In Vino Veritas (19 page)

Had she unearthed her employer's killer at the outset, simply through this woman's disclosure of knowledge she should not have had? Fiona Cooper said, through a throat which now felt very tight, ‘You knew about this, didn't you? But I've only just found out some of these facts myself, only just been given police permission to release them.'

Vanda North looked at her for a moment as if she could not understand the accusation behind the words. Then she laughed abruptly, the unexpected sound shrill and loud in the quiet room. She realized the reason for the apprehension she had seen for a moment in the woman behind the desk. ‘Of course, you wouldn't know, would you? I spoke to Jane Beaumont this morning. She told me about it – two policewomen had been round quite early to break the news of Martin's death to her.'

Fiona hoped that the horror she had felt for a moment had not shown on her face. She dropped into her PA's efficient, non-committal voice. ‘I knew it must be something like that.'

The house of the finance director of Abbey Vineyards was altogether less grand than that of the company's late owner.

It was a pleasant, rather boxy, detached house in a cul-de-sac of identical buildings on the outskirts of Tewkesbury. It would have been more impressive if allowed more space, but the developer had followed the modern trend in building the maximum number of residences the local authority planning committee would allow him to erect on the site. The land had once been the gardens of the two late-Victorian houses he had demolished to allow this project. There were now fourteen residences here, so that the houses were nothing like as elegant as the artist's impression on the front of the brochure. They had built-in garages and were set in pocket-handkerchief gardens.

Alistair Morton himself opened the door to Lambert and Hook. The room into which he led them was square and well lit by its single broad window in the front wall of the house. The dining-room set of table and six chairs and matching long sideboard made it seem quite small. The three oil-paintings of what seemed to be Scottish Highland scenes combined with a few ornaments to make the decor seem almost fussy.

Perhaps Morton noticed them taking note of the room, in the calm, unhurried way which is common in CID officers anxious to pick up every informative detail from the living spaces of those they interview. He said nervously, ‘This is a dining room, but we don't use it much for that. I needed it for a study and a place to do freelance work, until I was fully established and provided with my own facilities at Abbey Vineyards.'

Lambert turned his attention with a polite smile to the human being at the centre of this room. Morton was slightly built, his thinness making him seem a little taller than he was. He had straight black hair, neatly parted in the style of a previous generation and closely cut at the back and sides of his head. ‘Have you been with Abbey Vineyards for a long time, Mr Morton?'

‘Very nearly since the outset. I came to Mr Beaumont as a newly qualified chartered accountant, doing his books in my spare time in the early days. Even when I decided to throw in my lot with him, I still did other work on a freelance basis, because he couldn't afford to pay me much at the beginning.'

Lambert nodded. ‘I remember the vineyard beginning as a very modest concern. Most people thought the notion of English wine rather ridiculous at the time, or at best as no more than a novelty. You must have had faith in the idea.'

‘I suppose I did. Or rather, faith in Martin Beaumont, if I'm honest. I knew nothing about English wine and very little about wine in general. But Martin was an enthusiast. He carried people along with him.'

‘Nevertheless, you showed a lot of faith, to throw in your lot with him when he was dependent on what was then a largely untried idea.'

Alistair hadn't anticipated this. He had expected to be defensive, to have to devote all his resources to concealing the fact that he had been thinking for months of the means by which he might dispose of the employer he had come to hate. Yet this grey, lined, experienced face seemed to understand his situation, to appreciate what he had risked in those early days. He was tempted for a moment to disclose his real relationship with Beaumont, to say exactly what sort of man he had been and how treacherously he had reneged on those early promises of partnership. But that would surely be folly, with Beaumont on a slab with a bullet through his head and these men looking hard for a killer.

Alistair went back to the words he had prepared. ‘I was young. I had a wife working. I felt I could take a chance to pursue an exciting idea. We didn't have any children – we still don't have. I was a qualified chartered accountant. It wouldn't have been the end of the world if Abbey Vineyards had failed. I'd have found other employment easily enough.'

It all made sense. But Morton was picking his words very carefully for a man with nothing to hide, thought Lambert. ‘You will appreciate that at present we know almost nothing about a man who has been a victim of violent homicide. We've already spoken to Mr Beaumont's widow. Apart from her, you have probably known him longer than anyone else we shall talk to. Would you tell us what sort of man he was, please?'

Alistair wasn't ready for so direct a challenge. Any frank appraisal of the man was plainly dangerous ground for him. He didn't want to say what he really thought, but he couldn't afford to come across to them as evasive. He played for time by rising and going across to the sideboard and sliding open one of its bottom drawers. After searching for a moment through a sheaf of documents, he produced a small leaflet and handed it to Lambert.

‘That is the first brochure we produced at Abbey Vineyards. That is a picture of Martin as he was then.'

It was a modest advertising venture, pushing the notion of English wines, reminding the reader that the Romans had grown vines here. It gave brief accounts of soil analysis and the writer's views on why the gentle, south-facing Gloucestershire slopes where the first plantings had taken place were going to produce viable commercial yields. Its only printing extravagance was a full-length picture of the man behind the venture, probably taken a year or two before it was used here. Martin Beaumont was a handsome man, slim in his well-cut suit, with an open face and flowing, carefully cut, dark-gold hair. The features exuded confidence and enthusiasm, as was obviously their purpose in the brochure.

John Lambert studied the photograph for a few seconds, as Morton obviously intended him to do. The Martin Beaumont of those years looked a winning figure, who could easily imbue others with the enthusiasm and conviction he felt for his ideas. He wondered for a moment whether there might have been a sexual attraction between the two men, but immediately dismissed the notion. He was almost sure Morton was not gay, and he certainly didn't present the shaken figure of a man who had lost a lover, whether current or former. More likely there had been an attraction of opposites, a bond between the handsome entrepreneur with his visions of commercial glory and this introverted and cautious figure, excited by an unexpectedly adventurous outlet for his accountancy skills.

Lambert said, ‘So you were in at the beginning. It must have been an intoxicating ride.'

Alistair weighed the word carefully. He would have used other, less complimentary words, but it would pay him to accept this view. ‘It was. There wasn't much money around at all for a year or two, because Martin insisted on ploughing every penny that was made back into the firm.'

‘But no doubt you approved of that, in view of the progress you have seen since then.'

Was it a straightforward comment, or was he being led on to confess something he would rather conceal? These two were experienced at this interview game, whereas he was a novice, whatever he had decided in advance. Alistair said carefully, ‘I did, I suppose. It's difficult to recall all the details now, but I remember that Martin could certainly inspire other people with his enthusiasm.' And with promises he never intended to fulfil! But he mustn't tell them that. ‘There wasn't much money available for anyone in those early days, including me. But I supplemented what there was with a little freelance work in my spare time. And my wife was bringing in a secretarial salary.'

‘You didn't think of going so far as to take a direct stake in the business, rather than just receiving what you admit was a very small salary in the early years?'

It was almost as though this man Lambert knew all about Beaumont's failure to deliver on his promises of partnership. But he couldn't possibly know, could he? He'd given nothing away himself and the only other man who could have told them anything about it was Martin himself, who certainly wouldn't have left any details of that sort around in his papers. Alistair forced a little laugh at his own expense. ‘Put it down to an accountant's natural caution, if you like. No one except Martin was certain we were going to be a success, at the outset. Once the early days were past and the business was even a modest success, I'd have liked to be a part-owner, of course, but Martin didn't want that. He was always very much a one-man band, you know.'

‘No, we didn't know that, Mr Morton. That's the kind of information we're here to gather, as I explained earlier.'

‘Well, he was. And what he really needed in the early days was capital, which I hadn't got. I contributed only my financial expertise. Eventually, when the firm was fully established, I was appointed formally as its financial director. I have no quarrel with the salary I have been paid in that post.'

‘I see. And other senior staff are salaried employees in a similar way, are they? None of them has any say in the policies of the company?'

‘I understand that Miss North, our director of residential accommodation, is a junior partner in the company. You should ask her if you wish to know the details of exactly how junior. She put in some money ten years or so ago.'

But as the financial director and compiler of the annual accounts, you must know all the details of exactly how far she and anyone else is involved, thought Lambert. Are you just being professionally cagey about financial matters, in a typically British way, or are you really trying to conceal something significant here? ‘Abbey Vineyards is now a large and apparently prosperous industrial concern. Is it not unusual that, apart from what you say is a minor involvement by Miss North, it should still at this stage of its development be so much a one-man band?'

‘It is probably unusual, but by no means unique. It is – was – part of Martin's temperament to control what he had set up and developed. That is a common trait of many successful entrepreneurs. He didn't operate as a complete autocrat. We had regular meetings, where the five senior staff were allowed their say. Some of us expressed our views on policy pretty forcefully at times.'

‘And no doubt the chairman listened to them, and then went ahead with exactly what he had planned from the outset.'

Alistair allowed himself a smile. ‘It was a little like that at times, I confess. But that is one of the things you have to accept with a strong-willed leader like Martin. You get rapid progress and success, but less power than in a more democratic set-up. If you don't like it, you go somewhere more congenial.'

Lambert gave him an answering smile, showing his understanding, inviting revelations. ‘As Mr Beaumont no doubt didn't hesitate to inform any dissenters.'

‘It happened, from time to time, I'm sure,' said Morton stiffly.

‘But you were perfectly happy with this set-up yourself.'

It was almost as if he was trying to trip him up, thought Alistair. But he mustn't become paranoid: the man couldn't possibly know anything. He must pick his words carefully if he was to avoid showing his resentment. ‘On balance, I was happy, yes. There were times when I felt I'd like to have a little more direct involvement, and been able to influence policy more, but as I say I am well paid for my services, so I accept the rewards of the set-up alongside its small limitations.'

Lambert regarded him steadily for so long that Alistair thought he was going to pursue the matter. But eventually he said, ‘A man like Mr Beaumont must inevitably have made many enemies. Do you know of anyone who might have wished him serious ill? I need hardly say that any thoughts you have on the matter will remain entirely confidential.'

It was an opportunity to divert suspicion away from himself. But he mustn't be too eager to accept the invitation, or it would become obvious what he was about. Alistair said with an air of reluctance, ‘I think Miss North would have liked to withdraw her money, to realize the benefits of her stake in the company. But you would need to ask her about that. And I'm certainly not suggesting that she felt strongly enough about it to undertake murder. That would be ridiculous.'

‘Murder appears ridiculous to most of us, Mr Morton. But there is one person to whom, at the time at least, it seemed a logical action, even an inevitable action. We shall isolate that person or persons, in due course. In the meantime, who else do you know who was a declared enemy of Mr Beaumont's?'

‘There's a strawberry farmer just down the road from us. Martin has bought up various properties over the years as we've expanded. This man's farm is now a tongue of land which cuts right into the vineyards.'

‘Name?' said Bert Hook. It was the first time he had spoken, though Alistair had been conscious of him making notes.

‘Tom Ogden. He's around sixty, I should think, and he says his family have farmed that land for hundreds of years. I know Martin offered him a good price for it ten years and more ago. He's upped the offer several times as the years have passed and he's acquired the other land around that farm, but Ogden has always refused to sell. Tom's a determined old sod, but so was Martin. He was also used to getting his own way, so he didn't take very kindly to Ogden's refusals. I'm not saying Tom would have killed him, mind. But you asked me about Martin's enemies, and Tom Ogden would certainly admit to being one of those. He'd probably claim it rather proudly, as a matter of fact.'