Sentence appears to be quite unruffled.
“Should I leave the car here, then, and join you all? As you know, I was present when the pass . . . when the original search took place at Laurieston.”
“I think that will be quite unnecessary, thank you. Since you’ve kindly turned up to collect my car, I suggest that you complete your self-appointed task and make yourself useful by delivering it back to Laurieston. How did you get here, as a matter of interest?”
“I asked Harry Briggs to drop me off. By chance, he had to deliver something to Maidstone, so it wasn’t too far out of his way.” I might have known that Harry Briggs would have wormed his way in somehow.
“Indeed.”
I notice that DI Yates is listening intently, and that he has absorbed this detail. I steer his attention back to Sentance.
“You’d better drive the car back to Laurieston and leave it there. I probably shall need it over the next few days. I could take Joanna’s car, but, since you’ve taken it upon yourself to restore mine to me, I may as well go along with it.”
Sentance extends his hand, which I ignore.
“Welcome back, Mr Kevan,” he says, his sang-froid not slipping, though I think I detect a flicker of discomfort in his voice now. “It’s good to see you, despite the unfortunate circumstances. I’ve told Jackie to open up the house.” He pauses. I don’t respond. “I’ll see you there, then, shall I?”
“There’s no need to meet me again today. You can drop the car off and go home. There’ll be time for us to talk tomorrow. Let’s go, shall we?” I say to the police. I turn my back on Sentance and walk away, with DI Yates following quickly on my heels, the female detective once again some paces behind.
Five
Despite Kevan de Vries’ assertion that he would welcome conversation during the journey in the police car, he remained resolutely taciturn during the three-hour drive to Sutterton. This suited Tim very well. He knew he and Juliet would at least have to provide polite answers to any reasonable comments or queries that de Vries might make, which could only mean duplicating their effort when they came to question him formally. He was curious as to why de Vries had been so adamant that he didn’t want to travel with Sentance. Tim wouldn’t have taken much persuading to let them drive together, if de Vries had really pushed for it. If he’d wanted to have an off-the-record discussion with Sentance, he would surely already have talked to the man on his mobile by now. De Vries seemed to loathe the sight of his employee.
Juliet, who was sitting in the back of the car with de Vries, observed that he was extremely fatigued. Part of this could be accounted for by jet-lag, but she thought she glimpsed something more deeply etched in his face than the tiredness that comes from a temporary assault on the body clock. De Vries’ face was tanned, either because the Windward Islands sunshine had worked quickly or because he habitually spent a lot of time outside, but beneath the weather-beaten tint she discerned a greyness in his skin, a tautness and fragility – though it seemed an odd word to apply to such a stocky man – that suggested either underlying illness or some chronic anguish. On several occasions, she saw his head jerk forward, his eyes half-closing as he fought back sleep.
As the police car slowed to negotiate the large roundabout that, together with the village green, formed twin hearts at the centre of Sutterton, de Vries sat up straight and struggled to smooth down his clothing. He was wearing a pale summer jacket and chinos, both crumpled by many hours of travel. He passed the back of his hand across his forehead and rubbed his eyes vigorously.
“Are you all right, Mr de Vries?” Juliet asked quietly. Tim studied his passengers in the driving mirror. He sensed that Juliet was beginning to like the man, or at least to sympathise with him. He sighed inwardly. Juliet’s ‘instincts’, which had at one time come in for a bit of stick from her colleagues, had now been proved correct on too many occasions to be ignored. However, if she suspected that de Vries was innocent, Tim was certain that on this occasion she’d be proved wrong. He’d bet his life that de Vries was guilty of something. It wasn’t necessarily what they wanted to question him about at the moment; Tim conceded that he seemed to be too confident about that. But he’d met businessmen like de Vries before; their activities opened out of each other like corridors in a labyrinth. Somewhere at the heart of the labyrinth there would be something nefarious going on, even a whole parallel universe of illegal activity being matched against what was above board. The big imponderable would be whether the police would be able to muster the acumen and resources simultaneously needed to expose it.
They were drawing level with Laurieston House now and Tim had slowed almost to walking pace. The grounds of the house were bounded by wrought-iron railings, on the other side of which grew thickets of laurel. Only a few glimpses of the double drive could be seen from the road.
“Fuck!” said de Vries suddenly.
Juliet followed his line of vision. He was looking through one of the gaps in the laurel hedge. A gleaming maroon Bentley had been parked on the gravel sweep, just to the right of the front door.
“Is something wrong?” asked Juliet.
“The little shit!” de Vries muttered, almost to himself. Then, in a louder voice. “I apologise. I’m very tired. I hadn’t expected to see Sentance here just yet. And he hasn’t gone straight away, as I asked – that’s his car parked further up.”
“He doesn’t have to join us if you don’t want him to, sir,” said Tim. Privately he was thinking that Sentance must have stepped on the gas to have beaten them to it. He didn’t seem like too much of a risk-taker, but evidently getting there first had been more important to him than breaking the speed limit, even though he was chancing being quizzed about it by two police officers.
“I don’t want to cause any awkwardness.”
“As you wish, Mr de Vries,” said Tim. Strange that such an arrogant man was wary of offending the sensibilities of an employee whom he disliked.
Six
I don’t believe in giving way to my temper, but I could explode when I see that Sentance has ensconced himself at Laurieston before I arrive with the police. I know the man has no finer feelings, but I should have thought common sense alone would have told him to stay away today. He’s already fucked things up for us once. Why can’t he just make himself scarce?
The coppers seem OK, for coppers. The woman is full of concern for me. Even the guy has said I don’t have to involve Sentance if I don’t want to. It will look peculiar, though, if I make a point about sending him away. I can’t make out what the little twat thinks he’s doing. Probably just revelling in it all. I’ll make sure that the smile is wiped from his face before too long.
The copper parks at the side of the house, on the smaller drive that leads to the old stables and the garage. I get out of the car. My legs are numb and I stumble a little. The female copper has already climbed nimbly out at her side and she’s beside me in a trice now, grabbing hold of my arm. It’s hard to bring myself to tolerate this: I almost make the mistake of shaking her off.
“Are you all right, sir?”
“I’m fine,” I say, walking rapidly across the gravel so that she’s forced to let me go. The male copper catches me up. He has long legs. He lopes along beside me, at pains not to outpace me.
Jackie Briggs opens the door. At least Sentance has the sense not to rile me further by welcoming me into my own house. I notice that she’s quite dressed up: she’s discarded her overall and is wearing a sort of pinafore dress with a striped shirt underneath it. There’s a big rather vulgar brooch on her collar. Her best outfit, no doubt. It dawns on me that she won’t be allowed to do any cleaning until the police have finished whatever it is they’re doing.
“Good morning, Jackie.”
“Good morning, Mr Kevan,” she says, in her fluttery way. “I’m really sorry you’ve had to come back before your holiday’s finished. Should I make you
some tea?”
“I’d prefer coffee. Black coffee,” I say, walking past her. As I expect, Sentance is hovering further down the hall. I leave it to her to decide whether she wants to offer anyone else refreshments, which I can see makes her uncomfortable. She disappears into the scullery.
I open the morning-room door and gesture to the police to go in. Sentance hot-foots it towards us, his feet clattering on the tiles in his haste. I hold up my hand.
“I’d rather see them on my own, Tony, if you don’t mind.”
“But I . . .”
“You’ve already spoken to the policeman who came here about the burglary, I believe? Presumably you told him everything you know?”
“Yes, but . . .”
I turn to DI Yates.
“Do you need Sentance to take part in this discussion?”
“Not if you’d prefer him not to be there, sir.” He looks across my shoulder at Sentance. “Would you mind waiting until we’ve finished, Mr Sentance? We may need to speak to you again before we go.”
Sentance shrugs as if it’s of no importance and follows in Jackie’s footsteps. I catch sight of that glowering look on his face, though, before he turns away. It hits me with some force that I must make the effort to get rid of him. I’ll do it as soon as Joanna . . .
I follow the police into the morning-room and shut the door firmly. It’s only six days since Joanna and I left, but already it has a sour, shut-in smell, not helped by the heavy drapes which have been drawn across the windows. Jackie’s idea of decorum, I suppose. It’s as if someone’s died, rather than that a foiled burglary’s taken place. I stride across to the curtains and fling them back, letting in bright shafts of sunlight.
The police choose to roost awkwardly in front of the fireplace. I point at one of the sofas and myself take the chair nearest the window, so that my face is in shadow and I can observe them better than they can see me. DC Armstrong moves and perches on the edge of the sofa. She has to twist her neck awkwardly in order to look at me. DI Yates is more canny. He remains standing. This puts me at a disadvantage, but I’m too weary to get to my feet again. They both look discomfited.
“Well?” I say. “Shall we get on with it?”
“Certainly,” Yates agrees, smoothly enough to renew my mistrust in him. “As you know, we’re here about two incidents: the attempt made to break into this house yesterday morning and what appear to be counterfeit passports found by the policeman who searched the house after the burglars were apprehended.”
I nod.
“First of all, do you have any idea why this house might have been targeted for a burglary?”
“I should have thought that was obvious. We’re a wealthy family and my wife and I were known to be away from home. I asked Jackie and Sentance to keep an eye on the place and I also told the local bobby that the house would be empty. I realise now that wasn’t enough. Next time I shall put in a security guard – if there is a next time.”
“How many people knew you were on holiday?”
“After that article appeared in the Spalding Guardian, just about the whole county, probably. Before it was published, only my senior office staff and Jackie and her husband. And my son Archie, of course, but he’s at boarding school, so even if he told his friends – which is unlikely – I doubt it would have travelled further. Nine-year-old boys aren’t much interested in the travel arrangements of their friends’ parents, in my experience.”
“No, indeed.” DI Yates manages a thin smile. He probably disapproves of kids being sent away to be educated. If he but knew it, so do I.
“How long is it since you told Mr Sentance of your holiday plans?”
“What? Why do you want to know that? I really couldn’t say. It’s more than a holiday; it’s also a business trip. Sentance was in on it from the start.”
“I see. And Mrs Briggs?”
“You’ll have to ask her. My wife deals with the domestic side of things. I didn’t speak to Jackie about it myself – I don’t see her very much, actually – but I’m guessing that Joanna told her a couple of weeks ago. Longer ago than that, possibly.”
He nods.
“How many people have access to this house, Mr de Vries?”
“Quite a few. I use it for business meetings on occasion, with my senior managers as well as business partners.”
“Do you allow anyone to use any of the rooms independently of your permission, or when you’re absent?”
“Not as a rule. Sentance comes here when we’re away sometimes, to deposit mail and that sort of thing. He has a key. I wouldn’t expect him to conduct meetings here or invite people in off his own bat. In fact, I’d take a dim view of that, as I’m sure he knows.”
“How many people have keys altogether?”
“Myself and Joanna, of course. Sentance and Jackie. I believe that Joanna gave one to her mother. There’s a spare that I keep in my desk. Oh, and Archie has one, of course.”
“That’s seven.”
“Yes.”
“Do you think that any of those people might have had an extra key cut?”
“They can’t. There’s a code on each key. It means that my permission is required before any new keys are cut.”
“Your permission or your wife’s?”
“No. Just mine. I do have some idea about security.”
DI Yates pauses before he speaks again.
“I’m sure you do. We’ll need to account for all of the keys in due course – make sure they’re all still with the people you gave them to, I mean, and that none of them has lent one to someone else.”
“I hardly think that’s likely.”
“Perhaps not; but the alternative is that we arrest you on suspicion of forgery.” He moves closer to me. His voice is harder now. He’s looking at me carefully. I return his stare. I refuse to be intimidated by a copper, especially in my own house. I decide that if this one oversteps the mark, I shall have words with that toad Thornton.
There’s a knock at the door and Jackie comes in with a tray. As I’d guessed, it bears a coffee-pot and a teapot, several cups and a plate of biscuits. She puts it down on the low table that stands between me and DC Armstrong.
“Thank you.” I say. She disappears quickly. I don’t bother to offer the drinks.
“You were saying?”
“I said that the alternative is to arrest you on suspicion of forgery.” He’s watching me levelly, appraisingly.
DC Armstrong rises to her feet, closing in so that we form a misshapen triangle.
“Do you mind my asking why Mrs de Vries didn’t come home with you?” She sounds gentle, but she’s probing.
I return her gaze for several seconds.
“Not at all,” I say, after the silence has become uncomfortable. “My wife is ill: seriously ill. She’s been suffering from leukaemia for a long time now. We hoped that it had been stabilised by the drugs, but we knew that there was a chance that it would get out of control again. This time, they can’t pull it back. She’s tried everything that the quacks can think of, but it’s been of no use. She’s in palliative care, now. She’s not in too much pain at the moment and, although she’s weak, she can still enjoy some aspects of her life, provided that she takes it easy. Relaxation doesn’t come naturally to her. It took all my powers of persuasion to get her to St Lucia. If you must know, she was very keen to return here with me, but I wanted her to stay there. I’d like her last weeks to be as tranquil as possible. I didn’t think that having a posse of policemen traipsing around the house asking questions would quite cut it.” I glare at her.
“I’m sorry . . .” she begins to say. I hold up my hand. The impertinence of the woman suddenly enrages me.
“Don’t!” I say. “She wouldn’t thank you. Nor do I. The grief is ours. It’s private. You will allow us that, at least.”
She look
s down at her shoes.
DI Yates leaps to her rescue.
“Of course we won’t intrude,” he says, his voice still stern. “Can we get back to the passports now?”
The bastard has not only wrong-footed me, he’s also implied that Joanna’s illness is incidental, a little aside that’s obscuring the real topic of business. But he’s over-stepped: I shall definitely be on to Thornton when they’ve gone.
“What is it you want me to say? I’ve never seen them. I’m prepared to accept the word of your colleague that he found them here, but I don’t know how they got here, or even what they look like. They were British passports, I take it?”
“Yes. What makes you say that, sir?” He screws up his eyes as he speaks.
“It was a logical guess, nothing more. Everyone knows how desirable a British passport is.”
“Quite.”
“How do you know they’re forgeries, anyway? Are they very bad ones?”
“On the contrary, they seem to be excellent copies. At present we know they’re fake only because there are no names in them. Passports are never issued blank, for obvious reasons. We’ve sent all but one to an expert to see if she can identify any other anomalies. We’ll arrange to show you the one that remains in our possession. It’s at the police station. We’ll have to ask you to come there, eventually.”
“Does this mean that I’m under suspicion of some kind of wrongdoing?”
“I’m afraid we can’t rule that out at the moment, Mr de Vries. We’ll be asking you to stay in the area until we’ve got to the bottom of this. Look at it as a formality, if you prefer.”
“I see. Is that all you require of me?”
“Not quite. The passports were found as part of the routine post-burglary check to try to establish what was missing from the property. We weren’t authorised to conduct a thorough search at that point. We’ll need this authorisation now. My preference would be for you to agree voluntarily, but I can obtain a warrant if you wish.”
Sausage Hall Page 3
