Private Investigations

Twenty-Seven

‘Did your Cheeky have much to say when you got home?’ Sammy Pye asked his colleague.

‘“What’s that fucking smell?”’ Haddock replied, ‘and that’s word for word. She went on to ask where the fire had been. It shows you how much of a barrier those paper suits really are. How about Ruth?’

‘She said something similar when I crawled in beside her at two o’clock. We should have had a shower after the autopsies, I suppose.’

‘I don’t think Professor Grace was for sharing.’

‘Maybe not.’ The DCI looked sideways. ‘You didn’t have to come, you know. One police witness would have been enough.’

‘Yes I did. You’d already done one yesterday. It’s you that could have skipped it.’

‘Did you sleep much?’

‘You are fucking joking, gaffer, aren’t you?’

‘I suppose,’ Pye conceded. ‘Me neither; maybe a couple of hours. I had coffee for breakfast; I didn’t fancy anything else.’

The DS stared at him. ‘No? I was starving. I’d a roll and black pudding.’

‘Ohhh! Stop it, you bastard.’

‘It’s okay, I’m joking. My nostrils still feel like they need to be steam cleaned. Maybe we can grab something a bit later, after we’ve seen this householder.’

They had retraced their route from the previous evening, past the Flotterstone Inn and past the clearing where the burned-out Aygo still stood, and where crime scene officers continued to work in the cold, crisp winter morning air.

Two hundred yards further along the narrow roadway, Pye slowed, coming almost to a halt as they approached a stone-pillared gate that marked the entrance to a driveway, leading to an impressive white villa. He turned in, parking well short of a double garage that was set to the right of the dwelling.

The crunch of tyres on gravel had announced their arrival. As they walked up to the front door, it opened and a woman stepped into view. She was tall, wearing tan trousers that could have been moleskin, and a check shirt, hanging loose. Her hair was golden brown, with a sheen that Pye reckoned had cost well into three figures at one of the city’s top hairdressers.

‘You’ll be the police, I suppose,’ she exclaimed as they approached. ‘I’m Nancy Walker. You’ve missed my husband, I’m afraid. He had to leave for the office.’

Pye was not impressed. ‘Even though he’s a witness in our investigation, and you were told we were coming to see you first thing this morning?’

‘Even so. Roland is a senior civil servant, gentlemen, very senior; he has a meeting with the Secretary of State at ten, and I think you’ll find that the Secretary of State outranks you.’

The DCI’s eyes narrowed, as he and Haddock held up their warrant cards. ‘I think you’ll find that in this context, he doesn’t, ma’am.’

‘Be that as it may,’ Mrs Walker drawled, as she inspected the credentials, closely, ‘he’s gone and the world is still turning, officer. Life goes on.’

‘Not for Dean Francey and Anna Hojnowski, it doesn’t,’ Haddock snapped, his customary calm disturbed.

‘And who would they be?’

‘They would be, or rather they were, the two people inside the car that your husband reported burning last night.’

For the first time, Nancy Walker’s self-assurance was ruffled. ‘It was a car?’ she exclaimed. ‘I saw flames from the kitchen, a short distance away; Roland went to investigate, then he called the fire brigade, but he didn’t go close enough to see what it was. We heard no more, indeed we thought no more of it, until one of you chaps called us to say we could expect a visit. People died, you say?’

‘I’m afraid so,’ Pye confirmed.

‘That is unfortunate,’ the woman said. She hugged herself and gave a small shiver. ‘I suppose you’d better come in; you might not freeze out here in your overcoats, but I shall, pretty soon.’

She stood aside to allow them to enter a spacious wood-panelled hall. ‘Come along with me,’ she instructed, ‘and I’ll show you the view I had.’

They followed her along a corridor that led to the back of the house, into a kitchen that was flooded with light by the low winter sun. It was a mix of traditional and modern, with an Aga cooker and a farmhouse table, surrounded by fitted units and black granite work surfaces.

The sink was below the window. ‘Take a look,’ Mrs Walker said, gesticulating. ‘I was rinsing the salad when I saw the flames.’

The detectives stood beside her; from their viewpoint they saw a thick green stand of leylandii, capped at a height of around twenty feet.

‘It’s for privacy; we can’t see through and nobody can see in, but last night the light of a fire was visible even above that. I called to Roland . . . he was pouring the Prosecco at the time. He came rushing through, swore like a trooper when he saw it and rushed off again.’

‘Didn’t it strike you as weird?’ Haddock asked. ‘I mean, a fire out here in the middle of winter.’

‘This is the countryside, young man,’ Nancy Walker replied stiffly. ‘People do the silliest things here. They think they can park and have barbecues anywhere, any time, and they are all careless with their fires.’

‘In February?’

‘That is unusual, I admit. You’re telling me that two people managed to set their car on fire, with themselves inside it? Too preoccupied, I imagine, to notice anything until it was too late.’

‘Not quite,’ Pye said. ‘Before you saw the light of the fire, did you hear any noises?’

‘What kind of noise?’ She sniffed. ‘People having sex?’

‘No, I wouldn’t expect you to hear that from a couple of hundred yards away.’ A bizarre image of Nancy and Roland Walker leapt into his mind, and then to his relief it went away again. ‘Sounds that might have been gunshots.’

The woman frowned, placing her index finger against her chin. ‘Now you mention it,’ she murmured, ‘yes, I did. I’d just checked the trout that I had baking in the Aga, when I heard a couple of bangs.’

‘That didn’t alarm you?’

She shook her head, firmly. ‘No. Chief Inspector, there are deer in this area, and where there are deer these days, there are poachers. It might surprise you but gunshots are not unusual around here.’

‘Even at night?’

‘Especially at night: that’s when poachers work. I met one, a couple of years ago. He had radiator trouble and he came to the house to ask if we could fill his water can. He was quite open about what he was doing. He told me that he used a night sight; assured me that we were quite safe, that it could tell the difference between a person and a deer.’ She paused. ‘So, are you now telling me that the people in the burning car were shot?’

‘I’m afraid we are.’

‘That’s quite appalling. What is this world coming to?’

‘A good question,’ Haddock conceded. ‘Mrs Walker, have you seen anyone recently who was out of the ordinary?’

‘Around here, most people are out of the ordinary. You may think of this as an isolated spot on the edge of a busy city, but it isn’t. Further on up the road, the reservoir, and the one beyond, are very popular places. They’re stocked with trout; lots of people pass by here on the way to a few hours’ fishing. Some stay longer; I believe there is holiday accommodation. The fact is, if we see strangers here, we don’t give them a second glance.’

‘Don’t you feel exposed?’

‘No.’ For the first time, she allowed them a hint of a smile, although it was condescending. ‘We have complete faith in the police, and we have a very good alarm system, with cameras.’

Pye was about to remark that having a double murder a hundred yards from their driveway might make them think about reviewing their security, when he was interrupted by his phone, vibrating in his pocket. ‘Excuse me,’ he murmured, taking it out.

A warm female voice sounded in his ear. ‘Sammy, it’s Sarah Grace here.’

‘Hello, Prof,’ he replied. ‘It seems hardly any time since we left your place of work. You have been home, haven’t you?’

‘Not for long. There was a question from the autopsies that I wanted to answer as soon as I could,’ he could sense her smile, ‘and now I’m happy to say I have.’

‘Good for you. Does it take us any further?’

‘It might, although it might also need a bit of legwork on your part. Remember the stomach contents that I wasn’t sure about?’

‘I’ll never forget them.’ Pye’s own stomach threatened to heave as he recalled the moments of their recovery.

‘I’ve identified them. Dino and Anna had the same last meal, no more than three hours before they died: venison burger, in a bun. She had mustard on hers, he had piccalilli. I hope that helps you.’

The DCI beamed. ‘Oh I think it might. Thanks, Sarah.’

He winked at Haddock. ‘Our next port of call, after we do the press briefing,’ he announced. ‘Mrs Walker, thanks for your help. I don’t think we’ll heed to haul your husband out of his meeting with the Secretary of State. Nor will we need a formal statement from you; if there is anything else, we’ll get back to you.’

The DS waited until the front door had closed behind them before giving in to his curiosity. ‘So?’ he exploded.

‘Remember Jagger’s speciality burger yesterday?’ Pye retorted. ‘Well,’ he said, not waiting for Haddock’s nod, ‘after we left, he had two more customers.’