CHAPTER 9
Anna, once more accompanied by Gordon, drove her own car to Oxfordshire. They had a good clear run on the motorway with little traffic, and even less conversation. Gordon had tried to discuss the case, but Anna didn't want to get into it, partly because the drive reminded her of all the times she had driven to Oxford to the Met's rehabilitation home. This was to visit DCI Langton, after he had been in such an horrific knife attack he had almost died. His recovery had been long and he had been a nightmare patient. Like everyone else, she had doubted that he would ever return to work. She wondered if he was still suffering and how he was coping; then got cross with herself for caring. At that point, Gordon tapped on her arm to say she was hitting over ninety miles an hour. She slowed down. "Sorry.""I love Oxford," Gordon enthused. "There are some beautiful villages, especially the ones outside. You drive through the main town, past all the colleges, and then about twenty miles on is a fantastic restaurant.""Really," she said flatly."I also love going to Stratford. When I was a kid, my father took me regularly every season. The best production I ever saw was Richard the Third, with Anthony Sher; he was brilliant! He had these walking sticks and this hump on his back, and he moved like a spider." "Really.""Do you know that the swans around the Avon are constantly found wounded and tortured?" "No.""I always think it's strange. You have all that classic theater, all that beauty—and obviously the Shakespearean history—yet someone attacks these innocent creatures.""Yes.""Mind you, they can be quite vicious. I never go near them. The way they can run at you, with their wings flapping and their feet paddling— they can take a slice out of you.""Is this the turnoff" for Honington?""Sorry? No, it's the next one on our right, I think."She continued driving. While she had been a student at Oxford she had never had the luxury of a car, and had rarely if ever left the city center. She had been a very diligent and dedicated student, and her weekends were spent with her parents in London. Her father had been so proud of her and had never ceased to praise and congratulate her on gaining a place at the prestigious university. In reality, she had often been quite lonely. Many of her fellow students were far more affluent and she was not the type of girl who enjoyed drinking in one of the many wine bars and pubs the undergraduates frequented. In fact, she had disliked the drunken antics they got up to and couldn't even recall ever mentioning that her father was a police officer."Nice village, isn't it?" Gordon said, and Anna was jolted back into concentrating on the route.The village was straight from a picture postcard. There were white picket fences and velvet lawns, with tubs of flowers dotted around. Anna felt it was a trifle manicured, but nevertheless very lovely."I doubt they ever allow any dog-walkers around here; there's not a turd in sight," Gordon commented. "Even the pub looks as if Emily Bronte is about to emerge and wait for her carriage.""This isn't right," Anna said. She did a tour of the village and then saw a small sign leading to Lower Honington. They followed the road until they came to another sign that directed them toward a narrow lane, which soon turned into a dirt track. They passed a cottage draped in ivy, with a garden in flower, lattice windows and trailing roses over the door. Beside the cottage, set back, was a large garage, with its own small drive and gate."Go and see if we're heading in the right direction," Anna said to Gordon. As she waited for him to return, she checked the map and the address: Honey Farm, Honington, was all they had written down. The map didn't even show the dirt track. Anna looked impatiently up the garden path to see Gordon having a conversation with an elderly woman who was gesturing with her arms, pointing to farther along the track.
Gordon returned and slammed the car door so hard she winced.
"Okay, we're not far. We continue down this road for about a mile, then take the right fork and it should be on our left, past a wood: it's an old farmhouse."
They drove slowly up the track, reached the fork, and continued as instructed, passing a wooded area and a copse of high brambles. Eventually, the road became flatter and less bumpy.
Honey Farm had a double-barred gate, which had been left open. Part of it was rotted away. They came through it into a very narrow drive with ditches on either side.
"Wouldn't like to do this with a few beers inside me," Gordon said, winding down his window. They passed a dilapidated barn and two greenhouses that hardly had a pane of glass left intact, and parked outside the farmhouse, a long, low building with small-lattice bishop's miter windows. It was covered in thick ivy that crept up over the tiled roof and seemed to be taking over the entire building. There was a huge tub of flowers by the front door, which was round at the side: an old stable door split in two.
"Doesn't look like anyone's at home," Gordon said.
"Should be; I called ahead to the university."
There was an old iron bell ring. Anna pulled it but the bell was missing. She called out, "Hello!" and waited. She then rapped on the top half of the door.
"Can I help you?"
The voice came from behind, and made them both turn in surprise. A young man in jeans and a filthy T-shirt was standing by the barn.
"I'm looking for Honour Nolan," Anna said.
"She's round the back, in the henhouse."
Anna smiled and was about to ask who he was, when he turned and walked away down a small path at the side of the house. It led to a big kitchen garden, overgrown but evidently still productive. There was a rickety henhouse, on stilts, with a ladder up to the small gate at the top.
Emerging from the back of the henhouse, carrying a large straw basket, was a striking-looking woman. Her dark hair was worn in two big braids down to her waist and she was wearing a long print cotton dress and open-toed sandals. "Hi there, won't be a minute," she called.
They watched her climb the steps and lock the henhouse gate, then come down. "We have to keep our eyes open; the foxes still manage to get in, even up the ladder." She walked toward them with a wide smile. "I'm Honour Nolan."
Anna introduced herself and Gordon. Up close, she could see the likeness to Julia Brandon: the two sisters had the same tall, willowy figures, but Honour was totally natural, with obviously very different coloring. "Come into the kitchen and I'll make some tea." She walked ahead of them and pushed through the half-open door, gesturing for them to follow her inside.
The big, old-fashioned kitchen had two massive threadbare sofas, with throws over them. There were a number of moth-eaten kilims scattered over the York stone floor. Painted cupboards of sky blue and green, with glass fronts and a mishmash of crockery, surrounded the pine kitchen table, piled high with books and newspapers. There was a large open-brick fireplace with last night's logs left charred in the grate. It was a big warm family room, with heat coming from the bright red Aga. Herbs were drying on strings above it, and there were bowls of wildflowers and fruit everywhere. Honour brewed up a pot of tea and placed homemade scones onto a rack to put into the oven to warm. Anna had to sit forward on the sofa; it was so deep her feet lifted off the ground if she sat back. Gordon was sitting in an old pine chair at the table.
"Damien said it was about Julia, the reason you wanted to talk to me?"
"Yes. If you don't mind, I'd just like to ask you a few questions. I suppose you know why?"
"Something to do with her husband?"
"Yes. He was murdered."
"Jesus, she didn't tell me that! When?"
"Six days ago." "Oh God, that's awful. I mean, I didn't know him—in fact, I never met him—but nevertheless ... She must be feeling dreadful.""She hasn't called you?""No. There's no point in hiding the fact that we don't get along. It's not that we don't love each other—of course we do—it's just that we have very different opinions about the quality of life." Her laugh was soft and gentle. "That sounded so crass. I'm sorry, but you must have met my sister, so you can obviously see for yourself that we live very different lives."As she talked, Honour removed the warmed scones, saying that they only needed a few moments; the Aga was hot because she was baking bread. She buttered them and set them out on a big oval plate. She moved li
ke a dancer around her kitchen, fetching jam, milk, and sugar, and setting out cups and saucers on the table, as she cleared the newspapers away.Her arms full, she gestured to Anna. "My husband! These are last Sunday's; it takes him an entire week to wade through them all. Still, they make jolly good fire-lighters.""This is really very kind of you," Anna said."Well, you've had a long drive; I just hope it's not a wasted journey. That said, I can't for the life of me think how I can help you, as I haven't seen Julia for months.""Did you go to her wedding?""No. She didn't invite me.""And you never met her husband?""No. As I said, we don't get along—or, more to the point, we don't mix in the same social circles.""He was also her driver and bodyguard."Honour shrugged and took a scone for herself, passing the plate to Gordon so he could take another. "What about Julia's ex-husband—or partner, rather? She said they never married."Honour bit into the scone, leaving a small trace of jam on her upper lip. She licked her finger to remove it. Anna noticed that her hands, unlike her sister's, had not been near a manicurist. They were rather rawboned, with square-cut nails, and looked as if she needed some hand lotion on them." I don't think she did ever get him to put a ring on her finger; he was not the type.""So you met him?""I didn't say that. Its just that I know she cared about him a lot—or, let's say she liked the lifestyle he introduced her to. He was apparently very wealthy.""Did he leave her?""I think so. 1 know she said he was a lot older, but I didn't meet him either, so I couldn't really tell how much older. She was always jet-setting around—Barbados one minute. South of France the next. I think he had homes in Florida and Los Angeles. To be honest, I couldn't really keep up with her postcards, not that she ever sent very many.""How long was she with him?""I don't know exactly ... maybe ten years? She was very young when she met him.""Where did she meet him?""Couldn't tell you. As I said, we were, and are, very different creatures. 1 couldn't stand to live in London, she couldn't be a country girl—well, not for more than ten minutes. She hated it.""So she came here?""Yes, once or twice, but she was no sooner here than she wanted to leave.""Do you own this property?""No, we rent it. I'd like to own it but we don't have the money. It may look rundown, but there's a lot of land and it would cost a few-million.""Your sister certainly has the finances to help you."Honour reached for the teapot. "Well, maybe she does, but I would never ask her for any. I am married; my husband provides for me.""You have any children?"She stirred her tea and then shook her head. "No. Sadly we don't.""What was his name?""I'm sorry, whose name?""Your sister's ex-partner.""Oh, I'm not sure. Maybe my husband can remember.""Did your husband meet him?""No, but he has a better memory than I have. More tea?""No, thank you."Gordon was about to pass his cup across for seconds, but dropped his hand back onto the table as Anna stood up and took her teacup over to the sink."Oh please, leave them. I do have a dishwasher!""It's a wonderful spot, hard to find.""Yes, we don't get many ramblers, thank God.""In fact, if you didn't know the farm was here, you'd never find it.""Exactly.""Do you work?""No, it takes all my time looking after the animals. I like to paint. I used to run a small antique shop in Oxford, but it was mostly junk. Unlike my sister, I have never felt the need to be materialistic."Anna opened her briefcase and took out the photograph of the Mitsubishi. "Have you ever seen this jeep before?" Honour glanced at the photograph and shrugged. "No. We don't have many visitors, especially ones driving that kind of vehicle—it's hideous.""Have you ever heard of a man called Donny Petrozzo?""No.""Alexander Fitzpatrick?" Anna stared at the beautiful, wide eyes.There was not a flicker of recognition. "No.""Anthony Collingwood?""No."Lastly, Anna showed Frank Brandon's photograph. "This was your sisters husband.""Really? Well, as I said, I never met him."Anna replaced the photographs, as Honour looked to Gordon. "Don't you have anything to say?""Not really."Honour gave a friendly laugh, then fetched a tray and began to clear away the tea things. It felt as if the interview was over, but Anna wasn't through yet. She slipped a note to Gordon as she passed him." Could you show me around?" she asked politely.'Td love to see the rest of the house."Honour gave a rather tight smile. "Why not? There's not a lot to see, but please ..."Anna followed her out into the hallway, full of Wellington boots and umbrellas, old folding chairs, and some browned prints on the shabby flocked wallpaper."We keep meaning to do something out here, but we never get around to it." Honour opened a door to a large, rather musty-smelling lounge. "We don't even use this room much; it faces north and doesn't get much sun."Honour led Anna up the small staircase. There was a large master bedroom, with books lining the walls, but the furnishings were modern. especially the king-size bed. The other room was a small single bedroom, taken over with canvases and an easel and Honour's painting equipment. Anna thought it was not difficult to see why her sister didn't come to stay."This is where I work. I have a small kiln in one of the outhouses, as I'm trying my hand at pottery.""It's so peaceful," Anna said, looking out from the lattice windows. She was taken by surprise as Honour moved close to her."What is it you want? I mean, I really don't understand why you are here.""Just part of the inquiry into your sister's husband's murder; we often have to make what appear to be unconnected interviews.""Well, I'm sorry you had to come such a long way.""It was quite a relief to get out of the station," Anna said as she followed Honour back toward the stairs.As they entered the kitchen, Gordon was sitting on the sofa."What time do you expect your husband home?" asked Anna."That depends. If he has lectures, he's often quite late, as he stays in Oxford for dinner with his cronies.""Is he lecturing today?""I'm not sure." "Could you call him and ask?" Honour hesitated and then shrugged. She walked back out into the hallway. Anna looked at Gordon and then sat beside him. "There's a room off the side of the kitchen: an office, or what looks like it—they've got computers and mobile phones in there, and ..." Anna wondered why Honour had gone into the hall and not used the room Gordon was referring to. "Any photographs?" "No." This was strange—there were no photographs anywhere in the house. They remained silent as they heard Honour saying, "Thank you," to someone, then she walked back into the kitchen. "He's not in his office; he left about an hour ago." "So is he on his way home?" "Don't know." "Does he have a mobile you can call?" "No, he hates them." Anna stood up and looked at her watch: it was after five. She smiled and thanked Honour, and walked toward the back door. "You have a lot of barns and outhouses." "Yes. Some we use, others are rented out to farmers who leave their tractors here occasionally. Do you want to walk around? Only it's a bit muddy underfoot." They heard a car pulling up. Honour said it sounded as if her husband was home. Professor Damien Nolan was a tall man, at least six foot, dressed in a tweed suit, with a checked shirt and a thick knitted tie. As he walked in, he dumped a bulging briefcase on the floor. He was a handsome man, with dark hair flecked gray at the temples and sideburns. He was tanned and looked fit, almost athletic. "Hello, there. I'm sorry, I did try and get home earlier, but I had a tormented student to deal with." He smiled with white, even teeth; like his wife, he had a relaxed air about him. "Is it too early to have a glass of wine.Anna refused, but he opened a bottle and poured himself one. Honour sat at the table watching him with open adoration. He stood beside her, resting one hand on the nape of her neck."So, this is all very intriguing," he said, smiling.While Anna explained the reason for the visit, Honour excused herself—she wanted to check the henhouse and close up for the night.Damien took his wife's seat as Anna joined him at the table; she went through the same scenario as she had done with Honour. Like his wife, Damien was shocked to hear about the death of Julia's husband, but had never met him, nor had he any knowledge of Donny Petrozzo, or Julia's ex-partner."You know, Julia is a gorgeous woman but, to be truthful, she's a pain in the arse. On the few occasions she has stayed here, it was very tedious. One can't really have an intellectual conversation with her. The only thing she seems to be interested in, apart from herself, is her wardrobe.""What about her children?"He seemed nonplussed by the question and then shrugged." I've not met them. To be totally honest with you, it's quite an area of..." He hesitated. "My wife can't have children
, so ..."Anna noticed the way he moved his long legs for comfort beneath the table. She wondered if he could possibly be the man in the Mitsubishi but then dismissed it: he was obviously in the peak of health, with no outward show of any injury.When Honour walked back in and went to the sink to wash her hands, Anna stood up."Thank you both so much for your time," she said, shaking the professor's hand. It was a strong firm grip. He was head and shoulders above her."If there's anything else, do call," Damien replied.Driving back down the now dark lane, night drawing in, Anna took a deep breath."Nice couple," Gordon said."Yes, very nice.""Good-looking pair.""Yes." Anna began to chew her lip. "But there's something I don't feel easy about.""Really?""Yes. That place is a perfect hidey-hole; almost too perfect.""He drives a pretty rundown old Range Rover.""Yes.""They don't seem to have a lot of money.""No." Anna didn't want to discuss them any further. She had a gut feeling there was a lot more beneath their relaxed and charming exterior. First thing in the morning, she would see how much she could dig up on the duo.It was nine when Anna got back to her office. She typed up her report, and then went to look over the incident board. A skeleton night duty was working and she saw that yet another of Cunningham's briefings was to be held at nine the following morning. As she was walking out, she noticed that Cunningham's office light was on. She decided she would go in to see her, just to make a show that, at nine-thirty, she was still busy. She passed the half-drawn blinds, looked in—and froze.Detective Chief Superintendent James Langton was sitting with Cunningham. She was leaning forward, listening, as Langton talked. The shock to Anna's system, seeing him, was like a panic attack. She didn't want to be caught listening, so she backed away. She had to gasp for breath and then skedaddle out fast, as Langton stood up as if he was about to leave. The last thing Anna wanted was a confrontation with him: she was simply not ready for it. She felt so inadequate as she hurried back to her office to collect her briefcase and coat. She had shut down her laptop, and was about to turn off the light, when she heard his laugh. Her heart was pounding as she heard Cunningham saying he could look over the incident board. She knew that if he decided not to, he would have to go past her window to leave and, if he looked into her office on the way, he would see her. She sighed with relief as she heard him saying that he would like to get up to speed."Dear God," she murmured, "please don't let him come onto this case." She physically jumped when her door was opened.Phil Markham looked in. "You want a drink?""Yes," she said, hastily grabbing her coat." I'd love one.""See you in the pub, then.""I'll walk out with you."He grinned and waited as she turned off her lights and shut her door. "You see who's busy on this?" he said as they headed down the corridor."No.""That guy Langton, the new Chief Superintendent. He's been holed up with the boss for hours.""Don't tell me he's taking over the investigation.""No way, he's got his hands full—there's a serial-killer case over in Hemel Hempstead—but he was certainly putting old Cunningham through the wringer. He was just going into the incident room when I left."Anna relaxed as they entered the car park. She saw Langton's old, beat-up, brown Volvo parked erratically as usual across two spaces. "You know, maybe I'll take a rain check on that drink," she told Phil. "It's been another very long day."Phil looked at her, then shrugged. "Okay. See you in the morning.""Yeah, see you then."In the confines of her Mini, she started to breathe more freely, knowing she would not have to see Langton. She drove out of the station, longing to get home. Then she reprimanded herself. This had to stop.She had to come to terms with the fact that she would have to confront Langton at some time; it was just that she wanted to be in total control, and not taken by surprise. Yet as she drove home she began to think, not about him, but about Damien Nolan.By the time she got home, she understood why she had been so unsettled by Nolan. It was because he reminded her of Langton. He had the same charm, the same handsomeness; they were even similar in looks. She knew not to trust James Langton and she was certain that the professor was one of the same breed. They were both dangerous men.
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