by Clare Chase
Blake remembered Tara’s description of Philippa. She might not have seen eye to eye with her father but she looked just like him, apparently.
‘Can you take us back to the night Ralph’s car came off the road?’ Tara said. ‘Who arrived at the party first?’
Ross frowned. ‘I think it must have been Verity. I remember she was bustling about when I got here. She’d bought a whole lot of booze and snacks. After that came Christian, then Lucas and then Ralph himself. Thom was last, if I recall rightly.’
‘And you all drove, I suppose, given this place is so remote?’
He nodded. ‘There’s plenty of space to park, as you’ll have seen. Out at the front and round the side too. The rest of us always stay over at the house if we’re partying, but Ralph never did.’
‘Are there places to sleep comfortably here?’ Blake asked.
Ross smiled. ‘A couple of doubles. We’d usually argue the toss over who would claim them. If Ralph had stayed he would have automatically got one – it was his house.’
‘But he liked to get home?’
‘I think he liked to stay a little aloof. It wasn’t a brotherhood, don’t forget. We were the Acolytes.’
That figured. From what Blake knew of Cairncross, he guessed he’d want to maintain a certain distance – amongst them but not of them. The more he heard, the more antagonism he felt towards the dead man.
‘I think it was you who tried to persuade Ralph not to drive home the night he died?’ Tara said.
Ross nodded, his face grim. ‘He could hold his drink, but he’d had more than usual that night. Or he seemed drunker, anyway. I had to try to make him see sense. But it was no good; he was determined to leave. He got cross with me in the end, so the last exchange I had with him was an angry one.’ Ross looked irritable himself, rather than sad. Then suddenly his expression cleared. ‘I’ve just thought,’ he said, ‘the very last person to show up at the house that night was actually Tess Curtis.’
‘Tess? What, Ralph Cairncross’s PA, you mean?’ Tara said, sitting forward in her seat.
‘Yes – I’d completely forgotten. Of course, she wasn’t there for the party; she just came in, dropped off some papers or something and left again. I remember Ralph rolling his eyes, and we all joked about how dedicated she was. It was ironic that she teased us about our loyalty, really.’
‘You must have seen her quite regularly, I suppose?’ Tara said.
‘Certainly,’ Ross replied. ‘Ralph had got to the point where he was pretty much reliant on her. She’d keep track of all his business arrangements, chase his agent, prompt him when he forgot appointments and deadlines. And there was a rumour their relationship had been more personal at one stage, too. I got the impression Ralph still enjoyed having her dashing round after him. Why wouldn’t he?’
‘I’m surprised no one’s mentioned her being here on the night of the accident up until now,’ Blake said.
Ross shrugged. ‘She was in and out in five minutes. And with the shock of what happened I shouldn’t think anyone gave it a second thought. She was present so often. And it didn’t have any impact on what happened later, of course.’
Probably. Darkness had descended and through the sitting room window, Blake could see snowflakes falling.
Stephen Ross looked at his watch and then at them. He got up to draw the curtains.
After the Acolyte had shown them out, Blake turned to Tara, raising his eyebrows. ‘Tess Curtis just became that bit more interesting.’
Tara nodded. ‘She did, didn’t she?’
He spoke softly. ‘Shall we take a quick look round outside? I’d like to see if there’s a place where someone could have hidden that snake.’
Tara glanced over her shoulder. The sitting room curtains were shut, and the rest of the house was in darkness. ‘Good idea.’
Round the back of the house, they found a cavernous outbuilding. Blake could see its doors were ajar. He strode over to look inside, using the torch on his phone.
Tara was close behind him. ‘Seems like a likely spot,’ she said. ‘A bit risky if anyone decided to go exploring, but it doesn’t look as though it’s in regular use. I’m guessing the junk in here’s been left to rot for a while.’
Blake nodded. Tara was standing so close to him he could feel her warmth. For just one moment his mind ran back four years – to when he’d wanted to ask her out, but had made the decision to try to rebuild his marriage instead.
‘True,’ he said, firmly turning his mind back to the job. ‘Everything here looks abandoned.’ He walked over to where there were stacks of large, empty wooden crates. Maybe they’d been used to transport quantities of vegetable crops to wholesalers at one time. ‘And if you put some kind of container behind here no one would see it from the door.’
As well as the crates, the building was home to a lot of other junk. There was a long, metal thing that looked like abandoned agricultural equipment – something for spraying crops maybe – and other rusty bits and pieces that were unidentifiable as far as Blake was concerned. Alongside the machinery there were battered old bits of furniture – including a large sofa with a torn leather cover – as well as piles of worn-out tractor tyres. There was nothing that would mean any of the Acolytes or Ralph would have regular cause to visit the place.
Back outside, they looked out over the flat landscape. The snow was coming down faster now; white moonlit flakes falling on black, frost-hardened soil.
‘And of course someone could have put a container outside, behind this building too,’ Tara said.
They went to look, and round the back of the outbuilding there was another crate. It was like the ones inside, but in better condition, and with a lid. Although it was slatted, like the others, the gaps between the wood were narrow – not more than the width of Blake’s finger. He used his gloved hands to open it.
Tara was absolutely quiet, as though she was holding her breath.
The inside of the box was pretty much bare but by the light of his torch Blake could see several yellowed strands of grass. There was something about them that reminded him of pet bedding. And given their colour, they couldn’t have been there for that long, surely? Might they date back to September, when Ralph Cairncross had died?
‘Right,’ he said. ‘I want this tested. If we find a trace of grass snake DNA, or the DNA of anything they eat, then at least we’ll have evidence to back up your theory.’
Tara was still silent but when he looked round at her she nodded at last and he saw her swallow. She’d pushed this case a long way on little more than gut instinct, and Blake had backed her up based on trust and his own hunch. He’d be just as glad as she would of some concrete evidence. The thought of them not being written off as fools was quite appealing…
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Better get back inside and let the charming Stephen Ross know what we’re up to…’
Twenty-Three
Tara was still trying to suppress a smile as she walked into the bar on Quayside where she and Wilkins were due to meet Verity Hipkiss. The woman had agreed to get there twenty minutes early – before the friend she was due to meet turned up.
What with getting the crate removed from the house on the Forty Foot Bank, then typing up the information Stephen Ross had given them at interview, so it could be printed out, ready for him to sign, it was now seven in the evening. Her smile was due to Wilkins’ reaction to the news about the crate.
Okay, so she wasn’t home and dry yet. It might not have been where the snake was kept, but it was a hell of lot more promising than anything else they’d found so far. She stuck her hand inside her coat pocket and crossed her fingers as Wilkins pushed open the swing doors to the bar. Please let there be something to prove I’m not the idiot my DS wants me to be.
As they walked inside, Tara welcomed the rush of warm air that hit them from an overhead heater. Outside, the cold was intense, and her hands and toes had started to hurt. She stamped the snow from her boots onto the doormat.
Tara watched as he stepped forward between her and the woman they both recognised from her publicity photos. Her debut novel had got her a lot of attention. Her smile mirrored his: radiant and full of shiny white teeth. Tara could imagine why Stephen Ross had cited her as someone who might hold sway with the other Acolytes – and indeed anyone else in the vicinity. She was stunning, all right. And after she’d greeted Wilkins she immediately looked over his shoulder and included Tara in the conversation. It might just be good people-skills, rather than genuine warmth, but it was effective, all the same.
‘I rang Stephen a short time ago,’ she said, her large grey eyes wide. ‘He told me you’d taken a crate from behind the outbuilding on the Forty Foot Bank.’ Her look was worried now. ‘What’s going on?’
Tara was interested that she’d called the poet again. Had she still been pestering him to meet up to talk through his feelings? Was she frustrated that he didn’t come running when she called?
‘Stephen and I were surprised,’ Verity went on. ‘I knew there was a load of junk out there, of course. And it’ll be our responsibility to deal with it, now that Ralph’s dead.’ She breathed out his name like a sigh. ‘But none of us have had the will to tackle it yet. And probate’s still going through, so the place isn’t officially ours. In fact, I was surprised when we got the letter from Ralph’s solicitors, saying we’re welcome to carry on using it in advance of the formal handover.’ She looked down for a moment. ‘But I don’t think the family wants to see it again, after what happened.’
‘They’ve not been round since Ralph’s accident, as far as you know?’ Tara said.
Verity shook her head.
Wilkins leapt in at that point, to put the woman on her guard against anyone who might wish her and her group harm. Tara listened as he did a lot of laughing and reassuring. (‘It’s really so unlikely that someone deliberately targeted Ralph, Lucas and Christian that I feel almost foolish even mentioning it to you’ – a sidelong glance at Tara – ‘but at the same time, it’s better to be safe than sorry.’) Verity kept nodding, her expression serious. And she didn’t raise any objections when Wilkins also asked where she’d been when Lucas and Christian had died. Her answers weren’t much help though. She’d been working on edits for her second book back in October when Lucas had drowned; looking at her calendar she couldn’t find any evidence that she’d seen anyone who would remember seeing her the night he took his last swim. And the previous evening, when Christian had leapt off the building, she’d been out for a meal with friends, but only until eleven or so. After that she’d gone home to her flat, where she lived alone. She and Stephen Ross were both young to have their own places; Tara was guessing they had family money. Though, of course, Verity’s first book was selling well, too.
‘Does that give you what you need to know?’ she asked, smiling hesitantly.
It was just the sort of smile Wilkins liked. He hastened to tell her that it did. More detail really wasn’t necessary, given how tenuous their reasons were for asking. But the take-home message for Tara was ‘no alibi’. Though she couldn’t imagine why Verity would want to lead her fellow Acolytes to their deaths – or Ralph for that matter. She’d looked wistful when she’d mentioned his name.
‘It would be useful to know more about the group Ralph established,’ Tara said. ‘Are you all close?’
Verity gave an elegant shrug. She was as loose-limbed as a dancer. ‘Even though we all came together by chance really – under Ralph’s direction, rather than through choice – I’d say we’ve bonded quite strongly.’
She might well feel that, if she’d got most of the group swooning at her feet. It was pretty much what Stephen Ross had implied. Tara nodded. ‘Did you see the others much, before Ralph died, apart from when he got you all together?’
Verity nodded. ‘Reasonably often. Thom would invite me out for coffee occasionally. And Christian and I went for a few drinks together.’ She caught Tara’s eye. ‘Oh, but nothing like that. Just friends. Of course, Christian was very good-looking; it went with his job.’ There was a slight colour to her cheeks, Tara noticed, which made her wonder how honest she was being. ‘And Thom… ah, well, Thom’s a sweetie. I never really see Stephen separately but Lucas and I had a few pleasant times.’ She sighed. ‘It was intermittent though. They all worked so hard. Letty was charming.’ Her words were complimentary but the smile she gave didn’t reach her eyes. ‘She was several years younger than me, of course. We didn’t have much in common. And then she got so ill, poor thing. She and Stephen had known each other longest. They and Lucas joined the Acolytes after attending the same party. Of course, everything changed after Ralph’s death. We arranged to meet up at the house on the bank, to talk and come to terms with what had happened.’
‘And what about Ralph’s family?’ Tara asked, ignoring Wilkins’ repressive look. ‘Did you ever see them?’
‘Not so much,’ Verity said, tucking her silvery-gold hair behind her ears. She wasn’t meeting Tara’s eye.
‘Stephen said he only really saw them at formal gatherings.’
She nodded. ‘It was the same for me.’
‘And how were things with them, on those occasions?’
At last Verity’s eyes met hers – and they were wary. ‘What makes you ask?’
Her tone made Tara wonder. ‘I just got the impression there might have been tensions there.’
Verity put her shoulders back and gave a slightly strained smile. ‘Nothing I really noticed,’ she said.
‘That’s reassuring,’ Wilkins replied, all bonhomie.
‘Ah.’ Verity’s expression cleared. ‘Here’s Magda now. I’m sorry, but we’d better end our chat there. I appreciate your concern though, and I’ll be careful. It was the most awful shock to hear about Christian this morning. I wasn’t going to come out this evening but Magda thought it would do me good to talk.’
Tara sensed she felt the need to justify herself.
‘I’m sure your friend’s right.’ Wilkins slithered off the stool he’d been posing on.
To be fair, Tara thought so too. ‘One last thing,’ she said. ‘Stephen mentioned Tess Curtis, Ralph’s PA, dropped in briefly, the night he died?’
Tara was quite sure she hadn’t imagined the change in Verity’s colour. Interestingly, it wasn’t instant. Tara guessed she must have been thinking back and then drawing conclusions. She went pale. ‘That’s right,’ she said slowly. ‘So she did.’ And now the colour in her cheeks rose again. ‘She always wanted to be in on whatever was happening. She was so nearly part of the gang, but not quite. And she had serious FOMO.’
‘FOMO?’ said Wilkins.
Verity suddenly smiled that charming smile of hers again, giving Tara’s boss full beam. ‘Fear of Missing Out, Sergeant.’
Twenty-Four
Kemp was sitting in the kitchen of Bea’s boarding house, his chair pulled up to her scrubbed oak table. Bea herself was opposite him, and they were both tucking into the best sausage casserole he’d ever tasted. It was rich with sage, Bordeaux wine and mushroom ketchup; he knew – he’d helped prepare it, under his host’s watchful and expert eye.
‘Never tastes like this when I make it,’ he said, picking up his glass to swig some of the wine that hadn’t gone into the cooking.
‘No reason why it shouldn’t,’ Bea said. ‘You’re a dab hand at cooking as far as I can see.’
‘After two weeks’ training.�
�� He grinned. ‘You want any help dishing up the boarders’ pudding?’
Bea had already prepared the chocolate mousses she was going to serve – they were all lined up ready in the fridge.
She shook her head, tucking a strand of her mid-brown hair behind her ear. ‘You’ve done more than enough today already.’
Kemp didn’t have another job lined up until after Christmas, so he’d been making himself useful. He’d talked Bea into letting him muck in, in return for the friends’ rates she was charging him for board – which were next to nothing. They’d spent the day refitting one of the guest bedrooms. Kemp hated constructing self-assembly furniture – it was too fiddly and irritating – so he’d decorated whilst Bea had built a chest of drawers in the en suite, ready to move through to the main room once the paint was dry.
Bea was watching him now across the table, whilst she sipped her own wine. She had a shrewd look in her eye that reminded Kemp forcibly of Tara. ‘So, you’re off out again this evening, are you?’ she said. A half smile played around her lips.
‘That’s right.’ He grinned but didn’t elaborate. Instead, he swallowed the last of his casserole and went to wash up his plate. Bea didn’t have a dishwasher. She said it ruined the glasses – and besides, the amounts of crockery she had to do never quite fitted in. Strangely, he quite liked washing-up himself. It was a mindless task that helped him think.
He was just about to leave the kitchen to fetch his coat when Bea spoke again.
‘Incidentally, will you be seeing Tara tonight, by any chance?’
He could tell she was fishing. ‘No, sorry.’
She shook her head. ‘Not to worry. I just had a message for her, that’s all. It’ll keep.’
