The Murder at Redmire Hall Read online

  Four

  Oldroyd stood by the arrivals gate at Leeds Bradford airport, waiting for Louise to come through.

  It was early evening and the weather had abruptly changed, as it was apt to do in the Yorkshire summer. It was cloudy and there was a chilly breeze from the north-east. Oldroyd had felt a few spots of rain as he’d walked up the tarmac path from the short-stay car park. However, he was glad to be here.

  Louise, who still lived a semi-nomadic life during the university holidays, moving between his flat, her mother’s home and the student-style houses of various old school friends in Leeds, was coming to stay with him for a while. She had thought that avoiding the temptations of Leeds nightlife after her Morocco trip might encourage her to get on with her vacation reading. In October she was returning to Oxford for her final year. Oldroyd enjoyed it when she stayed at his apartment and he didn’t mind his daughter’s untidiness. It was a break from his unwanted solitude and he’d always got on well with her. She was a lively, feisty character committed to all kinds of progressive causes and political activism. They shared many views, but Oldroyd liked to tease her by playing devil’s advocate or playfully pointing out discrepancies between her views and her lifestyle.

  He saw her coming down the corridor to the arrivals area and waved. She waved back. She looked tanned and had her hair tied back; she was wearing a T-shirt and grubby-looking shorts. He gave her a hug.

  ‘Hi, Dad, thanks for coming. God, it’s absolutely freezing here! When the plane came down through the murk it was like landing on a different planet!’

  ‘Welcome to Yorkshire!’ laughed Oldroyd. ‘You’ll have to get your jeans on and a jumper.’ They walked back down the path to the car.

  ‘You’re not kidding. I wish I’d asked you to bring something for me to change into. Has it been like this all the time I’ve been away?’

  ‘No – mixed, you know. We’ve had some really good days, pretty hot.’

  ‘I’ll bet; you mean you were able to go outside without a coat on.’ She laughed.

  They got into the car after Louise had put her small, well-worn case in the boot. Oldroyd drove out of the airport, turned right and headed towards Pool Bank. Rain started to spatter on the windscreen and he turned on the wipers.

  ‘I’ve forgotten what rain is like,’ sighed Louise. ‘It was in the top thirties every day.’

  ‘That would be a bit too much for me,’ replied Oldroyd, ‘especially when you’re walking around a city. I’d have to be sat in the shade by a swimming pool.’

  ‘Oh, we loved it.’

  ‘Who did you go with?’

  ‘Josh and Amelia – friends from uni. They’ve been seeing each other since the first year.’

  She never said anything about any men in her life and he didn’t like to ask. Maybe there were women in her life. He would be fine with that, and he was sure his wife, Julia, would be too. She’d long ago turned away from her conservative upbringing in the Home Counties.

  ‘What do you fancy for tea?’

  ‘Anything. I’m not bothered. They fed us on the plane, though it was pretty awful.’ Louise was vegetarian and actually quite particular about what she ate.

  ‘I could do my famous egg-fried rice.’

  ‘Fantastic. Looking forward to it.’

  Egg-fried rice was the only real vegetarian dish that Oldroyd could cook, so he tended to eat it quite a lot when Louise was staying.

  ‘What’ve you been up to, then, Dad?’

  ‘Oh, nothing much, just work. I’m involved in a very interesting case at the moment.’

  He told her about the Redmire Hall Locked-Room Mystery, as he’d taken to calling it.

  ‘Wow! That does sound interesting. I wouldn’t fancy having to deal with all those rich people, though,’ she said, echoing Andy Carter’s opinion. ‘I’ve had enough of those types at Oxford, with their sense of entitlement. I’m sick of their expensive clothes and their plummy voices.’

  ‘No jealousy involved there, then?’

  ‘Shut up, Dad!’ she laughed. He liked that she could always take a joke against herself, and he admired her idealistic political views. However, he decided, this was not the right time to remind her that, in world terms, she was also part of the rich elite. ‘Anyway, I got some great clothes cheap in the souk in Marrakesh – all handwoven and organic and still a lot cheaper than here.’

  Despite the stated low cost, Oldroyd wondered what she was using for money, but decided not to broach this issue at the moment. He didn’t want a potential conflict so soon after she’d got back. This is where he played a tactful game with his daughter, to subtly discover how much debt she might be in. He suspected Julia jumped in and made things worse, resulting in the big rows she sometimes mentioned.

  ‘And not made under exploitative conditions?’

  ‘No! Dad! Are you taking the piss? If you are, you won’t get your present!’

  ‘Ooh! A present! Well, I didn’t even know I was getting one.’

  ‘Behave yourself and we’ll see.’

  Back in Harrogate, Louise went into the spare room of Oldroyd’s flat and called out, ‘Dad, can you make some coffee while I unpack a bit?’

  ‘OK.’

  Oldroyd got to work and after a while she came out with all her dirty clothes and crammed them into the washing machine.

  ‘Making yourself at home, I see,’ quipped Oldroyd.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘and thanks.’ She took the coffee and went to the fridge to get some milk and noticed the postcard from Julia. ‘I see Mum’s sent you a card.’ She sounded surprised.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Right. I was wondering how she’s getting on. She’s gone with Anne and some of her friends from work. Peter’s gone too.’

  ‘Peter? Who’s Peter?’ Oldroyd suddenly felt a little sick.

  ‘Peter Jones; he works at the college – art teacher. He and Mum are . . . friendly . . . I think.’ She chose her words carefully, as she saw the effect this news was having on him. She hadn’t realised that he knew nothing about her mum’s new relationship.

  Oldroyd sat down. This was what he’d feared ever since his wife had asked him to leave. He hadn’t wanted to go and had lived ever since in the hope that they could get back together. So far this hope had been sustained by the absence of any other men in her life. This news was a bitter blow and he felt angry.

  ‘Why the hell did she send me a card, then? She’s on holiday with her boyfriend and she sends a postcard to her husband?’

  Louise sat down next to him. ‘I didn’t say he was her boyfriend – I don’t know. You know Mum can be a bit secretive and, well, unpredictable; she doesn’t tell me much. They’ve been seeing one another a bit, that’s all, I think.’

  Oldroyd put his hands to his face and sighed.

  ‘Dad, I’m sorry. I thought you knew.’

  ‘I didn’t. Why didn’t she just tell me?’

  ‘I don’t know, but Dad, you must have known this could happen sooner or later. You can’t carry on as if Mum’s just going to pick up the phone one day and plead with you to come back.’

  He looked at her. How mature and sensible she was! It seemed that only five minutes ago they had been building houses and animals from Lego together, and now she was counselling him in matters that were deep and personal. Young people, especially women, handled these things far better than their parents: they were straight and open about relationships.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘That’s exactly how I have been living and I’ve deliberately avoided getting into any relationships myself, to show that I’m . . . well, that I’m . . . still committed to her.’

  ‘Well, you’ll have to be a bit more realistic, Dad. It might never happen.’

  ‘How do you know? Has she said anything?’

  ‘No. I think she still cares about you; that’s why she sent you the card. But she’s probably not sure whether or not it would work out if you came back. I think her feelings are confused.’
>
  It was a perceptive summary, but it felt strange to hear it all from his daughter.

  ‘I would do things differently.’

  ‘Would you, though? You’re still as deeply involved in your work as ever and she knows that. You’re often in the news, for one thing.’

  ‘You sound like your Auntie Alison.’

  ‘Well, that’s a compliment; you should listen to her more often. Anyway, whatever, you’re just going to have to accept what Mum does and see what happens. Look, I’ll make tea – you have a rest. Have a drink or something.’

  She got up, leaving Oldroyd to brood for a few minutes. Then he followed her advice and opened a bottle of red wine to prevent himself from sinking any deeper into self-pity.

  ‘This is very good,’ he said as they sat at the table together and he tried her egg-fried rice. It was much better than his effort.

  ‘Thanks. Are you feeling better now?’

  ‘Not really.’

  She frowned at him. ‘You’re such a romantic, and it’s very sweet, but there’s no point deceiving yourself. It may be over for good with Mum.’

  He winced. ‘Do you talk to her about things like this?’

  ‘No. I told you, she doesn’t say much about personal stuff.’

  He drank some more wine. ‘Mum and I were together for so long. I suppose I still can’t believe that I made such a mess of things that they can’t be put right again.’

  ‘Well, regretting the past isn’t going to help, Dad. I think it’s time you thought about what to do with the rest of your life, if you see what I mean.’

  Oldroyd finished his glass of wine. He knew what she meant but he didn’t know where to start.

  The next day, back in his ‘office’ at Redmire Hall, Oldroyd made a big effort to concentrate on the task in hand, hoping that immersion in the work that had caused so much damage to his marriage might enable him to forget the pain in his private life. DC Jeffries had joined them, clutching a large portfolio.

  ‘OK,’ began Oldroyd, ‘we’ve interviewed all the immediate family and friends who were here on the night; let’s review what we’ve learned from that. How did you get on with the old dowager?’

  Steph looked at her notes. ‘She was very together; didn’t seem upset about her son’s death; seemed more relieved that her grandson was going to take over; thought her son had no feeling for Redmire; just saw it as a place to make money. She also seemed to think he had plans for the estate that she wouldn’t like.’

  ‘Any details?’

  ‘No. She just didn’t trust her son, said he had no real feeling for Redmire.’

  ‘It’ll be very interesting to find out if there were any such plans. They might have affected a lot of people.’

  ‘It seems like he kept them secret, though, sir, so it’s unlikely they could have provided a motive.’

  ‘True, but some people must have known; we’ll need to get on to that quickly.’

  ‘I also asked her about her memories of the first time the trick was done. She said she and her sister were there but looking after her sister’s kids, so she didn’t see much of what was happening. The good news is that one of those kids, a little girl called Olivia, about eight years old, apparently looked into the locked room while the trick was under way. So she may have seen something. According to Lady Redmire, she’s in London now. I’m sure we can easily track her down.’

  ‘Good. She may be our only hope of understanding what could have happened. I can’t imagine many of the adults who were there that day are still alive and, if they are, they probably don’t remember much about it. A child is different: it would probably have made an impression on her, though I can’t think she could have seen anything particularly significant. Anything else?’

  ‘No. But there was something about her that I found a bit chilling. Despite her age, I don’t think we can leave her out of things.’

  Oldroyd raised his eyebrows. ‘Even though it was her own son who was killed?’

  ‘I know, but isn’t it true that for some of these people the estate, the family tradition, you know, all that stuff, is what really matters? Maybe she thought her son’s behaviour – wasting money, gambling and so on – threatened that and that his plans were going to change or damage things in some way.’

  ‘So the only solution was to get rid of him?’

  ‘I know it sounds a bit extreme, but I wouldn’t rule it out. Obviously she couldn’t have done it herself, but she could have encouraged others.’

  ‘Right. Well, I didn’t get much from the young Carstairs – now Lord and Lady Redmire, of course. They seem very straight, conscientious types. I had the same stuff about his father gambling and concern about what he might be planning for the estate. We really need to find out more about that.’

  DC Jeffries, who’d been listening intently and was eager to contribute, couldn’t restrain himself any longer. ‘Sir, the estate manager would be a good place to start. When I was getting this information about the employees from him’ – he indicated his portfolio – ‘I asked him about all the information he had about the estate, as I knew you’d need that too. All the estate records are held in his office, but he was very cagey about access as there was confidential stuff in there.’

  Oldroyd smiled at the DC’s keenness to please. ‘Well done, Jeffries. You’re right: we’ll get on to that as soon as we can. Can you organise the warrant if we need it?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Oldroyd continued, ‘There was something interesting I got from the Carstairs. Katherine Carstairs saw someone in the estate office during the night a while back and the police were called. Someone got in through a window but the strange thing was that there appeared to be nothing missing. There’s another job for you, Jeffries: look up the report at Ripon station about that break-in and confirm the details.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘It may come to nothing but we need to follow it up, especially as it seems there are important documents in there. So, you’ve clearly compiled the information I asked for. Has anything struck you as significant?’

  Jeffries was a little nonplussed. As a lowly DC he probably wasn’t used to being asked his opinions. Oldroyd could sense Steph smiling; she was familiar with Oldroyd’s expectation that everyone working on a case with him should be thinking about it and having ideas.

  ‘Well, sir,’ Jeffries began, summoning up his courage, ‘as far as the employees go, there is a staff of twenty, including workers in the estate office. Gardeners, kitchen staff, a waiter, cleaners, people who operate the shop, and an odd-job man who presumably replaced Harold Robinson when he retired. They’ve all been interviewed and their backgrounds checked. There’s nothing to suggest a motive for the murders in any of them, but I think the three senior people . . .’ He checked his notes. ‘That’s Richard Wilkins, the estate manager, Andrea Jenkinson, Lord Redmire’s PA, and Celia Anscomb, who supervises the interior of the house . . . would be worth talking to, as they knew Lord Redmire and the workings of the estate better than anyone else, even the family.’

  Oldroyd nodded encouragingly. ‘Absolutely right, Jeffries. We’ll need to follow them up closely.’

  ‘I’m still gathering information about the family but there’s probably not much you don’t already know.’

  ‘Go on.’

  Jeffries looked again through the sheets in his portfolio. ‘We did find out that Dominic Carstairs’s company is in financial difficulty.’

  ‘And why might that be important?’

  ‘I wonder if he hoped his brother would help him out but Lord Redmire refused.’

  ‘Very good – and it might partially explain his general hostility and grumpiness, although I think that’s also his regular personality.’

  ‘The next thing, I would suggest, is to investigate the gambling club in London where Redmire and Tristram Benington played.’

  ‘And lost,’ interjected Oldroyd.

  ‘Yes, sir, and I wonder just how much Benington owed
and how serious was his need for cash.’

  ‘Well done again, Jeffries,’ said Oldroyd. The young officer beamed. ‘Right, we’ve got quite a lot to work with now – so you go ahead and contact the Red Hot Poker Club, and then see if you can track Olivia down.’ Oldroyd turned to Steph. ‘We need to talk to Andrea Jenkinson and Richard Wilkins and have a proper search through Redmire’s office, but first it’s high time we had another look at the crime scene. We still have to work out how the first murder was committed, never mind who did it.’

  Oldroyd and Steph made their way through the deserted lobby area, which was still taped off with a PC on guard. The chairs were still in disarray, frozen as they had been in the moment of horror and panic when Redmire’s body was ghoulishly revealed. The door to the room had been left open, and the key was still in the lock. Oldroyd and Steph entered gingerly. It was hard to resist the feeling that the room itself might be dangerous. Oldroyd examined the furnishings and the bookshelves slowly and with even more care than he had on the night of the murder.

  ‘I think this is all the original furnishings from the late seventies, cleaned up for the new performance; it must have been a bit dusty after all that time. Look at those old volumes on the shelves.’

  ‘Maybe that’s something to do with the trick, sir – maybe nothing could be replaced because it plays a part somehow.’

  Oldroyd frowned. ‘You could be right. I wonder . . .’ He started to move the furniture around as if he hoped to trigger an opening to a secret exit. He fiddled with the window fastening and then he pulled a book off the shelves.

  ‘Ah! Now that’s interesting: these books aren’t real. Look.’

  Steph examined the ‘book’, which was actually a very realistic but hollow cardboard replica.

  ‘I suppose that would make sense, though, sir – I mean, it’s all a façade really, isn’t it, so why bother having real books?’

  ‘True, but it also means these “books” can be easily removed. I wonder what’s behind them?’ He took them all off one shelf to reveal the wall behind, but there was nothing there. He repeated the process with all the shelves, but again found nothing. He turned his attention to the floor. ‘We’re going to have to get this floor minutely examined: every floorboard needs to be looked at in case there’s a catch or something that might release some kind of trapdoor. If there is one it’s fantastically well concealed,’ he said, moving the rug to see if the floor was any different underneath. It wasn’t.