Garden of Secrets Past

SEVENTEEN


Back at his flat, he was pleased to see that another e-mail from Crawford had arrived. It was what he’d been waiting for: contact information for the people on Veitch’s list. He scanned it quickly. There were addresses and phone numbers for all, with two exceptions. Jessica Henshawe and Vanessa Decker had neither a phone number nor an address.

He decided to focus on two other men on the A-list: Julian Heywood and Sebastian Hurst. He glanced at his watch: a little after four. A car dealership should still be open, he figured. He picked up the phone and dialed Julian Heywood’s work number. The woman who answered with a chirpy “Performance Motors” said that Heywood was in the showroom and that she would page him. Within a minute he was on the line.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Heywood. This is Dr. Kingston. We met briefly at Sturminster, recently. I was with Simon Crawford at the time.”

A lengthy pause followed, suggesting that Heywood’s recollection was blurry.

“I must confess, I don’t remember. Are you calling about a car?”

“I’m not. No. It’s regarding the recent murder there.”

Again, Heywood was slow to answer. “I see. What makes you think I can help?”

“I’m not even sure you can. Lord Morley has asked me to look into it, and with his permission I’m familiarizing myself with a few family members. We’re collaborating with the police, of course. Have they talked to you about it?”

“No, they haven’t.”

“I plan to be near Nottingham in the next few days and wondered if I could stop by and ask a few questions—when you’re not busy, of course. Among other things there are a couple of people local to the area you might be able to help me identify.”

“You’ll be wasting your time, but that’s up to you. The best day would be Tuesday. Where are you coming from?”

“London,” said Kingston, glancing at his diary. That was the day after he was seeing Inspector Wheatley. It would be convenient to fit the two meetings in the same day. “Any chance of Monday?”

“Sorry, that’s out.”

“Tuesday it is, then. How about noon?”

“That’ll be fine. We’re on the south side of Nottingham on the A52. Performance Motors.”

“I’ll find it, don’t worry.”

Kingston put down the phone thinking about the call. Heywood had sounded apathetic, but that was to be expected. Anyone being asked to answer questions about a murder case wouldn’t be jumping for joy in anticipation. Speaking of which …

Looking at the list again, he decided that while he was at it he might as well try to get hold of Sebastian Hurst, Bryce Lytton’s partner at Windrush Stables, as well. Like Inspector Jonathan Whicher, Scotland Yard’s first great detective, who claimed he could see people’s thoughts in their eyes and that in faces he could always find something readable, Kingston didn’t trust the telephone when it came to interviews. He would far prefer to question Hurst face-to-face, but for the sake of expediency he decided to make an exception. He’d call Hurst, introduce himself, explain how he was involved in the murder case, and ask if he would mind answering a few simple questions. If Hurst appeared receptive, Kingston would conduct the interview on the phone. If his reaction was otherwise—if he seemed reluctant or resented the implication—Kingston would further explain and request an appointment to interview him in person.

Kingston needn’t have bothered with Hurst, as it turned out. Hurst answered Kingston’s questions succinctly, saying that he didn’t know and had never met Endicott or Veitch and knew little or nothing about the rumored Morley family feud. Asked about members of the Morley family, he said that he’d only met Francis Morley on one occasion and, except for Daisy, he’d never met any of the others Kingston mentioned. A question about the poison aconitine and another inquiring if Hurst had any interest in gardening were both met with negative answers. There was nothing to be learned here, Kingston decided. He thanked the man for his time and crossed his name off the list.

In bed that night—he’d turned in early deciding he wanted a clear head before facing Inspector Wheatley—he thought about the case and what little progress he’d made. He still had no idea who had killed William Endicott and why, which was the reason he’d been hired. Instead, he’d become inextricably entangled in another murder case and a completely unexpected turn of events brought about by Veitch’s supposed discovery alleging that the centuries-old Morley legend could be factual and could also have a bearing on the Sturminster case. To complicate matters, there was the question of Amanda. How did she fit in to all of this? Had she been working with her brother more closely than she’d claimed? Did she know more than she’d professed? Or was he being overly suspicious? There was no evidence whatsoever to suggest that she hadn’t been honest with him all along and wasn’t genuinely concerned for his well-being. After thinking on it for another minute or so, he concluded that he was trying too hard to connect the dots and it was starting to cloud his judgment. It had been a long time since he’d even come close to a friendship with anyone of the opposite sex and he wasn’t accustomed to it and should really be flattered. He closed his eyes and let it go at that.