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Listen to chapters 19-24 narrated by Jack Holden, or scroll down to read the text.
Chapter Nineteen
MATTHEW STOOD FOR A moment outside the apartment block, looking out at the sea, thinking again about Rosco.
‘We need to trace his movements in the weeks before he blew in to Greystone. He must have another home, possibly another family. It’s as if he just appeared from nowhere.’ He couldn’t get any sort of grasp of Rosco the man, apart from the public persona: rugged, amiable, a little reckless.
‘Vicki’s working on it. And his solicitor might be able to help.’
‘Maybe, but something specific brought him back to North Devon, and I want to know what it was.’ Rationally, Venn understood that it wasn’t Ross May’s fault that they had so little information about Rosco, but he needed an outlet for the frustration, someone to blame. ‘The train ticket would suggest he came from Liverpool. I know Vicki has been in touch with colleagues there, but we haven’t heard anything back, have we? Let’s push for a bit of speed. Can you prioritize tracking his recent movements? Have we got mobile records? Bank withdrawals?’
‘As far as we’ve been able to find out, Rosco didn’t own a mobile. Unless it was a pay as you go. It wasn’t in the cottage.’
‘Did he own a car? Just because he got the train doesn’t mean he didn’t have a vehicle. It’s a killer of a drive and a driving licence or passport might give us a more recent address.’
‘We’ve checked,’ Ross said. ‘He always gives the Morrisham apartment as his permanent home.’
‘There must be a reason for him doing that.’
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‘What are you thinking?’ Ross asked. ‘Some kind of criminal activity?’
Matthew was about to discount the idea, but then he thought perhaps he could see the dead man being up to something piratical: smuggling booze or cigarettes, or even people. Rosco would love the risk and excitement of the venture and he wouldn’t be the first charismatic individual to consider himself exempt from the rules other people had to follow. After all, politicians did it all the time.
‘It’s worth considering …’
‘So, he might have another identity.’
‘But there was no unopened mail in the apartment, and the concierge says he hasn’t been there for months.’ Matthew thought he’d been so seduced by the romance of the love story between Rosco and Eleanor that he hadn’t focused sufficiently when they’d been looking at the flat. ‘There’d surely be something. Council tax and utility bills. Junk mail. Even if the cleaner had picked it up, there’d have been a pile somewhere.’
‘Perhaps it was forwarded somewhere by the concierge?’
‘Wouldn’t he have told us?’ Matthew had already turned to go back into the building to find him. The frustration was building. Then, glancing into the cafe bar on the ground floor of the block, he saw Jonathan sitting at a high table in the window. He was talking to an older man, who did indeed have wrinkles and grey hair, pulled back into a ponytail. This must be the art teacher friend. Matthew looked at his watch. It was just past midday. The pair were in earnest conversation, and Jonathan was sitting side on to the window. He wasn’t looking outside.
‘Who’s that guy with your bloke?’ Ross had seen Jonathan too.
‘Why?’ Matthew felt his temper fraying. Ross had a tendency to gossip.
‘He was in the sailing club when I went to see Bartholomew Lawson. Just a member, I guess.’
Matthew didn’t answer. He knew it wasn’t Jonathan’s fault, but yet again he felt that his two worlds were colliding. Perhaps he should never have asked his husband to come to Greystone. Life was complicated enough. He said nothing and led May back into the building.
+++
They found the concierge in his little office, the door open, so he could watch the residents coming and going. He’d miss nothing. If Rosco had been here, surely he’d know.
‘Inspector, how can I help you now?’ The man was smiling, but there was an edge of irritation in his voice.
‘Mr Rosco’s mail,’ Venn said.
‘Yes?’ The same smile.
‘What happens to it? I assume he receives some at this address. Do you forward it to him?’
‘Ah, I don’t. No.’
‘But you must know what happens to it!’ Venn could feel the tension in the muscles of his face and heard it in his voice.
He tried to breathe more slowly and to smile back. ‘After all, you know everything that goes on here.’
The man’s eyes flickered in acknowledgement of the compliment and the accuracy of the judgement. ‘I think Mr Rosco came to some arrangement with his cleaner.’
‘That’s Lynn, who’s working here today?’
‘Yes.’ A pause. ‘I’m afraid I wasn’t privy to the arrangement. Normally I carry out that sort of service for our residents.’ He gave a little sniff.
‘Where can I find Lynn?’
‘Ah, I’m afraid you’ve just missed her. She left soon after you did.’
‘I didn’t see anyone leave the building with us.’
‘She left,’ the concierge said, enjoying the exchange now, ‘through the back door. I believe I gave you her contact details. I’m sure you’ll find her at home.’
+++
Lynn Johnson lived on a housing association estate on the edge of the town. Even in the sunshine, the grey concrete was dispiriting. The place might have been built at the same time as the block where Rosco had his flat, but was a world away in terms of facilities and upkeep. Lynn’s home was a semi on a long street, which curved through the length of the development. It was one of the smarter premises, with a window box hanging by the door and a neatly cut lawn. Next door had a window boarded up and a stained mattress in the garden. Lynn’s car was parked on the street outside. An old Fiesta, which would probably not make it through another MOT.
She must just have come in, because when she opened the door to them, she was still wearing an anorak. That too had seen better days. She was in her fifties, thin and nervy, and she regarded them with an air of suspicion.
‘Yes?’
‘Mrs Johnson, we’re detectives—’
She interrupted before Venn could finish the sentence. ‘If you’re after Dean, he’s not here. He’s back in rehab. Which is where he should have been from the start. Not locked up in a cell all day so he ended up nearly killing himself. I’m his mother, but I still couldn’t look after him properly.’ The words running over themselves.
‘We’re not looking for Dean. And I’m sorry he’s not well.’
The suspicion remained. ‘Addiction’s an illness, and he’s always had problems, even as a boy.’
‘It’s you we’d like to speak to, Mrs Johnson, not your son. Perhaps we could come in?’
She stepped aside, with a quick glance at the street to check the neighbours weren’t watching.
‘I don’t have anything to do with drugs.’ The thought obviously horrified her. ‘You should go next door. Strangers turning up every hour of the day and night. If you’re looking for a dealer on this estate—’
This time, it was Venn who interrupted. ‘We’re investigating Jeremy Rosco’s murder, Mrs Johnson. This is nothing to do with drugs.’
‘Oh!’ At last, she fell silent. ‘You’d best come into the lounge then. Poor Jeremy.’ She shrugged herself out of the anorak.
The lounge was small but immaculately clean, dominated by a large television.
‘You do clean Mr Rosco’s flat?’
‘Not a proper clean. He’s never there, is he? So, no marks on the paintwork or spills on the kitchen tiles. I just dust and put the hoover over once a month. Open the windows while I’m there to let in some fresh air.’
‘You were there this morning?’
‘Yes, first thing. I start at the top of the block and work down. I do the communal areas every day.’
‘And you collected Mr Rosco’s mail as usual? Even though you knew he was dead?’
‘Well, I’d seen the news, of course, and I didn’t know what to do with the letters.’ Lynn was sitting on the edge of a grey velour armchair. Matthew thought she’d seldom sit still. She was already twitchy, wanting to be up and moving. ‘I didn’t want to leave them there, making the place look untidy, and most of it was junk and could go in the bin anyway. Jem always said to use my judgement. No point sending on a pile of advertising. But if there was anything I wasn’t sure about, I should send it on.’
‘Have you already posted it?’
‘I haven’t had a chance, have I? Only just got in when you knocked. I was going to take it to the post office this afternoon, when I’d had a bit of dinner.’
‘Even though you knew he was dead?’
‘It doesn’t get sent to him, does it? It’s a different name with the address. So, they wouldn’t have died. They’d know what to do with it.’
‘What would you usually do, with the post you collect every month?’ Venn kept the tone easy, conversational. She was already nervous, her bony fingers twisting the material of her trousers. ‘Did you just forward each letter individually?’
‘No! Jeremy said to send them all off in one go each month. It’d be less bother. He bought a pile of these last time I saw him. Enough to last a year, he said.’ She opened a cupboard in the sideboard and showed him a pile of white padded envelopes. ‘And he gave me money for the postage too, more than enough.’ A pause. ‘And he paid me for doing it. Thirty quid a month. Not bad just for packing them up and taking the envelope to the post office. Jem Rosco was always generous, though. I was paid by the company that owned the flats, but he always left a bit extra for me.’
Venn let that statement go for a while. It sounded as if Lynn had cleaned for the man while he was still in permanent residence in the apartment. ‘Could we see the mail you picked up today, please?’
She fetched a large handbag from the hall, pulled out first an overall and then half a dozen envelopes. ‘See, I’d ditch these.’ She put obvious circulars on the arm of her chair. ‘You can tell they’re just junk. But I’d send those two on.’
‘And where would you send them?’ Venn asked. ‘Of course, we’d like the address. And the name of the person who received them. I’ll take care of those letters too. Have you got an evidence bag, Constable?’
Ross held open the bag and Lynn dropped them inside. Now she was wide-eyed and serious.
‘If you could just let us have that forwarding address,’ Venn said.
‘It’s here.’ She picked up a card from the mantelpiece. ‘You take it. I know it off by heart now. Years I’ve been forwarding Jeremy’s mail.’
Venn slipped the card into an inside pocket without looking at it. He didn’t want Lynn to know how important it might be and he’d wait until they were back at the Maiden’s and he had time to consider it properly. Now he focused all his attention on the cleaner.
‘You’ve known Mr Rosco for a long time? Perhaps since he first moved into the flats?’
‘Oh, I knew him before that!’ Lynn seemed a little more relaxed now. ‘I was at school with him. Morrisham comp.’
‘Really?’ Matthew didn’t have to feign interest.
‘Well, there was only one high school in the town. Still is. And we were in the same year group.’
‘You were friends?’
‘Yeah. In the same set. Never part of the swotty gang. Then he joined the sailing club and mixed in different circles.’
Of course, Matthew thought. Then he met Eleanor. And Bartholomew Lawson.
‘You came across him again when he came back from sailing round the world and bought the apartment on the seafront?’
‘I needed a job that would keep me going all year round, not something seasonal that only paid out in the summer. I had a kid to support by then and the father ditched me as soon as our Dean was born. I like cleaning. It’s useful and you can see the results. And then there he was in that flash apartment at the top of the block. Living like a film star! It was a real surprise when I saw him there. He recognized me, though. No airs and graces.’
‘You didn’t need to forward his mail at that point?’
‘Nah, he was living in the apartment full time then, wasn’t he? He’d get me in to clear up after his parties.’
Matthew, who was sensitive to any form of slight, wondered what this must have been like for Lynn. Once Rosco had been a friend, but she’d ended up skivvying for him.
Perhaps she guessed what he was thinking. ‘He was being kind,’ she said. ‘He knew things were tough for me but I wouldn’t want a handout. Not from the state and not from him. He paid well above the going rate, and I’d get to take home all the fancy leftovers. There were days when I ate better than a king.’
Matthew thought he’d rather go hungry, but pride had always been his greatest sin.
‘You must have known his first wife.’
‘Selena. Lovely girl. She wasn’t at school with us but I’d seen her around. Her dad owned a fancy clothes shop in the high street. I couldn’t understand why she left him. They seemed dead happy. That was when Jeremy started working away more.’
‘And when he asked you to forward his letters?’
‘That came later. Desmond, the concierge, dealt with any mail at first and Jeremy was still home more often then. It was before he was off on his travels for the telly. He asked me to look after the post a couple of years ago. He said he’d found a new base. Somewhere a bit more convenient for his work. And he could trust me not to be nosy.’
‘Is Desmond nosy?’ Ross broke in at this point. He was never much good at just listening.
Lynn considered the question. ‘Well, yes, he’s nosy, though I can’t see him steaming open Jeremy’s letters.’ She gave a snort of derision. ‘I don’t think he’d stoop to that.’
‘Did you ever meet Jeremy’s friend Eleanor?’ Matthew asked.
‘I never met her. She didn’t go to the same school as us. She went to the convent in Bideford. The place with the fancy uniform. But Jeremy talked about her.’
‘Oh?’
‘She lived in a big house out of town. She still does, I think. I remember him telling me he’d been invited to a party there. It happened not long after Jeremy got back from that first big trip, the one that made his name. I was in his flat cleaning the afternoon of the same day. He was all in a dither. So excited and full of it. I suppose it was a kind of acceptance, getting to go to a party in the big house. He’d be the celebrity, wouldn’t he? All the people from the sailing club, who’d once looked down on him, would be there. He was nervous too. Worried about if he should take a present, what he should wear. I told him nobody would worry what he looked like. They’d just be proud of what he’d achieved. Putting Morrisham on the map. “You’ll have a lovely time.” That was what I said.’
‘And did he?’ Venn kept his voice bland. ‘Did he have a lovely time?’
‘Well, I didn’t see him until a week later, did I? And by that time, he’d moved Selena into the place!’
Had the party at the big house been the occasion when Jeremy had realized that Eleanor was engaged to Bartholomew Lawson?
Matthew could picture it, the smart young things spilling out into the garden with their drinks as the sun went down. Jeremy Rosco being the centre of attention, telling the story of his great round-the-world adventure, glowing. At first, at least.
Then, perhaps Eleanor had taken him aside, stood with him under the trees in the dusk, and broken the news of her engagement to Barty. Though surely she wouldn’t be so cruel as to tell him there, so publicly? Perhaps she hadn’t even invited him. It could have been Bartholomew who’d added Jeremy to the guest list, just so that he could gloat. That would put the man in his place. Rosco might have sailed round the world but Barty had won the woman of his dreams. Matthew thought he would need to go back to talk to Eleanor.
His attention was pulled back into the room. Ross May was as fidgety now as Lynn. He wouldn’t see the point of this conversation. He’d want to open the letters that had arrived in Rosco’s flat, and make contact with the person who received them still on Rosco’s behalf.
Matthew stood up. ‘You’ve been very helpful, Mrs Johnson. I’m sorry we’ve had to disturb you.’
Now, she seemed reluctant to see them go. ‘If there’s anything else …’ She pulled a packet of cigarettes and a lighter from the cavernous bag, and, as they walked to the car, she was standing on her doorstep, smoking, watching them until they’d driven away.
Chapter Twenty
WHEN JEN RAFFERTY ARRIVED in the Maiden’s Prayer, the place was empty, apart from Harry Carter pottering behind the bar. Matthew and Ross were in Morrisham and Jonathan had gone home.
‘You got a key for the snug?’ he called over to her. ‘If not, I can let you in. I found a spare.’
So you can snoop when we’re not here. Jen wondered what Matthew would make of that.
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