My intention is to make over a lump sum to you and your mother on your eighteenth birthday, the amount to be apportioned in the ratio 2:1, with your mother receiving double your share. Perhaps it is something I should have done a long time ago, but I was reluctant to give up what I have worked so hard for in the Cavendish name. As things are now, I see that a name is nothing unless the individuals who bear it stand above their peers, for it is not the accident of our births that makes us great but our individual characters. By setting you and your mother free to lead your lives as you choose, I hope to give you the chance to prove yourselves, just as others-those less fortunate-have already done.
In conclusion, should anything happen to me and you find yourself in need of a friend, then I urge you to talk to Dr. Sarah Blakeney, my GP, who will give you nothing but good advice whatever the situation you find yourself in. With love, Granny.
Cooper placed the letter in front of Detective Chief Inspector Jones. "I've been asking myself where she was going to get the money from to give lump sums to Mrs. and Miss Lascelles if she'd already made a will giving everything to Dr. Blakeney."
Charlie scanned the page rapidly. "Did you come up with an answer?"
"I reckon it's on the video, if we'd only known what to look for. Do you remember when she was talking to Ruth towards the end and she mentioned her promise to leave the girl Cedar House before Ruth's behaviour of the last six months had persuaded her to change her mind? Okay, well immediately after that she went on to say something like: 'You'd have had the choice either to sell up or stay but you'd have sold because the house would have lost its charms for you once the estate was approved.' Or words to that effect."
Charlie nodded.
"I assumed the phrase 'once the estate was approved' referred to the goods and chattels being handed over to Joanna as part of her share."
"Go on."
"I think now she was talking about an estate of houses. She was planning to sell off the garden for development. How else could she raise a lump sum for the Lascelles women and still be able to leave Cedar House and its contents to Dr. Blakeney? Just imagine the impact that would have had on Duncan Orloff. A man who can't bear the thought of noisy children next door sure as hell isn't going to sit tamely by and watch his garden turned into a building site."
"Prove it," said Duncan placidly. "Name the developer. Explain why there's no correspondence with this mythical company. Good grief, man, she wouldn't even have got planning permission for such an enterprise. The days of unravelling the green belt are long gone. They're knitting it back together now just as fast as they can. There's electoral mileage in the environmental vote and none at all in speculative vandalism."
All of which, thought Charlie gloomily, was true. It was left to Cooper to bring a dose of common sense to the situation.
The following morning, after lengthy consultations with the local borough planning officer, he presented himself at Howard & Sons, building contractors of Learmouth since 1972. A middle-aged secretary, agog with curiosity at this unexpected appearance of a plainclothes policeman in their midst, ushered him with some ceremony into the office of Mr. Howard Snr.
Mr. Howard, a thickset elderly man with a scattering of grizzled grey hairs, looked up from a set of plans with a frown. "Well, Sergeant? What can I do for you?"
"I understand your company was responsible for the Cedar Estate development in Fontwell. It was built ten years ago. Do you recall it?"
"I do," barked the other. "What of it? Who's complaining?"
"No one, as far as I know," said Cooper placidly.
He waved to a chair. "Sit down, man. You can't be too sure about anything these days. It's a dog-eat-dog world where litigation's the name of the game and the only people who get fat are the solicitors. I had a letter this morning from a tight-fisted bastard who's refusing to pay what he owes because he says we're in breach of contract by putting in one less electric socket than the plans called for. It makes you sick." He beetled ferocious eyebrows. "So what's your interest in Cedar Estate?"
"You bought the land for it from a Mrs. Mathilda Gillespie of Cedar House, Fontwell."
"I did. Blood-sucking old bitch she is, too. Paid far more for it than I should have done."
"Was," Cooper corrected him. "She's dead."
Howard eyed him with sudden interest. "Is that so? Ah, well," he murmured without regret, "it comes to us all in the end."
"In her case rather prematurely. She was murdered."
There was a short silence. "And what does that have to do with the Cedar Estate?"
"We're having difficulty establishing a motive. One idea that suggests itself," he declared ponderously, "is that she was planning to continue her successful venture with you by selling off the rest of her garden for development. From consultations I've had with the planning department, I understand some sort of second phase has always been on the cards, but this would have made her very unpopular in certain quarters and might have inspired the murder." He hadn't missed the gleam of interest in the sharp old eyes opposite. "Have you had any recent correspondence with her on the subject, Mr. Howard?"
"Only negative."
Cooper frowned. "Could you explain that?"
"She approached us with a view to going forward. We made an offer. She rejected it." He grunted with annoyance. "Like I told you, she was a blood-sucking old bitch. Wanted far more for the land than it's worth. The building trade's been through the worst recession in its history and prices have plummeted. I wouldn't mind so much if it wasn't down to us in the first place that she was even in a position to develop the damn thing." He glared at Cooper as if Cooper were responsible for Mathilda's rejection. "It was us who established the sodding outline permission on her garden ten years ago which is why we left access space on the southeast boundary. First refusal on the second phase if she decided to go ahead was part of the original contract and she had the gall to turn us down."
"When was this? Can you remember?"
"The day she turned us down? Bonfire night, November the fifth." He chuckled suddenly. "I told her to stick a rocket up her arse and she hung up on me. Mind, I'd said many worse things first time round-I don't mind my Ps and Qs for anyone-and she always came back."
"You saw her in person?"
"Telephone. She meant it, though, wrote a couple of days later confirming. Claimed she was in no hurry and was prepared to wait for the prices to go back up again. It's in the file, along with a copy of our offer." The gleam of interest was back in his eyes. "Still, if she's dead, her heirs might be interested, eh? It's a fair offer. They won't get better from anyone else."
"Her will's being contested," said Cooper apologetically. "I imagine it will be some time before ownership of the property is proved. May I see her letter?"
"Don't see why not." He pressed the intercom and demanded the Gillespie file. "So who killed her then?"
"No one's been charged as yet."
"Well, they do say planning disputes bring out the worst in people. Bit extreme to murder someone over it though. Eh?"
"Any murder's extreme," said Cooper.
"A few houses more or less. It's hardly a motive."
"People fear the unexpected," said Cooper phlegmatically. "I sometimes think that's the root cause of all murders." He looked towards the door as the secretary popped in with an orange folder. "The boat rocks and the only solution is to kill the person who's rocking it."
Howard opened the file and selected a sheet from the top. "There you are." He handed it across.