I was deep in thought when Karen returned.
"You look very serious," she said. "Is everything okay?"
I said, "One of the witnesses is lying."
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
We were on our way to the funeral. Nathan was driving. As usual, we were arguing.
Nathan said, "You have to be joking."
I was trying to convince him of my suspicions about Adam Corby and Frances Trivett. But he was having none of it.
"I'm telling you," I said, "They're having an affair."
"And you base this fanciful claim on what? A few car trips to and from Vicarage Lane?"
I'd already told him what I'd seen on the CCTV footage. "There was a pattern. Every time Giles Trivett left for the day, Alan Corby's car came and went twice before Trivett returned."
"So?"
"So I reckon he was picking up Frances for the day and then driving her back home before Giles returned."
"You have an overactive imagination."
"Yes, well I can remember many occasions when you had good cause to appreciate my active imagination."
"What do you ...? Oh." There was embarrassment in his voice. "Irrelevant," he said.
We drove on in silence for a while.
It was a good day for the funeral. That's if there ever is a good day for funerals. A light rain was falling but at least the bitter cutting wind had died away at last.
Nathan spoke up again. "And besides, Lowe checked it out. Corby was taking his wife over to see Frances Trivett."
"An explanation given by Adam Corby and which Frances Trivett later confirmed."
"Exactly."
"Exactly. Only problem is the one person Lowe didn't bother to check with, Erin Corby, doesn't seem to be aware that her husband was giving her lifts. I asked her. She claims not to have seen Frances for some time. Which means Adam Corby and Frances Trivett are lying."
Nathan still wasn't convinced. "It doesn't make sense. It would be such an obvious lie to disprove. Maybe you got it wrong. Or Erin did."
"No way. And Adam Corby would have said the first thing that came into his head and hoped for the best. People don't always think things through when they're put on the spot. Right now, they're probably worried about being exposed."
We turned into Vicarage Lane and parked up opposite the gateway into the courtyard.
As we climbed out of the car, I said, "It would be easy enough to check. Just interview Erin Corby and check her story against theirs. They'll soon come clean when confronted with the truth."
Nathan unfurled an umbrella and held it over us as we made our way across the courtyard towards the church at the back of the vicarage. He said, "Is that a good idea? If they are having an affair - and I'm not saying they are - whatever lies they're telling are to cover up their own indiscretions. Nothing to do with our investigation. So is it worth stirring things up?"
"We can't ignore it. It has an impact on the investigation."
"How so?"
"Jonas Wainwright wasn't certain who my father argued with before he was killed. He thought maybe it was Black but he wasn't absolutely sure. Okay?"
"So far. Go on."
"It was only when Frances confirmed his belief that we all presumed it must have been Black after all. But suppose she's lying and she wasn't even there. Without her corroboration, it was just a possibility of it being Black. But now we're taking it as a given."
"Are you suggesting it was someone else?"
We had almost reached the entrance to the church where Giles Trivett, dressed in white vestments, stood with a small group of mourners. Karen was with them and before I could reply to Nathan in any detail, she broke away and came over to join us.
"We'll talk later," I said.
We reached the rest of the group and condolences were exchanged. Once the coffin arrived, carried over from the vicarage by four pall bearers, Trivett led it into the church and we all followed on behind.
Karen clung to my arm as we made our way to the front of the nave and took our places in the first pew. Quite a crowd flocked into the church. Was I being cynical or were they here to take vicarious pleasure in a local drama?
Some of the faces I recognised. Adam Corby and Frances Trivett sat together. No surprise there. I'd already heard that Erin was looking after Laura while her father attended the funeral. He hadn't thought she would be up to it. Jonas Wainwright seated himself next to them.
And, of course, the Press were in full attendance; Jeff Stokes from the local rag, and Brian Driscoll and the sleazeball John Chesterton from the Nationals. They sat in a group at the back of the church like a bad stain on a clean floor. Lowe was here too and I recognised some of the officers I'd recently faced at the police conference.
I sat through the tribute and prayers in a half-trance, not taking it in and when Trivett read out a prayer for forgiveness, I had to wonder who was being forgiven and why.
I was relieved when the service was over and I could get back into the open air, out from under the oppressive weight of those ancient stones.
At the graveside, a few tears were shed as the coffin was lowered into the grave. That surprised me. I was my father's closest relative and yet I felt nothing, just a numbness. I tried to conjure up some memory of our times together, something to take comfort from, a reminder of happier times. But nothing came.
Karen squeezed my hand. Nathan stood on my other side, holding his umbrella over the three of us. My spirits lifted. I was grateful to have them near.
Once the burial was over, I made a point of circulating to thank people for attending and was on my way back over to Nathan and Karen when a hand clasped my arm. It was Jonas Wainwright, looking decidedly embarrassed.
"I hope you don't mind me asking," he said. "I know this might not be the best of times ..."
"Hey, life goes on," I said, trying not to sound too flippant.
"The thing is, I was in the middle of carrying out some work for your father before, you know ..." he waved his hand around, "before all this."
"Before he died, yes."
Wainwright's embarrassment increased. "Yes. I was expecting to return to finish off and left my toolbox over there."
"And, of course, you want it back."
"I'd be happy to go over there and get it myself. And I could finish off the repairs I started. No charge of course."
"That's kind of you but I'm sure there's no need." I was touched by his generosity. He must have valued my father's help and guidance a great deal. "And besides," I continued, "the vicarage is off limits at the moment. The police haven't finished there yet."
Wainwright looked disappointed, so I took his number and offered to get the toolbox back to him as soon as possible. He accepted the offer but still didn't look too happy about it.
I left him and hurried after Nathan and Karen. Together, we walked over to the cars and arranged to meet at the Fairview.
Back in the car, Nathan said, "I've been thinking over what you said. About Frances Trivett."
"And what did you come up with?"
It occurs to me that if she had chosen to lie, she wouldn't have needed to back up Wainwright's claim. She could just as easily have said she was away from home. Shopping or whatever. So, given that she did corroborate what Wainwright told us, doesn't that suggest she's telling the truth?"
"She may have already told Giles she was at home and once she'd told the lie, she would have to run with it. Otherwise, he may have become suspicious."
Nathan grunted and lapsed into silence as we turned into the Esplanade and made our way towards the Fairview. He must have been thinking it over. "Bit of a coincidence though, isn't it? We're given every reason to believe he was the last to see your father alive and then he turns up dead. Seems pretty certain to me."
I shrugged. "Maybe," I said, "but I think it's worth re-interviewing her. If she is lying, it opens up the possibility of alternative lines of enquiry to follow."
We pulled into the car park behind
the Fairview and drew up opposite the rear entrance.
Nathan said, "We're re-interviewing everyone anyway."
We crossed the car park towards the door and I said, "I'd like to sit in on her interview if that's okay."
"Sure. I'll let you know once it's been arranged. But I'm not convinced it will make any difference."
I left it at that.
Karen had prepared a buffet in the bar for some of the mourners and had closed it to the public. John Chesterton and a number of other reporters tried to blag their way in but were turned away. Disgruntled, they left the Fairview, presumably seeking out an alternative watering hole.
People stood around talking in hushed whispers. I was edgy, eager to get away.
I said to Nathan, "I wonder if anyone would notice if I sneaked off."
"Probably. And it wouldn't look too good. Bad form."
"Like that's ever bothered me," I said. But I stayed anyway.
Giles Trivett arrived about a quarter of an hour later wearing a change of clothes, a grey suit and black armband. Adam Corby and Frances Trivett had been talking together before he arrived but now they drifted apart and mingled with the other mourners.
I managed to catch Trivett's attention once he'd finished speaking with members of his congregation. "This may not be an appropriate time but I need to discuss my father's estate. I take it you're aware you've been appointed one of his executors?"
He flushed, stammered and said, "Yes, your father sought my consent some time ago."
He must have wondered why my father had chosen not to appoint his only son as his executor. But perhaps he did know. Perhaps my father had told him of his reasons and that' s why Trivett was embarrassed.
I let him know that I had collected and collated all the documents I' d found amongst my father's personal effects and that I would be happy to continue doing so and bring them over to him once I'd finished so he could pass them on to the solicitors.
He agreed to this enthusiastically. "I'm more than happy to let you continue. And I'm grateful for your help."
That settled, I changed the subject, trying to make it sound as if it was a casual enquiry. "You told me Frances didn't recognise whoever it was my father argued with. And yet she later changed her mind. Why was that?"
"We discussed it later. I thought it odd that she wouldn't recognise the voice if it was him. We both know him well and he has such a distinctive voice. She told me she was pretty certain it was Black."
"So why didn't she say so when the police interviewed her."
Trivett glanced over to where Nathan was chatting with Lowe and, lowering his voice, he said, "I know it was silly of her. But she was being over cautious. She didn't want to cause him any trouble and then find out later she was mistaken after all. I persuaded her to go back to the police and change her statement. They were very understanding."
So I was right. She changed her mind after pressure from her husband. More than ever I was sure she was lying.
Trivett kept me talking a while longer. Regaling me with stories of my father and their work together. I listened politely and nodded occasionally, eager to get away, but feeling obliged to stay and hear him out.
Eventually, I was rescued by Karen. "Sorry to butt in but I need Mikey's help with something," she told Trivett.
As she led me away, she whispered, "You looked like you needed an excuse to get away. Giles can be a bit of an old woman when he gets going."
I thanked her and signalled to Nathan that I was ready to leave. He exchanged a few words with Lowe and came over to join us. "I guess we can go now without upsetting anyone. I'll drive you back home. It's been a busy day. I'm sure you must want some time to relax."
"I've got a much better idea," I said. "Why don't you stay for dinner? You can help me unwind. And I promise not to talk about the investigation. I could use some company right now."
He hesitated for the briefest of moments and said, "Sure. Why not? We could both do with some down time."
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Nathan carried our glasses through to the living area and I finished clearing the table.
"You make a mean pasta bake," he said. "I'd forgotten how good home cooking could be."
I grinned and followed him through. "And I'd forgotten what a healthy appetite you had. It was a pleasure to watch you eat it."
Dinner had been a good idea. A pleasant respite from the stress of the past few days. And, by mutual consent, no talk of the ongoing investigation. We'd caught up on the current whereabouts and circumstances of old friends, put the state of the world to rights, and lamented on the recent downturn in the fortunes of Charwell FC, the local football team. The one subject I hadn't made any headway on was Nathan's personal life. Not that I'd pushed too hard but he hadn't been very forthcoming either.
I topped up our glasses while he rummaged through the CD rack. He seemed to know his way around the house quite well. How well I wondered.
"You seem to have settled in okay," he said, looking around the room.
By 'settled in', I presumed he was referring to the way I had strewn my clothing and personal effects around the place.
"I'm just grateful for somewhere to call home for a while." I placed his glass on the cabinet beside him. "I'm very much obliged to your friend."
"He's a very obliging sort of person."
How obliging was something else I wondered about. "How long have you known him?"
"Almost three years." He dropped a Rodrigo disc into the player and adjusted the volume. The spirited sound of the Concierto de Aranjuez filled the room.
"And do you stay here often," I asked.
He looked up sharply. A little too sharply. Obviously, my subtle probing into his personal life wasn't as subtle as I had intended. I turned my attention to the CD case on top of the cabinet, pretending to read its cover.
"Why do you ask?"
Trying to appear nonchalant, I shrugged, made my way over to the couch and settled down on the far side of it. "Just wondered. You seem so much at home." I leaned back and drank some wine.
He picked up his glass from the top of the cabinet, followed me over and dropped onto the other side of the couch. "We're not heavily involved if that's what you want to know. We're just good friends."
"So there's no one special?"
"In my line of work, you don't get a lot of time for relationships."
"You must get some time to socialise."
"I have my moments but nothing serious."
His expression was as impenetrable as ever. He wasn't going to give anything away. So I let it drop.
"What about you?" He said.
"Me?" I snorted. "You need to ask? Don't you read the papers?"
"That's not what I was asking. I mean, where do you go from here? You must have some plans."
"I have a messy - and, I suspect, very public - divorce to get through first. It's best if I sort out my past before planning for the future."
"Will you stay in London?"
Right now, I was relaxed and comfortable, and the last thing I wanted to think about was the future. I fetched the bottle of Merlot from the sideboard while I thought over his question. "I don't yet know what I'm going to do. Maybe I need to get away from London. A change of pace." I replenished my glass, sat back down and leaned over to refill his.
He placed a hand over his glass. "I'd best not. I have a long drive ahead of me."
"Oh, come on, Nathan. Chill out. You deserve a break. And you don't have to go back tonight. Why don't you stay over? We can make you up a bed in the spare room."
He looked down at his half-empty glass of wine, glanced up at the wall clock above the mantelpiece, and back down to his wine.
"I guess it wouldn't do any harm," he said eventually. "I can always drive back in the morning. If you're sure you wouldn't mind?"
"Mind? Why would I mind?" He moved his hand and I refilled his glass. "I'm enjoying this. Good music, good wine, good company, and no talk of work. W
hat more could I ask for?" I placed the bottle down by the hearth and raised my glass to him.
He raised his in turn and smiled. "In that case, I'm happy to stay."
"Good," I said, pushing myself up off the couch and crossing over to the kitchen unit. "In that case, I'll open another bottle."
"Hey, don't go overboard," he called out.
"Relax. You're not on duty now." I opened another bottle of Merlot, shook a large pack of crisps into a bowl, carried them back to the couch, and placed them on the floor between us.
I dropped back onto the couch and we lapsed into a comfortable silence, the only sound that of Rodrigo's plaintive adagio. I leaned back, eyes closed, enjoying the music while Nathan drank his wine.
Nathan chuckled. I opened one eye. He was smiling.
"What is it?" I said.
"It's good to see you relaxed. You've been on edge these past few days."
"No kidding. I wonder why." I smiled back.
I don't know what made me do it, maybe it was the wine and the mood and the music, but on an impulse, without stopping to think, I leaned towards him and, with a hand against his shoulder, pressed my lips to his.
Nathan tensed. Then pulled back and stared at me, confusion written large on his face.
I moved away and raised a hand between us as if to ward off whatever negative reaction I had provoked.
"I'm sorry," I said. "That was so dumb. I don't know what made me do that. It was the wine I guess. I wasn't thinking." I babbled excuses, embarrassed, trying to explain the inexplicable. "I didn't mean anything by it, I promise you. It was nothing."
Even as I said it, I recognised it for the lie it was. Nothing? That was a joke. Far from being nothing, it had been one of those profound moments when, in a sudden flash of clarity, everything I'd been in denial about became clear. All that angst and soul searching about where I was going and what I wanted. I knew exactly what I wanted. I wanted him. The man I loved.
And with that same dawning realisation came the understanding that those feelings, repressed for so long, had resurfaced too late. I wanted to tell him how I felt. But I couldn't. The look on his face told me all I needed to know about how pointless that would be. And so I looked for excuses instead.
The Slow Road to Hell Page 13
