Val McDermid - Common Murder

“Almost twenty-six years. We celebrated our silver wedding last May.”

“You must have been looking forward to a lot more happy years, then?”

“If you say so.”

“And you have two children, is that right?”

“Hardly children. Rosamund is twenty-four now and Simon is twenty-one.”

“This must have come as an appalling shock to you all?” Lindsay felt clumsy and embarrassed, but the other woman’s attitude was so negative that it was hard to find words that weren’t leaden and awkward.

“In many ways, yes. When the police came to the door last night, I was shaken, though the last thing that I would have expected was for Rupert to be bludgeoned to death taking Rex for his bedtime stroll.”

“Were you alone when the police arrived with the news?”

She shook her head. “No. Simon was in. He’d been working earlier in the evening; he rents a friend’s lock-up garage in Fordham. He’s got all his computing equipment there. He’s got his own computer software business, you know. He commutes on his motorbike, so he can come and go as he pleases.”

At last she was opening up. Lindsay gave a small sigh of relief. “So the first you knew anything was amiss was when the police came to the door?”

“Well, strictly speaking, it was just before they rang the bell. Rex started barking his head off. You see, the poor creature had obviously been frightened off by Rupert’s attacker, and he’d bolted and come home. He must have been sitting on the front doorstep. Of course, when he saw the police, he started barking. He’s such a good watchdog.”

“Yes, I’d noticed,” Lindsay replied. “Forgive me, Mrs. Crabtree, but something you said earlier seems to me to beg a lot of questions.”

“Really? What was that?”

“It seemed to me that you implied that you’re not entirely surprised that your husband was murdered. That someone should actively want him dead.”

Mrs. Crabtree’s head turned sharply towards Lindsay. She looked her up and down as if seeing her properly for the first time. Her appraisal seemed to find something in Lindsay worth confiding in.

“My husband was a man who enjoyed the exercise of power over people,” she said after a pause. “He loved to be in control, even in matters of small degree. There was nothing that appealed to Rupert so much as being able to dictate to people, whether over their plea on a motoring offense or how they should live their entire lives.

“Even when shrouded in personal charm of the sort my husband had, it’s not an endearing characteristic. Miss Gordon, a lot of people had good cause to resent him. Perhaps Rupert finally pushed someone too far…”

“Can you think of anyone in particular?” Lindsay asked coolly, suppressing the astonishment she felt at Mrs. Crabtree’s open admission but determined to cash in on it.

“The women at the peace camp, of course. He was determined not to give up the battle against them till every last one was removed. He didn’t just regard it as a political pressure campaign. He saw it as his personal mission to fight them as individuals and as a group and wear them down. He was especially vindictive towards the one who broke his nose. He said he’d not be satisfied till she was in prison.”

“How did you feel about that mission of your husband’s? How did it affect you?” Lindsay probed.

Mrs. Crabtree shrugged. “I thought he was doing the right thing to oppose the camp. Those women have no morals. They even bring their children to live in those shocking conditions. No self-respecting mother would do that. No, Rupert was right. The missiles are there for our protection, after all. And that peace camp is such an eyesore.”

“Did it take up a lot of your husband’s time?”

“A great deal. But it was a good cause, so I tried not to mind.” Mrs. Crabtree looked away and added, “He really cared about what he was doing.”

“Was there anyone else who might have had a motive?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve no idea who might hold a professional grievance. But you should probably talk to William Mallard. He’s the treasurer of Ratepayers Against Brownlow’s Destruction. He and Rupert were in the throes of some sort of row over the group’s finances. And he’d be able to tell you more about Rupert’s relations with other people in the group. There was one man that Rupert got thrown out a few weeks ago. I don’t know any details, I’m afraid. Does any of this help?”

“Oh yes, I need to get as full a picture as possible. Your husband was obviously a man who was very active in the community.”

Emma Crab tree nodded. Lindsay thought she detected a certain cynicism in her smile. “He was indeed,” she concurred. “One could scarcely be unaware of that. And for all his faults, Rupert did a lot for this area. He was very good at getting things done. He brooked no opposition. He was a very determined man, my husband. Life will be a lot quieter without him.” For the first time, a note of regret had crept into her voice.

Lindsay brooded on what had been said. It seemed to her that it was now or never for the hard questions. “And did his forcefulness extend to his family life?” she pursued.

Mrs. Crabtree flashed a shrewd glance at her. “In some ways,” she replied cautiously. “He was determined the children shouldn’t be spoilt, that they should prove themselves before getting any financial help from him. Rosamund had to spend three years slaving away in restaurants and hotel kitchens before he’d lend her enough to set up in business on her own. Then Simon wanted to set up this computer software company. But Rupert refused to lend him the capital he needed. Rupert insisted that he stay on at college and finish his accountancy qualifications. But Simon refused. Too like his father. He went ahead with his business idea, in spite of Rupert. But of course, without any capital, he hasn’t got as far as he had hoped.”

“Presumably, though, he’ll inherit a share of his father’s money now?” Lindsay pursued cautiously.

“More than enough for his business, yes. It’ll soften the blow for him of losing his father. He’s been very withdrawn since… since last night. He’s struggling to pretend that life goes on, but I know that deep down he’s in great pain.”

Her defense of her son was cut off by the opening of the dining room door. Lindsay was taken aback. She failed to see how anyone could have entered the house without the dog barking as it had when she and Rigano arrived. She half turned to weight up the new arrival.

“I’m back, mother,” he said brusquely. “Who’s this?”

Simon Crabtree was a very tall young man. He had his father’s dark curling hair and strong build, but the impression of forcefulness was contradicted by a full, soft mouth. Lindsay suddenly understood just why Emma Crabtree was so swift to come to his defense.

“Hello, darling,” she said. “This is Miss Gordon. She’s a journalist. Superintendent Rigano brought her. We’re hoping that now all the other journalists will leave us alone.”

He smiled, and Lindsay realised that he had also inherited his slice of Rupert’s charm. “That bunch? They’ll go as soon as they’ve got another sensation to play with,” he said cynically. “There was no need to invite one in, mother.” He turned to Lindsay and added, “I hope you’ve not been hassling my mother. That’s the last thing she needs after a shock like this.”

“I realise that. I wanted to know a bit about your father. I’m writing a magazine feature about the camp, and your father played an important role that should be recognised. I need to talk to everyone who’s involved, and your mother kindly agreed to give me some time. In return, I’ve promised to get rid of the mob at your gate. A few quotes should persuade them to leave,” Lindsay replied, conciliatory.