Shortly before six o’clock Sergeant Lambert drove the Chief out to Overmead. Downstairs lights shone out from Jubilee Cottage as Lambert turned in through the gates. They got out of the car and Lambert pressed the bell. The curtains were not drawn in the sitting room on the right of the front door. Lambert could see a television set switched on, an announcer giving out the news.
The door opened and Ian Wilmot looked out at them. Kelsey asked if they might come inside for a few minutes. Ian stepped aside at once for them to enter. He didn’t appear disconcerted or displeased.
‘I’m afraid Christine isn’t here,’ he explained as he took them into the sitting room where his interrupted meal was set out on a tray in front of the television. An inviting, savoury smell hung in the air. ‘She’s out on her rounds,’ he added as he switched off the television. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just put my supper back in the oven.’ His tone was amiable, his manner relaxed. He invited them to sit down and took the tray out to the kitchen, returning a minute later to ask if they’d like any refreshment. Kelsey declined the offer and Ian sat down facing them, settling comfortably back into an easy chair.
‘Christine’s still pretty upset about it all,’ he said. ‘Only to be expected, of course. The doctor advised her to carry on as normally as possible. I’m sure that’s the best thing. It does no good to sit around moping–and she doesn’t want to let her customers down.’
Kelsey responded to these remarks with an abrupt question: ‘What do you know of the financial situation of Karen Boland?’
‘Did she, for instance, have any financial expectations?’
Ian glanced about the room. He guesses we’ve talked to Spedding by now, Sergeant Lambert thought, but he doesn’t know if we’ve talked to Trewin–or, more precisely, if Trewin’s talked to us.
‘I believe she may have had,’ Ian replied easily. ‘I have a notion Christine mentioned something about it.’
‘Are you not at this moment familiar with the exact terms of the trust fund set up by James Boland for his daughter?’ A slight pause before Ian answered in the same easy tone. ‘Yes, I think perhaps I do recall them.’
‘Did you raise the matter with Spedding’s clerk, Trewin, immediately after you were approached about the possibility of Karen coming to live here?’
Ian moved his head with the air of someone recalling a trifling fact. ‘Yes, I believe Trewin did raise the matter.’
‘Trewin raised it? Was it not you who raised it with Trewin?’
‘No. It was definitely Trewin who raised it. I knew nothing about the trust, I didn’t even know it existed, so I could hardly have raised the matter.’ He sounded mildly injured. ‘I was over in Okeshot on business. I thought I’d look in at one of my old stamping-grounds, see if I could catch Trewin, have a chat with him. I told him about Karen getting in touch with us. I knew he’d be interested, working for Boland’s solicitor.’ He waved a hand. ‘He may have said more than he should, strictly speaking, but he knew it would go no further.’ He grinned. ‘We’re all human.’
‘You are aware that under the terms of the trust one half of the capital sum comes to your wife as soon as the trust is wound up–which must now be done, as Karen is dead.’
Ian inclined his head judicially. ‘I believe that may be so. But the idea that Christine might actually benefit under the trust never crossed my mind. Karen was a healthy young girl, years younger than Christine.’
‘Your wife wasn’t at all keen to take Karen, at first, but after you talked to Trewin you got to work on your wife, persuaded her to take pity on the girl, give her a chance.’
He shook his head vigorously. ‘Nothing of the sort. You’re making all kinds of insinuations. There isn’t a shred of truth in any of them.’
‘Did you pass on to your wife the details of the trust which you had learned from Trewin?’
Ian hesitated, he looked far from comfortable.
‘It’s a straightforward question. Either you did or you did not pass on the details.’
‘You’re talking about a time months back,’ Ian protested. ‘We discussed the possibility of Karen coming to live here from all sorts of angles. We talked about all kinds of old family matters, they came up naturally at that time. I know I told Christine I’d seen Trewin. She was very interested, she knew Trewin quite well over in Okeshot. And I remember telling her there was a trust, but whether she asked me for details or whether I passed any of them on to her, I can’t remember now. If she asked me, then it’s very likely I told her. I can’t honestly say it loomed all that large in my thoughts. I didn’t think it was of overwhelming significance.’
Kelsey suddenly darted at him from another angle. ‘Did you phone Karen at the college last Friday evening? To tell her something had cropped up, you had to talk to her, you’d be waiting outside at six o’clock?’
‘I certainly did not. I never went near the college on Friday.’
The Chief took him back in minute detail over his movements on Friday afternoon. Ian told him the location of the various sites he had visited, the time he had spent at each one, the names of those he had met and spoken to.
He had left the last site–some eight miles to the south-west of Cannonbridge–at around a quarter to six and set off for home. After he had driven a couple of miles it occurred to him that he couldn’t recall putting his builder’s rule and fifty-metre measuring tape back in the boot of the car on the last site.
He pulled up, got out and looked in the boot. The items were not there. He cast his mind back. He could remember setting them down on a bench outside the site office while he went inside with the foreman to look at plans. They had spent some time in the office, they were still deep in discussion when they came out again. The foreman locked up and Ian walked with him across to the foreman’s car, still talking. The foreman drove off and Ian got into his own car, completely forgetting the tape and the rule.
He couldn’t simply abandon them, they were the property of the department. By morning some sharp-eyed prowling lad would have spotted them and borne them off. He turned the car round and went back to the deserted site. The tape and measure were there on the bench. He put them away in the boot and set off again for home. He recalled looking at his watch as he did so–the delay had irritated him and there might not now be time for the hot bath and good meal he needed to restore him for the meeting. But it was not too bad, his watch showed a couple of minutes before six. He checked the time again as he opened the front door of Jubilee Cottage; it was twenty-five past six.
He had his bath, put on clean clothes, ate a substantial meal, cleared the table and washed up. He was a little late setting off for the meeting; it had already begun when he arrived at the hall around twenty minutes to eight. He supplied the names of the chairman and various committee members who could vouch for the fact that he had attended the meeting.
Kelsey asked if he always drove home on a Friday afternoon from the last site he visited, if it wasn’t more usual for him to return first to his office. Ian didn’t answer immediately. ‘We can check with your boss,’ Kelsey reminded him.
Ian moved his head. ‘It depends how many sites there are, what time I finish. If it’s early enough I do go back to the office, I make a start on my reports. If it’s getting on for five, or later, I come straight home.’
‘How often in the last couple of months have you driven straight home on a Friday?’
‘Once or twice, maybe.’
‘If at all,’ the Chief hazarded. Ian made no reply.
On the way back to the Cannonbridge station, as the Chief sat brooding beside him, something stirred in Lambert’s brain.
‘There’s a woman who knows my landlady,’ he said. ‘Comes to see her sometimes. They serve together on various committees, charities, good works. The woman’s name is Mrs Sheldrake.’
Kelsey came out of his absorption. ‘What about this Mrs Sheldrake?’
‘She has a daughter, Eunice. I’m pretty certain Eunice works in the Cannonbridge planning office. Clerical or secretarial work.’
‘Does she though?’ The Chief suddenly snapped into sharp concentration. ‘What kind of person is this Eunice?’
Lambert made a face. ‘Not my cup of tea. She’s a spinster, forty, forty-five, no raving beauty, an acid type. I don’t know her all that well. My landlady has the pair of them round to Sunday tea now and again. Eunice teaches Sunday School, they’re both strong church people. The mother’s a widow, her husband was an insurance broker, they’re pretty well-heeled. Mrs Sheldrake has a very good opinion of herself, very forthright views. I’ve always made my escape as quickly as possible.’ In his time he’d had to endure Mrs Sheldrake’s views on the Brazilian rain forest, community policing, the conservation of wetlands, modern methods of education, the preservation of dolphins, and a great many other topics; it hadn’t helped to digest his tea.
The Chief struck his hands together. ‘Just the ticket!’ he exclaimed with relish. ‘Can you get your landlady to invite the pair of them for tea this coming Sunday?’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’ The sergeant’s landlady was a shrewd, active, naturally inquisitive woman who had trained herself over the years into a necessary degree of restraint and discretion. Since he had become her lodger, Lambert had further trained her to ask him no questions–or, at least, none directly connected with his work. He foresaw no difficulty in persuading her to arrange the tea-party. Nothing the good lady would enjoy more than being allowed, however briefly, however slightly, to stir a finger in any little pie Lambert might be baking.
‘And this time,’ Kelsey added with energy, ‘there’ll be no question of you making your escape.’