‘The cuts?’ queried Vogel, a note of bewilderment in his voice. ‘Haven’t they heard about prioritising? How often does Taunton nick have to deal with double death in a fire that’s almost certainly arson?’
Saslow shrugged. ‘What shall I say, boss?’ she asked.
‘Tell ’em as it’s too damned late now, they can go back to concentrating on litter and parking,’ growled Vogel.
Saslow tried not to smile.
‘Oh, never mind, ask them if they have any idea where he is. Could he just have gone home?’
Saslow spoke into her phone again.
‘They say not, boss,’ she said. ‘They’ve phoned his missus. He’s not there apparently and she’s not heard from him. Sounded genuinely surprised, they say.’
‘Right, tell ’em to put Grey on missing persons straight away. We need to find him fast. If anyone knows what’s been going on, it’s this feller. He could well be the arsonist, too, I reckon.’
Saslow did as she was bid.
By the time she ended the call, Vogel was on his feet and heading towards the door, abandoning the rest of his goat’s cheese salad without a backward glance.
‘C’mon, Dawn,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘I think we need to pay Mrs Grey a visit sooner rather than later. Now her husband’s gone missing that changes everything.’
Saslow was only halfway through her crab sandwiches. She was still hungry. She quickly wrapped her napkin around the remaining half and took it with her as she followed Vogel to the car park.
Four
At first nobody answered the door at The Gatehouse.
Vogel knocked loudly three times.
‘She might be out, boss,’ said Saslow.
Vogel glanced upwards at the bedroom window which overlooked the front door. The curtains were drawn. But there was a little chink open in the middle. He noticed, as had Tom Withey when he and the other Wellington firefighters had arrived at Blackdown Manor in the early hours, that one of the curtains seemed to move slightly.
‘I don’t think so, Saslow,’ replied Vogel. ‘I think she’s watching us from upstairs.’
He opened the letterbox, bent forwards and shouted through it at the top of his voice. ‘Mrs Grey, I am DI David Vogel of the Avon and Somerset Constabulary, and I need to speak to you urgently regarding your husband.’
Vogel stood back and waited. There was still no response from inside. He waited a minute or so, then stepped forwards again and once more shouted through the letterbox. ‘Mrs Grey, please open the door. I really have to speak to you.’
Again, there was no response. Again, Vogel waited for a minute or so.
Then he called through the letterbox for the third time. This time he meant business. ‘Mrs Grey, if you don’t open this door I shall obtain a warrant to enter and search your property. Then I shall return with uniformed officers, and, your husband having alleged there were armed intruders on the premises last night, possibly an armed response unit. If you do not open this door I shall be compelled to follow these procedures, not least out of concern for your safety.’
Vogel stepped back again. This time the door opened.
A small bird-like woman stood in the doorway. Vogel thought she was probably in her early forties, about the same age as her husband, but she looked older. Her hair was grey and unkempt. Vogel reflected obliquely on how unusual it had become for women to allow their hair to go naturally grey, even when they were in their seventies and eighties. His Mary was not a vain woman, nor in any way preoccupied with physical appearance, but she had immediately chosen to have her hair highlighted as soon as the first streaks of grey began to show in her natural light brown.
Janice Grey’s opening remark was not promising.
‘I can’t help you,’ she said, standing full square in the middle of the doorway, her body language making it quite clear she had no intention of inviting the two officers in. Vogel thought she looked as if she may have been crying. Which he supposed was not surprising. In spite of that, and her small stature, she was clearly no pushover.
‘I don’t know where my George is,’ Janice Grey continued. ‘I have no idea why he walked out of hospital or where he’s gone to. So, it’s no good asking me. I didn’t know nothing about it until this woman copper from Taunton phoned me. I told her that then, and now I am telling you.’
She made a move to shut the front door. Vogel stepped forward and thrust his foot in the doorjamb. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that, and found he rather enjoyed it.
He pushed against the door forcing Janice Grey back into the hall.
‘We need to come in, Mrs Grey,’ said Vogel authoritatively, stepping forward as he spoke.
With an air of resignation, the woman made way for him and Saslow to enter, and led them into the sitting room. It was a predominantly pink room, and chintzy, the soft furnishings and the floral curtains distinctly cottagey in style. Vogel wondered whether the Greys had been responsible for the décor, or the Kivels. He somehow suspected the latter. Nonetheless the place remained well cared for. Everything was neat and tidy. The restful, homely atmosphere thus created at once seemed incongruous considering the recent events at Blackdown Manor; which included arson leading to two violent deaths, a possible invasion of armed intruders, and now the disappearance of the principal witness who was also the prime suspect.
‘Look, Mrs Grey,’ Vogel began. ‘What I would like to know from you first, before we move on to the events of the last twenty-four hours, is how you and your husband came to be in the employment of Sir John Fairbrother in the first place?’
The woman sat down abruptly on an upright chair by the fireplace. She did not ask Saslow and Vogel to sit. Saslow did so anyway, perching herself on the edge of the chintzy sofa. Vogel kept standing. If he had sat on any other of the available chairs in the room he would have found himself at a lower level than Janice Grey. And Vogel would never allow that. When he was working, and particularly when conducting something as serious as a murder inquiry, Vogel was always conscious of the necessity of preventing almost anyone he encountered from taking even the hint of psychological advantage — and of never inadvertently putting himself at a disadvantage.
‘George arranged everything, I don’t know nothing about it,’ Janice Grey replied.
‘Oh, come on, Mrs Grey, I don’t believe that,’ persisted Vogel. ‘You don’t seem to me to be the sort of woman who would meekly uproot herself and move halfways across the country on the say so of her husband. Or any man, come to that. You and George are Londoners, city people. Not likely candidates at all. Leaving aside any other considerations, how did you both get this job?’
‘We applied for it,’ said Mrs Grey abruptly.
‘I think I need a little more detail than that,’ said Vogel. ‘How did you apply for it? Did you go through an agency?’
‘No, my Georgie saw an ad in the paper.’
‘Which paper?’
‘I dunno. The Standard I expect. He always used to get the Standard, did my Georgie.’
‘So, why did he apply for this job?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Mrs Grey, I’ll say it again, you and your husband are Londoners, through and through. What made George apply for a job which involved looking after a country house, miles from anywhere?’
Janice Grey shrugged. ‘We both wanted a change, didn’t we?’ she said.
Vogel assumed it was a rhetorical question.
‘And what on earth does your Georgie know about gardening?’ he continued.
Janice Grey shrugged again. ‘’E only has to mow the lawns, more or less. ’E ’as one of those bloody great mowers you sit on, don’t he? He likes that. Otherwise, he would just drive the boss about, not that he ever went out much, and do little jobs around the house when he could.’