Blind Eye, page 12
She couldn’t remember him ever saying that openly to her before, though she’d often enough reckoned that was what he’d been thinking.
‘It’s really nasty, right enough – cold-blooded. Gunn was saying that when you opened the door to the shed, you were right up against the body and the face was just grotesque. Sarah Lindsay was shell-shocked, according to him. Of course, he’s got kind of a sentimental attitude but she’d have to be a total monster to do that to her partner.’
‘Let’s keep an open mind, shall we?’
‘I know, I know, until we see what the evidence tells us.’
He smiled, but didn’t reply.
They had come a few miles south of Tarleton when he said, ‘Here we are,’ and she saw the smartly painted noticeboard at the bottom of the road that said in gold letters, Gresham’s Farms. There was a sign directing lorries to turn off onto a service road looping round to the right while the house and the offices were straight ahead.
After so recently visiting Eastlaw Farm, the contrast struck Murray forcibly. This was farming as gracious living. Ancient trees lined the drive; the verges were well cut and the extensive fields on either side were lushly green, with sheep in one, nibbling away at their presumably organic grass.
The house itself reminded Murray of the houses that everyone made such a fuss about in the Edinburgh New Town – very plain, but you could see it was sort of classy. There wasn’t any sign of farming activity to the front, just a well-laid-out garden with shrubs and the sort of lawn where you could take your afternoon tea in the summer and admire the flower beds, and she couldn’t help comparing it to Sarah’s scrubby little plot; life simply wasn’t fair. Though, of course, if the woman really had killed her partner, she probably wouldn’t be in favour of the sort of scrupulous fairness that would demand a life for a life.
Despite her own misgivings, Sarah had to be the prime suspect. The partner usually was and she’d seen for herself the woman’s anger and resentment at what Niall Ritchie had put her through – and not only that, disposing of Niall was a logical way to solve the ‘we’ll sell’ / ‘no we won’t’ problem. And despite the boss always saying not to start from motive, she still believed it was helpful sometimes, as long as you didn’t let your desire to be right adjust the evidence to fit. She’d been tempted by that in the past but of course she was experienced enough now to be professionally objective. Absolutely.
Another sign directed them round to the back of the house, where there were outbuildings and barns, sheds and stores as well as a large parking area, where a lorry was waiting while a couple of men loaded it with boxes and crates.
As they looked for a sign for reception, Strang stopped suddenly. ‘Oh look,’ he said, ‘there’s my friend Doddie Muir. That’s interesting.’
Murray followed his gaze. Muir was an unimpressive-looking man with a ratty face – pretty much a typical ned. She could understand Sarah not taking him seriously, but these were often the type you had to watch out for. Small snakes were often more dangerous than big ones.
Busy at his work, he hadn’t noticed them. As they walked on, Strang said, ‘Might be an idea to check out his record.’
‘On my to-do list already,’ she said.
The building the sign directed them to was starkly functional in comparison with the elegance of the main house – just a standard office block. Before they reached it, a voice hailed them.
‘DCI Strang!’
They turned. A man was coming towards them from a long, open shed housing farm machinery, several huge monsters. Murray didn’t begin to know what anyone did with them, but she guessed the man coming towards them must be Jimmie Gresham.
As Strang introduced her, he said, ‘I’ve been expecting a visit. Come this way – I’ll take you straight to my office.’
It was large, but much less luxurious than Murray had expected, given the house. It was just the sort of place where you’d see your workers and meet reps, and the chairs, upholstered with wooden arms, showed the signs of wear – Gresham, for all his wealth, was clearly a canny man.
As they all sat down, he said heavily, ‘I have to say from the start that though I was shocked, when I thought about it, I wasn’t really surprised. The awful thing is, I blame myself.’
Was Strang going to tell him? Murray gave him a quick sideways glance.
He was looking impassive and he settled back in his chair as he said, ‘Indeed, sir? Do go on.’
CHAPTER NINE
Sarah Lindsay stared at her phone, holding it at arm’s length as if the words she was hearing were an actual physical threat. ‘I – I don’t understand. Are you saying I can’t access my partner’s account?’
‘Look, I know this is hard for you, but we’d need to see a copy of his will.’ The woman had obviously been chosen for the job in the bereavement department of the bank for her sympathetic voice, but she wasn’t giving an inch.
‘But we were partners; we co-owned the farm. I can’t show you a copy of his will because he never made one. I don’t have a will either.’
Sarah could hear a sharp intake of breath, swiftly repressed. ‘The thing is,’ the woman said, ‘you actually have separate accounts, as well as the joint one to which, of course, you do have access.’
‘That’s because we had separate businesses. We both paid into the joint one for household expenses. But I need to know what the financial situation is with the farm. Surely as his partner the account reverts to me—’
The voice became even more sympathetic, but what she said was, ‘The thing is, you’re not his next of kin. His parents are—’
‘But they’re dead!’ Sarah cried.
‘Does he have siblings?’
‘A sister – they don’t speak. How can she be next of kin, when we’ve lived together for years? Doesn’t that make me his common-law wife?’
‘I’m afraid there’s no such thing.’ The woman cleared her throat. ‘Er – did your contract for buying the farm stipulate that in the case of decease, ownership would revert to the remaining partner?’
‘I – I don’t know! I’d have to look it out.’
‘Your lawyer would surely have made that a condition, to safeguard both parties. It’s standard practice.’
‘Right,’ she said. ‘I’ll find it and get back to you once they let me back into the house.’
Sarah ended the call and slumped back into her chair. A conversation was playing in her head: Niall saying, ‘I’ve got a pal who’s training as a solicitor. He says it’s dead simple and he’ll give us mate’s rates. If we did it through his firm, they’d charge for every phone call.’ And, God help her, now she could hear herself saying, ‘Sounds good to me.’
She’d taken it on trust. Niall was the accountant and she’d taken no interest in figures beyond what was needed to run her little business. Had the ‘mate’ been competent enough to set it up properly? She’d only met him a couple of times in the pub when he’d been the life and soul of the party – a nice enough bloke, but not someone who would immediately strike you as precise and meticulous.
Perhaps it was all right, but Sarah wasn’t confident. It looked as if she’d never get access to Niall’s bank account at all and any money the farm had made would go to his sister and possibly even half the farm as well. What a fool she’d been not to pay more attention to the accounts! She could find herself without a roof over her head and she gave a little shiver as the cold chill of fear that was becoming familiar returned.
Sitting here in her bedroom getting spooked wasn’t helping. She had to get a grip. She could go for a run; she’d learnt during lockdown how with sheer physical effort she could obliterate the endless cycles of anxious thought. Today she’d have to run harder than ever, though.
Rose had made her a sandwich for lunch and insisted she ate it, then she’d gone back to work in the studio. Sarah let herself out of the house and set off along the lane at a cracking pace.
She’d only taken a few strides when she had that odd, prickling feeling you get when someone is staring at you, and she turned round, rubbing the back of her neck. There was a woman standing in the garden of the house opposite, putting something in a bin, and she was giving her a death stare.
Sarah didn’t know who she was, though she recognised her as one of the women who had always blanked her since she reported Doddie Muir. Was the news of Niall’s murder out now on the town grapevine, and was everyone going to look at her as if they knew she’d killed him?
And even if they were, there was nothing she could do about it. Except run. Run till it hurt.
‘I knew he was struggling,’ Jimmie Gresham said, ‘and I was sympathetic, right from the start when the statutory inspection gave him a pretty poor score. He so truly believed in the organic principle, and that’s what’s wonderful about these kids that take on subsistence farming with the light of idealism in their eyes. I’ve dealt with several of these and one or two, admittedly, have bailed out but others have gone on to make a big success of it, even to expand, now organic is so popular. Niall’s problem – well, he hadn’t a real instinct for farming. I thought he’d learn and I’ve propped him up every way I could – even given him a helping hand a few times, but it wasn’t coming right. He’d always say, “No, no, it’s fine. I’m getting there” – too proud to admit he couldn’t hack it and accept the big dream was becoming a big nightmare. In fact, I’d thought he’d been showing more promising signs latterly – better yields and so on. And then I’d a difficult phone call with one of the supermarkets.’ He sighed.
‘Problems with quality?’ Strang suggested. He had been listening with watchful eyes and Murray had taken her cue from him, trying to work out whether the man actually knew already what they knew, and failing.
‘Yes. They’d done one of the random spot checks they sometimes do. A consignment of carrots had shown up as having traces of chemical fertiliser and when we tracked it back, they had come from Eastlaw.’
Murray was interested. ‘Does that often happen?’
‘Oh, it’s not unheard of. Usually it’s a case of a contracted crop being poorer than expected and a farmer going out in a panic and buying cheap replacements to fill the quota. I’d a problem with that once before but it was an isolated incident and I persuaded the buyer to come down to the farm and see how hard the guy was trying and I didn’t have to terminate the contract. Now his is the most successful of our small farms and it’s never happened again. There’s only been one where the farmer was actually cheating, and he was out on his ear. It never occurred to me that this wasn’t a one-off – Niall was so completely dedicated to the principles. The terrible mistake I made was to call him to warn him about the complaint. I said I’d managed to persuade the buyer to have a chat with him at the party I was giving that night and that I was sure we could smooth it over if he could convince the man it had been a stupid panic, and let him see the way the farm was actually being run.’
‘Did you see him after that?’ Strang asked.
‘No. I was flat out with meetings and preparations. God, I wish now I had! He might have come clean about what he’d done, instead of falling into despair. But at the time I was just upset when he didn’t appear at the party, because it made it harder to give him a second chance. Now poor Sarah has to cope with all this. How is she? My daughter, Briony, has been trying to reach her but I suspect she’s feeling embarrassed. Can you pass on the message to her that we’re both worried about her and totally sympathetic – and indeed I want to say sorry that I didn’t realise what was happening and do something about it.’
‘Well, thank you for giving us the background, sir,’ Strang said. ‘The thing is, it isn’t evident that Mr Ritchie killed himself. There are suspicious circumstances, which we are investigating.’
Gresham looked stunned. ‘But – but I saw the body hanging there myself—’
‘Yes indeed, but there is disturbing forensic evidence. Can you think of any reason why someone would wish Mr Ritchie harm?’
‘I–I can’t think – what would anyone get out of that?’ he stammered. ‘I wouldn’t have thought he’d an enemy in the place.’
‘You must have been very shocked, angry, even, when you saw the chemicals he had been using?’
‘Well, shocked, certainly. I wouldn’t have believed it if someone had told me. But there was the poor lad, hanging there, so tortured with guilt that he’d killed himself, as I thought. So angry? No.’
‘I see,’ Strang said. ‘Anyway, just as a matter of form, sir, can you talk me through your movements on Wednesday?’
‘Let me think – it was a very busy day. Breakfast at the house with my daughter, then the office for the meetings I mentioned. I’d a couple of things to do in the town – spoke to my brother – or was that the day before? No, that’s right, it was Wednesday. Then I was just here, around the farm, and checking everyone was organised for the party – car parking and so on. After the party was over, I suggested Briony should phone Sarah to prepare for the buyer’s visit the next morning and then – well, you’ve probably read the statement I gave. But this is a terrible, terrible thing—’
‘Yes it is,’ Strang said gravely. ‘Now, I think that’s all for the moment. Thank you for your cooperation, sir.’ He got up, Murray followed suit and Gresham escorted them to the door of the office. As they stepped outside, Strang gestured towards the machines across the yard.
‘I see you’ve got a replacement for the tractor that was stolen.’
‘Eventually,’ Gresham said. ‘Oh, it was insured, of course, but I was still left badly out of pocket, having to hire temporarily while we sourced another one. Working days lost cost serious money. Have you made any progress with the case?’
‘The investigation is ongoing but it seems to link in to a wider network. I can only ask you to keep an eye open and pass anything on that strikes you.’
As they drove off, Murray said, ‘He was gob-smacked, wasn’t he?’
‘He was certainly shocked – he didn’t fake that reaction. But was he shocked that Niall had been murdered, or was he shocked that we’d found out?’
‘Hard to say,’ she said. But she reckoned Sarah Lindsay probably wasn’t top of the suspect list any more.
When Jimmie Gresham left her office having broken the news, Briony sat at her desk staring into space. Was this why Sarah hadn’t phoned her? She was uneasily aware that Sarah absolutely hated living in Tarleton, and when they’d talked about it last time, Sarah had actually indicated that if only she could persuade Niall, they’d just sell up. Briony had tried to talk her out of it; it really would be so ungrateful after all that Dad had done for them, and had kept on doing – she’d seen the books. But supposing Niall had refused to agree, what might Sarah have done then? How desperate had she been to get away?
Oh, of course she didn’t really believe that Sarah – her good friend, after all – could possibly do something so horrible. But she’d definitely been very upset about something when she arrived at the party – and of course it was probably only what she’d said, that she and Niall had had a row – a terrible row.
But the thing was, someone had to have killed Niall and a row could get out of hand; it could get physical, and the outcome could be a fatal accident. Supposing that had happened, wouldn’t Sarah just phone the police and explain?
Briony knew Sarah’s opinion of the police, though, after they’d encouraged her to take on Doddie Muir. She wouldn’t trust them – and when she thought about it, if she did, they’d have no alternative but to arrest her anyway.
So was it possible that Sarah – the Sarah who had been her friend for years – could have done that dreadful thing, and then followed it through with a charade that Briony herself had been part of? Surely not! And yet, and yet …
She could phone Rob and tell him, see what he thought. Her hand was going out to her mobile when she remembered – of course, Rob probably knew already. Sarah would have been told the news before anyone else and if he’d been at Rose Moncrieff’s house with Sarah, he’d probably heard at once.
And he hadn’t told Briony that either. She’d believed they were very close, ever since Linden died, but he’d kept it secret that he’d gone on visiting her mother and now he was keeping it secret that he was in contact with Sarah.
It was hurtful. And Sarah – Briony had always been the friend she would turn to, but now that seemed to be Rob. That was hurtful too. She was upset, very upset. She really hated disloyalty.
It was a dreich day as DCI Strang left Tarleton and took the climbing road to Eastlaw Farm, the cloud cover so heavy it was even catching the tops of the low, soft Moorfoot Hills, all dull greens and greys. The last time he’d been there, the sun must have been shining because it hadn’t struck him what a dreary and isolated place it was; today he was thinking that living here could have a severe effect on mental health and stability.
He had dropped DS Murray off at the station while he went to see what the SOCOs had come up with, tasking her with getting her teeth into the background stuff.
‘Research around every known contact,’ he told her. ‘You’ve got a real instinct – just follow your nose.’
Murray beamed. ‘No problem, boss.’
‘And ask Matt to commission bank statements and phone records ASAP – we’re going to hit the weekend if we don’t get them today – and find a constable to consolidate the information we have to date. We can’t put out the statement until Ritchie’s sister’s been told so it may be that we won’t have media interest until tomorrow. We’ve just said “suspicious circumstances” so it won’t draw much attention yet.’
‘It’ll get round soon enough now Gresham knows,’ Murray pointed out, ‘but from what Matt’s told me, we won’t be finding lots of good citizens queueing up at the station to tell us what’s been going on.’
He’d arranged for a briefing meeting before they headed back and now he parked alongside the SRCS vehicles, looking for the officer in charge. A saluting uniform with a clipboard was at his side immediately and he nodded approval; Gunn had got on to that job with commendable efficiency.
