Murder at the Old Abbey

by Pippa McCathie

  Fifteen minutes later Rodric was pacing about the room. “Christ Almighty. I cannot believe this. Are you sure? After all, this, this – what’s her name again?”

  “Anjali Kishtoo.”

  “This Anjali woman could be an impostor. I bet she is. You say she’s got proof, birth certificates and photos and stuff, but they can be forged. How do we know they aren’t?” He threw himself back into the chair opposite John’s desk.

  “Your father was positive she is his granddaughter. She brought photos of her grandmother, Prabha, as a young girl, at the age she was when they first met, and a letter your grandfather wrote to Prabha. As I told you, Dewi Jenkyns kept in contact with her for years; long after your father lost contact. There were photographs of them together that Jenkyns’ daughter, Branwyn, found, and other letters as well.”

  “But all of that could have been fabricated,” Rodric insisted stubbornly.

  “There’s also this,” John said, and passed a small black and white photo across the desk to Rodric, who snatched it from his hand. It was a photo of a soldier, unmistakably Caradoc as a young man, looking down at the woman beside him. They were standing on a beach, tall casuarina trees to one side, black rocks to the other. She was looking up into his face, one hand on his arm, the other holding her sari to her shoulder, her dark hair falling in a long plait to her waist.

  Rodric threw it back on to the desk. “Okay, but that could have been any woman that he met when he was in Mauritius.”

  At least, thought John, he seemed to have accepted that Caradoc had been to the island. “Yes, but on the back, in your father’s distinctive handwriting, it says ‘With my beautiful Prabha, July 21st, 1965’. Turn it over and you’ll see.” He watched as Rodric grabbed the photo and did as he suggested. “Your father gave it to me when he came to see me, on his way back from his meeting with Anjali in London last week, and that was when he finalised the changes to his will. He said it was the only photo he’d kept of her.”

  “Why? He was married to my mother, for God’s sake!” It was a cry from the heart.

  “Not at the time, and don’t we all keep photos of people from our past?” John said gently. “I certainly have a couple of photos of ex-girlfriends. As far as I know my wife didn’t mind, and I’m sure I’m not unique.” Rodric said nothing and John went on in that same measured tone. “He was absolutely convinced of their relationship, Rodric, and I have few doubts about it myself.”

  “That’s as may be, but if she’s going to inherit the valuables, his stamp collection, the paintings, the jewellery – my mother’s jewellery–”

  “No. I thought the will made it clear that he’s left anything that was specifically your mother’s to Megan or to you. The entail is unbroken, the land, the properties, all those are left to you. And he’s left those annuities to Rhiannon Giordano, Garan Price and the money to Garan’s mother, Bella.”

  “Not exactly generous ones.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” John said, a little impatiently.

  But Rodric hardly heard him. “And what about the horses? How the hell am I going to explain that to Delma?”

  John felt for him. He knew how difficult that would be. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that’s what he decided. You know your father was never keen on expanding the stables to the extent that Delma has done. I think he was always rather afraid of horses.”

  “He hated them,” Rodric said bitterly.

  “I think there’s a strong possibility Anjali won’t want to keep them, so you could come to some kind of arrangement.” John got up from his desk and took a chair nearer to Rodric. He leant towards him, his elbows on his knees. “Look, Rodric, I realise how difficult this is for you. I did try to reason with him at the time, but he’d made up his mind and, as his solicitor, I had to follow his instructions.”

  “Can we contest the will?” Rodric said suddenly, his eyes full of hope.

  “I wouldn’t advise it. It would cost a lot of money, and you’ve no guarantee of success. Why don’t you wait until you’ve met Anjali? You may feel differently then.”

  “What do you mean, met her?”

  “She came down to Newport at your father’s invitation. He was planning to introduce her to the family, but by the time she arrived, he had collapsed. It’s a very awkward situation for her.”

  “Awkward for her!” Now he was shouting.

  The door opened a crack and Stephen peered in, eyebrows raised in enquiry, but John waved him away. He didn’t think Rodric even noticed.

  “She’s staying with Fabia Havard. You know her, don’t you? At least, your sister does.”

  “Of course I know Fabia. But how the hell has this Anjali woman come to be staying with her?”

  “It’s a long story. But Fabia has an exhibition in the gallery opposite, you know, the old chapel? I asked Anjali to wait there in case you agreed to meet her. Now, you really don’t have to, not right now, but I think it might be a good idea. I think, once you’ve actually met her, you might find it easier to understand what your father has done.”

  Rodric frowned at him, chewing at his lower lip as he did so. John waited. Then Rodric sat back in his chair. “All right. Go on, fetch her, but I’m making no promises.”

  Chapter 11

  “How long do you think we’ll have to wait?” Anjali asked Fabia as they walked from the multi-storey car park to the gallery.

  “I don’t really know. I suppose it depends on how long it takes John to persuade Rodric to meet you.” She didn’t add that it also depended on whether Rodric agreed to do so at all.

  “I feel quite sick at the prospect of this meeting.”

  “That’s hardly surprising.”

  “But,” Anjali added, “it’s what my grandfather wanted, for us all to meet, so in a way it feels as though I’m fulfilling his wishes. Does that sound stupid?”

  “Not at all,” Fabia assured her. She could quite understand Anjali’s worries. She felt nervous enough about it all herself.

  And so they waited, distracted occasionally by a visitor, or by someone collecting a painting they’d bought, but both of them were preoccupied. Anjali paced about, Fabia watched her in sympathy, and when, at last, John’s secretary appeared at the door, Fabia gave a sigh of relief. She called out to Anjali who was at the other end of the long room.

  “Rodric has agreed to meet you,” she told her.

  Anjali put her hands up to cover her mouth, her eyes enormous above her fingers. “Oh dear. Fabia, you’ll come with me?”

  “If you want me to.”

  “Oh yes, I do.” Anjali took a deep breath, straightened her back. “Allon zi, as they’d say at home.”

  Fabia quickly arranged for Paul Hewitt to keep an eye on the exhibition and then the two women followed Stephen across the road. He ushered them into reception and asked them to wait.

  It wasn’t long before John came out to greet them. He gave Anjali a reassuring smile then led them into his office. Rodric was standing over by the window. He turned as they came in. Except for a slight twitch to the corner of his mouth, his face was closed, giving nothing away.

  “This is Anjali Kishtoo,” John said. Fabia noticed he made no reference to her relationship to Caradoc. “And I believe you know Fabia Havard? As I told you, she’s been kind enough to take Anjali in for a few days. Anjali, this is Rodric Mansell, Caradoc’s eldest son.”

  “I am pleased to meet you,” Anjali said, and Fabia noticed that her accent sounded stronger, probably due to her nervousness. She held out her hand and, after a moment’s hesitation, Rodric shook it, gave an awkward little nod, but said nothing.

  “Why don’t we all sit down?” John suggested, filling the awkward silence. They settled in the chairs that he pulled forward and Fabia gave Anjali a reassuring smile. Rodric sat stiffly upright with his arms crossed.

  Anjali plunged on. “I was very sad to hear about your father. I had only met him recently; in fact, I didn’t even know of his existence until a few months ag
o. I wish I could have got to know him better.”

  “I’m sure you would,” Rodric said, his voice tinged with sarcasm.

  Anjali didn’t react to his tone. “I suppose,” she added hesitantly, “that you are my uncle.”

  “If your relationship to my father is proved, then you could say so.”

  Anjali’s chin came up and Fabia admired her apparent calm. She guessed that it was taking quite an effort to maintain.

  “I can understand your doubts,” Anjali said. “It’s occurred to me that we could have a DNA test, if you would like further evidence.”

  At this, Rodric had the grace to look a little embarrassed, but he didn’t respond, and John intervened.

  “That would be a good idea, just to confirm what you already believe, Anjali. But I have shown Rodric the birth certificates and photos. Did you find them convincing, Rodric?”

  Before he could reply, Anjali put her hand in the pocket of her coat and brought out the small velvet pouch, tipped the contents into her palm and held it out to Rodric. “And I have this ring your father gave to my grandmother. She wore it all her life.”

  Rodric’s eyes widened. He took the ring from her and looked at it. “That’s our family crest,” he said.

  “I know,” said Anjali, “he told me.”

  That’s put him on the spot, Fabia thought, then immediately wondered why she was so much on Anjali’s side in this situation; after all, she’d known the Mansells a lot longer. But she was a good judge of character, Matt and Cath had always said so, and she had faith in her instincts, which were telling her that Anjali was genuine. There was a clear-eyed honesty about her which was hard to doubt. But still, Fabia told herself, she must try to keep an open mind, particularly as she had her suspicions John was rather smitten and might not be able to be quite as objective as he should be.

  * * *

  “I’ve just heard from Pat Curtis,” Matt told Dilys a couple of hours after his first conversation with the pathologist.

  “That was quick,” Dilys said, surprised.

  Matt grinned. “Maybe she’s not as much of a pain as I thought. Anyway, she’s identified the drug that killed Mansell. Her final report should be coming through any minute.” He glanced at his computer screen. “Ah, here it is.”

  Dilys came to read over Matt’s shoulder. For a few minutes there was silence in the room.

  “Well, it seems he died of heart failure induced by being injected with this animal tranquiliser.” He pointed at a word on the screen. “God knows how you pronounce it.”

  “Give me a minute,” Dilys said, and went to fetch her laptop. She clicked away for a few moments then turned it towards Matt, pointing at the screen. “This stuff is only licensed for use by vets, and the law states they must have the antidote with them whenever they’re using it in case of accidents, which means whoever acquired it did so illegally, or is a vet. None of the family is, so far as I know.”

  “But if you own large horses, you’d probably know how to get hold of it.”

  “I suppose. Do you want me to find out which veterinary practice they use?”

  “Yes, put Chloe Daniels onto it,” Matt said.

  “I’ve also got Glyn Evans and Dave Parry standing by,” Dilys said as she sat down. “How many people are involved here?”

  Matt glanced down at a scrap of paper on his desk. On it was the list he’d made after speaking to Fabia. He told Dilys what she’d told him.

  “Rhiannon Giordano, that’s a strange mixture of names,” Dilys said. “How come?”

  “Apparently she married an Italian immigrant who’d settled in Swansea. Seems it didn’t last long.”

  “And you say that Garan Price is an illegitimate son, together with this newly found granddaughter who’s from another relationship he had in Mauritius in the 1960s. He certainly put it about a bit,” Dilys said, slightly disapproving.

  “Seems so,” Matt said. “She’s actually staying with Fabia Havard at the moment.”

  “The granddaughter? How on earth?” Dilys asked, eyebrows raised.

  Matt explained about Anjali’s visit and the changes to Caradoc’s will.

  “Do you think she might be implicated?” Dilys asked.

  “Fabia says not, but we’ll have to check her out, obviously.”

  “Is there anyone else?”

  “There’s the neighbour, Ted Marsden, he and old Mansell were at loggerheads apparently. Why does his name ring a bell?”

  As usual Dilys knew, she had a memory that was second to none. “He contacted us a couple of months ago, said the Mansells were encroaching on his land and he wanted it stopped, something to do with grazing horses.”

  “Ah yes. Pretty forceful bloke, as I remember.”

  “You could say that.”

  “But a hitter or a shooter rather than a poisoner, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Probably,” said Dilys, “but you never know. Maybe he thought it would be poetic justice, given the horses.”

  “So, how are we going to go about this, Dilys?” Matt leant back in his chair and looked at his sergeant. “Like I said, we’ll need a comprehensive search of the Abbey and the stables.”

  “That’ll take some personnel. It’s no mean size, that place.”

  “Can’t be helped. Someone accessed this drug and we need to know who that was. We’ll have to do a trawl through their computers and laptops, phones, tablets, whatever.”

  “The chief isn’t going to like it.” Dilys gave a rueful smile. “You know how he feels about influential local families. Look at his reaction when you nailed his MP friend in Pontygwyn. What’s more, we’re short staffed and under-funded, that’s a given, so he’ll use that as a reason for us not to go mob-handed.”

  “Chief Superintendent Rees-Jones can like it or lump it,” Matt said, his voice hardening. “Granted, he’s a dreadful snob, so us trawling around in the Mansell’s dirty linen won’t go down well, but murder is murder. Anyway, he’s still smarting over the cock-up he made of clearing Fabia’s name, so I think I can persuade him.”

  Dilys made no comment, but there was a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. She and Matt were as one when it came to their boss.

  Matt pushed himself up from his chair. “Right, let’s go and brief everyone.”

  * * *

  Rodric could remember little of the drive home that afternoon. His mind was in turmoil. Was there anything else that would come out about his father’s past? They’d never been close, but he’d respected the old man and thought he knew him. Even when his mother had died, he’d never thought to blame him. Barely six years old at the time, he’d been too young to understand exactly what was going on. It was only as he grew older that he realised she’d probably committed suicide, although that had never been put into words. He just remembered her as a quiet presence, often ill, often taking to her bed, particularly after Megan was born. Nonna had always been there to look after them; she’d told them Mama wasn’t well and they must be quiet and not disturb her.

  Later, as a teenager, he’d been fourteen at the time, he remembered a boy from the village telling him Garan, whose mother ran the village shop, was his brother. He’d said, “My Mam says your Da is a randy old bugger”. When he got home, with a spectacular black eye from the fight that ensued, his father had demanded to know what happened. He’d burst into tears and sobbed out accusations. He remembered it now as one of the few times his father had sat him down and talked quietly, explained that Garan’s mother, Bella, was dear to him, but that their relationship hadn’t lasted, although they were still good friends. That it had been her decision to keep the baby, and he’d promised her he’d always support Garan. In the end Rodric had felt quite glad to have a brother close by.

  But now he was wondering how many other half-sisters or brothers were out there waiting to be discovered? He felt anger rising and slammed his hand down on the steering wheel. A second later, he realised he was about to drive straight past the Castellgwyn exit. He swerved
across, prompting furious hooting from a van that nearly ploughed into his ancient Land Rover. Heart thumping, he told himself it’d be best to concentrate on the driving for the rest of the way home, but his mind still picked away at the revelations.

  He was relieved there was no-one around when he got back and headed straight for his father’s study. Quiet was what he needed, time to think and consider what to do next. But what could he do? He had found the evidence compelling, particularly the ring and the photo, and he was very much afraid she was who she said she was. Sitting down at the desk, he turned on the computer. He’d do some research on Mauritius and the background to his father’s presence in the island. Maybe he’d find some flaws in her story.

  He’d been back about half an hour when the door opened, and Megan came bursting in.

  “Rodi! I saw your car and I’ve been searching all over for you. Why didn’t you tell me you were back? What happened? What did John say?”

  “Why don’t we wait till everyone’s here, then I can–”

  “No! It’s not fair to keep me in the dark,” she insisted, her voice trembling.

  He’d hoped to be able to talk to the family together. He’d had some vague idea there’d be safety in numbers, but he could see from the expression on his sister’s face that she wouldn’t be fobbed off.

  “Sit down, Meggie,” he said, resigned.

  Megan sat down heavily in a chair opposite the desk, but Rodric couldn’t keep still. He got up and began pacing back and forth. Hesitantly at first, he began to tell her about the morning’s revelations. She gasped as he told her of Anjali’s existence, but said nothing else until he had finished.

  “I’ve agreed to the DNA test,” he said, “but I haven’t got much doubt that she is Father’s granddaughter, what with the signet ring and all.”

  “But I thought Father was in Singapore when he was in the army. Mauritius? That’s not anywhere near Singapore, is it?”