Chapter 11
Julia had finished her word games and was savouring her second cup of morning tea and her last few minutes idling in bed.
She wouldn’t be going back to the manor to finish up today.
After yesterday’s dramatic events, she would wait to hear from Biddy.
She was dying to find out what had happened after they’d all dispersed and the police had taken grey-hatted Peckham in for questioning.
She would like to phone Hayley Gibson and ask, but she did realise that it was actually, in fact, none of her business.
She was pleased, in a way, that the grey-hatted man had turned up, and confirmed what she’d been saying all along – that he had been at the house on the day the colonel died.
Garforth had denied seeing such a person that day, which seemed odd, to say the least. You might even go so far as to say it looked suspicious.
And then Garforth had let him in again, yesterday.
And wasn’t it odd that the man who seemed to be everywhere in the manor was nowhere to be seen when Peckham was about to set his pliers to work on Greg?
The more Julia thought about it, the more suspicious the butler’s behaviour seemed.
Sean had agreed when she’d told him about it.
‘You won’t go trying to solve this one, will you, Julia?
’ he’d chided gently. When she’d agreed that she wouldn’t, he’d laughed!
Julia had the time, and she did like a bit of a snoop.
Or, to give it her preferred term, she liked to conduct online research.
She reached for her phone, opened it, and was about to start when she realised she couldn’t just google ‘Garforth’.
She’d overheard his first name, but what was it?
She tapped her forehead with her finger to induce it to work.
She remembered there was a sort of pattern to his name.
That was it: his initials were in alphabetical order – E, F, G.
Was it Edward? No, that wasn’t quite right.
It was Edwin! Edwin Frederick Garforth. The name went into the search bar.
Garforth’s social media presence was not extensive.
He had an almost dormant Facebook account.
A few friends and relatives had wished him a happy birthday back in February.
He was tagged in a few pictures. Garforth scrubbed up rather well, it had to be said.
In a photograph taken at a car show, he was almost unrecognisable.
His pointed features looked chiselled and handsome.
His smile was broad. Julia didn’t know much about menswear, but his suit looked expensive and well-tailored.
The very pretty young lady attached to his arm had shared the photograph on her social media, with the caption: Champagne with my main guy! #racecars #highlife.
If Garforth was social media-shy, then this woman was the opposite.
Her charmed life was rigorously and exhaustively livestreamed across a number of platforms – partying, skiing, theatre and the like.
Garforth appeared in a couple more pics – at a fancy London restaurant and at the glamorous opening of an art exhibition.
That last post had got 150 likes from the woman’s friends.
A photograph of Garforth also appeared in the Southern Times a year or so back, along with a story about a vintage car meet-up. He was standing in front of a blue convertible Austin Healey. The caption read, Owner Edwin Garforth spent a year on this immaculate restoration of this fine old lady!
Sports cars, theatre, fancy restaurants…
One thing was for certain, Garforth seemed to be maintaining a lifestyle considerably beyond what one might expect from a butler – even a highly valued, well-paid one.
It was possible that he had another source of funds.
He might have family money, Julia supposed; an inheritance from a rich aunt, or an allowance from a well-to-do and generous old dad.
Possible, but unlikely, thought Julia. It was suspicious, especially when you put it together with his other behaviour.
As well as his denial of grey-hat Peckham, there was the guilty way he’d behaved when she’d gone in search of a pen and surprised him in the study.
She had been sure he had shoved something out of sight. Julia picked up the phone.
DC Hayley Gibson answered promptly: ‘Julia. What’s up?’
Julia told Hayley about the social media evidence of Garforth’s champagne lifestyle.
‘A vintage sports car, fancy restaurants… I don’t know what butlers earn, but doesn’t it seem like a lifestyle that would be beyond his means?’
‘It’s worth looking into. Although having money to splash around doesn’t necessarily mean he’s dodgy. He might have another income source. An investment or an inheritance.’
‘Yes, I thought so too. But why did he lie about having seen Peckham? And on one or two occasions he’s been sort of shifty, as if he had something to hide.’
‘I’ll look into the financial side of things. Thanks.’
‘Hayley, what did Peckham say? When you questioned him?’
‘Exactly what you’d expect. He said he had nothing to do with the colonel’s death.’
‘But he was there—’
‘He was there to strong-arm the colonel into repaying a large debt to some very nasty people. He confessed to breaking his toe, but said that when he left, the colonel was still alive and kicking.’
Julia shuddered at the unfortunate metaphor.
‘But of course he would say that, wouldn’t he?’
‘Agreed,’ said Hayley, in her blunt way.
‘But what he says sort of makes sense – the colonel was no good to him dead. He needed him alive to… negotiate was the word he used, I think… to negotiate the debt out of him. He said he was very disturbed by the news of the murder, and left town to work out what to do next. He works on commission and appears most put out about this, as if we have greatly inconvenienced him by allowing the colonel to be murdered.’
‘So when the colonel died, Peckham came back to strong-arm Greg?’ Julia said. ‘Or should I say, negotiate the debt out of him?’
‘Yes. As the heir apparent, Greg is responsible for this debt in the eyes of Mr Peckham.’
‘Clara too, I presume. The children inherited equally.’
‘Yes. Maybe the goons didn’t know that the inheritance was split.
Or perhaps they are chivalrous in such matters, and thought they’d knock the son around instead of the daughter.
Either way, Mr Peckham will be enjoying a long stay at Her Majesty’s pleasure – unless he sees the wisdom of shortening it by telling the Serious and Organised Crimes Unit up in London who it is he reports to.
The good news is, with the police attention, Greg is probably safe from any more demands for repayment. ’
Julia thought for a moment. ‘Then where does Garforth fit in? Why did he lie to protect Peckham? How were the two men’s interests connected? And where was he when Greg was about to be de-toed?’
‘I’m working on it, Julia.’
‘If you’ve read your Agatha Christie, you’ll know that the butler always did it.’
Hayley’s short snort acknowledged the joke, and said: ‘Although in this case, the butler would be jeopardising a cushy job, so that doesn’t really fit.’
There was a moment of silence while they both contemplated the butler’s interests.
‘Julia, I’ve got to go. I’ll get Walter to see what else he can find out about Garforth’s financial affairs.’
And then the phone went dead.
Later that morning, Julia was up and about, fully dressed, breakfasted, and with all her animal companions greeted and fed. The day stretched ahead of her with not terribly much to do.
She knew what she should do – pick the ripe tomatoes.
She planned to take some to Sean and make the rest into a sauce or soup for the freezer.
She knew she’d be glad of it in autumn. But right now, she wasn’t in a tomatoey frame of mind.
She was in a conundrum-solving state of mind. And her conundrum was Garforth.
He had inherited from the colonel’s estate – inherited very well, if Biddy was to be believed. He had, in that way, benefited from his employer’s death. Might he have been involved in causing his death?
Somehow, Julia didn’t think so. Everyone spoke about how devoted Garforth was, how he’d never left the colonel’s side.
Ever since the army days when he’d been the colonel’s sidekick.
It was hardly surprising, given that the colonel had saved his life.
One would be rather grateful and loyal, wouldn’t one, after one’s superior officer had pulled one out of a life-and-death situation?
You certainly wouldn’t be murderous. Unless there was something else going on.
Julia remembered the rather odd snippet of conversation amongst the army buddies, the one she’d overheard at the colonel’s memorial. What was it? She closed her eyes and heard the voices replay in her head, almost like a little recording:
‘You’d think Loxton would have given him a better posting after what happened…’
‘Clarence never wanted to talk about that. I got the feeling his family might not know the full story.’
But what was the full story? she wondered.
And then it occurred to her that she could perhaps find out.
It had been a while since she and Sean had been on a date, alone.
And with the lovely weather they were having, the terrace at the tennis club would be just the place for a nice, cold G&T.
And if they should happen to run into those lovely ladies she had met at the funeral, well, that would be a serendipity beyond Julia’s control…