by Graham Smith
While the angel’s eyes held a certain amount of sadness, they also showed intelligence, drive and a sense of purpose. He could tell she had ambitions, goals. The DI would recognise this too, feel threatened by it.
How long she tolerated the bright and beautiful creature at her heel before stomping on it was anyone’s guess.
Thirty-One
Beth and DI O’Dowd started their interviews by speaking to Arthuret Hall’s gardener and the woman who manned the little shop and looked after the weddings.
The gardener had been seventy if he was a day and the arthritic way he’d moved put doubts into their minds as to his ability to overpower the younger and stronger Angus Keane. Beth couldn’t help but think he was only still working at Arthuret Hall because he was knowledgeable about plants, rather than for his physical ability. There was also the chance that he was doing odd days for cash in hand.
When they’d spoken to the lady who dealt with the shop and the weddings, they’d instantly crossed her off their list. Ginny Anderson was a small woman who’d been gentle and unassuming. She’d cried the whole time they’d been speaking to her and had twittered about Arthuret Hall and the ‘poor poor’ victim more than she’d focussed on their questions.
Beth rapped her knuckles on the door of the next person on their list and waited for an answer. The door creaked open to reveal a man with a jaw decorated by sculpted stubble. ‘What is it?’
The man had spoken a mere three words and Beth didn’t like him. He was cocksure to the point of being arrogant. He wasn’t interested in why they were knocking on his door and was treating them as if they were a nuisance.
‘Are you Steve Jeffers?’ O’Dowd flashed her badge at him.
‘Yeah. What of it?’
‘We’d like to ask you a few questions.’ Beth liked the way O’Dowd had added an insistent edge to her tone. ‘About a murder we’re investigating.’
Jeffers folded his arms and rested a shoulder on the door frame. ‘This ought to be good. C’mon then, let’s hear what you’ve got to say.’
‘Angus Keane was murdered at some point in the last week. According to his wife, you and he had words in a builders’ merchant’s yard.’
‘I heard he was dead. Didn’t know he’d been murdered.’ Jeffers gave a shrug. ‘That’s a shame but it has nowt to do with me.’ Another shrug. ‘He and I had a disagreement. I tried to be civil, but he’s a hothead and he turned a discussion into a slanging match when he started calling me names.’
Beth caught Jeffers’s eye. ‘What was the disagreement about?’
‘He beat me to a few jobs.’ Another shrug. ‘It happens, but he was consistently getting jobs I’d priced for. When I made a couple of enquiries, I found his quotes were thousands of pounds cheaper than mine.’
‘That must have annoyed you.’
‘Like I said, it happens. When I saw him at Jewson’s we had a bit of a craic as we always do and then I suggested to him that he might want to stop undercutting the rest of us. You have to work smart not hard in this business.’
‘What did he say to that?’ Beth could guess the answer, but she wanted to hear Jeffers’s version.
‘He said that I was too dear and that I should lower my prices. We argued back and forth for a while and then when he started calling me names I got in my van and left. If he won’t listen to reason that’s his problem, but there’s no way I was going to stand there while he insulted me.’
‘The jobs he undercut you on, did losing out on them harm your business?’
Jeffers gave a short laugh. ‘Fuck no. They were good earners that I’d have liked to have picked up, but I won’t be going bankrupt just because I didn’t get them. I do work smart as well as hard.’
Beth tried a couple more questions, but it was clear to her that O’Dowd had lost interest. Jeffers might be the kind of rogue who overcharged his customers, but his motive for killing Angus was tenuous at best. People killed for love, for revenge and for money, but when the reason was money, it was generally for far greater sums than the few thousand Jeffers had missed out on due to Angus undercutting him.
* * *
Beth approached the reception desk a half step behind O’Dowd. The hotel they were in was a plush one overlooking Lake Windermere. The VisitEngland placard behind the counter showed four stars and Beth could see why. Everywhere she looked she saw clean lines and tasteful furnishings. The watercolours on the wall depicting Lakeland scenes looked to be originals rather than prints.
O’Dowd leaned on the counter and addressed the young receptionist. ‘We’re here to see Lawrence Eversham. Is he around?’
The over-presented receptionist flushed a little and glanced at a wall clock. ‘I’m afraid he’s in a meeting with our GM.’
‘Interrupt him.’ O’Dowd laid her warrant card on the counter. ‘It’s important.’
The receptionist hesitated, licked her lips and looked towards a door behind the reception. Beth didn’t know if the girl was looking for help or hoping the door would open and Eversham would come striding out to solve her dilemma.
‘Do I have to mention wasting police time to make you interrupt him?’
Beth kept her face neutral, but she was taken aback at the change to O’Dowd’s personality. She understood the pressure the DI was under, but while O’Dowd might be brusque at times, in the short time she’d worked with her, Beth had never heard her be so rude to members of the public. She wondered if it was because every one of the potential suspects they’d spoken to this morning had turned out to either have alibis, or no discernible reason to kill Angus Keane. This would be their sixth call and they were still no further forward than before they started.
The gardener and shopkeeper at Arthuret Hall had been dismissed, as had the rival builder, Steve Jeffers. The man who’d worked with Angus hadn’t panned out, and neither had the electrician who’d crossed swords with Angus over the late payment of an invoice. The electrician had admitted that he’d been at fault for the argument and that he’d planned to apologise to Angus the next time he’d seen him.
The receptionist lifted a phone and pressed a couple of buttons with a look of resentful defeat pushing to get past her thick layer of make-up. She spoke a few words and then adopted a pained expression.
‘Mr Eversham will be with you in a minute or two. Can I get you any refreshments?’
‘No thanks.’
Beth leaned against a wall and puzzled about the DI’s agitation while O’Dowd paced back and forth across the reception floor.
After a couple of minutes a well-dressed man appeared. He wore the typical country-gentleman’s uniform of corduroy trousers and Barbour shirt beneath a tweed jacket. All that was missing to complete the image of landed gentry, was a shotgun slung under an arm and a pair of Labradors at his heel.
‘I’m Lawrence Eversham, how may I help you?’ The welcoming smile he gave them was as suave as the rest of him, even if it was as false as the receptionist’s nails. His eyes gave a cursory glance at their warrant cards.
Beth made sure she beat O’Dowd to the answer. ‘Perhaps we could go somewhere private.’
Considering the way her boss was behaving today, there was every chance she’d start firing questions at Eversham in front of his receptionist. While catching someone off guard was never a bad thing, putting them in what they may consider to be a humiliating position wasn’t always the best idea.
Eversham gave a nod and led them to a small office. Judging by the room’s décor, it was used as a place to take complaining guests away from the reception counter, conduct private meetings with sales reps, and if the brochures and photo albums were anything to go by, sign couples up for the weddings of their dreams.
As soon as the door closed, O’Dowd rounded on Eversham. ‘You hired Angus Keane to do some work for you, then argued with him about the agreed price. I’ve seen the emails you exchanged with him. You were angry in those emails. Some might say that a number of your comments were libellous.’
>
‘I beg your pardon. You’re here because I complained about a job running over budget?’
‘No. We’re here because the man you argued with was killed. Murdered actually.’
Beth saw Eversham’s face blanch a couple of shades. ‘I’m terribly sorry to hear that. What an awful thing to happen. His poor family.’
O’Dowd waited and looked at Eversham until he caught up. To Beth’s mind it was a good tactic, not only could the DI monitor his reaction, she could react to whatever he said, as like a chess player, she was several moves ahead. Beth made a mental note of the way O’Dowd had sprung the trap.
Realisation dawned in his eyes. ‘I’m guessing you’re here because you think I had something to do with it. Am I right?’
O’Dowd nodded, letting silence be her friend and Eversham’s enemy.
‘I’m sorry, but you’re mistaken. I may drive a hard bargain in my business dealings, but I am no killer.’ Eversham spread his arms wide. ‘Look around you, ladies. I’m the sole owner of this hotel and three others like it. Each has an annual occupancy rate in excess of 85 per cent. I also own a large country house, fifteen farms and around a hundred holiday homes. In short, I may pinch pennies from time to time with those I do business with, but a disagreement over a mere £1,300 is not going to leave me feeling murderous. It may be impolite, or even crass to say so, but I have millions in my bank account. Why would I risk everything because a bill went up by a measly £1,300?’
Beth saw that O’Dowd was floundering in the face of Eversham’s logic, so she put forward a question of her own.
‘What if the reason you killed him was more to do with principle than money? We’ve read all of the emails between you and the deceased. His remarks were a lot more vicious than yours. With your wealth, you’re a powerful man. Perhaps you took issue with his choice of words, the names he called you and the tone of his emails. From what you say, your life is a privileged one. I’d also imagine that you took exception to one of the little people, an “oik” as I seem to remember you called him in one email, laying into you the way he did. A man of your status shouldn’t have to stand for that. How dare he speak to you like that? Maybe that’s why you killed him.’
Beth knew she was taking a chance by speaking to Eversham like that, but projecting the suspect’s thought processes in this way was a recognised technique for tricking people into making an incriminating admission.
So far as Beth could tell, Eversham’s laughter was genuine. It was filled with the kind of mirth that couldn’t be faked.
When he addressed Beth he had to talk round his smile. ‘My dear, you really should do your homework. Yes, my family was quite wealthy when I was growing up, but all they had was the house we lived in. My father died when I was six, so it was just me and my mother. All my businesses are ones I started myself or bought over. I’ve worked since I left school. Worked hours that would floor most people. Do you think I built all those businesses up without falling out with a few people? Without being called all manner of names?’ He flapped a hand in a dismissive gesture. ‘Of course not.’ He cast an eye at O’Dowd. ‘I’m guessing you’re the superior officer here. You might want to have a word with your junior. Explain how the big bad world really works before she gets herself into trouble and drags you down with her. I mean, imagine if someone she wrongly accused of murder was to complain to the chief constable at the golf club, you know, the way rich and powerful men do.’
As Eversham dismantled her theory, Beth felt her face begin to flush and a dull throb fire up in her scarred cheek.
* * *
The glower on O’Dowd’s face suggested that she was in for an industrial-strength bollocking as soon as they returned to the privacy of the pool car.
The first salvos from O’Dowd were interrupted by the ringing of her mobile. ‘This isn’t finished.’ O’Dowd jabbed at her phone. ‘O’Dowd. What is it, sir?’
Beth watched as the DI listened. If the sudden paleness of O’Dowd’s face was anything to go by, it wasn’t good news.
The silence dragged on as O’Dowd kept her mobile to her ear and her mouth shut. When she did finally speak it was a simple acknowledgement that they would attend at once.
‘Shit, shit, shit.’
‘What is it, ma’am?’
O’Dowd rocketed the pool car out of the hotel’s car park. ‘We’ve got another two victims.’
Thirty-Two
Beth sat waiting until O’Dowd finished ranting about the two new victims. The fact they’d been found in the cellar of an abandoned country house was indicator enough to suggest why they’d got the call.
Like her boss she’d recoiled at the idea of further victims, but also so soon. If either body had wings on their back, it probably meant they’d been killed by the same person who killed Angus Keane.
‘I mean, what the hell is going on? First Angus Keane and now another two victims have been discovered in the cellar of another old house. The chief super said that one of the bodies had been in there a good while. Fuck’s sake, Beth. What kind of fucking maniac are we after? I mean, killing people is bad enough, but what’s with the hiding them in cellars? And fuck only knows if he’s burned out their throats and stuck wings on their backs too.’
Beth had to brace her feet against the footwell as O’Dowd stood on the brakes after entering a corner faster than was safe. ‘Easy, ma’am.’
As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew they were a mistake. The DI wasn’t in the mood for censure of any kind, let alone criticism of her driving from a subordinate.
‘I have driven at speed before, you know.’ The reprimand was delivered in a snarled tone. ‘Instead of worrying about my driving, your time would be better spent thinking about how two more innocent people have lost their lives. About how we’ve no decent leads to follow and about how we can find a way to catch the killer.’
Beth kept her mouth shut.
With little information to go on, Beth’s imagination ran free and she pictured the victims set out as Angus Keane had been. Maybe they too had spent their last moments on earth confused and terrified, perhaps thinking of their loved ones.
While O’Dowd’s anger was directed at the impossibility of the case and the horror of the murders, the fury Beth could feel growing in her belly was aimed squarely at the killer. He was the one who’d chosen these victims, decided how they’d die and then executed them. The killer had to be stopped. For the victims; for the bereaved families; and for whoever the killer might go after next.
When all was said and done, Beth understood O’Dowd’s fury and drive to catch the killer. That her boss had vented was natural, but it had gone on too long and had been too intense. After five or ten minutes, Beth found herself wondering if there was a secondary reason for the DI’s lengthy rant.
* * *
O’Dowd gave no consideration to the car’s suspension as she barrelled along the dirt track that led towards Highstead Castle. Potholes, ruts and the few level areas were all treated as if they were billiard-table smooth.
They were in an area of the county Beth was unfamiliar with. She was aware it existed, but as it lay off the motorway roughly halfway between Carlisle and Penrith, she’d never had cause to go there before. A network of narrow roads linked the tiny villages and the farms to the larger arteries of the M6, A66 and B5305. This area was the heart of Cumbria’s farming community. These rolling hills lay home to cattle, dairy and arable farms, with the better-known sheep farms dominating the Lakeland Fells to the south-west and the North Pennines in the east. Beth could see the peaks of Blencathra and Skiddaw; as always, they gave her a sense of belonging. The Lake District was in her blood and she adored its beauty and majesty.
O’Dowd parked behind the CSI van and they both exited the car as the engine pinged its protest at O’Dowd’s rough treatment. They nodded at the crime scene manager who logged their names and needlessly pointed the way to go.
There was a cluster of CSI technicians standing by the
door to the house. Off to one side, a uniformed officer was speaking to a man who had two pointers flanking him. Even from a distance, the dogs looked well-groomed and of excellent breeding stock.
The building was more of a manor house than a fortified castle with crenelated walls and a central tower. To Beth it looked Georgian in design, and she supposed that like so many old houses it had been rebuilt, renovated or extended many times since its foundations were first laid. The term ‘castle’ was a misnomer, but like so many of Cumbria’s country houses, it had more than likely been built on the ruins of a castle which dated back to the days when the Border Reivers were an ever-present threat.
Highstead Castle retained an imposing frontage despite being nothing more than a shell. It sat on higher ground than the lawn Beth and O’Dowd were crossing and looked down on them. Like Arthuret Hall, there was a grass fringe running along its wallheads. Each window was an empty hole depicting the shambles of the interior. At the left-hand side a tubular scaffold had been erected. It reached the tops of the walls, but Beth couldn’t see anyone working on the house.
O’Dowd caught the eye of one of the CSI team. ‘What’s the score?’
‘It’s a disaster zone.’ He pointed into the house. ‘Owner’s dog wandered off. When he went looking for it, he found it in the cellar barking its head off. He went in. Found two bodies and came out and called us.’ He shook his head in disgust. ‘The other bloody dog went in with him.’
Beth knew he wasn’t really blaming the house’s owner or the dogs. More that he was frustrated his job had been made harder. Two dogs and a civilian had trampled over his crime scene. He was used to forensic sterility and avoiding contamination, which meant he’d have to sift through the evidence and work out what had been carried in by the dogs and their owner.
