Cursed Inheritance (28 page)

‘I believe you’ve had contact with a man called Patrick Evans,’ Wesley said as soon as they’d sat down in the neat, old-fashioned front room.

Harper nodded. ‘He rang me. Wanted to talk about my Em - my daughter. 1 told the policewoman on the phone.’

‘Can you remember exactly what Evans said?’

Harper looked from one to the other as if he suspected it was a trick question. ‘He asked me about what had happened at the Hall - about my cousin, Martha. 1 told him 1 never believed she’d done it. She’d been upset about Mrs Harford thinking she’d took that jewellery but that was all cleared up. She talked about looking for another job but Em was settled there. They had a nice flat, you see.’

‘So you thought Martha was innocent?’

‘No doubt about it. She’d never have done that. Specially not with Em in the house. She was murdered with the rest of ‘em. 1 told the police at the time but no one took no notice, and me and Linda were too busy caring for Em to make a fuss. Em came first - always has, poor little maid. . We never had no kiddies of our own. Just Em.’

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Wesley smiled. ‘And you loved her like she was your own?’

‘More. She needed us, you see. It damaged her, all that business: affected her mind. She needed a bit of love. ‘

‘Terrible thing for a kid to go through,’ Heffernan said. ‘Can’t have been easy for you and your missus. What did you tell Evans?’

‘Not much I could tell him. All I knew was that Martha was innocent and I told him that. I said I hoped he’d set the record straight, clear her name.’

‘But you didn’t meet him?’

‘No point. I told him everything I knew over the phone. But I did ask him to leave Em alone. I didn’t want her bothered and reminded of it all.’

‘Did you know Emma’s gone back to the Hall? She wants to remember what happened. ‘

Harper’s big face clouded. ‘Barry told me. I hoped he’d be able to talk some sense into her.’

‘I take it you don’t approve?’ Wesley said softly.

‘You can say that again. God only knows what that load of cranks’ll do to her. She’s not strong. Not strong in her mind.’

Harper offered tea. Like many of his class and genera-tion, he had the habit of hospitality. But Patrick Evans had never received any. Or much information, come to that.

On their return to the office Gerry Heffeman greeted the news of Mrs Carmody’s arrest with a wide grin. ‘One down, a couple of hundred to go,’ he said cheerfully, as if their workload was a welcome challenge rather than a relentless tide.

‘So why the wheelchair?’ Wesley asked. He was perched on the edge of the chief inspector’s desk, listening intently.

‘Who’d suspect a respectable middle-aged lady in a wheelchair? If something was stolen on the top floor of a building withouta lift, she’d have the perfect alibi.’

Rachel took her notebook from her bag. ‘I’ve been doing

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a bit of research. Someone who might fit her description stayed at the health spa -outside Dukesbridge - said she was blind and asked for a ground-floor room. And at the residential creative writing course at that arts centre near Neston, there was a woman on crutches who’d broken her leg and couldn’t make it up the stairs. Then there was a woman recovering from a hip operation at the residential cookery course in Morbay and a woman with a broken ankle at the residential art course near Exmouth. She changed her name, her disability and her appearance every time. That’s why it took so long for us to get on to her, especially as everything was stolen from the upper floors. Quite clever really. And those are only the cases in this police authority. She could have been doing it all over the country for all we know.’

Gerry looked at Rachel in admiration. ‘Good work, love. You couldn’t get us a cup of tea, could you? I’m parched.’

Wesley glanced at Rachel. Instead of her usual righteous feminist fury, she smiled. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she said before leaving the chief inspector’s office.

‘You’re a brave man, Gerry,’ said Wesley.

‘Who dares wins, Wes. Now where were we up to?’ Heffernan sounded hungry for activity, an antidote to the paperwork he was always complaining about. Wesley sympathised.

But they were interrupted by Rachel. There was no sign of the tea they’d asked for but her eyes were shining with triumph. She looked as if she was about to impart a juicy piece of news. ‘We’ve just identified “Mr Smith”, Carmody’s accomplice. Richard Gibbons - Tradmouth address. Isn’t there a Richard Gibbons on Evans’s list?’

Heffernan beamed. ‘There certainly is. Thanks, Rach. Kettle on, is it?’

The smile disappeared from Rachel’ s lips and she made a rapid retreat.

‘It’ll do Gibbons and Carmody no harm to stew for a while. Meanwhile, let’s go and see what Pandora Elsham

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has to say for herself. And 1 think it’s time we had another word with Emma Oldchester.’

‘1 couldn’t agree more. Do

‘You know what, Wes, you’re a natural pessimist. Of course it’s her. But why did she want to buy Potwoolstan Hall? That’s what 1 want to know. Did you see that newspaper on Steve Carstair’s desk?’

‘No.’

”’MP Husband of Tragic Heiress in Murder Quiz.” Written by our own Ms Serena Jones. ‘

‘Steve’s been warned not to talk to her. Surely he wouldn’t be so stupid.’

‘1 think he got her started and now she’s just keeping her eyes and ears open and making lucky guesses. 1 read what she’d written. All speculation.’

‘Let’s face it, Gerry, that’s all we’ve got ourselves. Speculation. ‘

When Wesley and Heffernan arrived at the Hall everything seemed quiet; The press had lost interest and moved on, but there was still a police presence in the form of a single patrol car, detailed to keep an eye on the scene of Patrick Evans’ s death but also to provide a modicum of protection for Emma Oldchester, who had been due to leave the next day but had insisted on extending her stay. For one so apparently fragile, Wesley thought, she was being remarkably stubborn.

Jeremy Elsham himself came out on to the front steps to greet them. Behind the fixed smile and the smooth gloss of his tan and steel-grey hair, he looked worried. And Wesley was about to add to his problems.

‘We’d like a word with your wife, sir, if that’s convenient.’

The fixed smile disappeared but they were invited to wait in Elsham’s office. Wesley looked round, remembering Emma Oldchester’s doll’s house. The tiny figures lying on the floor by the door, their hands touching. At some point

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Emma must have emerged from her hiding place and wandered round the house. She must have seen it all to remember it so accurately. Arbel had found her clinging to her mother’s body, rocking to and fro: she must have returned to Martha’s side, seeking some sort of solace. And now she was back in that house, determined to clear her mother’s name. A quote from the Bible popped into Wesley’s head, half remembered from his devout childhood. Something about letting Justice flow down like waters … Perhaps all Emma wanted was to give Justice a little push. Understandable in the circumstances. But he still wished she’d go home.

Pandora entered the room, an innocent, inquisitive expression on the stretched, cat-like face. Heffernan told her to sit down.

‘We’ve been doing a bit of checking,’ he began. ‘I believe you’re a good shot. Member of a gun club, weren’t you?’

Pandora stared at him blankly.

‘Why didn’t you tell us you knew the Harford family?’ Heffernan tilted his head to one side, awaiting an answer.

‘I didn’t know them. Not really,’ she said quickly.

‘You took Harfords Brewery to court over your father’s industrial accident. Harfords won. The court found that your father had been careless and that it hadn’t been his employer’s fault.’

Pandora’s face had turned red beneath her make-up. ‘They got people to lie for them. They made sure everyone told the same story - that my father had climbed over the barrier, taking a short cut. But that barrier was dangerous. It collapsed. They mended it afterwards.’

Wesley looked her in the eye. ‘It’s natural to be angry, Pauline.’

She stared at him, sullen.

‘You’d have done anything to get justice for your father. You came here to the Hall back in 1985, didn’t you? You came to have it out with the Harfords. There were witnesses. ‘

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‘Yes but…’

‘Then you came back here on the 29th of March 1985 and took your revenge for what they:d done to your father?’

‘No,’ she shouted.

‘Would you rather we continued this conversation back at the police station?’ Wesley asked softly.

She looked alarmed and shook her head.

‘You changed your name.’

‘It’s not a crime. Just before I met Jeremy I decided to reinvent myself. I swapped Pauline for Pandora, went blonde. ‘

‘Jeremy was running a healing centre in Glastonbury when you met him. What did he do before that?’

She looked at him as though the question had surprised her. ‘He ran a garden centre. Why do you ask?’

‘Why did you buy the Hall?’ Wesleyasked.

‘Jeremy wanted” to expand. I knew this pa of Devon and…’ “

‘But why Potwoolstan Ham’

‘It was perfect for what we wanted and it had been empty for years. Nobody wanted to buy it because of what happened, so it was ridiculously cheap.’ The corners of her lips turned upwards in a triumphant smile. ‘And besides, I liked the idea that I would own the Harfords’ house. They’d treated my family like shit and I ended up owning their house.’ She leaned forward. Wesley could smell her perfume: something expensive and French. ‘But do you think I could live here if I’d killed them? That’d be sick.’

Wesley refrained from saying that he’d known sicker things happen; “that murderers were often compelled to return to the scene of their crime. He glanced at Heffeman, who was watching the woman like a cat watches a mouse.

‘So where were you when the Harfords died?’

” ‘I told the police at the time. I was at my aunt’s house in Morbay. I was trying to sort out my dad’s affairs. I couldn’t have done it.’

‘According to our records your statement was never

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confirmed. You had a car. You could easily have left your aunt’s and … ‘

‘Maybe I could, but I didn’t. Killing that load of smug bastards wouldn’t have brought my dad back.’

‘You know that your guest Charles Dodgson is really Anthony Jameston - Arbel Harford’s husband?’

‘Yes. I saw Arbel briefly a couple of days ago. For the first time actually: she wasn’t here when I came to see her brother. She’s not a bit like him, you know; there’s no family resemblance. But then there wouldn’t be, would there? I read in the papers that she was adopted.’

‘You must have really hated the Harfords.’

‘Whatever I thought of the Harfords, I wouldn’t wish it on anybody to lose their entire family like that. Honestly. I lost my mother - she died of cancer - then I lost my father. If I feel anything for Arbel Harford, it’s sympathy. What happened to my father was hardly her fault, was it?’

‘Did you ever meet the housekeeper, Martha Wallace?’

She shook her head. ‘No. Surely that proves I didn’t kill them. I’d hardly have killed an innocent woman, would I?’ She hesitated. ‘And she had a kid. She had nothing to do with what happened to my dad so why on earth would I want to harm her?’ She looked into his eyes, anxious to be believed. But Wesley was keeping an open mind.

‘Did you ever meet either of the gardeners? Man called Victor Bleasdale and the undergardener, a lad called Richard Gibbons?’

‘No. Of course I didn’t.’ She looked genuinely puzzled. Wesley found himself believing her. ‘I came here to talk to Jack. His sister and her fiance were there but I didn’t see anyone else. Jack Harford was a conceited little shit, full of himself. My dad was just another number on the balance sheet to him, not a human being. Dad said that his father had been different when he ran the brewery. Jack was full of all this management speak and I could see he’d fight me all the way about the compensation.’

‘So you gave up?’

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‘This was before the days of the compensation culture

and nQ win no fee. Jack won the case once and I couldn’t

afford to take it any further. End of story. ‘

‘And his sister, Catriona? What was she like?’

‘She didn’t say a word; wouldn’t even look at me. Her

fiance seemed OK though. I bumped into him in the hall on

my way out and he said he was sorry about my father. I

thought that was nice of him. Don’t know what he saw in

that snooty cow. Pity he died too,’ she added as an after—

thought.

‘Does Anthony Jameston know about your connection

with his wife’s family?’

Pandora shook her head. Then she looked at Wesley,

suddenly worried. ‘That Emma Oldchester - Jeremy told

me that she’s that woman’s daughter. And the man who

died in the grounds - wasn’t he going to write a book about

what happened?’

Wesley glanced at Heffernan. ‘Your name was on the list

of people he wanted to talk to.’

Pandora frowne.d. ‘Was it?’

‘Did he ever get in touch?’

Pandora shook her head vehemently. ‘Absolutely not. I

never saw him. Never.’

Heffernan stood up. He’d heard enough for now. ‘Any . chance of having a word with Mr Jameston, if he’s free?’

She walked across the room and consulted a large wall

chart. ‘He’s having his aura healed at the moment,’ she

said; matter-of-factly. .,

Heffernan grinned. ‘Another time maybe. It wasn’t

important. Is there anything else at all you can tell me about

the Harfords?’

Pandora shook her head again.

As Wesley told her she could go, his mobile phone began

to ring. After a brief conversation he turned to Heffernan.

‘Looks like our luck’s changing. As soon as the Carmody