“But what about Neville and the girlfriend,” said Palmer. “They bother me the most.”
“He comes across as a slimy manipulating type, but she could be even worse. Let’s look at them when we get back to base. Start digging and let’s see what we can get.”
Chapter Six
Back at the station, Palmer got busy. She called Gardner’s & Co and got through to Norman Gardner, the man in charge. Gardner spoke slowly and enunciated his words like a Church of England vicar. And when she told him about Nigel Grave’s murder, the man seemed genuinely upset.
“That’s terrible, truly, truly terrible,” he said.
“Yes, Mr Gardner, it was,” said Palmer.
“Have you got any suspects as yet?” he said.
“We’re just starting our inquiries,” she said, keeping her cards close to her chest.
“Which is why you want to know about Mr Grave’s last will and testament? You’re looking for the motive, obviously. But you can’t really believe it was family, can you?”
“At this stage, Mr Gardner, we can rule nothing out. Not until the evidence tells us what we need to know. There is a will, I take it.”
“Yes, a standard joint will. The estate passes to the partner left behind, although I had started some preliminary work on an LPA for the Graves in case one or both of them became unable to manage their affairs properly. Just some initial inquiries, you understand.”
“An LPA? You mean a Lasting Power of Attorney?” said Palmer.
“Exactly. Mr Grave came to see me about it only last month. In fact, we talked about it extensively.”
Palmer thought of the old lady by the dining table, with the childlike petulant look on her face and the glassy eyes. She seemed to flit between adult behaviour and slipping into the childish airs of someone with signs of dementia.
“Did Mr Grave mention why he was thinking of an LPA?” said Palmer.
“Not entirely. He was rarely an open book. But his age and his health suggested it was a concern. I didn’t want to probe too much. I’d known him for a very long time, but only in a professional capacity. LPAs are sensitive matters.”
“Can I ask who he wanted to act as his attorney?”
“He seemed caught between two different people. I could tell it was a struggle for him. Being an attorney is an awful responsibility in a time of family crisis. The powers usually come into effect after the subject becomes mentally incapacitated. Which is a problem for those involved already. An emotional drain, a time drain, and the like. Which often means the attorney has a lot going on when they are landed with this new added responsibility of managing someone else’s financial affairs.”
“So, you think that’s why he couldn’t choose?” said Palmer. “Nigel Grave was worried about putting on people?”
“Probably. He was a very kindly man.”
“Do you know who he might have been thinking of?”
“I’ve known him long enough to guess.”
“Yes?” said Palmer.
“There were two alternatives, DS Palmer. Either, Neville, his adopted son or Trevor, his brother-in-law. They are natural candidates for the role.”
Palmer’s mind had tripped over one of Gardner’s words. She rewound the conversation in her head.
“Excuse me, Mr Gardner. Did you say Neville was Mr Grave’s adopted son?”
There was a moment’s silence.
“Yes. Yes, I did,” said Gardner. “You didn’t know?”
“It hadn’t come up yet, that’s all,” said Palmer.
“Yes. Neville was adopted in the sense that he wasn’t Nigel’s own flesh and blood.”
Palmer processed what she’d heard so far.
“That’s a funny way to put it, Mr Gardner. Adoption is adoption, is it not?” said Palmer.
“Yes and no. I’m afraid I’ve overstepped the mark already here, detective. I feel I must leave the matter there.”
Palmer scribbled furiously on a notepad beside the phone.
Neville – Adopted – What? She circled the note.
“Very well, Mr Gardner, had you heard anything lately about their health – either Mrs Grave or Mr Grave, to suggest a power of attorney needed to be triggered?”
“Mr Grave wasn’t as strong as he used to be. It was clear he was aging faster than before. But I didn’t pry.”
“And he didn’t mention his wife?”
“I asked about her – as one does. He said Susan was fine. I didn’t see the need to pry any further.”
Palmer chewed her lip. Then why did old Nigel ask about an LPA? It had to be for his wife. But if that were true, did the old man have a premonition that he wasn’t going to be around? Did he have an inkling someone wanted him dead? Or was it simply the inquiry of a man who always acted carefully and responsibly about his assets.
“He gave you no clue as to why he asked about it, Mr Gardner? None at all?”
“If you knew Nigel Grave, you would have known that he wanted to ensure the farm carried on. That was always at the forefront of his mind. The matter of the LPA would have been no different.
“How do you know?”
“Because it always was. He was afraid of being the one to kill off the family legacy. I knew the finances were precarious. That was easy to see.”
“Tell me, Mr Gardner. What do you make of Neville Grave and Trevor Goodwell?”
“What? Their characters, you mean? Both seem fine from what I know. Trevor was a successful businessman in the city. I discussed that with Nigel. And Neville had shown immense loyalty and capability in running things for Nigel when he was busy.”
“Busy?”
Silence again. When Gardner spoke again his voice was hesitant.
“Yes…” said Gardner. “There were periods of time when his mother had trouble.”
“Trouble?”
Gardner sighed. “I suppose I shall have to tell you. Gambling and alcohol, detective. Never a good mix, I think you’ll agree. There were times he had to take her away from the farm to get her fixed. Rehab and all that. Nigel used to go with her from time to time.”
“I see… and when was the last bout of those problems.”
“A few years back. The trouble is that those problems never really go away. They linger in the background. And alcohol causes plenty of other problems too, doesn’t it?”
“You sound like a man of experience, Mr Gardner,” said Palmer.
“I’ve had lots of clients with problems, detective. Booze is right up there at the top, along with cocaine. It makes people act out of character. They ruin their lives over it.”
“So, did Mrs Grave ever act out of character?”
“Oh, a great many times, from what I hear. I think it was why Nigel hesitated about choosing who to have his power of attorney.”
“Why?”
“Because she fell out with Neville, their son, a good few years back. She decided he was out to get them. Their money, the farm too.”
Palmer took a long gulp of her lukewarm coffee, in lieu of something much stronger.
“Was there any basis for that – in reality, I mean?” she said.
“Who knows? But I very much doubt it. Listen, Detective Palmer… I’ve only told you all this because it’ll come out sooner or later. But I had thought you would have known about the adoption business already.”
“As you said, Mr Gardner, it would have come out soon enough. Did Mr Grave say if anyone else knew about that LPA?”
“I doubt it. Like I said, he was quite a private man.”
“How far did things progress with the LPA?”
“Not far enough. We didn’t even fill out the form. It was a discussion, that’s all. He was going to book an appointment and fill it out with me at a later date. It’ll never happen now, of course.”
“No. No, it won’t. You’ve been a great help, Mr Gardner.”
“Yes. I hope you bring this villain to justice. Nigel was a kind man. He looked after the migrant workers, you know. N
o matter what had happened before, he always cared for them.”
“Mr Gardner? What did you mean by that?”
This time the pause at the other end seemed final. Gardner clearly believed he had said enough already.
“Like I said, he was a very kindly man. I’m sorry. Duty calls. I must go now. Goodbye, detective.”
The call was over. Palmer looked at the string of scruffy notes made on the pad beside her desk.
LPA not set up. Did Farmer Grave know he would be killed?
The adoption. Mother believed him a threat.
To this Palmer added one more line. Did Farmer Grave have a past problem with migrants? It was worth checking.
Gardner had presented her with at least three possible gold nuggets. The LPA could have been a motive of a kind – either in believing it had already been set up, or in preventing it.
Then there was the son having a grievance with his mother.
And now the possible migrant issue.
Gardner had given them a treasure trove of questions, but what they needed were answers. Palmer stared at her notes and chewed the end of her biro as the office door creaked open. Hogarth walked in with a few neat sheets of paper his hand. He laid them down on the desk in front of her.
“You see that?” said Hogarth. “The notes from the shed match the shred of paper copied from Marris. It’s part of the same piece,” said Hogarth, “but there’s a ton missing. But wait for it,” he said. “I only saw this part when I photocopied it. There was another line on the back. Can you see it?”
Palmer squinted to make it out.
“Even Peter had an idea of what to do, but there was no way I could do it without…”
“Peter,” said Palmer, looking at Hogarth., her mind still swimming with her own discoveries.
“Yes. Peter Venky. The vet. Now why would the vet have given input on the future of the farm?”
“Maybe he didn’t, guv. Maybe you’re reading too much into it.”
“No. It’s about the farm. It has to be in order to make sense. But if Peter Venky stuck his oar in as well, then he’s not the independent arbitrator I had him down for. And think; he was first on the scene after those migrant workers… I’d say this puts him back firmly in the list of suspects, wouldn’t you?”
“About those migrant workers, guv…?”
Hogarth put his hands on his hips and nodded.
“I think your suspect list is going to get a bit longer.”
“Longer?” said Hogarth with a frown.
“Something else has come up. I had a chat with the solicitor, and I think Nigel Grave had some kind of past with migrants, and not all of it good.”
“Skeletons in the closet, eh?” said Hogarth.
“Where does it end?” said Palmer.
“That’s the trouble, Palmer, it doesn’t, does it? People just get murkier the deeper you go.”
Chapter Seven
“Mr Venky!” said Hogarth, rubbing his hands in the winter cold.
“Inspector Hogarth,” said the tall man, standing inside the front door of his vet practice. He pushed his glasses further up on his nose.
“Do come in.”
“Busy with pets and livestock?” said Hogarth.
“Not quite. I was forced to cancel my appointments today. It’s lucky there were no emergencies. But when a man loses a friend what can one do?”
“Nothing, Mr Venky. Take the blow and roll with it, I’m afraid.”
“But what a wicked blow to take.”
Peter Venky was his last call of a long day. Hogarth had the gist of Palmer’s new information and had chewed on it during the four-mile drive to Rochford where Venky’s vet practice was based. It didn’t seem likely that Venky was their man. He seemed the least likely money-grabber of them all. Venky didn’t stand to gain from his friend’s death, not unless he planned on getting hitched to Susan Grave. As the power of attorney had not yet been set up, that was certainly one way to get the farm. But from what Hogarth had seen the woman was in no fit state to marry anyone. If it had been set up, the LPA could have prevented anyone getting the family money through the old woman, but the husband’s love for his wife had prevented him from doing what needed to be done. It was a theory which couldn’t be proved, but it made sense to Hogarth.
The tall Mr Venky led them through a white clinical treatment room, beyond a holding area full of empty cages, and past a small reception desk. Beyond this last door the vet’s practice turned into a dated but cosy living space with upholstered armchairs, shelves full of books and newspapers, a coffee table, and a rug. Work and home were clearly closely entwined for Peter Venky. “Take a seat,” said Venky. “I didn’t expect to see you for a third time today.”
“Neither did I, Mr Venky, but when new information comes up, I need to consider it as soon as possible. Whoever killed Mr Grave needs to be put away quickly.”
Venky’s face turned ashen.
“Agreed. Can I get you anything? Tea? Maybe something stronger, detective?”
“You don’t know how tempting that sounds, but I’d better not.”
The tall man nodded, took off his white coat and hung it over a tea trolley in the corner of the living room.
Venky sat down and Hogarth followed suit. The room was musty, but not unpleasant. Add a real log fire and it was the kind of room Hogarth could have easily fallen asleep in.
“New information, you say?” said Mr Venky.
“Yes. Today’s family lunch was set up, so Mr Grave could announce the farm’s future, yes?”
“I believe so.”
“You were Mr Grave’s friend, is that correct?”
Venky nodded.
“You must have been or you wouldn’t have been invited to the lunch.”
“Yes, we were good friends for well over twenty years.”
Hogarth nodded. “Then maybe you know what his actual intentions were for the farm?”
“I’m afraid not. Nigel was a secretive man, Inspector. Not in a bad way. But he was very traditional and careful. He liked to think about things a great deal before he committed to them, which is one of the reasons I think the farm was held back like it was. It declined because of his belief in the old ways. And not only that. He liked the old ways. It gave him a link to his father, and to the generations before him who’d looked after that farm. He felt a great sense of responsibility.”
“But he didn’t tell you his plan.”
Venky shrugged. “He mooted a few things. I know he had finally relented. He wanted to modernise it.”
“Modernise in which way?”
“I simply can’t tell you, Inspector.”
“I’ve already seen quite clear evidence of two divergent plans coming from Trevor Goodwell and Neville Grave. Do you know about those?”
“I have more than an inkling. I’ve been around and seen it when either Trevor or Neville was badgering him.”
Hogarth waited.
“In short, Neville wants him to adopt new ways. He talks about a diverse range of incomes, a modern farm with varied crops, farm stay holiday accommodation, farm tours, workshops, a business centre. That kind of thing. He speaks of the farm as a brand and as a piece of land for multiple uses. He said the farm should be modern like that, but I think it reeked of far too much change for Nigel to handle. A farm was for growing crops and rearing livestock. Not a mere piece of land.”
“Not like the way Neville’s girlfriend, Nancy Decorville, might see it?” said Hogarth.
“That girl is quite a charmer, but I think Trevor might have a point about her. She appeared on the scene when Neville organised an event to promote the farm as a business centre. I don’t think he actually asked Nigel for permission for that event, but he ran it anyway and I went along to support it, and there she was. It was the first time I laid eyes on her. It was only a matter of a few weeks and then they were an item. I don’t want to cast aspersions, Inspector. It could be very innocent. But it seemed like a hasty affair given th
e timing.
“You think she’s an opportunist, then?”
“I think her career is as important to her as her romantic interests, let’s put it that way.”
Hogarth nodded. He knew exactly what the man was saying.
“And do you think she could have had anything to do with Mr Grave’s death?”
“What? Are you serious?!”
“I have to ask,” said Hogarth.
“I don’t see how. And I think she arrived at the house after Nigel was killed. Besides… Nigel had become quite a slight old man in his final years, granted, but a girl like her couldn’t lift him, surely. Whoever lifted poor Nigel had to be strong enough to turn him over and dump him into that bloody awful machine…”
Hogarth had already reached the same conclusion, but it was still possible that the girl was stronger than she looked.
“The machine, Mr Venky. It was purchased for another of the son’s diversification ideas.”
“It was. And it was a tragic mistake as we can see.”
“Mr Goodwell questioned the purchase as a dead loss,” said Hogarth.
“Trevor is Neville’s second worst critic, Inspector.”
“Only second worst? I can’t imagine having a worse critic,” said Hogarth. “So, who is the first?”
“His mother,” said Venky.
“His mother?”
“Yes. There’s a long-term love/hate relationship there, Inspector. It’s always been like that.”
“But why? They seemed close enough before.”
“Did they? I suppose at times they’re close. At other times, she’s suspicious of him and resentful. As you may have noticed, she has wild mood swings, but Neville bears the brunt of it, mostly.”
“Do you know why, Mr Venky?”
Venky sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I don’t like talking about things which are not my domain, Inspector.”
The Darkest Lies: A Gripping Crime Mystery Series - Two Novel Boxed Set (The DI Hogarth Darkest Series Boxed Sets Book 1) Page 32
