Cat Among the Herrings (14 page)

‘I see,’ I said. Then I asked: ‘How’s Jean?’

‘She died yesterday,’ he said.

‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.’

‘No reason why you should. Life goes on.’

‘It somehow puts the rest into perspective, though,’ I said. ‘I mean, the whole question of what happens to the Herring Field must seem wholly unimportant now.’

‘Quite the reverse,’ he said. ‘I’ll continue to do just whatever I have to do – whatever that proves to be – to preserve it for her. From my point of view, it’s holy ground.’

‘How are you getting on with the new standard letter?’ asked Tuesday, placing on my desk a china plate on which rested a neatly sliced pear and a folded paper napkin.

‘You were quite right,’ I said, eying the fruit suspiciously. ‘It saves an enormous amount of time. I’m trying to personalise them a bit, though, with a helpful comment or two at the end.’

‘Ooooh, how
sweet
!’ said Tuesday. ‘Can I see?’

‘Too late,’ I said. ‘I’ve sealed it up.’

She looked at me archly. ‘You are saying
nice
things, I hope?’

‘You know me,’ I said.

‘Yes,’ she said.

For a moment or two she tried to outstare me, but she was never going to succeed. She was a mere amateur up against a seasoned pro.

‘Whatever,’ I said. ‘I spoke to Catarina last night. Ethelred’s making no progress with that investigation at all. He’s come up with a second body, but he’s found it a hundred and forty years too late.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘Actually, thinking about it, that’s quite fast for Ethelred. I mean, since he has established permanent residence in the nineteen fifties, it’s only seventy years ago for him. It reminded me, though. There was a lead I have to follow up in the Robin Pagham case. Cancel my meetings for this afternoon. I’ve just arranged to go and see somebody called Martina Blanch. I have to get her to admit, over a cappuccino and pastries, that she’s a murderess.’

‘You’re not going to record your conversation with her in an underhand manner?’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, that conversation of ours that I recorded is old history. Anyway, you worked for another agency then – I was entitled to use an underhand manner. And I’ve destroyed, or more likely lost, the tape. Do I have to go on apologising about it for ever?’

‘You’ve never apologised about it.’

‘Haven’t I?’

‘No.’

‘How odd. I’m sure I meant to. I’ll see you later, then. And don’t try to open that letter I sealed. I just told him “well done”. OK?’

But I bet she did. People can be so devious.

‘You said you wanted to talk to me about Robin Pagham?’ asked Martina.

I placed my spoon carefully in the saucer, like narrators do in books when they want to illustrate that somebody is thinking carefully and in total control of the situation. I looked at Martina through narrowed eyes.

‘A plain yes or no will do,’ said Martina. ‘I haven’t got all bloody day.’

‘I bet I’ve got less time than you have,’ I said.

‘I doubt it.’

‘I’m sure of it,’ I said.

There was a sort of pause during which Martina pondered how much she could be arsed to play this game.

‘As you wish,’ she said. ‘Just tell me what it is you want to talk about – and stop playing with that spoon, it’s irritating.’

‘Fair enough. No spoon, then. So, Martina Blanch, you were in West Wittering on the day Robin died?’

‘Is that a question?’

‘It’s a statement with a slightly rising intonation at the end.’

‘Which is a question.’

‘Maybe,’ I said.

‘OK, just so that we can get away from this cafe before it closes, I agree a sentence with a rising tone at the end may or may not be a question, and I additionally confirm I was in West Wittering the day Robin died.’

‘You went there with Sophie?’

‘I drove down to Sussex with Sophie. I don’t quite see where this is going. You phone me out of the blue and say you need to talk about Robin. I cancel a meeting because you say it’s urgent. Since you’re a lawyer, I’d assumed it must be something to do with the assault charges or the will …’

‘Did I say I was a lawyer?’

‘Yes.’

‘Sorry – I meant literary agent. Slip of the tongue.’

‘So you lied to get me here?’

‘Yes. I thought I’d covered that already. So, Martina Blanch, why did you kill Robin Pagham? Was it in revenge for his attack on you? Or did you want to prevent it happening to other girls?’

‘I didn’t kill him at all.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Positive.’

‘A bit of a coincidence, then, your being in West Wittering that day, eh Martina?’

‘I suppose so. But I wasn’t there to see Robin.’

‘Why were you there?’

‘It’s a long story.’

‘I’ve got plenty of time, Martina.’

‘I thought you said you’d got less time than I had?’

Martina looked at me as if she had scored some sort of point, the way that Tuesday looks at me when I concede that apples aren’t that bad.

‘Just get on with the story,’ I said.

‘The day before,’ Martina began, ‘Sophie phoned me to say that Tom had contacted her and asked her to come down to Sussex. She wanted to know what to do.’

‘She was normally indecisive?’

‘Quite the reverse. But Tom had been acting weirdly. I mean, they’d been going out together, then suddenly he’d dumped her. A few months on, he phones up out of the blue, almost as if nothing had happened, and asks her out. So she suggested I should come along with her.’

‘Three of you on a hot date? Is that how it’s done in Sussex?’

‘Of course not. I would travel down to Chichester with her and she’d drop me off there and head off to Singleton to meet Tom. If all went well, I’d spend the day shopping and having lunch and then I’d return to London with her in the evening. But if Tom failed to show up or something, then we’d both shop or we’d drive out to a pub by the sea or whatever and we’d forget Tom Gittings ever existed.’

That seemed fair enough. A date with an emergency exit. I could have done with a few of those in my time.

‘But you also went to West Wittering? Not just to Chichester?’

‘Yes, it’s always the way. You allow plenty of time so that you won’t be late, there’s no traffic on the roads and
you arrive about an hour and a half too early. We drove down to West Wittering for a quick look at the place, just for old times’ sake, then back to Chichester in time for the shops to open.’

‘So, what time were you there?’

‘West Wittering? I don’t know – eight-thirty maybe? Nine? I didn’t keep notes. I do remember we hit the rush hour traffic going into Chichester, which actually made Sophie a bit late in the end. And most of the shops were open by the time I got there, but not all of them. So, let’s say around nine-thirty? Does that help?’

‘And you have proof you were in Chichester all day?’

‘I doubt it. Not all day. I suppose my credit card statement would show I’d paid for lunch and I did buy a necklace at Sahara. But, and this is a far more telling point, I had no reason to kill Robin.’

‘He broke your nose.’

‘Take a look at my nose – does it look broken?’

‘No, it’s very nice.’

‘Precisely. He hit me on the nose, but no permanent damage. I was pretty pissed off at the time, but the caution he got was adequate retribution. I actually said in my statement that I bore him no ill will, or something of the sort. I would have preferred to leave it at that. In my position I honestly didn’t want the publicity. It was the police who were keen to press charges rather than me. Quite right, I suppose – you can’t let people get away with that sort of thing. But it’s all water under the bridge. Why on earth would I want to kill him and take the risk of going to gaol, simply in order to get my own back for something like that?’

‘Fair enough. Sorry to suggest there was an ongoing nose problem, by the way. It looks fine.’

‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome. And everything went well with Sophie’s date?’

‘Sort of. I got a text halfway through the morning saying she was having a great time, smiley face, XXX – you know the sort of thing. That seemed conclusive. I went and had lunch. It was only later, in the car going home, that Sophie said it had all been a bit of a damp squib. She had no idea why he’d invited her.’

‘How odd.’

‘I don’t think so. Tom’s completely under his father’s thumb. I’d always suspected that Colonel Gittings disapproved of Sophie for some reason that I could never fathom, and that he got Tom to drop her. Seeing her again was some small act of rebellion on Tom’s part, but he didn’t have the guts to see it through. Letting “I dare not” wait upon “I would”, like the poor cat i’ th’ adage.’

I nodded. ‘Do you think they really said i’ during the sixteenth century? I mean, it’s easier just to say in. What was that all about?’

‘I don’t think Shakespeare was much good at accents.’

‘Don’t get me started on writers,’ I said. ‘I could go on all day.’

‘So, in fact you do have quite a lot of time to spare?’

‘Anyway,’ I said, ‘did Tom spend the whole date talking about his father?’

‘Strangely, the answer to that question is that he did talk about his father. I know because Sophie mentioned it in the car going back to London. Robin and Colonel Gittings
seem to have had quite a bust-up about some field that the colonel owned.’

‘The Herring Field?’

‘That’s the one. How clever of you to know that.’

‘Thank you.’

‘My pleasure. Robin had agreed to buy it or something, then he changed his mind. I think the Gittingses would have made quite a lot of money. The field was pretty valueless, but Robin was going to have a wind farm built on it. Then he decided not to. Tom’s father was furious apparently.’

A thought occurred to me. ‘Angry enough to kill him?’

‘He has got a bit of a temper. I wouldn’t have wanted him as a father-in-law myself. But, he’d hardly do that, would he?’

‘But he was in West Wittering. He could have been the person who called on Robin and gave him a lift to the sailing club. And he was in the army – I mean, he’d have known how to kill somebody. They actually teach you how to do it.’

‘I suppose so. Robin didn’t die in an artillery barrage, of course, but I agree that a soldier would have knowledge the rest of us lack. But – even allowing for all that – however cross you were that a deal had fallen through, you wouldn’t kill somebody, would you?’

I carefully placed my spoon in my saucer. ‘Unless …’ I said.

‘Unless what?’

‘No, you’re right,’ I said. ‘You wouldn’t kill somebody for that.’

‘Any other questions? I really don’t have much time.’

‘Yes, that’s it,’ I said, getting up and brushing the
crumbs off my dress. That must have been three – no, four – chocolate croissants; I’d tell Tuesday I’d had a small green salad.

‘Are you going to pay for those coffees?’ Martina asked. ‘I mean, you invited me here. I assume you’re not expecting me to pay?’

‘We could go halves.’

‘No, we couldn’t.’

I waved at the waitress. ‘Can I pay, please? Yes, both of us. Oh, and could I have a receipt saying small green salad and Evian water?’

The call came the following day. I was able to update Elsie on a few things and she was full of what she believed to be her ground-breaking discoveries.

‘And I think I’ve remembered where I first came across the name “Blanch”,’ I added. ‘I thought Tom must have mentioned Martina, but it wasn’t that. Then I thought it was because of this firm of venture capitalists who’ve been in the news – you know, Blanch Capital? But it wasn’t that either.’

‘Fascinating,’ said Elsie. ‘Any more things that it wasn’t?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘There aren’t. Do you want to know about this or not?’

‘Tell me and I’ll let you know afterwards whether it was remotely worthwhile.’

‘Lancelot Pagham’s sister’s married name was Blanch,’ I said. ‘Morgan Blanch. I saw it going through the old newspaper reports of the trial again. She’d died shortly
before the murder. Lancelot had been to visit her grave.’

‘So Martina could be a descendent of Lancelot’s sister? Is that what you are saying, now you’ve finally got round to saying anything at all?’

‘It’s possible. It’s not a common name. She obviously has some links with the area.’

‘Would that entitle her to any of the estate? I mean if he’d died without making a will?’

‘Maybe. I think she’d have needed a good lawyer, but you can go back several generations in the absence of a will or obvious heir.’

‘What if she’d already consulted one? A lawyer, I mean. What if she knew that, if Robin died before he married Catarina, then she’d inherit?’

‘Did she make any reference to the estate when you spoke to her?’

‘Yes, she did. She may have confused me with a lawyer at first.’

‘Really? She thought you were a lawyer?’ I asked.

‘These things happen. She wondered if I wanted to talk to her about the will. So, for once, you could be right. Like you say, Blanch isn’t the commonest name. If she is a descendant, and if she knew, it gives her a further reason for wanting Robin dead.’

‘If she knew.’

We both thought about this for a moment, then Elsie added: ‘Did the colonel know that one of his ancestors was buried on the site, when he started fracking?’

‘He hasn’t been fracking – he’s just applied for permission to drill to find out whether it would be possible. But, no, I suspect not.’

‘Look,’ said Elsie, ‘you don’t suppose that Robin was blackmailing the colonel? He could be the “old man” he referred to – the one who would provide the big payday. Maybe allowing him to build a wind farm on the Herring Field was his offer for keeping quiet about whatever it was. Robin wouldn’t take it – wanted more – so Gittings killed him. He was in the army. He knows about weapons. He knows about boats. He was around that day. He could have done it.’

‘No, I don’t suppose any of that,’ I said. ‘In the first place, Robin was going to get his money “when the ‘old man’ died”. You only get to collect from your blackmail victim while he’s alive. And there’s no evidence at all of blackmail. They actually seemed to be quite good friends.’

‘Tom succeeded in splitting up Robin and Sophie – with his father’s approval. That doesn’t suggest they were friends.’

‘True. But you’re coming up with reasons why Robin would have killed Colonel Gittings, not the other way round. I’ve talked to the police. Robin was involved in drug smuggling. There’s every chance that was the reason he died. I’m pretty certain of it, actually.’

‘Did Catarina say anything about drug smuggling?’ asked Elsie.

‘No,’ I said.

‘Did you ask her?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you ask her properly?’

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘I bet you didn’t. I’d better come down to West Wittering. If you want something doing …’

‘There’s no need. The police seem to know what happened.’

‘But I’ll come anyway.’

‘You’re not planning to stay here again?’

‘Thank you. I’d be delighted. That’s so kind of you.’

‘I may be out quite a lot.’

‘I’ve got a key.’

‘Have you?’

‘Yes, I forgot to give it back to you.’

‘I didn’t know I’d given you one.’

‘It was in the box in your hall.’

‘I’ll see you later, then.’

‘Same room as last time. Oh, and chocolate biscuits in the bedroom would be good. No apples. No pears neatly sliced on a plate with a stupid white napkin. I am allergic to sliced pear with napkin.’

‘Are there any other instructions you’d like to give me before you hang up?’ I used all of the irony at my disposal.

‘I’ll text you if I think of anything,’ said Elsie.

I was even more certain of my facts when later that day Joe gave me a call.

‘Thanks for sending Tom Gittings over to do a DNA test. That should prove who the body in the Herring Field was.’

‘I didn’t send him.’

‘You must have put the idea into his mind.’

‘Maybe.’

‘We’ve also got a bit more information on Robin Pagham. My two drug smugglers are a bit vague about dates, but they think that on the day Robin died they’d given him
some Rohypnol and some cocaine to take ashore.’

‘And they think he might have sampled the goods en route?’

‘Well, that would be the last piece in the jigsaw, wouldn’t it? He takes too much, loses control of the boat. It explains everything, really.’

‘I’ll tell Elsie not to come down, then,’ I said.

‘What?’

‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I think she’s just coming to get away from the diet her assistant is trying to put her on.’

Coincidentally I ran into Tom a little later in the village – I say coincidentally, but it’s a small village and we know each other’s habits. So it just happened that I was standing outside the pub at six o’clock.

I told him what I’d heard about Robin. He nodded absently. ‘I suppose I’m not that surprised he was involved in something of the sort,’ he said. ‘It’s funny the things that come out after somebody is dead.’

‘By the way,’ I said. ‘Did Martina Blanch ever mention that she was distantly related to Robin?’

‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘One of the reasons she first visited West Wittering was that her family came from this part of the world. She pointed out a gravestone to me – Morgan Blanch – her great-great-great-grandmother, I think. We later worked out that Morgan would have been Lancelot Pagham’s sister.’

‘She might have stood to inherit something if Robin had died without making a will,’ I said.

‘Really? You can go that far back?’

‘Apparently.’

‘I didn’t know that.’

‘But Martina might have known?’ I asked.

‘She was interested in history and genealogy and stuff. I think she once mentioned she’d done a family tree back to the 1660s. If she’d married Robin, she’d have got it all anyway, but she didn’t. Well, the past is coming back to haunt all of us at the moment – I mean the body in the field.’

‘Did you decide to go ahead with that DNA test?’ I said.

He looked at me slightly suspiciously. ‘Yes, I did. If the body is an ancestor of mine, I feel I ought to ensure that he’s properly buried.’

‘Does your dad know?’

Tom’s face was a bit sheepish. ‘I’ll tell him later.’

‘He wouldn’t approve?’

‘God knows. He’s been a bit odd lately. Moody.’

‘The field’s still yours?’ I asked.

‘Oh yes, the plan to sell it to Robin is obviously dead.’

‘One thing I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘Your father was annoyed when Robin changed his mind.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘Sophie,’ I said. ‘Well, indirectly.’

‘Yes, he was. Furious.’

‘Why didn’t your father just go ahead with the wind farm himself, if it was such a good scheme?’

‘I asked him that. He said it wouldn’t work that way. He said he’d explain one day, but he couldn’t now.’

‘It had to be Robin?’

‘Yes. Nobody else. He was cross because he said that Robin was hoping to get the field for nothing one day.’

‘He hoped your father would just give it to him?’

‘Yes.’

‘There’s no chance Robin was blackmailing your  father?’

‘Blackmail? No, of course not.’

‘Something in his past? Something from his time in Ireland, say?’

‘He was in the army. Everything he did was totally legit.’

‘But a lot of it was secret?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘So, why else would he just
give
Robin the field? What hold did Robin have over him?’

‘I’ve no idea. But whatever it was, Robin will never lay his hands on it now that he’s dead.’