The Other Half Lives

22

‘If we work on the assumption that Aidan Seed strangled someone-an unknown woman-in the front bedroom at 15 Megson Crescent, that means he can’t also have killed Crowther,’ said Simon. He’d been to the bar and returned with a pint for himself and one for Charlie, though she’d told him twice that she wanted a vodka and orange. ‘The methods are too different.’

‘The situations might have been different,’ she pointed out. ‘One might have been spur of the moment, one planned.’

He was silent for a few seconds. Eventually, he said, ‘I can’t say you’re wrong, because I’ve got nothing solid to back it up. But… I don’t know, I’ve never killed anyone, but I doubt killing’s like cooking, where you might do it one way one time and another way another time: today you might microwave your baked beans, tomorrow you might heat them on the hob. I reckon for a lot of killers, there’s only one way they’d ever kill, either because the method’s part of a ritual that’s important to them, or because only that one way feels possible. Someone who’d lose his temper and strangle a woman in anger wouldn’t kill coldly and dispassionately with a gun-take away the heat of the moment and he couldn’t kill at all. A shooter wants to guarantee absolute control. He wouldn’t be able to face something as risky as a strangling, in case his victim overpowered him, or-’

‘Maybe,’ Charlie cut him off. ‘Maybe all this is true of most killers, but there could be one-let’s call him Aidan Seed- who has killed in more than one way. And who says you have to lose your temper to strangle someone? That could be planned, too.’

‘Milward said Seed wasn’t their suspect,’ said Simon. ‘At least admit it’s possible: Trelease killed Crowther either because Seed was spending time with her, or because he’d given her Abberton, or a bit of both. We know Trelease likes to keep her paintings to herself, doesn’t like the idea of other people getting their hands on them. We also know she attacked Ruth Bussey, Seed’s girlfriend-maybe she’s even killed her by now.’

Charlie groaned. ‘You’re going to say Mary Trelease is obsessed with Seed and she’s killing the other women in his life. That’s wild speculation even for you.’

‘Do you think we can assume Adam Sands in Martha Wyers’ novel is Seed?’ Simon asked.

‘Definitely. I phoned Trinity College, Cambridge. Martha Wyers applied for the job there that Aidan got. They met at the interview, like Adam Sands and the fictional version of Martha.’

‘Then I’m right,’ said Simon, as though this were a plain fact. ‘Trelease murdered first Wyers and then Crowther because she saw them as rivals for Seed’s affection. She’ll kill Ruth Bussey for the same reason, if she hasn’t already.’

‘How does Abberton fit in?’ Charlie asked.

‘I don’t know.’

‘And where’s Seed now? You’re saying Trelease made him drive her car somewhere at gunpoint…’

‘She’s killed him.’

‘How convenient,’ said Charlie drily. ‘Everyone I mention, you tell me Mary Trelease has killed them. Evidence? None, which is why you’re saying it to me and not to Milward or Kombothekra.’

‘Milward’s in no mood to listen to me. I fucked up.’ He glared at Charlie, daring her to criticise him. ‘She was coming round to trusting me, and I threatened her. She as good as threw me out on the street. As for Kombothekra…’ Simon sighed heavily. ‘He rang me before, wanting to give me an update. I called him a coward.’

‘A coward?’ Charlie was confused.

‘This situation-us being out of the loop, him breaking rank and drip-feeding us information-the way I saw it, it was win-win for him. He keeps us up to speed and buys our loyalty-no way we’re going to serve him up on a plate to Proust once he’s stuck his neck out for us, right? He can tell us as much as he wants without risking anything. The more he leaks, the more grateful we are, the more we return the favour by protecting him. To us, it looks like he’s going out on a limb because he’s on our side. To the Snowman, he’s the good boy who never puts a foot wrong.’ Simon shrugs. ‘Easy way for a yes-man like Kombothekra to look like he stands for something. That’s what I thought until Gibbs phoned.’

‘And now?’

‘I was wrong,’ said Simon. ‘Seems Kombothekra’s support for us is more public than I gave him credit for. Sellers and Gibbs know he’s been in regular contact with us, and he’s been doggedly fighting my corner with Proust, too. None of which I knew when I laid into him.’

‘Sam doesn’t hold grudges,’ said Charlie. ‘Tell him you’re sorry and tell him your overblown theory. For what it’s worth, I think Seed’s a hundred times more likely to have killed Crowther than Mary Trelease is. He’s got a real motive-Crowther spent three days torturing his girlfriend.’

Simon was shaking his head. ‘Seed’s not the sort to take revenge. Nor to harm anyone deliberately-which is how I know that, whoever he strangled at 15 Megson Crescent, it wasn’t planned.’

‘What? Where are you getting all this from?’

‘Have you heard of George Fox?’ Simon asked.

‘No.’

‘Born 1624, died 1691. He was the founding father of Quakerism, pretty much invented the whole thing single-handedly. Gemma Crowther rated him.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I went to an internet café when Milward chucked me out. You don’t have to charm information out of computers, or thank them afterwards.’

Or make love to them, thought Charlie. Maybe Simon would prefer to marry a Toshiba Equium M70. Charlie only knew the name of that particular model because she owed her sister one.

‘Crowther’s written about George Fox on at least four Quaker websites, quoting his words of spiritual wisdom like she thinks the sun shines out of his arse. On one of the sites, someone’s posted a comment with the heading “Cobblers”, taking her to task, someone with a not-so-high opinion of Fox. Guess who?’

‘Aidan… oh. Len Smith?’

Simon shook his head. ‘Seed used the name Len Smith for the Quaker meetings, when he was pretending to be Crowther’s friend, but online he used a different alias to pour scorn on her views: Adam Sands.’

Charlie’s eyes widened. ‘He called himself after the character in Martha Wyers’ novel, the one based on him?’ As if, after all these years, he wanted to endorse her version of him. Was it guilt, Charlie wondered, because she loved him enough to take her own life and he didn’t love her at all?

‘George Fox was an arrogant twat who wouldn’t be told anything by anyone,’ said Simon. ‘He was a tyrant-smug, rude, tactless, intolerant, unforgiving-remember that, it’s important. Worst of all, Fox dismissed the inevitability of sin.’

‘That sounds complicated,’ said Charlie, wondering what any of it had to do with Aidan Seed.

‘The idea that human beings regularly fuck up and need to ask God’s forgiveness when they do,’ Simon explained. ‘I grew up with the idea of sin. It was as much a part of my childhood as illicitly watching Grange Hill. That’s a Catholic upbringing for you-saying your Hail Marys every time you think a bad thought or lie to your mother.’

‘So saying Hail Marys is like writing lines, is it? Ten, fifty, a hundred, depending on how bad the sin?’

‘Pretty much,’ said Simon. ‘I hated it-still hate the idea of it-but I can see now that it had one thing in its favour: the emphasis on the difference between right and wrong, the idea that wrongs need to be put right. You have to say sorry, make amends. Basically the set-up is that God’s the boss, the Pope’s next after him, your parish priest’s next, then your parents, and you’re a piece of kindling waiting to be dropped into the flames of Hell.’

‘Sounds great,’ said Charlie. ‘What a carefree childhood you must have had.’

‘I’m not talking about me,’ said Simon, blushing, though he manifestly had been, unless Charlie was confused and it was George Fox who’d been watching Grange Hill. ‘Fox claimed he had the light inside him and was therefore incapable of sin-that’s tantamount to claiming he was God. Other people sinned, lesser beings, and when they did he withheld his forgiveness. Adam Sands had a story to prove it. I’ll show you the website, you can read it. There was another prominent Quaker, a man called James Nayler, who got himself in trouble for allowing some of his adoring women disciples to fawn over him in public once too often. He was accused of blasphemy, of parodying Christ’s entry into Jerusalem.’

Charlie rolled her eyes. ‘Some people really need to get over themselves,’ she said.

‘Nayler suffered a range of hideous punishments for what was seen as his blasphemy-he was imprisoned, branded, pilloried, whipped. Fox distanced himself from Nayler when Nayler was at his lowest point, and when Nayler got out of prison, a broken man, when he publicly repented and renounced his follies in several statements, wanting nothing more than to be reconciled with Fox, Fox rebuffed him.’

‘You sound like you’re quoting,’ said Charlie. ‘ “Rebuffed”?’

‘That was the word Adam Sands used. From his tone, he seemed pretty incensed that the founder of this enlightened, peaceful religion that promotes tolerance and forgiveness was a shithead hypocrite-guilty of the very same self-aggrandising attitudes he couldn’t forgive Nayler for. As Sands, Seed ended his contribution to the website by saying, and I quote, “Without contrition and forgiveness, there’s no hope for any of us. How can you want to be part of anything set up by a shitbird like George Fox?” ’

‘Did Crowther reply?’ Charlie asked.

‘Only in the words of Fox himself-a long quote, something about the New Jerusalem and how it’s only available to those who don’t vex and grieve the spirit of God. Those who do are beasts and whores, and they’re covered over by the spirit of error and dispatched to Babylon.’

‘Lovely,’ Charlie muttered. ‘I think I’m starting to get an inkling of what attracted the likes of Crowther and Elton to Quakerism. ’

‘Now can you see why I don’t think Seed’s a revenge-motivated killer? If you’re going to murder someone, why not just do it? Why pretend to be their mate and argue with them on internet discussion forums first?’

‘Here’s a question for you,’ said Charlie. ‘If Seed didn’t kill Crowther and was never planning to, and if he wasn’t her friend or a Quaker either, what the hell was he doing hanging round with her at all? Why did he give her Abberton?’

Simon’s expression darkened. ‘Not a clue,’ he said ungraciously, enraged as always by his ignorance.

Charlie opened her bag, pulled out the exhibition catalogue Jan Garner had given her and put it in front of him, wondering if he was in a fit state to pay attention. She could have boasted that, unlike him, she’d made real progress, but she’d have felt too cruel and, besides, it was about to become obvious.

‘The Murder of Mary Trelease,’ Simon read aloud. ‘Oil and watercolour. £2,000.’

Charlie passed him the sales list. ‘That’s two thousand quid eight years ago, don’t forget. J. E. J. Abberton mustn’t be short of a bob or two. Only one problem: his address, as listed there, doesn’t exist.’

‘Are you sure?’

She tried not to take the question as an insult. ‘I spent what felt like hours on the phone to 118118, checking and double-checking. There were eighteen paintings in Aidan Seed’s exhibition. Three were sold to real people with real addresses: Cecily Wyers, Saul Hansard and Kerry Gatti.’

‘You reckon Cecily Wyers is Martha’s mother?’

‘Seems likely, based on what Jan Garner said about a mother and daughter fighting over whether to buy a picture.’

Simon nodded his agreement.

‘Cecily, Gatti and Hansard bought one picture each, leaving fifteen. Those were sold to our old friends, the gang of nine.’ She read the names aloud, out of the alphabetical order she was used to. ‘Mrs E. Heathcote, Dr Edward Winduss, Mr P. L. Rodwell, Sylvia and Maurice Blandford, Mrs C. A. Goundry, Ruth Margerison, Mr J. E. J. Abberton, E. & F. Darville, Professor Rodney Elstow. The Darvilles bought four pictures, Rodney Elstow three and Dr Edward Winduss two. The others bought one each.’ Charlie paused to take a quick breath. ‘The addresses Jan’s written down for these nine buyers don’t exist. Or rather, eight of them don’t exist at all, and one-’

‘They’re not ex-directory?’

‘Nope.’

‘I don’t suppose it’s possible none of the nine has a telephone, ’ said Simon.

‘How likely is that? Anyway, no. I rang the post office once I’d finished with directory enquiries. They don’t exist, Simon. Apart from Ruth Margerison’s.’

Simon looked down at the list. ‘Garstead Cottage, The Avenue, Wrecclesham…’

‘Villiers is in Wrecclesham, the boarding school Wyers and Trelease went to. While I was on to the post office, I asked for the school’s postcode and full address, and guess what also turned up under the “Villiers” listing? Ruth Margerison’s address and postcode.’

Simon frowned. ‘I don’t follow.’

‘Villiers’ grounds are so vast, they cover several postcodes. There are about twenty school buildings in total, all listed individually. One of them’s Garstead Cottage. It’s even on The Avenue, which must be the name of a road within the grounds. I rang Villiers, asked to be put through to Ruth Margerison at Garstead Cottage, and was told nobody by that name lived there.’

‘Did you ask who did?’

‘Yeah, and I got nowhere. Every time I ring that place, I get tight-lipped politeness and no help whatsoever. No one wants to talk about Martha Wyers.’

‘We need to get down there.’ Simon drained the dregs of his pint. ‘We’re the police-they have to talk to us. They don’t know we’re unofficially suspended.’

‘I rang Jan Garner in the cab on the way here,’ said Charlie. ‘Asked her if she had records of how all these people paid for their pictures. She didn’t, not that far back, and she couldn’t remember. All that’s on the sales sheet for each painting is a tick, to indicate the buyer’s paid. She says at least one paid in cash-she remembered that because it was so unusual.’

‘If the addresses don’t exist, maybe the people don’t either,’ said Simon.

‘One thing Jan did remember: most of them she didn’t meet in person. She said only three of the pictures sold at the private view.’

‘Cecily Wyers, Kerry Gatti and Saul Hansard?’

‘She couldn’t say for sure, but she said it was possible. Most of the others rang up later. Payment and merchandise were exchanged by post and courier.’

Simon frowned. ‘Is that usual?’

‘Jan says not. She took it as a mark of how far word had spread about Aidan’s work-that people were buying it without having seen it. Two of the nine, Elstow and Winduss, said they wanted first refusal on any paintings Seed did in the future-Jan made a note of it on the file.’

‘Bit gullible, isn’t she? All these buyers she’s never laid eyes on…’

‘She was making money, selling pictures-she’s hardly going to question that, is she?’ said Charlie. ‘The most successful exhibition she’s ever had.’

‘Villiers.’ Simon stood up, picked up his book. ‘That’s my next port of call. Coming?’

‘Shouldn’t we take this to Milward first?’ Charlie asked.

‘You can if you want,’ said Simon. ‘I’ll bow out. If I see her again, I’ll end up decking her.’

Charlie couldn’t imagine Milward would be interested in a catalogue from a years-old art exhibition. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ll head back home. One of us needs to talk to Kerry Gatti and it looks like that one’s going to have to be me.’ She sighed. ‘My lucky day. Yet another one.’