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‘No hurry,’ said a pleasant male voice.
Jess jumped and spun round. ‘Oh, sorry, sir. Didn’t see it was you.’
‘I came to see how you got on at Overvale,’ Alan Markby said.
‘I turned up a few things, one of them a bit of a surprise. I was just about to write out a report,’ Jess added quickly.
He nodded. ‘About this time of day, in these circumstances, if it had been Dave Pearce still in this office, I’d be offering to stand him a pint in the pub on the corner.’
‘Oh,’ said Jess. At the mention of her predecessor’s name she’d felt herself bristle but the follow-up was totally unexpected. ‘I don’t know about a pint,’ she ventured. ‘I might manage half a cider.’
Unexpectedly he gave a broad smile. ‘Meredith, my fiancée, is a cider-drinker. Come on, then. You can tell me what you found out this morning in rather more comfortable surroundings than these.’
 
 
The pub Jess found herself in was quite unlike the one in which Toby and Meredith were sharing an indifferent bottle of wine. The Feathers, with all its faults, was genuinely old. This was a fairly new building furnished in a way to suggest ‘character’. Bookcases along the walls were filled with a motley selection of second-hand volumes. Whatever the overhead beams were made of, it wasn’t wood. There was a fire burning in the hearth but it was gas-powered.
‘Sorry about the kitsch.’ Markby had noted her critical study of their surroundings. ‘They do a good ham baguette if you’re hungry. That’s what I’m having.’
‘Oh, right, sir.’
Somehow Jess felt that Markby being friendly in a relaxed way was more alarming than Markby being professionally courteous. What was this supposed to achieve? That she, Jess, would blurt out her innermost secrets? I haven’t got any! she thought crossly. Yes, you do, replied that inner voice which delights in disconcerting us. Everyone does.
He had returned holding the cider in one hand and a pint in the other. ‘The baguettes are coming,’ he informed her. ‘Cheers!’
She raised her glass cautiously. ‘Cheers, sir.’
‘What did you make of the Kemp case?’ He put down his glass. At least he wasn’t going to beat about the bush.
Jess felt he expected her to be equally to the point. She began, trying not to let a nervous tremor invade her voice. ‘It does seem too much of a coincidence that Fiona Jenner should be found dead in a way which suggests the death of Freda Kemp. At the very least, the murderer knew about the Kemp case. That, in turn, suggests the killer might be the poison pen sender. That’s what Jeremy Jenner thinks and he might be right. Or, we might all be thinking along lines suggested by the killer to throw us off the scent. The killer might not be the writer, but he or she knows about the letters and wants to point us in the direction of the letter-writer.
‘As for the Kemp case.’ Here Jess faltered but controlled the moment’s weakness and went on firmly, ‘The original investigation seems to have been botched. Either there wasn’t enough evidence and the case shouldn’t have come to court, or there was evidence, but it wasn’t properly checked. The inspiration for the letters may lie in the mistakes which were made then.’
Markby said quietly, ‘We are not investigating the Kemp murder. That’s for others to do if the case is ever reopened. Alison Harris, as she then was, was found Not Guilty. I should tell you that Alison doesn’t think Freda Kemp was murdered.’ He repeated Alison’s explanation of her aunt’s death.
‘It would make sense, I suppose.’ Jess was unable to keep the doubt from her voice. ‘I wasn’t intending to question Alison Jenner about the earlier case. I just thought we ought to keep it in mind.’
‘I quite agree. The senior investigating officer in the case was a chap called Barnes-Wakefield. He’ll be retired now but I thought I might get in touch with him and hear what he’s got to say. The roots of the murder of Fiona Jenner may indeed lie in the distant past. I can be getting on with that while you’re concentrating on what’s happening at this end of things. I’ll be tactful. I won’t suggest he botched things.’ Markby smiled.
‘No, sir. I wouldn’t say it to him directly, either.’
‘I’m not suggesting you would. But it’s best I get in touch with him. He might be happier chatting to a serving officer of the rank of superintendent—’
‘- And male,’ said Jess, before she could stop herself.
‘Quite so.’ Markby raised his glass to her.
Jess laughed ruefully. It was true the old fellow, as Barnes-Wakefield must now be, probably wouldn’t be so forthcoming with a young female inspector of the type virtually unknown when he’d been an active police officer.
‘I’ll dig him out,’ said Markby affably. ‘These old fellows usually jump at a chance to reminisce.’
The baguettes arrived and there was a pause while both of them ate.
‘So,’ the superintendent asked after a while. ‘How about this morning?’
‘I spoke to Jenner and his wife. Smythe wasn’t there. He’d gone off to lunch with a friend.’
Markby nodded. ‘He’s lunching somewhere with Meredith. I dare say I’ll get the breakdown on that later. If anything of interest came up, I’ll pass it on.’
Jess took her time replying to this. To have the superintendent’s fiancée a close friend of one of the suspects didn’t help. No wonder he’d invited her to this pub with its off-duty atmosphere. He had a good reason to want to know what she was thinking. If things got awkward, he’d want to extricate his fiancee, Meredith, was it? Yes, he’d want to get her out of an embarrassing situation.
‘One thing to come out of the interview was that Fiona Jenner was financially independent,’ she explained.
Markby nodded thoughtfully. ‘That would certainly prove significant. I wonder if she’d made a will? Being so young, she might not have done.’
‘If she hasn’t,’ Jess observed, ‘then Jenner would have a claim on the estate and so would her mother, who is French. Her first name is Chantal but I don’t know her present surname. I don’t know where she is, here or in France. I don’t think Jenner is sure of her whereabouts, either. He told me he was still trying to get in touch with her.’
‘I had Fiona down as possibly the letter-writer,’ Markby said thoughtfully. ‘So did Meredith. That now looks highly unlikely.’
‘What did you think of her, sir?The dead girl?You met her and I didn’t.’
‘I only met her once. Self-assured and pretty hard-boiled was the impression I got. It might have been a false impression. Why don’t you talk to Meredith? She might have more insight. She’s pretty good at judging people’s characters. It’s that consular training. That’s what she used to be, a British consul, dealing with all sorts of odd bods with British passports and unlikely yarns of mishaps abroad.’
‘I’d like to talk to her,’ Jess said.
‘Fine, I’ll tell her. She ought to go back to work tomorrow but perhaps she could take a morning off. I’ll ask. What else did you find out this morning?’
‘The housekeeper saw Fiona at about a quarter past eight, jogging past the window. That supports Smythe’s story that he saw her leaving the house at about ten past eight. One detail: she says Fiona’s hair was tied back with a red satin scrunchy.’ Helpfully Jess began to explain what this hair adornment was. ‘It’s an elastic—’
‘I know what they are,’ he said. ‘My niece has one. I don’t have any children but my sister has four and they keep me up to speed.’
‘Oh, right, sir. Well, there wasn’t any sign of it by the lake. She might have lost it jogging.’ Jess paused. ‘Quite possibly she wasn’t killed at the lake. There’s that tyre track. She could have been attacked somewhere on the estate and the body driven to the lake. In that case, she could have lost the hair band at the time of the attack.’
‘And if we find the red scrunchy, we’ll know where the attack took place?’ Markby considered this. ‘It’s a fair assumption.’
‘I looked at her room but it had been cleaned up.’ Jess drew a deep breath. ‘I should have looked on Saturday evening before they got to it. It’s now as clean as a whistle. At least I’ve got the keys to Fiona’s flat in London. I thought I might go there tomorrow and take a look round.’
‘In that case I’ll tell Meredith to expect you on Wednesday morning.’ When Jess had admitted her failure to search Fiona’s room on Saturday, he’d merely nodded. That didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of the mistake. But he appreciated she hadn’t pleaded tiredness after a long day culminating in attendance at the post-mortem and a difficult visit to tell Jenner his daughter had been stabbed. Own up to your mistakes and Markby would be reasonable. Attempt to conceal them and he’d be down on you like a ton of bricks! That was the unspoken message.
Jess thanked him and added, ‘The diving team didn’t find anything in the lake which might have been the weapon and we’ve had no luck so far with the impression of the tyre tread. It’s a popular pattern. There is a vehicle on the estate which has some like it. It belongs to the gardener, Stebbings, an old 4x4. But his tyres are reasonably new and would’ve made a better imprint. I’ll phone through to the Met this afternoon and clear it with them,’ she concluded, ‘if it’s OK for me to go to London tomorrow.’
‘Fair enough. But make sure someone’s following up the original investigation into the letters themselves. It’s even more urgent that we find the writer. Because,’ Markby added, ‘if the writer
didn’t
have anything to do with Fiona Jenner’s death, then he or she is now one very frightened person.’
 
When Toby got back to Overvale House, he saw a florist’s van before the porch. The front door was open and Mrs Whittle was taking delivering of a large spray of purple iris and mauve tulips. The florist got back in her van and rattled away.
Toby went indoors.
‘Look at these,’ said Mrs Whittle to him. ‘Lovely, aren’t they?’
Toby turned the attached card so that he could read it. ‘Who are Michael and Caroline Fossett?’
‘They live about a mile away, sir. Their land adjoins ours. They farm and Mr Jenner, he leases out some of his land to them for the grazing. It’s nice of them to show their sympathy. I’ll just go and put them in some water. Mrs Jenner is lying down. There was a woman police officer here and I think it upset her. Best not to disturb her,’ Mrs Whittle added and bustled away.
The door to Toby’s left clicked and opened. ‘Oh, Toby, there you are,’ Jeremy Jenner said. ‘Come on in.’
Toby followed him into the study. There was a distinct whiff of whisky in the air.
‘Want one?’ Jenner held up the decanter.
‘I’ve been drinking at lunch, better not.’ Toby paused. ‘Some
flowers came for you both, from some people called Fossett. Mrs Whittle’s taken them to put in a vase.’
‘Oh?’ Jenner didn’t appear very interested. He slumped in a chair and stared up at his cousin. ‘We had that woman inspector here again this morning. It upset Alison.’
‘Sorry to hear it. What was she after?’
‘Snooping around, asking personal questions. It’s a damn awful business.’ Jenner hesitated. ‘Look, Toby old son, you wouldn’t do a favour for a chap, would you?
Jess Campbell’s first sight of Fiona Jenner’s flat on Tuesday morning was, as she afterwards admitted to Markby, an eyeopener. She had set off for London early in the morning by train, not trusting herself to drive in the nation’s capital with its unfamiliar patterns of one-way systems. She had found her way to Docklands via the light railway and after wandering round a maze of buildings which still gleamed with comparative newness in the returned spring sunshine, and almost deserted streets, she found herself before a converted waterside warehouse. She gazed up at the deep red brick building towering above her. Its large windows, affording a spectacular view of the Thames basin, sparkled in the clear light. She consulted the scrap of paper Jenner had given her. Yes, this was it!
And there again, it wasn’t, at least not as Jess had imagined it would be. To begin with, the flat was situated on the ground floor and had an independent entrance, more in the style of a maisonette. The door was reached by crossing a minute patio containing a tub with a bay tree in it. Jess reached out and fingered one of the shiny dark green leaves. Was this just for decoration or had Fiona been interested in cooking? Jess had an idea these plants were expensive to buy.To leave it unattended out here showed a certain trust in the neighbours.
She put the key in the lock. It turned easily and the door swung open. She stepped inside.
Two things struck her in quick succession. First, a
confirmation of the discovery she’d already made, that Jeremy Jenner’s description of his daughter’s purchase had been hopelessly inadequate, not to say misleading. One room, perhaps, but one room of majestic proportions, large and so high that a spiral staircase had been installed up to a mezzanine bedroom platform, supported by an iron girder. It reached halfway across the whole space. This must be what Jeremy had meant when he spoke of a balcony. Light streamed in through high windows in the far wall. Everything gleamed: the stainless steel kitchen area, the minimalist decor and furnishings, a white leather sofa, a glass-topped coffee table. There was an off-white dining set with uncomfortable-looking chairs with high narrow backs made up of a sort of framed trellis-work. In one corner was the inevitable computer work station. The walls had been left in their red brick and there was one big unframed canvas on the far wall. Jess wasn’t into art. It was just a lot of black splodges and zigzags on a white background to her eye, but it was clearly an original and probably by some well-known modern artist. The only other piece of decoration was a long mobile of silvery shapes hanging from high ceiling. It turned slowly in the draught from the opened front door with a faint metallic tinkle like distant bells. The whole place looked like something from the Ideal Home Exhibition, pristine, untouched and out of most people’s league. It also, in its cleanliness, neatness and all that white, reminded Jess of a hospital ward.
Her trained eye took in all these things in one quick sweep of her surroundings. The second thing she became aware of, almost at once, was that she wasn’t alone in here. There was someone up in the mezzanine bedroom. She closed the front door softly and stood listening. There it was: a hiss of expelled breath as someone exerted some effort, the creak of a footstep on the wooden floor and then a male voice uttering a quiet but heartfelt imprecation followed by a rhetorical question.
‘What the hell am I doing here?’
‘Just what I was thinking, sir!’ Jess called up.
There was a thud from above as something was dropped. Footsteps clattered on the spiral staircase as the other began a hasty descent which stopped abruptly, midway.
‘Inspector …’The dismay was almost laughable but Jess wasn’t laughing.
‘Mr Smythe. Do you mind telling me just what you are doing here?’
 
‘Jeremy asked me to come, as a favour,’Toby said dejectedly from Fiona’s white leather sofa. ‘I didn’t want to do it but the poor guy’s in such a state. How could I refuse? He’s my cousin.’ He was slumped forward with his forearms resting on his thighs. He put up his hands and rubbed them over his head so that his dark hair became more tousled than ever.
‘Family obligation doesn’t excuse what looks remarkably like an attempt to remove evidence,’ Jess told him and wished the words hadn’t come out sounding so damn prissy. She was sitting opposite him on a tubular chair and between them the silver mobile twisted in an air current, shimmering and rustling. She was angry because his presence suggested the Jenners intended to carry out the same clean-up operation on Fiona’s flat as they’d done on her bedroom at Overvale. At the same time, she felt herself curiously out of countenance. Embarrassment was what Smythe was feeling, unless he was a better actor than she gave him credit for being. And so he should be embarrassed! Her awkwardness came from the fact that she sat here like an old-fashioned mother superior and he sat there like a kid who’d been found smoking behind the toilets. He should be wriggling with guilt, but she shouldn’t feel like this. It was unprofessional.
‘I haven’t removed a damn thing. I haven’t found a damn thing.’ He was defiant now. (
I wasn’t smoking it, Sister, honest.
I just picked it up to throw it in the rubbish bin.
) He smoothed his untidy hair with both hands in an attempt to restore it to order, and glared at her. ‘I’d only been here about ten minutes when you turned up.’
‘How did you get in here?’ Jess asked briskly.
‘I had a key. Jeremy knew that.’
‘You
had a key. Why?’ Damn Jeremy Jenner! Why hadn’t he told Jess that his cousin held a key to Fiona’s flat?
‘Through an oversight, really. When Fiona bought the place and it was still empty, she kipped over at my place in Camden. I was home on a spot of leave at the time. She had the bed and I had the sofa, in case you’re wondering. She’d bought some stuff which she stored in my flat and left me a key for this place because I’d agreed to bring it over here. At that time I still had a car in London. I sold it when I left for Beijing and bought another when I got out there. I did well on the deal. Diplomatic perk.’ He gave a wan smile which faded quickly in the face of Jess’s stony expression.
‘I’m not interested in your car,’ she said sharply. ‘So, you were given the key by Miss Jenner, so that you could deliver some property of hers.’
‘Yes,’ he said defiantly. ‘She was going away for the weekend, not to see Jeremy, somewhere else, I don’t know where.’
Toby looked round him and waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the kitchen area. ‘It only was pots and pans and stuff like that. I came over here and dumped it all. My leave was up and I flew out back to Beijing a few days later. While I was away, she moved in here. The key – the key to this place which she gave me – was left in my flat in a drawer. I mentioned it when I arrived at Overvale. We were all sitting at dinner the first evening and I said I had the key and had meant to bring it down with me for Fiona but had forgotten it. Fiona said to put it in an envelope and post it to her. Jeremy remembered.’
Remembering that cleaned and tidied bedroom at Overvale, Jess’s conviction that something was being deliberately erased from the record increased. Now was the time to find out what it was.
‘And what did Jenner want you to search for?’
Toby hunched his shoulders. ‘I don’t know. Look, honestly, I don’t know. I asked him and he turned vague. He just said I
should take a look round and see if there was anything potentially embarrassing. He didn’t mean anything directly to do with her
death
. It was anything to do with her
life
which would give a story to the press. We don’t know why she died or who killed her. Jeremy’s afraid the redtop papers might get hold of all this. Fiona was a single girl and he didn’t want anything found here which might, I use his words, besmirch her reputation.’
‘Mr Smythe!’ Jess burst out. ‘Given the job you do, you can’t be so naive! Fiona Jenner was murdered and anything here might give a clue to her killer! Even if there is something her father doesn’t want to come to light, he has to face the fact that now it must! So must you! As for her posthumous reputation, I’m sorry, but in these circumstances the victim has no rights in that.’
‘“I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him,” quoted Toby gloomily. “The evil that men do lives after them, the good is oft interred with their bones.” ’
‘Mr Smythe! This is a very serious matter.’
‘I am being serious!’ Toby snapped back irritably. ‘Why does no one ever believe that I take things seriously? But old Shakespeare got it right, didn’t he? He was a wise old bird. Now Fiona’s dead anyone can say anything about her and any grubby journalist write up every little human failing for the titillation of his prurient readers. This whole thing is a nightmare. I sympathize with old Jeremy. However, believe me or not, I didn’t intend to remove anything. I work for the government. I know things have to be done by the book. If I’d found anything embarrassing I’d have gone back and told Jeremy about it so he’d be ready for it when the police found it. Forewarned is forearmed, and all the rest of it. I know, believe it or not, about evidence.’
‘Do you also know about fingerprints?’ Jess retorted silkily. ‘Yours, I presume, are now all over the place here?’
‘What?’ he gazed at her. ‘Oh, yes, I suppose they are.’
‘No “suppose” about it. Now, let’s say, for the sake of argument, you wanted to confuse the police.You might come and leave some
fingerprints here today to disguise any you might have made on previous visits.’
Toby ran his fingers through his hair, dishevelling it again. ‘I’ve hardly ever been in here! I came once when it was brand new and empty, to see it, and once when I brought over the kitchen pots I told you about. I’ve been in Beijing, for crying out loud! I’d never even seen it fully furnished like it is now.’ He gazed round him critically. ‘I suppose this
is
fully furnished. It’s not my style. It looks like a reception area in a posh block of offces. Look, all I meant to do was have a good look round and if there was anything iffy I’d have gone back and told Jeremy about it but I wouldn’t, I repeat,
I would not
have removed it. You probably don’t believe that but it’s true. I’m between the devil and the deep blue sea over this. I didn’t want to upset the police but I didn’t want to argue with Jeremy in the state he’s in.’
Jess stood up. ‘You’d better show me what you’ve done and put things back as you found them.’
‘I’d just begun,’ Toby explained as they climbed the spiral stairs. ‘I started up here and meant to work my way down. But up here was bad enough. I felt like some kind of grubby pervert, looking through her stuff. It’s all perfectly ordinary. Lord knows what Jeremy thinks I might find. I’m beginning to wonder if grief has sent him a bit funny.’
On the mezzanine were twin beds, both neatly made up in matching bed linen. On one of them a well-worn teddy bear was propped surveying them with its one remaining glass eye. Jess frowned. ‘You’re sure Jenner didn’t tell you what he thought you’d find?’
‘He didn’t tell me anything. I wish he had. It was bloody impossible, looking for something when I didn’t know what it was. I looked in the drawers there.’ He pointed. ‘And I’d just opened the wardrobe when you called up. I nearly had a heart attack.’
‘I didn’t expect to find you, come to that,’ Jess said drily.
‘No, I suppose not. It’s full of clothes and shoes and things. Nothing interesting.’ He gestured towards the wardrobe.
Jess put her hand through the door and riffled through the rack of clothes. There were plenty of them all right, packed in tightly, something for every occasion. Fiona must have been shopping mad. Two or three business suits hung together. Did people who worked in television wear that sort of thing? Jess uttered a soundless whistle between her pursed lips. It was curious. Hardly any furniture in the place, yet masses of garments of all sorts, and shoes. Aware that Toby was watching her, Jess stooped and picked up a pair of low-heeled tangerine slip-ons. They looked new. She turned them over and saw on the instep the stamped impression giving the size, 5
1/2
. She replaced them and picked up a pair of ankle boots next to them. She turned them over. Size 6
1/2
.
Toby’s sharp gaze had registered the puzzlement on her face. ‘What’s up?’
Jess retrieved the first pair of shoes and held both out to him so that he could read the sizes. ‘What do you make of that?’
‘Bought them on sale?’ suggested Toby. ‘Thought she could squeeze her size six and a half tootsies into a pair of size five and a halfs?’
‘Unlikely. She might have varied by half a size between different designs of shoe, but I wouldn’t have thought a whole size. What size did she take, did you know?’
‘Search me.’
‘If I’ve any reason to think you’ve removed any item, believe me, someone will.’ Jess returned both pairs of shoes and picked up a third pair, then a fourth and fifth. ‘They’re all either one or the other of those two sizes.’
‘So? Toby folded his arms and leaned against the wardrobe, looking mutinous. ‘What does that tell your trained brain?’
‘First, it tells me you’re sulking, which you’re far too old to do. Second, it suggests to me that—’
From below came the sound of a key in the front-door lock and then the slam of the door. Footsteps crossed the wooden floor below and someone turned on the tap at the kitchen unit. They
could hear water splashing into a kettle. They exchanged startled looks and, as one, moved to peer over the mezzanine rail.

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