‘I agree with Inspector Hammond. Can I ask you first if you always cycle to work at that particular time?’
Cassie shook her head. ‘No. I like to cycle if I can but I’m definitely a fair-weather cyclist. And on Saturday I slept later than I meant to – I’d usually aim to be at the Foundation by nine o’clock and it was almost quarter past when it happened.’
‘So it would be hard to arrange for someone to be in exactly the right place at the right time. Was there anyone who might have known your plans?’
‘Not really. Well, Gil, I suppose, Gil Paton who runs the Hub for us. He knew I was planning to come in quite early, but he wouldn’t have known I would take the bike. Anyway, I really can’t see Gil doing that.’
‘I’ll have a chat with him after this. Let me stress that I still think this was an unfortunate accident, but I want to be able to tell your mother and Ms Morelli that we’ve checked it all out thoroughly.’
Cassie nodded, then said, ‘And Felix’s death?’
Strang sighed. ‘I’m sorry for your loss and sorry too that this should have happened in a place that until recently wouldn’t have had a real drug problem, but there’s been an orchestrated attempt by the dealers to expand into the countryside and it looks as if he fell victim to that. We’re working on it right now, but unless you have evidence that someone forced it on your brother, there’s not much we can do.’
Tears stood in Cassie’s eyes but she blinked them away. ‘He was still … struggling,’ she admitted. ‘Kate Graham – she’s the liaison officer – has been very tactful, but I could tell she thought that too. It’s just – if you did want to kill Felix, it would be a really good way to do it. I don’t know why anyone would want to kill Felix, though – or me, for that matter. But “accidentally” knocking me off my bike would be a good way to do it too, wouldn’t it?’
He was taken aback. They had all assumed that the imperious Ms Morelli was overreacting and had used her demand as a cover to get him access to the inner workings of Halliburgh police station, but when Cassie put it like that … He said slowly, ‘Can you think of any reason − any reason at all − why it should be deliberate?’
‘Oh, I’ve thought and thought, but I can’t come up with anything. I only know that my mother and Marta are really strung up about it and there’s something they’re not telling me, but they just deny it and make up silly reasons for why they’re fussing. It could be something to do with The Brand.’
‘The Brand?’
‘The Anna Harper Brand. It’s what we were always told when they said we couldn’t do something – it would reflect badly on The Brand.’
‘I see. Anyway, you’re not cycling now, are you?’
‘My mother’s driver, Davy Armstrong, is behaving like a nanny, taking me to and fro, usually with a lecture thrown in. And I can hardly move in my cottage without setting off alarms. It’s quite ridiculous,’ she said petulantly.
Strang smiled. ‘Too much security is never a bad thing.’ He got up. ‘And try not to worry. It’s still very much more likely than not that your accident was just that.’
But was it? he was thinking as he went downstairs. The big question was why – why would anyone want to kill Anna Harper’s children? And if there was something she knew, why wouldn’t she tell her daughter, even if she wasn’t keen to tell the police?
As he reached the hall, a man came forward and accosted him – a thickset man with dark hair and a pasty, rather flat face, framed by a dark beard.
‘DCI Strang, I’m Ms Trentham’s deputy, Gil Paton. If there’s some problem here, I really ought to know about it.’
He seemed very uptight. Strang said mildly, ‘We have everything in hand and I’m sure Ms Trentham will be able to tell you anything you want to know.’
The reply had clearly riled him. ‘Oh yes, I’m not to be told anything, is that right? Despite the fact that if something goes wrong it will all land on my shoulders and it won’t be Cassie who gets the blame. What are you here for?’
There was a young woman behind the reception desk who was taking an obvious interest and Strang said, ‘Why don’t we find somewhere to sit down? I’ve a couple of questions to ask you, anyway.’
Paton took fright. ‘Questions? Why should you have questions for me? What sort of questions?’
Strang indicated the reception area at the further end of the hall. ‘Let’s go over there.’ He walked ahead and sat down on one of the cream leather seats. Paton followed him, then noticed the receptionist watching him.
‘What are you staring at, Polly? Why don’t you go through to the Hub and gossip for a bit, like you usually do?’
Polly gave him a killer look, then flounced off down the corridor. As Paton sat down beside him Strang noticed that the man was shaking – temper, or nerves?
‘I’m doing routine enquiries about the morning when Ms Trentham had her cycling accident – last Saturday. Can you tell me your movements?’
‘My movements?’ He was immediately defensive. ‘When Cassie was knocked off her bike? Are you accusing me of having something to do with that?’
‘I’m not accusing anyone of anything, Mr Paton.’
‘Oh no? You’re not picking on me? But did you challenge Richard Sansom? I don’t think so!’
‘You’re quite wrong. I did indeed. Now, Saturday morning?’
Paton gulped visibly. ‘I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. Got up, had my breakfast, walked up here and arrived to see Cassie lying right here on the sofa. That was it. All right?’
‘Any witnesses?’
‘When I live alone? If I’d arranged to have one, that really would be suspicious. And there’s nothing more I can say.’ He folded his arms, as if he was erecting a barricade.
‘You know where Ms Trentham lives, and you knew she was planning to come in on Saturday morning?’
‘I suppose she told you that. Yes, I did! Is it a crime?’ he said wildly. He had gone very pale. ‘So somehow, I’m the person who wanted to knock her off her bike and kill her? What proof do you have? I demand that you tell me.’
‘Mr Paton, this is merely a routine interview. You’re not being accused of anything. It would be helpful if you kept calm. Can I ask if you told anyone about Ms Trentham’s plans?’
For a moment he looked confused. ‘Told anyone …?’ Then his face brightened. ‘Yes, yes I did, in fact. I told Sascha Silverton – she’s one of the writers here for the week. You should go and ask her about her movements too.’
Strang glanced at his watch and got up. ‘We will, yes, but I’m afraid I haven’t time now.’
Paton’s face darkened again. ‘They always say that the police make up their minds and then distort the facts to suit. Well, I won’t stay quiet while you lot fit me up.’
‘I’m sure you won’t, sir.’
As Strang left on his way up to Highfield he was beginning to think that what he had thought of as the cover story might, after all, be the bigger problem.
DC Murray would have claimed that she wasn’t oversensitive, but the atmosphere when she got back to Halliburgh police station was chilly, to say the least. Word of her treachery had obviously got about and when she went in to report to DS Wilson, it was downright arctic.
‘Oh, back then, are you?’
Well, two could play at that game. ‘Yes, I’ve interviewed the homeowner and I’ll file the report,’ she said just as coldly. ‘Now I have an interview to do for DS Strang and I want to take PC Graham with me. I take it that’s all right?’
Wilson’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why her?’
Murray smiled. ‘Because she’s polite. It goes a long way.’
She was prepared for a row – would rather enjoy it – but to her surprise he hesitated, then backed off.
‘Fine,’ he said, then, awkwardly, ‘We’re all on the same side, after all.’
Oh, how wrong you are, sweetheart, she thought. Yet as she went to find Graham she found herself wondering what he’d meant with that
remark – could it be a clumsy attempt to get back on the right side of the fence? If you were happy enough to do the dirty in one way, you might not find it too hard to do it in another, if the stakes were high enough.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The reply when DCI Strang buzzed for entrance to Highfield was distinctly hostile and seemed only marginally less so when he identified himself. It was all of a piece with the aggressive architecture of the house, but the gates swung open anyway and when he drove in and parked at the front door it was open already.
The dark-haired woman who stood on the threshold could only be Marta Morelli. She was wearing black – mourning, perhaps? – and she invited him in politely enough but her body language, with shoulders tense and arms clasped across her body, sent out an antagonistic message even as she said, ‘I will take you to the sitting room and explain to you what has been happening.’
She headed off without waiting to see if he was following her, so she was climbing the stairs when he said, ‘Thank you, but there’s no need for that, Ms Morelli. I’ve been given a very full report already. I’m here to speak to Ms Harper.’
Marta turned, giving him a look that would have curdled milk. ‘Ms Harper is seeing no one today. She has been very much shaken by what has happened.’
‘Of course. I can appreciate that, but I’m afraid I must insist.’
She drew a sharp breath, as if no one had ever dared to say anything like that to her before. ‘But this is an outrageous intrusion—’
‘Merely routine practice, I assure you,’ Strang said soothingly. ‘I’m sure Ms Harper will understand. Where is she?’
Marta said nothing, only glaring at him defiantly.
He hadn’t planned on getting aggressive himself, but she was playing games and he didn’t have time to join in. He hardened his voice. ‘Ms Morelli, perhaps you aren’t aware that obstructing the police in the course of their duties is a criminal offence. You can take me to Ms Harper or I can arrest you.’
She was a hard woman. For a moment she tried to stare him down, then with her mouth pursed she came down and took him along a passage under the stairs and tapped on the door.
Anna Harper was sitting in front of the computer on her desk, though it didn’t seem to Strang as if she had been doing anything – listening, perhaps, to the discussion in the hall. She wasn’t in black; she was wearing a thick white cowl-necked sweater that looked like cashmere with pale grey trousers.
‘Anna, this is a very rude policeman who will be arresting me if I do not permit that he interrogate you,’ Marta said. Her Italian accent seemed much more pronounced than it had been before.
Anna stood up. She was very pale and with the blue circles of tiredness round her eyes she did indeed look as if she was, as her dragon lady had said, very much shaken. He went over and introduced himself.
‘I apologise, Ms Harper. I don’t want to cause either of you any distress but if we are to find out what may be behind all this, I must be able to pursue my investigation.’
She gave him a weary smile. ‘Yes of course, Chief Inspector. Marta always tries to protect me but naturally I’m ready to cooperate in any way I can. Do come over here and sit down.’
There was a cheerful blaze in the fireplace, and they sat down in the chairs at that end. Marta made to join them and Strang’s heart sank; he’d have to send her away and that would no doubt provoke more hostility.
‘I’m sorry, Ms Morelli. I really need to speak to Ms Harper on her own.’
Marta flared up. ‘Surely you police cannot stop someone from having a friend to support them—’
‘Marta,’ Anna said, ‘I’m perfectly happy to do as the inspector asks. We have nothing to hide, after all.’
A look passed between them and Strang thought he could read the message it was meant to convey: that they did indeed have something to hide but she could hold the line.
‘If you are happy, cara, then that is all right,’ Marta said stiffly and walked out, her back rigid.
Anna pulled a little face as the door closed. ‘I’m sorry about that. The thing is, if I am to have time for my work, Marta has to screen out the demands that are made and at the moment when we have had such a traumatic time she is probably more than usually protective.
‘What did you want to ask me, then? I’m afraid I know nothing about the break-in. I slept through it. You’d have to talk to Marta to get the details.’
‘I have those. Someone will come round later to give her the statement to sign. This isn’t a formal on-the-record interview. I know what Ms Morelli thinks about what has happened and I just want to hear your version.’
‘We agree, of course,’ she said sharply.
‘Ms Morelli feels we should have taken the culprit into custody but I’m sure you know as well as I do that this is unfeasible.’
She sighed. ‘Yes, of course I do. But you have to understand that as an Italian Marta is more familiar with the inquisitorial system where the presiding judge will lock up the suspect until evidence emerges.’
He let a small silence emerge, then said, ‘Evidence – of what, Ms Harper?’
On the face of it, a simple enough question. But Anna gave a little gasp and looked nervously about her before she said awkwardly, ‘Evidence, well, evidence of what he’s done, this man. My son is dead, my daughter was attacked, my house was broken into. I think it’s your job to find it.’
Strang said, very gently, ‘The problem is, I can understand why he broke into the house – he had a grudge against you and perhaps he thought he might find information that would discredit you. But I would need you to tell me why you believe that he would have wanted to kill your children. If he had a murderous resentment towards you, why wouldn’t he have seized the opportunity to attack you once he was inside your house?’
‘How should I know?’ she protested. ‘Perhaps he thought he could pile pressure on me that way—’
‘Has he communicated with you, then?’
A logical enough question, he thought. But her reaction was astonishing: she shrank back in her chair, her face flared red and she stammered as she said, ‘No, no, of course he didn’t! We’d have told you at once, naturally. That man, Jackson – he was very angry, perhaps saw an opportunity with my poor Felix and took it by way of revenge.’
‘And your daughter’s accident?’
She was gripping her hands tightly together as if she was trying to hold on to something – the thread of the story she was so clumsily constructing, perhaps. With her skills she should be better at it than this and almost as if she had overheard his thought she visibly pulled herself together and said, with an unconvincing laugh, ‘Oh dear! I’m sounding like some sort of crazy conspiracy theorist! I know that the view of the police was that Felix’s death was tragic but not suspicious and that Cassie’s accident was just that, so perhaps you are right and Marta and I are just a pair of hysterical women.’
‘It’s been a very difficult spell for you. It’s hardly surprising that you should be feeling confused.’ He paused for a moment, then surprised her by standing up. ‘I think I’ll leave it there for the moment. This is my number – you can contact me at any time. And I can see you are well protected by security here, but if you do have doubts about your safety and your daughter’s, please think very seriously about what more you can tell me. Secrets are dangerous things.’
Anna didn’t move as he thanked her and left the room, but he was aware of her eyes following him. He didn’t see Marta again as he left.
It was embarrassingly obvious that Anna was hiding something. Something in her past so damaging that she seemed prepared to risk Cassie’s life and even her own by obstructing the investigation? And someone had indeed communicated with her, judging by her reaction.
Blackmail, then? He could rule out Jackson, who wouldn’t have needed to make his ill-judged raid if he’d had the information already. Who, then – and why?
Perhaps he should have challenged her, pushed her to see if s
he would crack. It was always possible she might have, but in his experience victims did not readily open up about their own past sins – and putting undue pressure on a recently bereaved mother wasn’t smart, whoever she was. Anyway, if he thought he might get any sort of useful admission he’d want to be on an official footing first.
Anna had a global reputation to protect, of course, but surely she wouldn’t behave like this for the sake of a bit of bad publicity? He had to ask himself what secret could be so terrible that it must be concealed, whatever the cost.
Upstairs in the security room Marta was watching the interview. She couldn’t hear what was said but she saw with dismay that this policeman had asked Anna something that had left her flustered and nervous. He had noticed that, of course he had, but Anna had pulled herself together in the way she always did when she took a blow: squared her shoulders, tossed her head and managed to stay calm.
When the man had left, though, she saw Anna sag forward, putting her hand to her brow and she jumped up to hurry downstairs. She put a hand on her shoulder.
‘What did he ask, Anna?’
She sat up with a little shudder. ‘We should have been prepared for this. He asked me about communication – he’ll be thinking about blackmail now. Dear God, if only it was! I would pay whatever they wanted, to make this go away.’
Marta sat down heavily in her usual chair. Comforting Anna, finding the answers for her was her role in life, but just at the moment she couldn’t think of anything to say. Whoever it was who was their enemy was looking not for money but revenge.
DC Murray was amused at the way Danny Burns looked coming into the headteacher’s office – the picture of injured innocence, but with just a touch of anxiety that suggested that while he might not be guilty of any recent offence, his conscience wasn’t entirely clear. She’d looked like that many a time herself.
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