‘Do you know of any reason why the earl or any of the members of his family should be targeted in this way?’ asked Cooper.
Burns shrugged. ‘It’s just general envy, isn’t it? Some people get very bitter.’
Cooper glanced at Fry. ‘I suppose so.’
‘But I’m aware that we have to take a few precautions. In case there’s anybody who decides to take their grievance further.’
‘Absolutely.’
‘You said the graffiti was found on Friday morning,’ said Fry.
‘Yes?’
‘What was going on here at Knowle Abbey on Halloween night?’
‘Ah, take a look for yourself.’
Burns took a leaflet from a pile on her desk. ‘We have to find any opportunity to put on special events and get people in. We’re starting to prepare for our Christmas events now.’
Fry took the leaflet, scanned it quickly and passed it to Cooper. On a spooky background of ghosts and bats flying across the moon, it read:
Knowle at Halloween. Thursday 31 October. Explore Knowle Abbey’s dark and spooky interior. Definitely not for the faint-hearted! Gather in the restaurant for a spooky themed meal or a glass of Dutch courage before departing up to the abbey by timed ticket. The restaurant will be open from 6pm for pre- and post-performance suppers and refreshments. Please note that due to low light levels and time constraints, this event is not suitable for visitors with limited mobility. Tickets £20 per person. Must be booked in advance.
‘Twenty pounds?’ said Fry flatly. ‘How many people did you get coming along for that price?’
‘Oh, a few dozen.’
‘So you had strangers wandering around the abbey in the dark all evening from 7 p.m.?’ said Cooper.
‘Not wandering around exactly, Sergeant. All the groups were accompanied by a guide.’
‘Even so…’
‘I’m afraid it’s not exactly difficult to get into the abbey grounds at night, if you’re determined to do so,’ said Burns. ‘Of course, we have security. And alarms.’
‘But if all you want to do is creep up to the chapel and daub some graffiti on the wall, while the public are trooping in and out of the abbey for some Halloween event…’
‘Yes. Anybody could have managed it.’
‘“Explore Knowle Abbey’s dark and spooky interior”,’ quoted Fry. ‘I take it that means…’
‘Of course. We had all the lights turned off. For atmosphere, you know.’
‘Is the earl himself at home at the moment?’ asked Cooper.
‘Yes, he and the countess are in residence, along with their younger son and their daughter, Lady Imogen.’
‘And do you happen to have a photograph of Lord Manby that we could use?’ asked Cooper.
Burns looked surprised. ‘Why on earth would I have one of those? He’s hardly some kind of rock star handing out signed photographs to his fans.’
‘No, I just thought-’
‘In fact, Walter is a very private man,’ said Burns stiffly. ‘He prefers not to be recognised, even when he’s here around the abbey. And he doesn’t do much in public, if he can avoid it. To be honest, I think he would rather find some other way of paying for the upkeep of the abbey, instead of letting all these visitors in. It’s his home, after all.’
‘I understand.’
When they left the estate office, Cooper and Fry followed the arrows pointing towards the main entrance. But Cooper paused in a passage lined with peeling doors. While Fry fidgeted impatiently, he opened a door marked ‘Nursery’. Even if he hadn’t been told by Meredith Burns, it would have been obvious that the army had been billeted in this part of the house. There were maps and flags scattered among the toys. The wallpaper was filthy, and the doors and skirting boards looked as though they had been kicked repeatedly by heavy boots.
In the Great Hall the walls were lined with enormous Manby family portraits. The present earl was there — Walter, 9th Earl Manby of Knowle Abbey. In previous generations his ancestors seemed to have been christened with wonderful aristocratic names like Algernon, Peregrine and Clotworthy.
The collection of earls and their relatives gazed down with apparent astonishment at the crowds of strangers who must come through this hall every weekend to gawp at the abbey. Walter’s Victorian grandfather, the seventh Lord Manby, looked particularly outraged at the prospect.
When they got back to the car Fry sat and stared at the façade of Knowle Abbey for a while. From her expression she didn’t seem to be impressed by the quality of the architecture. Maybe the pillars and porticos weren’t quite symmetrical enough for her taste.
Or perhaps something else was causing the sour look on her face.
‘What are you thinking, Diane?’ asked Cooper curiously.
‘Have a guess.’
‘You’re wondering whether they used this as a location for filming Downton Abbey?’
‘Idiot.’
‘Thanks. So, what, then?’
Fry was silent for a moment, so Cooper waited. Finally, she started the car and let the engine turn over slowly before putting it into gear.
‘I’ll tell you what I’m thinking,’ she said. ‘I’m asking myself why ordinary people should be expected to cough up millions of pounds to maintain a privately owned pile like this, when there’s no money available for proper policing.’
Cooper nodded. ‘Fair point. But she did say it’s a national treasure. And the earl can’t afford to maintain it himself.’
‘Personally,’ said Fry, ‘I don’t care if his chapel leaks and his statues erode.’
17
In the CID room at West Street, Cooper found a message waiting for him that Detective Superintendent Branagh wanted to see him ASAP. And that meant before the morning briefing took place on the Sandra Blair inquiry.
All of his team had come in for the briefing, except Luke Irvine. Cooper had a couple of jobs he needed doing. First of all he asked Becky Hurst to hunt out a photograph of Walter, 9th Earl Manby.
‘There should be something on the internet,’ he said.
‘Everything is on the internet, Ben.’
‘So I hear.’
‘The ninth Earl,’ said Hurst.
‘Yes, the living one. Walter. If you find something and I’m not back before the briefing, pass it to DI Walker.’
‘Okay.’
Cooper turned to Carol Villiers and asked her to produce a list of residents in Bowden.
‘All of them?’ she said.
‘If possible. The adults anyway.’
‘Okay, Ben.’
Cooper straightened his tie. ‘I won’t be long. I hope.’
Down the corridor the door of the superintendent’s office was standing partly open, but Cooper knocked anyway. Detective Superintendent Hazel Branagh got up from her desk and waved him to a chair.
‘Come in, DS Cooper,’ she said. ‘It’s nothing to worry about. I just want to catch up. Tell me how things are going generally.’
Cooper sat down, not entirely reassured. Rumours around the station said that Branagh had been on a diet recently, though she would never have admitted it. She seemed to have lost weight around her face, though, and the combination of broad shoulders and lean cheekbones made her even more intimidating. Cooper was actually glad when she sat down again.
‘Fine, ma’am,’ he said. ‘I’m very happy with my team in CID. They’re doing nicely.’
‘Ah, yes.’ Branagh consulted a note on her desk. ‘You have DC Villiers — I’ve heard very good reports of her since she joined us.’
‘She’s a valuable asset,’ said Cooper, conscious that he was immediately falling into management speak, but unable to prevent himself.