by J M Gregson
Mrs Nayland accepted the coroner’s sympathy, nodded her understanding of his regret that the body could not yet be released for burial or cremation. She was dignified, but in control of herself, Chris judged. Not too upset to talk business. And what he had to say was very urgent.
Black suited her: with her tallness, her dark blonde hair and her deep blue eyes, she looked very elegant beneath the brim of the black hat she had donned for the inquest. Chris Pearson had never seen her in a hat before; it seemed to distance her a little further from him. He felt a little inhibited as he approached the widow, as if he were speaking to her after a funeral rather than outside the modern brick building where the coroner’s court operated.
‘I’m sorry to bother you at a time like this, but I’d like a few words about what happens now at Camellia Park. If you can spare the time and feel up to it, that is.’ He felt as formal as if he were back on the parade square, marching up to the CO to declare the parade ready for inspection, observing the ceremonial and the constricted language of Army life. But that was all right, he told himself: Liza Nayland had been an Army wife, in her time. She must understand these things.
And she did. She didn’t even seem surprised by his request. She gave him a small smile and said, ‘Of course. I expect everyone at the golf course is wondering just what is going to happen. Life goes on, and the sooner we can clarify things, the better it will be for all concerned, I’m sure. Would you like to come back to the house now?’
‘But wouldn’t that be inconvenient for you? I expect your daughter will be going back home with you . . .’ His words tailed away as he realized that he was behaving again as if this were a funeral, with family mourners to be accommodated and the rituals of internment to be observed.
Liza said, ‘Michelle is going straight back to her school. She wasn’t really needed at the inquest, but I think she felt she had to be here to support me. I’m going to drive home now; if you follow behind me, we’ll have a talk at the house. I’ve been thinking myself that there are things we need to sort out.’
The two of them stood for a moment together, watching the small crowd who had attended the inquest melt away along the pavement. Apart from reporters, and one or two curious members of the public attracted by the sensational nature of this crime, they were mostly the people who had been at Soutters Restaurant on that fatal evening. Chris wondered if Liza Nayland had realized that the person who had murdered her husband was almost certainly among these innocent-looking citizens.
He noticed that stolid Detective Sergeant Hook, standing unobtrusively at the edge of the gathering, quietly observing the bearing of everyone who had been at that dinner. Watching to see whether the murderer would give himself away, Chris supposed. He decided that DS Hook was a man who was easy to underestimate, and stored that thought away for future guidance.
Liza Nayland had got rid of her coat and hat by the time he had parked his car and entered the big, detached house. ‘Whisky?’ She poured each of them a generous measure, filled her glass to the brim with water, pushed the jug towards him, and sat opposite him in the easy chair by the fireplace. Only her outer garments had been black for the coroner’s court. Underneath them, she was wearing an attractive light-blue dress. She took a sip of her whisky and said, ‘What was it you wanted to talk about, Chris?’
It was friendly enough, but he had hoped she would lead the way into the discussion. He realized now that he didn’t know this alert-looking woman as well as he had thought he did. He had only met her socially before, and always found her pleasant enough. He had no idea what weight she carried as a businesswoman. He found himself saying, ‘It’s a bit awkward, really. Coming so soon after Patrick’s death.’
‘That was a shock to all of us – perhaps to me most of all. But I realize that you and other people who worked for him must be wondering what happens next. That’s natural enough.’
This preliminary fencing was only making him more nervous. Chris Pearson wasn’t used to being nervous, and it threw him off balance. He hadn’t put as much water with his whisky as his hostess, and he now took a stiff pull at it, downing half of it in one go, feeling the fire spread into his chest. He said, ‘I don’t know how much you know about the way Patrick ran Camellia Park.’
‘I know that he gave you a pretty free hand.’
‘He did. All the decisions were his, of course, which is only right – he who pays the piper calls the tune, and all that.’ He laughed nervously, found he was despising himself for the cliché. ‘But he discussed everything with me, and on the vast majority of occasions we were agreed about what we should do. And Pat seemed to be happy about the way I put our decisions into action.’
‘He was. I know that much at least about the enterprise. And perhaps know a little more than you think about what went on.’
His heart sank at that, but when he looked at Liza Nayland, she didn’t seem to be taunting him. He plunged on. ‘I’m sure you do. But I need to know what you plan for Camellia Park. The staff have already been asking about it.’ That was a small lie, but certainly warranted, in the situation.
‘I intend to go on providing the money to develop the course and the clubhouse at Camellia Park. I’ve no idea yet how much money Pat has left me; we hadn’t got round to talking about that and it didn’t seem necessary.’ Her voice almost broke on the last phrase. She took a determined sip of her whisky and a few seconds to recover herself. ‘Pat had other irons in the fire, as I’m sure you gathered, and some of them are in the early stages of development, where they may need capital. But I’m confident there’ll be the money to press ahead with developments at Camellia Park. It was one of Pat’s pet projects, and it will remain one of mine.’
‘That’s good to hear.’
‘Please relay that to the staff, if you think it will help them. Uncertainty isn’t good for any workforce.’
‘Thank you.’ He was probing, trying to find out just how much she knew. ‘And the place is already making a healthy profit. I’m quite certain that further developments could be self-financed.’ He tried not to sound too sycophantic as he said, ‘And I’m sure you and I will be able to work very well together.’
‘I’m sure of that as well. I’m not going to pretend that it will all be plain sailing. I don’t know anything like as much as Pat did about the detail of the course. As I say, it was his pet project. He’d walked every blade of grass, since the days when he bought the land as farmer’s fields. And he was a golfer, which must help when it comes to decisions. I don’t even play the game.’
Chris Pearson smiled. He was certain now that she didn’t know. ‘I play. And I’m pretty familiar with the place myself, by now.’
‘Of course you are. And we’ll need your knowledge, more than ever in the months to come. I don’t propose to be as “hands-on” as Pat was. I’ll depend on you, Chris. I know you won’t let me down.’
‘I won’t. I take it that there is to be no change in policy, then.’ This was the key moment. He dropped the thought in as casually as he could, with the air of merely confirming what they had been saying.
‘No change in policy. But I realize that in effect I’m asking you to take on extra responsibilities. I wouldn’t expect you to do that without proper recognition.’
It was his opportunity, and he took it. ‘As a matter of fact, Pat had been talking in similar terms. It was something which had been understood between us from the start, but never written down. We didn’t need written contracts: we got on too well for that.’ When he dared to look at her, he fancied that the clear blue eyes were regarding him keenly. He backed off a little and added apologetically, ‘But this is hardly the moment to talk about these things.’
‘On the contrary, the sooner the situation is sorted out, the better it will be for everyone concerned in the organization. What did you have in mind?’
‘I’m not talking about money. Or not primarily about money. I’m confident that what I have in mind would eventually be to my financial ad
vantage, but that’s because I have faith in the future of Camellia Park.’ He picked his way carefully through the phrases he had rehearsed on the previous night.
‘You want to be more than just Chief Executive.’
He grinned, seeing an opportunity to lighten the atmosphere. ‘That’s a rather grandiose title for a plant which at present has four full-time workers. But yes, Pat and I had always had an understanding that at a certain stage I would become a partner in the enterprise. I would put all the energy I had into the place in its early days, knock it into some sort of going concern, give it a future. My reward for taking a lower wage in the early stages was to be a partnership.’ He did not dare to look at her. He fixed his eyes on the vase of chrysanthemums in the fireplace and said, ‘A few days before his death, we had agreed that the time to implement these plans had arrived. That the place was now sufficiently developed for the idea of a partnership to be feasible.’
There was a long pause. He wondered as it stretched if he had overplayed his hand. But her words when they came were like music to him. ‘I think that’s feasible. I said I hadn’t Pat’s knowledge of the detail of Camellia Park and how it works. But I do know how hard you’ve worked and how highly Pat rated you. I think it’s in my interests as well as yours to keep you around. And the best way to do that is to give you a role in the place which goes beyond mere wages. I’ve no objection in principle to your notion of a partnership. In fact, I welcome the idea.’
How cool and businesslike she was, for a woman widowed less than a week ago. He could envisage working well with her, in the months to come. He said, ‘I can’t buy myself in, I’m afraid. But I’m not looking for an equal partnership, or anything approaching it. I’ll go on working for the same wage as before. It’s just that I’d like to have a real stake in the future of Camellia Park, and a share of the profits in due course, when the situation warrants it.’
She said, ‘This isn’t the time to talk detail, Chris. Let’s just accept the idea in principle, and get the accountants to look at the books. We can do our hard negotiating about the detail in due course.’
She leaned across and gave him a refill of whisky. Chris noticed for the first time that his own glass was empty and hers still three-quarters full; he must have been even more nervous than he’d realized. He said, ‘Thank you. I hadn’t thought it would be so difficult for me to talk about these things. I think I found it easier undertaking special assignments in the Army than this.’
Liza Nayland didn’t know exactly what he’d done in the Army; he’d never mentioned it before, and now didn’t seem the time to follow it up. She said, ‘Pat used to say things like that, when things got complicated. But I don’t suppose he meant it.’
‘I don’t suppose he did. They’re a long way behind us now, those Army days.’ Chris stood up and offered his hand. It seemed the right thing to do, a clinching of a satisfactory business deal. He drove out of the wide drive of the big house with a cheerful wave to the woman who stood upon the step, scarcely daring to believe what he had achieved from the encounter.
His elation lasted until late in the afternoon, when he received the news that the CID wanted to speak to him again about the murder of Patrick Nayland.
John Lambert held the unofficial conference with DI Rushton and DS Hook as much to clarify his own thinking as in the hope of any fresh information or insights. He felt confused about what he had anticipated would be a straightforward case. He didn’t want to call the whole of the murder team in and thus suspend the work of investigation, but three heads were definitely better than one when you wanted to elucidate the position.
He began by narrowing the field. ‘There were sixteen people in the restaurant at the time when Nayland was killed. Does any one of us think that any of the spouses or partners who were attending the meal at Soutters ranks as a probable for this?’
Hook, who had seen most of the people involved said, ‘There is just the one spouse I would except from that. Mrs Nayland. She and her daughter, Michelle, are certainly in the frame. Apart from them, I think only the four people who work at the golf course are serious suspects.’
Lambert looked at Rushton, who nodded and said, ‘All the others have been formally interviewed, as have Fred and Paula Soutter, the owners of the restaurant, and the skivvy who was helping Fred Soutter in the kitchen that night. None of them has given us any reason to think they stuck that knife into Nayland. Unfortunately, none of them seems to have seen anything helpful, either.’
Hook said gloomily, ‘It doesn’t help that at that stage of the evening most people had drunk quite a lot. They weren’t at their most observant and their recollections are not completely reliable.’
Lambert nodded. ‘I’m more concerned that those recollections seem highly selective. We should have learned more from them than we have about the victim. If they’re not actually lying, then some of them at least are withholding things from us. And if they’re reticent about the victim, it makes me think they’re not being completely honest about the other suspects, either.’
Rushton said, ‘So far, we’ve learned more about the victim from other sources than from the people who lived with him and worked with him. We’ve turned up that conviction for Indecent Assault. And the only interesting thing his ex-wife up in Derbyshire said about Patrick Nayland is that he couldn’t keep his hands off the women around him. I don’t suppose for a moment that the leopard has changed his spots.’
Policemen are not puritans: they see far too much of the seamier side of life for that. But Chris Rushton’s lips pursed in distaste as he spoke of the dead man’s lechery; the distaste, perhaps, of a man whose own marriage had failed and who did not find it easy to open up new relationships with women.
Lambert suppressed the unworthy thought that he wished there were more criminals with DI Rushton’s puritan ethic; men who stepped out of their trousers at every opportunity invariably complicated murder investigations. The old saw was that sex or money lay somewhere behind every serious crime; in his experience, sex was much the more complex of the two. You knew where you were with money, you could measure it in figures, judge whether these were sums which people might think it worth killing for. You couldn’t get inside a man’s head to measure the effect upon him of a glimpse of thigh or a fierce sexual coupling.
Hook said, ‘The date of the conviction for Indecent Assault was well before his second marriage. It’s possible Liza Nayland isn’t aware of it, even now. It’s the kind of thing most men would want to hide, if they could.’
‘And it may be that people are holding back because of not wishing to speak ill of the dead. All the same, I’m sure some of them at least must know more about Nayland than they’ve been prepared to tell us. Chris Pearson, for instance, has worked with him as his right-hand man since the idea of a golf course was first mooted.’
Hook looked down at his notes. ‘Pearson actually told us that he knew Nayland “as well as any man outside his family”. But he didn’t tell us anything about that family; it’s odd that he should claim to know nothing at all about that, and everything there was to know about the business side of things.’
Rushton said, ‘I’m still waiting for the full details of Pearson’s Army career. We know that he was decorated in the Falklands and that he spent the bulk of his service with the Royal Artillery. But apparently he transferred for the last few years of his Army service, and Army records so far haven’t come up with any details.’
Lambert said, ‘We’ll have further words with Mr Pearson, when we get a fuller picture. He struck me as the coolest of all the people we’ve seen, the one who had come to terms immediately with this death, who in interview gave us exactly what he intended to give and no more.’
There was silence. The other two men in the room were thinking how neatly that description fitted the murderer in a case like this, but conscious also that Lambert would not welcome speculation, would insist on assembling facts. With that in mind, Rushton went for the statistically m
ost likely candidate. ‘What about the widow? Even if Nayland had concealed a court case from many years ago, she can hardly have been unaware of his eye for the ladies.’
It was a curiously old-fashioned phrase from much the youngest man in the room. Lambert said, ‘Nayland might have turned over a new leaf, of course, with a second and happier marriage. It’s been known.’ No one contradicted him. But no one endorsed that view either. There was too much experience of human nature in the room for that.
Hook said, ‘Liza Nayland certainly gave the impression in our interview that it was a happy marriage and that she had no problems of that sort. Either he’d changed his ways, or she was unaware of any transgressions.’
‘Or she knew about them and wasn’t letting on that she knew to you,’ said Rushton with a cynical smile. He wasn’t letting go of a prime suspect that easily.
Lambert said, ‘If she did know of a woman or women her husband had recently been involved with, then she lied to us about it. She told us specifically that she knew he wasn’t having any affairs.’
‘They say the wife is always the last to know,’ said Rushton stubbornly.
Lambert nodded slowly. ‘And that could be true in this case. Liza Nayland seemed confident that her husband had no sexual liaisons. But such ignorance is convenient for her: it removes her most obvious motive for murder, because she couldn’t then have killed in a fit of sexual jealousy.’
Rushton said, ‘She’s still the one who’s gained most from this death. In a monetary sense, I mean. I know you’ll say that women can get divorced and do very well out of it nowadays, but this way she gets the lot.’
Lambert wondered just how much Chris Rushton himself had left after his divorce. The Inspector was living in a tiny, aseptic flat now, with limited access to the small daughter he had doted upon in the years of her infancy. He said, ‘What did you think of Mrs Nayland, Bert?’
‘I think she was genuinely grieving for his death. That doesn’t mean she didn’t kill him, of course. Many murderers are immediately upset by what they’ve done. I’m not sure whether she was concealing things about her husband or not. But I’m sure she wasn’t telling us the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I thought she was very cagey about the relationship between her daughter and Patrick Nayland.’
