Читать книгу A Fatal Secret - Faith Martin - Страница 14

The following Monday morning, Martin de Lacey of Briar’s Hall travelled into town and made his way to Floyds Row, where the mortuary and coroner’s office was situated.

He wasn’t particularly surprised to be regarded with some favour by the secretary who guarded the coroner’s inner sanctum.

At six feet tall, with dark, slightly receding hair, a luxuriant moustache and big grey eyes, he was used to women from 20 to 60 regarding him with a certain interest. It helped that he was a well-set-up man, who had a curiously scholarly look about him that gave him a totally spurious air of distinction.

He was not, he knew, particularly clever, but he was very comfortably wealthy, and his family had owned land in the north of the county for centuries. And he did wear his country clothes very well indeed.

Widowed, with two children, Martin de Lacey was usually very happy with his lot.

But not recently – no not recently.

‘I wondered if I might have a word with Dr Ryder please?’ He approached the secretary sitting at her desk and gave his usual smile. It was naturally winsome, and under the dark curl of his moustache, his teeth seemed rather more white and sparkling than they actually were. As a man of some social standing, he was used to getting his own way, and he foresaw no particular difficulties in getting his way this time.

‘May I ask your name, please?’ The slightly thin woman, who could have been any age between 40 and 60, asked the question with that friendly disinterest cultivated by secretaries who guarded the doors to their boss’s kingdom.

‘Martin de Lacey. It’s about the Edward Proctor case that he heard on Wednesday.’

It was now Monday, and already the papers had moved on to another sensation.

‘I’ll see if he can spare you a few minutes. Would you take a seat, please?’

Martin nodded, but didn’t, in fact, sit down. Instead he wandered over to the nearest window and stared out pensively over the cobbled courtyard and brick buildings of Floyds Row. He was uncomfortably aware of the presence of a mortuary nearby, and wished that he were walking across the fields surrounding his house, instead of feeling cooped up so close to all this death and unpleasantness.

He frowned slightly, wondering if he was doing the right thing in coming here. But damn it, he couldn’t just—

‘Dr Ryder can see you now.’ The secretary was back, holding open the door to the inner sanctum.

He nodded at her and strode in.

The first thing he noticed was the welcome fire, roaring away in the fireplace, and a rather fine landscape painting hanging on one wall. The man, who rose from behind a large and rather fine desk to greet him, seemed vaguely familiar.

Although it had been his land agent who’d testified at the inquest as to the condition of the Hall’s grounds – including that damned old well – Martin realised now that he’d seen the coroner around somewhere before. In a social setting.

At the golf club maybe? Or at the lodge? As he shook hands, he gave the Mason’s greeting, and was not surprised to have it reciprocated.

‘Thank you for seeing me,’ he said gruffly. ‘It’s a sad business I’ve come about, but then, I expect in your line of work, you’re used to that,’ he began pleasantly.

Clement inclined his head. ‘I’m afraid so. Please, take a seat.’ He indicated one of the padded chintz chairs that faced his desk, curious as to what could have brought the owner of Briar’s Hall to his office.

If he wanted to have any guilty feelings assuaged about the safety – or not – of the old wells on his premises, he was going to be out of luck. Clement was in no mood to play nanny to the landed gentry.

‘It’s about that poor boy, of course. Eddie.’

‘Yes?’ Clement said, discouragingly.

Martin de Lacey took a long, slow breath. He hadn’t mistaken that lack of empathy in the older man’s tone, and he knew he’d have to tread carefully now.

‘I’m not here to talk about the rights and wrongs of that well not being covered properly.’ He decided to take the bull by the horns. He’d always been pretty good at reading other people, and he sensed in the court official a man who wouldn’t suffer fools gladly. ‘We were at fault, and that’s that.’ He could see he’d slightly surprised Ryder with his blunt acceptance of responsibility, and felt a brief moment of pleasure. Martin was a man who liked to have the upper hand.

Feeling more intrigued, Clement settled back in his chair. Clearly his surprise visitor had something specific to say, and he rather thought it might prove more interesting than he’d at first thought.

‘So I’m not here to make excuses. I just wanted to get that clear.’ Martin de Lacey cleared his throat gruffly. ‘I’m here, in fact, not on my own behalf at all, but because of Vince. Vincent Proctor, that is, the boy’s father.’

‘Oh?’ Clement said, careful to keep his voice noncommittal. He recalled that the dead boy’s father worked as a farm hand on the de Lacey estate. But he wouldn’t have thought that that would put the two men on intimate terms – certainly not on the sort of terms that would allow Mr Proctor to think that he could ask favours of the lord of the manor. In the normal course of things, Vincent Proctor probably took his orders from the de Laceys’ farm estate manager anyway.

Except, of course, his son had just died, and in most people’s eyes, the head of the de Lacey family had to bear some responsibility for that. And that, of course, was enough to change the natural order of things somewhat.

‘Yes.’ The squire of Briar’s-in-the-Wold shifted a little uncomfortably on his seat. ‘You see, he came to see me yesterday and asked me to… well… to do something about his boy’s death.’

He now sounded as uncomfortable as he looked, and Clement raised one eyebrow in surprise. ‘Exactly what does he expect you to do about it? If he wants compensation, I’m afraid I can’t advise you…’

‘No, no, it’s nothing like that,’ Martin said, a shade testily now. ‘In point of fact, he doesn’t hold us responsible for his son’s death at all. And by us, I mean either my family, or the school teachers and WI members who organised the Easter egg hunt.’

Clement blinked, regarding his visitor intently. Martin de Lacey was becoming more and more interesting by the minute. ‘You mean, he accepts the fact that his son disobeyed the rules by straying outside the limits of the kitchen garden? That he was just doing what little boys did all the time – namely get into all sorts of trouble – when he tried to climb down or fell into that well?’

‘Yes. No. I mean…’ Martin took a deep breath. ‘The fact is, neither Vincent Proctor nor his wife believe that their son’s death could have been an accident.’

Clement slowly leaned forward in his chair and thought for a few moments. In the silence, the old clock on the wall ticked ponderously. ‘But if it wasn’t an accident, that only leaves murder – or manslaughter,’ the coroner pointed out.

‘Yes. And I know what you’re thinking,’ Martin de Lacey said heavily. ‘It’s the first thing I thought too, when he first came to me. I mean, if it is murder we’re talking about, who would want to deliberately kill a child?’

Clement blinked thoughtfully as the ugly question hung grimly in the air. There had been no signs of sexual violence on Eddie Proctor’s body – which was often the sad, disgusting cause behind the deliberate killing of most children.

The other most frequent cause of child death, as Clement and every police officer knew too well, was domestic abuse. But again, that tended to follow a certain pattern, and there had been no old injuries on Eddie’s body flagged up at the post mortem to raise the alarm. No broken bones that had been mended over the years. No faded scars, or more recent bruises.

After a few moments, Clement sighed. ‘Of course, it’s not unusual for parents to be unable to accept an accident or death due to misadventure,’ he said at last. ‘It all seems so arbitrary and unfair – they need to believe something more malign is at work. It makes more sense for them if they have somebody to blame.’

Martin de Lacey nodded. He would have to be even more careful now. It wouldn’t do to make a mistake at this point in time. ‘Yes. It was my first thought too,’ he agreed flatly.

Clement watched him carefully. He knew when someone was trying to manipulate him, and he was beginning to sense some other agenda was at work here. But that intrigued as much as it annoyed him.

‘Oh? And what was your second thought?’ he asked gently.

Martin looked at him, then quickly away again. Once more he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘Look, I wish you’d come and talk to Vince yourself. And I might as well come clean straightaway. Er… I’ve rather taken it on myself to have a word with our Chief Constable.’

Clement went rather still. ‘Have you?’ he said mildly.

Martin de Lacey flushed slightly. ‘Yes. Look, I’m sorry and all that, but one of the chaps at the golf club told me that you… er… well, sometimes look into cases, police cases, I mean, after they’d been closed.’

Clement smiled grimly. ‘I’ve been known to meddle once or twice, yes,’ he admitted with a slight smile. He could well imagine the horror stories the Chief Constable could have poured into de Lacey’s ear.

As if reading his mind, the squire of Briar’s-in-the-Wold shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

‘Quite. Yes, so I… well, I took the liberty of asking Sir Penfold if he would mind arranging it with the officer in charge of Eddie’s case to, er, let you look into things a little further.’

‘Is that so?’ Suddenly, Clement’s smile grew wider, because he knew that DI Harry Jennings was officially in charge of the Proctor case. And the thought of his reaction on being informed that once again he would have to put up with Dr Ryder’s interference was too precious not to savour.

‘All right, Mr de Lacey. I’ll talk to the boy’s parents, and if I think the case warrants further investigation, I’ll be happy to oblige you,’ Clement said, suddenly tiring of the game. One or two points raised at the inquest had been bothering him, and he wasn’t at all averse to being given the opportunity to satisfy his curiosity.

Furthermore, it had been some time since he and Trudy had worked on a case together, and he was looking forward to another break from his usual caseload.

Martin de Lacey looked relieved and then, rather curiously, began to look uncertain. Finally he merely shrugged and smiled, stood up and shook the coroner’s hand. ‘Thank you, Dr Ryder.’

‘Not at all,’ the coroner said briskly, rising to see his visitor out.

He walked back to his desk, feeling distinctly rejuvenated. Just what the hell was going on? It was unusual for an influential family like the wealthy de Laceys not to simply sweep unpleasantness under the carpet and forget all about it. Was it possible the dead boy’s father had some sort of hold over the family that went beyond their feelings of guilt over an abandoned well? The thought was definitely an intriguing one.

Clement gave a mental shrug. Well, whatever it was, he and Trudy Loveday were going to have an interesting time finding out. For, of course, the first thing he’d demand of DI Harry Jennings was that he release her from her usual duties in order to assist him.