Death on the River: A gripping and unputdownable English murder mystery (A Tara Thorpe Mystery Book 2)

by Clare Chase

  ‘And I had a very quick question about Philippa Cairncross, too,’ she said instead, waiting for curiosity to bite.

  ‘Okay then.’

  ‘You mentioned bumping into her when you went to Ralph’s offices the night he died. I just wondered, do you think Philippa had been visiting his workspace too?’

  ‘I don’t remember saying…’ There was a momentary pause, and then the mist cleared from Tess Curtis’s voice. ‘Oh sorry, yes, I see. No, I didn’t come face to face with her in person. Our cars were nose to nose. She was manoeuvring her mother’s Volvo in the driveway when I turned my car in. She went straight off, so I didn’t get to speak to her.’

  Tara was in Blake’s office when Wilkins finally reappeared. He made his presence known by knocking on the door.

  ‘Just in time,’ Blake said, one eyebrow raised and a look of warning in his eyes. ‘Max has managed to track down Philippa Cairncross, and you and Tara need to go and see her. But before you do, you need to have a word with her boyfriend. Max says he’s at the Chemistry department as we speak, and he can see you as soon as you get there.’

  Wilkins frowned. ‘Boyfriend?’

  ‘You may remember she told us she was with him until late the night her father was killed, and that she went to visit him on her bike. Well, we now have a witness who says she actually left the family home by car that evening.’ Blake looked at Tara. ‘Perhaps you could fill Patrick in en route, Tara. And well done.’

  Tara knew she deserved the praise, and she was glad to have it, but she wasn’t looking forward to having to share a car with Wilkins in its immediate aftermath. Blake had clearly lost patience with her boss’s bullying behaviour and given up trying not to rock the boat.

  Thirty-One

  Philippa Cairncross’s boyfriend, Lance Ravenscroft, was six foot three, blond and broad. Tara guessed he was normally self-assured with it. But now he had that air of someone whose equilibrium had been disturbed.

  Tara knew Max Dimity had told him, over the phone, that they wanted to talk to him about the night his girlfriend’s father had died. If he’d provided her with a false alibi, he ought to be stewing nicely by now. In spite of Wilkins’ bad temper, they’d managed to talk enough on the way over to agree their plan of attack. Looking at the man in front of them, shifting from one foot to the other in the small office they’d been shown to, Tara was sure it would work.

  ‘Please make yourself comfortable, Mr Ravenscroft,’ Tara said, knowing it would take more than a seat to put him at his ease.

  Once he was settled, she and Wilkins sat down too. They were all gathered round a small square table.

  ‘There’s no easy way to put this,’ Wilkins said. ‘The fact is, we know Philippa lied to us about the night her father died.’

  They’d agreed to put it in its strongest terms and let him assume they knew more than they did. As it was, Philippa could claim to have simply misremembered her mode of transport that night. They wanted Lance Ravenscroft to give them more, so they had the upper hand when they went to interview her.

  Lance Ravenscroft looked agitated now. Being found out for lying to the police probably wouldn’t help with his career plan. He must have led a sheltered life if this was the first rock he’d hit in the road.

  ‘We wanted to give you the chance to qualify the statement you made, back in September,’ Tara said. ‘I mean, if you need to rethink anything you told us, we can accommodate that. People do make mistakes sometimes, when they’re recounting what happened just after a shocking incident.’

  Ravenscroft nodded. There was a glimmer of hope in his eyes now. ‘It’s true,’ he said. ‘It’s easy to get confused when everyone’s upset. Once the dust had settled I did wonder if Philippa had got her times muddled up. But by that stage I’d already given my statement, based on hers. I mean, I’d used her recollections to jog my own memory.’

  Pathetic, really. Still, he was clearly going to give them what they needed.

  ‘So tell us again exactly what happened that night,’ Wilkins said.

  ‘I think maybe Philippa actually arrived at mine a little later than I originally said.’

  ‘And how much later would that be?’ Tara asked.

  ‘Maybe around ten, or ten thirty.’

  She and Wilkins looked at each other. Ravenscroft was trying to limit the damage, but already he was admitting she might have arrived a full two and a half hours after he’d originally claimed.

  ‘And do you know how she reached you?’ Tara said.

  Lance Ravenscroft frowned. ‘I didn’t see her turn up, but I went out to see her off when she left.’

  ‘At what time?’

  His voice was firm now. ‘At around quarter to one.’

  That time hadn’t changed then. Funny how he’d only been ‘forgetful’ about when she’d arrived.

  ‘And how did she leave?’

  ‘She had her bike with her. I waited whilst she unlocked it and then we said goodnight.’

  Back in the car, Wilkins turned to shove his safety belt fastening home. He fluffed the manoeuvre and cursed.

  Catching Philippa out in a lie looked pretty suspicious. He was going to come across as an idiot if he finally had to climb down and admit there was something in Tara’s theory after all.

  He kept his eyes ahead. ‘I suppose you’re going to say she went out by car, drove to the Fens, fetched the snake from the crate and did her dirty work,’ he said. ‘Then,’ he stuck his key into the ignition, ‘she drove home, dumped her mum’s car and nipped out on her bike for a shag to celebrate.’

  He was so poetic sometimes.

  ‘Maybe.’

  Wilkins sounded incredulous. ‘Oh come on! I thought you’d be leaping on this.’

  But if it had been as Wilkins suggested, where had Philippa Cairncross parked her car? She couldn’t have risked pulling up on the drive of the house on the bank. It was overlooked, and the curtains might not have been drawn. But there wasn’t much cover out on the main road, either. ‘I guess we’d better go and ask some questions,’ Tara said. ‘Get her side of the story.’ No doubt Lance Ravenscroft would have called ahead, to warn her of what was coming. Max had confirmed she was back home on Madingley Road now.

  ‘I can hardly wait,’ Wilkins said. ‘It will be one more chance to watch you adding two and two and making five.’ He was smiling again now, knowing exactly how to push her buttons.

  Just you wait, Wilkins. We’ll see who looks stupid at the end of this.

  Thirty-Two

  The main streets were clear now, but re-entering the Cairncross house on Madingley Road was like stepping back into an enchanted garden where it was permanently snow-muffled winter. The only tyre impressions on the drive were the ones they’d left earlier, but they could see footprints that must belong to Philippa Cairncross – one lot heading out, and a matching set returning to the house. Presumably they hadn’t had any post that day. Tara wondered how much Sadie Cairncross went out. And how often she spoke to anyone but her daughter.

  It was Philippa who came to the dark-windowed door, but just behind her in the gloomy hall Tara could see her mother, her face pale in the shadows.

  ‘Come in then,’ Philippa said, stepping back to allow them through. Her eyes weren’t wary, just unfriendly, as they’d been the last time Tara had viewed them. That, and resolute. But she was sure her boyfriend would have been in touch; she’d know what was coming.

  ‘You don’t need to be with me for this,’ Philippa said, glancing over her shoulder at her mother. ‘They’ve already grilled you. You might as well go and wait in the sitting room.’ Philippa turned and walked down the hallway, opening a door to the left, revealing a dresser and part of a butler sink.

  But Sadie Cairncross seemed to have come out of the dream-like state she’d been in earlier. ‘I’d rather be with you,’ she said. ‘I am your mother.’ Maybe she’d sensed the tension and it had made her more alert.

  ‘I can look after myself.’ There was no doubt Ph
ilippa wanted to keep this conversation private. But once again Tara noticed her words were clipped and her tone impatient, rather than anxious.

  Philippa led them into the kitchen. ‘I’ve only just got back, so I’m going to have coffee,’ she said. ‘I’m freezing.’ She walked over to a kettle, picked it up and took it to the sink. ‘I suppose you’d like some too.’

  ‘No thanks,’ Wilkins said.

  Tara could hear the haughtiness in his voice. ‘But I would.’ She wanted the water to take as long as possible to boil. It would give more time for Philippa to get nervous, if she was going to. And in any case, it would allow Tara a moment to size up the room, which was always useful.

  Today, it was a photograph on the dresser that interested her.

  ‘I’d like coffee too.’ Sadie had followed them in.

  Tara saw Philippa’s shoulders tense. She’d still got her hand on the kettle’s handle, having just put it back on its stand. She picked it up again and took it back to the sink to add more water.

  Tara walked around the room casually and made for the dresser once Philippa had turned her back. The photograph was of Cairncross and the complete set of his Acolytes, by the look of it. The girl on the far left of the line-up must be Letty. She looked very young in the picture. Of course, she had been much younger than the rest, but the impression was accentuated because she was the only one who was relaxed and laughing. Tara remembered Tess Curtis referring to her as an ‘innocent’ who Ralph Cairncross would certainly have tried to bed. Thom King had called her a ‘treasure’ and Stephen Ross had said she’d been ‘very bright and beautiful too, like the subject of a Pre-Raphaelite painting’. Letty was leaning in towards the group as though she was genuinely fond of them. She looked every inch like someone’s kid sister, tagging along with the cool older siblings. Her eyes were clear and blue and her hair was that sort of red that looks sunlit, even when it’s cloudy. Stephen Ross was next to her, an arm slung round her shoulders, facing the camera. His look was fierce. All the others along the line, and Cairncross himself, looked as though they’d adopted expressions especially for the pose too. Thom King had gone for an embarrassing rock-star style snarl. She was glad she’d only seen the photo after she’d interviewed him. She’d have a job to take him seriously now. But Christian Beatty was even worse: it looked as though he’d been shaking his fist. Lucas Everett and Verity Hipkiss had opted for variations on a shared theme: a sort of insolent stare. Behind the whole group, Cairncross stood, his arms outstretched. He reminded Tara of a puppet master, pulling unseen strings. Tara wondered who’d taken the shot. The long-suffering Tess Curtis, perhaps? Or someone from the press?

  She was distracted from her thoughts by the sound of Philippa slapping mugs down behind her. When she turned she saw some of the coffee had spilled onto the heavy-duty oak table.

  They all pulled out chairs and sat down.

  ‘So, Mum said you wanted to warn us all that we might be in danger,’ Philippa said. ‘You seriously think someone’s going around trying to orchestrate a series of deaths?’

  ‘It’s an outside possibility,’ Wilkins said. ‘Or it’s seemed so up until now. But it’s something we can’t ignore.’

  Philippa’s eyes flashed. ‘And I presume because so far the deaths have included my darling father and two of the Acolytes, I might look like a possible suspect, as well as a potential victim.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ Wilkins said.

  ‘Well, I made no secret of the fact that I despised Ralph and his idiotic band of followers last time we spoke.’

  ‘Philippa!’ There was pain in Sadie Cairncross’s voice.

  ‘You know it’s true, Mum. I can’t help it if you weren’t able to break the spell Ralph had you under. But it was a spell.’ She looked down into her drink and shook her head. ‘I did tell you not to come in here and listen to all this. I don’t want to hurt you. I’ve never wanted that.’ She looked up and her cold, grey eyes met her mother’s. ‘If you’re staying because you think your presence will hold me back, you can think again. It’s too late for all that now.’

  She directed her gaze at Tara and Wilkins once more. ‘So, you think someone’s encouraging the Acolytes to take risks, hoping their deaths will be written off as accidental? And maybe that they also encouraged my father to drink more than usual, to heighten the chances of him crashing?’

  ‘Not just that,’ Tara said.

  ‘I saw the magazine article about the snake,’ Philippa replied.

  Her and everyone else.

  There was a hint of wariness in her eyes now. Had she been out in the Fens that night? Was that where she’d taken her mother’s car? Whatever she told them they’d check the traffic cameras to look at her possible direction of travel.

  ‘And, of course, there was the incident with the lamp, just a week before your father’s crash, too,’ Tara added. ‘Maybe someone with access to the garage tampered with the wiring to engineer what seemed like a mishap.’

  And now there was a new look in Philippa’s eye. Fear. It took a while to develop, as though her mind was working on something she hadn’t considered before.

  ‘A trap,’ she said. ‘But if someone did that, they might have left more. Mum or I might stumble across something that was meant for Ralph.’

  Could she really fake such a convincing reaction? It was time to get to the meat of what they needed to ask. She glanced at Wilkins. It was his job – officially – though he didn’t seem to relish it.

  ‘We know you lied about your movements, the night your father died,’ he said at last. ‘Lance Ravenscroft has confirmed that your story about turning up at his place at eight is way off. He puts your arrival at more like ten or ten thirty that night. He thinks you must have got muddled because you were upset, but we don’t agree.’

  Philippa was absolutely quiet. Her mother stared at the table, and Tara could see a slight shake in her left hand. Had she known her daughter had lied?

  Tara leant forward. ‘Philippa, we have a witness who saw you leave this house at eight that night, in your mother’s car.’ Her full attention was on the young woman’s face. The fear was there again now; fear for herself this time, she was sure. And to her left she heard Sadie Cairncross take a sharp intake of breath.

  ‘You went out into the Fens, didn’t you, Philippa?’ Tara said.

  Philippa looked at her mother, and suddenly her shoulders slumped. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, I did.’ Her eyes flicked back to them again immediately. ‘But if you think I engineered Ralph’s death, you’re wrong. I was angry with him and I couldn’t see why he wanted to spend so much time with that gang of sycophants. I had this sort of compulsion to go and spy on them, to see the sort of stupid things they got up to. To prove myself right for despising them all, I suppose.’

  There was a long pause. ‘You’ve got to see it from our point of view, Philippa,’ Wilkins said. ‘You lied to us about where you were the night your dad died. You put a photograph of the site of his accident up as your Facebook cover photo. You tell us how much you hated him. What are we supposed to think?’

  Sadie had started to cry, very quietly. She was still looking down at the table.

  ‘You need to tell us exactly what happened that night,’ Tara said. ‘And the real reason you went over to the house on the Forty Foot Bank.’ Had she been aiming to kill her father? Tara could imagine her wanting to do it – actually carrying it out even, if she’d had the means and been angry enough on the spur of the moment. But then her mind went back to the fear in the girl’s eyes at the thought of any booby traps that might still be lying around the house. If she’d been responsible she wouldn’t have cause to worry. ‘Did you drive straight to the house on the bank, after you left Madingley Road?’

  Philippa ran her fingers through her spiky hair. ‘No. I saw that bitch Tess Curtis as I left, of course – I imagine she’s your witness. I guessed she’d be busy finding some excuse to go and gatecrash Ralph’s party too – for very different
reasons.’

  ‘So you waited, to give her a head start?’

  Philippa nodded. ‘I parked up and watched for her to go past. I didn’t want her on my tail. After that I went straight out into the Fens.’

  ‘And what did you do when you got there?’ Wilkins asked.

  ‘I couldn’t use the house’s driveway, of course. I didn’t want to be seen.’ She was staring into space, as though she was back in the moment she was describing. ‘But there’s a derelict old cottage a little way beyond it. I parked there behind an old barn. It meant there was no way Tess would see Mum’s car as she left again.’

  ‘And then what did you do?’ Tara asked.

  ‘I walked up the verge to the house on the bank. The sun was already down, but it wasn’t completely dark. The curtains were still drawn back, so I could see inside the various rooms. I had to be careful where I stood, so I wouldn’t be spotted, but there are hedges, and an outhouse – various bits of cover. So I watched. No one saw me and eventually I went home.’

  Tara noticed her eyes flick over towards her mother at that point. Her mind was back on the here and now, clearly. Her look suggested she was holding something back.

  ‘Did you see anyone come outside, whilst you were watching?’ she asked.

  She nodded. ‘Tess Curtis was already on the forecourt when I arrived. She stood by her car for a bit, wiping squashed bugs off her windscreen. I reckon it was an excuse to hang around. She wanted to be part of the action – or to see what went on. But eventually she gave up and headed off.’

  Tara wondered if she’d already been collecting material for her book. Writing it without interference would certainly be easier now that Ralph was out of the way. She might have put the snake in his car before Philippa Cairncross showed up. Though she – or whoever had planted it – would have to have been careful they weren’t seen from the house.