‘Ah yes, Mr Devlin. You had contacted him direct, I think you said?’
‘I phoned the local council to find out who looked after the place,’ said Edmund. ‘And Devlin agreed to give Miss Smith access. He may have checked that with the owners, or he may have just used his own discretion. I didn’t ask him who the owners were,’ said Edmund. ‘Because of client confidentiality. But I had the impression it was some property developer.’
‘Yes, we know about that. Mr Devlin’s letting us have the address of the owner, although it sounds as if it’s changed hands a few times over the years. It’s probably been a case of small property developers wanting to build on the site, but encountering problems and selling again as quickly as possible.’
‘Fly-by-night profiteers, I expect,’ said Edmund disapprovingly. ‘Buying land cheaply in the misguided belief that there’s easy money to be made from building ugly little dolls’ houses on it.’
‘Perhaps. Although the Ashwood site is quite near to the Green Belt, so there might have been difficulties about planning consent.’ She looked at him thoughtfully. ‘You went to considerable trouble on Miss Smith’s behalf.’
‘Not especially. I’ve already told you I felt a degree of responsibility on my aunt’s behalf,’ said Edmund, and then, in case this had sounded defensive, spread his hands in a deprecatory gesture – Crispin’s gesture – charming and frank. ‘I was curious about the place, Detective Inspector,’ he said. ‘All the tales, all the ghosts in my aunt’s family. The disreputable Lucretia von Wolff and Conrad Kline and so on.’
‘Family ghosts,’ said Fletcher expressionlessly, making a note. ‘So you drove to Ashwood on Monday afternoon. What time did you arrive?’
‘About four,’ said Edmund, disliking Fletcher’s tone even less this time. ‘I can’t be precise, although I remember it was already getting dark. Miss Smith had arrived ahead of me, and so had Devlin. He might know the exact time if it’s important. Was he there when the body was found? I suppose he’d have to be, because of unlocking the place.’
‘Mr Devlin was certainly there,’ said DI Fletcher. ‘But Mrs Holland was accompanied by a Mr Michael Sallis.’ She looked up. ‘Do you know Mr Sallis?’
‘As a matter of fact I do,’ said Edmund shortly, angry that he had apparently displayed a reaction and that Fletcher had spotted it. ‘He works for an organization called CHARTH.’ That sounded better; it put Michael Sallis in his place, and it also made it sound as if Edmund himself was associated with charity work.
DI Fletcher did not comment on this and she did not explain Michael Sallis’s involvement. She said, ‘You got to Ashwood around four. And you went into Studio Twelve with Miss Smith.’
Edmund gave another of the rueful smiles. ‘Yes. I told you – I was curious. I thought I’d take the opportunity to see where Lucretia’s legend had ended.’
‘And so having taking the opportunity, and having communed with the ghosts and the legends, you left?’
‘Yes. Miss Smith stayed on, though; she wanted to sketch some layout plans, and also to soak up the atmosphere – her expression, not mine. She was going to slam the door shut when she left. It’s a Yale lock, and she was the kind of person who could be trusted to slam it properly. I drove home; I got back about half-past seven as far as I recall.’
‘So,’ said Inspector Fletcher, eyeing him thoughtfully, ‘You didn’t actually see Miss Smith leave Studio Twelve?’
‘No,’ said Edmund. ‘No, I didn’t see that.’