Thirty-Nine

Tim arrived at Laurieston House about three quarters of an hour after Ricky MacFadyen. An ambulance was already parked in the drive, dwarfing Joanna de Vries’ small Fiat. There were lights on in all the downstairs rooms and, Tim noted, in both the downstairs and upstairs rooms of 1 Laurieston Terrace.

Jackie Briggs opened the door to him. She looked close to tears, as if she had been crying. She was dressed in a black jumper and trousers, which accentuated her gauntness. A coincidence, Tim wondered, a macabre fluke that had happened when she’d pulled on the first clothes that had come to hand when she was awakened? Or had she gone home to change when she’d realised that Joanna de Vries was dead? She shouldn’t have been there at all, strictly speaking: the fewer people who were admitted to the house now, the better. He could quite understand, however, that Ricky had found it impossible to exclude her once she had turned up, especially if Kevan de Vries had asked her to come. Somewhat incongruously, he saw that she was once again wearing her old-fashioned piece of costume jewellery, the brooch with the big stone. She’d pinned it to one side of the neck of her jumper.

Ricky met him in the hall.

“The two paramedics are waiting in the kitchen, sir,” he said. “I knew you wouldn’t want them to remove the bod . . . the deceased.”

“Where’s Mr de Vries?”

“He’s in his bedroom. He said he’d come down to see you when Ms Rook arrived.”

“He’s called his solicitor? He’s been a bit quick about it, hasn’t he?”

“I suppose so. He called her soon after I came – from the phone in the hall.”

“Was that before or after the paramedics got here?”

“Before – but only just. They’d arrived before he’d put the phone down.”

“What did he say to her?”

“He was quite terse. I think he said, ‘Jean, you’d better get over here as quickly as you can. I think that Joanna’s just died.’”

“That was all? And he only said that he ‘thought’ that she’d died? Don’t you think it was strange that he was having the conversation at all if he wasn’t sure that his wife was dead?”

“I honestly don’t think there was anything sinister about that, sir. When you see the deceased, you’ll realise that he could have been in no doubt that she was dead. I suppose that the way he put it was just a kind of softening of the reality of it.”

“How did he seem to you, when he let you into the house?”

“Distressed, but not hysterical. I asked him if I could check on his wife. He told me that I knew where the cellar was and said I could go down to look at her if I liked, but that he’d appreciate it if I didn’t touch her. As I went down the cellar steps, I called back to him that I was a qualified first-aider and he said, quite quietly, that she was beyond my help.”

“So you went down immediately?”

“Yes, but I didn’t stay long. It was clear that what he’d said was correct. Despite what he said, I felt her neck for a pulse, but it was obvious that she was dead.”

“And when you came back up, he was calling Jean Rook, and then the paramedics arrived?”

“Yes. Do you want to see the paramedics now?”

“Yes, but I’d like you to stay here, if you would. I want to know immediately Jean Rook arrives. I don’t want her to get to de Vries on her own before we see him.”

“He’s going to insist that she’s there with him.”

“I know. And although that’s a nuisance, it’s his prerogative. I just want to make sure that Ms Rook doesn’t have the chance to prime him on what to say. I think it’s odd that he wants his solicitor present if he’s asking us to believe that this is an accidental death.”

“You don’t think it is?”

“I don’t know. What do you think?”

“I doubt that Kevan de Vries has murdered his wife. I can’t think what motive he could have had, for one thing; and, for another, he seemed to be devoted to her. She’d have been more likely to murder him, if you ask me.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Just a hunch – not based on much except their body language when I saw them last night; I know you told me to stay clear, but I thought I’d just call in to see that all was well and he invited me in for a moment to see that they were both fine. I noticed the way she shrank away from him when he tried to put his hand on her arm. Once she gave him a really hostile look.”

Tim wasn’t convinced. He realised that they were wasting time by straying ever deeper into the realms of speculation. He was, however, struck by Ricky’s initiative and decided not to reprimand him for disobeying his instructions. He might very well have done the same himself.

“I’m going to find the paramedics. They’re in the kitchen, you said?”

Ricky nodded. As Tim edged past the open cellar door, he added: “It goes without saying that you’re not to let anyone down there. I’ve asked Stuart Salkeld to come as quickly as he can. I don’t want anyone else in the cellar before he arrives. I’ll wait for him, too; I don’t intend to go down there myself just yet.”

 

The two paramedics were standing awkwardly by the kitchen range. Between them and the door, Jackie Briggs was seated at the large deal kitchen table, her head in her hands, sobbing quietly. The older of the two, a large middle-aged woman with straw-yellow hair done up in a high ponytail, seemed as if she was herself close to tears. Her colleague was a man in his thirties who looked fit and strong, as if he probably worked out regularly. His expression had been impassive when Tim entered the room, but became more animated when he saw the policeman. Tim guessed that they hated getting caught up in the emotion of occasions like this – and that they probably didn’t have to, very often. In most situations they drove away, bearing with them a sick person or, less frequently, a corpse.

“I’m Detective Inspector Yates, South Lincolnshire Police,” said Tim. “Thank you for waiting. I’d like to ask you a few questions. Then we can probably let you go.” He took out his notebook. “First of all, I’d like your full names.”

“Sharon Julie Kerensky.”

“Richard Venables.”

“Thank you. Are you able to give me the time at which you arrived at this house? The more exact you can be, the more it will help me.”

“O three seventeen,” said Richard Venables. “Sharon logged it just before we parked the ambulance.”

“You went straight to the cellar?”

“Yes. We found a woman lying to the left of the staircase. We ascertained immediately that she had died. There were no vital signs.”

“Did you move her?”

“Sharon lifted her arm to try to take her pulse.”

“You didn’t try to turn the body? Didn’t attempt CPR?”

“There was no point. She was already cooling. I reckon she’d been dead for at least an hour.”

“That was the other question I was going to ask you. So you reckon you arrived an hour or so after death?”

“At least,” Richard Venables repeated.

“Did anything strike you as odd?”

Richard Venables gave him a quizzical look.

“I’m not sure what you mean, sir. It’s odd enough finding a fully-dressed woman lying dead in a cellar in the middle of the night, isn’t it?”

“Sorry, you’re right, of course. I’ll put it another way. Did you think there had been an accident, or did you think that she might have been attacked in some way? Pushed, for example? Or fallen as the result of a struggle?”

Venables shrugged.

“I can’t say that I did. I assumed she’d fallen. I suppose it crossed my mind to wonder what she was doing in the cellar at all, especially when I noticed the police tape when I came back up again.”

“You didn’t notice it when you first arrived?”

“Too busy concentrating on the job. We never think about anything besides getting to the patient quickly, even if we’ve been told they’ve got no chance. Sometimes people are wrong about that.”

Tim nodded.

“Thank you. What about you, Ms Kerensky? Was there anything about this that struck you as different from similar situations you’ve witnessed?”

“I can’t say that I’ve ever seen a patient in a cellar before. I’ve seen fall victims, though. I’d say that the way she fell – awkward, like – wasn’t unusual. Unlucky, but not unusual. My guess is that she broke her neck. Poor woman,” she added. She put her hand to her mouth. Tim hoped that she wouldn’t cry and, in the process, noticed that Jackie Briggs had raised her head and was watching them. She seemed to have mastered her tears. Tim caught her eye and was certain in the split second that elapsed before she looked down that he glimpsed some kind of recognition there.

“Are you OK, Mrs Briggs? Did you want to tell me something?”

“No,” said Jackie Briggs tremulously. “It’s just that cellar. It...”

There was an urgent knock on the kitchen door before Ricky MacFadyen appeared, evidently in a hurry.

“Ms Rook is just arriving, sir,” he said to Tim. “She’ll be coming through the front door any minute now.”

Jackie Briggs scraped back her chair and rose to her feet.

“I’ll go and let her in,” she said.

 

Five minutes later, Tim and Ricky were seated on the small sofa that faced the fireplace in the drawing-room of Laurieston House. Jean Rook was sitting in one of the fireside chairs. Jackie Briggs had placed a tea-tray on the coffee table that separated them, but no-one had troubled to set out the cups and saucers. Nobody spoke. All were waiting for Kevan de Vries to appear. Jean Rook had tapped out two or three rapid messages on her Smartphone. Tim did not doubt that she was communicating with de Vries, but knew that there was little he could do about it. De Vries was not under arrest, after all.

Jean Rook stood up suddenly and walked across to the door. It opened a minute or so later. Kevan de Vries entered the room, somewhat hesitantly. He was casually dressed in an open-necked blue shirt and pale chinos. His hair clung damply to his forehead, as if he had just taken a shower.

Jean Rook embraced him rather ostentatiously. Tim noted that de Vries accepted the gesture courteously, but quickly disengaged himself from her grip. Ms Rook took hold of his arm and guided him to the armchair at the opposite side of the fireplace from where she had been sitting. He sank into it wearily. Now that Tim could get a proper look at the businessman’s face, he was shocked at de Vries’ harrowed, stricken expression. The man was literally grey with grief.

“Would you like tea?” his lawyer asked, addressing herself only to de Vries.

“No. Thank you, Jean. But do pour some for my guests.”

“Thank you. Not for me, either,” said Tim. “But it is kind of you. Mr de Vries, may we say how sorry we are for your loss?”

Kevan de Vries met his eye. Tim could detect no gleam of the spirited irony that he had registered at their previous meetings, but he thought he could still discern some residual contempt.

“Well, I can’t say that your interference improved the last few days that she had left to her, but you weren’t the direct cause of her death, at any rate.”

“I’m not sure that I understand you, sir.”

“Oh, I think that you do. Hounding me first of all to come back from St Lucia and then digging up the cellar and finding bones there. How do you think that made her feel?”

“I agree that the recent events that have taken place at this house have been unfortunate for someone as ill as your wife was, and I’m sorry for that. I know that this may sound insensitive, but it wasn’t a problem that I could make go away. But I’d like to be able to comprehend what you mean when you say that we weren’t ‘the direct cause of her death’. Do you believe that someone else was involved besides your wife? That there was more to her death than an unlucky accident?”

“I . . . don’t know.” Kevan de Vries shielded his eyes with his hands.

“I’d like you to describe what happened as clearly as you can, sir. Where were you when your wife fell?”

“I was in bed. I’d been in bed for several hours. I left Joanna sitting on the sofa in here. I’d suggested to her that it was time for bed.”

“What time would this have been, sir?”

“It was early – before 10 p.m. Joanna was still exhausted from her flight and the visit that we made yesterday to see Archie. I was tired, too. I thought that if I went up to bed first it would encourage her to go as well.”

“I’m not sure that I follow . . .”

“You don’t have to answer questions about your domestic arrangements if you don’t want to, Kevan,” Jean Rook interceded, her voice metallic with disapproval.

“I’ve got no objection to answering, Jean.” He looked at the floor as he continued. “Joanna was annoyed with me. I knew that she needed to go to bed and I thought it would encourage her if I volunteered to sleep in one of the guest rooms. I told her that was my intention.”

“So you left her down here by herself, despite the severity of her illness?”

“What else could I do? What would you have recommended, Detective Inspector? That I dragged her to bed against her will, or perhaps called the local police to ask them to make her?”

“Point taken,” said Tim. “Was she taking medication for her illness?”

“Yes, she was taking something called Fludaribine in pill form, and I think some other drugs as well, to help with the pain. They’d stopped giving her blood transfusions. I didn’t get involved with her medication: it was something she kept to herself, but I know that she always followed her doctor’s instructions scrupulously. She was trying to stay alive as long as possible for Archie’s sake.”

“You don’t think she might have become confused, or forgotten to take the medication because she was tired?”

“I think that’s very unlikely. As I say, she was committed to keeping going as long as she could.”

Tim nodded sympathetically.

“So you went to bed in one of the spare rooms. Did you sleep?”

“Yes, after a while. It wasn’t a deep sleep, but I think I was dozing on and off.”

“Did Mrs de Vries in fact go to bed?”

“I don’t think so. When I was awoken I went to our bedroom to see if she was all right, but the bed was empty.”

“It didn’t seem to you that she might have slept in it for a while and then got up again?”

“No. I thought the bed was as Mrs Briggs had left it after she’d changed the sheets yesterday morning.”

“You said just now that you were ‘awoken’ in the night. What was it that woke you?”

“I heard a crashing noise. And what I thought was a scream – or someone crying out.”

“And you were still in bed in the spare room?”

“The Blue Room. Yes.”

“What did you do then?”

“As I’ve just told you, I went to our bedroom to check on Joanna. When she wasn’t there...” Kevan de Vries’ face suddenly contorted horribly. His chest heaved as he failed to suppress a series of deep sobs.

“I think that it’s time that you concluded this interview, Detective Inspector, don’t you?” said Jean Rook viperishly. “You can see that Mr de Vries is very upset and not in a fit state to be questioned.”

“Jean, just leave it, will you?” Kevan de Vries was almost screaming the words. “I’ll tell you when I’m not fit to carry on. Is that understood?”

Jean Rook crossed her legs and gave a curt nod.

“Somehow I knew,” de Vries continued in a voice so low that Tim could barely hear the words. “I knew when she wasn’t in bed that something must have happened to her. I ran downstairs. At first, it didn’t occur to me that she could be in the cellar. I rushed in here, but she wasn’t here, either. It was when I went out again that I saw that the cellar door was ajar. The police tape that you’d sealed it with had been cut.”

“Do you think that your wife cut it herself?”

“That’s not a question that Mr de Vries can answer, Detective Inspector.” Jean Rook had evidently recovered from her recent humiliation by de Vries and was back on the attack again.

“It’s all right, Jean.” Kevan de Vries raised his head and met Tim’s eyes again, but this time he didn’t look away. “Since you ask, I can’t imagine why she would have done it. Joanna resented your presence in her house, as you know, but in my experience she’s always been pretty law-abiding. Besides, the cellar gave her the creeps, even before all of this happened.”

Tim sat bolt upright. Ricky MacFadyen looked up sharply from the notes he was writing.

“Do you realise what you’re implying, Mr de Vries? If your intuition is correct, and Mrs de Vries did not cut that tape, then you’re saying that, at some point between the time that you went to bed and your wife’s death, someone else must have been in the house besides her and yourself.”

Kevan de Vries shrugged.

“It sounds far-fetched, I know. But you must admit that this whole bloody episode has been surreal. You couldn’t make it up! I have no idea who cut that tape, but of one thing I am certain: Joanna would have had to have had a damned good reason for venturing into the cellar in the middle of the night. And the only one I can think of is that someone either cajoled or threatened her into going down there.”

“Do you have any evidence that supports this theory, besides your own knowledge of how your wife would be likely to behave?”

“No, but . . . Yes, wait a minute. Some time before the scream, I thought I heard the sound of car tyres on the gravel in the drive.”

“But you didn’t get up to investigate? Look out of the window?”

“No, the Blue Room is at the back of the house. But in any case I thought I was dreaming. I was certainly half asleep. I might have been dreaming, for all I know. I couldn’t swear that I heard it.”

“And if you thought you heard someone, that didn’t make you fearful of your wife’s safety – or your own, for that matter?”

“I’ve told you, I was half asleep.” De Vries was defensive now and getting angry.

“You heard what Mr de Vries said, DI Yates. I must ask you not to bully him.”

“I apologise,” said Tim. He paused for a moment. “Mr de Vries, can we go back to the point where you said that you came out of this room, went into the hall and saw that the police tape had been severed. You said that the cellar door was slightly open. Was the light on in the cellar?”

“Yes, I think so. I’m pretty certain that I didn’t turn it on myself.”

“So what happened next? Did you open the door wider and go rushing down the cellar steps?”

“No. I opened the door, of course, and went in. I stood at the platform at the top of the cellar steps and looked over the rail. I saw Joanna immediately. She was lying almost directly below me, face down.” Kevan de Vries covered his eyes again.

“I’m sorry that this is distressing for you, sir, and I’ll be as brief as I can. Did you go down the steps at that point?”

“Yes, of course I did.”

“Were you hurrying?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t think so. I was dreading what I was going to find when I reached her. It was quite obvious to me from the way that she was lying that she was dead.”

“Did you notice anything else at all that might suggest that she hadn’t been alone in the cellar?”

“What do you think? She was my only concern from the moment that I saw her. If there’d been a whole army of people with her, I doubt that it would have registered.”