Amanda Cadabra and The Hidden Depths

by Holly Bell

  He took a sip and then asked,

  ‘And Great-uncle Wella?’

  ‘He was as good as his word. I gave the casino their money, Wella kept up the therapy and I don’t think he’s spent as much as a tuppenny bit in an arcade since. He paid me back too. Took him quite a while, but he did us both proud. And that was that.’

  ‘Hm, I see why you wanted to keep this confidential.’

  ‘The odd thing is,’ pondered Flossie, ‘I hadn’t thought about it in years, that business with Hedrok’s car and so on. In fact, I’m pretty sure I didn’t even remember it until you asked. Still, that’s not so unusual, is it? No reason to think on it, was there?’ She seemed to want reassurance.

  ‘No, of course not,’ Thomas responded warmly, and yet … it sounded familiar. However, he returned to more concrete matters. ‘The woman, can you remember her age, height, anything else?’

  ‘About 30, average height, maybe shorter. She had a family, I think …’

  ‘Parents? Siblings?’

  ‘A husband and a baby, I believe … not sure …’

  ‘Does she still live here?’

  ‘No, no they left soon after, moved up North.’

  Up North meant one thing to the English but something different to the Cornish. He checked,

  ‘Across the Tamar?’ — the river dividing Cornwall from the rest of mainland Britain.

  ‘That’s right,’ agreed Flossie.

  ‘Any idea where?’

  ‘No. Could ’ave gone abroad, I s’pose,’ she suggested.

  ‘Hm. Well, thank you, Gran, you’ve been very helpful. If there’s nothing else, I must get —’

  ‘Just you hold on there, little lad.’ Gran Flossie was holding up a finger. She spoke firmly, but with a twinkle in her eye ‘If I’m a C.I., I should get paid, shouldn’t I? That’s ’ow it works.’

  Thomas chuckled. ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘Cream tea and a chocolate éclair to finish off, thank you very much, Tom.’

  ‘Coming up!’

  ***

  On the way back to Parhayle police station, Trelawney mulled over his suspicions. Of course, it might have been just the passage of years that had dulled Gran’s memory of that day, but somehow … that movement of Flamgoyne’s lips she’d seen … Of course, the man could have just been talking to his companion. But whatever words he’d uttered, coupled with the wave of something in his hand, that sounded a lot like someone casting a spell. A forgetting spell.

  It was the one spell he knew something about. It was hard to be sure. If only Miss Cadabra were here. She could deal with all this magical business. Trelawney sighed. Just as he’d thought he was doing some good old-fashioned police work, enchantment reared its ugly head.

  Still, once this case was solved — and they were getting closer all the time — he’d have to get used to dealing with things without Miss Cadabra. Suddenly, curiously, he didn’t like the idea of that … he didn’t like it all … in fact, it made him feel …

  But this was no time for feelings, Trelawney told himself, as he drove into the station carpark. He now had evidence of Flamgoyne’s presence in Parhayle around the time of the cliff murders, and that Hedrok had had a meeting with a mystery woman. Could she have been connected to Senara Cadabra in some way? Was she the one with inside knowledge of what Senara intended, the one who had sent the poison pen letters? He had to get back to Sunken Madley and Miss Cadabra – Mrs Cadabra, he meant, of course …

  Chapter 26

  Jonathan’s Library, and Mr Gibbs Lands

  Amanda hurried through the glass doors of the Sunken Madley library and went in search of Jonathan. He was by himself, shelving returned books and checking them for any repair or replacement needs. ‘Hello, Jonathan.’

  ‘Oh, hello, Amanda.’

  ‘Thank you for telling me about … your experience.’

  ‘Has it helped?’

  ‘It may do.’

  ‘Did you tell the inspector?’ Jonathan asked, a shade nervously.

  ‘Erm, no. I’m not sure he’d consider it … material. But there is something I forgot to ask you. May I now?’

  There was no one nearby, so no need to make it a formal interview in seclusion.

  ‘Of course, Amanda.’

  ‘Well, Mr Frumbling, you know?’

  ‘Ah, yes.’

  ‘He mentioned that you have a library, a collection of books down in the stacks. Have I understood that correctly?’

  ‘Yes, I do. Not a library, of course, just about three-cartons-worth. When I moved to The Elms, there wasn’t space for the extra boxes of books. So I asked Mrs Pagely if I could put them in the library basement. She kindly said yes, if I could find room. So I unpacked them and shelved them. Rather a higgledy-piggledy rush job, I’m afraid. Why?’

  ‘Well, it does give you a personal link to the stacks.’

  His lustrous brown eyes grew troubled. ‘Oh dear, does that mean I’m implicated in the murder?’

  ‘No, Jonathan, I was thinking more of the Oracle and your connection to her through the books in the stacks.’

  ‘Ah, I see. Yes, I suppose so, but they weren’t mine. They were only in my possession. I’ll probably end up donating them to the library or giving them to Oxfam when I get round to sorting them out.’

  ‘I see, yes, that is a tenuous link then. I was just curious. Thank you, Jonathan.’

  ‘Is there anything else I can do for you, Amanda?’ asked the ever-conscientious assistant librarian.

  She smiled. ‘Thank you, that’s everything.’

  Oh well, so much for that line of enquiry, thought Amanda. As for the other things Jonathan had told her about his dream and the stacks ... no, there was no point in telling the inspector a lot of ethereal stuff that would be of no use to him.

  ***

  Trelawney parked in the space before the charming barn conversion in a fashionable part of Chigwell, one of Essex’s most expensive locations. Nevertheless, there was a modesty about Damian Gibbs’s house, contrasting with his wife’s showier taste.

  The inspector was anticipating, not only interviewing Gibbs but also getting a look at the place where Samantha had grown up. He rang the bell and Damian answered, dressed in a white cashmere rollneck and well-cut jeans. Gibbs, being slightly below average height, looked up at the inspector. His boyish face under thinning, short, light brown hair was friendly but strained.

  Gibbs was more than happy to show Trelawney around the house.

  ‘I expect it’s really Sam’s room you need to see. I don’t know how much help it’ll be, though, Inspector. It was cleaned and tidied by my excellent staff almost immediately after she left for college. I’ll wait for you downstairs, shall I?’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Gibbs.’

  Sure enough, there was little to be learned from the space. Samantha had taken whatever wall art, or knick-knacks that meant anything to her, off to her institution of higher learning.

  Trelawney checked the neat drawers and wardrobes containing an array of designer apparel. Nothing useful there. He systematically checked under the bed, the mattress and any other usual hiding places. He found nothing he did not expect to find.

  The inspector descended the beautifully handcrafted oak staircase, to find Damian seated on one of a pair of tan leather sofas. Their colour had been chosen to match the exposed beams of the original structure. The ceiling and wall spaces between were painted white. The effect was fresh and charming, the open-plan area of the ground floor having an understatedly luxurious feel.

  Gibbs invited him to sit down opposite. The table between them bore refreshments.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Gibbs. Perhaps we could have a chat now?’

  ‘Of course, Inspector. Miss Cadabra not with you?’

  ‘She is otherwise engaged.’

  ‘Ah. Well, whatever I can do to help. I would have come much sooner, believe me.’

  Here it comes, guilty
parent, observed Trelawney to himself. But let’s see if he shifts any blame onto his ex-wife. Damian was continuing:

  ‘I was with my people on a team-building jaunt in Bolivia. We’d switched our phones off, just communicating with walkie-talkies. It’s very liberating, you know. Makes us rely on one another, builds trust.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘It’s perfectly safe, though.’

  Hm, anxious to show he cares for his team, observed Trelawney, pays attention to health and safety. Damian Gibbs spoke again.

  ‘I’ve been to South America a few times. It’s one of my favourite places.’

  ‘And how long had you been out there when you got the call from us?’

  ‘A week, 10 days?’

  ‘And when did you last see Miss Gibbs?’

  ‘Well, let me think … erm, beginning of term, when Sam started at Chalkstable. I got her in there. She’d, er, been having some issues and it seemed like the best place for her at the time. I was hoping to interest her in my business and maybe pass it on to her one day. I thought it might help her to have some direction, some purpose. She was interested when she was younger.’

  ‘Did you know any of the tutors?’

  ‘No, not personally. I know the dean a little. It used to be a fine college …’ Trelawney detected the helpless defensive note and moved on.

  ‘How about her friends?’

  ‘I barely knew them. Sam used to go out to, and with, her friends rather than bringing them home. Although I encouraged her to,’ Gibbs insisted.

  ‘How about Pamela?’

  Gibbs seemed relieved finally to be able to answer in the affirmative. ‘Yes, I did meet her, when I went with Sam to the college.’

  ‘And your assessment of her?’

  Damian had to think back. Evidently, Pamela was not the sort that registered deeply with those who met her. ‘She seemed nice, kind. A bit of a mouse, but more the sort of friend I wished Sam would have.’

  ‘Do you know of any dubious associates Miss Gibbs might have had?’

  ‘I think some of her fashionable friends were rather … featherbrained and not necessarily the most positive influence, but other than that …’

  ‘Can you think of anyone who might have intended your daughter harm?’

  ‘Not at all. Never.’ Damian was definite on that point.

  ‘How about your friends, Mr Gibbs? I imagine that she must have met them here or when visiting your offices.’

  ‘Oh well, yes. I’m afraid, to a teenager, we all must have seemed like a bunch of has-beens, but she was at least polite to them.’

  ‘Was she more closely associated with any one of them than the others?’

  ‘Oh ... oh, I see what you mean.’ He repositioned himself in his seat and reached for his tea. ‘Well … er … just one … but it was very brief … I mean, I put a stop to it. It was very difficult. The situation. She was legally of age.’

  ‘Could the gentleman in question have held a grudge, had a wife or significant other who …?’

  ‘No, he was single and came clean to me about the affaire — if you could even call it that. No, it was no secret, not something that Sam could have been holding over anyone, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘Could Miss Gibbs have obtained sensitive or incriminating information while at his home?’

  ‘No … she, er … they, er …’ He coughed over the word ‘hotels’.

  ‘So,’ responded Trelawney calmly, ‘you would describe her activities as embarrassing rather than scandalous or fraudulent?’

  ‘Oh, completely, Inspector. She was little more than a child! Not a ... a spy or ... or potential character assassin.’

  ‘Was either the man in question, or any of your other friends, wealthy?’

  ‘Well ... I suppose comfortably off, yes. I mean the really loaded one, well, he … he isn’t around anymore.’

  ‘Oh?’ This had caught Trelawney’s attention. Was there a story here?’

  ‘He died.’

  ‘Young?’

  ‘It was an accident abroad.’

  ‘And he and Miss Gibbs were close?’

  ‘No, no, by no means.’ A dead end, thought the inspector and moved on.

  ‘So you can think of none of your friends who might have provided a source of revenue for your daughter once you restricted her allowance?’

  ‘Good grief, no. They’re my friends, some of them have children of their own. They understood Sam needed boundaries, especially after that business with ... well …’

  ‘Yes.’ Trelawney knew about ‘that business’, but it seemed to have little bearing here.

  ‘Inspector, I wish you could have known Sam when she was a child. She was so different: funny, bright, kind. Then with the divorce, the Loftleighs got a hold on her … and it just …’

  ‘I believe that is sometimes the case,’ Trelawney replied sympathetically. ‘I appreciate your frankness.’ He rose.

  ‘Inspector. If you please’ Gibbs gestured towards Trelawney’s sofa. The inspector obligingly sat back down again, anticipating the nugget that so often appeared at the very end of an interview. Damian’s mood has changed. It was less of the helpless parent and more of the Someone in the City now.

  ‘I don’t want to put the pressure on.’

  Yes. You do, thought Trelawney.

  ‘But,’ continued Gibbs, ‘this is drawing undesirable attention to the asthma clinic.’

  ‘Just the clinic?’

  ‘Very well. Yes, my other very considerable business interests too. I don’t want to appear unfeeling, and of course, the primary concern is to discover and expose whoever committed this appalling crime against my daughter. ‘

  He paused, looking squarely and purposefully into Trelawney’s eyes.

  ‘Nevertheless, I have to be practical. I can’t bring Samantha back. I can’t help her. However, the clinic does help people, and I am not the only sponsor. This is not the kind of thing the other sponsors want to read about in the morning papers over their breakfast tea. Yet another scandal linked to the clinic.’

  Now the friendly, self-made London boy was gone. Gibbs lowered his voice but enunciated clearly.

  ‘This needs to be resolved. This needs to be resolved … quickly.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Please call me if there is anything you need in order to press forward with your investigation. I am now busy with a damage limitation exercise, but if you leave a message, I’ll get back to you.’

  The interview was clearly at an end. There was something Gibbs wasn’t sharing, but Trelawney knew he would get no more from the man today. He rose once more.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Gibbs, for your time and for making your position clear. If you think of anything else that might be helpful, please let me know.’

  As Trelawney drove west, back to London, he pondered if Damian Gibbs would have shown the harder side of himself if Miss Cadabra had been present. Yet this was not the granite of Veronica. Gibbs was being practical, as he said, and there were no veiled threats of his ex-wife’s kind. Damian Gibbs had no need to wield the whip of an influential relative as Veronica had done with her father. Oh no, Gibbs was powerful enough on his own account. And he had just made sure Trelawney was aware of that.

  The question was, how far did Damian’s will and influence extend? What if his errant daughter was about to create another scandal? This was a man of purpose. What if his purpose had been to put an end to Samantha Gibbs’s embarrassing and damaging activities, once and for all?

  Chapter 27

  Hotting Up

  Trelawney looked at the caller ID on his phone and answered.

  ‘Mike?’

  ‘Thomas. I won't beat about the bush, lad. I've had a call from Francis.’

  ‘Oh.’ Hogarth was referring to Francis Maxwell, Thomas's official boss.

  ‘'Yes. He's being leaned on from above. He asked me to give you a friendly
call and encourage progress A.S.A.P. Is there any?’

  ‘Just a growing list of suspects.’

  ‘No evidence?’

  ‘No smoking gun.’

  ‘Forensics?’

  ‘Only what you'd expect: the librarians’ finger and footprints, and those of library users. No useful traces.’

  ‘You need to pull a rabbit out of the hat, Thomas.’

  ‘I know. So far there is nothing to link Samantha Gibbs to Sunken Madley Library.’

  ‘The link is there, lad. You'll find it. Just use all of your resources. All of them.’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘I’ll keep the Huns at the gate for as long as I can, Thomas. As long as I can.’

  ‘Thanks, Mike.’

  Trelawney hung up and thought. He re-read the transcripts of Baker’s and Nikolaides’s respective interviews with Pamela and Simon Lawley. They’d arrived at the library with Samantha, then she’d gone off on her own. Lawley and Pamela had become separated when Simon had got chatting to John Bailey-Farrell, and Pamela had gone to have a look around the library. No, she hadn’t seen Samantha again. Ditto from Lawley. Neither of them could think of anyone who would want to harm her.

  Trelawney sat in his Mondeo parked outside the library, tapping the steering wheel. He picked up his phone again.

  ‘Miss Cadabra?’

  ‘Inspector?’

  She sounded pleased to hear from him, probably hoping he had news of the case moving forward

  ‘How did the interview with Jonathan Sheppard go?’ Trelawney asked.

  ‘Oh … no, nothing helpful, not really. He … no nothing, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Hm. I may pop over to The Grange to see Simon Lawley and Pamela.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I think they’re both here. Shall I let them know you’re on your way?’