She stood there for a while, staring as their car disappeared round the bend in the drive near Bertha’s cottage. They’d been
snooping around asking more questions. She wished they’d go away and leave them all in peace.
The telephone on her desk began to ring, an insistent, businesslike drone. Eva put on her working face, tight-lipped and efficient,
and hurried over to answer it.
When she heard the voice on the other end of the line she frowned. This was the last thing she needed.
‘Miss Liversedge. It’s Linda Potts – Denis Wade’s partner.’
‘What can I do for you, Miss Potts?’
‘I need to talk to you about something Denis told me.’
Eva’s heart began to beat a little faster. ‘And what’s that?’
‘Something about the night he died. He said something about meeting you and—’
‘Let me stop you there, Miss Potts,’ she said in a voice intended to freeze the blood in Linda’s veins. ‘What passed between
myself, Sir Martin and Mr Wade was strictly confidential and if you were to break the confidentiality agreement signed by
your late partner, there might be unfortunate consequences, legal and financial. Do I make myself clear?’
There was a long silence. Then Linda Potts spoke. ‘Are you telling me I won’t get that pay-out Sir Martin promised me?’
‘Take my advice, Miss Potts. Say nothing. Do nothing. Or, as I said, the consequences could be rather unpleasant. Good day.’
Eva Liversedge replaced the receiver carefully and stared at the telephone as though it had offended her in some way.
Linda Potts was a loose cannon. And loose cannons had to be controlled if disaster was to be averted.
‘Good job it was insured, sir,’ the constable said, looking at the blackened windows of Owl Cottage with a slightly smug expression
on his face.
Jack Plesance scowled. The last thing he needed was a policeman trying to be clever.
He looked at the cottage, still standing strong and upright although the areas around some of the windows had been flicked
with flames at the height of the fire, leaving blackened patches of soot on the shabby pink-washed walls. The structural engineer
had assured him that the fire damage was confined to the interior of the central section, including the staircase. It would
cost a fair bit of money to put that right and the smoke-damaged rooms would need redecorating, but Jack wasn’t too bothered.
The place had needed gutting anyway if it was to become a desirable second home. In some ways the fire, and the resulting
insurance money, had solved a few problems.
Jack nodded towards the crime scene tape. ‘When can I arrange to start work?’
The young constable drew himself up to his full height. ‘You’ll have to ask DCI Heffernan, sir. He’s in charge.’
Jack felt a sudden stab of irritation. DCI Heffernan again. He was the one who had Ian Rowe in custody. Ian had phoned him
when he’d first been arrested, wanting to know if he could fund a decent solicitor. Jack had recommended someone and reluctantly
agreed to pay when Ian had pleaded poverty. He’d been tempted to tell him to use the duty solicitor and get legal aid but
something had stopped him.
The constable’s voice interrupted his thoughts. ‘Nice motor, sir,’ he said, casting an admiring glance at Jack’s new Land
Rover Discovery. ‘Bet it costs a fortune to run, eh, what with petrol prices these days.’
Jack made a noncommittal noise. He’d only come to make a quick assessment of the damage to his property and he didn’t feel
inclined to get involved in a cosy male chat about motor vehicles.
He was about to return to the car when he noticed the young constable was watching him. ‘Big engine,
that model. Bet it goes like the clappers, eh, sir.’ He smirked. ‘In fact we know it does, don’t we?’
‘It’s not bad.’
‘But like I said, you have to take care on these roads. And we don’t want any more points on that licence, do we?’
Jack didn’t reply. He wasn’t going to let some cocky little copper spoil his day. He drove away but when he came to a convenient
passing place he stopped the Discovery and took out his phone.
When his call was ended he swore softly under his breath. He needed to see Ian Rowe but the police said it wasn’t possible.
Rowe was in the cells. Safely locked away.
Wesley was driving back towards Tradmouth, stuck behind a slow-moving caravan on a narrow Devon A road that left no room at
all for overtaking, when a call came in from the police station.
Gerry answered it and, from the one-sided monosyllabic conversation, Wesley couldn’t tell what type of news was being conveyed.
But when the call ended Gerry told him to turn the car around. They were going back to Dukesbridge. Linda Potts had telephoned
Tradmouth police station saying that she had important information and she wanted to speak to the officer in charge of the
investigation as soon as possible.
‘Hope it’s worth the journey,’ Gerry said as Wesley found a farm entrance and turned the car back to face Dukesbridge. ‘My
stomach thinks my throat’s been
cut. Think we should stop somewhere on the way? There’s a place that does nice pub lunches just outside—’
‘Let’s find out what Linda Potts has to tell us first,’ Wesley said quickly. Some instinct told him that they shouldn’t let
the call of Gerry’s stomach delay things. There would be a chance to grab a sandwich later.
‘OK. But you won’t be able to hear what she says for the rumbling of my guts.’
Wesley couldn’t help smiling. ‘I’ll take the risk.’
When they reached Dukesbridge Wesley found a parking space in front of Linda’s flat and sent up a swift prayer of thanks.
He hadn’t fancied driving round in circles for ages, wasting valuable time.
When Linda Potts greeted them Wesley could tell she hadn’t slept. There were dark rings beneath her eyes and she had the pale,
drawn look of the ill or the grieving. She wore a baggy T-shirt that hung off her thin frame, giving her the appearance of
a child dressing up in adult clothes that are far too big for her.
Gerry hung back at the flat door and Wesley realised that it would be up to him to do the talking. He held out his hand. ‘Ms
Potts, I’m DI Peterson and this is DCI Heffernan. I believe you’ve already spoken to our colleagues DS Tracey and DC Johnson.’
She nodded. ‘Yes. But I wanted someone in charge this time. I’ve got something very important to tell you.’ She looked round
as though she was afraid of being overheard and invited them inside. Wesley knew she was nervous. She fidgeted with the hem
of her
T-shirt, twisting it out of shape with her restless fingers as she invited them to sit.
‘I phoned Sir Martin’s secretary but she told me not to say anything. She said that if I talked to anyone I might not get
the pay-out Sir Martin promised me. He’s very generous, you know. Good to his employees.’
‘So I’ve heard. What is it you’re not supposed to say?’
She hesitated and Wesley was concerned that she might be having second thoughts. To Linda Potts Sir Martin’s generous pay-out
would mean the difference between keeping her head above the waters of debt or going under. She was probably wondering if
talking to the police was worth the risk. And it was his job to persuade her that it was.
‘Have you evidence that Sir Martin’s committed some criminal offence?’ he asked softly.
The answer was a shake of the head. ‘Not directly, no.’
‘Then why don’t you tell us what you know and let us judge for ourselves?’ He looked at Gerry for confirm-ation and the DCI
nodded enthusiastically.
‘That’s right, love. And I promise we’ll do our best to keep your name out of it. You’ll be an anonymous informant and all
that.’ His stomach gave a gurgle of complaint. ‘Pardon me,’ he said, patting his gut.
This seemed to lighten the atmosphere and even elicited the ghost of a smile from Linda. She sat silent for a while, staring
at her hands, trying to come to a decision. Wesley only hoped it would be the right one.
‘OK,’ she said at last. ‘On the night Den was killed he had a phone call. He said it was from Eva – Sir Martin’s PA. Then
he said he had to go out ’cause there was something she wanted doing.’
‘Did he tell you what it was?’
She hesitated. ‘Not exactly. But he said she was going to meet him and drive him somewhere. She wanted someone warning off.’
‘Who?’
‘Bloke called Rowe. He said this bloke used to work for Sir Martin and now he was threatening to make trouble.’
It was Gerry who spoke next. ‘How exactly was your Den going to warn him off ? Did he take any weapons with him or—?’
Linda shook her head vigorously. ‘No. Den wasn’t like that. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. He was probably just going to have a quiet
word, like.’
Wesley caught Gerry’s eye. In the real world people who threatened to make trouble weren’t warned off with a friendly word
in their ears. An iron bar had been found near Denis Wade’s body and Wesley couldn’t help wondering whether the security man
had brought it with him with the intention of doing Ian Rowe some serious injury.
‘Do you know why Eva wanted Ian Rowe warned off ?’
She shook her head again. ‘But whatever it is, it must be serious because Miss Liversedge told me to keep quiet. It must be
something bad, mustn’t it?’ she said, looking from one man to the other.
‘Yes. It must be,’ Wesley said gently.
The next move was obvious. They needed to speak to Eva Liversedge again. But first Gerry insisted on buying a sandwich from
the Dukesbridge branch of Winterleas, fortuitously situated two hundred yards from Linda’s flat.
Once Gerry’s hunger had been satisfied, Wesley drove to Bewton Hall. They had no trouble with the security men on the gate
this time. They were recognised and allowed through with a threateningly polite ‘good afternoon’. It was amazing how much
menace they managed to convey in those two harmless words, Wesley thought.
When they arrived at the hall Jane Verity greeted them. She looked nervous, as though she knew something was wrong.
‘How’s Ian?’ she asked quietly as she led them up the staircase to Eva’s office.
‘Still in custody. You didn’t tell us about his claim that he was Sir Martin’s son last time we spoke,’ said Wesley. He watched
her face carefully.
‘That was because I didn’t believe it for a moment. It was just wishful thinking if you ask me.’
Wesley nodded. This seemed to be what everyone thought. Ian Rowe was a fantasist. And from what he knew of Rowe, he felt he
would probably agree. But in these days of DNA testing, claiming something like that was more risky than it would have been
in times gone by. He wondered how Rowe intended to get around the scientific evidence.
Eva was waiting for them, an expression of cool indifference on her face, but beneath the mask Wesley suspected she was worried.
‘If you want to see Sir Martin again you can’t. He’s engaged. Some visitors arrived by helicopter half an hour ago and he’s
not to be disturbed.’ She looked from one man to the other, daring them to challenge her.
‘We don’t need to see him this time,’ Wesley said. ‘We’d like a chat with you.’
She looked at her watch. ‘It’s not convenient.’
‘Oh, I think it is, love,’ Gerry said, earning himself a look that would curdle milk. ‘It was you who ordered Denis Wade to
put the frighteners on Ian Rowe, wasn’t it? Were you doing Sir Martin’s dirty work or were you acting off your own bat? I
think it might be the second and when Sir Martin finds out …’
‘We want to know why you thought Ian Rowe needed silencing, Ms Liversedge,’ Wesley put in. ‘Was it about Rowe’s claims that
Sir Martin was his father?’
Eva seemed to wince at the words. ‘Ian Rowe is a liar.’
‘But Sir Martin was willing to give him an appointment. If he was such a nuisance, he’d have made some excuse not to see him.
He’s a busy man after all.’ Wesley looked her in the eye. He had the feeling he was getting somewhere. ‘It was you who tried
to make sure he didn’t get to see Sir Martin, wasn’t it?’
‘I’ve told you everything I know. Now if that’s all, gentlemen …’
She sat down and began to turn the pages of the
large diary on her desk. But Wesley wasn’t going to leave it there.
‘Why did you drive Denis Wade to the cottage where Rowe was staying? Why did you tell Wade’s partner to say nothing about
it? Come on, Ms Liversedge, we’re waiting for an answer. And if we don’t get one we can continue this conversation down at
the police station if you wish.’
For the first time, Eva Liversedge looked unsure of herself. ‘That won’t be necessary. If you must know it was about Rowe’s
claims to be Sir Martin’s son. I wanted to ensure that he didn’t go to the press. He told me on the phone that his mother
had died recently and left some papers. He implied they were rather … incriminating. But he could have been lying to cause
trouble. I asked Denis to search the place where he was staying to see if he could find them.’
‘Was that on Sir Martin’s orders?’
She looked up and Wesley could see a new honesty in her eyes, as though she’d realised that lying was pointless. ‘No. He knew
nothing about it. I was just trying to protect him. You know what the press are like, if they get a sniff of something like
this. Rowe was claiming that his mother was only fourteen when she had a brief relationship with Martin so you can imagine
the headlines, can’t you? Saint Martin Crace has sex with underage girl. All lies, of course, but mud always sticks.’
‘You drove him there. Did you hang around?’
‘No. I just dropped him off and told him to call me if he needed picking up. I didn’t hear from him again that night.’
‘That’s because he was dead.’
‘I wasn’t to know that.’
‘You didn’t feel you should go back to check whether he was OK?’
She shrugged. ‘For all I knew he’d taken a taxi back home or met friends in some pub. It wasn’t my place to enquire about
his social arrangements.’
Wesley glanced at the DCI who was listening, apparently fascinated. ‘How far did you tell Wade to go to shut Rowe up?’
‘I just asked him to have a word, that’s all. And I challenge you to prove otherwise.’