‘He was supposed to be attending a business meeting with his accountants in Manchester yesterday,’ Maggie said. ‘That’s what his wife thought. But he cancelled, said he’d gone down with a stomach bug. We do know for sure that he wasn’t laid up at home. So – where was he?’
Chapter Nineteen
‘We should call at the farm first,’ Hannah said as they passed the sign saying that Brack was just a couple of miles away. ‘See whether Jean Allardyce is back at home.’
‘You don’t sound optimistic.’
‘Are you? She may have told Daniel Kind that she fancied getting away from it all, but I can’t see her being brave enough to take the plunge.’ Hannah’s stomach rumbled. She still hadn’t eaten anything today, but at least the headache had faded. ‘Besides, if Tash Dumelow’s right in saying that Jean left a suitcase behind, it doesn’t look good. After we’ve checked the story with her, we may have to consider a search of the premises.’
‘And finish up with egg on our faces if she’s safe and sound and sunning herself on the front at Morecambe?’
The walls of the cottages on the approach to Brack glinted in the sun. Hannah and Nick were both wearing their dark glasses. On a day as lovely as this, she reflected, there wasn’t so much to choose between Morecambe and the South of France. Except maybe ten degrees Celsius.
‘Yeah, that’s the snag. I can picture Lauren’s face if I say we need a warrant. And hear all her arguments against. Jean Allardyce is a grown woman, she has every right to up and leave at a moment’s notice, blah, blah, blah.’
‘It’s true, we don’t have any evidence that her husband wished to harm her.’
‘Even so, I’m worried.’
‘Maybe you worry too much,’ he said gently. ‘Everything all right?’
‘What do you mean?’ she asked.
‘You look shattered. Didn’t you get any sleep last night?’
She brushed a stray hair out of her eyes. ‘That bad, eh?’
‘’Fraid so.’
‘It’s nothing, I’ll be fine. Things are complicated, that’s all.’ She hesitated, debating whether to say more. They were driving into the village, close to The Moon under Water, where her partner had betrayed her in a squalid upstairs room. ‘Dale Moffat is Marc’s ex.’
‘Ah.’ He was looking at the road ahead, braking to allow an old woman with a wicker shopping basket, heedless of the zebra crossing thirty yards away, to make arthritic progress across the market square. She seemed oblivious to danger, as if the motor car had never been invented.
‘No big deal,’ she said. ‘It was all a very long time ago. Water under the bridge.’
‘Fine.’
She cursed inwardly for having protested too much. ‘I thought you could talk to her, get more info about this money she saw in Gabrielle’s room. Tomorrow?’
‘No problem.’
‘Thanks.’
The old woman gained the pavement outside Tasker’s and acknowledged their presence with a toothless grin. Nick winked in response. That was what Hannah liked about him. No impatient revving of the engine, no fuss, no hassle.
‘This Daniel Kind,’ he said, as they started up again. ‘You talked to him again last night?’
The question disconcerted her. ‘Yes, that’s when he told me about meeting Jean, and what Tash Dumelow had said.’
‘You think it’s coincidence that soon after Ben Kind’s son shows up, we take the anonymous call and Jean Allardyce disappears and we start to find out all sorts of things about the case?’
She thought this over. ‘No, I don’t.’
‘Because he’s poked his nose into the case?’
‘Once the snowball starts to roll, it develops its own momentum. That’s the nature of cold case work. It’s what we hope for, isn’t it?’
Nick wouldn’t be distracted. ‘Is Daniel a wannabe detective?’
‘What makes you say that?’
Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, Nick ticked points off on the fingers of the other hand. ‘Well, he was estranged from his old man and may be trying to make some sort of connection with him. I caught one of his television programmes. He likes to draw comparisons between historical research and detective work. Already he’s had a couple of conversations with his dad’s old sergeant.’
‘Not so much of the old, thank you. Daniel’s doing his best to help, that’s all.’
‘Maybe he ought to take care.’
‘What do you mean?’
Whenever Marc or Nick spoke about Daniel, she felt defensive. Silly, because there was no need, she didn’t have any skeletons in her cupboard. It wasn’t as if she and Daniel had a thing going.
‘Hey, don’t bite my head off,’ he said calmly. In the distance they could see the pele tower of Brack Hall and the signpost pointing towards the farm. ‘Let’s assume Barrie didn’t murder the girl and the real culprit is still around. How will he react to the man who’s stirring trouble for him? Perhaps you ought to have a quiet word.’
‘Warn him off?’
‘Yeah, his idea of a fate worse than death is probably poor TV ratings. Maybe he needs reminding that a murder case isn’t an intellectual exercise.’ Nick’s voice tightened. ‘Picture in your mind what the killer did to Gabrielle.’
‘And she hasn’t been in touch at all?’ Hannah asked.
They were back in the Allardyces’ kitchen. A mound of unwashed crockery rose from the sink, the floor had become caked with mud and the air was thick with the smell of burnt bacon. In the space of twenty four hours, the ideal home had transformed into a greasy bachelor pad.
Allardyce shrugged. ‘Not a dickey bird.’
‘She’s never done this before, has she?’ Nick asked. ‘I mean, it’s completely out of character.’
‘You know what women are like.’ Allardyce gave him a hard stare. ‘Or maybe you don’t, eh?’
To Hannah’s surprise, Nick coloured at the cheap dig. He wasn’t often so easily nudged off his stride. She said, ‘We’re not talking about any woman, Mr Allardyce, we’re talking about your wife. You’ve been married a long time. She’s vanished without any explanation and you’re unconcerned. It seems strange.’
‘Aye, well,’ he grunted. ‘There’s plenty around here that you might find strange.’
‘So you don’t care what may have happened to her?’
Now it was Allardyce’s turn to flush. Rising to the bait, he said, ‘You’re talking bollocks. She might be anywhere. With her stupid sister in Carlisle…’
‘Have you called her?’
‘I did ring up,’ he said grudgingly. ‘No answer. Typical.’
‘Can we have the number?’
He nodded at a pine notice board on the opposite wall. ‘It’s pinned up over there.’
‘What about her cousin, does he know anything?’
Allardyce shook his head. ‘They’ve never been close, but I did ask. Joe hasn’t a clue where she might be.’
While Nick made a note, Hannah said, ‘So you are worried?’
Allardyce plucked at one of the thick hairs sprouting from his nostril. ‘No need for you lot to interfere. I’ll deal with this in my own way.’
‘By giving her a good slapping once she turns up?’ Nick asked. ‘Just to show her who’s boss?’
Fists balled, Allardyce took two swift paces towards him. The men were eyeball to eyeball. Hannah’s stomach lurched. The farmer was a man on the edge, she thought. Unpredictable and dangerous. She didn’t want to see Nick hurt.
‘I don’t recommend you to vent your temper on DS Lowther, Mr Allardyce. You’ll finish up spending the night in jail. Maybe quite a few nights.’
Both men were breathing hard. Allardyce raised a grimy finger and wagged it in Nick’s face. ‘Next time you try to be a smartarse, I’ll make you regret it.’
‘Mr Allardyce…’ Hannah began.
He turned on her. His face had reddened with fury. ‘Now you listen to me, missus. I don’t know what’s happened to Jean,
but it’s my business, no one fucking else’s. You leave me to sort it out. All right?’
‘So you’ve been checking up on me, Detective Sergeant?’ Simon Dumelow said.
Nick stretched his arms in a semblance of a yawn. He’d regained his composure after the brush with Tom Allardyce and, like Hannah, had made himself comfortable in one of the vast armchairs in the drawing room of Brack Hall. Meanwhile Tash Dumelow was busying herself in her studio, sorting out pictures to be displayed in a forthcoming exhibition.
Simon hadn’t seemed troubled when they’d asked if he’d been drinking with Gabrielle in the pub the night before her death. According to him, Tash had complained of flu symptoms and had insisted that he keep her friend company in the pub while she got an early night. Simple as that. No question of Tash being kept in the dark, or being jealous. She had nothing to worry about: Gabrielle couldn’t hold a candle to her. Nor was he fazed by mention of Eldine Webber’s name. He just shrugged and claimed it meant nothing to him.
‘Purely routine, sir.’ Nick didn’t disguise the relish in his voice; he always loved mimicking Dixon of Dock Green.
‘My bean-counter was on the phone within five minutes of your calling his office. His secretary said more than she was supposed to and he was flapping about client confidentiality.’ He seemed, Hannah thought, to falter over the longer words. Had he been drinking? She sniffed the air, but could smell nothing other than Simon’s tangy after shave. ‘To say nothing of the risk of losing my audit work. I know for a fact that it pays for his mistress and her cosy apartment opposite the Lowry in Salford Quays. Of course, I told him not to worry. You weren’t seeking corroboration of my whereabouts for any sinister reason.’
‘Quite right, sir.’
‘I take it…’ Dumelow began. For a few seconds the sentence seemed to lose its way. ‘I take it that you’re looking into the fact that Jean Allardyce went AWOL yesterday.’
‘We are aware that she isn’t at home, sir, although Mr Allardyce hasn’t reported her officially as a missing person.’
Dumelow shrugged. ‘Chances are, she decided she couldn’t take any more of Tom. Between you and me, sometimes I feel the same. Not a bad farmer when he’s so inclined, but stubborn. And he cuts corners. When I pick him up on it, you can be sure he’s got an answer. Everything’s my fault for penny-pinching.’
‘You have no idea where she might be?’
‘None whatsover. It’s a bloody nuisance. My wife’s beside herself with worry.’
Hannah wondered if Tash Dumelow’s anxiety was motivated partly by a fear that she might have to dirty her pretty hands with the housework. An unworthy thought: no doubt Tash was genuinely concerned. Daniel seemed to think so and he struck her as a good judge of people. Did he fancy Tash? Most men would. But he didn’t seem the sort to cheat on his partner. Ben hadn’t been that sort, either. Although, she had to remind herself, he had cheated, and with Cheryl of all women.
Dumelow said, ‘So you’ve discovered that I lied to Tash about what I was up to yesterday. I suppose you wonder why.’
‘It did cross our minds,’ Nick said.
Hannah watched, trying in vain to fathom Simon Dumelow’s game plan. During the original investigation, he’d struck her as articulate and plausible and he still was, despite the odd hesitations when he spoke. But he’d been caught out in a lie and she presumed that in a few minutes they’d be listening to a confession of adultery. Yet he seemed as relaxed as if taking them on a tour of a building site rich in potential for development.
‘I’ll be glad to explain, but first I’d appreciate your confirmation that we’re speaking in confidence.’
Hannah said, ‘You’ll understand, we can’t sign a blank cheque. You wouldn’t in your business, Mr Dumelow. But in – delicate situations, we obviously try to be discreet.’
A wan smile. ‘Thank you. If you don’t mind, I’ll treat myself to a nip of whisky. I don’t suppose you will join me?’
She shook her head and they waited while he went over to a drinks cabinet and poured a tot from a crystal decanter. Even though he still seemed calm, she noticed that his hand was shaking.
‘With each year that passes, Detective Chief Inspector, I realise how important it is to savour the good things in life. So – you’re burning to know where I was yesterday. The answer is that instead of going to Manchester, I took a taxi all the way to Liverpool. I’d managed to book an appointment at short notice in Rodney Street.’
Rodney Street. Merseyside’s answer to Harley Street. Like a punch in the ribs, the realisation hit Hannah that she’d got it all wrong.
Dumelow grunted. ‘I can tell from your faces that you weren’t expecting that. True, though. I’ll give you the name of my consultant when we’re finished. To cut to the chase – I’ve been suffering from headaches lately, trouble with my balance, and things have kept getting worse. The other day when I was driving to my office, I found it difficult to keep off the pavement. My GP was obviously bothered and referred me to a specialist. It didn’t take that long to get an expert diagnosis.’
Hannah said nothing. There was nothing she could say.
Dumelow puffed out his cheeks. He was a strong man, but suddenly it seemed an effort for him even to talk. ‘Well, as any Yorkshireman might say, I’ve had a good innings. Only sorry it’s coming to an end. I rather fancied knocking up a century, but the Great Umpire in the Sky has decided to give me out sooner than I’d have wished. I have a tumour of the brain, and I’m told that it’s inoperable.’
It was quite a confidence to keep while they talked to Tash Dumelow. Her husband was adamant that he didn’t want her to know he was dying yet. He was determined to wait till the last possible moment before breaking the news.
‘We’ve had a great marriage, Detective Chief Inspector. Trust me, I know. My first wife turned out to be a harpy. But Tash and I have always suited each other down to the ground. I don’t want her to think of me as an invalid until she has no choice.’
Tash was chatting about the art of framing watercolours. Soon she would become a widow and she didn’t have a clue. When they’d first met, Hannah had regarded her with an instinctive mistrust. Ben Kind – who had definitely fancied Tash – had laughed and called it prejudice. Of course he was right; it was the bias of a hard-working professional against a woman who has ended up in the lap of luxury because she shagged the right man at the right time. With a pinch of envy thrown in because of Tash’s looks. Right now, Hannah wouldn’t have changed places for all the cash in Cumbria. How would she feel if Marc succumbed to a terminal illness? Even after his confession of infidelity, the mere thought made her knees weak.
She let Nick do most of the talking. When he asked if the name of Eldine Webber meant anything to her, Tash’s eyes widened but she took refuge in vagueness, saying simply that the name rang a distant bell. In the end, she admitted that he might have been one of Gabrielle’s boyfriends, but said she couldn’t be sure. It was all so long ago. Hannah was sure that Tash remembered more than she was willing to admit, but could understand her reticence. Eldine Webber belonged to a world that the lady of Brack Hall had left far behind.
Nick’s questions turned to the disappearance of Jean Allardyce and Tash confirmed Daniel’s account of their conversation. Neither Nick nor Hannah was left in any doubt that she was worried about Jean’s safety, but when pressed on Tom Allardyce’s temper, she was evasive.
‘Who can tell what goes on behind closed doors in a marriage? The two of them have been together for a long time, I’m sure there’s a spark there.’
‘But he did hit her?’
Tash ducked her head, reluctant to face them. ‘Well, he may have slapped her once or twice. To be frank, I know he has. But anything more than that…no, it doesn’t bear thinking about. I’m sure there’s some innocent explanation. I just wish I knew what it is.’
Hannah said, ‘Suppose something has happened to Jean Allardyce? An accident, perhaps. It’s not uncommon on farms. They are d
angerous places.’
Tash pursed her lips. ‘Simon is always preaching to Tom about the importance of health and safety. But Tom’s dreadfully careless. He doesn’t seem to realise how important it is these days to comply with all the rules and regulations. He simply says they’re crap, but that isn’t the point. Simon worries that we might not be covered by our farm insurance if we don’t obey all the small print.’
‘I wonder,’ Hannah said. ‘Would it be possible for us to take a look around?’
‘You mean – the Hall? It’s not a problem, but I can assure you, Jean isn’t hiding anywhere in the building. If she’s anywhere…’
She stopped short and Hannah said, ‘Yes?’
‘No, no. Forget it.’
‘Please, Mrs Dumelow. This isn’t a game. You’re anxious about Jean Allardyce and so am I. What were you going to say?’
Tash swallowed. ‘It’s just that, if – if she is anywhere on the farm, I’d have thought he might – I mean, she could have had an accident…’
‘Where do you think she might be?’
‘Well,’ Tash said wretchedly. ‘There are plenty of outbuildings. You could have a look round those if you want.’
Subdued but holding hands, the Dumelows took Hannah and Nick on a guided tour of the farm. In other circumstances, Hannah might have wondered if the apparently affectionate husband and wife were putting on a show for the benefit of their visitors. This afternoon such cynicism would have seemed crass and offensive. She had no doubt that the Dumelows were genuinely in love.
The yard smelled of mud and dirty straw. As they walked through it, they bumped into Tom Allardyce, who was on his way back from the fields. When Simon explained that the police just wanted a quick look round the farm, Allardyce replied by striding past them without another word. Tash ran after him and murmured something in his ear, but Allardyce didn’t turn to face her. He just spat on the ground and stomped into the house.
The Coffin Trail Page 24
