by Holly Bell
‘That’s quite right,’ replied Trelawney coolly. ’You don’t.’
Samantha shouldered her bag, pivoted on one heel and flounced out of the shop.
‘Well!’ exclaimed Amanda, ‘“Thou dissembler, thou!”’
He grinned.
‘Was that strictly ethical?’ she enquired.
“I didn’t lie. She assumed I was an investigating officer on the case.’
She leaned closer to him and said quietly, ‘Is that one of your … techniques?’
‘You wish to gather information, do you not, Miss Cadabra?’ asked Trelawney.
‘Well …’
He continued, ‘You feel frustrated at being excluded from a possible crime, into which you may have some insight. I do understand.’
Amanda wondered if he did. She responded, ‘I know you must have dealt with busybodies and people who may have just impeded your investigation by getting in the way. But what if I could come up with a theory that could explain the facts?’
‘You’d have to support it with evidence,’ Trelawney pointed out.
‘Then the police would listen?’
‘Of course,’ he confirmed.
‘Look … when I was in the lab ... after I discovered … the untimely death … I … sensed something. If I could get back in there, I’m sure it would come to me, … something that could explain what had happened.’
‘I see. And you asked if you could go back?’
‘Yes, but … well, they were very nice about it. The detective sergeant said I could have five minutes, but the constable would have to be with me, and I know it won’t work unless I’m alone in there!’
‘That’s unfortunate. You asked the sergeant then if you could do that?’
‘Yes, and he said no, and so …. As it’s so vital to solving the case, or at least shedding some more light on it, could you …?’
He looked at her questioningly.
‘If you could maybe ask on my behalf?’ Amanda entreated him.
‘What?’
‘If you could explain and ask the sergeant if I could —’
‘I’m sorry, Miss Cadabra, I couldn’t possibly interfere with the procedure of an investigation being conducted by another police force. This case has nothing to do with me. I have no jurisdiction here. You must understand that.’
‘But he’s a sergeant and you’re an inspector. Doesn’t that make a difference?’
‘It would be unthinkable to pull rank. It would be highly inappropriate for me to even try, and there will be an inspector and possible a chief inspector in charge of this case.’
‘But —’
‘I really don’t think you understand the protocols involved. I’m sorry. I will help you in any way I can, but I cannot do this,’ he said with finality. ‘I think it’s best if we change the subject, Miss Cadabra. I don’t want to fall out with you over this.’
Amanda was flushed with embarrassment.
‘I’m sorry Inspector, I see now that it was highly improprietous of me to have asked you. Thank you for explaining. And I appreciate the information that you did get for me.’
‘However underhanded the means?’ he said with a smile.
‘Quite!’
He looked around. ‘So this, I gather, is the hub of the village?’
‘Yes, even more so than The Sinner’s Rue, according to my solicitor.’
‘Everyone comes in here then?’
‘Pretty much.’
‘First port of call for visitors and new residents or is that the pub?’ asked Trelawney.
‘I’m not sure. I don’t really notice things like that, to be honest. Alex and Jules would know. Jules?’
‘Yes, lovely?’
‘Would you say,’ Amanda asked him, ‘that this is the first place visitors, and people who have just moved in, would come to?’
‘I like to think so. We open long before the pubs. We don’t get much passing trade; Sunken Madley is off the beaten track. Mr Ford come in ‘ere when he first arrived, when he was moving into Madley Towers ... Jonathan Sheppard, that nice librarian ... yes, I remember he liked lemon tea, not many do …. Miss James, the model, she likes our fruit salad, doesn’t she, Sandy? Oh, he does a lovely fruit salad, does Alexander. Then there’s the lot up the Centre, but of course, they don’t live in, except for Bill. Hmm, no, that’s it, really. Right, must get on.’
Trelawney asked, ‘And what does the village make of them all?’
‘I think they’re liked in various ways. I couldn’t really say,’ Amanda responded vaguely.
‘How about you?’
‘Yes, I like them all. Yes, why not?’
Trelawney was paving the way to execute Hogarth’s commission.
‘Do you ever feel … watched?’
‘Yes,’ Amanda replied at once, ‘all the time. I live in a village!’
Trelawney smiled. ‘I mean do you ever feel like you’re under surveillance of a sinister nature?’
Amanda remembered asking Aunt Amelia that. How strange, she thought. I wonder if I should mention it? Yes, no … she and Amelia had always thought in terms of further afield. But what if the watcher or watchers were here? Right here in Sunken Madley? No, surely not.
‘No,’ she said aloud. ‘Only if I’ve just watched a thriller and am feeling fanciful!’
‘All right. Hm … getting back to our mystery at the lab,’ Trelawney said smoothly. ‘Even though I can’t help you in the way that you want me to, maybe I can assist in another way. Maybe together we can work out who dunnit. Or, at least, put together some theories. Who had means, motive and opportunity?’
Chapter 35
The Suspects
‘Well. Bill MacNair was the only one on site when it happened. He had control of the CCTV and he had the opportunity. He was in the army. What if he was a sapper? An engineer. He could have the know-how to rig the centrifuge so it would blow up. But motive? Oh.’ She stopped in embarrassment as Bill appeared at the door.
‘Hello, lassie.’
‘Hello, Bill.’
Alexander hailed him, ‘Come in Bill! I’ve just done a batch of pies. I know how you like your pies.’
‘That I do, laddie, that I do.’
‘Sit down and I’ll make you a nice cuppa tea, just ’ow you like it. Cheer you up. Come on, it can’t be that bad.’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ He looked at Trelawney. ‘I don’t really want to talk aboot it, in front of strangers. No offence, sir.’
‘I’m Thomas Trelawney.’
Bill eyed him cautiously. ‘You’s a policeman.’
Amanda put a hand on Trelawney’s arm to stay his reply. ‘Yes, and he wants to help. Don’t you?’ she said, looking at the inspector meaningfully.
‘I most certainly wish to serve the cause of justice at all times, Mr …?’
‘Bill,’ MacNair supplied.
‘Bill.’
‘Well, it’s bad. I can’t talk to them, those coppers up at the Centre. They think I did it, I know they do. Why would I do sech a thing? I barely knew the young fella. I can’t think why anyone would want to harm him. Sech a nice laddie, he was. I remember the day he came for his interview, bless him. Oh, but that was a bad day. Mr Gibbs called me ina his office, and told me there’d been a complaint made about me. I could’na believe it.’
‘Here you are, Bill. Nice cup o’ tea.’
‘Thanks Jules. I’ve never had a complaint before. I went to the café to recover, and then I saw Mr Gibbs and Mr Streeter come in. And I could tell they’d had a fallin’ oot. Those two, been friends since they were tots. They’re like a married couple, and here they were having had a row about me. I felt that bad.’
‘Did you hear anything they said?’ Amanda asked, gently.
‘Only Mr Streeter saying, “I thought you trusted ma judgement.” That was all.’
‘Here’s your pasty, Bill.’
‘Cornish?’ asked Trela
wney curiously.
‘Nay, these are Forfar Bridies!’
‘He give us the recipe, didn’t you, Bill?’ said Jules.
‘Oh yes, it’s more of a pie than a pasty so your special Cornish dish is safe,’ grinned Bill. ‘Ye are Cornish, yes? Wi’ a name like Trelawney.’
‘Spot on,’ Thomas agreed with a grin.
‘Now don’t you worry about all that business,’ encouraged Jules soothingly. ‘Most likely it was just an accident with the machine.’
‘But why?’ asked Bill, anxious again once more. ‘I remember the day the equipment was delivered. It was at half eight in the mornin’ so I was still on duty. They said sorry they were airly. Supposed to be coming at 9.30 Someone was supposed to be tekkin’ delivery but they didn’t have a name. Anyways, I let them in. I checked it. It didn’t come from the manufacturer. It was second hand, and I know enough about machines to know that they need to be tested and certified. So I asked the delivery guys and they showed me the paperwork. It was kosha when it arrived. Nothin’ wrong wi’ it. So why did it go wrong that night?’
‘Bill,’ asked Amanda, ‘do you know whose idea it was to create that new lab for Dr Sidiqi?’
‘Nay, lassie, but I’d guess Dr Crossley. They want to get a big contract and be able to say that the lab upstairs would be dedicated to that client. He outfitted the big lab up there, and is the one with the know-how and the contacts, so I’d say it was him.’
Bill began wrapping his pasty in a napkin.
‘Look, if ye don’t mind, I’ll tek this with me and be away to The Grange. Looks like it might come on to rain.’
‘The Grange?’ queried Amanda, surprised.
‘Yes, those nice ladies are putting me up until they tek the crime scene tape down off of the Centre, and I can get back to my flat there. If I ever do.’
‘Let me put that in a proper box for you, Bill,’ said Julian, bringing one from behind the counter.
‘Bill,’ said Amanda, ‘do you mind if I ask you one more thing before you go, please?’
‘All right, lassie. Jest the one noo.’
‘Thank you. It’s about the day of the inauguration.’
‘Aye?’
‘After the speeches and everything, Samantha Gibbs and Ryan Ford both disappeared and —
‘I know what you’re thinkin’, Miss, but you’d be wrong. Mr Ford had to be away to his cricket practice or a team meetin’. Nay, it wasn’t Mr Ford Miss Gibbs was after.’ Bill wasn’t ready to say any more. But Amanda remembered something.
‘Wait … there was someone else Damian was looking for … yes … for the photographs … it was …’
Bill knew she’d got there by herself and confirmed, ‘Aye. Sir Michael.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, I’m sorry to say.’
‘But he’s married,’ objected Amanda naively.
‘He is that, but you’ve seen what Samantha’s like when she’s playin’ off her tricks. She likes men with power, and she was trainin’ the full force of her charm on the man, and, bein’ a good deal older, he was flattered out of his senses.’
‘Good grief. Well, thank you, Bill.’
‘See you all.’
The assembled group bade him farewell and meant it.
‘Hm,’ said Amanda, cryptically. ‘Yes, well, I don’t think Bill did it.’
‘I’m inclined to agree,’ said Trelawney.
‘Then ... let’s see.’ She began ticking them off on her fingers. ‘Yes, Robert Crossley. If he was the one that knew about, and ordered, the equipment, then, surely, he’d know how to gemmy the centrifuge. His wife said he behaves oddly, but he’s a genius.
‘Damian Gibbs, the CEO. He’s smart. What if he chose to build on this site because he knew something was down there and it would give him the opportunity to get it out?
‘Robin Streeter. He’s smart too, but building the Centre wasn’t his idea, and he doesn’t seem the type. And no motive.
‘Samantha Gibbs. She’s bored, predatory. Bored enough to commit murder as a diversion? Possibly. I’d wondered if Ryan Ford could have been an accomplice.’
‘Ryan Ford?’ queried Trelawney.
‘Cricketer. Plays for Middlesex. Village VIP and golden boy. Samantha was all over him like a hot rash at Lords, and again at the inauguration of the Centre. Plus later they were both nowhere to be seen. I guess he was just a decoy. But also, one day I saw her coming from the direction of Sidiqi’s office.
‘So I wondered if she and Ryan could have colluded to kill the doctor. Or if she had acted alone out of a fit of jealousy? And just because she’s an obnoxious fashion-victim doesn’t mean she’s not intelligent enough to figure out how to interfere with the medical equipment.’
‘That’s generous of you,’ interpolated Trelawney blandly. Amanda suspected him of teasing her and ignored it.
‘Plus,’ she went on, ‘with “Daddy” frequently visiting the Centre, she has the ideal excuse to wander in and out at will. However, given what Bill has just told us … that put’s paid to my Samantha-Ryan conspiracy theory. And it turns out she wasn’t interested in Dr Sidiqi. I guess he was small fry by comparison with a sponsor of her father’s company and the Middlesex cricket team. So much for my jealous rage shot-in-the-dark.’
‘Yes,’ commented Trelawney, with the hint of a twinkle in his eye, ‘I thought you looked disappointed.’
She directed a quelling look in his direction, and said repressively, ‘No comment.’
‘Do go on,’ he invited her, airily.
‘The therapists? The old ones …. No … wait. The acupuncturist, Robin’s niece … no. That’s all of the people that were there that day. None of them seems like … you know … killers. Then there’s me. I wasn’t there that day, but I don’t have an alibi. I suppose I could find out how to damage a machine if I looked online.’
Trelawney observed Amanda as she sat and thought. She looked up.
‘There’s a big old house in the village called The Grange. I’ve been doing some work there. It’s owned by Miss de Havillande, and she lives there with her friend Miss Armstrong-Witworth. Miss de Havillande is a grand, fiery, old lady, but Miss Armstrong-Witworth, you’d think wouldn’t say boo to a goose. But … you know what?’
‘What?’
‘She was a spy!’
‘Well, well.’
‘After the war. She eliminated actual people. Said it was all ages ago, and she doesn’t have a pistol or anything now. And I like her, I almost feel like a traitor including her in the list, but just want to be fair to everyone else on it and be thorough. Anyway, I know she has the … psychological capacity to make someone pop their clogs.’
‘Motive?’ asked Trelawney.
‘I don’t know …. What if there was something down there, in the pub under the Centre site, something incriminating that she didn’t want to be found. Any of the old people … Miss de Havillande or Miss Armstrong-Witworth. Miss Armstrong-Witworth is electronically minded. She told me, how she, after the war — what time is it in Thailand?’ Amanda asked abruptly.
‘Erm. Let’s see,’ replied Trelawney, looking at his watch. ‘About seven hours ahead of us.’
‘Late but not dead of night?’ Amanda checked.
‘Exactly.’
‘Do you mind if I make a call?’
‘Not at all.’
‘I’m going to go into the ladies. I don’t want to be overheard. Just in case. I’ll be right back.’
‘Take your time.’ Trelawney watched Amanda disappear into the back of the café. Interesting, he thought. She has a creative and objective mind. The way that she’s applying it to the Centre case …. And yet, when he had asked her for a possible explanation of how an anomaly had appeared on a Cornish road, on the day her family was on its way to its collective fate, she had been almost off-hand, and pretty much told him to his face that she wasn’t there to do his job for him.
Meanwhi
le, Amanda checked the cubicles. All clear. The chances of Claire picking up were slim, but it was worth a try. She was in luck.
‘Hi, Ammy. Everything OK?’ came the voice of her best friend.
‘Yes, hope I haven’t disturbed you?’
‘No, just out of the shower, ready for bed. We start at an indecently early hour. What’s up?’
‘You have a location manager, don’t you?’ asked Amanda.
‘Dan? Yes.’
‘He knows the UK?’
‘Like the back of his hand,’ replied Claire.
‘Hertfordshire? Around here?’
‘Yes, I’d say so.’
‘Can you ask him what was going on around here during the war? The second one. There’s very little online about the villages here then.’
‘OK, hold on, I’ll call you back,’ said Claire, never one to let the grass grow under her feet.
Amanda was so excited that she had to use the facilities. She washed her hands, used the drier, keeping an eye on her phone, and then leaned against the sinks, waiting and watching the little screen.
Finally, it rang.
‘Darling? Dan says aircraft. Yes, Herts; it was the hub of the aircraft industry. Yes, long gone but he says if you’re digging for info about your area, then that’s where you should look. OK? Why, what am I missing?’
‘I’ll tell you all about it when you get home!’ said Amanda.
‘OK, darling.’
‘Sweet dreams.’
‘Thanks. Night, night.’
Amanda came back to the table. ‘Aircraft,’ she stated.
‘Well, I can see that you’re hot on the trail now, Miss Cadabra,’ Trelawney said, reaching for his jacket. He took out his wallet.
‘No, no, my treat,’ Amanda insisted. ‘I asked you to come up here.’
‘All right. Thank you. Well, I’m glad I could be of some assistance.’
‘Yes, you have, oddly enough,’ said Amanda. ‘I mean, in a roundabout way and others too,‘ she added awkwardly. They both got up and Amanda went to the counter and paid. Jules and Alexander bade them farewell and they left the café.
‘If there’s anything else, do let me know,’ said Trelawney, kindly. ‘I’m just down the road until Sunday.’
