Roots of Evil(125)

‘Hello, Lucy,’ said Michael Sallis. He looked pale and there were shadows around his eyes as if he might not have slept much; one of his hands bore a professional-looking bandage, but he came towards her, holding out his other hand. Lucy took it, relieved to find that there was no awkwardness between them. She had not wanted to discover that she hated Michael for making this accusation and she had not wanted any embarrassment between them. But it was all right.

Without preamble, he said, ‘This must be a nightmare for you. I’m very sorry about it.’

‘I don’t suppose it’s been any picnic for you,’ said Lucy, and saw him smile.

‘Francesca’s here,’ he said. ‘Francesca Holland. Did you know?’

‘No.’ Lucy did not like to ask why Francesca was here; perhaps she was somehow linked up with Michael, or in the process of getting linked up with him. They had seemed quite friendly at Quondam that afternoon.

‘She’s just gone to get some coffee – Inspector Fletcher said you’d probably get here about this time.’

Francesca came in as he said this, carrying a tray. She smiled at Lucy. ‘Hello. I’m glad I timed the coffee so well. Did you have a good journey or did you have to fight through the rush hour?’

Lucy accepted the coffee gratefully, said the journey had been like traversing one of the minor outposts of hell, and asked if there were any new developments.

‘I don’t think Fane’s turned up yet,’ said Michael. He hesitated, and then said, ‘But Fletcher’s people went out to the house with a warrant about an hour ago.’

Then they’re taking the accusation seriously, thought Lucy. She tried to quell a swift unpleasant image of Edmund’s fury if the police broke into his house in his absence, and by way of explanation for her own presence, said, ‘I thought Edmund oughtn’t to be left to face this on his own. I thought he might like someone here who was prepared to bat on his side. Family.’

‘Family,’ said Michael softly, and Lucy saw him exchange a look with Francesca. She thought Francesca nodded very slightly, as if Michael had asked a silent question, and she thought she had been right about them linking up. They already had that rare mental closeness you occasionally encountered in couples.

Michael said, ‘Lucy, it’s odd you should use the word family, because—’ He broke off as Francesca leaned forward to look through the window to the White Hart’s little car park at the front of the building.

‘What is it?’ said Lucy.

‘It’s Inspector Fletcher,’ said Francesca. ‘But it looks as if she’s on her own.’ She glanced at Michael. ‘That means they didn’t find Edmund, I should think.’

‘I should think you’re right.’

Lucy did not know whether to be sorry or glad.



‘We’ve been in the house,’ said Jennie Fletcher, who looked tired but as if she still had plenty of energy in reserve. ‘Fane wasn’t there and his car had definitely gone.’

‘You broke in? You mean you really did break the door down?’

‘We levered the lock off one door, Miss Trent. But it’s a neat job of levering and it’s easily repairable. We did get a warrant before we did it.’

Lucy guessed that in view of Edmund’s standing as a respectable local solicitor the police were not cutting any corners. ‘Did you – find anything in the house? Any clues as to where he might be?’

‘We’ve contacted his office now, and it seems he left a message on the answerphone last evening to say he was going out to take some measurements of a piece of land before going in to the office today – something to do with a boundary dispute. The call was made at a quarter to eight last night, and it was made from Edmund Fane’s home phone.’

‘Well, couldn’t it be true about the boundary dispute?’

‘It could, except the client concerned – a local farmer – hasn’t seen Mr Fane and wasn’t expecting him. We’ve also spent quite a long time at Deborah Fane’s house, and the evidence so far bears out your statement,’ she said to Michael. ‘We found the window you smashed; it’s clearly been broken from the inside.’

‘It was broken from the inside,’ said Michael politely.

‘We found a couple of things in Edmund Fane’s house, that are – well, curious.’ Fletcher delved into her pocket and brought out a mobile phone. ‘This is yours, isn’t it, Mr Sallis?’

‘Yes. Then Fane did have it,’ said Michael. ‘I wonder if he took it deliberately – to prevent me calling for help – or whether it was just absent-mindedness. Can I have it back, or d’you need it for evidence or anything?’

‘You can probably have it later,’ said the inspector. ‘We’ve looked at the calls made from it in the last twenty-four hours, and they’re all perfectly innocent – oh, except that there’s no record of any call to the White Hart.’


‘There should be,’ said Michael. ‘He did phone them. As far as I can remember it was around half past four, and he said they hadn’t a room.’

‘And yet when you got here last night there were several,’ said Fletcher.

‘Are you saying Edmund faked a phone call?’ For some reason Lucy found this almost more bizarre than the attempted murder accusation.