“Six weeks ago was February.”
“February seventeenth. I had to register the death.”
“Who was it who found him, then?”
“The housekeeper, Jessie.”
“Is she about?”
A shake of the head. “She packed her things and left the same day. She had no reason to stay. She’d lost her job, hadn’t she? I’m his closest relative, so it fell to me to make the arrangements. It’s been non-stop.”
“Did he own the cottage?”
“He left it to me. He left everything and it’s more trouble than it’s worth. No use to me, most of it. Goods and chattels, the lawyers call it. I spend more in petrol carting goods and chattels to the council tip every day than I’ll ever inherit.”
“I’m shocked. He spoke at a funeral less than a year ago. He seemed to be in fine form then, made a witty speech, I was told.”
“That’s Uncle Cyril for you,” she said. “He was a charming man as any round here will testify and there was nothing wrong with his brain. His passing was very sudden. There didn’t seem to be anything amiss. His body gave up, I reckon. Bound to, if you live long enough, isn’t that the truth of it?”
The logic was inescapable. “I’d like to speak to the housekeeper. Where is she now?”
“I couldn’t tell you.”
“No forwarding address?”
“If you ask me, she didn’t know where she would end up next.”
“Didn’t she even leave a contact number?”
A shake of the head. “She’ll be in another job by now. There’s no call for her sort of work in the Langfords.”
He couldn’t allow Jessie the housekeeper to go off the radar. She’d been at Massimo Filiput’s funeral. Maybe the lawyers would have her new address.
“Did she receive a legacy?”
“No, it all came to me-and I wish to God it hadn’t. Who exactly are you, asking all these questions?”
If he said he was police, all communication would cease. “I’m Peter Diamond from Bath. There was an accident there a few days ago and a man is in hospital in a coma. We’re trying to trace people who might know him. Your uncle Cyril was a possibility.”
“How come?”
“They both used to visit a house in Cavendish Crescent.”
“Is that so?”
It was hard to tell whether Hilary was holding back information or treating him with the suspicion many country people had for townies.
“He never mentioned them?”
“I didn’t see much of Uncle Cyril. I live on the other side of Warminster.”
“I suppose you had to arrange his funeral.”
“It wasn’t much. A short service at the crematorium in Sarum. Being so old, he’d outlived most of his friends. A few folk from the village came out of respect.” This was better: freely given.
“Nobody from Bath?”
She shook her head. “His old friend Max passed over last year.”
“Max was the person I mentioned, the one he used to visit in Bath. Max Filiput. They played Scrabble once a week.”
“Did they indeed? Crafty old bugger,” she said, eyes lighting up in amusement.
“You mean Cyril? Why do you say that?”
“He had the Scrabble dictionary with words you’d never know unless you had one yourself. It’s on the shelf over there. Does that count as cheating? They will have played for money, that’s for sure. He’d bet on anything, would Uncle Cyril. I threw out his box of Scrabble yesterday. No use to me and I couldn’t be bothered checking if all the grubby little tiles were still in the box.”
“Is there much else to sort out?”
“I’m hoping to finish tomorrow and put the place up for sale.”
“What happened to the car?”
“Which car was that?”
“He used to be driven to Bath when he visited Max.”
“Jessie had a little runabout of her own. I expect they used that. Uncle Cyril had a rusty old Volvo at one time that he serviced himself, but he got rid of it after he gave up driving. Most likely it went for scrap. He wouldn’t have got much for it.”
There was more to extract from her, he was confident. “Now that I’m here, can I help you move anything out of the cottage?” If nothing else, he’d get a look inside.
She glanced at his suit. “You’re not dressed for work.”
“I’ll take off my jacket.”
“If you mean it, you could help shift a couple of beds from upstairs.”
A couple of beds? He’d been thinking of something more portable, like a laptop or some box files.
She stepped back to allow him inside. The living room was bare except for some half-filled cartons and a bookcase. He could tell by the marks on the carpet where other furniture had stood. After removing his jacket and tie he followed her upstairs, where there were two bedrooms divided by a bathroom.
“This was his. Can you take the bed to bits?”
“Let’s give it a go.” He was better at dismantling things than assembling them.
They were in a small room with little else except a fitted wardrobe and a chest of drawers.
He shifted the double mattress from the wooden bed frame and propped it against the nearest wall, and knocked off a picture as he did so. The Laughing Cavalier didn’t enjoy the joke as he hit the floor hard and his glass smashed.
“Oh Christ. I was born clumsy.”
“Doesn’t matter,” she said. “Leave it.”
The least he could do was stand the frame upright and push the broken glass with his foot into a tidy heap in the corner. He’d just about finished when he noticed at one end of the mattress the manufacturer’s label with information about the features, notably a thousand sprung pockets that ensured comfort, elegance and value.
“What have we got here?”
The label appeared to be one more pocket, bulging oddly, but Diamond had noticed it was unstitched on three sides. He tugged at the edge and heard the sound of Velcro separating. Underneath was a small cavity. Something black had been stuffed inside. He drew it out carefully.
A velvet bag.
“Hey ho.”
Light in weight, it definitely contained some small object.
He loosened the drawstring and brought out a gold necklace that was clearly antique, the pendant in the shape of an engraved serpent’s head, with five inset diamonds and blue enamel for the eyes.
He draped the piece across his palm and held it out to Hilary. “What do you reckon?”
“Where in the name of heaven did the old rogue get this from?” she said, looking but making no move to handle it.
Diamond had a good idea but didn’t say. “Want to try it on?”
She shook her head. “Not my thing at all.”
“The label says comfort, elegance and value. I’d say this has got elegance and value even if you’re not comfortable with it.”
“My flesh creeps just looking at it. I hate snakes.”
“A popular design at one time.”
She put her hand to her mouth. “Is it stolen goods, do you think?”
“He was too old for smash-and-grab raids or break-ins.”
“Well, I can’t think what he was doing with it. What am I going to do with the bloody thing? I was taking the mattress to the council tip.”
He’d been making a rapid review of his options. He didn’t want to reveal that he was from the police, but there was no other way he could reasonably take possession of the bag and its contents. He already had a fair idea where it came from. He could suggest Hilary took it to the lawyers handling Cyril’s estate, but they’d be obliged to inform the police, and if Wiltshire CID got involved one of the first things they’d ask was who had found it.
“Actually,” he said, “I ought to have shown you this before.” He produced his warrant card.
She nodded as if to confirm she’d known all along. “Why the heck didn’t you say you’re a cop?”
“A plain-clothes cop. The general idea is that we don’t go round introducing ourselves to people.”
“And now you think you ought to come clean?”
“So as to hand this in. I’ll write you a receipt. It’s yours by rights if it isn’t stolen.”