Bricks and Mortality: Campbell & Carter 3 (11 page)

The likeness was remarkable, even if on closer study the differences would become apparent. Jess had brought the photographs with her in her pocket to see if they meant anything to Crown. Now an entirely new train of thought had started up in her mind. Hadn’t Poppy Trenton thought she’d seen Crown recently? It now seemed more likely she’d seen Pietrangelo. Had the murderer made the same mistake? Had this man turning restlessly round the interview room been the intended target? If so, why?

Crown spoke impatiently, perhaps wondering why she stood there just gazing at him. ‘You’re in charge of this, I take it? Not that graceless oik who shoved me in here?’

Jess rallied. ‘That’s right. You met Sergeant Morton. I’m sorry if you found him unfriendly. He’s a very efficient officer. Do sit down, Mr Crown.’

Gervase subsided unwillingly on to a chair and glanced round the room. ‘This, I suppose, is where you haul in suspects for grilling?’

‘It’s one of our interview rooms. I dare say it looks a bit Spartan. It’s not meant to be a coffee lounge!’ Jess heard herself snap. And it’s not the first time you’ve been in an interview room, is it? she also thought. Aloud, she managed ask more civilly, ‘Would you like some coffee or tea?’

‘No, thanks.’ His voice was curt. He hadn’t liked the implied criticism. ‘Who burned down my house?’

‘We don’t have any suspects, Mr Crown, not at the moment,’ Jess began. ‘Originally the fire was put down to tramps or someone squatting in the property. I understand there were several instances of people using it as unauthorised temporary accommodation since it had been left empty. But post-mortem examination of the body found in the ashes showed definite signs of his having been attacked before the fire started.’

‘Was he dead?’ Gervase Crown asked in his abrupt way. ‘I don’t mean, dead in the ashes. Of course he was that. I mean, was the guy dead when the fire was started?’

‘No. There are signs that he wasn’t but he was almost certainly unconscious. He died from smoke inhalation.’

‘He didn’t know anything about it, then?’ Crown’s bright blue eyes bored into hers.

He’s nervous! thought Jess with sudden insight. He’s not insensitive. It does concern him the dead man might have known he was trapped. But Gervase Crown is definitely on edge about something. Or does dealing with the cops dredge up reminders of a part of his life I’m sure he’d rather forget?

‘He didn’t know anything about it, I think we can say that with certainty,’ she told him.

Gervase Crown heaved a sigh. ‘Poor blighter, whoever he was. Do you know yet?’

‘We believe it’s possible the body is that of someone who has been reported missing for a few days. His partner contacted us.’ Jess paused. ‘We have photographs of him and wonder if you wouldn’t mind taking a look.’

‘Dead?’ asked Crown in alarm.

‘No, not dead.’ No one would have recognised the unfortunate web designer in death. ‘Taken when he was alive. This one, for example.’

She took it from her pocket and couldn’t help looking at it quickly again herself. Yes, there was a distinct resemblance. It wasn’t so close now, not now she’d been talking to Crown and her first surprise had worn off. But it was there. Would Crown himself see it? She handed it to him. ‘Can you tell me if you recognise him?’

Crown hesitated and then took it from her. ‘No, don’t know him.’ He stared down at the little rectangle and frowned. When he looked up, the expression on his face was one of suspicion. ‘Am I supposed to say he looks a bit like me?’

‘I think he does,’ Jess admitted. Whatever else, Crown was quick off the mark.

‘And that’s it, is it? Someone thought he was me? I was the intended victim and this poor guy got in the way?’ Crown was beginning to sound vehement. Anger? Fear? Amazement? Jess couldn’t tell.

‘We don’t know … we didn’t know of the resemblance until this moment. But now, well, it is a possibility. Can you think of any reason why anyone would want to kill you?’

‘I think the entire population around Key House would dance on my grave. That’s not quite the same thing, I know. As you continue your enquiries, Inspector Campbell, you’ll find I am not a popular man. But you’ll know about my motoring convictions.’ His tone and look were sarcastic.

‘We do. But that was a long time ago now and you have been living abroad. That someone would still want to kill you now, well, it would be a long-held grudge. It’s easy to chase after a theory and find out it’s a wrong one. Your resemblance to the victim may be coincidental. His name is Matthew Pietrangelo. He was a web designer.’

‘Then what was he doing at Key House? He wasn’t a tramp.’ Crown sounded puzzled as he handed back the snapshot.

Jess returned it to her pocket. ‘We think, from information received from his partner, that he had been scouring the countryside looking for a property to buy and restore. Key House seemed to fit the bill. I believe he went to see your solicitor, Reginald Foscott, about purchasing it. Foscott told him you weren’t selling.’

‘No, I wasn’t. You’re right, Reggie did tell me someone had been to see him. I might sell what’s left of it now. But now, I suppose, no one will want it and the man you say wanted to buy it is dead.’

‘Have you had a report on the state of the structure?’

He shook his head. ‘Not yet. I’ve commissioned one from an expert, a structural engineer. With luck I’ll be able to knock down what’s left. I’ll have a better chance of selling the site for a new build.’

The door opened and Carter walked in. Jess and Crown both got to their feet.

‘Mr Crown? Superintendent Carter,’ Carter thrust out his hand.

Crown shook it briefly. Carter brought forward a chair from the corner of the room and they all sat down again.

‘Mr Crown was just saying,’ Jess told Carter, ‘that he’s commissioned a structural engineer to look at Key House. He’s anticipating it may have to be pulled down.’

‘Pity,’ said Carter. ‘Fine old house, I understand, before the fire.’

‘I have no regret about it burning down, in case you’re wondering,’ Crown told him, ‘other than the inconvenience to me and you – and the fire services. I have no sentimental attachment to the place. Once the ruins come down and the site is cleared, I’ll put it up for sale, as I was just telling Inspector Campbell here. Some developer might want to take it on – or someone looking to build his dream home in the country.’ His voice was dry.

‘Why didn’t you sell it before?’ Carter asked him. ‘You live abroad. You say you had no sentimental attachment to the house.’

Crown looked away from their enquiring faces. ‘Just never got round to it. I kept thinking I might live there again, one day, I suppose.’

‘It was a listed building, I understand,’ Carter said mildly.

‘Oh, yes, but only Grade Two. It wasn’t a stately home. It had a lot of hideous old dark oak panelling and a staircase you expected to see Lucia di Lammermoor come plummeting down at any moment.’ Crown’s voice was careless and he raised his eyebrows as he turned to Carter again, as if to query the superintendent’s interest. ‘I can’t give you a logical explanation as to why I didn’t sell and didn’t live there or rent the place out. I just didn’t. I’m staying at The Royal Oak at Weston St Ambrose, by the way, if you want me again. It’s the nearest village to Key House and the postal address for the old house. I’ll be here in the UK for a bit. I’ll have to sort things out, wait for the report on what’s left standing of the house, and take whatever action has to be taken.’

His lips formed a mirthless smile. ‘Pushed me into action at last, you see. Perhaps I should be grateful to the arsonist. Although that’s a crass thing to say, isn’t it? Someone died there. I am truly very sorry about that. Inspector Campbell suspects he may have died because he looked like me, isn’t that right, Inspector? That, I assure you, disturbs me very much. I hope you catch your murderer quickly. Then I’ll be able to sleep quietly in my bed at The Royal Oak.’

They saw him off the premises. ‘We’ll be in touch, Mr Crown,’ Carter told him.

‘Have you got a hope in hell of finding out who killed – what did you say he was called – Pietrangelo?’ Crown asked by way of his farewell. ‘Or whoever the dead man is, if he’s not Pietrangelo?’

‘We always have hope,’ Carter told him and held his questioning gaze.

Jess, watching the two men, fancied there was a moment when they met and jousted on some mental plane. Then Gervase Crown nodded and turned to run down the steps and stride towards a dark blue BMW that was probably rented for his time in England.

Carter and Campbell made their way back upstairs in silence. She followed him into his office where the silence lengthened until Carter decided to tackle the elephant in the room.

‘So, Jess, do you think we have a case of mistaken identity?’ he asked. ‘I agree there’s a passing resemblance between the photograph and our friend Mr Crown.’

Before she replied there was a knock at the door. It opened to reveal Phil Morton. He still had that quizzical look on his face.

‘Come in, Sergeant,’ Carter invited him. ‘We have all now seen Mr Crown and we’re comparing impressions.’

Morton sidled into the room. ‘Was it just me?’ he asked.

‘No, Phil,’ Jess told him. ‘We all saw it. He looks a lot like Pietrangelo.’

‘So, did the killer make a mistake and hit the wrong man over the head?’ Carter turned back to Jess. ‘You think it’s on the cards.’

‘I think it’s a possibility,’ she admitted. ‘From the photographs we have of Pietrangelo, there is a definite resemblance and we all saw it. I showed one to Crown and even
he
could see it, unprompted. It startled me, I can tell you, when I first saw Crown downstairs. It’s really weird, quite spooky. We can’t discount it.’

‘No, no, of course not.’ Campbell sounded thoughtful. ‘But is it going to help or mislead us?’

‘I think it’s the only lead we’ve got,’ said Jess firmly, ‘and we have to work on that assumption until we know differently. So, let’s say, as a working hypothesis, the dead man is Matthew Pietrangelo. Someone with a grudge of some sort against Mr Crown might have seen Pietrangelo poking round Key House and thought it was Crown. Crown’s been abroad most of the time for the last few years. The light fades early at this time of year. In fact, we know that at least one person did see Pietrangelo on an earlier visit he paid the house, when the light was poor, and think at first it was Crown; Poppy Trenton.’ She added, ‘I can see that Crown might annoy people just by his manner. He admits he’s not popular.’

‘Not enough in itself to inspire thoughts of murder,’ Carter pointed out. ‘However, he also caused a lot of trouble as a younger man. There’s the car crash that put a young girl in a wheelchair. He served part of a prison sentence for that. Some people might have thought he wasn’t punished enough. The young woman’s name is Petra Stapleton and Monica Farrell told me she still lives in the area. It might be helpful if you sought her out, Jess. Have a chat to her. We need to interview anyone who’d have a grudge against Crown.’

‘Perhaps it’s more complicated,’ Jess suggested. ‘Are we also working on the assumption that the person who attacked Pietrangelo set the fire, to hide his handiwork and destroy evidence? But perhaps the arsonist didn’t know Pietrangelo was stretched out unconscious from head wounds in the building. Perhaps he or she came along to set the fire and having done so, got out of the place as fast as possible, still unaware that a man lay unconscious but alive in there.’

Carter had objections to her theory. ‘It would mean that the attacker and the arsonist missed encountering one another by minutes.’

‘Fire started in the kitchen, the experts think,’ Morton spoke up. ‘Pietrangelo was in the kitchen, out cold. The arsonist, if we’re thinking it was a different person, would have seen him.’

‘Perhaps not,’ Jess said, playing devil’s advocate. ‘There was no electricity in the house and no street lighting outside. In the kitchen it would have been as black as pitch. The arsonist wouldn’t have wanted to call attention to his presence by making much light when he arrived. He might just not have seen Pietrangelo’s body. He was intent on lighting his fire. He didn’t look around the place. The body was in shadows. Once the fire took hold, the arsonist would have hurried out of the place, for fear of being trapped.’

They all considered this in silence. ‘So you think we’re looking for two different people?’ Morton asked with the air of man already burdened with enough cares, and whose life had just been made more difficult. ‘Leaving aside who killed Pietrangelo, who would have wanted to burn the place down? If it wasn’t just mischief.’

‘Crown himself might have wanted to,’ Carter said slowly. ‘It was a listed building. From the way Crown spoke about it he clearly didn’t appreciate its finer points. He also didn’t want to discuss his reasons for leaving it standing empty for so long. Possibly he didn’t want to live in it because he couldn’t make the changes to it he might have wished. Foscott told me that years ago some old stables on the site burned down. It might have given Crown the idea to burn down Key House itself. Then he could build whatever he liked there to replace it. Perhaps he’s tired of living abroad and wants to come back here. I’m thinking that Foscott found it difficult to contact him with the news at first. Then he received an email from his client, which, as Phil pointed out, Crown could have sent from anywhere. I’d be surprised if he’s not got a smartphone. We could check flights into the country and find out just when he arrived. Or, if he wanted to be cautious, he could have paid a fire-raiser. Someone would have been willing to do it for cash. Then he could turn up here after the event with nothing to link him to it.’

‘He did seem genuinely sorry to hear someone had died in the fire,’ Jess said. ‘But if he did pay some crook to set the fire, letting him believe that it was insurance fraud, well, it will very difficult to find our arsonist. He could be miles away.’

‘I’ll ask around our usual informants,’ Morton said. ‘But if the hired firebug has discovered now that he killed a man when he set his fire, he’ll definitely have put distance between himself and the scene of the crime; and be busy fabricating a cast-iron alibi.’ He paused. ‘I’ll ask Dave Nugent to check out the passenger lists on flights from Lisbon over the last few days. It’s the sort of job he likes.’