Roots of Evil(48)

‘That’s OK. Uh – will you be wanting something to eat?’

‘Oh, I think so,’ said Edmund, who had assumed that Lucy would make this offer. Family was family and there were certain obligations. ‘Then I could drive back later. I’d have had a break, you see, and it would be less tiring.’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Don’t go to a lot of trouble, though. I don’t want to eat a heavy meal with the drive home ahead of me. Just something light and nourishing.’

Dry-as-dust Cousin Edmund, with his delicate digestion and his old-maidish insistence on regular meals. Edmund could hear Lucy thinking it and he smiled. But she said she would have some food ready, and to just turn up when he could.





CHAPTER FOURTEEN




Edmund took to the Ashwood police interview neatly prepared notes of conversations and phone calls, and dates of meetings with Trixie Smith. Correct, precise Mr Fane, efficiently prepared for whatever questions might be asked.

Still, it was slightly disconcerting to find that the interview was to be conducted by a woman – Detective Inspector Jennie Fletcher. No doubt it was rather old-fashioned of him, but Edmund would have thought it more suitable for a man to be in charge of this kind of case. But he shook Inspector Fletcher’s hand, and nodded pleasantly to the very young sergeant who was with her. He was offered and accepted a cup of tea, and while it was being brought took his own notes from his briefcase, so that he could refer to them.

He explained about Trixie Smith’s approach to his aunt, careful to keep solely to the facts, and when he had finished, Inspector Fletcher said, ‘That seems quite clear. Let’s talk about your own involvement, Mr Fane.’

‘Certainly,’ said Edmund, who had not been expecting the police to regard him as involved in this at all.

‘First of all, was there any particular reason why you went to Ashwood Studios that day? Or were you just along for the ride?’ A slight edge to the voice there, which Edmund did not care for.

But he explained that he had driven down to meet Miss Smith from what one might call a sense of responsibility. Of courtesy. ‘My aunt had died before she could provide the promised information to Miss Smith – a rather sudden death, that was – and so I thought the least I could do was help by getting access to the studios for her.’

‘I’m sorry to hear about your aunt’s death,’ said Fletcher conventionally. ‘Presumably you met Miss Smith at the site that day—’

‘I met both Miss Smith and Mr Devlin there,’ corrected Edmund, who was not going to have that disreputable Liam Devlin overlooked.

‘Ah yes, Mr Devlin. You had contacted him direct, I think you said?’

‘I phoned the local council to find out who looked after the place,’ said Edmund. ‘And Devlin agreed to give Miss Smith access. He may have checked that with the owners, or he may have just used his own discretion. I didn’t ask him who the owners were,’ said Edmund. ‘Because of client confidentiality. But I had the impression it was some property developer.’

‘Yes, we know about that. Mr Devlin’s letting us have the address of the owner, although it sounds as if it’s changed hands a few times over the years. It’s probably been a case of small property developers wanting to build on the site, but encountering problems and selling again as quickly as possible.’

‘Fly-by-night profiteers, I expect,’ said Edmund disapprovingly. ‘Buying land cheaply in the misguided belief that there’s easy money to be made from building ugly little dolls’ houses on it.’


‘Perhaps. Although the Ashwood site is quite near to the Green Belt, so there might have been difficulties about planning consent.’ She looked at him thoughtfully. ‘You went to considerable trouble on Miss Smith’s behalf.’

‘Not especially. I’ve already told you I felt a degree of responsibility on my aunt’s behalf,’ said Edmund, and then, in case this had sounded defensive, spread his hands in a deprecatory gesture – Crispin’s gesture – charming and frank. ‘I was curious about the place, Detective Inspector,’ he said. ‘All the tales, all the ghosts in my aunt’s family. The disreputable Lucretia von Wolff and Conrad Kline and so on.’

‘Family ghosts,’ said Fletcher expressionlessly, making a note. ‘So you drove to Ashwood on Monday afternoon. What time did you arrive?’

‘About four,’ said Edmund, disliking Fletcher’s tone even less this time. ‘I can’t be precise, although I remember it was already getting dark. Miss Smith had arrived ahead of me, and so had Devlin. He might know the exact time if it’s important. Was he there when the body was found? I suppose he’d have to be, because of unlocking the place.’

‘Mr Devlin was certainly there,’ said DI Fletcher. ‘But Mrs Holland was accompanied by a Mr Michael Sallis.’ She looked up. ‘Do you know Mr Sallis?’

‘As a matter of fact I do,’ said Edmund shortly, angry that he had apparently displayed a reaction and that Fletcher had spotted it. ‘He works for an organization called CHARTH.’ That sounded better; it put Michael Sallis in his place, and it also made it sound as if Edmund himself was associated with charity work.

DI Fletcher did not comment on this and she did not explain Michael Sallis’s involvement. She said, ‘You got to Ashwood around four. And you went into Studio Twelve with Miss Smith.’