The Altered Case (19 page)

Following his wife's death, he had thrown himself into rearranging and rebuilding the back garden according to a design she had drawn whilst heavily pregnant with Charles. When he was working he felt her presence and had then taken to telling her of his day upon his return home, no matter what the weather. Just as that day he sat in the warmth of a mid-September afternoon, equally he had stood in pouring rain at two a.m., but it did not matter. Jennifer, beautiful, beautiful Jennifer, his wife of just two summers had to know of his day. One summer's afternoon he had told her of a new love in his life, not a replacement, he had assured her, there could never be a replacement, but more of an adjunct, and he had then sensed a feeling of warmth about him that could not be explained by the sun's rays alone.

It was, he thought, as he sipped at the tea, still too warm to take Oscar, a dark dog, for a walk, despite the cooling brought by the rain, he would do that later in the evening, prior to his own walk to the Dove Inn in the village for a pint of brown and mild before last orders were called. Hennessey turned and walked back into the house . . . jobs, jobs, jobs to be done.

It was Wednesday, 12.30 hours.

Wednesday, 14.40 hours – Thursday, 01.35 hours

in which Webster and Yellich are obliged to extend their visit to London and are later both at home to the too kindly disposed reader, and Thomson Ventnor pays a call on a long-serving prison inmate.

Y
ellich and Webster strolled slowly and casually through the streets of Camden to the chambers of Oldfield and Fairly, Solicitors and Notaries Public, having ascertained the address by consulting the
Yellow Pages
telephone book supplied by an accommodating publican. The streets were, both officers noted, of early Victorian, perhaps even late Georgian terraces, set back a little from the narrow streets, of four storeys with square, sash windows and flat roofs. Anyone who believes that flat roofs do not work, thought Webster as he walked beside and half a step behind Yellich, should come and visit London NW1 where the flat roofs seem to still be going strong after nearly two hundred years. At the street level there were small cafés, pubs, delicatessens, a Jewish museum and many interesting-looking restaurants. It was, thought Webster, a very pleasant pocket of the capital, with greenery in the form of Regent's Park on its doorstep. Had he the funds, Webster believed that, despite what he had felt about London as a whole, he could settle in Camden. Had he the funds.

The two officers located the chambers of Oldfield and Fairly and walked up the short flight of steps to the front door and turned the highly polished brass doorknob. The large, gloss-black painted door swung open silently at Yellich's push and they entered a narrow corridor, carpeted with a dark brown carpet and with prints of sailing vessels decorating the walls. A door to the right-hand side was labelled ‘Reception'. Yellich tapped gently on the door and entered, followed by Webster. Three young women occupied the room, each sitting at a desk and working with evident concentration upon a computer. The young woman nearest the door looked up at Yellich and, smiling warmly, asked if she could help him.

‘Police.' Yellich showed his ID. ‘DS Yellich of the Vale of York Police.'

‘York!' The woman gasped. ‘You're a long way south, sir.'

‘Yes, I know.' Yellich returned the smile. ‘This is DC Webster. We would like to see someone about the Parr family estate.'

‘The partners don't see anyone without an appointment, I am sorry, gentlemen.' The woman wore her hair short; she was dressed in a blue business suit. She was, it seemed, more of a personal assistant than she was a secretary.

‘Please will you ask them to make an exception.' Yellich continued to smile. ‘As you have just observed, we've come a long way and this is in connection with a murder investigation.'

‘Multiple murder in fact,' Webster added.

‘Oh . . . I see.' The woman reached for the phone on her desk and dialled a two-figure internal number. The other two women continued typing and did not even glance at Yellich and Webster, though both officers sensed that they were listening carefully and that they were missing nothing.

‘Mrs McNair will see you, gentlemen,' the first woman said after having spoken to someone and informed them of the arrival of the two police officers from Yorkshire. ‘If you would go up the stairs to the first floor, Mrs McNair's office is on the right, more or less above this room.'

‘Thank you.' Yellich and Webster turned and left the reception area and climbed the deeply carpeted stairs, and both did so sensing that Mrs McNair was agreeing to see them without an appointment because of a personal curiosity rather than a desire to be public spirited.

Moments later Yellich and Webster were seated in richly polished Chesterfield-style armchairs in front of Mrs McNair's desk. Yellich commented on the calmness of the office.

‘Yes, I am familiar with the sort of solicitors' office of which you speak, Mr Yellich.' Mrs McNair revealed herself to be a middle-aged woman whose facial features, Yellich thought, might best be described as ‘handsome', in a feminine way, having, it seemed, a certain strength of bone structure that the word ‘beauty' would not convey. Mrs McNair was dressed in a black, pinstripe suit with a white blouse beneath. She wore a gold watch, a heavy-looking gold necklace, gold and silver bracelets on each wrist, and wedding and engagement rings. Her office was lined with wood panelling, all highly polished, save for the wall behind where she sat, which was shelved from floor to ceiling with said shelves containing thick and expensive-looking law textbooks. Yellich noticed that none of them had creased spines, which indicated that they had not been much consulted, and were there mainly for purposes of show and impression. ‘Offices of frenetic activity,' Mrs McNair suggested, ‘where every ten minutes has to be accounted for.'

‘Yes.' Yellich smiled. ‘That describes them well.'

‘Small firms struggling with poorly paid crime work, all done for Legal Aid.' She paused. ‘Well, thankfully that is not the manner of Oldfield and Fairly, as you have observed. Our clients are prestige clients, minor aristocracy, major entrepreneurs, and large, established companies. We represent airlines, shipping companies, stockbrokers. We do a little conveyancing work and no crime . . . unless, unless it is white collar crime . . . infringement of patents, that sort of thing, and that can be very lucrative indeed. So we can appear a little “laid back”, as my son might say, but the firm's turnover is never less than nine figures per annum. And the partners or salaried solicitors still have to account for every ten minutes of their day.'

‘Impressive.' Yellich inclined his head.

‘We are not unhappy,' Mrs McNair replied with what seemed to the officers to be very evident smugness. ‘Our reputation is excellent and the engagements and instructions keep coming. So, how can I help you, gentlemen from the North?'

Yellich shuffled in his leather-covered chair thus causing the fabric to squeak. ‘Well, it is in respect of a client of this firm, or an ex-client, one Mr Parr who, along with his wife and daughters, disappeared. They vanished when visiting York some thirty years ago.'

‘Thirty years! And York!'

‘Yes.'

‘Time and distance,' Mrs McNair replied sniffily. ‘I must tell you that I have never been north of London in my life and I never want to. Thirty years . . . I was still at school then, so well before my time.'

‘It would be,' Yellich replied. ‘Before our time also.'

‘I read
Wuthering Heights
once so I know all about Yorkshire . . . such a desolate, windswept landscape. But the client's name Parr; it means nothing to me, except as being the name of one of the wives of Henry Tudor. Catherine Parr. She was the one who outlived him. Doubt it is the same family.'

‘Whether or not, they vanished thirty years ago . . . caused quite a splash in the media, as we have said . . . the firm Oldfield and Fairly must have records?'

‘Oh yes, of course, going back a few hundred years would you believe. We are a very old firm and our archives are kept in a vault in our cellars . . . down in the dungeon.'

‘The dungeon?' Yellich smiled.

Mrs McNair also smiled showing teeth of such whiteness and such perfection that Webster was certain they were dentures. ‘That's what the girls in the front office call the cellar and they never like having to go down there. In fact, they are convinced it's haunted. They often report a sense of a presence in the cellars and so usually they go down in pairs, one to retrieve the bundle and the other to lend moral support.'

‘So, a case file, or bundle, of just thirty years old could be easily accessed?' Yellich pressed.

‘Accessed?' McNair queried. ‘What do you mean by accessed?'

‘Accessed by the police,' Yellich explained, ‘if it was relevant to a murder investigation.'

‘A court order would be required of course, but with a court order, then, yes, yes, access can be arranged.' Mrs McNair nodded gently. ‘It wouldn't be a problem, but only with a court order compelling us to release the documents in question.'

‘I see.' Yellich took a deep breath. ‘I wonder . . . would there be a solicitor in the firm who might have a personal recollection of the case to whom we could speak. We might be able to pick his brains?'

‘I don't see why you should not talk generally.' Mrs McNair paused. ‘But not in detail. Anything said would be off the record of course.'

‘Of course,' Yellich agreed.

‘Accessing documents would be a different matter, but talking about the case . . .' Mrs McNair picked up the phone on her desk and dialled a two-figure number. When her call was answered she asked, ‘Sandra . . . is Mr Tipton within chambers . . .? He is? Good. Can you ask him to come to my office, please? Thank you.' Mrs McNair replaced the receiver. ‘Mr Tipton is a long-serving employee of the chambers . . . a clerk, not a fully qualified solicitor, but if you want to pick brains, then his are the brains to pick.' She fell silent and then asked, ‘Are you gentlemen planning to remain in town overnight?'

‘No . . . no . . .' Yellich replied. ‘We plan to return to the desolate landscape upon picking Mr Tipton's brains. Even calling here was unexpected.'

‘Good.' Mrs McNair smiled a cold smile. Her response was said in such a manner that both Yellich and Webster tried hard not to read too much into her reply, though both had before met the charming way of insulting which had been polished by the English middle-classes; their practised way of wrapping an insult within what first appears to be a compliment. Mrs McNair and Yellich and Webster continued to sit in a stony silence until there came a reverential tap on the door of Mrs McNair's office. Mrs McNair pointedly waited for a few moments before calling out, ‘Come.' Not, Yellich and Webster noted, ‘Come in', or ‘Please come in' or even ‘Enter'. Needlessly haughty they both thought.

The office door opened and a short but broad-chested man, who seemed to Yellich and Webster to be over retirement age, and who was dressed in a black three-piece suit and wearing highly polished black shoes, entered the room. A black tie over a white shirt completed the image he presented, suggesting an undertaker rather than a clerk to a firm of solicitors. ‘Yes, ma'am?' He addressed Mrs McNair. ‘You sent for me?'

Both Yellich and Webster stood in deference to the elderly gentleman.

‘Ah, Mr Tipton, thank you.' Mrs McNair did not look at Tipton; rather she kept her eyes focussed on the surface of her desk. ‘These gentlemen are from the police in York.'

‘York!' Tipton smiled at Yellich and then at Webster. ‘A most delightful city.' He shook hands with the officers as he spoke, pronouncing ‘delightful' as ‘day-layt-ful', and then he said, ‘Delighted to make your acquaintance, gentlemen, I am sure.' Pronouncing the sentence as ‘Day-layt-ed to make your haquaintance, hi ham sure.'

‘Thank you, sir,' Yellich replied, equally delighted. He was very pleased to find Mr Tipton's handshake very appropriate, a gentleman's handshake, not challengingly firm nor yet offensively loose. It was in fact, he thought, just right.

‘Do please take a seat, Mr Tipton,' Mrs McNair invited as Tipton and Webster also shook hands. Tipton then sat in one of the two vacant chairs in front of McNair's desk. The officers similarly resumed their seats.

‘Mr Tipton,' Mrs McNair began, ‘is the clerk of this firm and I must say that he is utterly invaluable to us . . . utterly, utterly invaluable.'

‘So kind, ma'am.' Tipton bowed his head slightly. ‘So very kind.'

‘No . . . no . . . you really are, Mr Tipton, invaluable. Perfectly filed documents are all very well but only the human brain can keep the overview and recall details that are otherwise difficult to see. We are indeed fortunate Mr Tipton has elected to stay on after his retirement age.'

‘Again, so kind, ma'am.' Tipton replied in his sibilistic speaking voice, ‘but it is the work that keeps me going, it's the work that keeps me alive. Mrs Tipton went before, you see, and I would doubtless have soon followed were it not for Oldfield and Fairly, who allowed me to continue in my position. It is as my dear father was oft wont to say, “Life can be a dog at times, but you'll be in the clay soon enough, my good boy, so you may as well keep walking the dog as long as you are able”.'

‘Fair enough.' Yellich noted how the outside noise didn't penetrate Mrs McNair's office as it had at Nigel Parr's home even though the two buildings were only a few hundred yards distant from each other, yet the double glazing was not evident from the window frames. ‘I can understand the attitude, Mr Tipton,' Yellich explained. ‘My father had a similar attitude; he'd say, “Carry on . . . just carry on regardless, while there's breath in your body . . . carry on”. He was an old soldier, you see.'