‘We need to clarify certain issues, in the light of what we have learned from a variety of other sources,’ said Lambert.
‘I’m here to help you,’ said Vanda with a strained smile.
‘What do you think will be the future of Abbey Vineyards?’
This was a tack she hadn’t expected. ‘I’ve really no idea.’
‘You must have thought about it. You’re a shareholder in the business. The only one still alive.’
‘I presume Jane will inherit Martin’s assets, including the business. I don’t know yet how active a role she will choose to adopt.’ She knew it sounded stiff and unyielding, but she saw no reason to confide the discussions she and Jane had had about the future. That was no one’s business but their own. ‘I can’t see what this has to do with the investigation of a murder.’
‘It has a connection. A week ago, you and several other people who occupy senior posts at Abbey Vineyards were interested in acquiring greater control of policy. The late owner was resisting you — successfully, it seems, for he had arranged things legally so that all the power was in his hands.’
‘Yes. I told you as much when I spoke to you on Sunday.’
‘You told us about your own situation, about how even your junior partnership in the firm had been defined by Mr Beaumont, so that it gave you no power to influence policy. We now know that several other senior staff were frustrated because they could neither acquire shares in the company nor have any say in its future development.’
‘I am aware of that. Perhaps, as you say, they will now get that say. I hope so.’
‘We have to consider the possibility that there may have been a conspiracy between two or more people to remove the man who stood in the way of such change.’
Vanda allowed herself a sour smile. They were floating theories; they didn’t know anything for certain. ‘I see the possibility. Therefore I shall tell you formally that I was not part of any such conspiracy; nor do I have any knowledge that any alliance of that sort existed. Chief Superintendent Lambert, I do not know who killed Martin Beaumont. Nor, if I am honest, do I care very much: Martin gave me ample reason to wish him out of my life. But that does not mean I will not give you every assistance I can in discovering his killer, because murder is not a solution of which I approve.’
No sign passed between the two men that Vanda could see, but the questioner suddenly became DS Hook. ‘Could you tell us again where you were on the evening and night of last Wednesday, Ms North?’
She allowed herself a patient, understanding smile. ‘Yes. That hasn’t changed. I was where I told you I was on Sunday — at the house of Jane Beaumont.’
Hook nodded. ‘The reason I ask you to confirm that is that Mrs Beaumont has changed her story. She originally told us that she was alone; she now says that you were in the house with her. You will realize, I’m sure, that this gives her an alibi she did not previously possess for the time of her husband’s death.’
‘Then I am happy to provide it. I think I told you on Sunday that Jane was confused on that night, I think because of an excessive use of prescription drugs. I am happy if my presence in the house clears her of direct involvement in this crime. I am myself quite certain that she had no connection with it.’
‘Thank you. You said just now that you would give us “every assistance”. Will you now tell us in confidence who you think might have put that bullet into Martin Beaumont’s skull, please?’
It was an unexpectedly blunt challenge from this quiet, considerate man. Shock tactics, perhaps. Well, it wouldn’t shock her. Vanda North said, ‘I’ve given that much thought, as I expect others also have. I have no name to offer you, I’m afraid.’
Tom Ogden did not immediately recognize his visitors. The two men stood awkwardly in the doorway of the old shippon which had become his administrative headquarters for the strawberry farm. He thought he had seen them before, but he was not sure where.
It was the younger man who introduced them. ‘This is Alistair Morton and I’m Jason Knight. We’re working neighbours of yours. We’re from Abbey Vineyards.’
This man Knight spoke nervously, as Tom would have expected him to do. He had never made any secret of his dislike for his more powerful neighbour. But today something protected them from his immediate, open hostility. He needed to know how this murder investigation was going. Up the road at Abbey Vineyards, the staff were no doubt busy comparing notes, whereas he was isolated and alone, picking up none of the rumours about what the police might or might not now know. He said gruffly, ‘You’d better come in and sit down.’
It was not really an office. There was a table but no desk, and four chairs in various stages of disrepair which did not match each other. Knight and Morton sat down gingerly on the two which looked most robust, whilst Ogden placed himself on the other side of the table. Tom was not a patient man. Instead of waiting for them to announce why they had come here, he launched into his most urgent query. ‘Have they got anyone for killing Beaumont yet?’
Jason Knight’s smile was bleak and humourless. ‘All of us are wondering about that. Including the man who shot him, I presume.’
‘They know it was a man, then?’
‘No, I don’t think they do. I was making an assumption.’
‘But it needn’t be a man, need it? A woman could have shot him just as easily.’ Ogden was anxious for anything which would broaden the field of suspects; it sounded as though he was computing the odds against his own arrest. It was probably no more than a natural nervousness when you were a murder suspect, Jason decided. He said, ‘We just wanted to discuss the future with you, Mr Ogden.’
‘It’s Tom. And if you’ve come to persuade me to sell you this place, you’ve wasted your journey.’ His jaw set in a firm line and he stared his visitor straight in the face for the first time, emboldened by the familiar instinct to protect his ground.
Alistair Morton said quietly, ‘We’re not here to offer you money, Tom. We couldn’t do that, even if we wanted to. We don’t know what the future of our firm is yet, nor even whether we’ll have a part in it.’
Tom looked at him for a moment, then nodded brusquely. He liked the look of this older of the two men. Probably the first, subconscious reason was that he could have dealt with him easily in a fight. He was not conscious of any such reaction in himself, but when you worked with your hands in an environment where bodily strength and stamina were important qualities, you felt easier when you started with a physical advantage. Morton was older and slighter than Knight, and a direct contrast in appearance and manner to the blond, ebullient Martin Beaumont who had been his ogre over the years. Ogden said gruffly, ‘What is it you want, then?’
‘We have different ideas about the way our firm should go than Beaumont had. As our nearest neighbour, we’d like to know what you think of them.’
‘How different?’
Alistair took a deep breath. Privately, though he had agreed they should come here, he had not expected that they would even get a hearing from Tom Ogden. He decided the best introduction he could offer was to declare a dislike of his late employer. ‘I’m the financial director at Abbey Vineyards. I’m also the oldest employee, now that the founder is dead. I was in the business from the start, and I don’t mind telling you that Beaumont made some dodgy deals and did some hairy things, particularly in those early days. He also made certain promises to me about the future of the firm, on which he failed to deliver. To put it bluntly, he lied to me. He gave me his word on some important things and later denied it absolutely, because it suited him. I didn’t like him any more than you did, Tom.’
‘Fair enough. What difference does that make to either of us now?’
‘Maybe none at all. Maybe quite a big one. That’s what we’re here to discuss.’
‘I’m not going to sell out. You’ve wasted your time if you think I am.’