‘What about on a more personal level? Did he have any business partners?’
‘He had employees, not partners. They depended on him for their livelihoods.’
‘Friends, girlfriends?’
‘He had a certain circle of people he mixed with. I’m sure you’ll find them all listed in his contacts. Mostly politicians, high-ranking police officers, celebrities and so on, though I’m sure you’ll also find a sprinkling of locals — perhaps a wealthy farmer or two, if there is such a thing, a few professionals, lawyers, doctors, that sort of thing. People he played golf with. Father could be very charming when he wanted to. He liked to collect people. Mix with the crème de la crème. Especially if he thought they might prove useful down the line. As for his love life, I assume he had one. Father always had his little peccadillos, even when mother was still alive. It’s not something I care to contemplate.’
‘Poppy said he didn’t have anyone, not since your mother died.’
‘Maybe she’s right.’
Annie had photographed the Pandora treble clef before lodging it with exhibits, and she placed the picture in front of Ronald Hadfield. ‘Do you recognise that?’ she asked.
Hadfield frowned. ‘What is it?’
‘A charm from a bracelet.’
He shook his head. ‘Afraid not.’
She placed a copy of the photograph Adrienne Munro’s parents had given Banks in front of him. ‘Ever seen her?’
‘No. Is this father’s squeeze? If so, I’d say he’s done rather well for himself, though she looks a bit young.’
‘Her name was Adrienne Munro. She was nineteen. Has your father ever mentioned her?’
‘Not to my knowledge. Was?’
‘She was found dead around the same time as your father.’
‘A suicide pact? Is that what you’re suggesting?’
‘No. But this charm was found in your father’s bathroom at Rivendell.’
‘Well, I’ve never seen it, or her.’
Annie put the photographs away. ‘How about your father’s relationship with Poppy?’
‘You don’t mean—’
‘I’m not suggesting anything untoward, but if you do have information we’re not aware of...’
‘No, there was nothing like that. I’m certain of it. Father may have been a bastard, but he wasn’t into incest. Poppy was the apple of his eye, that’s all.’
‘And she felt the same way?’
‘As far as I know. Definitely a daddy’s girl. As far as she’s capable of having feelings with that fucked-up brain of hers. The number of times he’s forked out to cover up scandals, blackmail, or to put her in rehab. Makes me wish I had shares in The Priory.’
‘You mention blackmail.’
‘Poppy’s indiscretions know no bounds. But in those kinds of situations you’d be looking at Father as the perpetrator of the murder, not the victim. It was always easier to pay them off.’
‘You never know where blackmail might lead.’
Hadfield shrugged. ‘Well, you’re the expert.’ He slugged back the rest of his brandy. ‘Thanks for the drink. I hope you can claim it on expenses. If that’s all, I’d like to get going.’
‘Are you sure you should be driving?’
‘Certainly not. That’s why I have Mark waiting outside. My driver.’
‘Are you thinking of going back to Rivendell?’
‘No fucking way. I’m going back to Hampstead.’
‘Good. The house is a possible crime scene. It’s out of bounds. But your father has just died. There must be things to do, things to organise, even though it might be some time before the body is released? You said yourself his death would cause problems.’
‘Let Poppy deal with it. Like I said, she’ll probably be the one to benefit most.’
‘I’m not sure Poppy could organise a piss-up in a brewery.’
Hadfield laughed. ‘You’re probably quite right about that. But she can certainly afford to hire someone to do it for her. Isn’t that what expensive lawyers are for? By the way, where is the little charmer?’
‘Been and gone.’
‘That’s our Poppy. Hope it was a pleasant visit.’
‘We may need to talk to you again,’ Annie said.
‘I’m not that hard to get hold of.’ Hadfield reached into his pocket. ‘I’ll tell you what, just because it’s you, here’s my mobile number. And don’t you dare fucking give it to anyone else.’
Leaving a final nasty smile that faded slowly in the air, like the Cheshire Cat’s, Ronald Hadfield left The Unicorn and Annie put the card in her briefcase. Then she went to the bar and asked for a pint of Black Sheep. She had had it up to her back teeth with the bloody Hadfields.
That afternoon, DS Winsome Jackman went to talk to Sarah Chen’s housemates in Leeds. They rented a big old house on Clarendon Road, around the back of the university. Set back from the street, it was a grand red-brick building, darkened by years of industrial pollution, complete with gables and bay windows. Trees grew high in the garden, winter sunlight filtering through their bare branches.
Winsome rang the doorbell and a young fair-haired woman, probably about Sarah’s age, answered. She didn’t seem unduly surprised or distressed when Winsome showed her warrant card, but simply asked her to come in and walked ahead of her to the living room. Winsome could see immediately that the interior of the old house had been refurbished and given a more modern appearance. The students had added their own bits of colour here and there — a reprinted The Third Man film poster, a Monet reproduction, a large stereo system and plenty of second-hand or makeshift furniture, from mismatched armchairs to bookcases built of planks and bricks, probably stolen from the nearby building site.
The young woman introduced herself as Fiona, then introduced Winsome to the other two, Fatima and Erik. They were all clearly grieving, but Fiona had the grace to offer Winsome a cup of tea, which she accepted gladly. There was some left in the large pot on the glass table, and Winsome said she’d be quite happy with that. She didn’t need milk or sugar.
‘I’m sorry about your friend,’ she began. ‘I don’t know if you know, but there was also a student in Eastvale who died recently, and we think the two incidents might be connected. Her name was Adrienne Munro. That’s why I’m here.’
‘Died or murdered?’ said Erik.
‘We’re not sure,’ Winsome answered. ‘It looks like suicide, but someone else was definitely involved.’
‘Because Sarah was murdered, no doubt about it.’
‘I know,’ said Winsome. ‘I didn’t mean to imply any different. But the local police found a slip of paper in Sarah’s room with Adrienne’s name on it, along with a phone number we can’t trace. Do any of you know anything about it?’
They all shook their heads. Fatima had clearly been crying, and she brought out a tissue from the folds of her clothing to pat her eyes.
‘The officers compared it with some of Sarah’s lecture notes, and the handwriting wasn’t hers,’ Winsome went on. ‘Did any of you write it down. Was it a phone message for her or something?’
‘We don’t know anything about it,’ Fiona said. She was wearing the student uniform of jeans and a chunky sweater with the sleeves pulled down to cover most of her hands. ‘We’ve never heard of Adrienne Munro.’
‘I understand that,’ said Winsome. ‘It was just a possibility. I had to ask. Little things like that can drive you crazy in my job, and when someone comes along later, after you’ve been banging your head against a brick wall for days, and says, “Oh, I did that. Sorry. Didn’t I mention it earlier?” it can make you kind of mad.’