“Hmph.” Vera could have been mimicking one of Charlie Noble’s horses.
“I bet he didn’t try very hard.”
“Why didn’t Bella invite him to her wedding then? He was her only relation.”
“She’d hardly do that if she were trying to keep her conviction secret.”
“But she invited you,” Rachael said.
“She knew I could be discreet.” Vera smiled smugly.
“Something occurred to me on the way back last night… ” Rachael said tentatively. “You’ll probably think it’s stupid but… “
“You’re wondering if Charlie could have bashed his father’s brains out?” Vera finished.
“Well, yes.” She had thought this a brain wave and was disappointed.
“My colleagues aren’t all as bright as me, I’ll give you that, but they’re not daft.” “Of course not. I thought… “
“She confessed,” Vera said.
“I know, but Charles was only seventeen, wasn’t he, when his father died? Perhaps Bella was protecting him.”
“Her prints were on the statue. She was waiting in the same room when we arrived.”
“But… “
“He couldn’t have done it anyway,” Vera said. She chuckled like a seedy stand-up comedian about to give the tag line of a dreadful gag.
“He was in his father’s office at the back of the slaughterhouse. It was tiny, a portakabin. The place was packed because besides Charlie there was a manager, a secretary and a meat inspector from the Ministry of Agriculture. They all swear that he only left once that morning to go to the lav. He was only away for five minutes. Even if he’d had the bottle to kill his father he couldn’t have done it.”
“Oh:
“Nice try,” Vera said magnanimously. “What’s the next theory?”
“Not a new theory. The same one. About Bella’s suicide. I still think someone threatened her with exposure, told her she wouldn’t be fit to care for Dougie.”
“And who do you think would do that?” Vera had the air of a nursery teacher humouring a small child.
“There is someone. Dougie’s son Neville has benefited from her death.
He’ll be taking over the farm.” When Vera didn’t respond she went on, “You met him at Bella’s wedding.”
“Would he have known about her conviction?”
“He could have done. She’d kept a newspaper cutting, some details of her past in the farmhouse. He could have found them and followed up the leads in the same way that we did.” She paused. “He’s Godfrey Waugh’s assistant. He works for Slateburn Quarries.” “I remember him from the wedding,” Vera said. “A good-looking young man. I wouldn’t mind meeting him again.” She looked at Rachael through narrowed eyes. “You keep your neb out. No more playing private eyes. Leave Mr. Furness to me.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine.
After Rachael’s dramatic incident with the car on the track Vera Stanhope’s methods seemed to become even more unorthodox. She took to haunting Baikie’s. Rachael wondered, as their work was coming to an end, if this was a deliberate ploy to hold them up. Like a lonely host delaying the departure of dinner-party guests, she didn’t want the women to leave.
Anne had noticed the tactics too, was amused but slightly unsettled by the constant presence.
“Haven’t you got a home to go to?” she asked one night. It was late.
She and Rachael had been out since dusk, trying unsuccessfully to catch a glimpse of an otter, and had returned to find the inspector cloistered with Edie.
“Not much of one,” Vera said. And glared, daring them to ask any more.
“Do you take all your cases so personally?”
She didn’t answer that but began pacing up and down the living room. As always she was wearing sandals and they slapped against the soles of her feet.
“Look,” she said, “I’ve got to find Edmund bloody Fulwell. He can’t have disappeared into thin air. Someone must know where he is. I’d have expected him to turn up in a nick or in the casualty department by now’
Rachael was surprised. She had never seen Vera so intense. Perhaps Vera knew Edmund, she thought. They’d be of a similar age. Perhaps he was invited to Constance’s parties too. She might even have had a teenage crush on him.
Vera continued to walk and to mutter.
“Rod Owen says he doesn’t know where Edmund is and I believe him. He seems really fed up. It can’t be much fun doing all the cooking. I suppose Edmund’s holed up in some hostel or B & B, drinking himself silly. Or he could have run away abroad again. He’s run away before when things have got too heavy for him.”
Edie had been sitting in a corner, apparently reading. She set aside her book. “Would he be able to afford that?”
“Not on a chefs salary. But perhaps his family helped him out. You could see why they’d want him out of the way. They wouldn’t like Edmund wheeled out for the press, talking about his daughter. Very tacky. Very bad for family image. Not that they’d admit to anything of course.”
The pacing and the muttering had an element of performance. She wanted them to know she was worried and the way her mind was working, but Rachael thought she already knew what she was going to do. She stopped abruptly.
“I’ve tracked down Grace’s social worker.” Finally. You’d think she’d have come forward of her own accord, wouldn’t you?” She claims she’s been in France on three weeks’ holiday. Nice for some.”
“What’s her name?” Edie asked.
“Why?”
“I might know her. Lots of my friends work for social services.”
“Poor them.” Vera paused. “Poor you. She calls herself Antonia Thorne. She’s been married for years but didn’t get round to changing her name.”
Edie shrugged. “I don’t know her.”
“You could ask around. See what your friends make of her. She’s based out on the coast. I wasn’t very impressed. Sounds a real wimp. One of those voices that grate. But I’ve not met her yet, so I suppose I shouldn’t judge.”
“Heaven forbid.”
“She did say something interesting.”
Rachael sensed that now they were getting to the point of the amateur dramatics. “Oh?” she prompted helpfully.
“She said, “I wonder if Nan’s been told that Grace is dead. She’d want to know.” ‘
“Who’s Nan?” “That’s what I asked. A woman called Nancy Deakin. She worked in the kitchen at the Hall when Edmund was a kid, ended up looking after him because no one else could control him.” She looked at Anne Preece.
“Olivia Fulwell talked about her when she came round for that chat the other afternoon.” “I remember.” Anne smiled, mimicked Lily’s affectation: “Half gypsy and not terribly hygienic” ‘
“That’s the one.” Vera paused. “The social worker took Grace to visit her a few times. I’m not sure why. Couldn’t get to the bottom of that one. Antonia wittered on about the importance of a child being rooted in its own past. But it wasn’t Grace’s past, was it? Not really. By then Nan was camping out in an old caravan on the estate, much to the family’s embarrassment. They could hardly evict her after she’d brought up Edmund single-handed. Eventually they got her to move into the almshouses in Kimmerston. Robert’s a trustee.” “Very convenient,” Anne said.