by Clare Chase
Kitty nodded slowly. ‘Maybe.’
‘Perhaps that means you might be too, really.’ He crouched down to give her a kiss. ‘Shall we all go on up?’
‘It really is about time.’ She turned on her heel and led the way. Her words echoed a favourite phrase of Babette’s. Spoken by Kitty, the mimicked adult sentiment made him smile, but it came with a sting in its tail.
Sixteen
The weather had changed overnight, and the sharp drop in temperature had brought a fine mist with it. It gave Bridge Street an otherworldly feel. As the imposing chapel of St John’s College became visible in the moist air, Tara tightened the belt on her coat to stop the chill damp working its way in. She wished she’d checked the weather forecast before she’d set out, and worn trousers instead of a dress and jacket.
DC Jez Fallon was striding next to her, just inches away. ‘You were right: “family above all else”. I’m impressed.’ He switched his phone screen back off and stuck the instrument into his trouser pocket.
Tara glanced sideways at him. She knew that look: appraising eyes, a cheeky, confident smile. It was appealing, but for a moment her thoughts still strayed to Blake – married with a child and a baby, Blake. Whatever had gone on between them in the past – even if it had only been in their heads – it was well and truly time to put a lid on it.
She grinned back at her new colleague. ‘All those pub quizzes haven’t been entirely wasted.’
‘Pub quizzes? I assumed for Latin you’d have to watch University Challenge.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, you know, we are talking about Cambridge hostelries.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Oh yeah, of course.’
They were on their way to Beaumont’s, an auctioneers based in the ground floor of a seventeenth-century timber-framed merchant’s house. A Mr Phelps had agreed to help after Blake had sent them to investigate the cat pictured on Julie Cooper’s phone. Tara couldn’t imagine what the meeting would tell them. She was curious, but it seemed like a side angle.
The real action was going on elsewhere. Blake and Megan had gone to find Stuart Gilmour, who’d finally turned up at St Bede’s. Meanwhile, Max was continuing to track down the myriad of student and academic contacts Julie had had.
Mr Phelps had asked them to use the back door. It involved going down a narrow, dark passageway to one side of the building, under a bit of the premises that jutted out above.
‘Wow. This place is like something out of Dickens,’ Jez said as they passed into the shadows.
Tara nodded and pulled on an old-fashioned bell to announce their presence. A moment later the door opened, and a man of around her height with salt-and-pepper hair, wearing a dark suit, stood back to let them in.
They showed their badges as they moved past him.
‘Thanks for seeing us, Mr Phelps.’ Jez got in first.
‘You’re welcome.’
The auctioneers was attached to an antiques business, with items on sale to passers-by. As they followed their host, Tara noticed several curiosities towards the front of the building – an ancient-looking teddy bear, a beautiful mirror and a walking stick with a marble handle. So many objects associated with so much history, and yet the place felt oddly static and quiet. A sales assistant sat on a high stool behind a counter to her left, so still that he looked like a waxwork.
The office Mr Phelps took them to housed a large oak table, inlaid with dark-green leather.
‘Please,’ the man said, ‘let’s look at the photograph you’ve brought.’
The tech team had blown up the image of the cat and that of the coat of arms and motto, too. Tara had stowed the printouts in a board-backed envelope. Now, she pulled it out of her bag and set each picture down on the surface in front of them. Mr Phelps’ eyebrows went up.
‘Good heavens. That’s quite an ornament.’ He switched on a strong lamp, its beam focused on the picture. ‘May I?’
‘Please.’ Tara watched as he picked up the second shot.
‘The coat of arms might help us.’ He turned to one side. There was a laptop sitting on a wooden cabinet. It looked out of place in the traditional setting, but Mr Phelps flipped open the lid, called up a website and entered some login details. ‘There are very specific terms we use to describe the different elements of the design. If you understand the description, you can create a coat of arms accurately from scratch, and equally’ – he paused a moment as he typed – ‘if you know the correct terminology to describe an unidentified coat of arms, you can find a record of the family that the design belongs to.’ He glanced at them over his shoulder for a moment. ‘The order is important. In the description, every element mentioned before a particular colour is of that colour.’
Tara peered at the screen. ‘Gules?’ Her pub-quiz knowledge didn’t stretch that far.
‘That’s red.’ The man turned back to his work.
A moment later, a result came up. She and Jez were either side of him now – looking at the screen.
‘It belongs to the Lockwoods, and that’s their motto. Family above all else.’ Mr Phelps frowned. ‘When I say the Lockwoods, it doesn’t just go with the name. It’s a specific lineage I’m talking about. The right to this coat of arms was granted to a Hubert Lockwood for services to the crown in 1940, and anyone descended in the legitimate male line has the right to use it. Still recent enough for the family to find it a novelty, I’d imagine.’ He smiled. ‘Your own research will tell you more, but I can help assess the statue itself.’
They all turned back to the photos on the table.
‘It’s certainly a striking piece.’ Tara couldn’t argue with that. It was one fierce-looking cat. ‘And by the look of it, of some considerable value. Given everything else we can observe, I would guess that the eyes might be made from emeralds. The hallmark on the statue is a little blurred, but I think it gives us what we need. The object is gold and there’s a maker’s mark. I think’ – he turned to his computer and checked a new website – ‘yes, I’m right. It was designed by Francesco Gallo.’ He whistled.
‘Does that affect its value?’ Tara asked.
Phelps nodded. ‘I’d judge it would fetch around twenty thousand pounds today. The hallmark shows us it was made soon after Hubert Lockwood was granted the right to the arms. I might be able to find out more.’
He set to work on his laptop again and logged into yet another site. ‘If it’s in one of the online catalogues… aha!’ He was beaming when he faced them again – a man who loved his work, clearly. ‘He made three of the things, apparently.’
‘Three?’ Hubert Lockwood must have been loaded if he’d commissioned them all.
Mr Phelps nodded. ‘Perhaps one for each of his children? It’s the kind of thing people do. If they’re wealthy enough, of course.’
As soon as they were back at the station, Tara googled Hubert Lockwood. ‘I want to know how Julie would have come across that type of object.’
Jez appeared at her side and crouched so that he was nearer her screen. And her. ‘Me too. It seems so unlikely. The cat looks like something from a museum or a stately home and the background in the photo doesn’t give anything away.’
Tara nodded. ‘I’m hoping the Lockwood connection will tell us. Wikipedia’s got the original owner of the coat of arms, who Mr Phelps mentioned.’ Hubert Edward Lockwood. She clicked the link to ‘personal life’, skimming the details of his parents, who he’d married and then of his offspring.
Eldest son, Alistair Lockwood, billionaire owner of Lockwood’s Agrochemicals and master of St Oswald’s College, Cambridge. Knighted for services to industry and charity work.
She felt her skin prickle.
‘He’s master of the college Julie attended?’ Jez was staring at her screen. ‘Why do you reckon she was so interested in the statue? From what we know of her so far, she doesn’t sound the sort who’d be an antiques freak. Unless…’
Tara glanced sideways at him. ‘Unless what?’
‘Well,
I suppose she might have wondered how much it was worth. It could be quite a tempting object if it was just sitting on a shelf, somewhere at St Oswald’s College.’
It was quite possible that it was at St Oswald’s – though Tara guessed it would be in Lockwood’s private residence at the college. Most masters were in post for several years and a master’s lodge usually went with the role. They tended to be grand places where the post holder would live for the duration of their tenure. She guessed Sir Alistair would probably have moved his belongings into the lodge – especially anything valuable. All the same, she didn’t like the train of thought Jez seemed to be following.
‘You mean she might have been thinking of stealing it? She doesn’t sound the sort, from what her mum and tutor have said about her.’ She thought again of how the student had packed up all her things, ready for her mother’s arrival. She came across as a considerate person, with values.
‘But it’s worth a heck of a lot of money, as we now know. And the fact that she took a photo of the base and the hallmark makes it look as though she wanted to find out more about it – not just that she admired it as a piece of art.’
He did have a point. But Tara felt it was an affront to the dead woman to suggest it. Then again, Julie had been politically active. One of the pressure groups she’d been part of was focused on the growing gap between rich and poor. What if she’d been horrified at the amount of money Hubert Lockwood had spent on flaunting his wealth and his new coat of arms? What then?
‘If she’d been planning to steal it, maybe she’d have used the money to support the causes she was fighting for.’ Jez’s words echoed her thoughts. ‘And anyway, maybe she thought it belonged to the college, rather than to the master specifically. In that case she might have seen it as a victimless crime.’
But Tara shook her head. ‘That won’t wash. The coat of arms on the statue is quite different from the one belonging to St Oswald’s, and Julie would have spotted that. The colleges put theirs all over everything. My stepfather’s still got a plate he pinched from his college buttery when he was a student, with Bosworth’s coat of arms on it. And the motto on the statue makes it sound like a family possession, anyway.’
As she spoke, Blake walked into the room and glanced from one of them to the other.
Jez took a deep breath and stood up as Tara raised her eyes. She spent a moment updating their boss on the cat and its connection with the master of St Oswald’s College, before switching topic. ‘How’s it going with Stuart Gilmour?’
Blake’s look was sour. ‘He already knew Julie Cooper was dead when we finally caught up with him. He refused to talk to us at first – unless we arrested him – but at the last minute he consented to a voluntary interview – solicitor, recording and all. His college made it clear his return to his studies might be short-lived if he didn’t cooperate. Consequently, he’s not in the best of moods – and neither am I. I’m heading to the interview room now.’
But he detoured via the coffee machine. Another rough night, Tara guessed.
Seventeen
The coffee hadn’t soothed Blake’s ire. Stuart Gilmour had spent some time with his solicitor – a woman he probably knew quite well now, thanks to his previous run-ins with the law. Had they stretched the meeting out longer than they needed to, just to wind him up?
Gilmour’s expression was confident – cocky and self-assured in fact – but his face was pale, which made Blake feel slightly better.
Megan was at Blake’s side, looking organised. As soon as the formalities were done, he got stuck in.
‘Where have you been for the last twenty-four hours? Your landlady and your college were both expecting you to shift your stuff from Atterton Road to St Bede’s, and Bella Chadwick’s been calling you almost as often as we have.’
Gilmour’s cool gaze met his. ‘None of you is my keeper.’
‘You weren’t worried about returning to your university accommodation on time? You must be on thin ice after being suspended last year.’
His features twitched sharply. ‘I was that close to telling them to shove the rest of their course.’ He held his forefinger a millimetre away from his thumb.
It figured. He didn’t look the sort to toe the line. ‘What changed your mind?’
Gilmour shrugged and there was a moment’s pause. ‘I’m a thorn in their side. They’d have loved it if I walked and I’m not here to give them an easy time.’
Blake pitied the guy’s lecturers. ‘So where were you yesterday? Why didn’t you return to your college room or your digs last night?’
Gilmour put his head on one side. ‘I didn’t feel like it.’
He heard a faint sigh from the man’s lawyer and guessed he wasn’t following her advice. It probably meant she felt there was no reason that Gilmour shouldn’t commit himself, and that he was just being obstructive for the sake of it. Blake felt his blood pressure rise. He’d get it out of him in time, but Gilmour wasting it made him want to thump something.
Blake forced himself to sit back in his chair. ‘Mr Gilmour, your ex-girlfriend was attacked and murdered. We know that she made an official complaint to St Bede’s about you harassing her after you broke up. We also know that you managed to persuade her to see you at her lodgings over the summer. And we know that quite recently you were still sending her messages that implied you weren’t over the split.’
He left it there, and Megan stayed silent too.
Gilmour opened his mouth but so did the lawyer, at precisely the same time.
‘That isn’t a question, Detective Inspector,’ she said. ‘Please ask my client something directly if you would like him to comment.’
Blake tried to ungrit his teeth. ‘Tell us about the latest texts you sent to Julie Cooper, Mr Gilmour.’ It would be interesting to see what he said. Unlike Blake, he hadn’t got the precise wording in front of him as a prompt.
For the first time, Gilmour looked uncomfortable, though he reinstated the swagger in half a second. ‘I can’t think what you’re referring to.’
Like hell you can’t. ‘The ones about John.’
The lawyer was frowning. They hadn’t covered this in their pre-interview discussion, Blake guessed.
Gilmour took a moment, acting out his response, his eyes widening as though he’d only just remembered. ‘Oh, those.’ He pulled a face. ‘I was being a prat.’
‘Oh well, that’s just fine then.’ Blake took a deep breath. ‘The message sounded threatening to me.’
He glanced at Megan, who started to read Gilmour’s words aloud.
‘“Read this! I know about John. And I’ve got evidence. Now tell me you don’t want to talk.”’
Blake let his eyes bore into Gilmour’s. ‘If someone sent me that message I’d feel coerced into seeing them. You had a hold over her. How did you hope to benefit from your secret knowledge?’
Gilmour rolled his eyes. ‘I just wanted to see her, that’s all. I thought if we talked it would give us the opportunity to clear the air. She’d either decide to give me a second chance or tell me to go to hell. But at least we’d have it out properly.’
‘Why didn’t you do that when you first split up?’ Megan asked.
‘She didn’t give me the chance.’
Blake thought back to the text messages that looked as though they’d been sent in the immediate aftermath of the split.
It’s not what you think, Stuart had written.
I bet it’s exactly what I think, Julie had replied.
‘Why didn’t she give you the chance?’ Blake said.
‘She was too angry. She thought…’ He paused a moment, his eyes on the middle distance, somewhere over Blake’s shoulder. ‘Well, it was the usual. She thought I’d started seeing someone else, behind her back.’
‘Someone?’
‘Her friend. Bella Chadwick.’
‘And you hadn’t?’
‘No.’ Gilmour’s expression was bland.
The lawyer shot him a sidelong glance.
/>
‘So you used the secret knowledge you’d acquired to force her hand. Who’s “John”?’
He smiled now. ‘Just another student. But he had a girlfriend who wouldn’t have been best pleased to see him mucking around with Julie. Plus, Julie was normally so upstanding and principled – the fling would have made her look like a right hypocrite, and she would have hated that.’
‘It was pretty mean of you to threaten to expose her.’ Megan’s expression was icy. Gilmour had got under her skin and she’d become more natural.
The student looked unmoved. ‘All’s fair in love and war.’ He folded his arms and leant forward on the table.
‘I’d like John’s full name, please,’ Blake said. ‘And his girlfriend’s.’
The student rolled his eyes. ‘Jeez. I don’t even know his surname, and as for the girlfriend, I’ve got no idea. It was only luck that I happened to see Julie necking with him in the shadows on Jesus Lane. I followed him after that and saw him meet up with the woman I took to be his regular date.’
Blake put his head on one side. ‘A moment ago you spoke as though you were aware of John’s girlfriend’s character. You said she wouldn’t be best pleased about what had been going on.’
Gilmour raised his eyes to heaven. ‘Oh, come on! Who would be?’
But Blake was sure he was lying – inventing a story at speed that didn’t quite hang together.
‘So you took a photo.’ Megan’s eyes were on the printout of his text again. ‘That was your evidence?’
Gilmour nodded. Easy enough for him to agree. ‘I’d had a few drinks, or I might not have done something so crass.’ He shrugged. He didn’t look weighed down by guilt as far as Blake could see. ‘In the end, Julie and I met up. We had it out. I apologised and deleted the photo.’
‘Where did you meet?’ Blake asked.
‘Round at her summer lodgings on Chesterton Road.’
‘Did you visit her often after that?’
The guy shook his head. ‘That was it. I managed to convince her she’d been wrong about me and Bella, but we both decided it was best to move on.’
