Night Fall (29 page)

‘A bit of history to begin with, then,' Redgrave said, ‘Nine years ago, my father was the victim in a hit-and-run accident, and he ended up with a fractured skull and brain damage that affected his memory and his ability to control his actions. Prior to the accident, he was a maths and science teacher at Westonleigh, but the accident put paid to that. Since then, there's been a slow but steady decline in his health and in his mental state, and it's now reached the point where my mother can no longer look after him. She's ten years younger than my father, and very capable, but, much as she'd like to, she can't keep it up. He needs to be in a home where he can receive professional care. Unfortunately, it's proving all but impossible to get my father into the kind of care facility he needs, so I've been coming down here as often as I can for the past couple of months to give my mother a break. We've tried to get someone to come in to help her, but that's almost as hard as getting him into a home. God knows how she's managed to do as much as she has all these years, because I find it wearing after a couple of days.

‘And that's how it was last Wednesday. My father had been particularly difficult that day, so once we had him settled down for the night, I went out for a walk. I just wanted to get out of the house for an hour or two, that's all. It wasn't really raining when I set out, but when it came on heavier, I ducked into the nearest pub, which happened to be the Red Lion. As I said, I had a couple of drinks, chatted with the girl behind the bar, Connie Rice, for a bit, then left after about three-quarters of an hour. I stayed on at the house to help my mother through the day on Thursday, but I had to be back on Friday, so I drove back to Oxford Thursday evening.'

‘What kind of car do you drive?' Tregalles asked.

‘A Mazda 6 TS estate,' Redgrave said cautiously. ‘Why do you want to know that?'

‘Where is it now?'

‘Outside in the visitors' parking section, but—'

‘Would you have any objection to it being taken in for a forensic examination?'

Redgrave's eyes narrowed. ‘What,
exactly
, does that mean?' he asked. ‘And why would you want to do that?' He turned to Paget. ‘Am I a suspect in this woman's murder?'

‘You were one of the last persons to be seen talking to Connie Rice prior to her disappearance,' Paget pointed out, ‘and we have to look at every possibility. Did you meet anyone you knew while you were walking to or from the Red Lion that night?'

Redgrave shook his head impatiently. ‘I haven't lived here for years, so the only people I know are the next-door neighbours, and then only to nod to.'

‘Did you make any phone calls? Stop anywhere along the way?'

‘No. It was late. I went straight home . . . that is, to my parents' house.'

‘Which is where?'

‘Cumberland Crescent.'

‘That's quite a long way from the Red Lion,' Paget observed. ‘Any particular reason why you went to that particular pub?'

‘It's about half a mile, actually,' Redgrave said tightly. ‘And I thought I had made it clear that I didn't set out to go to any specific place. I went for a walk to clear my head. In fact, if it hadn't started to rain when it did, I would never have gone into the Red Lion at all.'

‘And your mother can verify when you got back?'

Redgrave hesitated. ‘She'd gone to bed,' he said. ‘I let myself in. I have a key.'

‘I see.' Paget opened a folder and took out a sheet of paper, which he slid across the table. ‘Do you recognize any of those names?' he asked.

Redgrave took a pair of glasses from his top pocket and put them on. ‘Connie Rice, of course,' he said as he scanned the list. ‘Whom I met for the first time last Wednesday,' he added quickly. ‘As for the others, no, I don't think so.' He took off his glasses and handed the paper back to Paget.

‘What about Mike Fulbright?' asked Tregalles.

‘What about him?'

‘Do you know him?'

‘I know
of
him,' Redgrave said. ‘In fact I played a bit of rugby myself when I was at Westonleigh, and later in Oxford, and I used to follow the Grinders. Is he still with them, or has he retired from the game? I haven't followed them for years.'

‘Have you seen him or talked to him since you've been coming back here?' Tregalles persisted.

‘I would hardly be asking about him if I had, would I, Sergeant?' Redgrave said testily.

Paget opened the folder. ‘You say you've been coming back here on a regular basis these past few months, so I'd like you to give me a list of those dates so I can compare them with the dates I have here. All right?'

‘Those dates being when the other people were killed, I presume?' said Redgrave.

‘Exactly,' said Paget. ‘And the sooner we can verify where you were on those dates, the sooner we can eliminate you from our enquiries . . . or not, Mr Redgrave.'

Redgrave hesitated, then took a Blackberry from his pocket and said, ‘Right, give me the dates and I'll tell you where I was at the time.'

‘Sorry, Mr Redgrave,' Paget said, ‘but that's not the way it works. I'll take the Blackberry, if you don't mind.'

There were three messages waiting for Molly when she turned her computer on, but the only one she was interested in was the one from David. It was addressed to his aunt and uncle, with a copy to her. Perhaps now she would find out what Dr Starkie had been talking about this morning. She scanned it quickly, then more slowly as the gist of the message began to sink in. A cold, hard knot began to form in the pit of her stomach as she read on. David would
not
be coming back to England any time soon. That much was certain.

Lijuan, he said, had made it clear that she did not want to return to England with him. He said he'd had a long talk with her, and while she appreciated what he had done and was trying to do for her as her father, she said that after being away from England for six years, her home was in Hong Kong now. Her friends were there and her grandmother was there, and, with her mother gone, Lijuan did not want to be separated from her grandmother as well. What was also implied, if not actually spoken, was the message that, while Lijuan wasn't rejecting him outright, he shouldn't expect to walk back into her life as a replacement for her mother.

David went on to say that Lijuan's grandmother had not put any pressure on the girl to stay, but he knew that she would be devastated if she lost Lijuan so soon after losing Meilan, her only daughter. However, it was not all bad news: Lijuan had been receptive to the idea that he spend some time there so they could get to know one another better – as long as he agreed not to try to pressure her to change her mind.
It seems
, he concluded,
that her aversion is to England rather than to me, so I'm looking at that as a plus and a starting point in getting to know my daughter again. And since they can use my services here at the Tung Wah hospital for the next few months at least, I can pay my way while I'm here.

Molly slumped back in her chair and rubbed her face with her hands. Not all bad news, he'd said. She couldn't blame him for wanting to get to know his daughter again, but if Lijuan didn't want to come to England, what if David decided to stay in Hong Kong himself? And Tung Wah hospital for the next few
months
?
What if they offered him a permanent position?

Perhaps she had been fantasizing about their relationship all along, she told herself as she prepared for bed that night. Perhaps there never had been a ‘relationship' as far as David was concerned. And yet Molly was sure there had been
something
between them, right from their very first meeting. But, even if that were true, how did a nebulous ‘something' compete with David's need to re-establish a relationship with his daughter?

Molly got into bed and turned out the light. If he
did
decide to stay in Hong Kong, would that be the end of it, she wondered. Would she ever see him again? She lay there, staring into the darkness, trying hard to think of other things, but David's image kept getting in the way.

A
manda Pierce slipped into a seat at the back of the room as Paget was summing up. ‘Redgrave may be telling the truth,' he said. ‘Perhaps he was just out for a walk and perhaps he just happened to drop into the Red Lion. But he did talk to Connie Rice, and he was one of the last people to see her alive . . . perhaps
the
last person to see her alive. According to his own records, he was in town when Whitelaw and Moreland were killed, but there was no indication of where he was on the weekend when Travis was killed. He claims he was in Oxford, but those dates had been erased. So we are going to have to try to account for every minute of Redgrave's movements on all of those dates. That includes talking to Redgrave's mother, and possibly his father, depending on his condition. And, since Redgrave himself will probably be there, I think it best if both DS Tregalles and DS Forsythe tackle that one together.'

Molly smothered a groan. Oh, yes, good old Molly. Send her along with Tregalles. She's good at handling grieving widows or upset wives and mothers. She could just imagine how Mrs Redgrave would feel when she and Tregalles started asking her questions about dates and times, and she realized that her son was a suspect in four brutal killings.

‘Forensic have Redgrave's car,' Paget continued, ‘and it's being given priority, so if there is anything to be found, we should have the information by the end of the day. As for the rest, I'll let DS Ormside fill you in.' He moved aside and sat down.

‘Right,' said Ormside. ‘Here's what we have so far. Dr
Redgrave is thirty-eight years old; he's unmarried, but he and his common law partner, Delia Cavendish, have been together for the past six years. Both have unblemished records as far as we're concerned, and Redgrave has some standing in the academic community in Oxford. He is currently engaged in a research mentoring programme, which, I'm told, means that he acts as an advisor, instructor and sort of guidance counsellor to people learning how to do actual research.'

‘What field is he in?' someone asked.

‘Biochemistry,' Ormside said, ‘and according to the people I spoke to yesterday, Redgrave is respected in his field, and well liked.'

‘Oh, jolly good,' said someone at the back.

Ormside silenced the man with a look before turning back to his notes. ‘Now, regarding the hit-and-run in which his father was injured: Arthur Redgrave was knocked down on a pedestrian crossing by a car on Bridge Street one Friday evening in July, 2002. Witnesses said there were at least three people in the car. They said it was speeding and weaving in and out of traffic, and Redgrave never had a chance. The car, which turned out to be stolen, was found the following day at the bottom of Meadow Lane, its interior burned out. Forensic had it in, but any evidence that might have been left behind was destroyed by the fire. The driver was never found, and the file is still open.'

Ormside took off his glasses. ‘I spoke briefly to Arthur Redgrave's doctor yesterday evening,' he said, ‘and he confirmed, in general terms, what Redgrave son told DCI Paget and DS Tregalles yesterday, so at least that part is true. But there's more to be done, both here and in Oxford, and I'll be assigning one or possibly two of you to take care of that end of things following this briefing.'

‘You say Redgrave's father is
Arthur
Redgrave?' Tregalles said.

‘That's right,' said Ormside. ‘Why? Does that mean something to you?'

‘It's just that his name starts with the letter A. And you said there were several people in the car that knocked him down, so what if Redgrave found out who they were and he's been killing them off one by one?'

‘It's
possible
,' Ormside said slowly, ‘but Travis, Moreland, Whitelaw and Rice all together in one car, joyriding through the streets of Broadminster? I have trouble with that picture, Tregalles. They
might
have all known each other when they were kids, although we can't be sure of that, but at least some of them seem to have gone their separate ways since then.'

‘As far as we
know
,' Tregalles countered. ‘Maybe they were at some sort of do together, maybe a reunion or something, and they all got thoroughly pissed. It could happen. And after what Redgrave senior's been through, to say nothing of what his wife and son have had to put up with over the years, I'd say it's worth looking at.'

‘And we will,' said Paget as he got back on his feet. ‘We're going to be looking at everything. Now, has anyone got anything to add?' He looked out over the group and pointed at Molly. ‘Did you learn anything yesterday from Connie Rice's mother?' he asked.

‘Just that Connie, like Billy Travis and Whitelaw, was a member of the All Saints choir when she was a teenager,' Molly said, ‘but I still don't know how that helps us. Peter Jones, the present choirmaster, is contacting his predecessor, Adam Fairfield, to ask if he has any of the old records, but I haven't heard back from him yet.'

‘Still no connection with Moreland, then?' said Paget.

‘No, sir. And, to be honest, while it's the only connection we've been able to find between the victims, I'm not sure if the information is useful or not. This isn't a very big town, so it isn't exactly surprising that some of the kids in C of E families would join the choir of the only C of E church in town.'

‘Mike Fulbright's been a member since he was a kid,' Tregalles put in, ‘and I still think he knows something about all this.'

‘I believe he is holding something back,' Paget said, ‘but it may or may not have a bearing on the case.' He turned to Molly again. ‘However, since you've gone this far with it, you might as well see it through, so give Jones another call, and if he hasn't come up with anything, get onto Fairfield yourself.'