Fox Evil (34 page)

"You're lying," said James angrily. "I know Vera filled your head with nonsense about your similarity to Leo, but that's as far as your connection with this family went."

Fox's smile widened. "Did your wife never tell you about Lizzie and me? No, I can see she didn't. She was a great one for sweeping the family scandals under the carpet." His voice dropped into Irish brogue. "Your daughter liked her men rough, Colonel. Better still if it was Irish rough."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Fox glanced at Mark. "Mr. Ankerton does," he said with certainty.

James turned to his solicitor. "I don't understand."

Mark shrugged. "I don't think Mr. Sullivan does either," he said. "I suspect Vera's fed him a piece of gossip and he's busy trying to use it to his own advantage."

Fox look amused. "Why do you think Ailsa paid my bills? It wasn't charity. She was trying to keep the sordid details of Lizzie's love life under wraps… particularly her passion for men who reminded her of her brother."

Monroe intervened before James or Mark could say anything. "How do you know him, sir?"

James steadied himself against the newel post. He looked devastated, as if Fox had supplied some missing pieces in a jigsaw. "He claimed squatters' rights over the companion cottage to the Lodge during the summer of ninety-eight. My wife took pity on him because he had a woman and two small children with him-" He broke off clearly questioning the basis of Ailsa's sympathy.

"Go on," Monroe prompted.

"Ailsa persuaded me to let the family stay while she tried to find affordable housing for them. Meanwhile this
creature
-" he gestured toward Fox-"exploited a passing resemblance to my son to charge goods to the Manor accounts. My wife paid the bills, and by the time it came to my attention he'd vanished with his family, leaving debts she was unable to clear. I had to sell the cottage to honor them."

Monroe eyed Fox curiously. He'd spoken to Leo at the time of his mother's death, but he didn't remember him well enough to say if the resemblance was a strong one. "Was Wolfie one of these children?"

"I don't believe I ever saw them, but I know it worried my wife intensely that three such vulnerable people should be under the influence of this man."

"Did you inform the police?"

"Of course."

"What names did you give?"

"I don't remember now. My wife passed all the papers on the housing application to your people, so the names will be there. She may have kept copies. If so, they'll be in the dining room." With a sudden movement he stepped forward and slapped Fox across his face. "How
dare
you come back? What lies did you tell my wife this time?"

Fox straightened his head with a malevolent smile. "I told her the truth," he said. "I told her who fathered Lizzie's little bastard."

Monroe caught James's hand as he lifted it again. "Best not, sir."

"Ailsa wouldn't have believed you," said the old man angrily. "She knew perfectly well that nothing as disgusting as you've suggested ever happened."

"Oh, she believed me, Colonel, but I didn't say
you
were the father. That was Lizzie's idea-she didn't think Mrs. Bartlett would get worked up over anything less."

James turned helplessly to Mark.

"Who did you say was the father?" Mark asked.

Fox stared him down. "I've been watching you all day-you could hardly keep your hands off her. She does me credit, don't you think, Mr. Ankerton?"

Mark shook his head. "Wrong eye color, my friend. Elizabeth's are blue… as are yours… and Mendel's law says it's impossible for two blue-eyed parents to produce a brown-eyed child."
Gotcha, you bastard!
Either Leo had been lying for the fun of it, or this ignorant sap knew as much about genes as he did. "You shouldn't have relied on Vera for information, Fox. She never could get her head around dates. The Irish tinker came and went two years before Elizabeth's pregnancy-" he leveled a finger at Fox's heart-"which is why Ailsa wouldn't have believed you either. Whatever she died from…
however
she died… she knew there was no connection between her granddaughter and you."

Fox shook his head. "She knew me both times, Mr. Ankerton… paid me off the first time… would have paid me off the second time if she hadn't died. She didn't want her husband knowing how many skeletons there were in the family closet."

"Did you kill her?" asked Mark bluntly.

"No. I wasn't here that night."

Nancy moved out from the corridor. "Vera said he was trying to blackmail Ailsa. She seemed quite lucid. Apparently Ailsa said she'd rather die than give him money… so he made Vera lock the door and leave Ailsa to him."

Fox's gaze flickered briefly in her direction. "Mrs. Dawson confuses me with Leo. Perhaps you should be putting these questions to the Colonel's son, Mr. Ankerton."

Mark smiled slightly. "If you weren't here, where were you?"

"Probably Kent. We spent most of the spring in the southeast."

"We?" Mark watched a bead of sweat drip down the side of the man's forehead. He was only frightening in the dark, he thought. In the light, and under restraint, he looked diminished. Nor was he clever. Cunning, possibly… but not clever. "Where are Vixen and Cub?" he asked, when Fox didn't reply. "Presumably Vixen will support the Kent alibi if you tell the police where she is."

Fox shifted his attention to Monroe. "Are you going to do your job, Sergeant, or are you are going to allow the Colonel's solicitor to question me?"

Monroe shrugged. "You've been cautioned. You have a right to silence, just like anyone else. Go on, sir," he invited Mark. "I'm interested in what you have to say."

"I can give you the facts I know, Sergeant." He marshaled his thoughts. "First fact. Elizabeth did have a brief liaison at the age of fifteen with an Irish traveler. He persuaded her to steal for him, and her brother took the blame to protect her. Vera certainly knew about the liaison, because she told lies for Elizabeth whenever Elizabeth went out. The whole episode caused a catastrophic breach of trust between all members of the household which was never repaired. Vera, in particular, felt badly treated because the Colonel accused her of the theft… and I doubt Mrs. Lockyer-Fox behaved toward her in the same way again. I'm sure she felt Vera encouraged Elizabeth to act as she did."

He put a hand on James's arm to keep the old man silent. "Second fact. Elizabeth had a baby when she was seventeen which was put up for adoption. She was very promiscuous as a teenager and didn't know herself who the father was. Vera, of course, was privy to the birth and the adoption. However, I suspect she's confused the two episodes in her mind, which is why this man thinks the Irish traveler was the father." He watched Fox's face. "The only person left alive who can identify the traveler-apart from Vera, whose testimony is flawed-is Elizabeth herself… and she describes him as a much older man who was father to most of the children in his entourage."

"She's lying," said Fox.

"Then it's your word against hers. If she fails to identify you, the police will draw their own conclusions about the truthfulness of everything you've said… including the death of Mrs. Lockyer-Fox."

He was rewarded with a flicker of indecision in the pale eyes.

"Third fact. Vera's resentment against her husband and the Lockyer-Foxes has grown exponentially since her dementia became noticeable in ninety-seven. The date is documented because it was at that time that a decision was taken to allow her and Bob to have the Lodge rent-free until their deaths. The Colonel has just said that Vera filled this man's head with nonsense about looking like Leo. I suspect it was the other way round. He used his likeness to Leo to fill Vera's head with nonsense. I don't pretend to understand why, except that he found out how easy it was to make money the first time and thought he'd have another go." He paused. "Finally, and most importantly, neither Leo nor Elizabeth has ever met or spoken to Mrs. Bartlett. So whatever scam this man is operating, it has nothing to do with the Colonel's children."

"Mrs. Bartlett seemed very certain," said Monroe.

"Then she's lying or she's been conned herself," said Mark flatly. "I suggest you put Fox into an identity parade to see if she recognizes him. Also Wolfie's mother, when and if you find her. He and a blue-eyed blonde could probably pass muster quite successfully to someone who's only ever seen Leo and Elizabeth from a distance."

"Can you prove they weren't involved?"

"Yes." He put a hand under James's elbow to support him. "The Colonel's daughter is dying. She's been in and out of hospital since September with incurable liver disease. Had she met Mrs. Bartlett in October, it would have been within the confines of St. Thomas's Hospital."

It was a clever piece of welding, a false back to the forward luggage compartment, but it was sussed by a sharp-eyed female colleague of Barker's who questioned why a small strip of paint-the width of a chisel-had rubbed off midway down one panel. It wouldn't have been visible in daylight, but in the gleam of her torch the sliver of exposed metal winked against the gray paintwork.

"Neat," said Barker admiringly, as minimal pressure from a knife released a spring catch that allowed the entire panel to be eased away from the lip that anchored it on the other side. He leveled his torch into the foot-deep, meter-square space that was revealed. "Looks like he's been raiding half the stately homes of England."

The policewoman climbed inside the compartment to squint behind the left-hand panel. "There's more in here," she said, feeling inside and releasing a second catch at floor level. She pulled the panel toward her and lowered it flat. "How much of this belongs to the Colonel, do you reckon?"

Barker ran his torch over the paintings and bits of silverware that filled the cavity. "No idea… but you'd think the old boy would have noticed if things were going missing." He moved to the next compartment. "If the depths of these two were the same when the bus was built, then I'd say there's a false back here as well. Do you want to give it a try?"

The WPC crawled obligingly into the luggage space and fiddled with the knife again. She gave a grunt of satisfaction as the panel sprang open. "Jesus!" she said, looking at what was revealed. "What the hell does he want to do? Rob the World Bank?"

Barker lit a line of sawn-off shotguns and pistols that were attached by clamps to the rear wall. "Trade," he said dryly. "This is good currency. No wonder he's been haunting the Manor. The Colonel's family built up the largest collection of guns and rifles in Dorset. I imagine that's what Fox has been looking for."

"Then I don't have much sympathy for the Colonel," said the policewoman, releasing the second panel and laying it flat. "He's asking to be robbed."

"Except it's not on the premises anymore," said Barker. "The old boy donated the entire collection to the Imperial War Museum after his wife died. I guess no one bothered to tell Fox."

The eventual fallout from Fox's arrest spread a great deal farther than Shenstead when the bus was systematically taken apart and a genuine trail of evidence was uncovered. He was careless in what he had chosen to carry with him. A second mobile with a store of numbers and a trail of calls that allowed the police to track his movements. Keys to a lockup that were painstakingly traced through the manufacturers to give a location. Passports. Driving licenses-some in the names of women. Most worryingly, as far as the police were concerned, items of bloodstained clothing that seemed to be trophies, all hidden in a recess in the floor.

For the inhabitants of Shenstead, the fallout was more immediate and concentrated after the police went house to house late on Boxing Day evening to inform them that a man had been taken into custody following the murder of Bob Dawson. The news was greeted with shock by everyone. They pressed for more information-
"What man…?" "Was anyone else hurt…?" "Was it connected with Ailsa's death…?" "What about Vera…?"
-but the officers were reticent, merely asking all householders to make themselves available for interview the following day.

The story spread beyond the boundaries of the valley as soon as the press got hold of it. Journalists stalked the hospital in the early hours, searching for information on the arrested suspect and a woman called "Nancy" whose arm had been broken in a hammer attack. The police would only confirm the name of the murdered man and the fact that the suspect was a traveler from the site at Shenstead. However, word leaked out-via Ivo and his mobile when he spotted an opportunity to make money through checkbook journalism-that "Nancy" was Colonel Lockyer-Fox's illegitimate granddaughter, and parallels were drawn between the attack on her and Ailsa's death in March. Why was the Colonel's family being targeted?

The issue of illegitimacy added spice to the story and the search was on to find her biological mother and her adoptive mother. Fortunately, Ivo remained coy about her rank and surname, recognizing that he wouldn't be paid for information over a telephone line, which gave Bella time to take him apart before he could sneak out and make contact with a reporter. She confiscated his mobile and suggested the Colonel lock him in the cellar for the night, but, in the absence of Mark, who had driven Nancy to the hospital, James chose instead to match the money offered by the newspaper.

"You are no different from your friend Fox," he told Ivo as he wrote a check to cash with an accompanying letter to his bank. "You both believe in destroying lives to benefit yourselves. However, I would have given Fox everything I have in exchange for my wife, and I consider this a small price to pay for my granddaughter's peace of mind."

"Each to his own," said Ivo, tucking the check and the letter into his pocket and grinning maliciously at Bella, who was leaning against the library wall, "but you'd better approve this if the bank phones. You offered it fair and square so there's no going back."

James smiled. "I always honor my promises, Ivo. You'll have no trouble at the bank as long as you honor yours."

"It's a deal, then."

"Yes." The old man stood up behind his desk. "Now will you please leave my house?"

"You've gotta be joking. It's two o'clock in the morning. My wife and kids are asleep upstairs."

"They're welcome to stay. You are not, however." He nodded to Bella. "Will you ask Sean Wyatt to come in here, my dear?"

"Why do you want the copper?" demanded Ivo.

"To have you arrested if you don't leave immediately. You have exploited my distress over my wife's murder, my gardener's murder, and the attempted murder of my granddaughter to coerce blood money out of me. You either leave now and cash that check as soon as the bank opens, or you spend the night with your friend at the police station. Whichever way, once you've left this house, you will not come back into it."

Ivo's eyes darted nervously toward Bella. "You'd better not make out I had anything to do with Fox. I didn't know him from Adam before the selection meeting."

"Maybe not," she said, easing herself away from the wall and opening the door into the hall, "but the Colonel's right. There ain't much difference between you and him. You both reckon you're more important than anyone else. Now, come on, shift your arse before I decide to tell the coppers about the nicked stuff in your bus."

"What about my wife and kids?" he complained, as James rounded the desk and forced him to walk backward. "I need to tell them what's going on."

"No."

"How am I supposed to get hold of them without a bloody phone?"

James looked amused. "Perhaps you should have thought of that first."

"Shit!" He allowed himself to be shepherded into the hall. "This is a fucking kangaroo court."

"Will you stop with the whining!" said Bella disgustedly, pulling the bolts on the front door and dragging it open.

"You've got your thirty pieces of silver. Now beat it before I change my mind about dropping you in it."

"I need my coat," he said as a blast of cold air blew in.

"Fuck that!" She manhandled him through the opening and pushed the door closed again with a massive shoulder. "The cops won't let him back on the campsite," she said, "so he's gonna freeze his arse off unless he wants to explain why you've thrown him out." She chuckled at James's expression. "But I guess you'd worked that out already."

He took her arm. "Let's have a brandy, my dear. I think we've earned it, don't you?"

The valley itself came under siege as soon as the roadblocks were removed at daybreak on the twenty-seventh, and any hope anyone had had of keeping a low profile evaporated. The Manor and the Copse remained under police guard but the tenant farmers, the Bartletts, and the Weldons found themselves at the mercy of the press and the broadcasting media. Shenstead House attracted the most attention because of Julian's remarks on travelers in the local newspaper. A copy was posted through the door, and his phone rang continuously until he disconnected it. Photographers hung around outside his windows, waiting for pictures while reporters shouted questions.

"Do you feel responsible because it's a traveler who did it?"… "Did you set the dogs on them? Is that what started this?"… "Did you call them thieves to their faces?"… "Do you know who this man is? Has he been to Shenstead before?"… "What's his interest in the Manor? Why did he kill the gardener?"… "Why did he attack the Colonel's granddaughter?"… "Do you think he was responsible for Mrs. Lockyer-Fox's death?"

Inside the house, Eleanor sat in huddled, gray misery in the kitchen while Julian, looking little better, paced his study behind closed curtains. Every attempt he'd made to contact Gemma on her mobile had been diverted to voicemail, as had his attempts to raise Dick Weldon. Both mobiles were switched off, and the landlines to Shenstead Farm and the Squires's farm were permanently engaged, suggesting they, too, had been disconnected. His only email contact with Gemma was at her office, which was closed until after the New Year, and his frustration grew with his inability to find out what was going on.

There was no one else to phone except the police, and in the end that's what Julian did, asking to speak to DS Monroe. "We need help," he told him. "I'm worried sick that these bastards are going to learn about my wife's phone calls, and then what are we going to do?"

"There's no reason why they should."

"Are you expecting me to take your word for that?" demanded Julian. "No one's telling us what's going on. Who's this man you've arrested? What's he saying?"

Monroe broke off to talk to someone in the background. "I'll be coming out to talk to you later, sir, but in the meantime I suggest you and Mrs. Bartlett stay out of sight. Now, if you'll excuse-"

"You can't just leave it at that," Julian broke in angrily.

"What else do you want to know, sir?"

Julian ran an irritable hand up the back of his neck. "These reporters are saying the Colonel's granddaughter was attacked as well. Is that true?" There were more voices at the other end, and it stoked his ire to be relegated to second place. "Are you listening?" he barked.

"Sorry, sir. Yes, her arm was broken, I'm afraid, but she's on the mend now. Look, my best advice is to keep your head down and stay quiet."

"Bugger that!" said Julian aggressively. "We're effectively imprisoned by these bastards. They're trying to photograph us through the windows."

"Everyone's in the same boat, sir. You'll have to be patient."

"I'm not prepared to be patient," he snapped. "I want this scum removed from my doorstep and I want to know what's going on. All we were told last night was that a man had been arrested… but from the questions being shouted through the letterbox, he's one of the travelers."

"That's correct. We've already confirmed it with the press."

"Then why didn't you tell
us
?"

"I would have done when I came out to see you. Why is it so important?"

"Oh, for God's sake! You said last night that Prue thought Darth Vader was one of the travelers. Can't you see how vulnerable it makes us if Ellie's connection with this man gets out?"

There was another break for muted conversation. "I'm sorry, sir," Monroe said again, "we're very busy here, as you can appreciate. What makes you think the murder of Robert Dawson has anything to do with your wife's phone calls to the Colonel?"

"I
don't
," Julian countered crossly, "but you seemed convinced of a connection between Ellie and the travelers when you were questioning her."

"I was repeating what Mrs. Weldon said… but it wasn't a serious suggestion, sir. Mrs. Weldon was hysterical about the intruder at Shenstead Farm. It led her to some rather bizarre conclusions. At the moment we have no reason to link the events of last night with the nuisance calls that your wife has been making."

"Right,"
Julian growled, "then perhaps you'd like to send a car to deal with these reporters outside my window. I'm an innocent party to all of this and I'm being treated like a criminal."

"We're very stretched, sir," said Monroe apologetically. "If it's any consolation, Captain Smith's having a far worse time of it."

"It's no consolation," he snapped. "I'm sorry the girl was hurt, but it's not my fault if she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now are you going to send a car or do I have to cause a breach of peace to get some attention?"

"I'll send a car, sir."

"Do that," said Julian, slamming the phone onto its rest, then removing it again when it started to ring. He raised two fingers at the curtains. "Bastards," he mouthed.

Monroe replaced the receiver with a thoughtful smile for his inspector. "I told you he'd phone before long," he said "He's shitting bricks… wants to know what Fox is saying."

"What are you going to do?"

"Let him stew a bit longer. He's a control freak… it drove him mad to think I wasn't giving him my full attention." He pondered for a moment. "The longer we leave him to the mercy of the photographers, the more het up he's going to be. He wants to leave that house rather badly, but whether to do a runner or get rid of evidence, I don't know. Probably both."

"Do you seriously believe he's behind it?"

Monroe shrugged. "I certainly believe he set up his wife to make the phone calls. He was far too relaxed last night. I was watching him. He was playing her like a patsy. It's interesting. She obviously sees herself as a forceful character-Mrs. Weldon certainly does-but compared with the husband she's a lump of jelly."

"He may just have taken a payoff to get her involved."

Monroe narrowed his eyes toward the window. "Possibly, but he's carrying a lot of expenses… the wife's demands… the girlfriend's demands… the horse… the hunt… the cellar. There were two sets of golf clubs in the hall… his and hers… not to mention the BMW, the Range Rover, the designer rooms and designer clothes. According to Mark Ankerton, this is his second marriage. He was divorced twenty years ago and has a couple of grown-up children. We're talking about a guy who only ever made senior-management level… had to give half his wealth to his first wife… supported children… sold his house before the boom… then took early retirement at fifty-five to live like a lord." He shook his head. "It doesn't add up."

"Fox is making him out to be the biggest arms dealer in Europe. How likely is that?"

"On a scale of one to ten? Zero," Monroe admitted. "I'm guessing he was into a share of the silver and the paintings, and he'll have a heart attack when he hears about the guns. I think Fox was telling the truth about giving him the file, though. Bartlett certainly knew who Captain Smith was. As to whose idea it was-" he made a rocking motion with his hand-"six of one and half a dozen of the other. The timing suggests Fox. The Colonel's never been one for socializing, but he didn't leave the house after his wife's death. I'm betting Fox became bored with using Vera to steal for him and wanted to get inside himself. The method-driving the old boy into an exhausted defense of his terrace while Fox went in the back-suggests Bartlett. He's a nasty piece of work. I can easily believe he killed the Colonel's dog to up the ante."

"Mark Ankerton quoted 'fog of war' at me. Something to do with confusing the Colonel about where, who, and how powerful the opposition was."

"I prefer hunting metaphors," said Monroe. "Fox and Bartlett are two of a kind. They both enjoy terrorizing dumb animals."

The inspector chuckled. "The Colonel's not a dumb animal."

"Might as well be when he's accused of raping his daughter. How do you argue against a thing like that?"

"Mm." The inspector eased himself off the edge of the sergeant's desk. "There's something very personal about Fox's pursuit of that family. Do you think he's telling the truth about the affair with the daughter? The psychiatrists will have a field day if he is. Pampered little rich girl. Boy from the wrong side of the tracks."

"We'll be asking for confirmation as soon as we have access to Elizabeth."

"She'll deny it for Captain Smith's sake."