‘So long, Dad. I won’t tell Mrs Fisher you got pissed!’ Luke called defiantly from the front doorway, and disappeared in a blur of grey flannel before his mother could tax him with the offending word.
‘They’re good lads, but sometimes even better in their absence,’ said Bert Hook, as a blissful silence crept slowly back into the house.
Eleanor left him alone with his thoughts and his slowly diminishing headache. He munched a slice of toast and marmalade at half his usual speed, seeking to restore the world to normal through the steady rhythm of his jaws. He was on his second mug of tea when the phone rang behind him. He hesitated, unwilling to resume contact with the outside world; the ringing was offensive enough in his head to make him realize that his recovery was still at the fragile stage.
‘The Hook residence. Bert speaking,’ he said, in that snooty voice which was a parody of something he had now forgotten.
‘It’s DI Rushton, Bert.’
‘I’m off duty, Chris. On official leave.’
‘You might want to revise that, when you hear this. There’s been a suspicious death. A man shot through the head in his car.’
‘Sounds pretty suspicious, that, right enough. Where?’
‘Not that far from you. Near a hamlet called Howler’s Heath, at the southern end of the Malverns.’
‘Sounds vaguely appropriate.’
‘Chief Superintendent Lambert said I was to let you know.’ It was always safer to pass the buck upstairs, when you were interrupting a man’s leave.
‘Quite right, too. They don’t pick their moments, do they, suspicious deaths? A man can’t even have a peaceful day off.’
But as always, the CID man in him was intrigued. It sounded as though a hunt was beginning, and Bert Hook didn’t want to be left out of it. He drained his beaker at a single gulp and went to get dressed.
Hook was combing his hair in front of the mirror when John Lambert rang. He would pick him up in ten minutes.
At Abbey Vineyards, it was ten o’clock. Martin Beaumont’s PA was wondering whether she should contact his home when the call which made all such considerations irrelevant came through.
Fiona Cooper was an experienced aide to senior executives and directors. She knew when to ask questions and when not to, when to be discreet and when to be forthcoming. But with the police, there was no room for diplomacy, let alone concealment. You had to be forthcoming.
When the cool, detached voice of the man who had announced himself as Inspector Rushton asked her if she knew of the whereabouts of her employer, she did not even think of evasion. ‘I don’t know. I was getting anxious about him myself. I had expected him to be here before now. He has an appointment in half an hour and he usually wishes to make sure that he is well briefed for such meetings.’
‘You will need to cancel all his appointments, unless you think someone else can stand in for him.’
‘Why? What’s happened?’
There was silence at the other end of the phone whilst Chris regrouped. It was a long time since he had done this. Normally he would have sent someone round to break the news of a death, as someone had indeed already been dispatched in search of the wife. But a junior officer might not get the right response and he was anxious to get as many basic facts as he could, as quickly as he could. ‘I have to tell you that a body has been found. A body which we think is almost certainly that of Mr Beaumont. I should be glad if you would keep this information to yourself for the moment. I shall get in touch with you when we have more facts, probably later in the day.’
‘Was this an accident?’
There had been a long pause from the PA, but no tears, no hysterics. Rushton was thankful for that. ‘I am afraid that I am unable to reveal any further details at the moment, Mrs Cooper. Could you tell me when you last saw Mr Beaumont, please?’
She felt curiously without emotion. This was a man she had served for the last five years, and yet she felt nothing except a profound shock. Perhaps the other things like grief would come to her later. ‘Late on Wednesday afternoon. He was still in his office when I left at five thirty. He told me to go and I think he was almost ready to leave himself.’
‘That is over forty hours ago. Did you not think it strange that you did not see him for the whole of yesterday?’
‘No. Mr Beaumont is the owner of this firm and its chief executive officer. It is his habit not to arrange any appointments for Thursdays if they can possibly be avoided. That leaves him free to visit other parts of the country, other concerns. Perhaps to develop new lines of business. To do anything, in fact, to further the interests of the company.’
‘Or perhaps to pursue more personal concerns?’
Her instinct was to be loyal to her employer. But this was a senior policeman, and a situation which was outside even her wide-ranging experience. She said as severely as she could, ‘It was not my business or my concern to know where Mr Beaumont was and what he was doing for every minute of his day. All I can tell you is that a considerable amount of business has accrued over the years from his Thursday activities.’
‘I see. So neither you nor presumably anyone at Abbey Vineyards would think it unusual that you have seen nothing of him since Wednesday evening?’
She picked her way carefully through this; it sounded as if her reply might be important at some future date. ‘The junior staff would, I am sure, have no awareness of the pattern of Mr Beaumont’s working week. He delighted in giving them the impression that he might turn up at any time and in any situation. It kept them on their toes, he said, as well as showing them that he was interested in people working at all levels in the firm.’
‘But your senior staff would be aware of his habit of leaving Thursdays free?’
‘I think they would, yes. He made no secret of it.’
‘And how many of those would there be, Mrs Cooper?’
‘Five.’ Fiona was surprised by the speed with which she had delivered a number. But Martin had regularly circularized these five with documents he thought appropriate only for them.
‘Could you give me their names, please?’
Now, belatedly, she asked him a question, the way a good PA, operating for her boss and the firm, should surely be doing. She was glad she had followed her usual practice in jotting down the man’s name and title at the beginning of all this. ‘May I ask why you are requesting this information, Detective Inspector Rushton?’
This time it was Chris who paused. He could hardly tell her he wanted a list of potential suspects in a murder enquiry, as the people who had been closest to the dead man were likely to become. ‘It is standard practice, Mrs Cooper. As yet we know very little about the way Mr Beaumont died. It is those who were nearest to him at work and at home who can best give us a picture of a dead man.’ He had almost said ‘victim’. That showed how long it was since he’d broken news like this, he thought ruefully. It was usually left to junior officers to make the first contact and convey the news of a death, but he realized now that everyone should do it occasionally, to keep himself aware of the problems.
Fiona said, conscious for the first time of a quickening of her pulse, ‘This is what you call a “suspicious death”, isn’t it, Inspector Rushton?’
‘It is exactly that, Mrs Cooper. I cannot tell you any more at the moment. I know very little more myself. I am following standard police procedures, as I said just now.’
‘I can give you the names and job descriptions of the five senior people I mentioned.’
‘That will be most useful information.’ He had been considering whether he should throw in Chief Superintendent Lambert’s name. Most local people were aware of his name and reputation, and the glamour of celebrity often persuaded them to volunteer information they would otherwise have been reluctant to offer. But it was too early to use Lambert’s name yet; time enough for that when this became officially a murder investigation. And this woman was being both efficient and cooperative, in DI Rushton’s opinion, the best possible combination of virtues to offer to a police officer. ‘If it causes you any embarrassment, we will not need to reveal whence this information came to us.’ He liked that last phrase; he had heard Lambert use it years ago, and filed it away for his own use.