Sight Unseen

SEVEN

Jane Questred never made the call Sharp had so confidently anticipated. But she was in touch, via her husband, who phoned Umber during a late breakfast the following morning. Hearing Edmund Questred's voice, Umber at once expected to be told that she had refused to see them. But not so.

Two hours later, Sharp nosed the van through the open gate next to Swanpool Cottage and pulled up in front of the garage. The cottage was timber-framed and thatched, every bit as chocolate-box as Abigail Nevinson had claimed. A swag of wisteria obscured the gable end. The brickwork, where visible, was intricately patterned and immaculately pointed. Grand it might not have been, but beautiful it certainly was.

The front door opened as they approached and Jane Questred stepped out to greet them. A slim, elegant woman in her mid-fifties with grey-blonde hair and delicate features, she was dressed plainly in a dark top and black trousers. Her expression was studiously neutral. She looked less wary than cautious, self-controlled and better equipped to cope with an intrusion from her traumatic past than her husband's protectiveness had suggested.

'Mr Sharp. Mr Umber.' They shook hands. 'You found your way, then.'

'Thank you for agreeing to see us, Mrs Questred,' said Sharp.

'Did I have a choice in the matter?'

The question went unanswered as she led them into a surprisingly large sitting room that looked as photogenic as the exterior, pastel-toned sofas and downland watercolours blending tastefully with exposed beams and a big, rough-hewn fireplace. There was an aroma of freshly ground coffee, explained by a cafetiere standing with some cups and saucers on a table in front of the fire.

'I've just brewed some coffee,' said Jane Questred. 'Would you like some?'

They accepted. Coffee was poured. Seats were taken. Umber's armchair put him at eye-level with a silver-framed photograph of a blonde-haired teenage girl in riding kit, being nuzzled by a pony. She looked happy and carefree, unburdened by any sense that she had succeeded or replaced two other girls who had never reached their teens. He half-heard Sharp uttering some 'Nice place you've got here' platitude. But it at once became obvious that Jane Questred had no intention of trading in platitudes.

'Edmund advised me not to meet you. I generally take his advice. In fact, the only reason I didn't in this case… was you, Mr Umber.'

'Me?'

'You're here for Sally's sake, I gather. Well, I'm seeing you for her sake as well. Oliver and I… eased some of our grief… by blaming her for what happened. I should have taken the trouble, if not at the time then later, to make it clear to her that I never truly held her responsible. If I'd been there instead of her, it would probably have turned out the same. When I heard she'd died… well, I'm so sorry… I neglected her feelings.'

'They were your daughters, Mrs Questred,' said Umber. 'It was only natural for you to blame Sally to some extent. She understood that – most of the time.'

'I'm glad she did.'

'What she couldn't understand was your willingness to accept Brian Radd's confession. She never wavered in her certainty that there were two men in the van.'

'It's easy to be confused in such a situation. I'm sure Sally believed there were two men. Eyewitnesses often contradict each other. Isn't that so, Mr Sharp?'

'It is, yes. But there's no contradiction here. There never were any eyewitnesses who swore there was only one man.'

Jane Questred spread her hands on her lap. She had schooled herself to remain calm, Umber sensed, to become neither angry nor upset, to answer their questions coolly and rationally. 'Why should Radd confess to something he hadn't done?'

'I mean to ask him that myself.'

'You do?'

'Is there some reason I shouldn't?'

'No. It's just… I didn't realize you meant to take things that far.'

'I should have made it my business to question Radd a long time ago.'

'Do you really believe he did it, Mrs Questred?' Umber asked.

'Yes.' Her certainty was implacable. 'I do.'

'I've only seen a head-and-shoulders press photograph of Radd, of course, but he doesn't look much like the man I saw at Avebury.'

'But you only had a fleeting glimpse.'

'True. I couldn't swear it wasn't Radd. What surprises me is your confidence that it was.'

'He confessed.'

'Even so…'

'Your daughter, Mrs Questred?' Sharp nodded towards the picture Umber had noticed earlier.

'Yes.'

'Nice-looking girl. Takes after you.'

'Thank you.'

'How old is she?'

'Katy's fifteen.'

'So, she must have been… a babe in arms… when Radd confessed.'

'Yes. I suppose she was.'

'You'd just made a… new start in life.'

'What are you getting at, Mr Sharp?'

'Just that… you might have been ready to… draw a line.'

'Your colleagues were happy to assure me of Radd's guilt.'

'They hadn't worked the case, Mrs Questred. I had.'

'What did your husband think about Radd?' Umber asked. 'Ex-husband, I mean. Mr Hall.'

'He believed Radd's confession. Everyone did. Everyone still does.'

'Sally didn't believe it.'

'I meant… everyone around me.'

'Your son too?'

'Yes.'

'What does Jeremy do these days?' asked Sharp.

'He runs a surfing and sailing school in Jersey. He's done very well. I'm proud of him.'

'It must be nice for his father, having him on the island.'

'Are you going to speak to them as well?'

'Probably, yes.'

'Jeremy didn't find it easy to cope with the loss of his sisters. How could he? His adolescence was… difficult. Oliver and I getting divorced didn't help. But Jeremy's put those troubles behind him now. I don't want him being forced to relive them all over again.'

'We can't force anyone to do anything.'

'You can rake up a lot of stuff he's better off forgetting. Speak to Oliver if you must. But, please, don't bother Jeremy.'

Sharp seemed wrong-footed by the request. He had admitted to Umber that he should have done a better job of investigating the Avebury case. Perhaps the least he owed Jane Questred was to spare her son's feelings. 'I'll, er… see what I can do.'

'Does that mean you'll leave Jeremy alone?'

'It means… I will if I can.'

'Do you see much of him, Mrs Questred?' Umber asked in an attempt to defuse the moment.

'Not as much as I'd like. He's too busy to leave Jersey very often. And if I go to see him, well… there's his stepmother to consider. It's… not easy.'

'I don't suppose it is.'

'And people going over there to stir up the past to no purpose won't help one little bit.'

'I wouldn't say to no purpose,' put in Sharp.

'Wouldn't you? Then perhaps you'd like to tell me what you hope to achieve by going into all this again. I expected you to bring something to me, Mr Sharp – some compelling reason for reopening old wounds that for some of us have never properly healed. But you've brought nothing. There's -' She broke off, aware that her self-control had faltered. 'Why are you doing this?'

A better explanation than she had so far been given was clearly called for. Sharp cleared his throat and cast a darting glance at Umber – a warning glance, it seemed.

'I had an anonymous letter, Mrs Questred. It said the truth about the Avebury case had never come out, but could still be uncovered if I was willing to make the effort. So…'

'You decided to make the effort.'

'Yes.'

'On the basis of an anonymous letter.'

'Yes.'

'May I see it?'

'I'm afraid not. I… destroyed it.'

'What?'

'I threw it on the fire. It was… my instant reaction. Later, I… decided I ought to… do something about it.'

'So, you haven't seen this letter either, Mr Umber?'

'Er, no.'

'How very convenient.'

'It's not -'

'I don't believe you, Mr Sharp. It's as simple as that. Destroying evidence would go against the grain even for a retired police officer.'

'I can assure -'

'Either there was no letter and you've simply dreamt it up as an excuse or there was a letter, which you've kept and almost certainly shown Mr Umber but aren't prepared to show me, because…' She looked Sharp in the eye. 'Why, I wonder? Because you think I might have written it?'

'No. I don't think that.'

'Then it must be because you think I might recognize the writing, but wouldn't tell you if I did.'

'There's no question of that, Mrs Questred. I -'

'I've heard enough.' The words echoed those Umber had spoken to Percy Nevinson. And he could hardly say they were any less justified. 'I must ask you both to leave.' Jane Questred rose to her feet and glared down at Sharp. 'I don't suppose there's anything I can do to stop you going on with this. But I'll try, believe me. For a start, I'll complain to the Chief Constable.'

Sharp stood up slowly and returned her gaze. He seemed minded to utter some retort, but he must have thought better of it. With a twitch of his head to Umber, he turned towards the door.

'I'm sorry, Mrs Questred,' Umber murmured as he moved past her.

'Mr Umber,' she said softly.

'Yes?' He stopped and looked at her.

'Edmund said you seemed surprised that I hadn't moved out of the area.'

'I was. A little.'

'You shouldn't be. I have two daughters buried here, remember. Miranda, in Marlborough Cemetery. And Tamsin, somewhere in Savernake Forest. Oliver wanted to have Miranda cremated, but I insisted on burial. I knew instinctively Tamsin was in the forest, long before Radd confessed. I often go there to be close to her. And to the cemetery, of course, to be close to Miranda. I failed them in life. I mustn't fail them in death.' She touched Umber's arm. 'Let them rest in peace. Please. For everyone's sake.'

'Not an entirely successful visit,' said Umber a few minutes later, as they started back along the Marlborough road.

'I cocked it up,' Sharp growled. 'You don't need to rub it in.'

'You shouldn't have lied to her, George.'

'I had no choice. We can't show her the letter, like she said, we wouldn't be able to trust her. She didn't send it. That's clear. But she might have good reason to protect whoever did.'

'Perhaps we should do as she asked. Lay off.'

'Not before I tackle Radd.'

'When will you go?'

'Right away. It's just possible Mrs Questred might be able to get me barred from the prison. There's no time to be lost.' Sharp cocked his wrist for a view of his watch. 'I don't know if I can make it up there before visiting hours end for the day. But I'm going to have to try.'

Sharp was in a hurry. But Umber suddenly had time on his hands. After Sharp had dropped him off in Marlborough High Street he walked up to the cemetery, set high on the hills north of the town. It was not a large cemetery. It did not take him long to find the grave he was looking for.

MIRANDA JANE HALL

1974-1981

SUFFER THE LITTLE CHILDREN TO COME UNTO ME,

AND FORBID THEM NOT: FOR OF SUCH IS THE

KINGDOM OF GOD

MARK 10:14

From where he was standing there was a clear view across the valley of the grey-green swathe of Savernake Forest. Whenever Jane Questred visited Miranda's grave she could also see the place where she believed Tamsin had been laid in the earth. And she had been to the cemetery recently. There were fresh daffodils in the vase beneath the headstone. Perhaps she had been that very morning.

He walked slowly back down the hill into the town, turning over in his mind the question of what he should do for the best.

He did not hear from Sharp until early evening.

'The traffic was hell. I was way too late for visiting. I'm going to kip in Molly tonight and try my luck tomorrow.'

'OK.'

'Anything to report?'

'Nothing.'

'I don't know when I'll get back to Marlborough. It could be late.'

'Understood.'

'Until then, just sit tight.'

"Will do.'

But Umber had no intention of sitting tight.