‘Why didn’t you tell her about Eva and the shroom tea?’ asked Priya, as she and Francis sped back together towards Mold. The rain clouds had cleared away and it was another warm, sunny day, the clear blue sky dotted with occasional little fluffs of white.
‘The three of them are in enough shit already, don’t you think?’ Francis raised an eyebrow at his companion. ‘Anyway, we don’t want to share everything with her just yet, do we? Hold on to a few bargaining chips. So what do you make of the post-mortem result? Sounds as if your hunch about Rory might have been right.’
‘He’s definitely hiding something.’
‘You game to drop in at Wyveridge for a few minutes? Now we’re allowed, I’d quite like to have a quick look at Grace’s room, not to mention the battlements.’
‘Will there be anything left to see?’
‘Probably not. I’m assuming that’s why Julie’s letting us in. But you never know.’
This time there was no obstruction. Pieman had gone, to be replaced by chirpy Wendy. The radiophones had clearly been crackling, because Francis and Priya were let straight through, round past the diminished pile of coats and boots to the echoing empty hall. The sound of voices filtered along the corridor from the kitchen.
‘Another late breakfast?’ said Francis, leading on towards a powerful smell of toast and bacon. Rory, Neville, Eva, Ranjit, Carly and Adam were all sitting round the big oblong wooden table, open newspapers in front of them.
‘Here comes the great detective,’ said Rory snidely.
There was no point rising to this sort of thing; thanks to Priya, the guy would be getting his comeuppance all too soon. ‘Morning everyone,’ Francis said.
‘We’re digesting the latest newspaper stories,’ said Ranjit, waving The Times, which was open at a headline that read ONGOING MYSTERY OF THE MOLD DEATHS. ‘Nobody seems to have a clue what’s going on – even the Sentinel. The Guardian has misspelt my name and Wyveridge. And have you seen the Mail?’ He pushed over a double-page spread featuring a large picture of himself dressed as a maharajah. AT THE COURT OF THE INDIAN SVENGALI, read the headline. ‘Teach me to leave silly photos on Facebook.’
‘They neglect to mention that the Indian Svengali was born in Streatham,’ said Carly.
‘They’re so phoney,’ said Eva. ‘All this crap about herbal cigarettes and natural highs. If they mean drugs, why don’t they say so?’
‘Yeah,’ agreed Adam.
‘Libel, obviously,’ said Rory. ‘Until one of us has been done for possession they’re stuffed. And that’s not going to happen any time soon.’ He turned to Francis. ‘So what have you come for now, Clouseau?’
‘Just to have a look around. If it’s OK with you guys, I’d quite like to see the room that Grace was sleeping in.’
‘Nothing left, mate,’ said Rory. ‘The cozzers have cleaned it out. Laptop, clothes, the lot.’
Francis ignored this. ‘Are you six the full quota?’ he asked.
‘Conal and Fleur are still in bed,’ said Ranjit, casting an embarrassed glance in Priya’s direction.
At which the door pushed open, and a tousled Fleur appeared, in a cream silk nightie, pink pyjama trousers and bare feet. ‘Morning,’ she said with a yawn; then, seeing Francis and Priya, ‘Oh hi.’ She shuffled towards the sideboard and took two mugs from a wooden mug-tree.
‘Fleur,’ said Ranjit, ‘this is Francis Meadowes.’
‘Yeah, we met … last night … in the pub … hiya.’
‘And Priya Kaur.’
Fleur looked sheepish, but Priya had clearly decided to give the encounter maximum charm. ‘Lovely to see you again,’ she said, holding out a hand. In front of six pairs of eyes, Fleur returned the offensive with interest. ‘And you,’ she replied. Greeting complete, she turned to hover over the cafetière in the middle of the table. ‘Any of this coffee going begging?’
‘Help yourself,’ said Ranjit.
‘You were sharing a bedroom with Grace, I believe?’ said Francis, as Fleur filled two cups and splashed in milk from a nearby bottle.
‘Yes.’
‘Would you mind showing us?’
‘Oh for god’s sake!’ muttered Rory.
But Fleur flashed Francis her wide smile. ‘No problem. What – right away?’
‘If that’s OK with you.’
‘Come up with me now, if you like.’
‘Thanks,’ said Francis. He followed her down the corridor and Priya tucked in behind. ‘We don’t need to be more than a couple of minutes,’ he added, as they turned up onto the staircase. ‘Just be really helpful to get a feel of the layout.’
‘There’s not much left, I’m afraid. The police took pretty much everything. Hang on,’ she said, as they reached the landing, ‘I’ll just give Coney his coffee.’
She dived into a room off the main landing. ‘“Coney”,’ Priya mouthed, raising her eyebrows. From beyond the open door came the sotto mutterings of lovers. Then Fleur was back, a blue cashmere V-neck pulled down over her nightie.
‘We were just along here,’ she said.
At the end of the corridor was a room with tall windows that looked out over the gravel circle of the driveway. There were two single beds, stripped back to stained underblankets; two mattresses were stacked up against the wall. ‘I was in here with Grace and two others.’
‘And you slept where?’ Francis asked.
‘On a mattress under the window. Grace was in the bed by the wall.’
‘So,’ said Francis, looking around, ‘were you aware exactly what bits and pieces of Grace’s the police took away?’
‘Her bag and laptop. And her handbag, of course. That was it, I think.’ Fleur paused and looked down at the floor. ‘Sorry, it’s all been very hard to take.’ She sat down with a thump on the bed nearer the window. ‘To understand, really.’ Now she was sobbing. Priya went over and put a supporting hand round her shoulder.
‘It’s OK,’ she said.
‘But it’s not OK,’ said Fleur, in a voice that was halfway between a squeal and a shout. ‘How could those bastards do this to Grace. She was only twenty-four.’
Francis waited as she recovered herself. Priya was soothing her, gently stroking her neck. She had tears brimming in her eyes too, bless her.
‘Do you think it was “those bastards” who did something to her?’ Francis asked softly. ‘Or do you think she did something to herself?’
‘Like what? Freak out on some drugs trip, as people keep trying to suggest? Of course it was those bastards. I’m sorry. I know Grace really well. She doesn’t do drugs any more. She’s far too focused. She barely drinks.’
‘Any more, you say? Implying …?’
‘That she experimented at uni. Who didn’t? But even in her wildest phase there were two things she never touched, never wanted to touch.’
‘And they were?’
‘She always said that she didn’t want to risk trying heroin because you can get addicted with one hit. And LSD, because she was frightened she might have a bad trip. She used to say, “I’m mental enough as it is.” Through her tears, Fleur was smiling. ‘That was the whole point. She wouldn’t have touched Rory’s acid in a million years – or any magic mushrooms either.’
‘Rory’s acid?’
‘He was the one who had it. Sorry, didn’t you know that?’
‘Did you tell the police this?’ Francis asked.
‘They weren’t really listening. That fat guy taking the statements was full of, like, “You never know the odd things even your close friends can do.” But I do know. Even if someone had spiked Grace’s cup of tea or something, she’s just not the type to go jumping off roofs. If she’d realised what was happening to her, she’d have gone and sat it out in a safe place.’
‘So you reckon she was pushed?’
‘Without a doubt. What I don’t understand is why she was up on the roof in the first place. She knew I’d already filmed that view.’
‘And when did you do that?’
‘On Saturday evening. With Carly. We were just looking around the house and we found the window by accident. Then early on Sunday morning I took Conal up there too. In the dawn.’
‘Conal,’ said Francis. ‘Why?’
‘He wanted to see it for himself. I’d shown him some of the film I’d shot. On playback. Of the party and stuff.’
‘When?’
‘Just before. We’d all been chilling in the main room by the fire.’
‘Who else was there?’
‘A few of the others who were still up. Ranjit and Carly. Eva and Neville for a bit.’
‘So were they the only people who saw it?’
‘Yeah. Apart from that wounded soldier guy and his girlfriend.’
‘Anna and Marvin were still there at sunrise?’
‘No, that was much earlier. Anna came over to me while I was first reviewing the footage and asked me what I’d been filming. So I showed them. They both seemed really interested.’
‘I’ll bet they did,’ muttered Francis. ‘When was that?’
‘I don’t know. Around midnight, probably.’
‘So was everything you shot lost in the accident?’
‘I don’t know. The police took away my camera and obviously the memory card. But I’d already backed up the stuff from Saturday night onto my laptop.’
‘And you’ve still got that?’ said Francis, as levelly as he could.
‘Yeah. Everything up until Sunday breakfast. What I don’t have was what Grace filmed after that. So I’ve no idea who she spoke to in town. Or what they might have said. It’s a shame, but obviously not so much of a shame as …’
For a moment it looked as if Fleur might be about to break down again; but after a few breaths she had got herself under control.
‘I don’t suppose you’d be able to show us the roof now,’ Francis asked. ‘Where you were filming from?’
‘Why?’
‘It would be really useful for us to get a feel …’
Fleur shrugged. ‘If you want. Just let me get some proper shoes.’
At the end of the narrow top floor corridor, Francis and Priya scrambled out after her through the little side window onto the battlements. It wasn’t large, perhaps two and a half foot by three, and not designed for easy access, perched as it was three feet above the staircase; so you had, as Mrs Mac had told him, to pull yourself up to get through.
The battlements weren’t intended for recreation either. The slate roof came down to a thin strip of lead flashing – and that was it. Not that it was unduly dangerous; as Carly had said, it would have been hard to slip over by accident. The uprights – the merlons – were almost up to shoulder height, while the crenels in between were a good eighteen inches high. But it was still dizzying looking down, a good thirty feet to the terrace far below.
‘Goodness!’ said Francis, feeling a familiar rush of vertigo. ‘Quite a view.’
‘And Grace went over where?’ asked Priya.
‘Just along here. She didn’t get far.’ They followed Fleur along the flashing for ten yards or so, until they were right above Grace’s body shape, still clearly marked out with blue and white tape on the gravel. ‘You can see where she ended up.’
‘The police have presumably scoured this ledge?’
‘Yeah, the white suit brigade were up here for hours. And on the tower. Sunday evening and most of Monday. They weren’t talking to anyone except themselves, so I’ve no idea whether they found anything.’
Francis looked round, then down again to the terrace. ‘But there’s no way she could have fallen from the tower, is there? It’s too far along.’
‘No,’ Fleur agreed. ‘It must have been from around here.’
If her murderer had got Grace in the right position, Francis thought, between two merlons, her knees by a crenel, it wouldn’t have been too hard to push her over. If, that is, she’d been taken by surprise. One thing was clear. If she hadn’t been off her face on drugs, Grace must have known and trusted her killer.
Safely downstairs again, Fleur agreed to show them the footage she had saved from Saturday night. She fast-forwarded through some wider shots of the landscape, then came to the party spread out below her on the lawn.
‘Here we are,’ she said, ‘this is the stuff I did from the battlements while it was still light. Quite fun, seeing people moving from group to group. Look, there’s a couple snogging behind the gazebo; they have no idea anyone’s watching. After that I went back downstairs again.’
Now the camera was in the thick of it: heads turning, laughing; bare necks and backs; jewellery flashing; some people studiedly ignoring the lens, others making little self-conscious waves. The camera wobbled through a French window, past the table where the drinks were being served – garnering a quick thumbs-up from Ranjit – then swerved round to catch Bryce and Priya coming through from the hall.
‘Oh yes, sorry, this is you.’
‘I hadn’t realised we were being filmed,’ said Priya.
‘I’m quite discreet when I need to be. The thing is to keep the camera low and check the picture through the monitor. It’s only when you’ve got the viewfinder up by your eyes that people notice you.’
They watched as Ranjit spotted Bryce, then turned to give Priya an effusive double kiss. In the background, Conal crossed the frame and grabbed a flute of sparkling wine from the table. As he stepped out of the French windows, his head spun round to reveal an unmistakable glower of jealousy. Then he was gone.
‘Gosh,’ said Priya. ‘It’s all there, isn’t it?’
‘The camera never lies,’ said Francis.
From outside came the sound of cars braking sharply on gravel. Then the single whoop of a siren. The three of them got up and ran to the window to see four uniformed police officers and two plain clothes emerging from two regular cars and an unmarked silver BMW.
‘What do they want now?’ Fleur asked.
‘To talk to someone, by the looks of it,’ said Francis; he exchanged a smile with Priya.
‘D’you think we should go downstairs?’ said Fleur.
‘If they need you I’m sure they’ll find you.’
They returned to the laptop. ‘Oh look,’ said Fleur, slowing from fast-forward, ‘here’s Grace, talking to that soldier guy.’
‘That’s a conversation that’s going well,’ said Francis. ‘Shame you weren’t in earshot.’ Whatever it was Grace had just said, Marv seemed hugely tickled.
‘That’s the problem with this kind of subject,’ said Fleur. ‘Too much ambient noise. That’s his girlfriend, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Anna Copeland. Also his ghostwriter.’
‘Oh right. That’s probably why Grace’s doing such a number on them. It was one of her ambitions to be a ghostwriter. That or a famous columnist. She changed her mind about once a week. Now this is a good bit. When Rory suddenly pitches up and has a go at Bryce.’ Her face fell as she realised what she’d said. ‘Sorry, Priya.’
‘It’s fine … I’d like to see it.’
They watched as the encounter developed. As Fleur got in close, a few snatches of sentences could even be heard against the general party chatter. ‘What gives you the right?’ Rory was shouting, eyes wild.
‘Already high as a kite,’ said Priya.
‘Off his face,’ said Fleur. ‘Most of the time.’
‘Bryce does look worn out, though, doesn’t he?’ said Francis.
‘He’d had a long day of it, one way and another,’ said Priya.
They watched as Bryce said something final to Rory, then turned, yawned mightily and walked off down the bank. Then the camera was back on Grace.
‘Still chatting animatedly to Anna,’ said Priya. ‘Now here comes, oh my god, Family Man …’
‘Good friends with Anna and Marv, you notice,’ said Francis.
‘Now Grace gets introduced,’ said Fleur.
‘What a cheeseball,’ said Priya. ‘His face really does light up, doesn’t it?’
‘He can’t keep his eyes off her,’ said Francis.
‘There she is,’ said Fleur. ‘Going in for the kill with the notebook.’
‘He’s loving this,’ said Francis.
‘Classic Grace,’ said Fleur, and her eyes were suddenly bright with tears. ‘Look at that way she’s nodding. She’s pretending to listen while she thinks of her next question.’
‘Here comes the wife,’ said Francis.
‘Scary-looking character,’ said Fleur.
‘Lady Macbeth,’ said Priya.
‘That is a priceless expression,’ said Francis. ‘Proud of him being Family Man, allowing him his little moment of adulation, but not too long with pretty young Grace, no, there she goes, moving in. That doesn’t look like a woman who knowingly tolerates her husband’s bad behaviour, does it, Priya?’
‘Here’s you again,’ said Fleur to Priya. ‘Jonty and Eva were persuading you to stay at the party. Bryce looks mighty pissed off, doesn’t he …’
‘I should have gone back with him then,’ said Priya quietly.
‘Hey, check this bit,’ said Fleur.
Now she was five steps behind Bryce, as he paced alone along the terrace and on through the house. As he reached the gravel circle he ran towards a white car with ACE TAXIS MOLD 5555 on the side, which was just pulling out. He waved at it. It stopped. Then he was leaning into the driver’s window. The camera zoomed in, so you could see a dark figure in the back bending forward.
‘Goodness,’ said Francis. ‘It’s Dickson.’
‘Wow …’ said Priya.
‘Who else have you shown this to?’ asked Francis.
‘Just the people who saw it on Saturday night. And Grace, of course. We were laughing about it on Sunday morning. Thinking how well it worked with the earlier footage from Dickson’s talk. That’s one of the reasons Grace wanted to take the camera with her into the festival. She realised I had the chance of making a decent little film.’
‘The police haven’t seen this?’
‘No. And they won’t either, till I get my camera and memory card back.’
From outside, there was the crunch of feet on gravel. Then voices and the sound of car doors opening and slamming shut. The three of them were at the window in time to see Rory, handcuffed to DS Povey; Neville and Eva following on behind, escorted by uniforms.
‘Oh my god!’ said Fleur. ‘They’ve arrested Rory.’
‘Looks like it,’ said Francis.
‘Not for … the murders?’
‘The three of them lied on their statements,’ said Francis. ‘Which is never a good idea. If they’re lucky they’ll get off with wasting police time. “Attempting to pervert the course of justice” is the more serious charge. Either way, they’re probably in for a night in the cells, unless they’ve got a very good solicitor and there’s a court sitting in Dewkesbury this afternoon.’