Roots of Evil(124)

‘But so is Edmund sane and highly regarded,’ said Lucy at once. ‘He’s the most correct, most law-abiding person—It’s a family joke, how correct he is. And he’s – he’s devoid of nearly all the emotions! Aunt Deb used to say he was entirely passionless.’ At least Deb had been spared this. ‘What’s happening now?’

‘Well, we’ve certainly got to talk to Mr Fane as soon as possible,’ said Fletcher. ‘The immediate problem is that we don’t know where he is. I drove up here in the early hours, and we went out to his house shortly after seven. But there’s no sign of him, his car’s gone, so it looks as if he either went off somewhere very early or he’s been out all night. Normally in this kind of situation we’d check with neighbours – perhaps the staff at his office – but I’m loath to do that yet in case there’s some innocent explanation for all this. I thought I’d talk to you first.’

‘In case I might know where he is?’ said Lucy. ‘Or in case he might be here? Well, I don’t know where he is, and he certainly isn’t here.’

‘Might he have stayed overnight somewhere? With friends, perhaps?’

But Edmund had never, to Lucy’s knowledge, stayed out all night. ‘He lives a very quiet life. Beyond the office and his clients he hardly has any social life at all – maybe the odd Rotary Lunch or a Law Society dinner, but nothing else. And even on the rare occasion he does go out in the evening I don’t think he stays anywhere much after half past ten.’

‘Is he likely to have gone out very early?’

‘I shouldn’t think so. He’s hardly the early-morning jogging type.’

‘What about friends? Do you know the names of any of them?’

‘I don’t think he’s got any – not close ones,’ said Lucy. ‘Just acquaintances and business associates.’

‘No ladies in his life?’

‘No.’ But this was all sounding so sad for Edmund that Lucy tried to qualify it by saying that Edmund was a bit of a loner.

‘We do want to find him fairly quickly,’ said Fletcher. ‘Just to check Mr Sallis’s story, you understand. I daresay it’ll turn out to be a misunderstanding.’

It would be a misunderstanding, of course. This was Edmund they were discussing, and it was simply not possible to think of Edmund skulking into a darkened house with the aim of killing another human being, or to imagine him on the run from the police. Lucy found this such a disturbing image that she said, ‘Inspector – would it be all right if I drove up there?’

‘D’you mean right away?’

‘Yes. I can set off more or less at once – I’ll tell Quondam there’s a family crisis and that I won’t be in for a couple of days. I’ve got some holiday leave owing, and I’ve just finished putting together a project so it won’t be a problem. I can get there in a couple of hours if there aren’t any snarl-ups – it’s practically motorway all the way and I know the roads.’ She hesitated, and then said, ‘I wouldn’t get in the way or anything, but he’s my cousin and we more or less grew up together. If he’s in trouble, I think I ought to be there. I don’t think he should be on his own.’

And there isn’t anyone else, said her mind. Edmund really hasn’t got anyone else. Was that why he had made that odd approach that night? ‘You’re footloose and fancy-free, Lucy,’ he had said. ‘It seemed an alluring idea.’ And his hand had curled around hers…And his body pressing against her…

‘All right,’ said the inspector, having apparently considered the idea. ‘You’d better come straight to the White Hart; I expect you know it, do you? Good. Mr Sallis is still there, and the manager’s let us have a little coffee-room as a base to work from. We haven’t divulged anything to the staff, of course: we’ve just said we’re involved in an investigation.’

‘Edmund will appreciate that when all this is cleared up,’ said Lucy, hoping that it would all be cleared up.

‘I hope he’ll also appreciate what a good cousin he has,’ said Jennie Fletcher rather dryly.

‘He won’t,’ said Lucy. ‘He never appreciates anyone. But I can’t help that.’





CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX




At eight thirty the traffic was pouring into London. Lucy battled doggedly through it, and finally got clear of the M25 and on to the northbound M1. At least this was a familiar journey; there was something reassuring about familiar things when your mind was in turmoil. An hour and a half of motorway, a brief stop at the usual Little Chef just before Nottingham for a break and a cup of coffee and to top up with petrol, then on again.

As she drove, she tried to think what she would say to Edmund – always assuming he turned up – and wondered if he would be grateful to her for coming. If he was his more sneering self she would leave him to stew and drive straight home. No, she would not, of course. Concentrate on the journey, Lucy. There’s the new bypass that Aunt Deborah hated because it had churned up so much pastureland, although now it was finished it took miles off the last stretch.

When she reached the White Hart she asked for either Mr Sallis or Inspector Fletcher, and was directed to a small coffee-room.