by Celina Grace
“You don’t believe her?” Kate asked.
“I’m not sure I believe a word that woman says. She’s – she’s a funny one. Comes across as so self-righteous and proper and yet...” He let the sentence trail away. “Besides, even she can’t argue that we don’t have a case against her.”
“I know.” Kate sat down, feeling that this was going to be more than a five-minute conversation. “It’s just that there’s too many holes in it at the moment.”
“You think I don’t know that? I tell you, slap this little lot before the CPS and they’ll laugh us out of the room. No, I need more evidence. I need a real motive.” He churned his hair for a moment, obviously thinking. “Kate, do a bit of background for me, would you? Go and talk to a few people who knew Simon Farraday. Do some digging on the kind of man he was.”
“I will,” said Kate, slowly. “I’ve been thinking – I wonder whether this has got anything to do with something that happened in the past. In his past.”
Anderton eyed her. “What do you mean?”
Kate sighed. “I’m not sure. It’s just – I get the feeling that this murder was either completely spontaneous or it’s been very carefully planned. In fact, I think it’s been very carefully planned so it looks spontaneous.” She saw Anderton watching her and hurriedly added, “I can’t tell you why that is at the moment. It’s just a feeling I have.”
“I know you and your feelings,” Anderton said, but he was smiling. “Anyway, if you can do a bit more research for me on Simon Farraday, past and present, I think that would help.”
“Of course.” Kate got up and smiled at her boss. “I’ll make a start straight away.”
Back at her desk, she found the appropriate folder and began to flick through the paperwork within it, noting down several names. Interview Dorothy Smelton, perhaps? That would be a good starting point. Councillor Smelton had known Simon Farraday and was a friend of his wife’s. Kate wrote down her name, adding Ewan Askell’s and, after a small hesitation, the name of the Farradays’ nanny, Sarah Collins. Hadn’t both Kate and Olbeck thought that she had been concealing something? Now knowing something of the dead man’s character, Kate was grimly certain that she had a pretty good idea of what the nanny’s secret was. But she could be wrong... Only one way to find out. Kate made some phone calls, picked up her bag and prepared to leave.
“You all right?” Chloe asked, quite casually.
“I’m fine,” Kate said, not meeting her eye. Then she relented. “No, I’m not fine, really. But I don’t particularly want to discuss it right now, okay?”
“Okay, okay,” said Chloe, hurriedly. “But I’m always on the end of the phone, if that helps.”
“Thanks. Look, I’ve got to go. Talk to you later—”
“Where are you off to?” asked Chloe, professional interest clearly edging out personal concern. Despite her misery, Kate hid a grin. She and Chloe were two of a kind.
“Chasing up the dirt on Simon Farraday.”
“No doubt there will be plenty of that.”
“Yes.” Kate hesitated and said “Actually, you know what? I think he might have had an affair with the nanny. Or slept with her, at least.”
Chloe wrinkled her neat nose. “God, what is it with all this shagging? He wasn’t that good looking.”
“I don’t know for certain,” Kate said, honesty driving her to qualify her statement. “But I’ve got an inkling that’s what she’s hiding.”
“You’re probably right. Ugh, what an arsehole. Seriously, what did all these women see in him?”
Kate shouldered her bag. “He was confident, I suppose. Sure of getting what he wanted.”
“Mm.” Chloe busied herself with an email for a moment. After a minute, she looked up to find her colleague still standing in the same position, looking into space. “Kate? Earth to Kate? What’s up?”
Kate came back to reality with a start. “Oh, nothing. It’s just – something’s given me an idea. Well, sort of. Something to look into, anyway.”
“Right.” Chloe was clearly waiting for her to elaborate, but Kate didn’t. Instead, she waved at her colleague and said goodbye. Grabbing a pen and notebook from her desk as she left the room, she scribbled down one word on a piece of paper and then tucked it into her bag to use as a reminder later.
*
Dorothy Smelton was a rather masculine looking lady, considerably older than Kate had anticipated, given her friendship with thirty-something Mia Farraday. Her house was beautiful; an edifice of golden stone surrounded by verdant gardens. The sun shone brightly as Kate parked her car alongside Dorothy Smelton’s enormous battered-looking Land Rover. Given the house and the car, and Dorothy’s tweedy country demeanour, Kate was expecting a slobbery welcome from a big, hairy dog. A Labrador or perhaps a spaniel. But it seemed that Dorothy’s dog had not long gone to the great kennel in the sky.
“Poor chap, he was in terrible pain at the end. I always think it’s rather odd, DS Redman, that we can happily end the suffering of our pets but we can’t do the same for ourselves. Priorities seem somewhat skewed, don’t they, in that regard?”
Kate agreed as she was shown through a lofty entrance hall, into a chintzy drawing room. Dorothy subsided onto an overstuffed Chesterfield sofa with an audible sigh. “Oh, bother, I forgot to ask if you wanted tea. Do you want tea?”
Kate declined politely, taking in her surroundings as discreetly as possible. Dorothy’s home was both messy and far from clean but it had a cosy sort of feel, and beneath the clutter and detritus littering the floor and the furniture, the elegant structure of the house itself still made its presence felt.
“Now, Councillor Smelton, I understand that you’ve known Mia Farraday for some time?”
Dorothy was looking across to the window. “Sorry, did I ask if you wanted tea?”
“You did, thanks, Councillor, and I said no.” Kate bit back a smile, remembering what Rav had said about the lady and her posh ways.
“I thought I had.” Dorothy heaved herself into a more upright position and focused on Kate. She had gentle, faded blue eyes and her hair was stiffly combed and sprayed into an unflattering helmet, rather like the style Margaret Thatcher had worn as Prime Minister. “Yes, I thought I had. Silly me. Anyway, what was that? Mia? Lovely girl. Yes, I’ve known her for years. Her and Simon, God rest his soul. What a horrible thing that was.” She leant forward a little and directed a question at Kate in what was almost a bark. “Got anyone for that yet, have you?”
“Not yet, Councillor, but we’re definitely making progress. That’s where I hope you can help me.”
“Humph. Well, I’ll do my best. Not sure what I can tell you.”
Kate looked down at her list of questions and, on impulse, decided to ignore them for now. “I was hoping to talk to someone who could tell me a bit more about, well, Simon himself. What was he like? What was – what was his marriage like?” She could see Dorothy Smelton beginning to frown and hurried on. “It sounds prurient, I know, but sometimes it’s the best way to build up a profile of the victim and who he – or she – knew. It can really help us to – to eliminate people.”
“Humph.” Dorothy Smelton was silent for so long that Kate wondered whether she should repeat the question. Finally, she said, quite abruptly, “Simon was a bad lot. That’s all, really. Oh, don’t get me wrong, he was charming. Too charming. Clever, hardworking, all that. Doesn’t really mean anything when it comes to ethics. When it comes to morality.”
Kate nodded. “Could you elaborate?” she asked, cautiously.
“Don’t know if I can. He led Mia a merry dance, I know that. Treated her shamefully, with all his goings-on. Such a shame that all had to come out when he died. Would have been much better if he’d had a heart attack or something like that. A good deal less messy.”
Again, Kate bit back an inappropriate smile. “Are you talking about his infidelity?”
“Am I? Yes, I suppose I am. Mia knew, of course. She’s not stupid. Very clever g
irl, actually. Always felt she was a bit wasted on him.” Dorothy sighed and shifted her bulk on the Chesterfield. “She was one of the brightest in her year at Edinburgh, and it’s not that she told me that, you know. I knew one of her professors – ran into him not that long ago. I remember him saying exactly that to me. He was quite surprised when I told him she wasn’t doing much else than being a wife and mother. Bit of a disappointment to him, I think. He mentioned that he thought Mia would have been a leader in her field by now. Not that I know much about that new-fangled stuff myself.”
Kate was busy scribbling down notes. She nodded and asked “So, given that, you’d have said that the Farradays weren’t particularly happily married?”
“I don’t know about that.” Dorothy’s gaze strayed towards the window again. “Don’t think they were particularly happy or unhappy. That’s marriage for you, isn’t it? Some ups, some downs...”
Kate found herself wondering whether the councillor herself had been married. She had been thinking of Dorothy Smelton as a lesbian, but perhaps she was just guilty of stereotyping. But then, did that explain the friendship between the two women, Mia and Dorothy? Or was Kate just being unbelievably crass and slightly homophobic? Surely two women could be friends without there being an underlying sexual motive? I mean, look at me and Chloe...
“Do you happen to know where Simon went to university?” she asked, bringing her mind back to the job.
“Not me. No idea.” Dorothy was looking off into the middle distance. Kate wondered what she was thinking. The other woman added abruptly “Simon wasn’t my friend, you know. We worked together on the council for a time. But no, we were never friends. Mia’s my friend.”
Kate smiled politely, thinking there wasn’t much else to be gained from being here. “Thank you for your time, Councillor Smelton.”
“You don’t have to call me that. Call me Dorothy. Should call me Dorothy anyway, I’m retiring.”
“Oh, I didn’t realise that.” Kate looked up from packing her things away in her handbag.
“Yes, retiring.” Dorothy sunk her chin onto her chest, staring at the floor. “Time I did. Too tired for all that nonsense now. Getting a bit much for me.”
Kate smiled politely, not entirely sure of what to say. Then she reiterated her thanks and took her leave.
Unlocking the car and taking a last, covetous look around the beautiful gardens, Kate found herself frowning. Something Dorothy Smelton had said had jarred, just a little. What had it been? For the life of her, Kate couldn’t remember. She got into the driver’s seat and looked through her notes of the interview, hoping that something would jump out at her. It didn’t. What had Dorothy said? It was so little, so inconsequential, as tiny as a grain of sand. But, like a grain of sand in the wrong place, it irritated. Kate tried once more to remember what had been said and then gave up. From long experience, she knew that letting it go would mean it would come back to her. Just give it time. She turned her mind resolutely from whatever it was that had been bothering her, put the car into gear, and drove away.
Chapter Nineteen
Eight o’clock that evening saw Kate still in the office, bent over a pile of folders and her keyboard, a line of dirty coffee mugs on her desk testament to how long she’d been working. Gradually, the office had emptied out around her and now she was the only one remaining. She didn’t mind. The thought of going home, even with Merlin there to greet her, filled her with dread. Too many empty rooms, too many silent thoughts to torment her...
The thought of her cat did make her pause, but the truth was that his feeding times had become so erratic while she was in New York that Kate was pretty certain he wouldn’t be hungry for a good few hours yet. Perhaps not even until morning. No, she’d stay here as late as she could. She didn’t feel tired at all – not physically tired, that is. Probably the jet lag to blame for that. Emotionally – well, she felt more as if she’d gone ten rounds with a heavyweight boxer.
“You still here?”
Anderton’s voice made her jump. She swung around in her chair to see him watching her from the doorway. “Afraid so. Just catching up.”
“Come on, Kate, I’m not a slave driver. You must be exhausted. Why don’t you go home?”
“I’m okay, thanks.” Kate turned back to her desk and shuffled a few bits of paper around. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Anderton approach her.
“You all right?”
Kate had been dreading this question, especially from him. “I’m fine. Just tired.” Too late, she realised she’d just contradicted herself. “I mean, I’m – I’ll be done soon.”
Anderton stood there for a moment, jingling his car keys in his hand. “Do you not want to go home?” he asked, after a few seconds.
How could he know? Kate found herself at a loss for words, mainly because her throat had suddenly closed up.
“All right,” said Anderton. “How about a drink then?”
Of all the responses Kate had been expecting, that was not one of them. She stared at him for a moment, unable to answer. Then, without even thinking much of it, she said, “Yes. All right, then. Why not?”
As they left the office together, Kate expected them to head towards the King’s Head, the usual pub frequented by the officers of Abbeyford Station. Instead, Anderton steered her towards the direction of his car. Surprised but, at that moment, too emotionally battered to think much more about it, Kate allowed herself to be shepherded into the passenger seat.
“Where are we going?” she enquired as they left the station car park.
“Little pub I know,” Anderton said briefly.
“Oh.”
“It does good food. I don’t know about you but I’m starving.”
Kate was hungry, in a distant sort of way, so she merely nodded. This was the first time she’d been alone with Anderton for a while – alone in a way that being alone with him in an office didn’t resemble. She felt her heart beat a little faster. Inevitably, her thoughts turned to Tin, and she felt a jab of misery that immediately drove away any type of hunger pang.
“Here we are,” Anderton said after about thirty minutes of silent driving. Kate looked around her. The pub was actually one she’d been to before with her boss, a lovely little country pub with a pretty beer garden, opposite a village green. She thrust the thought of how the hell she was going to get home from her mind and followed Anderton through the door of the pub. The lintel was so low he had to duck to get underneath it.
“Do you know why doors in old houses are so small?” Kate asked as they sat down at a small table at the back with their drinks.
“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”
Kate smiled a little sheepishly. “Well, it’s not because everyone was tiny then. Although people were generally a bit smaller than they are now.”
“So, what’s the reason?”
“Doors were expensive. The bigger the door, the more it cost you. Hence most standard houses had pretty small doors.” Kate took a sip of her drink.
“Well, you learn something new every day.”
A not entirely uncomfortable silence fell over the table. Kate, casting around for a topic of conversation, was reminded of her upcoming interview with Ewan Askell. She said as much to Anderton. “I can’t help wondering whether the fact that he’s a bit of a history buff is significant. He must have known about that secret tunnel, mustn’t he?”
Anderton took a pull at his pint. “You’ll have to ask him. Didn’t we find his DNA at the scene as well?”
“Well, technically not in the bedroom. We found several of his fingerprints in the kitchen area, and he did have an explanation for why they got there. Still—” Kate broke off, flipping a beer mat around and around on the table. “I don’t know. He’s got a motive.”
“Which is?”
“Hating his former boss. Apparently, according to Mia Farraday, Simon treated him – Ewan – pretty badly. And that might not be all—” Again, Kate broke off, musing.
/>
“Come on,” said Anderton. “Spill the beans.”
“I don’t have any evidence. It’s – it’s more of a feeling. Mia Farraday did History at university. I wonder if there’s more of a link between her and Ewan Askell than at first appears. I don’t mean on Mia’s side. As far as I can tell, she thinks of him just as a friend. Not even that – maybe a colleague. But when Ewan talks about her, I don’t know...” Kate trailed off, the beer mat falling from her hand. “There’s something there. What if he was in love with Mia – unrequited, I’m sure – and that gave him an added incentive to get rid of Simon?”
“That is pure conjecture,” Anderton protested. “Come back to me with some evidence to prove it and I might start taking you seriously.”
Kate smiled and shrugged. “I said it was only a theory.”
Anderton had already finished his pint and started getting up to order another round.
“It’s my round, isn’t it?” asked Kate.
“Don’t worry about that. My treat.”
“Thanks.” Kate watched as he went to the bar. That first glass of wine was already warming her stomach and beginning to relax her. She was suddenly very aware of the shape of Anderton’s body, the long lean outline of him against the hard lines of the bar. Quickly, she looked away, back down to the smeary surface of the table.
Anderton put a fresh glass of wine in front of her. I’d better be careful. Kate was feeling too churned up to be able to act as she normally would. Alcohol probably wouldn’t help.
She watched Anderton take a greedy mouthful of his fresh pint. “Are you driving home?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound quite as censorious as she thought she did.
Anderton looked surprised. “I’m walking home. I live just across the green over there.”
“Oh.” Kate hadn’t realised he’d moved. But then, of course, he’d been divorced for several years now and his children were old enough to have moved out of the family home. She asked about them now.
“Oh fine, fine. Doing well at university. Costing me a fortune, of course.”
