âGood. I want you to keep in touch with her.'
âIt's too soon to dismantle the scene,' Salmon objected.
âWe shan't until everything's covered. We can discuss that later. I'll let you know, Z. Thank you. That's all.'
She left and went in search of Beaumont who'd almost certainly be stealing a march on her.
Â
âMr Fallon, just a few personal details, if you don't mind,' Yeadings continued.
âBertie. Everyone calls me Bertie, Superintendent.'
âFor the record, that would be Bertram?'
Fallon's fair skin flushed. âNorbert, actually. My mum's French.'
He gave his age as forty-nine but looked considerably younger, being round-faced with a boyish manner. Yeadings could recall
meeting only one man who'd had such ingenuous, wide-open blue eyes, and he'd been a mass rapist.
âWhen was the last time you saw Mr Hoad?' he asked.
âIn person, that'd be a good fortnight back. More, maybe. But I briefly saw him Friday on my video-phone. We keep in touch that way and I fax him everything that comes in on paper: invoices, bills, receipts, correspondence. That's to say, my secretary does. Putting pen to paper bugs me, actually. Or finger to keyboard, as it is nowadays. We aren't a large workforce. Thirty-one in all, but we get through some business. Our name's getting well known. Just had a big order from Murano, Venice.'
There was unmistakable pride in his voice.
âAnd how long have you been with the firm?'
âTwelve years now. But I've known Freddie a lot longer. We met at university. He was a mature student doing business studies and I was a first year engineer. We met at Dramsoc. He had a talent for producing and I was into stagecraft. We went our own ways later and chanced on each other at a charity do his wife was organising in London. My sister dragged me there and I'm glad now she did. Freddie and I slunk off into the bar and made up for lost time. I let out that I wasn't happy working for a big conglomerate in Swindon and he suggested I should take a trip to Bristol and give my opinion on the firm he'd inherited from his dad. I had some ideas on technical improvements and we joined up. Been there ever since.'
The mention of Swindon brought Salmon out of his slump. âDo you know a Miss or Mrs Alma Pavitt?' he demanded.
âNo. Should I?'
âOr a Mrs Bellinger who also lives in Swindon?'
âNever heard of her. Anyway I didn't live in the town then. We were some eight miles outside.'
“âWe” being?' Yeadings enquired, taking over the interview again.
âMy mum and me. My dad scarpered when I was a kid, and my two sisters are married. One's in Canada and the other's in Cornwall.'
Forty-nine years old and still living with his mother; brought
up in a family of women. How different did that make him? Yeadings wondered. âHow did you get on with the late Mrs Hoad?' he pressed.
âJennifer? She scared the shit out of me. So bloody perfect. Could do everything better than anyone else. Couldn't imagine her slopping around in curlers like a normal woman.'
âUncomfortable to be with?'
âUnless she set out to charm you. She tried with me at first, but quickly decided I wasn't worth the effort. Pity, because Freddie and I really hit it off, for all we're so different. Were different. God, I can't believe he's been done in. I don't suppose the poor sod ever hurt anyone in his whole life.'
Â
At 4.15 p.m. Z returned to the caravan to take Anna Plumley for formal identification of the bodies. She found her sitting on the lowered steps outside, smoking a small brown cigar.
âDetestable habit,' she growled, throwing the remains of it down and scrunching it under one well-shod heel. âI began it as an affectation, purely to annoy. By the time it had served that purpose I found I needed it in moments of stress. Better than hitting the bottle, I suppose. I'd hate to become an alcoholic and be obliged to give up drinking good Burgundy.'
Her tone was wry, but she looked more relaxed. It was a pleasant face, Z realised; almost pretty in a plumply determined way.
âTime to go?'
âIf you feel ready.'
âI'll never be that.'
As she rose, her mobile tinkled out the first few notes of the âFlight of the Valkyrie'. âPlum dear,' she said, opening it, âhow're the fish rising? You did? Well done!'
She listened, smiling indulgently, then grimaced. âNo, it's much as we expected here. Daniel hasn't put in an appearance yet. A lot of waiting about, but we're just off to the mortuary. I'll ring you tonight, lovey. Mind that new speed camera on the hill. One of us must keep a clean licence. Yes, I do. Goodbye.
âMy husband,' she explained, and catching a flicker of surprise
on Z's face, âMy third. The first didn't put me completely off marriage. Sadly, the second died.'
She made shooing gestures. âCome on then, if we're going. Let's get this over and done with.'
âIf you're sure,' Nan cautioned him, placing the hot plate before him at the breakfast table.
Yeadings glanced up from the newspaper folded beside his coffee cup. âQuite sure, thanks.'
He'd been only twelve days on the Atkins diet and already lost five pounds. So it worked. But Nan, ex-Sister at the old Westminster Hospital, clung to traditional wisdom, only agreeing to supply his dietary demands on condition that their GP monitored Mike's blood pressure and cholesterol levels frequently.
But so far, so good. All her earlier efforts to get his weight reduced had petered out, sabotaged at work, she suspected, by doughnuts fed him by his sergeants, like buns through zoo bars to bears. As high carbs, they were now on the strictly forbidden list.
Yeadings abandoned the
Telegraph's
version of the carnage at Fordham Manor and turned with relief to the plate of tongue, beef and a small wedge of mature Cheddar. He poured cream in his coffee and let it swirl artistically. Nan couldn't begrudge him his slight sigh of pleasure.
But not contentment. How could it be, in the circumstances? Experienced as he was, he was letting this latest case get to him. Vicious murders did happen in leafy Bucks, but not wholesale slaughter, and there were two innocent children involved, one not even belonging to the family almost wiped out.
He had said nothing on returning that early Saturday morning from the crime scene. Simply slumped back on the bed for a further two hours and stomped off again, silent and dour. Nan had known better than to question him. Her first information on the tragedy came from the television news.
âWill you be going out there now?' she ventured to ask.
âIt's up to the team. I'm SIO, deskbound.'
She imagined him padding like a caged lion between office and Incident Room, frustrated at the slowness of info coming in. Not satisfied with the old adage âthey also serve â¦', but impatient
to use whatever came to hand, to collate and shape it into some sense â if any sense could come from such diabolical matter â and force some action that would point to a likely suspect.
âBut I might go and check up on Mrs Plumley,' he conceded.
Nan nodded. He'd told her last night about her arrival: the grandmother who'd served in the RAF. âTell her if she needs anything to give me a ring.'
âBest not get involved, love. I've put Z on to nannying her. Not that she's the sort to need it. A real old warhorse. Nice with it, though.'
He finished his coffee and patted his mouth with his napkin, comfortably replete. That was the best thing about this new diet. You felt you'd really had a meal. There was something about the abandoned carbohydrates that had always given him a regrettable appetite for more. Now that he'd discovered you could actually eat to lose weight he merely had to resist the carbs' initial lure.
Before leaving he rang the Area desk to say where he'd be. Salmon had his mobile number if anything urgent came up.
The sky was crowded with low, dark horizontals of rain cloud, and as he drove from the garage the first drops began to fall, plinking on the bonnet and darkening the tarmac with large black circles. By the time he reached Fordham Village it was a regular downpour and the windscreen wipers were clunking away, one stiffly screeching. For a week now he'd meant to have it replaced.
The lane to the Manor and farm was narrow, first dipping and then rising with twists between high banks with winter-bare hedges, their breaks allowing occasional glimpses of chimneys and roof beyond. When he emerged into the open there were bollards with yellow crime scene tapes masking the pillared gates. The three-gabled house with its extended frontage glowered darkly behind. It looked empty. There was no guard on the front door.
Yeadings drove over puddled flagstones to the rear, to find Anna Plumley, in a hooded, shiny yellow waterproof, sitting out in the rain on the caravan steps and smoking a small cigar.
âMorning, Superintendent,' she greeted him, rising. âYour
young man's inside. I bullied him into taking cover. And a hot drink. So I'm standing guard in his place for five minutes.' She dunked the cigarillo on the wet step beside her and trod it flat as she rose.
Yeadings got out and followed her into the caravan's warm interior. âI doubt there'll be any assault on the house while this torrent continues,' he allowed. He'd meant to cancel the duty, but that could leave the elderly woman vulnerable.
âHow do you feel about moving into the house, once I've arranged for the housekeeper to come back?' he asked.
âTo keep an eye on things? Why not?' She had to shout above the noise of rain drumming on the caravan roof.
The young constable had risen, embarrassed, from his place at the table. He was in his shirtsleeves. The odour of wet dog blankets came from his tunic drying out in front of the stove. âSir,' he said, his face flushing scarlet.
âI'll give you a lift back,' Yeadings said evenly. âWhen you've finished your drink you can wait in my car, while I have a word with Mrs Plumley.'
âAlways look after the ranks,' the lady said chummily when the two of them were alone.
âQuite so,' Yeadings agreed. âThank you.'
âIt was only soup,' she said. âNothing stimulating. But I do have a single malt if you would care â¦'
He thanked her again and declined. Alcohol was still off-diet and it was too soon after his late breakfast. He hadn't risen that morning until after Nan took the children off to school and nursery class.
âAny developments?' she asked. âThat is, if you think I should know.'
They were seated opposite each other at the table. He faced the frank gaze of the concerned, tawny eyes. There were deeper ditches under them today. She'd spent a restless night. Would anything he had to say deepen her grief? Or could it offer needed distraction?
âI had a phone call from the forensics lab last night,' he confided, and explained how initial analysis indicated that
Angela shared neither Hoad's nor Jennifer's blood group. Did Mrs Plumley know if she'd been adopted?
âNo. She's Jennifer's all right. I visited her in hospital when Angela was born. So, surely with DNA you can later discover who the father is, if that's of importance. As I told you, Freddie proved to be impotent. With that as an excuse, Jennifer granted herself a loose rein.'
âI see. But also arising from blood analysis â Angela's and her little friend, Monica's â an unexpected level of alcohol was found.'
âSo the children had been drinking.' It was statement, not question.
âSherry, a good one. We found the bottle. Part of a secret midnight feast, the evidence of which was hidden under Angela's bed. Judging by the amount missing it's almost certain they'd have known nothing of the attack on them.'
She was silent a moment, head bowed, before facing him again. âThank God, then, for kiddish pranks.'
âAmen,' said Yeadings.
He left soon after, promising to ring her mobile with information on Alma Pavitt's intentions. Certain rooms in the Manor must remain sealed for the present, until the professional cleaners saw to them, but as soon as Mrs Pavitt returned to her top floor a guest room could be made available for Mrs Plumley's use.
Turning from the driveway into the village lane, he came face to face with a lumbering refuse lorry. Instead of reversing as the scowling driver's gestures demanded, Yeadings braked and got out. He produced his warrant card and waved it up towards the open cab window. âDetective-Superintendent Yeadings, Thames Valley Major Crimes,' he announced. âHaven't you received instructions not to call here?'
âNothing on me shift schedule, mate,' said the driver.
âWell, it's a restricted area. That's what the yellow tape means. I'll let you past to reverse. Inform your line manager when you get back.'
He backed into the courtyard and waited while the oversized
van made a five-point turn and re-entered the narrow confines of the lane, its sides brushing against twiggy hedges. When it was out of sight he phoned Area from the car and asked to be connected with SOCO.
âWho dealt with all refuse from the Fordham Manor case?' he asked after identifying himself.
He listened while enquiries were made and a name was offered. âPut me through to him.' He waited until the connection was made.
âDid the Hoads use recycling bins? They did? Good. I'm interested in the paper and cardboard collection ⦠No, that's not enough. I need to see for myself Get it together. Then shall I come to you or â¦? You will? Splendid.'
He snapped his mobile shut. They would deliver the recyclable paper to him at Area. At risk of turning his office into a rubbish dump, he believed he'd a chance of finding some lead there.
A civilian accountant was working through material retrieved from the two filing cabinets in the study, but there'd been little unusual paperwork discovered in Hoad's desk or waste paper basket. Maybe because it had already been dumped in the bin for recycling. And but for Yeadings running into the refuse van just now, it might well have missed his personal, meticulous examination. There was a point after all in abandoning the desk and taking to the field. Yeadings guessed that scavenging was one small area of interference which Salmon wouldn't eventually begrudge him.
Â
DCI Salmon re-read Z's notes on the Hoads' housekeeper and decided she deserved a visit. He summoned Beaumont to drive him to the Fletcher's Rest. It stood a couple of miles to the far side of Fordham village and the same distance short of Fordham Green, an upmarket development of detached executive houses set amongst thin woodland in a central, triangle-shaped clearing.
He found Alma Pavitt smoking over a tabloid newspaper in the inn's cosy sitting room. His brusque approach endeared him to her as little as did her dismissive attitude towards him. No, she hadn't any identification on her beyond a driving licence. Surely
that was enough for most purposes.
âPassport; marriage certificate; National Insurance number; Inland Revenue receipts,' he rumbled. âWhere do you keep all these then?'
âSome at the bank, but most in a drawer in my sitting room at the Manor, which apparently is out of bounds,' she told him distantly.
He stared rudely back, disliking her translucent, frilled blouse and the coal black hair with its widow's peak above strong, dark eyebrows threatening to meet over a slightly hooked, authoritative nose. Her mouth was mobile, twisting into a sardonic smile from a trout-like droop. He admitted that with those high cheekbones and hypnotic eyes some would call her handsome. For himself she had no attraction. Early fifties, Z had assumed. The woman looked younger, although well worn. Doubtless the hair was dyed.
She continued lounging in an easy chair while he stood over her, checking himself as he realised he'd started rocking on his heels. The questions he fired at her received a drawling response, always grammatical, but with that slightly un-English intonation Z had remarked on. He wondered if she'd been a more recent immigrant than she'd claimed, and marrying a man so much younger as a way of getting British nationality.
He learned nothing new about the Hoads. Once she moved back into the Manor it would do her good, he decided, to get a bit of disciplining from the ex-RAF lady. Her opinion of her dead employers was too guarded to be of any value, and she had left the house even before the daughter returned from school on the Friday afternoon.
She had no suggestions as to where Daniel might have gone once the weekend camp was cancelled. With a free afternoon, he was actually packing for it when she left, and had raided the freezer for provisions to take with him. No, she didn't know if his father intended driving him or someone would come to pick him up. As for the other little girl, that visit must have been a last-minute arrangement. She hadn't been consulted. The spare twin bed in Angela's room was always left made up.
âThe Hoads' private life wasn't my business,' she said finally. âI rather pride myself on being discreet. It's part of the job, if actually I still have one. However, if the old lady wants to move in, I'm happy to go back there, as a sort of guard dog or whatever.'
Dogsbody, Salmon thought to himself with some satisfaction. He hoped the old lady would prove plenty demanding.
Â
There was still no news of Daniel. That was what Anna had hoped â dreaded â that Yeadings' visit would be about. When the superintendent had left she remained seated inside the rain-buffeted caravan, staring from the streaked window, up-meadow towards the dark, cumulus outline of the wood on the hill.
She had never been there. Always, with the children, on her distant, rare visits, they had walked downhill over pasture with grazing cattle to the water meadows and the river. Her last, regretted, visit had been four and a half years back, when Daniel was about eleven and Angela celebrating her sixth birthday. Regretted because, despite her own efforts to be amiable, Jennifer had been even more withering than before.