Кара Хантер - In the Dark

Quinn raises an eyebrow. ‘Really?’ He opens the file he was carrying. ‘We’ve just had confirmation that some of the fingerprints we found at thirty-three Frampton Road are a match for yours.’

Walsh shrugs. ‘That’s hardly surprising. I have visited several times. Albeit not recently.’

‘When exactly were you there last?’

‘I’m not entirely sure. Perhaps the autumn of 2014. I came to a conference in Oxford that October and popped in to see Bill for a few minutes. To be honest, I pretty much stopped going after Priscilla died.’

Gislingham raises an eyebrow; that doesn’t sound right, not with everything he’s heard about her. ‘So did you get on well with Priscilla then?’

‘If you must know, I thought she was a terrible woman. A vicious bitch and a marriage wrecker, though I’m aware the latter is a rather old-fashioned concept these days. She turned my aunt’s final years into a complete hell. I made a point of only going there when I knew she’d be out.’

‘And how often was that, would you say?’

‘While Nancy was still alive I used to go two or three times a year. After Bill married Priscilla, probably once a year at most.’

‘So why did you stop going altogether after Priscilla died? Surely that should have made things easier between you and Dr Harper?’

Walsh sits back in his chair. ‘I don’t know, it just happened that way. There’s not some ulterior agenda here, Constable.’

But Gislingham isn’t giving up. ‘So let me get this straight – you stopped going to see him at the very point when he needed someone to look out for him? He’s on his own, he’s getting on, he’s starting to show signs of dementia –’

‘I knew nothing about that,’ says Walsh quickly.

‘Well, you wouldn’t, would you. Since you’d stopped bothering to go and see him.’

Walsh looks away.

‘It wasn’t just that though, was it?’ says Quinn. ‘You two had argued. A major falling-out, from what we hear.’

‘That’s absurd.’

‘Someone saw you.’

Walsh gives him a withering look. ‘If you’re talking about that old dear from down the road, she’s hardly my idea of a reliable witness.’

There’s a silence. Walsh is drumming his fingers on his thighs.

Then there’s a knock on the door and it opens to reveal Erica Somer, with a sheaf of papers in her hand. She tries to catch Quinn’s attention but he studiously avoids looking at her.

‘Sergeant? Could I have a word?’

‘We’re in the middle of an interview, PC Somer.’

‘I know that, Sergeant.’

Gislingham can see it’s important, even if Quinn is refusing to. He gets up and goes to the door. Watching on the screen, Everett sees Quinn get increasingly irritated until Gislingham finally returns to the room. And this time, Somer follows him in. Quinn doesn’t look up. And when she takes the chair in the far corner facing him, he still won’t meet her gaze.

Gislingham puts the papers down on the table, then swivels one of the sheets round to face Walsh. It’s a photograph.

‘Do you know what this picture is of, Mr Walsh?’

Walsh looks at the paper and shifts slightly. ‘No, not offhand.’

‘I think you know very well. You have one like this yourself.’

Walsh sits back and folds his arms. ‘So? What’s that got to do with anything? It’s just a cupboard.’

Gislingham raises an eyebrow. ‘Hardly. It’s a very special type of cupboard, designed to hold a very special type of ornament. A type of ornament Dr Harper just happens to own. We know that, because they’re right here –’ he points at a second sheet ‘– on his contents insurance. Only strangely enough, I don’t remember seeing any of them in that house. What I do remember, however, is seeing a cupboard just like this one in your front room.’

Gislingham is suddenly aware how hard Quinn is staring at him. And if there’s one thing Quinn hates, it’s being wrong-footed.

‘So, Mr Walsh,’ says Gislingham quickly, ‘why don’t you save us all a lot of time and tell us exactly what this thing is for?’

Walsh’s mouth has set in a thin, irritated little line. ‘My grandfather was a diplomat, and spent a number of years in Japan after the war. During that time he amassed a considerable collection of netsuke .’

Quinn puts down his pen and looks up. ‘Sorry?’

Walsh raises an eyebrow. ‘You haven’t got a clue what I’m talking about, have you?’ he says sardonically.

But sarcasm is rarely the best way to deal with Quinn. ‘Well, in that case,’ he replies, ‘why don’t you just go right ahead and enlighten me?’

‘ Netsuke are miniature carvings.’ The voice is Somer’s. ‘They were part of traditional Japanese dress. A bit like toggles.’

Walsh smiles at Quinn. ‘Your colleague seems to be rather better informed than you are.’

Quinn looks at him venomously. ‘So this collection of your grandfather’s – how much was it worth?’

‘Oh, probably only a few hundred pounds,’ says Walsh airily. ‘It was more the principle of the thing – its sentimental value. My grandfather left them to Nancy, and when she died I thought they should revert to the family.’

‘But Dr Harper didn’t agree?’

A flicker of anger crosses Walsh’s face. ‘No. He didn’t. I talked to him about it but he said Priscilla was very fond of them. He made it very clear she wasn’t going to give them up.’

I bet she wasn’t, thinks Quinn.

‘I see,’ he says, ‘but after she died you thought, well, worth another shot?’

‘As you so eloquently put it, yes. I went to see him again.’

‘And he blew you off. Again. That’s what the two of you were arguing about.’

Gislingham smiles drily; as he always says, when it comes to crime, it’s love or it’s money. Or sometimes both.

Walsh is really hacked off now. ‘He had no right – those items were part of my family’s history – our legacy –’

‘So where are they now?’

Walsh stops abruptly. ‘What do you mean?’

‘As DC Gislingham just pointed out, there aren’t any of those netsky things in the house. You, on the other hand, appear to have a cupboard specially designed to display them.’

Walsh flushes. ‘I bought that when I thought Bill was going to be reasonable.’

‘So you’re saying that if we search your house we won’t find any of the items listed on this insurance form?’

‘Absolutely not,’ he snaps. ‘If they’re not at Frampton Road I have no idea where they are. And that being the case I would like to report them missing. Officially.’

Quinn turns a page in his file. ‘Duly noted. So, perhaps we could now turn to the issue of the fingerprints.’

‘What?’ Walsh looks at him blankly, distracted.

‘The fingerprints I mentioned. So far we’ve found them in several different parts of the house. Some are in the kitchen –’

‘That’s no surprise, I must have spent most of my time in there –’

‘And some are in the cellar.’

Walsh stares at him. Swallows. ‘What do you mean, the cellar?’

‘The cellar where the young woman and child were found. Perhaps you could explain how they got there?’

‘I have no idea. I don’t think I’ve ever been down there. And I want it noted that I absolutely and categorically do not know anything about that young woman. Or her child.’ He looks from one to the other. ‘Furthermore, I’m not prepared to answer any more questions until I see my lawyer.’

‘You do, of course, have the right to do that,’ says Quinn. ‘Just as we have the right to arrest you. Which, for the avoidance of doubt, I am now doing. Interview terminated at 6.12 p.m.’