death made a scandal which eclipsed every other scandal that, during the long, candlelit evenings of Bristol winter, disturbed drawing-rooms and kept business lively in taverns.”

— Marguerite Steen,
The Sun Is My Undoing

11
AM

Ian sat at his desk and rubbed his eyes. They burned from lack of sleep. He’d put Kate’s ring in his sock drawer when he’d rolled in for a few hours of snatched sleep. He had stopped thinking of it as his grandmother’s ring because now it belonged to Kate. He hated that Kate thought he was being cold and officious.

  Despite the intense tension between them, he refused to do less than his best on this or any other murder investigation. When Kate had time to realize this, she would see she couldn’t possibly marry a person who would do less, and he was certain they would forge a reunion. She needed time to sort out her thoughts, a gift of love he was willing to give her when their future together was at stake. One day, they would look back on this and laugh over the night she’d thrown his ring back at him. At least, he hoped they would.

  He should be reviewing the reports on his pending cases, and he forced himself to dive in, paying special attention to the meager results on the missing Anne Reed. There were a few potential sightings in Windermere, and one caller was sure she’d seen her with a young man at Sizergh Castle, south of Kendal. All would be investigated. After making team assignments, Ian initialed the files and tossed them in his out box.

  He pulled the file containing his copies of everything to date on the Clarendon case to the center of his blotter. Last night, he’d called Higgins in to take Simon’s statement, despite his awareness of budget constraints regarding officers accruing overtime. His need to be seen as objective so as not to be thrown off the case loomed larger.

  Higgins had arrived yawning but eager to work. After instructing the sergeant on the salient points he had wanted covered, Ian had watched the interview from the next room, taking notes as Simon had described to Higgins how his kitchen door, never locked, opened right near his studio door, also never locked. Ian already knew this but had needed it documented.

  After some resistance and insisting on their innocence, Simon had finally given Higgins a list of the lodge’s employees. Afterwards, Higgins had hit Simon with allegations that he and Keith had been enemies, at which Simon had scoffed.

  “We didn’t agree. People don’t always, but I didn’t hate the man. I’ll readily admit I would have continued to fight this planned arts centre he wanted to bring to town. But I’m certainly not the only one who feels that way.”

  “You don’t have to continue that fight, now, do you, Mr. Ramsey?”

  Ian had admired how Simon had kept his temper in check.

  “Who knows how his family will feel now? They may forge ahead—trying to pay just the heating bills on that monstrous place must cost a small fortune.”

  Ian had to concede that Simon had a point, although he felt the defeated and ill family wouldn’t pursue this aggressive plan.

  “What about this fistfight you and the victim had at a pub in town?” Higgins had consulted his notes and had read out the date.

  Simon had sighed, and Ian had heard the tiredness creep into his voice.

  “Look, that was a silly mistake on both our parts. It was after a particularly contentious town meeting. Keith and I both had had too much to drink, and when he hit on my sister, I told him off. He got angry and threw a wild punch that connected. If he’d missed, I’d never have hit him back, but it was a protective instinct. We got pulled apart right away.”

  Ian had groaned. It was the first he’d heard that Simon had been protecting Kate. No wonder she was certain Simon hadn’t been the instigator.

  After having conferred with Higgins, they’d agreed the evidence to arrest Simon wouldn’t pass the sniff test, and Ian wasn’t about to arrest a man to make his superiors look good. He was also aware that the longer Simon was a suspect with no resolution to the investigation, the more his reputation would be affected.

  Ian decided it would be best for everyone if he kept out of Simon’s way today and left Kate alone to settle. He could hardly expect the man to be happy with him right now, but he hoped Simon would feel he’d been treated fairly and would pass that on to his sister.

  Ian’s report from Oxford had been filed. No real leads had panned out in his visit there, and he was disappointed. Edgar Worth hadn’t been able to contribute much to the case. Yes, Keith had big plans, which he supported. An extension office in Clarendon Hall would connect the two areas nicely, and with Keith’s planned increase in tourism, this had seemed a good plan. No, with Keith no longer working on the project, he didn’t think he would go forward at this time with an extension office in Bowness. Without the Clarendon name and the use of an office at the Hall, it seemed it would require too much effort for the older man to manage it on his own. None of Keith’s coworkers had added anything of substance to the interview. After hearing of Jack Halsey’s death back in Bowness, Ian felt it had been a huge waste of time.

  “You asked for this, guv.” A civilian handed Ian a copy of an article Sommer Clarendon had mentioned during his interview. The family rooms, while off limits to the tour, were never locked, and anyone could have slipped away and found their way to the plant. When asked how a member of the general public would have knowledge of the particular plants he raised, Sommer had mentioned that he’d given an interview in which the Tanghinia
plant had been highlighted for its rareness. That article had appeared in the spring issue of
Lake District Review
.

  Ian read through the transcript, zeroing in on Sommer’s description of the plant’s history: “Tanghinia venenifera has lovely, glossy leaves and pretty white, star-shaped flowers with a pink base when it blooms, but it’s known as the ‘Ordeal Bean of Madagascar’ because kings in Madagascar used it to have criminals confess. They thought ingesting it would reveal guilt or innocence. Since most of their subjects died, it was probably a moot point, but the name stuck.”

  It was as Simon had indicated: Anyone with a burning desire to murder Keith Clarendon would find the means at hand. Now Ian had to find out who had had the best opportunity and what his or her motive could have been. Thinking of Simon brought Kate back to mind. He thought of her slender neck and how she shivered when he kissed her there.

  With effort, he tried to put Kate to the back of his mind and to concentrate on the tasks at hand. The inquest on Keith Clarendon was tomorrow morning and would be adjourned until further information came to light. In the afternoon, Keith’s funeral would tie up the rest of his day. He’d be busy testifying at the first and observing who attended the second.

  Ian opened his bottom desk drawer and withdrew a much-used briar pipe. He inhaled the scent of his grandfather’s black cherry tobacco, a fortifying aroma that never failed to steady him. He stuck it in the corner of his mouth. He’d never developed the habit of smoking, and there was a ban on smoking inside the station, but the smell and the familiar feel of the stem clamped in his mouth braced him as he drew the Clarendon file toward him and began to review the entire case, starting with the report of the constable who’d responded to the summons to Ramsey Lodge early Saturday morning. There was more than just a mysterious death to compel him—his marriage and his whole future were at stake.

Chapter Forty-Four

“I am the last man to be suspicious of a colleague, but on thinking it over I have the distinct feeling that the Vice-Chancellor’s motives, in button-holing me as he did this afternoon, were at least partly feigned.”

— John Wain,
Strike the Father Dead

2
PM

Nora opened her laptop. The two lodging couples had checked out this morning, and the whole place felt strangely quiet. She suspected they were fleeing after the assault on Agnes.

  She clicked on Keith’s manuscript and continued to read it, notebook and pencil ready to jot down anything of interest that she could use or, more to the point, which would allude to a reason that someone could want Keith out of the way. Chunks of script flew past her:

The extensive gardens at Holehird in Windermere belong to the Lakeland Horticultural Society. Rockeries and scree beds capture in miniature the essence of the Cumbrian landscape that surrounds them. Think of these gardens as counterpoints to the majesty of the mountains surrounding them.

Nora saw Sommer’s influence on his son here. Keith noted the gardens at John Ruskin’s Brantwood as his personal favorites. He described Ruskin as a “troubled genius” and recounted his influence on Proust, Gandhi and even Tolstoy. Interesting, Nora thought, but hardly the stuff of murderers. No mention of Ruskin’s penchant for poisonous plants, although she knew the Pre-Raphaelite era included a fascination with arsenic.

  Munching on an oatmeal cookie, Nora read on.

*

3:15
PM

Simon returned from visiting the family solicitor, who advised truth and patience. He told Simon about his conversation with Ian Travers that morning, during which he had stressed that his client had assisted the police to the limit of his abilities, and further questioning would be seen as harassment. He also told Simon he doubted the strength of the case against him since he hadn’t been arrested last night. Nora had seen Simon’s drawn look, and she realized that despite his faith in Ian, this was having its effect on him.

  He and Nora settled into work mode and spent the afternoon together, Nora outlining a story and Simon suggesting illustration layouts for their second book. She wrote some potential copy, trying to stay focused on fairies instead of poisons, while Simon sketched. She had her fairies arguing about who slept where inside their tree house, a veiled attempt to educate young readers about compromise. Nora made minor changes as they talked, their collaboration helping her polish the action.

  “Let me find that book on Arthur Rackham’s illustrations,” Simon said and disappeared into his studio, unlocking it.

  Nora could understand why he was locking the studio, although it seemed a bit late for that, but it didn’t explain why he’d kept her out it. Come to think of it, he’d never fully explained why he’d borrowed that plant from Sommer. Nora cleaned her glasses, reflecting on these last few days. She was upset with Kate’s decision to return Ian’s ring but felt certain they’d reconcile as soon as Keith’s murderer was found. That would take the spotlight off Simon and allow Kate and Ian to find their way back to each other.

  What was she missing in the situation? She couldn’t think of anyone who had been near either Simon’s studio or Clarendon Hall who had a motive to kill Keith. Be unhappy with him, yes, but kill him?

  Nora cradled her belly and turned to a back page in her notebook. She listed all the people with direct access to Simon’s studio:

  Simon, Kate, Agnes, Maeve, Daniel

She discounted all but Daniel, based on his behavior toward
her, and Maeve, based on personal prejudice. Although how did she know Maeve hadn’t had a personal relationship with Keith? Maybe he’d thrown her over for someone else, and she was pissed. Nora warmed to the thought and put a star by Maeve’s name. She refused to believe Simon could have had anything to do with Keith’s death, despite his weird behavior concerning the studio.

  She couldn’t think of anyone else to add. She knew the Barnum girls didn’t go into the family rooms. They cleaned hers as her pregnancy progressed and left her fresh towels, but both Kate and Simon took theirs from the linen closet. Everyone did their own wash in the laundry area under the back stairs. Kate ran the vacuum and duster over Simon’s rooms, and he cleaned his own bathroom and changed his sheets, tasks Nora had seen him do in her time living here. They made him seem more like a Renaissance man than ever in her mind—a man who cleaned up after himself! But she was digressing. She hurriedly wrote her list for Clarendon Hall before Simon returned:

  Antonia, Sommer, Cook, Gillian, Robbie, Daniel

Nora scrutinized this list. Daniel made both lists. She knew the
docents from the National Trust didn’t enter the family rooms,
but someone could have slipped away, although that seemed like a big chance when he or she wouldn’t know where the family was at any given moment. And how did that get the poison into Keith? Of course, the Hall must have daily or weekly cleaning help from the village. She made a note to ask Kate and sat back, massaging the hard ball her uterus formed. Who was she missing?

  What about Glenn Hackney? They didn’t really know when he’d come to Bowness, only when he’d checked in at Ramsey Lodge. Nora pictured him leaving the lodge this morning with Tony Warner.

  She’d been putting Darby’s leash on to take him on a walk when the two men came downstairs.

  “Morning, Nora,” Tony said. Today’s costume was tweeds with an argyle jumper. “Going walkies?”

  Nora thought only Tony could sound like the Queen Mum and not think a thing of it. She nodded to both men and refused to share her itinerary.

  “Hello, Miss Tierney.” Glenn took a brochure from the rack in the hall. “Here we are, Dove Cottage.”

  “There’s a map on the back,” Tony noted. Both men perused it.

  “I think we can jolly well find our way there,” Glenn pronounced, leading the way to the car park.

  “Do have a good day, Nora, whatever that entails,” Tony smirked as he left.

  Sitting at Simon’s table, Nora wondered what they had up their mutual sleeves in this unlikely alliance. They’d been the only ones not to flee after the attack on Agnes. Perhaps it was nothing more than two reprobates recognizing each other. Still, she added Glenn’s name to her list but left Tony’s off. Not liking someone was not a good enough reason to appear on her suspect list, although it hadn’t stopped her in Maeve’s case. As far as Tony was concerned, she’d add him, too, if evidence arose to support her doing so.

  From the studio came the sound of cabinets banging shut. Quickly, Nora moved on to motive, and here her thoughts whirled with imagination. Had Keith been gay and hid it from his coworkers? Or maybe he’d dodged the advances of Glenn Hackney and set off a murderous bout of revenge? But what about her room being tossed? Had she been less discreet than she’d thought, and someone knew of the stolen thumb drive? Could Keith have uncovered something that meant he had to die?

  Nora warmed to this theme. His death certainly was premeditated. Someone needed to have access to that plant and then had to add it to whatever drink Keith had imbibed just before going out on the lake. It couldn’t have been at the meal he had had with his parents, or they would have been poisoned, too. Unless someone in his family was involved.

  She couldn’t see any reason for Sommer wanting to murder his only child, and while his arms worked fine, being confined to a wheelchair, even a mechanical one, did pose logistical problems. Ditto for Edmunde. She’d never seen the man, but it seemed he was in worse shape then his brother. Antonia couldn’t be a suspect to Nora’s mind; her grief seemed too real and too raw, although on consideration, she supposed the woman’s fragile mental status could have led to a psychotic break.

  The Coles were an enigma in terms of motive. Murdering Keith wouldn’t further Gillian’s career; as far as Nora could tell, she had her hands full caring for the two disabled brothers and had had no responsibilities toward Keith. Robbie just seemed like a nice kid. But then nice kids were known to be murderers.

  “Here it is. Check this out,” Simon said as he returned to her side, turning pages of Rackham’s illustrations for J. M. Barrie’s
Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens.

  Nora closed her notebook with a snap. She didn’t want to embarrass Simon by reminding him of the fix he was in. Nor did she wish to annoy him. Renaissance man or not, Simon was vocal in his disapproval of her snooping and especially sensitive when he was the reason for it. Where could she turn for help?

*

5
PM

Nora reached her favorite bench facing Bowness Bay and brought out her mobile. Simon had accepted her explanation of needing a break and had gone back to his studio to pack up the proof pages to mail to their printer. He insisted on carrying on meeting their deadlines. “I won’t have your work jeopardized, Nora,” he’d said when she’d suggested leaving it for another day.

  She looked in her contacts at the number she’d stored there but never used, weighing the pros and cons of making this call. Taking a deep breath, she hit “call.” Her pulse increased with every ring, and just as she decided he wasn’t in the office, he answered.

  “Barnes.”

  “Declan, it’s Nora.” If he said “Nora who?” she would hang up and wobble back to the lodge in humiliation.

  “Hallo!” Declan Barnes voice was deeper than she remembered, but just as warm. “How are you?”

  She ignored the thrill that shot through her and tried to focus on the reason for her call. “Really well, although I’m as big as a house.” Nora mentally kicked herself for the image contained in that response.

  “Any luck deciding on his name yet? I know you have your lists made. Declan is very nice.”

  “Very funny.” What was it with everyone and this baby’s name? Still, he made her smile. “Still whittling down my favorites,” she said. She’d forgotten Declan knew from their time in Oxford that she made lists. She had to resist her impulse to ask him personal questions just to hear his warm voice. “That’s not why I called, though. I need to ask your advice.”

  “Of course.” He sounded pleased. “Fire away.”

  Maybe he wouldn’t be so pleased when he learned she wanted to help Simon. Nora succinctly explained how Simon had become a suspect in the death of Keith Clarendon due to the presence of the poisonous plant in his studio. “He’s been brought in for questioning twice now, and he’s given statements.”

  “He’s obtained legal counsel?” Declan asked.

  “Yes. And his solicitor has spoken to the senior investigating officer, too, and will be present at any future questionings.” She added that the officer was Kate’s fiancé, Detective Inspector Ian Travers.

  “I remember speaking with Travers this summer. But Nora, if he had concrete and overwhelming evidence against Simon, he’d have arrested him by now. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  Was she imagining a touch of fancy in his voice? “I suppose so. I just feel so helpless, when it’s obvious Simon wasn’t involved.”

  There was a pause, and she thought at first that Declan had hung up.

  “Maybe it’s obvious to you, Nora, but it might not be to Ian Travers or to his superiors.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” She bit her lip. She decided not to tell him about the assault on Agnes in her room. “Isn’t there anything I can do?”

  This time, Declan’s answer was swift and firm. “No. And I don’t want to hear you’re involving yourself in this investigation, Nora. I thought after what happened in Oxford you’d given up meddling with the professionals. This is
not
something you should be doing.”

  She tamped down her annoyance. He could get to her quicker than anyone she knew. “I’m just asking if there’s anything else you can think of that I could do to clear Simon’s name.” She tried to appear reasonable and already regretted calling him. “I’m not about to put myself or this baby in jeopardy.”

  Declan’s answer chilled her. “That’s what you thought the last time.”

*

6:30
PM

Nora had hurried back to the lodge after her less-than-satisfactory call to Declan Barnes. The increasing menace she’d felt around her since the assault on Agnes seemed almost palpable. Before Kate arrived home, Nora and Simon agreed not to bring up Ian’s name or the broken engagement.

  “Let’s have a quiet evening,” Simon urged. “She defended me and got carried away. If she needs to talk about it, she’ll bring it up. This will blow over and make their relationship even stronger.”

  “I hope so,” Nora agreed. “I like Ian—usually.”

  “Leave Ian alone on all fronts for now.” Simon had a warning finger in the air when the door opened to admit Kate.

  They put on smiling faces for her. She carried Chinese takeaway, obviously a Darby favorite from the fuss he made over her bags. The pungent odors of moo shu pork and curried chicken quickly filled Simon’s kitchen.

  “Enough work, peasants!” Kate pronounced. “I’ve had too much tea and not enough protein today.” She unpacked cardboard and foil containers while Simon put out plates and utensils.

  Nora knew Kate well enough to see through her forced gaiety. Her stomach growled in response to the tantalizing aromas. “I think little Sylvester needs food, too,” she said, stacking the books they’d been using and clearing the table. “It means ‘of the forest.’” She saw the startled look on the siblings’ faces and flapped her hand. “Just kidding.”