Harriet Grayson strode into the room a few minutes later with the air of a woman in defensive mode. Her hair tied into a bun and a stern look across her delicately made-up features.
When Neil was younger, his mother was friends with a woman who worked for the local council. She was not a councillor, merely a secretary for someone who was, but she dressed like the most important woman on the planet. More than how she looked however, her mannerisms stood out. Her posture was always adversarial, as if she were constantly on edge. Her hands, her arms, even her face, impassive even as his mother recounted her tales and giggled. To be honest, he was unsure why his mother would even give a woman like that the time of day. Maybe it was an attraction of opposites. His mother was open and effervescent, and the best Neil could say for her friend was that she was gainfully employed.
Looking at Missus Grayson, Neil got the same feeling of a woman too burgeoning with her own sense of self-worth to be bothered by mundane trivialities like murders or police. It would be interesting to see how Artimus handled her.
“Please.” said Artimus, motioning toward one of the chairs as Harriet walked over, not taking his own until Harriet was sitting. “My name is Artimus Crane, and I assume you already know Detective Townsend.”
“We’ve met, yes.” said Harriet, fidgeting into a more comfortable position.
“Please try to relax Missus Grayson.” said Artimus with a winsome smile. “We are here to cast no aspersions or throw blame. Our purpose today is to get background details on you and your husband to give us the bedrock from which to begin our investigation.”
“I see.” said Harriet, coldly.
“Can I start by asking about your upbringing Missus Grayson? I see from our files your maiden name was Cartwright; born in Surrey, near Farley Green. It must have been pleasing to have been brought up in one of the quainter rural settings of our fair isle.”
“You are familiar with Farley Green?” asked Harriet, thrown off by Artimus’ display of knowledge.
“Oh yes.” said Artimus, exuberantly. “I studied some archaeology when I was younger. The works undertaken by Martin Tupper, especially around Surrey, have long been a fascination of mine. He was quite the scholar and poet. The Roman Temple he excavated in Farley Green is one of the greatest examples of Victorian amateur archaeology there is.”
“Oh.” said Harriet, sitting back a little and clearly relaxing. “I wasn’t sure anyone would have any interest in our tiny hamlet. I never did.”
“That is a shame. History is the thread that binds us to our place in the world. Perhaps, one day, when your life becomes more sedentary that may change.”
“I doubt it.” giggled Harriet. “I can’t see myself switching the city life for wellies and mud any time soon.”
Neil smiled. That was almost brilliant. Artimus had found common ground, showed empathy with upbringing, and disarmed a potentially difficult conversation in just a few short sentences.
“Farley Green aside, can I ask how you and Mister Grayson met?” said Artimus, repeating the same methodical show of intent he had with Mister Grayson, as he opened his notepad and clicked his pen.
“Cambridge.” said Harriet, leaning forward again. “I was studying politics, and Michael genetics.”
“Ah.” said Artimus, beaming. “The hallowed ground of Tennis Court Road. I assume you were across town at the Alison Richard’s Building?”
“I was.” said Harriet, surprised again by Artimus’ display of knowledge. “Did you go to Cambridge yourself?”
“Oh good lord no!” said Artimus, laughing. “My colour of choice was dark blue.”
“An Oxford man?” said Harriet, raising an eyebrow. “How did you end up working with the police?”
Artimus looked down at his attire, drawing Harriet’s attention to his wool trousers and tweed jacket. “I assist the police when they have certain complicated matters that require my attention. I do not work for them per se.”
“You’re a consultant?”
“I’m not an American Missus Grayson.” said Artimus, light-heartedly. “Nor a doctor. I don’t consult. I merely grant the Crown the benefit of my vast knowledge, experience, and talent, from time to time.”
“From what I read in the papers, they do appear to need it occasionally.” Harriet chuckled, as Neil turned red.
“As you can imagine,” said Artimus, moving on, “this particular case has our law-enforcement community more than a little baffled. Therefore, I have been drafted in to assist.”
“Well I for one am glad our case has warranted such fastidious attention.” said Harriet, uncrossing her fingers and loosening her posture.
“If I may ask,” said Artimus, taking advantage of Harriet’s change in demeanour, “could you describe what your current working practises are? A brief run-down of your average day’s activities would be fine.”
“Sure. As I’ve told Detective Townsend, I work as assistant to Clara Robertson MP. My daily routine is to meet her at the house, check her itinerary, make sure there are no conflicts, ensure she is at every meeting on-time, and whilst she is sitting, deliver her correspondences and update her social media. I also have the dubious honour of being her shopping assistant and tea-maid, but Fiona, her clerk, now takes most of those duties when she is meeting in her office.”
“I take it Fiona is a recent addition to her staff?”
“Fiona came to us after the backroom budgets were cut. Clara’s team lost three staff, including her runner, so she traded the loss in for a full-time office clerk to help her with the day to day running of her office.”
“And when did this staff reduction take place?”
“When the change of parliament happened. Two thousand and ten.”
“Can I have the names of the people Clara let go?”
“Er…” Harriet stumbled, unsure as to what information she could give. “I would have to check with legal and Clara to ensure I am privileged to give you that information.”
“I would not wish to compromise your position.” said Artimus, shooing the impasse away. “I will request it directly from my contacts in the house. Please don’t worry about it further.”
Neil breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing he needed was Artimus sending one of Miss Robertson’s staff off to do something sensitive, especially with Henry already stating that a light-touch approach when dealing with Miss Robertson was paramount.
“Can I move onto the events of yesterday please, Missus Grayson?” said Artimus, sitting forward slightly. “Can you walk me through your interpretation of what happened?”
Harriet coughed, grimacing slightly. “I don’t really know what to add to what I told the officer who attended.”
“Just walk me through the day from your point of view. Up and until the attending officers arrived at your dwelling.” said Artimus, his tone soothing. “Take your time.”
Harriet composed herself, rolling her eyes as she searched for her earliest memory. “Alanis woke at about six, which is usual. After waking me, she and I went downstairs to make breakfast, and Michael joined us in the kitchen about twenty past seven. We chatted about what we were going to do that day, and Michael said he was going to knock that damn wall down.” Harriet stopped, running a hand through her hair and twisting her wedding ring nervously. “He went outside to our garden shed, came back in with his hammer and his bucket. He then went upstairs to get changed into some old clothes, and then got to it.”
“And during this time, what were you and Alanis doing?”
“We left the kitchen shortly after breakfast, about quarter to eight maybe, and then went into the living room. I put some cartoons on for Alanis and I read the news on my tablet.”
“Tablet?” said Artimus, looking up from his notes.
“A hand-held computer.” said Harriet, surprised Artimus had not heard of one before.
“Like a laptop?”
“Not really.” said Harriet. “They’re like big phones, but without the ability to make calls.”
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br /> “Oh.” said Artimus, shaking his head. “So, a large iPhone then.”
“You’ve heard of an iPhone, but not a tablet?”
“He wears tweed.” said Neil. “I think you’re lucky he even knows what an iPhone is.”
“I own an iPhone.” said Artimus, affronted. “I don’t know where it is, but I’m sure I was bought one a few years back.”
“Like I said. He wears tweed.”
“Yes.” sneered Artimus. “I do. So does my chief butler, my head gardener, and my sous chef; but obviously it’s just his toque that is tweed. Are your house-staff not attired with anything suitably sophisticated Neil?”
“Let me see.” said Neil, tapping his pen against his lips. “My postman wears a red jacket.”
Harriet smiled, enjoying the banter of the men. “Are you a rich man, Mister Crane.”
“Oh hell yes.” said Neil.
“I’m not that rich.” said Artimus, defensively. “There are many people wealthier than me.”
“How many?” asked Neil, wanting to know.
“A couple of thousand maybe.”
“On Earth?” asked Harriet, stunned.
“Yes.” said Artimus, in a matter of fact tone. “But there are more and more new billionaires created each passing year. I’m slowly moving down the list.”
“You want to be careful who you say that to around here.” said Harriet, winking. “You might not have noticed, but Alexis has a thing for the older, richer man.”
“Well, there’s a happy coincidence.” said Artimus, jovially. “Because I have a thing for young, sexually capricious women.” Harriet blushed slightly as Artimus continued. “Neil here, on the other hand…”
“Moving swiftly on,” said Neil, before Artimus could get in another jibe about his supposed sexuality, “You were describing the events of yesterday to us. Can you tell us when you first realised something was wrong?”
Artimus frowned; unhappy his thunder had been stolen.
“I just remember Michael starting to swear. He so rarely does it.” said Harriet, her eyes glazing a little as the memory resurfaced. “Expletive after expletive. I charged out of the living room to chastise him, and then froze. He was at the top of the stairs to the cellar, covered in dust, as white as a sheet, sweating and shaking. He ran straight over to the sink and got a glass of water. He looked like he’d seen a ghost.”
“Of course, he actually had.” said Artimus, in a measured voice. He flicked through his notes, settling on a single page and running his finger slowly down the text. “Your original statement says that Alanis ran down to the cellar after hearing the shouting and you chased after her. It says you all saw the bodies, in the cellar itself. You were all stood together down there, not in the kitchen as you just said to us. Are you changing your position on this?”
“Err…” Harriet suddenly looked flustered, her voice taking on an uncertain air. “Did Alanis charge out of the room?” She wiped her brow, beads of perspiration already forming. “Maybe… Did Michael bring her out with him? Yes, I think he did.” She tried to smile. It looked forced. “I’m sorry. Those few moments are foggy.”
“Just try to focus Missus Grayson.” said Neil, calmly pressing for the answer. “Are you saying that Alanis ran out of the room to go see what was causing your husband distress, and you set off after her, but never reached the cellar because your husband was dragging her out with him?” To his side, Artimus smiled.
“Yes. I think that’s right.” Harriet rubbed her brow again. “Or is it? Did the phone ring?”
“Don’t fret over the details now Missus Grayson.” said Artimus, softly. “Memories can be affected by a great many things, trauma being number one on that list. Give it time, and don’t dwell on it. We only modify our experiences by attempting to relive them.”
Harriet nodded, slouching into her seat and looking skyward.
“Can I ask how you came to live in the house in Belsize Park?” asked Artimus, after a suitable pause.
“My husband’s work gave it to us.” Harriet said, distantly.
“Did you get no choice in it?”
“I’m not sure.” said Harriet, returning her eye line to Artimus’. “Michael took me for a drive one evening, said he had something to tell me. He said, as we pulled up, the house we were parked outside was ours, that he’d been given a once in a lifetime job opportunity, that our lives were going to change forever, that…” Harriet’s top lip started to tremble, before she clasped her head in her hands and began to sob. “Why did he have to take that damn job!”
Neil crouched next to Harriet and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I know this is difficult. We only have…”
“No it isn’t! Do you know what is difficult?” yelled Harriet, anger burning behind her eyes. “Trying to explain why mummy and daddy are dead in your cellar to your four year old daughter. That’s difficult! This stuff… This police crap… This is easy-fucking-peasy by the side of that! Anything is easy by the side of fucking that!” Again, she broke down, burying her head into her lap.
Neil had seen these kinds of reactions too many times to count. Caustic emotions took people one of two ways. In Michael’s case, it made him catatonic, pliant to demands as his brain subdued his response. In Harriet’s, the battle for control was lost, her emotions bubbling like hot tar. All pressing would do now was deteriorate the situation further.
Sensing their conversation was over, Artimus waved Neil in the direction of the door to go and get Mister Grayson.
As he left the drawing room to find her husband in the labyrinthine maze of the property, Neil could not help but feel their first two interviews had gone very badly indeed.
Chapter 13
Out in the Open
Out of Time Page 12
