Sausage Hall

by Christina James

  Juliet found herself immediately thrust into a dilemma. She realised that the ochre paper might have no significance at all; it could just be scrap that the manufacturer of the notebook had used to pad out the cover. On the other hand, it might help her to understand what had happened at Laurieston House when Florence Jacobs had been its nominal chatelaine. But neither she nor Katrin owned the notebook. It was the property of Jackie Briggs. She couldn’t inflict further damage on the cover to extract the ochre paper without asking Jackie for permission. She decided to call Katrin.

  “I’m happy to call Jackie Briggs and ask her if she minds,” said Katrin. “But I can’t do it today. You obviously haven’t heard from Tim yet. Joanna de Vries was found dead in the cellar at Laurieston House in the early hours of this morning. Tim’s there at the moment, with Kevan de Vries and his son. I think that Mrs Briggs is helping to look after the boy.”

  “That’s terrible news! I feel so sorry for the child. And his father: Kevan de Vries isn’t the sort of person you take to immediately, but I’ve never been entirely convinced that he’s a villain, either. But how did Joanna de Vries die? Was it suicide? It’s strange that that cellar has claimed yet another life. It’s as if it’s jinxed.”

  “Tim said something like that when he called me. I think he was actually repeating something that Kevan de Vries said to him. I don’t think they know how she died, yet. Stuart Salkeld’s taken the body away to do a post mortem. It could have been an accident. But Tim says that what’s most odd about it is that she was in the cellar at all. Apparently it always gave her the creeps.”

  “I’m not surprised! The whole house gives me the creeps. But she couldn’t have known about the skeletons in the cellar until recently. I wonder why she didn’t like it before that?”

  “I don’t know – but not everyone enjoys poking about in damp cellars, though I must admit I’ve always wanted to live in a house that had one, myself. I’ve just had another thought about the journal.”

  “Go on.”

  “It would still need Jackie Briggs’s permission – but why don’t we take it to the Archaeological Society and ask if one of the people who carries out restoration work there can get the ochre paper out from under the cover? They’re likely to damage it far less than we will. They’ll probably be able to stick the outside paper back to the cover so it looks just the same as it did before – they might even re-pad it.”

  “You’re a genius!” said Juliet. “How should I return the journal to you? I don’t suppose that Tim will be coming to see me today, given what you’ve just told me. I think they may discharge me tomorrow, so it could wait until then. But I don’t know if they’ll allow me to see you. There may be a slight chance that I’m still infectious. And I’m impatient for us to solve this mystery, if we can.”

  “Me, too. Great news that they’re going to let you out. With regard to the journal – Tim told me that there’s a new WPC in his team, who’s still living in Boston. Perhaps she could pick it up. I think her name’s Verity something.”

  “Verity Tandy. I’ve met her once and she left a message for me when I was first brought here. I didn’t feel up to answering it at the time. But I agree, she’s worth a try.”

  “How are you feeling now?”

  “It’s difficult to say while I’m in here. It’s such an odd experience being in hospital: de-humanising, almost. And I’ve been pumped full of antibiotics, which certainly hasn’t helped. I think I’m probably just a bit weak still. And bored. But having Florence Jacobs’ journal to mull over has certainly helped in that respect. But how do you feel? I should have asked before.”

  “Still quite sick, but it’s not unbearable. The journal’s helped me, too. But work is boring at the moment – I’ve been looking at all sorts of financial and personnel records from de Vries Industries, for Superintendent Thornton. I don’t know what he thinks I might find, but so far it all seems perfectly above board. I’d better get back to it now.”

  After Juliet had put down the phone, she lay back on the pillows for a while, looking at the drip in her arm and the inflamed red skin that surrounded the cannula. It was late morning. In the distance she could hear the clanking of trolleys, the signal that the first of the ward lunches were being served. She knew that Louise Butler would visit while on her rounds later in the afternoon. She’d make an effort to get out of bed after lunch, ask one of the nurses to help her wash her hair. She told herself that it was because, if she were to be discharged tomorrow, she wanted to leave the hospital looking presentable.

  Forty-Seven

  Kevan de Vries had offered Tim the use of the drawing-room at Laurieston House so that he could wait for Tony Sentance to appear while de Vries himself disappeared into the kitchen. Tim could hear him speaking to someone in low tones and a woman’s voice joining in. Both seemed to be cajoling a third person rather than conducting a conversation with each other. He guessed that de Vries and Jackie Briggs were trying to comfort or reason with Archie.

  Tim paced around restlessly for a few minutes, before remembering once again that he had yet to contact Superintendent Thornton. Although he doubted that if he spoke in normal tones it would be possible for de Vries and Jackie Briggs to hear what he was saying, he felt uncomfortable about talking about de Vries while taking advantage of the man’s hospitality. He therefore decided to make the call from the garden.

  He slipped out through the front door and turned right past the bay window to a spot where he’d noticed a wrought-iron bench placed close to a weeping willow tree. It was damp and spattered with bird droppings, but he found a cleanish section near to the willow and sat down. He’d just taken out his mobile when it began to ring. He peered at the number. It wasn’t one that he recognised.

  “I want to speak to Detective Inspector Yates, please.” It was a woman’s voice. She had a strong local accent and sounded agitated.

  “Speaking. Who am I talking to?”

  “My name is Dulcie Wharton. I work at the de Vries plant at Sutton Bridge. I’ve been trying to contact a DC Carstairs, but I don’t have his number.”

  “I can give you it if you like.”

  “There’s no time. I’ll get caught. I’m in the office but I can’t stay here. I found your card on Mr Sentance’s desk.”

  “Can you tell me what it’s about?”

  “It’s about that girl. The one who was murdered. I can’t stand by and tell you nothing. It might happen again . . .” There was a sudden silence.

  “Hello? Mrs Wharton? Are you still there?”

  “Yes... there was someone walking past. I’ve got to go.”

  “Call me again when...”

  The phone went dead.

  Tim called Andy’s number immediately.

  “Hello, Tim?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Heading back towards the station. I’m almost there.”

  “I’ve just been called by a woman named Dulcie Wharton, at the de Vries plant in Sutton Bridge. She said she’d really wanted to speak to you, but didn’t have your number. She sounded frightened.”

  “I remember her. She was one of the supervisors I spoke to – the only one who got upset when I showed them the picture of the girl’s body at Sandringham.”

  “She said ‘she couldn’t let it happen again’. Does this make any sense to you?”

  “No more than it does to you, but I think we should take it seriously. I was convinced the supervisors were in cahoots over something and that Tony Sentance was masterminding it. Dulcie was the only one who wasn’t quite toeing the line – and the others made pretty sure of shutting her up. The other woman among them hustled her out of the room very sharpish when she got emotional.”

  “Do you think she’s in danger?”

  “She could be, but my guess is that she won’t put herself at any further risk. You’ve probably got as much out of her as she’
s prepared to give. What do you want me to do? I can go back to Sutton Bridge and ask to speak to the supervisors again, if you like.”

  “You’ll have to be careful not to expose her. You could insist on interviewing them separately, and see if she’ll tell you any more. I’d like to come with you, but I’m still at Laurieston House, waiting for Tony Sentance to turn up here. I’ll let you know when he’s arrived. You can head for Sutton Bridge now, but don’t go into the plant until I call you. Then at least you won’t have him getting in your way again when you start the interviews.”

  The call was interrupted by the impatient pip-pips that signified ‘caller waiting’.

  “I think that Superintendent Thornton’s trying to get through. I’d better go.”

  “Yates? Where the hell are you? I’ve been trying to get hold of you all morning.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. I was just about to call you when . . .”

  “Are you with Kevan de Vries?”

  “Not exactly, sir. I’m at his house, waiting for Tony Sentance to show up. He’s with his son at the moment.”

  “Is he quite happy to have you there?”

  “I wouldn’t say he was happy about anything at the moment, sir. But he seems prepared to let me interview Sentance here. My understanding is that he wants to see him as well. At the moment, no-one seems able to locate him. Jean Rook’s trying to track him down.”

  “My God! Is she there, too?”

  “Not at the moment, but . . .”

  “Well, just try to handle all this delicately, will you, Yates? I want de Vries treated with kid gloves. The man’s just lost his wife, for God’s sake! Don’t outstay your welcome, whatever else you may think you need to do.”

  “No, sir.”

  “And keep me informed. Are you making any progress with the passports? That’s what you really ought to be doing. Once you’ve spoken to this Sentance, I want you back on that job. Concentrating on it, Yates, if that isn’t too much to ask.”

  Superintendent Thornton didn’t wait to hear Tim’s reply. Tim thought that it was just as well: if he’d had the patience to listen a little longer, Tim would have had to tell him that he’d sent Andy Carstairs back to Sutton Bridge. He replaced the phone in its case and stood up. The call from Dulcie Wharton had been troubling.

  Jean Rook’s car swung through the double gates and drew in smartly beside his own. She shot out of it immediately. Tim observed that she was more elegantly dressed than when he had seen her in the early hours of the morning. However, her face was pinched and drawn, her eyes almost wild. She hurried towards him as fast as four-inch heels on deep gravel would permit. Intrigued by her unwonted lack of composure, Tim also began to walk. They met by the bay window.

  “DI Yates! I’m glad you’re still here.”

  “Well, that makes a first,” said Tim drily. “Is there something wrong, Ms Rook?”

  “I think that Tony Sentance may have left the country. There’s evidence that he’s helped himself to a significant sum of money from de Vries Industries.”

  “We should go into the house. We can’t talk properly here.”

  Jean Rook glanced fearfully at the bay window and caught her breath.

  “Kevan’s watching us. We’ll have to let him know, now.”

  Tim was puzzled.

  “Is there any reason why he shouldn’t know? Aside from sparing his feelings, I mean?”

  “Yes . . . No. It’s very complicated.”

  Tim had never expected to see Jean Rook so agitated. He grasped her elbow lightly.

  “Let’s go in,” he said.

  Forty-Eight

  Archie is resting in bed. Jackie and I finally persuaded him to go upstairs with us after she gave him some of the sedative that the doctor left, disguised in chocolate milk. Even though he’s a child and incapable of making choices about his own health, I feel bad about tricking him with the drugs. He’s taken too many drugs in his life, most of them, I suspect, of no benefit to him whatsoever. I leave Jackie sitting beside his bed, holding his hand as he dozes. I grit my teeth, knowing that now I have to run the gauntlet of another interview with DI Yates. Sentance will be here soon, too. And Jean, I suppose. I must think clearly. What I have to do now is close this whole thing down as soon as possible so that I can take Archie away. We can start again together. I’m determined to make him trust me and I’m equally resolved to make him happy. It’s strange that for so many years I was desperate to create an heir, obsessed with the thought that if Joanna couldn’t conceive there would be no-one to take over the business. De Vries Industries! Why would I wish them on anyone, let alone my own son? I’ll divest myself of them as soon as I can and move away from the murk of this Fenland village, the sinister gloom of this house. Archie and I will find somewhere glorious to live in the sun.

  I stand for a few moments on the landing, and listen. Jackie is humming to Archie, a wordless crooning to soothe him. He makes no sound. I hope that he is already asleep.

  I’m mildly irritated when I enter the drawing-room to discover that DI Yates is no longer there. I’d assumed that the man would have had the courtesy to tell me if he was leaving, but there’s no telling, of course. He strikes me as less uncouth than most of the policemen I’ve met, even so. I glance across the room and see that the small attaché case that he carries is lying on the sofa. Unlikely that he’s left completely, then, but where has he gone? I suppose that he may have returned to the cellar, even though he told me it should be left sealed until the forensic woman can come back. I’m about to retrace my steps when I see him outside, standing close to the bay window. He’s talking to someone. I crane my neck a little and see that it is Jean. She’s looking agitated, which is out of character. I shouldn’t have involved Jean in any of this. It cuts too close to the bone with her. And I know she’s an inveterate schemer. God knows what might be going through her mind, now that Joanna’s died.

  She catches my eye momentarily and looks away. The detective takes hold of her arm. He seems to be persuading her to come into the house, which in itself is odd: she doesn’t usually need any encouragement. I decide to stay put and wait for them to show up.

  A couple of minutes later, there’s a knock at the door. It’s the detective’s notion of being polite, I guess; I doubt if Jean would have bothered if she’d been on her own.

  “Come!” I say, taking an ironic pleasure in sounding like my pompous headmaster when I was at the Grammar School.

  They enter the room together. Yates is looking puzzled and Jean is decidedly flustered. I note that she’s more appropriately dressed than usual, in a sober black suit with a skirt that reaches the knee. Out of respect for Joanna? More likely she wants me to believe this is her reason.

  “How is your son?” the detective asks.

  “He’s upstairs with Mrs Briggs. With any luck she’s managed to get him off to sleep. He’s very distressed, as I’m sure you could see.” I turn to Jean. “When did you say that you asked Sentance to come here? There are several things that I want him to deal with as quickly as possible.”

  Jean looks at me without speaking. It’s a look I can’t read: stricken, or mutinous? It’s hard to say, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her like this before.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “It’s Tony Sentance,” she says eventually. “I think he’s disappeared.”

  “What do you mean, disappeared? As in absconded? If so, why would he? I don’t understand.”

  I see that the detective is watching me very closely. Does he know I’m hamming it up a bit? But it’s Jean who speaks next.

  “Kevan, I’m not sure what’s happening. I think Tony’s involved in more than we realise. There’s quite a lot of money missing – I think maybe even . . .”

  “Forget about the money, Jean. It’s not important. As long as Archie and I have enough to live on in comfort, that
’s all that concerns me. And if I never have to clap eyes on Sentance again, so much the better. You’d better make sure all the bank accounts are closed against his signature, so that he can’t take any more.”

  “I’ve done that already.”

  It’s impossible not to admire the woman. I shoot her an appreciative glance before I turn back to the policeman.

  “DI Yates, as it seems we are both unable to see Sentance this afternoon, perhaps you wouldn’t mind leaving me in peace? I’d really rather spend the rest of the day with my son, if it’s all the same to you. Perhaps you’d care to come back when your Professor Salkeld has established why Joanna . . . the cause of death.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid I do have to continue with my enquiries. It’s become a matter of urgency. We don’t have any proof yet, but we suspect that Tony Sentance is somehow involved in the death of the girl whose body was found in Sandringham woods a few days ago. One of my officers is on his way to interview the supervisors at your Sutton Bridge plant again now. If our suspicions are correct, the passports that were found in your cellar may be linked to her murder as well. We still don’t know the girl’s identity, but she was probably from one of the Eastern European countries. Forged passports can be used to get people into the country as well as out of it.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, but it’s nothing to do with me. I’ve told you before that I know nothing about the passports and I don’t have any relevant Eastern European connections.”

  “I see,” says DI Yates. “In that case, I’ll leave you in peace, as you request. If, when you’ve thought about it, you can come up with any ideas about where Tony Sentance is, or where he might be heading, I’d appreciate your letting us know. There’s a possibility that another girl may be at risk. I shall put checks on all the ports and airports. I think it’s likely he’ll be trying to leave the country. And we shall get to the bottom of this, sir. I’m sure Ms Rook will be able to tell you about the penalties for obstructing the police and perverting the course of justice.”