by Jill McGown
SCENE IV – BARTONSHIRE.
Monday, September 29th, 11.50 a.m.
Elizabeth’s House.
Tom climbed the imposing steps up to Elizabeth Esterbrook’s cream-painted pillared front door, with its brass lion’s head door-knocker.
‘Sergeant Finch – please, come in.’ She shivered slightly. ‘My goodness, it’s getting quite autumnal, isn’t it?’
Finch agreed that it was, and went in. The house always made him feel as though he should have dressed for the occasion; a woman was polishing the hall floor with a machine, and he was shown into what he just knew had to be the morning room.
‘Well?’ she said. ‘Did Foster’s report clear Paul?’
‘It certainly agrees substantially with what he told us on Saturday night,’ said Tom.
‘So someone else killed that boy, and Angela. And then killed Paul and made it look as though he’d shot himself.’
‘It’s a possibility. And I’m sorry, but it does mean that I have more questions.’
She sat down, motioning to him to do the same.
The chair looked a bit spindly, but it seemed prepared to take his weight. ‘When I was here before,’ he said, ‘you told me that you thought Sandie Esterbrook had been used by your husband as a sort of decoy.’ That was another suggestion that had come from Elizabeth Esterbrook and been confirmed by Sandie Esterbrook, he thought, suspicious as ever. But since the lies that Sandie had told had been uncovered by Mrs Esterbrook’s private eye, collusion between the two women seemed unlikely.
It took Tom a moment to work out how to phrase it, but eventually he asked if it had occurred to her that Paul might have been using Sandie to cover up a homosexual affair.
‘You’re talking about Billy,’ she said, her eyes wide. ‘Aren’t you? The boy who was killed in Angela’s cottage.’
Tom didn’t reply.
‘It was Josh who was seeing that boy, not Paul! Why on earth would you think it was Paul? Who told you that?’
‘No one told us. It was a description we were given, that’s all.’
She looked relieved. ‘Then I don’t know who your informant is, Sergeant, but I think he was describing Josh.’ She gave a short sigh. ‘I know that must make things look bad for Josh,’ she said. ‘It was his gun, wasn’t it, that you found with Paul?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.’
‘Josh told me it was. But Paul said, didn’t he, that Josh’s boat had been broken into? It wouldn’t surprise me if that boy took the gun in the first place. He probably knew it was there. I – well, ever since I knew that boy had been killed too, I wondered if it might not have been a robbery gone wrong, as Paul suggested.’
Tom was happy to listen to anyone’s theory about this business.
‘Paul said that boy wasn’t really any good, and I wondered if he and one of his friends had intended burgling Little Elmley, but had a falling-out. And whoever it was went there, found Angela, killed her, and thought Paul had seen him.’
There was far too much money sloshing about via Esterbrook’s will to believe in a burglary, Tom thought, but a falling-out among thieves was interesting, and Elizabeth Esterbrook’s theory might contain enough truth to get some answers, if he put it to his suspect. But he ought to get to the bottom of who exactly it was Billy had been seeing, and he thought it best to accept what Mrs Esterbrook had said at face value.
‘Did you know Josh was gay?’ he asked.
‘Well, no, not until I found out about Billy. I was a bit surprised. But Paul thought he must have got into the habit in prison.’
‘Did you ever meet Billy?’
‘In a manner of speaking. I wasn’t introduced or anything, but I went with Paul to Josh’s boat one weekend, and Billy was there. Josh took him off into a corner as soon as he came on board. The next day, Angela saw them with one another, and she was worried about it, I can tell you that. She got Josh and Sandie together that very evening.’
Tom thought about that, and the visual evidence that had gone missing from the Copes’ report. The description given could just as easily apply to Josh as to Paul. Josh had said he’d come back to Bartonshire when the boat had been holed, and Paul had stayed over; it would be nice to know if that was true, at least. Tom cleared his throat slightly, not sure how Mrs Esterbrook would feel about this invasion of her privacy.
‘Your private investigator’s reports,’ he said. ‘I’d like to see them, if that would be all right.’
‘Yes, of course,’ she said. ‘They’re in the study.’
SCENE V – BARTONSHIRE.
Monday, September 29th, 12.20 p.m.
The Study.
Elizabeth decided that she rather liked Sergeant Finch, as he followed her into the study that Paul had had kitted out and then had never used. That was why she had kept Foster’s reports in there. She unlocked the bottom drawer of the desk, and drew out the reports, handing them to him, inviting him to take a seat.
The contrast between the curly blond hair, which made him look almost angelic, and the tough, suspicious approach which offset his looks had put her off a bit to start with, but he was trying so hard to be diplomatic that it made her smile, even though having to admit that she had done this was no fun at all.
‘I don’t know that they’ll be much help,’ she said, as Sergeant Finch glanced through them. ‘They certainly weren’t much help to me.’
‘I had hoped they might help with a previous time that interests us,’ he said. ‘The Bank Holiday weekend, when there was an accident to the boat. But that one seems to be missing.’
‘I don’t have a report about that weekend,’ she said. ‘The man had flu or something.’
‘Oh, well, it doesn’t really matter. But I understand that Josh came home and that your husband stayed over?’
She frowned. ‘No, they both came home,’ she said. ‘On the Sunday, just after it happened.’
‘But the boat was holed on the Saturday, wasn’t it?’
‘No, the Sunday.’
He looked puzzled. ‘Are you certain about that?’ he asked.
‘Yes. Angela rang and told me. So I’d know to expect Paul home. And I was at Little Elmley when Josh and Sandie arrived back. When I got back here, Paul was here. So they all came back at the same time.’
He stood up. ‘You’ve been very helpful, Mrs Esterbrook. Thank you for your time, and – I’m sorry. You know. If all these questions are a bit upsetting.’
She smiled. ‘You have your job to do,’ she said, as she escorted him to the front door. ‘And I’m relieved that you know now that Paul had nothing to do with it. Just get it sorted out, please.’
‘We will,’ he promised, and turned to go, then turned back. ‘You don’t happen to know Sandie’s maiden name, do you?’ he asked. ‘It’s not important, but it might help—’
‘Townsend.’
‘Thank you,’ he said, and left.
She stood at the window, and watched him get into his car and drive off. At least the enquiry was pointing in the right direction now, she thought. Any direction suited her, as long as it was away from Paul.
SCENE VI – BARTONSHIRE.
Monday, September 29th, 1.15 p.m.
The House at Little Elmley.
Josh opened the door as Finch approached. ‘Sergeant Finch,’ he said, smiling a welcome as though Finch was his dearest friend. ‘Do come in.’
Finch stood on the doorstep, despite the invitation. ‘Is your wife here, Mr Esterbrook?’ he asked.
‘She isn’t, I’m afraid. She’s at work. I didn’t think she should go in, but she’s having to sort a lot of things out at IMG in view of Paul’s death.’
Finch nodded. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Would you excuse me a moment? I’ll be right back.’ He went back to his car, and sat in the front seat, using his mobile phone. After a moment, he returned. ‘I’m quite glad your wife’s not here,’ he said. ‘Because I would like an answer to the question I asked you yesterday morning.’
Finch closed the door, and followed him into the sitting room. ‘Why, if you thought your brother was at the Excalibur Hotel, you rang him at your mother’s cottage. Have you had time to think of an answer yet?’
Josh heard the tone of voice that he had grown used to in his youth. Finch clearly had no time for the sort of courtesy displayed unfailingly, so far, by his boss, and Josh once again said nothing.
‘Was it because you were using his hotel room?’
Josh’s eyes widened. They had got on to that already? They were better than he thought. ‘No,’ he said. ‘What makes you think that?’
Finch didn’t answer. ‘When exactly did you have this accident with the boat?’ he asked.
‘On the Saturday of the Bank Holiday weekend. Just before the afternoon session.’
‘Not Sunday?’
Ah. Josh could see that this required a little explanation. ‘You’ve been talking to Elizabeth,’ he said. ‘No, not Sunday. But that’s what we told her. And Angela.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, as you already know, assuming you speak to one another when you all get back to the nick, Paul was . . . shall we say entertaining? . . . Billy at Angela’s cottage.’
He explained that in order to preserve Paul’s good name and his inheritance, it had been necessary to mislead his stepmother and Elizabeth, and he explained how he had accomplished that. ‘But it happened on the Saturday – if you need corroboration of that, I can supply you with the names and addresses of several disappointed divers.’
‘I don’t think we’ll need them,’ Finch said. ‘I’m sure it did happen on the Saturday. But on the Sunday, you say your stepmother rang you about this letter. Where did she ring you?’
‘Here. But she didn’t know that. She rang my mobile because she thought I was in Penhallin, and I didn’t tell her I wasn’t, because we were all supposed to be having a jolly diving weekend. I knew that Paul had gone to the cottage with Billy, so I rang him there and told him.’
‘How did you know?’
Josh smiled. ‘Sandie,’ he said. ‘She rang me to tell me Billy had turned up at the cottage. So I knew where to find Paul, didn’t I? But then Angela found out about the boat, which presented a problem. I told her it had happened after she had rung the first time, and that we were all on our way home. Then I went to Sandie’s flat to keep out of the way, and came back here at about four o’clock with Sandie, as though we had just arrived from Penhallin.’
‘But you’re saying that you were actually here for Saturday night and Sunday morning? Can anyone verify that?’
Whoops. Verify was a very emotive word. Josh smiled. ‘No. Do I need someone to verify it?’
Finch sat back too, and looked at him. ‘It depends,’ he said. ‘You see, Paul told his wife that it’s you who had the relationship with Billy Rampton.’
Josh knew Paul had told her that; Paul had told him he had, as he had always told him everything. He smiled broadly. ‘Old habits die hard. When in trouble, blame Josh.’
Finch nodded. ‘But he wasn’t in trouble, was he? Not then.’
‘When?’
‘The weekend that Paul’s wife joined him on your boat. She met Billy Rampton, and Paul told her he was your boyfriend. She had no reason to think that he had anything to do with her husband – he was off in a quiet corner with you. Paul wasn’t in trouble. So why would he say it?’
‘Billy was there. Elizabeth was there. That would spell trouble in Paul’s book. I was off in a quiet corner with Billy in order to let him know the situation.’
‘And when your mother came on board? Were you off in a quiet corner with him then, too?’
‘Stepmother,’ said Josh. ‘I don’t know. He was a diver – I speak to the divers, obviously. I have to tell them about the conditions, about where we’re diving, about all sorts of things. I might have been talking to him.’ He smiled. ‘I’m talking to you, Sergeant Finch,’ he said. ‘But I’m not having a sexual relationship with you.’
Finch looked unimpressed, thanked him, and left.
SCENE VII – BARTONSHIRE.
Monday, September 29th, 3.00 p.m.
Interview Room One at Stansfield Police Station.
Sandie had told her colleagues the mugging story, in preference to the Brendan story, and decidedly in preference to the truth. But she had told the police the truth, so she wasn’t sure why policemen had turned up at IMG and asked her to accompany them to the police station to answer questions concerning the murder of William Rampton, but they had, and she was in an interview room with Sergeant Finch and Inspector Hill.
‘This interview is being taped,’ Finch said, and then cautioned her.
Sandie took out a cigarette, half-expecting to be told not to, but Inspector Hill just reached behind her and got a foil ashtray off the window-sill, and handed it to her.
‘Paul Esterbrook didn’t go anywhere near his mother’s cottage on Saturday,’ Finch said. ‘He didn’t go anywhere near you.’
Sandie stared at him, and took the unlit cigarette from her mouth. ‘He did,’ she said, shaking her head slightly. She had told them the truth. Some of it, at any rate. She didn’t understand. What did he mean, Paul hadn’t been anywhere near her?
‘We know that story is no more true than the first two you told us,’ said Inspector Hill.
‘But it is,’ said Sandie, bewildered. She wished it wasn’t; she was happier lying. You could manipulate people when you were lying, play on their weaknesses and their prejudices and their expectations, tell them what they wanted to hear. The truth was just the truth, and what else could you say?
‘Paul Esterbrook drove alone to Penhallin. He stopped for an hour in Plymouth on the way, then went to his brother’s boat, turned round and came back again.’
‘No!’ Sandie said. ‘That’s not true. It happened exactly like I said.’
‘Do you want to know what I think?’ Finch said. ‘I think you and Billy planned a burglary.’
Sandie’s mouth fell open. ‘You think what?’ she said.
‘Oh, don’t look so shocked. You were in a fair bit of trouble with the police when you were younger, weren’t you? It’s all here.’ He tapped a sheet in front of him. ‘We checked you out.’
She had known they’d get on to that sooner or later. ‘Yes, I was,’ she said. ‘Maybe that’s why Josh and I clicked the way we did.’
Finch looked down at her list of convictions. ‘You shoplifted, amongst other things, before you became respectable,’ he said, and looked up at her. ‘You were a thief.’
She nodded and lit her cigarette.
‘You knew there were a lot of things worth stealing at Little Elmley, and you knew that your job was going to be finished once Paul found out about you and Josh. You’d have no money when that happened. But you didn’t think you could talk Josh into stealing from his stepmother, so you went behind his back. You got his gun, or you got Billy to steal it for you, and you and he were going to burgle Little Elmley. But Billy wanted things done his way, maybe, or wanted more of the loot than you were prepared to give him – in any event, you had a row. And he beat you up. So you got the gun, and you blew him away.’
Sandie didn’t deny it. She just listened, smiling a little.
‘Then you got back to Little Elmley, and you went to the house. You thought you could get in and out undetected, but Angela Esterbrook disturbed you, and so you shot her too, because the last thing you wanted was for Josh to find out what you had done. But Paul saw you leaving. That was why he said he thought it was a burglar. He was protecting you, Sandie.’
Paul? Sandie almost laughed.
‘But you knew he’d seen you, so he had to go too. Then you made up this story about him once he was dead, because he couldn’t deny it.’
Sandie smiled, and looked at I
nspector Hill. ‘Is he for real?’ she asked.
Inspector Hill smiled back. ‘Not quite,’ she said. ‘But it’s one explanation. Not one that we’re too happy with. Are you saying it didn’t happen like that?’
Sandie caught her lip, and shook her head, still smiling. ‘Angela Esterbrook would have given me anything I asked for,’ she said. ‘She offered me money – I had no need to steal from her. I wouldn’t cross the road to speak to Billy Rampton, far less plot a burglary with him. And if I had been going to burgle Little Elmley, why would I choose a weekend when Angela was there? I could do it any time, without anyone’s help, without Josh’s knowledge, and without the need for a gun. Besides, I was diving in Little Elmley reservoir when Angela was shot. And Paul Esterbrook never protected anyone but himself in his life.’
‘All right,’ the inspector said, a warning note in her voice. ‘But we have an independent witness who has confirmed that Paul Esterbrook went exactly where he said he went, did what he said he did. He did not pick you up, he did not take you to Cornwall, he did not assault you. Who did? Was it Billy Rampton?’
An independent witness? What on earth was the woman talking about? For a moment, there was a sort of baffled stand-off, as she stared uncomprehendingly at Inspector Hill, and Inspector Hill’s brown eyes looked back at her with total certainty. Then Sandie remembered what Paul had said to her.
‘Of course,’ she said, nodding, feeling better now that she knew she wasn’t going mad. ‘Paul told me he could be anywhere he liked when I got beaten up, and the police would believe him.’ She smiled, shaking her head slightly in grudging admiration of Paul’s precautions. ‘And you do,’ she said. ‘You do believe him.’
‘Paul Esterbrook is dead,’ said Finch, angrily. ‘He isn’t saying anything for us to believe, or disbelieve. Someone else is. So do yourself a favour and tell us who you were with and what you were doing on Saturday, and stop messing us about!’
Sandie looked at the angry and frustrated Finch, and the cool, imperturbable Hill, and stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray. ‘I’ve already told you,’ she said.
