Crow Trap

by Ann Cleeves

  She paused and her audience shuffled, embarrassed, because this wasn’t the way inspectors were supposed to carry on. They hoped that she’d finished. But she just took a swig of the coke from a can on the desk in front of her and continued.

  ‘Someone else was as passionate about that countryside as Edmund – the woman who farmed the land adjoining the estate. Her name was Bella Furness and her stepson was one of the wicked businessmen who wanted to dig a pit in the hillside. And surprise, surprise! Bella and Edmund knew each other. They met more than ten years ago when they were both patients in St Nick’s. Both crazy people. Perhaps. They’d stayed friends ever since. Not lovers because Bella married Doug and they’d lived happily ever after. At least until Dougie had a stroke and the banks and the bailiffs gathered like birds of prey around the carcass of the farm. But very close friends.

  ‘Perhaps Edmund confided in Bella, told her what his plans were. Who was scaring him. Perhaps if we asked she could answer all our questions and tell us who killed Edmund.’ Vera stopped abruptly. The tone of her voice changed from storyteller to someone who meant business. ‘But she can’t, because in the spring, very inconveniently, she committed suicide.’

  A hand was tentatively raised. She frowned as if annoyed to be interrupted. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Are you certain it was suicide?’

  ‘If it wasn’t, Fraser, I’d have told you.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘So we need to find someone else to answer our questions. In the hospital a group of people met for therapy and support. Bella and Edmund were part of that group. We know that after leaving St Nick’s they kept in touch and regularly had lunch together. Occasionally they were joined by another woman. We need to trace her. Without even realizing, she might know who killed Edmund and Grace. It won’t be easy. She might not want to be found. Perhaps her friends and family don’t even know that she spent a period in a mental hospital. But we have to talk to her.’

  ‘Can’t the hospital help?’ A brave question, shouted from the back of the room.

  ‘Their records show which patients were on each ward but not who attended the group. The psychologist who ran it is compiling a list at the moment but she’s not sure where her notes are and she’s got other things on her mind. In the meantime we need to work on finding the woman. Let’s be subtle at first. No publicity to scare her off. No “Were you a loony in the 1980s?” posters. Talk to the people at the Harbour Lights restaurant again, to the other staff and the regulars. Perhaps our woman goes there to eat. And what about local GPs? The woman might have a recurring psychiatric problem.’

  She watched them scribbling notes and thought she’d succeeded. They’d come to life. She banged on the table again and moved in front of the white flip chart. ‘The other angle I want to pursue is the quarry. Somehow these deaths are linked to the bloody great hole Slateburn want to dig on the moor. These are the main movers in that business.’ She began to write in unsteady capitals with a thick felt pen.

  ‘Godfrey Waugh. He owns the company. I want to know whether the development was his idea or whether he was approached by the Fulwells. Talk to both lots of staff and see what you can find out.

  ‘Neville Furness. Stepson of Bella. At one time he was land agent for the Fulwells. Then headhunted by Godfrey. He did all the preliminary negotiations for the quarry but now he’s gone all green and soppy. He’s talking about moving back to his father’s farm, even though it’s in debt. Has he really converted? If not, what’s he up to? For the moment you can leave him to me. I’ve got an appointment to see him when I leave here. But talk to the people who know him and work for him. We need everything we can get. He used to live in the house where Edmund died and word is he still has a key.

  ‘Peter Kemp. Environmental consultant. He’s changed sides too but he’s gone the other way. Started off working for the Wildlife Trust and now sells his skills to big businesses. How much did he stand to gain from the quarry? How much would he lose if Waugh decided not to go ahead?’

  There was a knock at the door. Vera glared at the probationer who came in. She stood nervously just inside the room.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘A fax . . .’ She thrust the paper at Vera, blushed and escaped.

  Vera glanced at the contents. She was about to dismiss the team so she could consider its implication then thought they could do with cheering up even if it was only with a cheap laugh at someone on the edge of the inquiry. She waved the paper at them. ‘This is about Jeremy Preece. Husband of Anne. He lives in Langholme in the house nearest to where Grace’s body was found. We’ve been running checks as routine. You know how the boss likes routine. Mr Preece has a conviction for indecency. Scarborough Magistrates Court 1990. Found lurking in the bogs on Filey seafront dressed in a sequinned top . . .’

  There was laughter, a general release of tension. She shouted above the noise, ‘I don’t know why you’re sitting there. Haven’t you got work to do? Now you can add Jeremy Preece to your list too.’

  Gratefully they gathered their belongings and scuttled out of the room. Only Joe Ashworth was left. He sat at the back and began slowly to clap his hands. ‘Brilliant,’ he said. ‘A brilliant performance from start to finish. Now why don’t you tell me what’s really going on?’

  She was flattered that he thought she knew.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Vera took Ashworth with her to interview Neville Furness. Furness had been messing her around. She’d been trying to fix an interview with him since Edmund had died. She wanted to show him she meant business and the two of them turning up at his office gave that impression. Besides, on these occasions Ashworth was a useful observer. Sometimes she got carried away and he picked up signals she missed.

  Slateburn Quarries took up the top floor of the office block by the river. She tried to remember what the site had looked like when old man Noble’s slaughterhouse had been there, but couldn’t. She was too used to the new roads. Even looking down at the river from the large window in reception she couldn’t tie up her memories with the geography.

  The receptionist was middle-aged, severe. She told them that Mr Furness would be with them shortly. He was tied up in a meeting. She brought them coffee.

  ‘Does he know we’re here?’ Vera demanded.

  The receptionist bridled. ‘They said no interruptions. The meeting’s scheduled to finish at eleven.’

  ‘So you’ve not even told him?’ Her voice must have been audible in the building society on the ground floor. It increased in volume: ‘I want to see him now.’

  The secretary hesitated, flushed with indignation, then went to the phone behind her desk. Almost immediately afterwards Neville Furness appeared from a corridor to their left. Vera had only seen him before at Black Law in jeans and a scuffed Barbour. In his suit and tie he seemed more formidable, not because the clothes gave him authority but because he wore them with such ease. Vera had expected him to seem out of place here. He was a farmer’s son. But even summoned dramatically from his meeting he was unflustered.

  ‘You must be a very busy man, Mr Furness,’ she said ominously, not sure yet whether she wanted to provoke a fight but keeping her options open.

  He led them into an office which had his name on the door. It looked over the town. ‘And I know you’re busy too, Inspector. I’m sorry to have kept you.’

  There was a desk near the window but he pulled three easy chairs round a low coffee table and they sat there. Again she was taken by how self-assured he was. She wanted to shake him.

  ‘You’re difficult to pin down. You haven’t been avoiding us?’

  ‘Of course not. It’s been a very difficult time here. Edmund’s death has thrown the whole business of the quarry into question.’

  ‘Why? It had nothing to do with him.’

  ‘It’s a matter of publicity. You know that Slateburn is working with the Fulwells on the project. Livvy is very keen to go ahead but we have the impression that Robert would rather let the ma
tter go. At least for the moment. He sees it as a question of taste.’

  ‘What would you think about that?’

  He paused. ‘I’m an employee of Slateburn Quarries. I’ll implement whatever strategy is decided.’

  ‘But you must have a personal view.’

  ‘Not when I’m in this office, no.’

  ‘I was told you were the great enthusiast. The power behind the whole scheme.’

  ‘I don’t know who told you that.’ He paused again, frowning. When Vera said nothing he went on, ‘It’s my job to be enthusiastic’

  Vera stretched her legs. The chairs were low. They’d be comfortable enough for snoozing in but not for sitting up straight and taking notice.

  ‘But Mr Waugh must be keen for the scheme to go ahead. He’ll have invested a fortune just to get this far.’

  ‘I think he’s open-minded, he could be persuaded either way. The inquiry will cost in legal fees if we decide to go ahead. Godfrey was certainly more positive when we received a favourable Environmental Impact Assessment report. The company’s sponsorship of the Wildlife Trust was a gamble. Once we’d become involved in that we couldn’t afford to be seen damaging an area of conservation importance in any way.’

  ‘Who called the meeting earlier in the week to discuss the future of the quarry?’

  ‘The Fulwells. We wouldn’t have intruded the day after Edmund’s death.’

  ‘Which particular Fulwell?’ As if we don’t already know, Vera thought. She narrowed her eyes and looked at him.

  ‘Probably Olivia. Hoping that we’d exert some influence on Robert. During the meeting she accused him of having gone weedy on her.’

  For the first time Neville had lost his professional cool. Vera was gleeful.

  ‘You don’t like Mrs Fulwell,’ she said, keeping her voice neutral.

  ‘Not much. When I worked for Robert she interfered. That was one of the reasons I was glad to leave Holme Park.’

  ‘Who else was at the meeting?’

  ‘Pete Kemp, our conservation consultant.’

  Vera stretched again, stifled a yawn. The room was very warm. ‘I don’t suppose it matters to him one way or the other what’s decided about the quarry. He’ll be paid for his report whether the development goes ahead or not.’

  ‘Oh, he’s already been paid,’ Furness said dryly. ‘But it’s not precisely true that he’s nothing to gain from the development. If it does go ahead Godfrey has promised a new nature reserve close to the site. It was part of the plan. Kemp Associates would draw up the management agreement for that and provide the staff. It would be a lucrative contract.’

  You don’t like Peter Kemp either, Vera thought. Why’s that, I wonder. It annoyed her that she couldn’t make up her mind about Neville Furness. She couldn’t pin him down, work out what made him tick. It was a matter of pride to her that her first impressions of people were sound. She boasted about it to Ashworth all the time. But her impressions of Furness were confused and unreliable.

  ‘What did you do with the key to your house on the estate when you left?’ she asked, hoping to shock him.

  He didn’t answer immediately.

  ‘You did have a key?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Obviously it’s important. I’m trying to remember. I had two keys. One to the front door and one to the back. On a single ring.’

  ‘Did you give them back to Mrs Fulwell?’ It was Ashworth’s first contribution.

  ‘No. Definitely not that. I’d given my letter of resignation to Robert. I had some holiday to take so effectively I left Holme Park without notice. That was how I wanted it. I didn’t want any scenes.’

  ‘Would Mrs Fulwell have made a scene?’ Ashworth asked.

  ‘She’s spoilt. Given occasionally to tantrums.’

  ‘Was your relationship with Mrs Fulwell entirely professional?’

  ‘On my part, certainly.’

  ‘And on hers?’

  ‘As I explained, she interfered.’

  ‘She fancied you,’ Vera interrupted with a chortle. ‘Don’t tell me she wanted a bit of rough.’

  He blushed violently and for a moment she wondered if she had a handle on him. He was shy, a prude. There was no more to it than that. But then he recovered his composure so quickly that she thought she must be wrong.

  ‘So far as I am aware,’ he said stiffly, ‘Robert and Livvy have a very happy marriage.’

  ‘Let’s get back to the keys then,’ Vera said unabashed. ‘You didn’t give them to Livvy. Did you give them to Robert?’

  ‘I don’t think so. He wouldn’t normally be involved in that sort of detail.’

  ‘So you kept them then?’

  ‘I suppose it’s possible. I mean I suppose it’s possible that I just forgot to give them back.’

  ‘Where would they be? At home?’

  ‘No, I’m starting to remember. The keys to the house at Holme Park were on the same ring as the spares for Black Law. Bella asked me to have them in case of an emergency. In case something happened to my father when she wasn’t around. And I’ve always kept those here. I spend more time in the office than I do at home. They were certainly here when you asked for a key to get into the farmhouse after the girl was killed on the hill.’

  He stood up and went to his desk. From where he was sitting Vera couldn’t see him open the drawer but it didn’t seem to be locked. He returned with a Wildlife Trust key ring, with three keys attached.

  ‘These two belong to Black Law. The mortise is the front door and the Yale the back. This is for the front door of the Holme Park house.’

  ‘What about the Holme Park kitchen door?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s not here. I could have sworn it was on the same ring.’

  ‘When was the last time you saw it?’

  ‘God knows. The last time I took them out was to give you the Black Law key. I suppose I see them every time I go into the desk drawer, but I don’t look at them. Not in any detail.’

  ‘Who else would have had access to your desk?’

  He looked at her in surprise. ‘We’re very security conscious. Nobody gets into this suite of offices without a pass.’

  ‘But your desk wasn’t locked.’

  ‘No. Nor my office. It doesn’t need to be. As I’ve explained it’s impossible for a stranger to wander in.’

  ‘But anybody working for Slateburn or here on official business could have had access to the key.’

  ‘I suppose so. If they’d wanted to. If they’d realized it was there.’

  ‘Was it labelled?’

  He hesitated. ‘Yes. Just like this one.’

  He handed her the Holme Park front door key. Attached to it was a small card tag, faded but just legible with 1 The Avenue written in cramped capitals. ‘That’s the official address of the house.’

  ‘Would your secretary go into that drawer?’

  ‘I don’t think so. It’s mostly personal stuff. But you can ask her.’

  ‘Yes,’ Vera said. ‘We will.’

  Neville Furness had remained standing. Perhaps he expected them to go but they sat where they were, silent, watching him.

  ‘I didn’t use that key,’ he said quietly. ‘And I hate the thought that anyone else might have used it, that through my carelessness I was responsible for Edmund’s death.’

  Still Vera said nothing. The silence seemed to get to him because he went on, ‘It’s been a hellish week. The Fulwells have made things very difficult here. We don’t know where we are. If only they’d decide one way or another . . . We’re all rather wound up.’ He stopped abruptly. ‘But that’s not your problem. Of course you’ve got more serious concerns . . . Actually I’ve decided I need to get away from it for a while. I’m going to escape at the weekend, spend some time at Black Law. It’ll be all right, will it? You said your team had finished.’

  Vera nodded. ‘Have you seen Rachael Lambert this week?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘She needs a break too. She’s coming u
p to Black Law with me.’ He paused. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me where I was on the day Edmund Fulwell was killed?’

  ‘We’d have got round to it,’ Vera said comfortably.

  ‘I was here for most of the day going through the preliminary draft of the Environment Impact Assessment.’

  ‘On your own?’

  ‘Yes, though I wouldn’t have been able to leave the building without going through reception and there’s always someone there. I left the office at about four and went home to change. Godfrey had been working at home all day. He’d had Peter Kemp to see him to go over the plans for the new nature reserve at Black Law and he wanted to discuss them with me. I’d been invited to dinner but he wanted me there early so we could finish the business before we ate.’

  ‘Did you have a pleasant evening?’ Vera heaved herself out of her chair.

  ‘Yes, thank you. Very pleasant.’

  He shepherded them through reception and waited with them until the lift had arrived.

  Outside she stood for a moment, imagining Neville and Rachael on their own in Black Law. If he meant Rachael harm, surely he wouldn’t have told her about the trip? Or perhaps she’d just been involved in setting a very clever trap.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Vera walked from the police station to Edie’s house in Riverside Terrace. It wasn’t far and she needed a break from the incident room, the team frenetic, desperate for her approval, waiting for her to work miracles. She hoped that Edie would remind her of Baikie’s where things had seemed clearer, that she could recapture something of the old certainties.

  Edie had invited her for lunch and thinking she should make a token contribution she stopped at the small florist’s in the High Street for flowers. Flowers had been left at the mine to mark the spot of Grace’s death. Flowers for mourning. For remembrance. Or for celebration.

  At the end of the terrace she stopped to get her breath. She didn’t want to turn up at the house puffing and sweaty. A car passed her, stopped outside Edie’s and Peter Kemp jumped out. He wasn’t driving the white Land Rover but something sleek and sporty with a loud engine. He was in casual mode – grey cotton trousers and a green polo shirt with the company logo embroidered on the pocket. Very corporate. He leapt up the steps and hit the doorbell with his palm.