Fatal Legacy (5 page)

Two poached eggs on toast, a slice of double back bacon with the rind trimmed off and grilled tomatoes, washed down with a mug and a half of strong sweet tea. Detective Sergeant Cooper was anticipating a difficult day, and that called for decent provisioning. His wife, sensing his mood of serious
determination
, said little as she made him a packed lunch. She knew that he was unlikely to find time for a proper meal if he was working with the Chief Inspector again.

‘There you are, love.’

He gave her a quick kiss of thanks that left traces of toast crumbs in her wispy hair, and was on his way out just as his son was stumbling down the stairs en route to the second sitting.

‘You’re off early, Dad. Working with Fenwick again?’

‘Aye, makes a change once in a while.’

Cooper lived within walking distance of Harlden Division, but today he would take the car. It took a couple of turns for it to start and he made a mental note to ask his son to have a look at it. He was a wonder with his hands, although being a mechanic at one of the local garages hadn’t exactly been what his dad had had in mind for him at first.

The seven-thirty news bulletin was just finishing as Cooper parked. He was only a little surprised to see that Fenwick was there already. Hey up, he thought to himself, I knew it was going to be one of those days.

The Chief Inspector was in his office looking cool, refreshed and eager. His eyes were bright and he was whistling to himself through a half-smile. Cooper hid his astonishment in a cough that brought Fenwick’s head up with a start.

‘Sergeant! Excellent. I had a feeling this was going to be a good day.’

Cooper shook his head, forgetting to turn his unhelpfully expressive face away. The ACC had stitched them up with this case, cancelled all leave for Easter and was now sitting back waiting to see the Chief Inspector he disliked most fail. And here was Fenwick, happy as a sandboy, without an apparent care in the world.

‘I know, Sergeant, I know. We’re not in a great situation, but it’s not hopeless either. I’ve had an idea and I’m going to join you today in this investigation!’

Cooper muffled a groan and unconsciously patted the lunch box under his arm.

‘We’ll interview Graham Wainwright, the other family members, the housekeeper and the management at the family firm, all very discreetly. I’m going to give us a day to see if we have grounds for further enquiry. Go and find DC Nightingale. She can help us out with the interviews.’

Cooper went to find Nightingale, fairly certain that she too would be in early. She was.

‘What are you up to?’

‘Packing, Sergeant. I’ve been sent off to the coast for three weeks over Easter.’

‘When do you leave?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘Busy today?’

Nightingale’s heart quickened in anticipation.

‘No, sir. One or two reports to finish before I go, but they’re almost done and I can easily complete them tonight.’

‘I keep forgetting just how keen you graduates are.’

Nightingale was on the accelerated promotion scheme, and now that Cooper had grown used to the idea, and to Nightingale, he no longer resented the new-fangled privileges it gave her. Besides, he had never seen anyone other than DCI Fenwick work so hard.

‘Come on then, the Chief Inspector hasn’t got all day!’

Nightingale tried hard not to grin like an idiot as she followed Cooper’s broad back along the corridor.

Graham Wainwright had moved temporarily with Jenny to a country house hotel in one of the folds of the Sussex Downs five miles away. The three detectives became entangled in early commuter traffic and didn’t arrive until nearly half past eight. There were new lambs in the fields that bordered the twisting drive up to the hotel, and Fenwick, Nightingale and Cooper each privately relished the first proof that spring had to be close at hand despite the lingering wintry weather. Graham and Jenny were still asleep when they arrived, so they drank coffee in a deserted cigar-smelling guest lounge as they waited.

‘Nightingale, you talk to Jenny Reynolds separately, see what she thinks about Graham’s worries and find out who else we should talk to as unobtrusively as you can. Cooper and I will work on Graham.’

They had to call the room a second time and in the end Nightingale was sent up to their suite to encourage Graham downstairs. He descended grumbling and unshaven as Jenny greeted the startled Nightingale wearing only a bath towel.

‘I’m DC Nightingale from Harlden CID.’ Jenny barely glanced at her warrant card. ‘Do you have a few minutes? I wanted to talk to you about Mr Wainwright’s concerns over his father’s death. Has he shared these with you?’

‘Oh, yes. Graham shares everything, can’t keep a secret to save his life. Oops, now there’s a slip. Forget I said that. Come in. I’ve ordered coffee and juice. Ignore me while I get dressed.’

Nightingale did her best, but Jenny had a model’s disregard for nudity whilst Nightingale had been to a school where the girls still avoided communal showers. By the time refreshments arrived, Jenny had finally decided on old black jeans and an extraordinary fuchsia-pink cropped sweatshirt, having
apparently
tried on everything else from her wardrobe, cocktail dresses included. As she dressed she chatted to Nightingale as if they were old friends. Jenny was only a few years younger than the detective and supposedly in the third year of a
four-year
honours degree in psychology. Since she had met Graham, though, whilst out clubbing in London, she hadn’t attended a single lecture. For the past three months she had abandoned her original plans for the future as she had fallen further and further
in love with him. She explained that he had a certain schoolboy charm under the playboy façade that she found captivating, and a warm heart and generous nature that he was usually at pains to conceal.

She told Nightingale that Graham was genuinely worried but she had no idea why. In her opinion there had been nothing sinister about his father’s death: no threats or unusual
circumstances
had preceded it. Other people, though, had been worrying at Graham and airing their concerns that his death had not been a suicide. It had come to a head during the recent Memorial Service for his father, after which he had felt that he had no option but to go to the police.

Jenny’s theory was that Graham was experiencing genuine guilt and regret. Not that his father had ever shown him any affection, far from it. He had packed him off to boarding school with glee at the first opportunity and they had never formed a close relationship. As a result, Graham had virtually ignored his father whilst he was alive and Jenny’s theory was that, now that it was too late to make amends, he felt guilty.

It all sounded plausible to Nightingale, who listened, made notes and gathered the names of other family members. As Jenny talked, she became curious about her relationship with Alan Wainwright’s son.

‘How long have you known Graham?’

‘Since January, nearly three months. I think it’s a record for him!’

‘He’s in demand, then?’

‘Oh, always. He’s one of Britain’s more eligible bachelors, but I don’t mean to make him sound awful. Once you get past the fact that he’s just an overgrown, spoilt schoolboy, he’s lovely. A very kind man.’ She hesitated for the first time and Nightingale sensed that she was holding something back.

‘There is something that’s worrying you, though. What is it?’

Jenny sat down on the edge of the crumpled bed and ran her fingers through long blonde hair.

‘He’s become obsessive about Alex’s wife, Sally. He has a private investigator following her around and they meet nearly every day. He won’t tell me what they discuss.’

‘I thought you said that he was open with you, couldn’t keep secrets.’

‘He is on everything else. It’s just this thing with Sally. He can’t stop thinking about her and he believes she’s somehow involved in his father’s death.’

‘Forgive me for asking, but is Sally very pretty?’

Jenny flushed and glared at Nightingale, but her voice remained controlled.

‘Yes, she’s a perfect English rose – gorgeous complexion, natural ash-blonde hair, very pretty and great legs – but I don’t think he fancies her. In fact, quite the opposite. I think he hates her. To be fair, her past is pretty vague, and in the few times I’ve met her I have seen her wrap men around her little finger, but that’s hardly grounds to suspect her of murdering his father!’

‘Is that what he thinks?’

‘He’s never said so directly, but he can’t get over the fact that his father died so conveniently after changing his will and only a few months after meeting Sally.’

‘I see. This is all conjecture, isn’t it?’

‘Of course it is! But you don’t understand Graham. He doesn’t work, he jumps from hobby to hobby, desperately trying to find something meaningful, and he’s eaten up with guilt over his father. He’s not a playboy, he’s just a caring, deeply sensitive, unfulfilled man.’

‘You’re fond of him, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, very.’

Nightingale left to rejoin Fenwick and Cooper where they sat enduring Graham’s chain-smoking. Although he was
unshaven
and scruffily dressed, he exuded a certain charm that was about more than money. After he left Fenwick turned to her with quizzically raised eyebrows.

‘Anything?’

‘Not really, sir. Jenny thinks it’s guilt, and she seems to know Graham quite well. She’s very worried about him, though. Since his father’s death he’s become obsessed, and he blames his cousin’s wife Sally in some way. He’s even hired a private detective.’

‘I know, he told us, but so far all the man’s found out is that Sally Wainwright-Smith changed her maiden name years ago
and that there are rumours she somehow manipulated Alan Wainwright into dividing his estate into two so that she and her new husband would inherit.’

‘Fifteen million pounds is a powerful motive.’ Cooper was studying his notebook carefully. ‘We’ve known murders for much less.’

‘True, but the problem here is that all we have is conjecture. No one can understand why Alan killed himself; they’re unhappy with the will so they look for a suspect. Sally’s new, and an unexpected beneficiary, so suspicion falls on her. It would be different if the coroner hadn’t already recorded a verdict, and Inspector Blite should have probed more, but he was under enormous pressure to close the case at the time.

‘Now, though, in order to reopen the case, we will need much more than this, and even Graham admits that his private investigator has found nothing. I’ll talk to the deceased’s sister, Julia; Cooper, you call Alexander Wainwright-Smith, see what he has to say, then speak to Alan’s friends at his clubs; and Nightingale, here’s the number of the investigator Graham’s hired. Call him and do a PCN check for any mention of anybody associated with this case. You’d best leave Councillor Ward to me. He’s a tricky bastard and not a great fan of the police.

‘Nightingale, this will be a lesson in discretion for you. You must stick to the script. We are tidying up loose ends, that’s all; no ad-libbing or becoming carried away. I’ll see you both back at the station at three, and make sure that you have enough information by then for me to call the ACC.’

They arrived in his office at the end of the afternoon foot-sore and despondent. Cooper was still clutching his now empty sandwich box under his arm.

Fenwick looked as bright and fresh as he had done seven hours before.

‘Any progress?’ he asked.

‘Nothing, sir.’ Cooper shook his head wearily. He’d endured five hours of spite and rumour without finding a trace of any real substance. ‘As soon as the people we interviewed realised that the police were taking their suspicions seriously they clammed up, didn’t want to be pointing any fingers. And you?’

‘No hint of anything out of the ordinary, although there is a lot of resentment about the will. I spoke to about a dozen people and only one other, Julia Wainwright-McAdam, the old man’s sister, was suspicious. She hates Sally Wainwright-Smith and alleges she had an affair with her brother, but there’s no evidence, and even she admitted it was all hearsay. Councillor Ward was particularly circumspect in what he said. He’s suddenly very reluctant to see the inquiry reopened. Nightingale, did you find the private investigator?’

‘Yes, sir, he hasn’t found out anything unusual other than the change of name. He’s still trying to discover her original maiden name, but he says that he comes across name changes all the time in his line of work, and he refused to speculate on why she might have changed hers. The PCN check came up blank.’

‘So, my report to the ACC will say …?’

‘Suspicions investigated thoroughly but no new grounds for further enquiry.’

‘I’m afraid so. Don’t look despondent, Nightingale.
Sometimes
we just have to take the evidence at face value and live with it.’

The phone rang and Cooper and Nightingale left Fenwick to talk to the ACC. If they had remained in his office, his words to Harper-Brown would have confused them both.

‘Yes, sir, we have concluded, and officially there is
insufficient
basis for reopening the file; there simply isn’t any hard evidence to justify taking it further. But, sir, Graham Wainwright is not a fanciful man, nor do I believe he has made this up. We can’t prove anything, but if ever there is even a hint that all is not well at Wainwright Enterprises, we’re going to have to take it seriously. I realise that that is not entirely what you wanted to hear, but it’s what will be going in my report … And a good afternoon to you too, sir.’

Alexander and Sally’s move to Wainwright Hall went smoothly. Its architecture was late-Victorian gothic, ornate chimneypots, an improbable tower, gargoyles, flying buttresses. The internal decoration was heavy-handed Victorian, virtually unchanged since Alexander’s great-great-grandfather – the original Alexander Wainwright, after whom he had been named – had furnished it. There was a portrait of him above the main staircase, painted when he was in his late forties, on the occasion of his third marriage, to the woman who later became Alexander’s great-great-grandmother.

There was a portrait of her too, tucked away in one of the guest bedrooms, holding his grandfather as a baby. She reminded him so much of his mother that Alexander insisted that the painting be moved into the sitting room, his favourite of all the reception rooms. The rest he left to Sally, who was in her element.

Mrs Willett, the housekeeper, was resolutely positioned ‘below stairs’ to spring-clean the kitchen, pantries and other utility rooms. Mr Willett kept out of the house and contented himself with his late spring gardening, as he had done for the past thirty years. His wife came home to their tied cottage each evening with dire warnings that ‘Her Majesty’ had plans for the garden too, so there was no point him being so cocky, his time would come. Willett merely whistled between his teeth and went back to his pricking out.

Alexander stayed out of the way and concentrated on holding the business together in the aftermath of Alan Wainwright’s death. It had shocked the whole company, but so far he had pulled everyone through with an unexpected toughness. As he
strode through the corridors, startling management and staff with his sudden presence, people began to recognise an almost eerie resemblance to his uncle.

Within days of their moving into the Hall, Alexander surprised Sally by saying he’d invited his Cousin Graham to dinner. It was time, he said, to try and close the rift created by his uncle’s will. Jenny was still around and she would be coming too. He suggested that they eat out at a restaurant to avoid the potential embarrassment of welcoming Graham into the house that he must surely have assumed he would inherit. To his relief, Sally agreed.

The dinner started tolerably well, except that Graham insisted on asking Sally probing questions about her background and refused to be put off by her evasions. Alexander was in need of relaxation after weeks of intense activity at work, and as soon as they had finished their main course he took advantage of Jenny’s obvious boredom and need for a cigarette to suggest that the two of them take a brief walk outside in the cool evening. She accepted gratefully, and they strolled for a while around the village green in companionable silence. Jenny suddenly broke it.

‘I’m not a gold-digger, you know.’

‘What makes you say that? I’m sure nobody thinks so.’

‘Oh no? Your wife does, for one.’

‘Sally? Oh, you’re quite wrong there.’

Jenny gave him a strange look, opened her mouth to argue but then changed her mind and shrugged.

‘Whatever. Anyway, as long as you don’t think so.’

‘Of course I don’t. I can tell you’re very fond of Graham, and he needs someone decent to keep him on the straight and narrow.’

Jenny laughed and squeezed his arm. ‘I know what you mean. He’s been spoilt so badly that I don’t think any woman in his life had said no to him before I came along.’

‘That’s probably why your relationship has lasted as long as it has. You’re good for him, it’s obvious.’

‘I love him,’ she said simply, and slipped her hand from the crook of his arm.

‘I hope it works out and that you’ll be as happy as Sally and me.’

Jenny gave him a long sideways look which he missed entirely and then shook her head. They lapsed into silence until they had completed their turn of the green. When they returned to the restaurant, the atmosphere between Sally and Graham had deteriorated and they were obviously not speaking to each other. As soon as Alexander walked in, Sally stood up and placed a hand to her forehead.

‘I have a terrible headache, Alex. I need to go home.’

Alexander glanced from his wife to Graham and back. His cousin looked furious.

‘Of course. I’ll just go and settle the bill and bring the car round.’

As he stood by the reception desk, waiting for them to ring his credit card through, Graham strode up to him.

‘Your wife … How well do you know her?’

‘What are you implying, Graham?’ Alexander’s tone
hardened
, and he frowned down on his much shorter cousin, who reacted with surprising diplomacy.

‘Alexander, please, we’re family. Don’t get me wrong. I just need to find out if—’

‘What’s happening here, Alex? Where’s the car?’ Sally’s imperious voice cut across Graham’s conversation and he stopped talking at once. The maître d’ filled the awkward silence.

‘Your bill, sir: if you could sign here?’

Alexander bent to sign, acutely conscious of the simmering presence of Sally by his side and of Graham hovering by the door. Jenny arrived and took Graham’s arm gently, her face full of concern, but Graham smiled to reassure her that there wouldn’t be a scene.

‘I’ve got to go, Alexander, but call me, please? We do need to talk.’ Ignoring Sally, Graham turned and left with Jenny.

Alexander waited until they were in the car to talk in the hope that Sally would have calmed down.

‘What was all that about?’

‘Your cousin is an insufferable bastard, Alex.’

‘Sally!’

‘Well, he is, and he’s dangerous too. He’s going to start spreading rumours around that we can do without, and if we try
and deny them he’ll just make more noise. It will ruin the company.’

‘I don’t think Graham would deliberately harm the business. He still owns five per cent of the shares, remember. And what is there, other than the will, for him to start rumours about?’

‘You don’t know him, Alex! He’s just the sort of vicious nuisance we can do without. We need to think very carefully about how to manage him.’

Alexander said nothing – there was no point trying to argue with his wife once she had made up her mind – but privately he thought she was overreacting and it worried him. She was showing signs of strain even though they had now moved into the Hall, and she refused to talk to him about it, insisting that everything was fine. He had noticed that the level in the gin bottle was reducing with alarming rapidity, and he had never known her to drink spirits before.

‘I’ve been thinking, Sally, whilst the decorators are in the Hall, why don’t you take a short holiday in the sun somewhere?’

‘Don’t be stupid, Alex. Who is going to oversee them and make sure they don’t cock things up? Certainly not you, you’re always busy at work.’

‘It was just an idea.’

They drove the rest of the way back to the Hall in silence.