Tom drove up a long gravel road flanked by autumn-bare poplars. The rain had stopped, but the sky above was the colour of cold gunmetal.
‘Kites.’ Sannie pointed up at the three birds of prey wheeling above them. ‘They look a lot like the yellow-bills we get at home.’
‘Is that a good omen or a bad one?’
She shrugged. ‘Bad if you’re a snake.’
‘Well, we don’t have too many of those here in England. Let’s enter the lion’s den, shall we?’
Sannie frowned, opened her car door, then shivered. ‘Lions don’t have dens. Let’s get this over with.’
Tom followed her along the flagstones. He was no historian or architect, but the house symbolised history and money: old red brick, bare wooden beams and well-kept thatch. The winter garden was drab but manicured.
The door opened before they could knock. Janet Greeves — Tom recognised her from pictures in the newspapers — stood waiting for them, unsmiling.
She was dressed for a walk, in jeans and green Wellington boots, and a dark olive Barbour jacket.
‘Detective Sergeant Furey?’
Tom nodded. ‘Morning, ma’am. This is Inspector Susan van Rensburg of the South African Police. She’s involved in the African end of the investigation.’
Surprise and unease were plain on Janet Greeves’s face, though she shook hands with both of them. ‘So this is now an official visit?’
‘All we want, Mrs Greeves, is to find out who abducted your husband and Bernard Joyce and where they might be now. Anything you can tell us that will help the authorities here and abroad to meet those aims will be appreciated.’ She nodded and Tom thought he’d done a pretty good job of not answering her question. The woman was clearly off balance, though, and that wasn’t a bad thing from his point of view.
‘Very well. I thought we’d walk, if you don’t mind. My daughter’s inside, staying with me, and from our earlier conversation,’ she looked at Tom, ‘there might be some matters that she’s better off not hearing about.’
Tom wasn’t happy. Interviewees had no home-ground advantage when you questioned them in their own surroundings. What was on the walls, on the mantelpieces and stuck to refrigerators with magnets was often as interesting as a person’s words.
‘Um, if you don’t mind, Mrs Greeves, I need to use your bathroom, please.’
Janet sighed. ‘Of course.’
Good girl, Tom thought. Sannie was thinking the same way as he, and had found an excuse to get past Janet and into her inner sanctum.
‘I’d better show you the way. It’s a bit of a rabbit warren, this old pile.’
Tom hovered in the entryway as Janet led Sannie through the living room and pointed down a corridor towards the rear of the house. Tom noted the way Sannie’s eyes scanned the walls, the coffee table, the piano, the fireplace. Tom heard a dull bass beat from upstairs. The gothic daughter, he presumed.
Janet walked back to where Tom stood, effectively quarantining him just inside the door. ‘I wasn’t expecting this,’ she said in a low voice.
‘Inspector Van Rensburg is making good headway in tracking down the suspects, ma’am.’
‘Stop talking like a politician, Mr Furey. You gave me a clear indication that we would be talking off the record. I don’t want anything I say to reflect badly on my husband’s name — for the sake of the government, our children, and for my sake.’ She folded her arms. ‘Perhaps you should just leave.’
She was an attractive woman. Blue eyes and auburn hair, held back in a simple ponytail. She was slender — about five-six, he reckoned — with flawless English rose skin but the wrinkled upper lip of a heavy smoker. He smelled tobacco on her as well. She was in her midforties, he thought. Greeves had chosen well. Looks, breeding, and money — and a few years younger than himself.
‘Like me, ma’am, Inspector Van Rensburg has no official jurisdiction here in England.’
‘That’s a very frank admission. I definitely think you should leave as soon as she’s finished.’
‘What it means,’ Tom held out his open hands, ‘is that we’re not here to record what you say or take down a statement. I’ll be honest. We — that is, the detectives involved in the case — are running into dead ends both here and in Africa.’
‘All very well but, as I told you on the phone, I’ve told the investigating officers everything I can remember about Robert’s movements leading up to his last trip.’
Janet turned at the sounds of Sannie’s footsteps behind her. ‘You have a lovely house, Mrs Greeves.’
She nodded. ‘Shall we walk?’
Sannie nodded too and winked at Tom behind Janet’s back as she led them down the flagstones towards a converted barn which, judging by the lace curtains in the window, didn’t house animals any more. Sannie lengthened her stride until she was walking beside the other woman.
‘Your husband really loved Africa,’ Sannie said. ‘Did you travel with him often?’
‘Once, on an official visit — for a conference to which spouses were invited — and once on a holiday, with the children.’
Tom had the same thought as Sannie, evidently, because she said, ‘But he went several more times for pleasure, didn’t he? By himself?’
‘It wasn’t always convenient for us to take holidays at the same time, and you’re not quite right. Sometimes he tacked on a few days of recreation at the end of his official trips. That ghastly newspaper the World tried to make out he took holiday trips at the taxpayers’ expense, but they were wrong.’
Sannie murmured that she understood. ‘Did you ever consider investing, buying property in Africa?’
‘He spoke about it every now and then.’
‘Where was Mr Greeves’s favourite place in Africa?’
‘Lake Malawi. Look, what’s all this got to do with his death?’ Janet slowed her stride to make eye contact with Sannie.
‘Mrs Greeves, it’s important that we know as much as possible about your husband — not only his movements, but everything about his personal and private life — if we are to find out how and why he, and those around him, were targeted.’
Janet spoke slowly, as though trying to communicate with a foreigner. ‘I — told — the — police — everything.’
Sannie nodded. ‘Yes, except about the affair. Who was it with?’
Tom was half a pace behind them. He’d sensed that it was important for Sannie to try to build a rapport with Janet, and the simple act of her taking charge of the conversation and walking in step seemed to be working.
‘Off the record?’
‘For now,’ Sannie said. ‘You know I can’t be more definite than that. However, you have my word that nothing of what you say will be communicated to the media by myself or Detective Sergeant Furey, and no other police officers here or in South Africa will need to know unless it is undeniably linked to future enquiries.’
‘At least you’re honest.’ Janet drew a deep breath and slowed her pace. ‘Nick Roberts.’
Tom’s eyes widened, and he was pleased Janet couldn’t see his face.
‘Your husband’s bodyguard?’ Sannie, Tom thought, did a better job than he of masking her surprise. He was momentarily confused. Were Nick and Robert Greeves bisexual?
‘Yes,’ Janet said. Having breached some invisible barrier, the words started to tumble out. ‘He was around the house all the time, and we often found ourselves together, in public and in private, while Robert was making a speech or holding private meetings. He was a good-looking man — attentive, and interested in me as a person, not just as Robert’s political accessory. I can’t tell you how hard it’s been grieving for two men — one in private and one in public. Not revealing my true feelings. There, I’ve said it.’