The Murder at Redmire Hall Page 15

  Antonia interrupted before Lady Redmire could get herself properly launched on another contentious subject. ‘Have the others been over to see you?’

  ‘Which others? I don’t know who’s here. Dominic popped his nose in for five minutes yesterday; brought Mary with him. He’s still playing the disappointed man. I don’t know how she puts up with him.’

  ‘I don’t suppose Alex or James have been over?’

  Lady Redmire sniffed. ‘That little minx wouldn’t dare show her face here. She knows what I think of her. I’m surprised you’re so generous towards her. You’re so noble, Antonia. I always felt sorry for James, though. He was another of Freddy’s victims. I tell you, is there any wonder somebody wanted him dead?’

  ‘And how are you keeping?’

  ‘Oh, very well. I can’t complain. I’m perfectly content here. It’s a wonderful place to end one’s days.’ She paused to reflect. ‘One just wishes that one’s family had turned out better. I blame Vivian, really. He wasn’t a bad man but there was never any stability, and . . .’

  ‘I think we’ll have to be getting back, Ursula.’ Antonia had given up the struggle.

  ‘Getting back? But you haven’t been here five minutes.’

  ‘No, but we’ll come back again soon. We need to prepare ourselves for the will. The solicitor’s coming this afternoon. Are you coming over to the house to hear it?’

  ‘No, I’m not. Alistair will inherit the estate and that’s all that matters. Things should improve after that.’ She looked away as if indicating the end of the conversation.

  Not surprisingly, Poppy was in a silent, sullen mood when they returned to the main house, and Antonia was left to reflect yet again on the cruelties of aristocratic family life.

  ‘So, someone took a potshot at you, sir?’ asked Steph.

  ‘I’m afraid they did – and of course it means that we really have to watch our step now. Whoever’s behind this is ruthless and determined. No walking around quiet parts of the estate and its environs by ourselves, particularly at night.’

  Oldroyd, Steph and Jeffries were sitting in their Redmire Hall office. Jeffries tried to maintain a sombre expression but was secretly thrilled and excited: this was real, dangerous police work.

  ‘Unfortunately the trip to the Pear Tree, which was nearly the end of me, didn’t yield a great deal.’ Oldroyd told his two detectives about what the rough-looking man had told him in the pub. ‘So we need to check car ownership here at the Hall and widen out to the neighbourhood if necessary.’ He nodded to Jeffries, who immediately made a note of his next task. ‘As far as this trick goes, I think we have to approach it differently.’

  ‘How, sir?’

  ‘I’m not sure, but as I’ve said to you many times, we always need to avoid getting into a rut and making assumptions. If things are not working out, we need to think “outside the box”, as people like to say nowadays.’ He smiled as he thought of what Tom Walker would make of that. ‘Anyway, Jeffries, what have you got to report?’

  Jeffries seized his moment enthusiastically, and told the two senior detectives what he’d discovered in his call to the Red Hot Poker Club, including the interesting fact that Redmire and Benington had argued about the latter’s debts before the murder.

  ‘Very good,’ said Oldroyd. ‘He didn’t tell us about that, did he? Probably thought it would incriminate him and he’s right. We’ll have to get back to him.’

  There was a knock on the door, and a PC entered the room. ‘Excuse me, sir, just an update on the attack last night.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘We’ve continued the search in daylight, particularly in the field by that tree from where you said the assailant fired at you. No shell casings were found, but the good news is that the bullet has been found in the tree near to where you were standing. It’s going to take some getting out, but then ballistics should be able to match it to rifles.’

  ‘Excellent work, thank you,’ said Oldroyd, and the PC left.

  ‘Not sure how much help that will be, sir,’ said Steph. ‘There are always lots of guns around in a country place like this, and plenty of places to hide them. Farmers have them to shoot crows and rabbits and stuff. I’ll bet there are shooting clubs in the area too.’

  ‘True, but all information is useful. It may prove to be extra incriminating evidence at some point. If we can identify the murderer.’

  ‘I got two DCs to complete the inventory of Harry Robinson’s possessions and the estimate is that they were worth a great deal. I think I know now how he paid for the stuff.’

  ‘Well done,’ said Oldroyd.

  ‘It was easy. I looked at his bank account and his monthly payments in were very substantial. For some reason, the Redmire estate was paying him an extremely generous pension.’

  ‘Was it indeed? There must have been a good reason for that and I’ll bet it was something to do with his knowledge of the trick.’

  ‘I’ve managed to track down Olivia Pendleton,’ said Steph. ‘And I have to say it was with Andy’s help. He used his contacts at the Met; they found her in no time. She runs a fashion house called Zorba. Their premises are in Islington. I’ve spoken to her, and by chance she’s coming up to Yorkshire to see her aunt, who owns another big house near here: Belthorpe Manor.’

  ‘Yes, I know it – bit of a rundown eccentric place on the other side of Ripon. We’ll catch up with her there. Well done and pass on my thanks to Andy; that was beyond the call of duty, working on his holidays.’ Oldroyd got up. ‘OK. I want you two to track Benington down and see what he has to say for himself. After that you can follow up Miss Carstairs and see what she has to say about being seen arguing with her father. I’m going to have a search through Redmire’s possessions in the house to see if there’s anything interesting there. There’s also the question of his will. The solicitor is coming this afternoon, apparently; the family must be in suspense. We’ll get a copy at the same time so let’s see if it contains anything interesting.’

  The family were indeed in suspense about many things, the latest, since Richard Wilkins had informed them of the solicitor’s visit, being the contents of the will. The stress of living on top of one another was getting unbearable, especially as many of them disliked each other. Now suspicions and jealousies were rife and in the tense atmosphere conversation was limited.

  After breakfast, Tristram was sitting in a corner of the sitting room trying to keep out of the way of everyone and wondering how he’d got caught up in this awful family. He still thought Poppy was worth it, however; and shortly she might have the money to solve their financial problems.

  James Forsyth came into the room. ‘Morning, Tris,’ he said jovially. He sat down near him, leaned over conspiratorially and said in a hushed voice, ‘It’s bloody terrible, isn’t it? If looks could kill, as they say. I’m glad I shan’t be there when the damned will is read; it could be a bloodbath!’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what, do you fancy going out for a spot of shooting? Alex has a headache so she’s lying down. It’ll get us out of the house. It’s not the game season, but we could see if we can bag a few rabbits and reduce the crow population.’

  ‘Good idea,’ replied Tristram. ‘Poppy’s gone to see her grandmother. Do you know where the guns are kept?’

  ‘No problem. I’ve been out many times with Freddy. There’s a gunroom near the stable block. We’ll get one of the estate workers to sort us out.’

  Half an hour later the two men were striding over the fields in the direction of a copse. They were wearing boots and brandishing two .22-calibre rifles, all supplied by Lord Redmire’s gunroom. One of his many expensive pursuits had been organising shooting parties and providing clothing and equipment for the guests.

  Forsyth turned to his companion. ‘I suppose you and Poppy stand to gain now Freddy’s gone.’

  Benington looked at him sharply.

  ‘No, don’t get me wrong,’ Forsyth said. ‘I don’t mean you did a
nything to bring it about. I just mean it will be a help, because I hear you’re . . . struggling a bit. Look, there’s a rabbit!’

  A rabbit was standing still at the edge of the field. Forsyth raised his rifle, shot but missed. The rabbit bounced away at great speed, showing them its little white bottom.

  ‘Damn!’

  ‘I’m not sure how you got to know that.’

  ‘It’s that poker club, I’m afraid. I go there myself a bit sometimes, but I made sure Freddy was never there. Surprised I’ve never seen you. It’s a gossip factory, that place – no secrets. The word was going round that Freddy had refused you money.’

  ‘I should never have approached him there, in public.’

  ‘No, someone will have been listening in all right. But I think it was a good thing he refused; he was not a man you wanted to have any financial dealings with, believe me. I learned that from bitter experience.’

  ‘Did he leave you badly in the lurch?’

  ‘Yes. Supposed to be a partnership; he never did a stroke of work and then pulled out, leaving me to pick up the pieces.’

  They had reached the copse, a small group of mainly sycamores on a small round hill at the edge of the field. Forsyth looked up into the branches.

  ‘Well, that’s a stroke of luck,’ he said. ‘Look up there: a nice pair of black crows to have a shot at. Fancy a go?’

  With some reluctance, Benington raised his rifle. He was not very experienced in handling guns, though he had done some shooting at his private school in Berkshire. He took aim and fired. One of the crows flapped off croaking, but the other fell off the branch in a flurry of feathers, thudded to the ground and lay lifeless.

  ‘Bravo!’ exclaimed Forsyth. They went over to examine the dead bird. ‘Look at that beak: fearsome thing, isn’t it? No wonder they can peck a lamb’s eyes out . . . No,’ he continued, ‘you’re better off getting the money from Freddy this way.’ He gave Benington a sardonic smile.

  ‘I very much agree,’ replied Benington, and returned the smile.

  Forsyth saw some figures approaching from the direction of the house.

  ‘Hmm, better put our guns away; here come the police again. Mind you, it’s that female detective sergeant – she can interrogate me any time she likes.’ They both sniggered.

  Forsyth had seen Steph and Jeffries walking across the fields towards them.

  Steph had been informed that the two men had gone out shooting and she approached them with some caution, considering what had happened the previous night. She kept her eye on the guns, as did Jeffries, standing at her side.

  ‘Mr Benington. I’m afraid I need to ask you some more questions.’

  ‘I’ll walk on into the wood, Tris. You can catch me up.’

  ‘OK.’ Forsyth gave Steph a lingering look and walked off, following a path between the trees.

  Benington’s gaze then settled on Steph. She came straight to the point with a steely glare. She was in no mood for any more harassment after what had happened earlier back at the station. ‘We’ve been informed that you were involved in an argument with Lord Redmire at the Red Hot Poker Club not long before he was murdered. Is that true?’

  Benington laughed. ‘My God, James is right about that place. I assume you’ve been talking to someone there?’

  ‘We have and they state that you had a heated argument about money.’

  ‘All right, it’s true. So what?’

  ‘Can you tell me more about what was said?’

  Benington shrugged his shoulders. The rifle he was carrying was slightly raised.

  Steph stepped back. ‘Be careful with that rifle, sir. I think it would be better if you laid it on the ground.’

  ‘OK. You seem very jumpy.’ He put the rifle down on the grass.

  ‘Someone took a shot at Chief Inspector Oldroyd last night so we’re not taking any chances.’

  ‘I see,’ said Benington. ‘Well, the truth is, to put it simply, I’ve run up some gambling debts at the club and I was asking Lord Redmire if he could help me out. He refused and was angry that I’d asked him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it’s a matter of principle at a club like that: you honour your own debts. He was right. I should never have asked him.’

  ‘Did Miss Carstairs have anything to do with it?’

  ‘No. I haven’t told her that I asked her father for help. Poppy doesn’t understand how the club works. She’s been trying to get me to ask Lord Redmire for help, not knowing I’d already done so. And the fact is I shouldn’t have asked him; like I said, there’s a code of honour about these things.’

  ‘She was also seen arguing with her father on the evening he was killed.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘A witness, sir; I can’t divulge names.’

  ‘She cornered him before dinner that night, but she got the same response as me. I don’t think she’d given up on the idea, though; she can be very stubborn when she decides she wants something.’

  ‘So, sir, why did you conceal your argument from us when we interviewed you?’

  Benington shrugged again and Steph bristled. She found his nonchalance in these circumstances arrogant. ‘Obviously it doesn’t look good for me that I’d argued with him not long before he was killed. I thought it better not to mention it.’

  ‘That was a mistake, sir. Being open always means we’re less suspicious.’

  He gave her a sneering little smile. He wasn’t going to accept a lecture from her.

  ‘So your anger at Lord Redmire’s refusal didn’t lead you to plan his murder?’ Steph asked.

  Benington laughed contemptuously. ‘No.’

  ‘Even though his death might well solve your financial problems?’

  ‘Certainly not.’

  Steph gave him a hard stare. ‘OK, sir, that’s all for now. Off you go to bag a few more crows.’

  She turned quickly and walked back across the field, followed by Jeffries, who was chuckling with admiration at the way she’d handled the two men.

  Before going to search through Redmire’s papers and possessions, Oldroyd decided to go for a walk around the gardens. He felt he needed to relax after the double traumas of being shot at and discovering his wife had a new man. Under this stress there was a chance that he could lose focus on the case.

  He walked up and down the main borders, admiring the colourful perennials, and then wandered into some of the side areas. He walked through a white garden, a fuchsia garden and an elaborate rockery and eventually found himself on the edge of the garden area in a peaceful walled section known as the ‘tropical garden’, presumably because delicate specimens were grown against the rosy-brick walls, which retained heat and provided shelter against cold winter winds. He was admiring the pale-blue flowers of an abutilon when he heard a voice behind him.

  ‘Morning.’

  Oldroyd turned to see a stocky, bearded figure in a flat cap, brandishing a pair of secateurs in his left hand, and he stuck out his right.

  ‘David Morton, head gardener. I think you’re in charge of the investigation, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes. Chief Inspector Oldroyd.’

  They shook hands. Oldroyd noticed that Morton’s were red and toughened by outdoor work.

  ‘I was just wondering who was walking around here,’ Morton said. ‘We’re still closed to the public, but I recognised you, even though neither you nor any of your officers have been to talk to us gardeners. We’re feeling left out.’ His weather-beaten face crinkled into a smile.

  ‘We were going to get round to you at some point. We’re concentrating on the family and close friends of the deceased at the moment. I don’t suppose any of you witnessed the first murder?’

  ‘Oh, no, we weren’t invited to that. Far too posh a do for the likes of us. We might bring in mud on our shoes! Anyway, gardeners are too nice to get involved in nasty stuff like murder. We nurture and feed living things; we don’t kill them.’

  ‘Well, you’ve certainly done
a good job here.’ Oldroyd looked at Morton, and considered how it must feel to work for so long as the steward of such a wonderful garden. ‘I suppose you must become very fond of this garden and the plants, when you’ve looked after them for so long.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ replied Morton enthusiastically. ‘They become like your family, especially if you’re like me, with no family of your own. I’ve always been wedded to the job, so to speak. That abutilon you were looking at’ – he pointed at the slender branches of the flowering shrub – ‘is tender, very difficult to grow so far north. I planted it there years ago when it was very small. I’ve watched it grow and looked after it, protected it from the winter winds and pruned it properly every year, fed it in the spring, and look at it now.’ He gazed admiringly at the perfect blooms.

  Oldroyd’s interest was roused. ‘As we’ve met now, I might as well ask you a few questions.’

  ‘OK, follow me – let’s go and sit down.’

  Morton led the way out of the tropical garden, round to the other side of the high wall and into a long, low brick extension, which turned out to be a clean, well-equipped former potting shed now partially converted into an office. Oldroyd and Morton sat on two rather battered wooden chairs at the far end of the shed, where the gardener had an untidy desk, strewn with brown, earth-stained papers and seed catalogues.

  There were a number of dusty cardboard certificates in gold and silver displayed on the wall, a record of success at various local horticultural shows. A long potting bench extended down the shed on the window side and above this on various racks were small gardening tools: trowels, forks, dibbers, secateurs, heavy-duty scissors and some knives. It was definitely a gardener’s lair.

  Morton offered tea but Oldroyd declined when he saw the pile of dirty crockery and the grubby kettle by an ancient sink in a corner of the room.

  ‘So,’ began Oldroyd, ‘how did you get on with Lord Redmire?’

  Morton shrugged. ‘As well as I did with his father and probably would have with any of these wealthy estate owners.’