by Clare Chase
‘And I’ll warn them too,’ Tara said.
The DS laughed. ‘Whatever. One thing’s for certain, Philippa Cairncross can look after herself.’
Twenty-Nine
Tara drove to Madingley Road, where she found Philippa Cairncross was out.
‘She’s broken up for the holidays,’ Sadie said, showing her through to the same living room they’d sat in previously. ‘But she’s got her own life, of course. She’s in town shopping with some friends.’
‘You’ll both have heard about Christian Beatty’s death, I expect?’
Sadie’s eyes looked frightened and she nodded. Tara sensed she was close to tears. ‘I wish all this would stop.’
‘You’ve had so much to cope with.’ Tara leant forward and kept her voice gentle. ‘How do you mean “all this”, Sadie?’
‘It’s as though everyone who knew Ralph is cursed,’ Sadie said, but there was something disjointed about it. It wasn’t as though she was responding directly to Tara’s question; her voice sounded dreamy. Tara remembered her mentioning the sleeping tablets she was in the habit of taking. But surely it couldn’t be that. It was late morning now.
In terms of alibis, she was no help at all. Once Tara had reminded her of the date that Lucas Everett had drowned, she said she couldn’t remember where she’d been. After a long pause, she claimed that Philippa had probably been at home with her, given that it had been just before her university term had started. And after a little more thought she said she was sure that she had been, but Tara wasn’t. Philippa didn’t strike her as the stay-at-home sort.
On Saturday, when Christian Beatty had fallen, she was more definite, again saying she and Philippa had been together. But by that stage, Tara had the impression that she’d latched on to the idea as a convenient answer. There was something strangely childlike about her responses.
When it came to warning her about the possible danger her husband’s contacts might be in, Tara made even less headway. Sadie Cairncross was nodding in the right places, but her eyes were dull. It was time to give in, and she got up to leave.
The Sadie Cairncross she’d seen that day was quite different to the version she’d first encountered. What had happened? Was something frightening her? And, if so, was she relying on tranquillisers or similar to keep her panic in check?
Back at the station she texted Kemp.
How are things? Hope you’re keeping out of mischief.
Then she sat down to add records of the meetings with Sadie Cairncross and Tess Curtis to the system. Wilkins wouldn’t be back for a while, so at least she could rely on a spell of peace and quiet. But before she’d really got going, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Blake – and he was making for her desk.
‘How did it go with Sadie Cairncross? Any more interesting revelations?’
She shook her head. Despite his question, the thought of Not Now’s article was still at the forefront of her mind, now that they were face to face again. She pushed it away. ‘I’m afraid not. She seemed far more distracted this time around. And worried. I’m not sure if it’s because of the build-up of pressure, following Christian Beatty’s death, or if she actually knows something.’ She registered the shadows under his dark eyes. He didn’t look as though he was getting much sleep. Was it just the case, or something more than that? ‘I’ll be glad when we get the results back on the crate from the house on the bank.’
He nodded. ‘You and me both. Unfortunately, it’s not being treated as high priority, given there’s no confirmed crime to tie it to. All the same, I’ve had a word in a few ears. With luck we might have something by tomorrow morning.’
Max Dimity was still working away at his desk too, a little behind Tara’s.
‘Anything fresh, Max?’ Blake asked him.
‘The alibis provided by the Acolytes check out so far,’ he said. ‘And Tess Curtis’s sister confirms they were together back in October, when Lucas Everett died. But you couldn’t call any of their stories unbreakable. I’ve also got a response from Beatty’s old college now: they say he never got caught night climbing when he was a student. Oh, and I’ve got the file Tess Curtis had deleted off her laptop – the draft contract for her and Christian Beatty’s collaboration on Ralph Cairncross’s biography.’
‘Well done. Though she could have prepared it as a prop, I suppose.’ Blake turned to Tara. ‘But the question remains, why risk visiting Beatty’s flat on Saturday evening if she was planning to meet him later in absolute secrecy?’
He drew up a chair and placed it between her desk and Max’s. ‘I want to go through the planning process our conspirator would have to have followed. If someone has been influencing developments with a view to targeting a series of people, they’ve clearly plotted their actions carefully. We all agree they take chances – but they’re chances over whether or not a potential victim will end up dead, not over the sort of details that might give them away. In that respect they’ve covered their tracks well. I get the impression most of what we’ve found, we’ve only discovered because the perpetrator designed it that way.’
‘You mean like the Adnams vodka bottle?’ Tara said.
He nodded.
‘What about the crate?’ Max asked.
‘I think that might be the one exception,’ Blake replied. ‘Someone who’d taken the risk of bringing the snake to the house in the first place might reason it was safest to leave the crate where it was, behind the outhouse. If they’d tried to remove it again they’d have risked coming face to face with someone for a second time, and having to explain what they were up to. And the danger would be greater at that stage, once the drowning had already occurred. Besides, they probably assumed no one would ever suspect Cairncross’s death was anything but an accident. Abandoning the crate in a garden full of junk wouldn’t have seemed especially reckless.’
‘I suppose it wouldn’t have been quite so risky to remove the crate if the perpetrator was in and out of the house on a regular basis,’ Tara said. ‘They’d be in a good position then to know when they were least likely to be disturbed. But an outsider, like Sadie Cairncross or Tess Curtis, would find it harder to predict the comings and goings.’
‘Makes sense,’ said Max. After a moment he added: ‘I still can’t get my head around the note Lucas Everett left before he drowned. On the one hand, it feels like too much of a coincidence for all these deaths to be unrelated, but on the other, how the heck would a perpetrator get a victim to write such a convenient farewell letter?’
Blake nodded. ‘We’ve got a lot more questions than answers. But I feel the pattern is too noticeable to ignore now. And I’m worried that this is a race against time. What if the people who’ve died so far are just a subset of the group the killer’s targeting?’ He ran his fingers through his already rumpled hair, then sat up straight. His jacket was creased and his tie lopsided. ‘Let’s take a step back. Okay, so accepting that we have one or more perpetrators: they have a couple of failed attempts at Thom and Ralph, then they manage to engineer Ralph Cairncross’s death without raising any suspicions at the time. Or so they think. They’re unaware that Ralph’s sister is already making waves. So they decide to make their next move – somehow, maybe because of the influence they wield, they engineer Lucas Everett’s drowning. Okay, so they’re successful again, but we presume that, once again, they took a chance. Even if we’re talking about someone Lucas looked up to, he might well have told them he’d rather go home and read a book than swim in the North Sea by night.’
‘Or he might have swum strongly, and come back alive,’ Tara said.
‘Agreed.’ Blake closed his eyes for a moment. ‘The person we’re talking about certainly couldn’t bank on keeping their identity a secret.’
‘But they had nothing to lose,’ Max said. ‘Because if Lucas survived, the perpetrator could have shaken his hand and congratulated him on his act of bravery. It would have put the guilty party off trying anything similar with the same aim though – either
with Lucas or any of the others. Once word got around that they were involved in dangerous adventures, it wouldn’t be hard to guess who’d set things up if the next instance proved fatal.’
Tara nodded. ‘If Lucas had survived, presumably the perpetrator would have had to think of another way of achieving their aims – or have given up. But in the event, Lucas never came home, and the secrets of that final evening died with him.’
‘So our killer was free to take what we guess was a similar approach with Christian Beatty,’ Blake finished. ‘And the situation was the same there, in that they couldn’t be sure that Beatty would die.’
Max nodded. ‘What would the conversation at the pub have been like if the guy had made the jump successfully and climbed back down again? Surely by that stage people might suspect a ringleader, encouraging people to put their lives at risk.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ Tara said. ‘In that scenario, only one person would have died as a result of too much bravado. That might not be enough for anyone to spot a pattern. If Beatty had been successful I’m betting the others would have seen his adventure in a totally different light: probably not even have thought of it as especially life threatening. Suddenly it would have just been an act of derring-do. And I’m guessing Beatty would have revelled in it, and certainly not let our perpetrator take the credit for having made the suggestion.’
‘And that brings us back to how our plotter managed to make the proposition sound appealing in the first place,’ Blake said.
Tara tried to imagine what might have convinced a man like Christian Beatty: successful, admired, confident. ‘Maybe our perpetrator suggested the climbing adventure to honour both Ralph and Lucas’s memories,’ she said. ‘If they’d managed to make Beatty feel as though his reputation and status depended on him taking up the challenge, that could have worked.’
Max shook his head. ‘Sure as hell wouldn’t have worked on me.’
‘Nor me,’ said Blake.
‘But in days of yore you got people fighting duels at the drop of a hat, simply to defend their honour. Maybe Beatty had a big ego and enough confidence and vodka to make him think glory was only a leap away.’
They all looked at each other. Tara wasn’t sure if they bought her idea, but several people had managed to leap the gap that Beatty had misjudged. Booze was what had done for him; that and the icy conditions.
‘But I assume we all agree that if Christian Beatty had survived, our conspirator would have had to change tack.’ Blake looked at them in turn. Tara nodded and watched Max agree too.
‘As it is, they succeeded again,’ Tara said. ‘But now they’ll have to change method anyway, given we’re systemically warning each of Ralph Cairncross’s connections.’ The fictional ends of the characters in the man’s books came back to her. ‘I wonder if they’ll keep trying to echo the deaths in Cairncross’s novels?’ she said.
‘Death by fire, and death in an airtight room?’ Blake met her eye. ‘And they might try electrocution or a hit-and-run again, too.’
She nodded. Not a good thought.
Thirty
Blake had just returned to his office when Kemp’s reply to Tara’s text came through.
Mischief? Me? I’m behaving well and using my time productively. Full update as soon as I can manage. Bea sends love.
That sounded like Kemp being economical with the truth. She’d have to pummel him for information soon, but there was no time now.
She returned to recording the findings from the interviews with Tess Curtis and Sadie Cairncross. She glanced up at Wilkins’ desk – still not back. He’d probably stopped off for a nice lunch somewhere after joining Agneta Larsson for Beatty’s post-mortem. Though how he could stomach it under the circumstances, she didn’t know. She was making do with a cereal bar and wishing it was chocolate. She hadn’t had to see anyone cut open yet. She knew she’d cope with it, as she must when the time came, but it wasn’t something she was looking forward to.
She began to reread everything she’d noted down from the visit to Ralph Cairncross’s PA. She came to a standstill when she got to Tess Curtis’s comments about the injury to Sadie Cairncross’s mouth, and the supposed car accident.
It did seem odd that none of the websites she’d visited had mentioned the reason behind her retirement from her musical career. She googled again, but because the flautist had dropped out of sight years back now, the type of online articles she needed were few and far between. After a while, she found something about ‘forgotten stars’ which mentioned her. The article just said she’d retired. Her Wikipedia page mentioned an accident, but anyone could have edited that.
She thought back. It had been Philippa Cairncross who’d specifically told her that her mother had been forced to give up her career after a car crash. Tess Curtis had heard the same story. She put herself back in Philippa’s college room and relived the conversation they’d had. She remembered probing about what had led to Sadie’s early retirement. And then Wilkins had tried to interrupt her, knowing she was just being nosy. And for once he’d been right – she had been. Philippa could have knocked her back – she had no reason to pander to Tara’s curiosity. And yet she’d been forthcoming. Even before Wilkins had got his protest out, Sadie Cairncross’s daughter had trotted out her story of a car accident. It hadn’t seemed odd at the time, but now Tara wondered. Had she put the subject to bed quickly, using the standard agreed excuse, rather than drawing attention to it by clamming up?
After another moment of googling, Tara found the name of the orchestra Sadie Cairncross had last worked for. With half an eye on the door, waiting for Wilkins to re-enter and tell her off for wasting time, she dialled.
She ended up speaking to three different people: a receptionist who’d only been at the organisation for a year, followed by an administrator who’d been there for five, and finally the PA to the artistic director, who’d been there forever.
‘You’re researching a book?’ the woman said.
‘That’s right.’ Well, she might be, if she got the sack and had to go back to journalism. ‘It’s about musicians who’ve been forced to retire in their prime. I thought Sadie Cairncross might be a good candidate. She was clearly very talented, and yet she stopped performing when she was only thirty-five. But I couldn’t see anything official to say whether she’d been forced to give up through ill health, or if she’d decided to retire for other reasons.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t help you,’ the woman said. ‘What I can say is that it was very much unexpected from our point of view. She was on a contract that still had eighteen months to run. Then suddenly she was gone, and as far as I’m aware she cut herself off completely. I remember we had press wanting to interview her because she’d been such a rising star, but I was told to fob them off. The management were on her side, even though she’d let us down, so whatever it was, they must have felt sympathetic towards her. You’ll have to go to the family direct if you want more.’
‘Someone mentioned she might have been involved in a car accident?’
The woman on the other end of the line sniffed. ‘If that’s the case, I’m sure everyone would have known about it. And why would they keep that from the press?’
Why indeed? Tara thanked the woman and rang off.
Just as she did so, another text came in on her personal phone. She glanced at the screen. Not Kemp this time, but her mother.
Darling – Reading Not Now between sets and saw your photograph with that extraordinary article. I take it Giles hasn’t forgiven you then. I did wonder if you were storing up trouble for yourself when you left the magazine…
The message set Tara’s teeth on edge. She imagined Lydia, sitting in her chair in the Madeira sunshine whilst make-up artists ran round after her, congratulating herself on her prescience… Thanks, Mother. I was actually aware of Giles’s character myself, given that I had to work with him for three years… In truth though, she’d never have expected something like the article that had appeared on
their website that morning. Not because Giles wasn’t vindictive – he certainly was – just because she’d thought he’d be too lazy. But of course, he had his vampire Shona, ready to send out into the night to do all his hard work for him.
Tara didn’t bother to reply to her mother’s text. Instead, she slipped her phone into her bag and turned her attention back to the case. A moment later, she was piecing together the comings and goings at the Cairncross family home, the night of the accident in the Fens. Tess Curtis said she’d bumped into Philippa when she’d visited Ralph’s office to pick up the papers she wanted to take to him for signing. That would be worth cross-checking once they caught up with Cairncross junior.
Tara refocused. And of course, Tess Curtis had said that Ralph’s workspace had a separate entrance – you didn’t get to it through the main house. And yet she’d still managed to come face to face with Philippa. Did that mean Cairncross’s daughter had been outside, near the entrance to her father’s office? And if so, why? Had she been after something? Something that she’d only gone to look for when he was out of the way?
Tara flexed her shoulders. Her neck was getting stiff and she was going round in circles – every person connected with the deaths seemed to be behaving oddly. All the same, she could give Tess Curtis a call. She might as well dig a bit deeper.
She got the woman on her mobile. ‘I’m at work now,’ she said. ‘Can’t this wait?’
‘I wanted to let you know a colleague has managed to recover the draft contract you deleted. We didn’t even have to get the tech experts onto it.’
Her tone softened. ‘Oh, well – that’s something. Thank you for updating me.’
Tara didn’t mention Blake’s thought – that she could still have invented the agreement with Christian Beatty and created the draft contract to back up her story.
