Fox shook his head. "She knew me both times, Mr. Ankerton… paid me off the first time… would have paid me off the second time if she hadn't died. She didn't want her husband knowing how many skeletons there were in the family closet."
"Did you kill her?" asked Mark bluntly.
"No. I wasn't here that night."
Nancy moved out from the corridor. "Vera said he was trying to blackmail Ailsa. She seemed quite lucid. Apparently Ailsa said she'd rather die than give him money… so he made Vera lock the door and leave Ailsa to him."
Fox's gaze flickered briefly in her direction. "Mrs. Dawson confuses me with Leo. Perhaps you should be putting these questions to the Colonel's son, Mr. Ankerton."
Mark smiled slightly. "If you weren't here, where were you?"
"Probably Kent. We spent most of the spring in the southeast."
"We?" Mark watched a bead of sweat drip down the side of the man's forehead. He was only frightening in the dark, he thought. In the light, and under restraint, he looked diminished. Nor was he clever. Cunning, possibly… but not clever. "Where are Vixen and Cub?" he asked, when Fox didn't reply. "Presumably Vixen will support the Kent alibi if you tell the police where she is."
Fox shifted his attention to Monroe. "Are you going to do your job, Sergeant, or are you are going to allow the Colonel's solicitor to question me?"
Monroe shrugged. "You've been cautioned. You have a right to silence, just like anyone else. Go on, sir," he invited Mark. "I'm interested in what you have to say."
"I can give you the facts I know, Sergeant." He marshaled his thoughts. "First fact. Elizabeth did have a brief liaison at the age of fifteen with an Irish traveler. He persuaded her to steal for him, and her brother took the blame to protect her. Vera certainly knew about the liaison, because she told lies for Elizabeth whenever Elizabeth went out. The whole episode caused a catastrophic breach of trust between all members of the household which was never repaired. Vera, in particular, felt badly treated because the Colonel accused her of the theft… and I doubt Mrs. Lockyer-Fox behaved toward her in the same way again. I'm sure she felt Vera encouraged Elizabeth to act as she did."
He put a hand on James's arm to keep the old man silent. "Second fact. Elizabeth had a baby when she was seventeen which was put up for adoption. She was very promiscuous as a teenager and didn't know herself who the father was. Vera, of course, was privy to the birth and the adoption. However, I suspect she's confused the two episodes in her mind, which is why this man thinks the Irish traveler was the father." He watched Fox's face. "The only person left alive who can identify the traveler-apart from Vera, whose testimony is flawed-is Elizabeth herself… and she describes him as a much older man who was father to most of the children in his entourage."
"She's lying," said Fox.
"Then it's your word against hers. If she fails to identify you, the police will draw their own conclusions about the truthfulness of everything you've said… including the death of Mrs. Lockyer-Fox."
He was rewarded with a flicker of indecision in the pale eyes.
"Third fact. Vera's resentment against her husband and the Lockyer-Foxes has grown exponentially since her dementia became noticeable in ninety-seven. The date is documented because it was at that time that a decision was taken to allow her and Bob to have the Lodge rent-free until their deaths. The Colonel has just said that Vera filled this man's head with nonsense about looking like Leo. I suspect it was the other way round. He used his likeness to Leo to fill Vera's head with nonsense. I don't pretend to understand why, except that he found out how easy it was to make money the first time and thought he'd have another go." He paused. "Finally, and most importantly, neither Leo nor Elizabeth has ever met or spoken to Mrs. Bartlett. So whatever scam this man is operating, it has nothing to do with the Colonel's children."
"Mrs. Bartlett seemed very certain," said Monroe.
"Then she's lying or she's been conned herself," said Mark flatly. "I suggest you put Fox into an identity parade to see if she recognizes him. Also Wolfie's mother, when and if you find her. He and a blue-eyed blonde could probably pass muster quite successfully to someone who's only ever seen Leo and Elizabeth from a distance."
"Can you prove they weren't involved?"
"Yes." He put a hand under James's elbow to support him. "The Colonel's daughter is dying. She's been in and out of hospital since September with incurable liver disease. Had she met Mrs. Bartlett in October, it would have been within the confines of St. Thomas's Hospital."
It was a clever piece of welding, a false back to the forward luggage compartment, but it was sussed by a sharp-eyed female colleague of Barker's who questioned why a small strip of paint-the width of a chisel-had rubbed off midway down one panel. It wouldn't have been visible in daylight, but in the gleam of her torch the sliver of exposed metal winked against the gray paintwork.
"Neat," said Barker admiringly, as minimal pressure from a knife released a spring catch that allowed the entire panel to be eased away from the lip that anchored it on the other side. He leveled his torch into the foot-deep, meter-square space that was revealed. "Looks like he's been raiding half the stately homes of England."
The policewoman climbed inside the compartment to squint behind the left-hand panel. "There's more in here," she said, feeling inside and releasing a second catch at floor level. She pulled the panel toward her and lowered it flat. "How much of this belongs to the Colonel, do you reckon?"
Barker ran his torch over the paintings and bits of silverware that filled the cavity. "No idea… but you'd think the old boy would have noticed if things were going missing." He moved to the next compartment. "If the depths of these two were the same when the bus was built, then I'd say there's a false back here as well. Do you want to give it a try?"
The WPC crawled obligingly into the luggage space and fiddled with the knife again. She gave a grunt of satisfaction as the panel sprang open. "Jesus!" she said, looking at what was revealed. "What the hell does he want to do? Rob the World Bank?"
Barker lit a line of sawn-off shotguns and pistols that were attached by clamps to the rear wall. "Trade," he said dryly. "This is good currency. No wonder he's been haunting the Manor. The Colonel's family built up the largest collection of guns and rifles in Dorset. I imagine that's what Fox has been looking for."
"Then I don't have much sympathy for the Colonel," said the policewoman, releasing the second panel and laying it flat. "He's asking to be robbed."
"Except it's not on the premises anymore," said Barker. "The old boy donated the entire collection to the Imperial War Museum after his wife died. I guess no one bothered to tell Fox."
30
The eventual fallout from Fox's arrest spread a great deal farther than Shenstead when the bus was systematically taken apart and a genuine trail of evidence was uncovered. He was careless in what he had chosen to carry with him. A second mobile with a store of numbers and a trail of calls that allowed the police to track his movements. Keys to a lockup that were painstakingly traced through the manufacturers to give a location. Passports. Driving licenses-some in the names of women. Most worryingly, as far as the police were concerned, items of bloodstained clothing that seemed to be trophies, all hidden in a recess in the floor.
For the inhabitants of Shenstead, the fallout was more immediate and concentrated after the police went house to house late on Boxing Day evening to inform them that a man had been taken into custody following the murder of Bob Dawson. The news was greeted with shock by everyone. They pressed for more information-"What man…?" "Was anyone else hurt…?" "Was it connected with Ailsa's death…?" "What about Vera…?"-but the officers were reticent, merely asking all householders to make themselves available for interview the following day.