The Price of Butcher's Meat (31 page)

Denham exclaimed, “Good lord! I’d never thought of that.”

For a moment Pascoe thought he was sharing his sister’s unchariT H E P R I C E O F B U T C H E R ’ S M E AT 2 2 1

table suspicions. Then he went on, “Poor Clara won’t want to stay here by herself all night, not after what’s happened. We must invite her back to the park.”

He strode out of the room.

Nice to see that one of this pair has got some human feelings, thought Pascoe.

He said stolidly, “Looks like you’ve got yourself a house guest, Miss Denham.”

She drained her glass and smiled at him. It was a mocking smile, no sun through April clouds

here, more

will- o’- the-wisp through

marsh mist. But he couldn’t deny that she was a very good-looking woman.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “Five gets you ten she won’t come.”

“I’m not allowed to gamble on duty, miss,” said Pascoe.

Which was just as well, as he’d have lost.

“Says she’ll be fi ne here,” said Denham, coming back into the room.

He sounded rather chastened. His sister said sweetly, “I’m surprised you didn’t offer to stay and hold her hand, Teddy.”

He ignored her and said, “You done with us, Chief Inspector?”

“Just one other thing, sir,” said Pascoe. “This private beach you mentioned, how do you reach it?”

“There’s a path down the cliff.”

“Is there anything at the bottom to stop anyone unauthorized from coming up?”

“What? Ah, I see where you’re going. No, apart from a sign saying private, and of course local terror at the possibility of encountering Auntie, there’s nothing to deter an intruder. You don’t think—”

“Rest assured, we’ll check all possibilities. One thing more, sir. I gather that you and your aunt had a conversation earlier today, before the party started.”

“We were always having conversations,” he blustered. “We got on very well.”

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R E G I N A L D H I L L

“I’m sure you did. But the smoothest of relationships can have abrasive moments. I gather this conversation may have been a little heated.”

“Who’s been saying that?” he demanded.

His sister, who’d taken the opportunity offered by the extended exchange to refill her glass, let out a snort as if this were the stupidest question she’d ever heard.

Pascoe said, “So you’re saying such a conversation never took place.”

Denham glowered at him for a moment.

He’s trying to recall the circumstances, what he can and cannot deny, thought Pascoe.

He said, “Oh yes. Auntie did give me a bit of a rocket for getting involved in setting out the tables for the refreshments and buffet. I explained that Clara was getting her knickers in a bit of a twist about it and I was just trying to help, but she said that the girl had to learn from her mistakes. End of story.”

An ingenious explanation closely linked to the known facts. Perhaps he was a clever bugger after all.

“Thank you for that, and thank you both for your indulgence,” said Pascoe. “I may need to talk to you again, so if you could keep me ap-prised of any plans you may have to be away from Denham Park in the next few days, I’d be grateful.”

“Don’t worry. We won’t be straying far till things are sorted here,”

said Edward.

“We’ll be as quick as we can, sir,” said Pascoe, though he did not for a moment think that the man was referring to the investigation.

He stood aside from the door, making it clear he was ushering them out of the room. Esther finished her drink and set her glass down. She’d used only her left hand, Pascoe noticed, both for preparing and disposing of the drink. This he felt was a proper observation for a senior detective to be making, and it helped distract him from the very improper observation of the plump brown breasts pushing like baby seals against the net of wool.

T H E P R I C E O F B U T C H E R ’ S M E AT 2 2 3

After they left the room he went over to the bureau. He leafed through the papers on view but found nothing that cried for attention. He made a note to tell Wield to get someone to make a detailed list. At least it might tell him what young Sir Edward
wasn’t
looking for. The one thing he found that sparked his interest was a small diary, but when he opened it he saw it seemed to contain nothing but appointments. He slipped it into his pocket for further examination.

He left the drawing room and went back to Clara Brereton’s room.

“I gather you’ve turned down Sir Edward’s invitation to stay at Denham Park,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Your decision, but it might be better not to stay here by yourself tonight.”

“Better for whom?”

“For yourself.”

“But won’t you have policemen patrolling the grounds?”

“Perhaps. Nevertheless . . .”

She regarded him shrewdly for a moment, then said, “Teddy’s been poking about, hasn’t he? And Esther thinks I might do some poking of my own.”

He still wasn’t certain how bright the bart was, nor indeed whether his sister had anything more than that superficial brightness derived from a posh school and an ingrained assumption of superiority, but he had no doubts about Clara Brereton.

“Perhaps,” he said. “If Sir Edward were doing some poking, what might he expect to find? Where for instance might Lady Denham have kept her private papers?”

“I’m not sure. The bureau in the east drawing room, perhaps.”

“That was where I met the Denhams, right? And was the bureau kept locked?”

“Not usually. I doubt if she kept anything there she felt was really confidential. She’d deposit anything like that with Mr. Beard, her lawyer.”

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R E G I N A L D H I L L

“And he’s local, is he?”

“Oh no. London. Aunt Daphne didn’t believe in employing local firms for confidential matters. That was a piece of advice she gave me. She liked dishing out advice. Local professionals might be very competent but they employ local people. A wise woman takes care that her correspondence with her lawyer cannot be looked at by, say, the daughter of her milliner. That’s what she told me.”

“I’m sure you took it to heart,” said Pascoe, smiling. “Did she go to see Mr. Beard or did he come up here?”

“He came here pretty regularly as far as I can gather.”

“She had a lot of legal work then?”

“She enjoyed changing her will, certainly,” she said, pulling a face.

“Really. And the last time Mr. Beard was here was . . . when?”

“Week before last.”

“And was that about a will change?”

“You’ll need to ask him,” said Clara Brereton dryly. “I may have been a sort of cousin, but in some respects I was still a sort of milliner’s daughter.”

“Do you have Mr. Beard’s address?”

“Gray’s Inn Road, I believe. The number will be in Auntie’s address book. Shall I get it for you?”

Pascoe shook his head.

“No. I’d rather you didn’t. In fact, Miss Brereton, if you’d care to put a few things of your own together, I really do feel you ought to move out of the hall for a couple of days.”

“This is beginning to sound more like an instruction than an option. And where am I to go?”

“You could change your mind about Sir Edward’s invitation.”

She shook her head and said, “No, I couldn’t.”

“Any particular reason?”

Before she could answer, the phone by the computer rang.

“Am I allowed to answer that?” she said.

“Of course.”

T H E P R I C E O F B U T C H E R ’ S M E AT 2 2 5

She picked it up and said, “Hello . . . yes, it’s me.”

She listened for a while, then said, “Yes, in fact, the police have suggested I move out for the time being . . . that’s very kind of you . . .

very kind indeed. Thank you.”

She put down the phone and said, “You haven’t been talking to Tom Parker, have you?”

“No, I think one of my officers should have interviewed him by now, but I haven’t encountered him personally yet. Why?”

“It was just so timely. That was Tom. He said he and his wife had just realized that I would be all by myself here and they’ve invited me to stay with them at Kyoto House.”

“That was kind of them. And purely fortuitous, I assure you,” said Pascoe. “You’ve no objection?”

“They’re kind people,” said Clara. “No, I’ve no objection. Right, I’d better go and pack. Are you going to supervise me?”

Pascoe said gently, “Please, Miss Brereton, don’t feel badgered.

You’ve had a terrible shock. I admit there are other considerations but, more important, I really feel it’s better all round that tonight you should be among friends. Do you have transport?”

“Not my own. I sometimes borrowed my aunt’s Jeep, but I’d better not risk that or Esther might be demanding you arrest me for theft.”

She said it lightly but Pascoe noted it was the sister she focused on.

“Okay. I’ll fix a lift for you. Now off you go and pack.”

She nodded, more, it seemed to him, at some inner decision than in acknowledgment of anything he’d said, then left the room.

Pascoe took out his mobile and rang Wield.

“Car round to the hall ASAP please to take Miss Brereton to Kyoto House, Tom Parker’s residence. And when she’s gone, get someone to give the house the once-over.”

“Looking for anything special?”

“Not really, but Sir Ted was looking for something and I don’t think he found it. Will maybe. Lady Denham’s bedroom might be a good place to start.”

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R E G I N A L D H I L L

“On the principle that’s where women are most likely to keep their secrets?”

“I’m surprised you knowing a thing like that, Wieldy,” he said and switched off.

Clara Brereton came back into the room, carrying a small grip.

“You were quick,” he congratulated her.

“I didn’t pack for a long stay,” she said.

He smiled as he recalled Ellie explaining to him that packing for a short stay was much harder than packing for a long stay when you just threw everything in.

How should I pack for this case? he wondered.

“Then let’s get you on your way,” he said.

8

As Shirley Novello left Kyoto House, she felt reasonably pleased with herself.

Okay, she hadn’t lit upon that crucial bit of information that was going to crack the case, but that only ever happened in detective stories. What she’d got were three witness statements, each packed with useful detail, plus the bonus of Charley Heywood’s e-mail observa-tions on recent events and activities involving the main protagonists.

How useful these might be remained to be seen. Probably just a lot of sisterly gossip.

She opened her car door.

From the passenger seat, Minnie Parker said, “Hello.”

“How the hell did you get in?” demanded Novello.

“It wasn’t locked,” said the girl.

“It bloody well was,” said Novello.

Faced with such vehement certainty the girl didn’t argue but said,

“Okay. But you left your window open a bit.”

“Yeah? That’s forced entry, I could do you for that. What are you doing here anyway?”

“I’m waiting to be interviewed,” said Minnie.

“Sorry?”

“That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? Interviewing witnesses? Well, I was at the hog roast too. I’m a witness.”

There was no denying this, thought Novello. The thing was, the children hadn’t appeared on Clara Brereton’s guest list. And Wield hadn’t noticed. No reason he should have, probably. But it gave Novello a frisson of glee to think that even old Supersarge could have a kryptonite moment.

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R E G I N A L D H I L L

Also it gave her a problem. Proper procedure was to arrange an interview with a responsible adult present and preferably a specialist officer doing the questioning. Probable result, zilch. But that was Wield’s problem. Or Pascoe’s when he showed.

No harm in testing the water though . . .

“Okay, give me it straight, kid. What did you see?”

Minnie screwed up her eyes in an effort of recall. Or creativity.

Novello said, “Listen, kid, it doesn’t have to be a madman running around with an ax. It’s ordinary stuff that helps, so long as it’s true.

You went swimming, didn’t you?”

“That’s right.”

“You and who else?”

“Paul, that’s my brother, and the Heeley twins—Lynn and Larry, and Tony Jebb.”

Novello made a note.

“How old?”

“The twins are nine, Tony’s eleven.”

“Older than you then.”

“Yes, but I’m the best swimmer,” retorted Minnie.

“Great. Any adults?”

“Mr. Jebb, Tony’s dad. And Miss Lee. Mr. Jebb runs the souvenir shop. Miss Lee’s an acupuncturist. She’s Chinese or something, I think. Oh, and the twins’ dad, Mr. Heeley, he’s a joiner.”

Novello was impressed both by the girl’s readiness to give useful information and the ease with which
acupuncturist
rolled off her lips, but then she was Tom Parker’s daughter. She checked her interview list. Jebb was one of Seymour’s, Heeley was hers, while Miss Lee was marked down to Bowler.

This meant both her colleagues should at some point discover there’d been children present. How would Wield react to being told he’d missed a bit? Perhaps best to let one of the others fi nd out!

“They swim? The adults, I mean.”

“No. They just sat and talked. Then when the storm started T H E P R I C E O F B U T C H E R ’ S M E AT 2 2 9

they called for us to come out. That was a real pain. The others got scared but I thought swimming when there was thunder and lightning would be really cool. Do you swim? You look like you could.”

“Oh yeah? Meaning I’m slim and silvery like a trout? Or broad and blubbery like a sea lion?”

“Well, you look strong,” said the girl cautiously.

“You’d better believe it. Okay, so you had to come out of the water.

Then?”

“We ran back up the cliff path. Charley was coming down to fetch us and she grabbed hold of me and Paul and we ran into the house and said hello to Mum, then Charley took us upstairs to dry us off and then she let us sit at one of the upstairs windows and watch the storm.”