by S M Hardy
Maddy cleared the table and brought us a fresh pot of coffee and the third cup we requested for Brogan, not that he deserved it. Emma was a good deal kinder than I.
‘If we are to talk about murder and blackmail we can at least be civilised about it,’ Emma said when the girl hurried off to carry out her instructions.
Whatever he had to say to Laura didn’t take long. We were still drinking our coffee when he came striding in. I gestured with a jerk of the head to a chair and the policeman slumped down opposite me.
‘Coffee, Detective Inspector?’ Emma asked.
‘Thank you,’ he said, his eyes on me. He was even more dishevelled than earlier. I suspected he’d had a bad morning, but then, hadn’t we all?
‘So, Brandon Fredericks asked you meet him at his office,’ he said.
I pulled out my mobile and checked the log. ‘He phoned me at just after seven-thirty this morning.’
‘And he didn’t say what it was about?’
‘No, only that Emma and I should keep our visit to ourselves.’
‘A bit strange, don’t you think?’
I leant back in my chair and fixed him with a hard stare. ‘After all that’s happened over the past few days – no – not really. What I do find a little strange is that, despite my phoning to tell you Miss Simmons had been threatened, you didn’t return my call. It wasn’t until just now that I heard your man Peters had been here to deal with it.’
His expression was completely bemused, and I did wonder how he’d ever made it out of uniform let alone to his elevated position. ‘What? Threatened? When?’
‘Two days ago,’ I said. ‘You didn’t know?’
He shook his head as he pulled out his mobile and scrolled down his messages. ‘I haven’t had any calls from you until yesterday.’
‘Well, I did phone you,’ and I passed him my mobile.
His eyes flicked from his phone to mine and back again, his expression puzzled, then he went very still, and his face could have been carved from marble. ‘What was it you wanted to see me about?’ he asked, his voice strained. ‘You said something about an acquaintance of mine.’
I studied his face and to my way of thinking it belonged to a man who had suddenly realised he’d been played. ‘I think you’d better come upstairs. I have some papers I want you to see.’
He got to his feet with an air of weary resignation. I took him into Edward’s bedroom and left him there with Emma while I went to get the envelopes we’d found. I decided to hold back the piece of jewellery until I had figured out how trustworthy he was – and open-minded.
When I returned to Edward’s room he was by the mantelpiece, the picture of the three Pomeroy brothers in his hand. I tried to temper my suspicious nature. Could it be I was being paranoid and it was coincidental he should be examining this particular photo? I didn’t believe in coincidences and decided suspicious was the way to go.
I held out the first envelope towards him. I wanted to see his expression when he saw the photographs it contained. He looked at it and then at my face. ‘What is it?’
‘I suggest you take a look.’
He put the photograph back on the mantelpiece and stretched out his hand, his fingers hesitating an inch from the envelope. His eyes once again went to mine.
I thrust it towards him. ‘Take it.’
His Adam’s apple bobbed, but he did as I said and took it in both hands. He stared at the plain front for a few seconds and then flipped it open and slid out the folded pages. His eyes widened upon seeing the first page and he looked at me with a snarl.
‘Don’t blame the messenger,’ I said. ‘We think this is one of the items whoever broke in and bashed Simon over the head was searching for.’ I watched his face. ‘I even considered it could have been you.’
‘Me?’
I gestured with my head to the pictures in his hand.
He sank into the leather armchair by the mantelpiece, frowning at the photographs of himself with the mystery woman. He swallowed hard and a myriad of emotions played across his features in very quick succession.
‘Where did you get these from?’ he asked, his voice tight.
I pointed over to the wardrobe. ‘There’s a secret drawer.’
He wiped a hand across his face. ‘Is this who you were talking about when you said you’d seen an acquaintance of mine at the hospital the day Simon Pomeroy died?’
Emma and I exchanged a brief glance. ‘Yes,’ I said.
His eyes fluttered shut for a moment. When he opened them again I could see his anger. ‘That’s why I never received your message,’ he said, his lips twisting into a sneer of, I suspected, self-loathing. ‘She was with me. She called me out of the blue and asked if we could meet. Of course it ended up as all our meetings ever did. She must have gone through my messages and missed calls while I was … While I was elsewhere. How could I have been so stupid?’
‘Who is she?’ I asked.
‘Tanith Bloxborough,’ he said and I swear he shuddered, which was an interesting reaction when saying one’s lover’s name. ‘Oliver Pomeroy’s mistress.’
Emma let out a shocked gasp. I’m glad I wasn’t the only one who was stunned. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘I can safely say I never saw that coming,’ and I couldn’t help but wonder about the Polaroid photos and who had taken them.
‘You were having an affair with Oliver’s mistress?’ Emma said.
Brogan didn’t look up. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s not something I’m proud of, but then again at the time he was alive and well, so there was no real reason why I shouldn’t be seeing her.’
‘Was Oliver blackmailing you?’ Emma asked. Brogan laughed – a hollow sound. ‘Hell, no. I’m not married, neither were they, so who would care? Other than Oliver Pomeroy.’
‘Then why all this?’ I asked. ‘What did Oliver have to gain? And what would Edward have wanted with them?’
‘You think this is Oliver’s doing?’ His expression was incredulous and then he began to really laugh.
Emma frowned at me. ‘Who else?’
‘Oliver wasn’t the head of some government department that everyone denies exists,’ Brogan said. I stared at him and his lips twisted into a wry smile.
‘Are you telling me that you believe this was Simon’s doing?’ I asked.
His stare answered my question. ‘What’s in the others?’
‘There are pictures of Laura, similar to those,’ I gestured towards the pictures in his hand, ‘in so far as they are professional surveillance photos. And some Polaroid photos of her parents.’ I decided to keep the other photos of Tanith to myself.
‘But why would Simon have all these photos?’
Brogan shrugged. ‘He’s a puppet master at the ministry; he probably couldn’t help himself.’
‘But what did he hope to achieve with these pictures of you?’ Emma asked.
Brogan shook his head. ‘I have no idea.’ I wasn’t sure I believed him, but he returned my sceptical stare with a defiant one of his own. ‘Perhaps he was blackmailing Tanith,’ he said.
‘Why would he?’ I asked.
‘Power,’ Emma said. ‘We talked about this before. What is it a man who has everything craves more than anything else?’
‘You’re right,’ Brogan said, ‘and the Pomeroys were into power more than most. From what Tanith said, Oliver Pomeroy was a control freak, but Simon,’ he blew out through pursed lips, ‘he was the daddy.’
I don’t know why I was surprised; it was one of the reasons we’d fallen out. If something was to be done it had to be done his way.
‘You said Miss Simmons had been threatened? How exactly?’ Brogan asked.
‘Shouldn’t you have been told all this by your man Peters? He spoke to Laura yesterday.’
‘Why don’t you tell me about the threat?’
I didn’t like his tone and replied through gritted teeth. ‘We found an effigy in the clearing where Oliver died. It was meant to be Laura, it was wearing her clothes, and
had the appearance of having had the eyes and tongue removed just like her grandfather and now Brandon. Then, the following day, she was thrown by her horse and we think it was deliberately contrived.’
‘How so?’
He was beginning to irritate me in so many ways and Emma laying her hand on my arm let me know it was showing. ‘She was riding Angel, a usually placid mare, and she noticed her getting a bit jumpy, then someone let off a gun close by and the horse bolted. There was a second shot and Laura was thrown.’
‘Was she riding alone?’
‘No, fortunately the guy who looks after the stables was riding with her.’
‘Dan Crouchley?’
‘Yes.’
‘And did he think the horse was “a bit jumpy”?’
I folded my arms. ‘Yes, he asked the vet to do some tests.’
‘Has he had the results?’
‘I shouldn’t think so. I asked the vet to call me as soon as they were in.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Taking a lot upon yourself, aren’t you, Mr Cummings?’
I could feel my temperature rising and I didn’t bother to hide it. ‘Who else is there, Detective Inspector? Turns out the only person I thought I could trust wasn’t the man I thought he was. As for the police, well, I have photographs here that prove the man in charge is quite literally sleeping with the enemy, or at least the woman who was, quite possibly, the last person to see Simon Pomeroy alive.’
Brogan flushed. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Point taken.’
I continued glowering at him. As far as I was concerned he was dirty − if not by choice, by association.
He climbed to his feet. ‘When you hear the results of the tests could you let me know?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘but before you go’ – I handed him the pictures of Laura’s parents – ‘these were also hidden in the secret drawer.’
He sat back down and emptied the photos into his hand. His expression instantly became very grim indeed.
‘These aren’t crime scene photographs or even professional.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘We think they might have been taken by Edward Pomeroy.’
He stood. ‘Can I take these?’
I was surprised he asked and gave a grudging nod.
He bundled the envelopes up. ‘I’ll get Walters to take me out to the clearing,’ he said and, with a nod to me then Emma and a ‘Mrs Cummings’, he left.
I waited until the sound of his footsteps faded away. ‘What do you think?’
Emma glanced at the open doorway. ‘I want to trust him, but I don’t think we can.’
I squeezed her hand. ‘You and me both,’ I murmured. ‘You and me both.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
When we went back downstairs it was to find Laura had gone out again. Apparently, there were several cars, which now belonged to her, and she had taken a small Fiesta, a car more often than not used by the housekeeper and cook if they ever had to pop into the village for supplies. I wondered where she’d gone and Dan’s smiling face instantly popped into my head. I supposed I couldn’t blame her – she needed someone closer to her own age to confide in. I only wished it wasn’t Dan Crouchley.
‘It’s a terrible thing what’s happened to Mr Fredericks,’ Mrs Walters said. ‘He was a lovely man.’
‘Who told you?’ I asked in surprise.
The housekeeper folded her hands, her expression grim. ‘Maddy’s sister works in the pub across the road from Mr Fredericks’ office and she’s a friend of the receptionist there. Nothing stays quiet for long around here,’ she said. ‘We probably knew downstairs before the detective chappie turned up here to tell Miss Simmons.’
‘Bad news travels fast,’ I said.
‘Something like that,’ she replied. ‘Is that all, Mr Cummings?’
‘I thought living in Slyford St James was a bit like being in a goldfish bowl,’ Emma said as soon as the housekeeper was gone, ‘but this is something else.’
‘Makes you wonder how much the staff do know about what’s been going on here,’ I said.
She gave me a look. ‘Like this cult business?’
I took her arm. ‘Let’s walk,’ I said. Call me paranoid, but I waited until we were well away from the house and in the gardens before I carried on from where we’d left off. ‘There were a lot of people involved, Emms. There must have been a whole load of visitors coming and going every time they had a …’ I frowned − how would you describe such a thing? A meeting made it sound like a WI get-together and it definitely wasn’t that. ‘Every time they had a gathering,’ I finished lamely.
‘It’s a big house, Oliver was an important man locally, having weekend parties was probably the norm,’ Emma said. ‘I doubt very much the servants would think anything of it.’
‘With people going around in black robes, Emms?’
‘They probably saved all that sort of nonsense until the servants had settled for the night.’
She had a point. ‘Dan Crouchley was definitely being tight-lipped about something. He more or less admitted to knowing things he’d rather not talk about.’
‘Perhaps we should get to know Mr Crouchley a little better.’
‘Hmm, Laura appears to be getting to know him far more than she should.’
Emma pulled me to a halt and looked at me, studying my face. ‘What’s that meant to mean?’
‘I’m just saying.’ I hesitated. ‘Maybe you should have a word with her. You know about the whole employer–employee relationship thing.’
She burst out laughing. ‘My God, Jed Cummings, you’re becoming quite the snob.’
‘I am not,’ I said, though her saying it made me question whether she was perhaps right. ‘I just know what the servants in these big houses are like. Everyone has their place and they have to stick to it.’
She hooked her arm back through mine and we started off again. ‘Perhaps you’re right. But he is rather handsome.’
‘A bad lad is what my mother would have called him.’
‘And I seem to recall you telling me she thought that’s what you were,’ she said quietly. I could tell by her voice that she didn’t mean anything by it, but she was right. My mother had despised me from the moment she realised I could see things other people couldn’t. At the age of five she had thrashed me until I bled trying to get the devil out of me, then sent me away to school rather than have to see my face every day. Emma squeezed my arm. ‘She was wrong, Jed. You’re a good man with good intentions.’
‘And maybe I should see the best in Dan Crouchley is what you’re trying to say?’
‘Yes, I guess I am.’
We sat down on a stone bench overlooking a square pond and water feature in the centre of the gardens. It was a peaceful spot. With only the tinkle of running water spouting from the mouths of several marble dolphins and the trilling of birdsong I could have sat there all day with the sunshine warming my face. A sudden cry of a peacock from somewhere in the distance made me think of home and I wished with all my heart we had never left it to come to this place.
A cloud passed in front of the sun, taking the heat from the air, and I got to my feet, the peace and tranquillity leeched from the spot along with the warmth. We wandered slowly back to the house in near silence. I wasn’t sure what was going through Emma’s head, but I guessed, like me, she was thinking of The Grange.
‘How did they get hold of Laura’s blouse?’ Emma asked out of the blue. I hesitated mid stride. How indeed? With everything else that had been going on that snippet of information had fallen through the cracks. ‘And how did Simon’s mystery assailant get in?’
‘Either someone from the …’ I still wasn’t sure what to call them. ‘Someone from the cult must have access to the house or has a servant in their pocket.’
‘And where is Edward?’
‘The house is so big I guess he could be living within the same walls as us and we wouldn’t know it.’
‘But the servants would,’ Emma said. ‘Even
in a house this size nothing much gets past them.’
‘Except for a mysterious cult that doesn’t think twice about murdering people.’
Her shoulders sagged. ‘Put like that I suppose you’re right.’
‘Except …’
Emma glanced at my face and frowned. ‘What?’
I cast the thought away. Servants might keep secrets, but they surely wouldn’t be involved in some Satanic cult? That was a rich man’s type of game. ‘Nothing. I was letting my imagination run away with me.’
She made a humphing sound. ‘In this place I’m beginning to think I wouldn’t be surprised by anything.’
When we went down to dinner, we were greeted by the news that Laura would be taking a tray in her room.
‘Is she unwell?’ Emma asked.
Mrs Walters leant forward as though imparting a secret. ‘She said she was tired, but’ – she pulled a face – ‘with all that’s happened over the past few days the poor lass is probably feeling the strain.’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised,’ Emma said.
When the woman had gone we ate in silence. I wasn’t sure about Emma, but I was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with discussing anything of consequence at the dining table. There always appeared to be a servant hovering around and both Mrs Walters and Maddy had the ability to appear as if from nowhere. Maybe I was being paranoid, but I no longer trusted anyone else in the house other than Emma.
After dinner we went to sit in the living room for a while. The large sofa was comfortable and, if nothing else, the servants tended to leave us alone for the most part.
‘Did you notice the detective inspector’s reaction when he said his lady friend’s name?’ Emma said, after having a hasty glance around the room.
‘Hmm, I’m not really surprised. She had a predatory look about her.’
‘A black widow,’ Emma said with a shudder.
‘I’d been sort of thinking more of a big cat, but now you mention it she does seem like the type who would probably devour her mate and spit him out in little pieces.’
