‘If the gas tank hadn’t exploded and two people hadn’t died? Is that what you are trying to say, Mrs Grey?’
The woman nodded. ‘I was in The Gatehouse, looking out through a window. I’d just seen the first fire engine arrive, everything seemed to be going to plan, and then there was this enormous explosion. The entire house just turned into a fireball, instantly. It was pretty obvious it would be a miracle if anyone came out of that alive. I couldn’t believe it. Nothing like that was supposed to happen, you see.’
‘Mrs Grey, domestic gas tanks do not readily explode. The fire investigators suspect that the tank had been tampered with. Was your husband responsible for that too?’
‘No. Of course not.’
The woman was clearly agitated, and indignant, somewhat bizarrely so under the circumstances, thought Vogel.
‘No. My Georgie wouldn’t have done that. Everybody knows what happens when gas explodes. He just lit a little fire at the front of the house. Just enough for Sir John to be able to claim his insurance. That’s all my Georgie did.’
Vogel was not at all sure that George Grey hadn’t been responsible for everything which led to the catastrophic fire, but he decided not to push the point. He wanted as much information as he could glean from Janice Grey, whilst her defences were down.
‘Did you see your husband again that night, after you’d helped him to stab himself?’
‘No, well not here, not at the manor. None of the emergency vehicles could get through at first, could they? So they were all at the end of the drive, right by The Gatehouse. There were armed policemen everywhere too. I stayed indoors, out of the way, only went outside the once, when the house exploded. I couldn’t help myself. But after that, I went back in, like the fireman told me. I didn’t have any choice. It was hours before the fire engines moved down towards the house, and the ambulances.’
‘But weren’t you worried about George? You knew he must be lying there injured? You’d been instrumental in that, after all.’
‘Only because he made me. And, of course, I was worried. I knew he must have lost a lot of blood. It was terrible, terrible, just sitting there waiting and doing nothing. But George had told me to go home and keep my head down, so that’s what I did. I saw an ambulance leave, and then this police officer came and knocked on the door. He told me George had been injured. He asked me some questions, which I avoided as best I could, then eventually he told me where George had been taken, and I drove in to Taunton hospital after him.’
‘Yes, you went to the hospital. You saw George there, and spoke to him, I presume? Because I am told your husband never totally lost consciousness, in spite of his injuries.’
‘Yes. I hadn’t been back from The Musgrove long when you and that woman police officer arrived.’
‘So, what did your husband tell you that he wouldn’t have told me?’
‘Well I don’t know what he told you, do I—’
‘C’mon, Mrs Grey, you know exactly what I mean,’ interrupted Vogel.
‘All right, all right. Well, George was a bit woozy, they’d sedated him so they could stitch up his wounds. And he was shocked and frightened, frightened he might get done for murder. He said he couldn’t understand what had happened. The gas tank was right at the back of the house, and several metres away from the house. George said they don’t explode easily either, those tanks.’
Vogel was intrigued. Could it really be possible that George Grey was as puzzled by the exact cause of the explosion as everybody else?
‘What did your husband think might have happened, Mrs Grey?’ he asked.
‘George thought somebody must have tampered with the tank, so that it leaked, or something like that. That’s what he told me anyway.’
‘And who did he think that somebody might have been?’
‘He had no idea, no idea at all.’
‘Are you quite sure that your husband wasn’t the person who tampered with the tank?’
‘Of course he wasn’t,’ said Janice Grey firmly. ‘My George wasn’t a murderer. And he knew how dangerous that would have been, to have gas leaking into the house. He wouldn’t have done anything like that.’
‘But, Mrs Grey, you have admitted that it was your husband who set the house on fire. And you were both aware that he intended to do that, and that he had carried out his intention. Wasn’t that dangerous enough in itself?’
‘Look, George was quite sure the fire services would get there and put the fire out before any harm came to Sir John or his nurse. And that’s what would have happened if somebody hadn’t interfered. He was sure of that. Told me in the hospital he still believed that.’
‘Who do you think did interfere, Mrs Grey?’
‘I don’t know, do I? No more than George did. But I’ll bet it’s the same people who did for my George, and then came looking for me last night. They’re ruthless murdering scum, it’s because of them Sir John and his nurse died in the fire. Not because of my George.’
‘And yet your George chose to execute this plan on a night when the only means of access to Blackdown Manor for fire appliances was blocked by a fallen tree, did he not?’
‘Well yes.’
‘If he didn’t wish Sir John to come to any harm, why would he do that?’
‘He’d been afraid the fire services might get here too quickly and put out the blaze before enough damage was done to the place for Sir John to make sufficient money out of his insurance claim. When the tree came down that seemed to be the perfect opportunity. He and Sir John agreed that would be the night. George said it would still be all right because the firemen would be able to carry some sort of hand-held pump through. But it would all take just that bit longer—’
Janice Grey was interrupted then by a hovering paramedic who knocked on the car window. ‘I’m sorry, detective inspector, we really must get Mrs Grey to hospital,’ she said.
Vogel nodded his assent, and watched in silence as Janice Grey was helped from the MCIT pool car and led to the waiting ambulance.
Seventeen
That same morning Bella Fairbrother had been woken in her Mount Somerset hotel room by the ring of her mobile phone. She was still half asleep when she answered. She had, after all, been awake half the night fretting about what her next course of action should be, and had only finally dropped off a couple of hours earlier.
‘It’s Jimmy,’ said her caller.
Jimmy. Jimmy Martins, the recently appointed acting chairman of Fairbrother’s. Bella could see the time at the top of her screen. It was just before seven a.m.
‘I’m sorry to call so early,’ he continued. ‘But I’m afraid this can’t wait. I’ve been up all night going through the figures. It’s even worse than we thought...’
Bella tried to shake herself into full wakefulness. It wasn’t worse than she thought, that was for sure. But Jimmy Martins didn’t know the half of it. He had always been her father’s stooge. He was still a stooge, which was why Bella had pressed the board to offer him the chair, and him to take it, if only on a temporary basis. Bella did feel at least a tad guilty about that, unlike her father, to whom guilt had always been a stranger. She let Martins carry on talking.
‘The bank seems to be operating by osmosis,’ he went on. ‘There is just no substance to anything. I had no idea how bad things were. And I spent most of yesterday dodging the financial press, Bella. They’re on to it.’
‘I’ve told you, Jimmy, once I’ve got hold of the will and all the paperwork, we can start unravelling the various trusts that will now come into fruition following my father’s death. You know how it works. How it’s always worked. Upon the death of the oldest surviving Fairbrother these trusts automatically yield huge bonuses, but remain ongoing for future generations—’