Forty-Seven

Kevan de Vries had offered Tim the use of the drawing-room at Laurieston House so that he could wait for Tony Sentance to appear while de Vries himself disappeared into the kitchen. Tim could hear him speaking to someone in low tones and a woman’s voice joining in. Both seemed to be cajoling a third person rather than conducting a conversation with each other. He guessed that de Vries and Jackie Briggs were trying to comfort or reason with Archie.

Tim paced around restlessly for a few minutes, before remembering once again that he had yet to contact Superintendent Thornton. Although he doubted that if he spoke in normal tones it would be possible for de Vries and Jackie Briggs to hear what he was saying, he felt uncomfortable about talking about de Vries while taking advantage of the man’s hospitality. He therefore decided to make the call from the garden.

He slipped out through the front door and turned right past the bay window to a spot where he’d noticed a wrought-iron bench placed close to a weeping willow tree. It was damp and spattered with bird droppings, but he found a cleanish section near to the willow and sat down. He’d just taken out his mobile when it began to ring. He peered at the number. It wasn’t one that he recognised.

“I want to speak to Detective Inspector Yates, please.” It was a woman’s voice. She had a strong local accent and sounded agitated.

“Speaking. Who am I talking to?”

“My name is Dulcie Wharton. I work at the de Vries plant at Sutton Bridge. I’ve been trying to contact a DC Carstairs, but I don’t have his number.”

“I can give you it if you like.”

“There’s no time. I’ll get caught. I’m in the office but I can’t stay here. I found your card on Mr Sentance’s desk.”

“Can you tell me what it’s about?”

“It’s about that girl. The one who was murdered. I can’t stand by and tell you nothing. It might happen again . . .” There was a sudden silence.

“Hello? Mrs Wharton? Are you still there?”

“Yes... there was someone walking past. I’ve got to go.”

“Call me again when...”

The phone went dead.

Tim called Andy’s number immediately.

“Hello, Tim?”

“Where are you?”

“Heading back towards the station. I’m almost there.”

“I’ve just been called by a woman named Dulcie Wharton, at the de Vries plant in Sutton Bridge. She said she’d really wanted to speak to you, but didn’t have your number. She sounded frightened.”

“I remember her. She was one of the supervisors I spoke to – the only one who got upset when I showed them the picture of the girl’s body at Sandringham.”

“She said ‘she couldn’t let it happen again’. Does this make any sense to you?”

“No more than it does to you, but I think we should take it seriously. I was convinced the supervisors were in cahoots over something and that Tony Sentance was masterminding it. Dulcie was the only one who wasn’t quite toeing the line – and the others made pretty sure of shutting her up. The other woman among them hustled her out of the room very sharpish when she got emotional.”

“Do you think she’s in danger?”

“She could be, but my guess is that she won’t put herself at any further risk. You’ve probably got as much out of her as she’s prepared to give. What do you want me to do? I can go back to Sutton Bridge and ask to speak to the supervisors again, if you like.”

“You’ll have to be careful not to expose her. You could insist on interviewing them separately, and see if she’ll tell you any more. I’d like to come with you, but I’m still at Laurieston House, waiting for Tony Sentance to turn up here. I’ll let you know when he’s arrived. You can head for Sutton Bridge now, but don’t go into the plant until I call you. Then at least you won’t have him getting in your way again when you start the interviews.”

The call was interrupted by the impatient pip-pips that signified ‘caller waiting’.

“I think that Superintendent Thornton’s trying to get through. I’d better go.”

“Yates? Where the hell are you? I’ve been trying to get hold of you all morning.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I was just about to call you when . . .”

“Are you with Kevan de Vries?”

“Not exactly, sir. I’m at his house, waiting for Tony Sentance to show up. He’s with his son at the moment.”

“Is he quite happy to have you there?”

“I wouldn’t say he was happy about anything at the moment, sir. But he seems prepared to let me interview Sentance here. My understanding is that he wants to see him as well. At the moment, no-one seems able to locate him. Jean Rook’s trying to track him down.”

“My God! Is she there, too?”

“Not at the moment, but . . .”

“Well, just try to handle all this delicately, will you, Yates? I want de Vries treated with kid gloves. The man’s just lost his wife, for God’s sake! Don’t outstay your welcome, whatever else you may think you need to do.”

“No, sir.”

“And keep me informed. Are you making any progress with the passports? That’s what you really ought to be doing. Once you’ve spoken to this Sentance, I want you back on that job. Concentrating on it, Yates, if that isn’t too much to ask.”

Superintendent Thornton didn’t wait to hear Tim’s reply. Tim thought that it was just as well: if he’d had the patience to listen a little longer, Tim would have had to tell him that he’d sent Andy Carstairs back to Sutton Bridge. He replaced the phone in its case and stood up. The call from Dulcie Wharton had been troubling.

Jean Rook’s car swung through the double gates and drew in smartly beside his own. She shot out of it immediately. Tim observed that she was more elegantly dressed than when he had seen her in the early hours of the morning. However, her face was pinched and drawn, her eyes almost wild. She hurried towards him as fast as four-inch heels on deep gravel would permit. Intrigued by her unwonted lack of composure, Tim also began to walk. They met by the bay window.

“DI Yates! I’m glad you’re still here.”

“Well, that makes a first,” said Tim drily. “Is there something wrong, Ms Rook?”

“I think that Tony Sentance may have left the country. There’s evidence that he’s helped himself to a significant sum of money from de Vries Industries.”

“We should go into the house. We can’t talk properly here.”

Jean Rook glanced fearfully at the bay window and caught her breath.

“Kevan’s watching us. We’ll have to let him know, now.”

Tim was puzzled.

“Is there any reason why he shouldn’t know? Aside from sparing his feelings, I mean?”

“Yes . . . No. It’s very complicated.”

Tim had never expected to see Jean Rook so agitated. He grasped her elbow lightly.

“Let’s go in,” he said.