‘What was her alternative?’ Lorimer asked. After all, hadn’t the family home been practically razed to the ground?
‘Well, moving in with me, of course. It’s plenty big enough for both of us. In fact, I keep one of the bedrooms just for Serena.’
‘Ah, yes. Kind of you,’ Lorimer said, thinking immediately what a trite remark that was. Daniel Jackson looked like a kind man, his handsome face full of concern as he uttered his sister’s name. ‘You’re close, then?’
‘Oh, yes. We do lots of things together. Always have. Skiing, cycling, sailing: you name it, Serena and I tend to spend a lot of our leisure time with one another.’
‘And your parents? Did you spend a lot of time with them?’
For a split second Lorimer could have sworn that an expression of anger passed over the man’s face but it was gone as suddenly as it had appeared.
‘No. Mum and Dad were keen golfers and it wasn’t a game that either of us aspired to, I’m afraid,’ he replied, swinging one leg across the other. ‘Dad and I saw one another at work, of course. And Serena always had Mum to see that things were okay for her at home. But we weren’t a family that did a lot of stuff together as adults,’ he smiled then, as if he really didn’t mind sharing this little bit of his private life with this policeman.
Lorimer nodded as if accepting the man’s words. ‘But you all got along together amicably?’
‘Oh, yes. Oh, never any question about that!’ Daniel’s eyebrows shot up as if slightly shocked by the very idea. ‘We were a very ordinary sort of family,’ he added, unconsciously echoing the sentiments expressed earlier by his sister. For a moment Lorimer wanted to lean forward and tell him earnestly that ordinary people weren’t multi-millionaires burned to death deliberately in their own homes, but he remained sitting still in the comfortable wing chair, pondering the statement instead.
‘Your position in the firm, sir. You are head of Human Resources, is that right?’
‘ Director of Human Resources,’ Daniel Jackson’s polite voice corrected him.
‘Yes, of course. Sorry. But weren’t you due to be promoted into a more senior role?’ Lorimer gave a frown as though he was uncertain of some information he had been given. It was a ploy he used when needed; playing the thick copper sometimes paid off.
Daniel Jackson’s sharp intake of breath and a tightening of his features was enough to make Lorimer see that he’d hit gold. It was just as Tannock had said; the young man had been passed over by his own father for promotion. But was that enough motivation to destroy his parents and family home by fire?
‘I think you’ve been misinformed. Though perhaps things will be a little different now. After all,’ he smiled that handsome, disarming smile, ‘I’m really needed far more these days in a senior managerial capacity.’
Lorimer nodded, resisting the urge to tug an imaginary forelock. Yet, although Jackson exuded the sort of social polish that defined his class, he was also possessed of a natural charm that the detective found engaging. Still, he mustn’t be deflected from his purpose: he had to dig under the social veneer presented by this man, however painful that might be.
‘I must ask you the same question that I asked Miss Jackson, sir. Can you think of any reason why someone would have wanted either of your parents dead?’
Daniel Jackson blinked as though Lorimer had indeed reached across and invaded his space. His tiny shake of the head seemed to indicate that it was not a question he had been expecting.
‘There appears to be some recent forensic evidence that suggests a person had broken into your parents’ home to deliberately set fire to it during the night.’
Lorimer watched the effect of his words on the young man, seeing the parted lips and eyes widening in horror.
‘But who…?’ he asked at last, in a whisper.
‘That’s what I wanted you to tell me, sir. Who might have had reason to wish either your father or your mother, or indeed both of them, to die?’
Daniel Jackson had uncrossed his legs and was now sitting stiffly, his arms around his body as though to control a sudden fit of shivering.
‘I really don’t know. Dad… there were people in his past.. I don’t know much about it, but…’ He bit his lip then let a huge sigh escape from his throat. ‘My father was a good man, Superintendent. A well-respected man. But, like every human being on the planet, he’d made mistakes. Some of these were matters of misjudgement.’
Lorimer listened as Daniel Jackson spoke clearly and slowly as if weighing every word. He was being careful now, eyeing the policeman with a new wariness in his manner. Lorimer nodded encouragingly as if expecting more.
‘There were men who occasionally cropped up from these days. You could always tell.’ He shrugged.
‘I’m afraid you have the advantage over me there, Mr Jackson. You’ll have to describe them for me,’ Lorimer told him, trying to keep any trace of sarcasm from his tone.
‘Oh, yes, of course.’ Daniel frowned, looking vague for a moment as though he had lost his own train of thought. Suddenly Lorimer could see a resemblance between this man and his sister. How would he describe it if he were being cynical; the ability to dissemble, perhaps?
‘They were always from overseas. South American, I think. Tannock might be able to tell you more about them. Dad never let me join in any of their discussions but I do remember one thing.’ He looked up, his face alight with the sudden memory. ‘Dad was always in a real temper for days after any of these visits.’
‘And when was the last time any of these visits took place?’
‘Oh,’ Daniel took a deep breath then exhaled, ‘that’s a hard one. Not in the last year to my knowledge.’
Lorimer turned in his chair so that he was facing into the room. He pointed to a glass-fronted cabinet full of lead soldiers, the sort of collectable items that might have been handed down from an older family member. But it was not what was within the cabinet that interested him but the silver-framed photographs on top.
‘That’s your parents?’
Daniel nodded then half-rose from his chair. ‘Would you like to see them? Let me bring them over to the light.’
‘Yes. Thank you,’ Lorimer said. He watched as the man picked up the photographs delicately as though he were handling precious objects and brought them over, placing them on top of a small, polished rosewood table near the window.
‘There,’ he said, setting them down and turning the pictures so that the silver frames glinted in the sunlight. A smile played around Daniel’s lips as he looked at his late mother and father, and Lorimer could only imagine what emotion was going through his mind.
The photographs were seated portraits, each subject on their own but against a similar background that appeared to be a reception hallway of some sort. Lorimer could make out doors behind the posed figures. The Jacksons were dressed in elegant day-clothes as if preparing to go to a function: Sir Ian in his kilt and his wife wearing a formal suit that looked like silk. Lady Jackson was smiling into the camera lens, lips slightly parted as if she had just uttered something amusing. Lorimer saw a pretty, blonde woman of around fifty with hair styled into a sleek bob, and guessed that the photo must have been taken shortly before her death. The detective felt he would have liked this woman with her infectious smile, so like her son’s, he realised.
Sir Ian’s presence dominated his portrait. There was no other word for it. His whole body seemed to fill the frame. He’d been a big man, in more senses than one, thought Lorimer, seeing the large hands grasping the sides of the ornate chair, the muscular legs under the hem of the kilt, feet planted firmly together. Jackson had the look of a man who was only there on sufferance and was preparing to get up and go at any moment. But there was a direct quality in the eyes staring into the camera lens that Lorimer found fascinating. Here was a man of some considerable strength, the sort that would call a spade a spade and not mess about with any niceties. This wasn’t a man who would allow himself to be intimidated, the Superintendent was sure. Lorimer thought of the moodiness Daniel had mentioned, following these visits from South Americans. Ian Jackson’s reputation had been as a man who’d followed his own path fairly ruthlessly, but whose public generosity in recent years had become its own legend.