right-hand path, drawing down the
blanket of denial over any speculation about the fate of the Caplans.
He would know soon enough.
The gates to Chilton Manor were open, presumably a forced entry
by the police. He drove along the wide gravel driveway and saw a
black Vectra parked next to a patrol car. DI Sullivan was standing by
the driver's door. He was wearing a heavy blue parka the size of a
tent, along with grubby-looking jeans and trainers: weekend clothes.
As he turned, George searched the detective's face for some tiny hint
of reassurance. He got nothing.
They shook hands. Sullivan's was freezing cold, and the tip of his nose
was red. George said, 'Did you check the farm?'
The policeman nodded, wiped his nose on his sleeve. 'We found
the adults dead in the kitchen.'
George had been expecting it, virtually since he'd first spoken to
Sullivan, but for a moment he felt utterly destabilised. He groped for
the Jaguar behind him and half leaned, half sat on the bonnet.
'And their daughter?'
'Smothered with a pillow. She's been airlifted to the Royal Alex in
Brighton. They don't expect her to survive.'
There was silence. Nothing to say to news like that. George realised
the passenger door was opening, Vanessa slowly easing herself out
of the car. Sullivan followed his gaze and said, 'It might be better if
she waits here.'
George exchanged a glance with his wife. She glared at Sullivan
and shut the door.
'I'm afraid the house will be out of bounds for a while,' Sullivan
said. 'There's been a break-in. We think the killer did it.'
'The shotgun?'
'It's gone.' Sullivan was staring straight at George. 'Did you have
any other firearms? Any handguns?'
'No. Absolutely not.'
Sullivan nodded, but looked no happier. 'What about the alarm
system?'
'I set it myself yesterday morning. Why?'
'It's deactivated, and it doesn't appear to have been tampered with.
Are you certain you set it?'
'I think so.' George faltered. 'It's such an automatic thing to do, I
can't remember precisely, but I'm sure I would have . . .' He tailed
off, aware of how feeble he must sound.
'There's no one else living here? No staff?'
'Not full-time. There are gardeners, and we use a cleaning company
twice a week, but they don't have keys or the alarm code.'
Sullivan sighed. He rolled a bit of loose gravel back and forth
beneath his shoe. 'You say you left here yesterday morning?'
'Yes.' George drew himself up, exploiting his height advantage over
the detective. 'Am I suspected of something?'
'Don't be silly. We're just trying to build up a picture of what happened.'
Stung by the ridicule, George was silent for a moment. Then he
said, 'May I see where he broke in?'
Sullivan nodded. 'Wait a second.'
He opened the Vectra and picked up a digital camera, which he
slipped into the pocket of his coat without explanation. George saw
Vanessa watching them and detoured to the car. He told her what
Sullivan had said. She listened, lips pursed, and said, 'Be careful. He's
an odious man.'
George grunted, concerned that Sullivan would hear her. 'We'll be
better off in London anyway,' he said.
'What have they taken from the house?'
'Apart from the gun, I don't know.'
She gave a curt nod and turned away from him. Conversation over.
'One bit of advice,' Sullivan said as they followed the stone path around
the perimeter of the house. 'Not a word to anyone about our past association
or I'll be kicked off the case. And I'm no help to you then.'
'What makes you think I'm going to need your help?'
Sullivan didn't respond, but the way his breath whistled through
his nostrils made him seem habitually scornful. He said, 'Take me
through your itinerary yesterday.'
'We left here around ten o'clock. I was in meetings all afternoon.
Vanessa had an appointment in Harley Street this morning, so we
stayed up in town.'
'Nothing serious?'
George made an almost involuntary sound in his throat, but didn't
answer the question. Instead he said, 'My shotgun. Was it used at
blanket of denial over any speculation about the fate of the Caplans.
He would know soon enough.
The gates to Chilton Manor were open, presumably a forced entry
by the police. He drove along the wide gravel driveway and saw a
black Vectra parked next to a patrol car. DI Sullivan was standing by
the driver's door. He was wearing a heavy blue parka the size of a
tent, along with grubby-looking jeans and trainers: weekend clothes.
As he turned, George searched the detective's face for some tiny hint
of reassurance. He got nothing.
They shook hands. Sullivan's was freezing cold, and the tip of his nose
was red. George said, 'Did you check the farm?'
The policeman nodded, wiped his nose on his sleeve. 'We found
the adults dead in the kitchen.'
George had been expecting it, virtually since he'd first spoken to
Sullivan, but for a moment he felt utterly destabilised. He groped for
the Jaguar behind him and half leaned, half sat on the bonnet.
'And their daughter?'
'Smothered with a pillow. She's been airlifted to the Royal Alex in
Brighton. They don't expect her to survive.'
There was silence. Nothing to say to news like that. George realised
the passenger door was opening, Vanessa slowly easing herself out
of the car. Sullivan followed his gaze and said, 'It might be better if
she waits here.'
George exchanged a glance with his wife. She glared at Sullivan
and shut the door.
'I'm afraid the house will be out of bounds for a while,' Sullivan
said. 'There's been a break-in. We think the killer did it.'
'The shotgun?'
'It's gone.' Sullivan was staring straight at George. 'Did you have
any other firearms? Any handguns?'
'No. Absolutely not.'
Sullivan nodded, but looked no happier. 'What about the alarm
system?'
'I set it myself yesterday morning. Why?'
'It's deactivated, and it doesn't appear to have been tampered with.
Are you certain you set it?'
'I think so.' George faltered. 'It's such an automatic thing to do, I
can't remember precisely, but I'm sure I would have . . .' He tailed
off, aware of how feeble he must sound.
'There's no one else living here? No staff?'
'Not full-time. There are gardeners, and we use a cleaning company
twice a week, but they don't have keys or the alarm code.'
Sullivan sighed. He rolled a bit of loose gravel back and forth
beneath his shoe. 'You say you left here yesterday morning?'
'Yes.' George drew himself up, exploiting his height advantage over
the detective. 'Am I suspected of something?'
'Don't be silly. We're just trying to build up a picture of what happened.'
Stung by the ridicule, George was silent for a moment. Then he
said, 'May I see where he broke in?'
Sullivan nodded. 'Wait a second.'
He opened the Vectra and picked up a digital camera, which he
slipped into the pocket of his coat without explanation. George saw
Vanessa watching them and detoured to the car. He told her what
Sullivan had said. She listened, lips pursed, and said, 'Be careful. He's
an odious man.'
George grunted, concerned that Sullivan would hear her. 'We'll be
better off in London anyway,' he said.
'What have they taken from the house?'
'Apart from the gun, I don't know.'
She gave a curt nod and turned away from him. Conversation over.
'One bit of advice,' Sullivan said as they followed the stone path around
the perimeter of the house. 'Not a word to anyone about our past association
or I'll be kicked off the case. And I'm no help to you then.'
'What makes you think I'm going to need your help?'
Sullivan didn't respond, but the way his breath whistled through
his nostrils made him seem habitually scornful. He said, 'Take me
through your itinerary yesterday.'
'We left here around ten o'clock. I was in meetings all afternoon.
Vanessa had an appointment in Harley Street this morning, so we
stayed up in town.'
'Nothing serious?'
George made an almost involuntary sound in his throat, but didn't
answer the question. Instead he said, 'My shotgun. Was it used at
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