she hadn’t thought it important enough. She took out her phone and dialled Sophie’s mobile. No, the other woman said, they hadn’t touched anything on that wall. Kathy’s sense of unease faded as she realised that forensics had probably returned to collect further samples, then surged back when she remembered that she had the only house key. They couldn’t have got in without her knowledge.
She looked around the room again, searching for some other sign, and her eye stopped at a gap in the bookshelves. It hadn’t been there before, she was almost certain, because she thought she remembered what had been-Anthony da Silva’s biography of Rossetti. That didn’t appear on Sophie’s list either.
Before she left she checked the windows and doors once more, finding no signs of forced entry, then took photos of Marion’s room with her mobile phone.
•
Kathy found the estate agent on her second attempt. Bryan Dawkins showed Kathy into a small glass- partitioned room in one corner of his office. He was a plump, cheerful, enthusiastic man-as he would be, Kathy supposed, given the price of houses in the neighbourhood.
‘Yes, we handled the sale of 43 Rosslyn Court,’ he said. ‘I read about that dreadful poisoning in the London Library, of course, but I just didn’t make the connection with our Ms Summers. Please take a seat.’
‘Tell me about the sale of the house.’
‘She spotted it herself. Apparently she’d been looking in this area, and saw our sign outside the house. She came in and asked for particulars, and I showed her around. She fell for it immediately, it was exactly what she was looking for, so she went ahead, all pretty straightforward.’
‘What was the selling price?’
‘Seven twenty-five. She didn’t haggle.’
‘Seven hundred and twenty-five thousand pounds?’
‘Yes. It was a good buy. It’d only just come on the market. The seller had done it all up-new kitchen, bathrooms, wiring, every-thing-then his company posted him abroad and he had to sell up.’
‘Did she discuss how she was raising the money?’
‘Her solicitor dealt with all that. After we shook hands that day I didn’t see her again. There was one condition that caused a bit of discussion. They wanted to settle in three equal payments spread over six months. The seller wouldn’t have it, and in the end Ms Summers agreed-must have fixed up bridging finance, I suppose.’
‘So she didn’t give any indication where the money was coming from?’
‘’Fraid not. Is there a problem?’
‘Not really. Just trying to get a picture of her,’ Kathy said. ‘We haven’t been able to speak to her immediate neighbours yet. Know anything about them?’
‘Yes, I do actually. We handled both properties within the past five years or so. One is a Middle Eastern gentleman, rarely stays there I gather, and the other is a doctor and his family, at present doing a stint at a hospital in Alberta, Canada. So it’s not surprising you haven’t been able to catch them at home.’
‘What about the furnishings in the house, Mr Dawkins? Did the previous owner leave any of them?’
‘Oh no, it was completely bare. Everything in there now will have been put there by Ms Summers. I believe she did have someone in to redecorate the place when she first moved in. I recommended someone.’
Kathy thanked him and got the name of the solicitor who had acted for Marion; his office was further along the high street. On the way there she phoned her contact at Forensic Services, who confirmed that they had not returned to the house since Kathy had been there on the previous Friday.
‘I think someone’s been in there since we left,’ she said. ‘Could you do another check for fingerprints? Especially the downstairs front room, the study.’
The man groaned. ‘Come off it, Kathy. We’re up to our ears. I thought this one was well and truly tied up. Suicide, yes?’
‘Maybe not. I’ll put in a formal request.’
‘Well, it probably won’t be this week, unless you can persuade my boss.’
‘Also, could you send me a complete set of all the photographs you took in the house, please? Thanks.’
•
The solicitor had recognised Marion’s name in the newspaper reports, but hadn’t thought to contact the police. Or rather, Kathy suspected, he didn’t see the need to get involved. He seemed to know very little about his client and had done no other business for her apart from the house purchase.
‘Confident, intelligent young woman. Seemed very pleasant. Tragic business.’
‘Did she talk about her personal circumstances?’
‘Said she was a student. A relative in Scotland had left her an inheritance that she wanted to invest in property as her security for the future. I agreed that the house she had in mind would serve admirably.’
‘Did she say anything about this relative? A name?’
‘No, I don’t believe so. The only thing was that she wasn’t sure when probate would be granted, and she didn’t want to lose the house. We tried to delay completion, but the seller wanted things wrapped up.’
‘What happened?’
‘The money came through. She paid.’
‘How?’
He frowned. ‘A bank draft, as I recall. Is that important?’
‘Possibly.’
‘Do you suspect fraud?’
‘I’m trying to establish if Ms Summers had any substantial debts at the time of her death, and hence what her assets might amount to.’
‘Hm, well, it wasn’t a building society mortgage.’
He got to his feet and went to the door, saying a few words to a secretary, then returned to his seat. ‘Won’t be a moment.’
‘Do you know if she had another solicitor?’
‘She didn’t mention it. You’re thinking of a will, perhaps? Have you traced her next of kin?’
‘Her mother’s living in London, other relatives in Scotland, but none of them seems to have been aware of a substantial legacy.’
‘I see.’
The secretary brought in a file which the solicitor consulted. ‘Yes, here we are. A draft from the Banque Foche SA in Geneva made out to ourselves in the sum of 1.1 million euros. After completing the purchase there was a balance of almost twenty thousand pounds that we returned to Ms Summers.’
‘Why a Swiss bank, did she say?’
‘Apparently the relative had business interests in Switzerland.’
‘Do you know this bank?’
‘No, I can’t say I’ve come across them before, but there are many banks in Switzerland.’
‘All very discreet, no doubt.’
The solicitor allowed himself a small smile. ‘No doubt.’ fifteen
‘ T his is Detective Chief Inspector David Brock,’ Kathy said curtly, coming into the room quickly and pulling up a chair at the table.
Nigel Ogilvie blinked at him uncertainly. ‘Er, how do you do?’
Brock grunted non-committally and sat heavily in the other chair, tossing his newspaper onto the table. He folded his arms resignedly as if he had far better things to do, and his eyes strayed back to the paper, folded to the sports page.
‘The last time we met,’ Kathy said, ‘you suddenly chose to reveal that you did know where Marion Summers lived, a fact you had denied up until that point. Now that you’ve had a few days to think about things, I wonder if you have any other information you’d like to share with us?’
‘Um, well, no, I don’t believe so.’
Kathy stared at him for a long moment, so hard that he was obliged to look away. ‘You should bear in mind that we’ve now downloaded all the contents of your computer, including material that you probably thought you’d trashed.’
Ogilvie bit his lip and remained silent.
