"Formidable," Tom said.
"Yes, very. But, in the end, she stopped calling us."
Tom considered that. Did she do so because she was a fantasist or did she lose faith in the police to protect her? The fact she'd been murdered certainly put her allegations, and the police, in a new light.
Chapter Nineteen
"Mr Crowe?" Tom asked. The man standing in the doorway was in his late fifties, red-faced with contrasting white hair. He was heavy set, perhaps formerly a working man who tilled his land, but his frame was now reminiscent of a less active life. He looked Tom up and down, his eyes flitting to Eric. Tom brandished his warrant card. "Detective Inspector Tom Janssen. Could we have a word?"
"You'd better come in," Crowe said, opening the door wider and stepping aside to let them through. Tom entered first and Eric followed. Daniel Crowe closed the door. They were standing in a vast entrance hall, a double height space lit by huge panes of glass set above the entrance door. Massive beams bridged the gap between walls, age-old timbers gnarled and pitted with what looked like man-made cuts in them. He wondered what they were for. Crowe came alongside him, noting Tom's interest.
"This used to be one of the old barns we used when the farm was much larger than it is now. Those beams came from the tall ships when they were refitted. That's why they have those cuts in them."
Tom followed the line of the beams, seeing the cuts were uniform and evenly spaced. Imagining them vertically rather than horizontally, as they were now, he could see where they made up the floor joists. He'd seen such holes in other old properties over the years but never realised this was the reason.
"There's a lot of history on show."
Crowe smiled. "The character is built right into the fabric of the building. It was the best decision we ever made, selling the old place and converting this. Now, what can I do for you Inspector?"
"We're investigating the murder of a local woman, Mary Beckett. I believe you know her."
Crowe's mouth fell open at the mention of Beckett's murder. Whether that was a result of hearing about her death or his link to her, Tom couldn't tell. His lips moved as he tried to form words, but he was clearly thrown. It didn't seem like he was a man easily thrown. It unsettled him.
"She's been murdered? I hadn't heard."
"I'm afraid so."
Crowe gathered himself and gestured for them to accompany him. "Please, do come through." He set off across the hall, showing them through to an adjoining room. Whereas the entrance hall was dominated by wood, this room was much softer in tone. Three large four-person sofas were arranged in a U shape around a large wood burner set into the far wall. The carpets were deep pile and a large sheepskin rug was laid out before the fireplace. They took a seat, Crowe appearing awkward. He must be concerned about why they were there to see him.
"Murdered, you say?" Crowe sat forward, elbows on his knees, slowly rubbing his palms together. "And why do you need to speak to me?"
"A witness saw you arguing with Mary recently."
"Really?"
"Outside the Blakeney Village Hall."
Crowe drew a deep breath, raising himself upright and slowly nodding as he recalled the event. "Ah… yes. That would be correct. Words… were exchanged and it did get a little heated between the two of us."
"Can you elaborate for us?" Tom asked. Eric was poised with a pen hovering over his notebook. "What was the argument relating to?"
"Oh, well, yes, that's easy enough. Mary and I don't… didn't," he corrected himself, "see eye to eye on a number of issues. Predominantly progress."
"Progress?"
He nodded emphatically. "It's been a long-held battle between two sides, Inspector. Between those who want things to be preserved pretty much as they are and those of us who see the future in a very different way. You can't stand in the way of progress, otherwise society will collapse around you."
"Right. I see," Tom said. Crowe was being far too vague. "You are one of the major landholders in the area, isn't that correct?" Crowe agreed with a satisfied smile crossing his face momentarily. "But as I understand it," Tom glanced at Eric, "you have diversified your agricultural business, leaning more towards property development. Is that right?"
"Fair description, yes. My family have worked these parts for generations, but personal circumstances enforced a change." Tom raised an eyebrow, encouraging him to continue. "My wife and I… well, I have no sons to continue the farm, and we're not getting any younger."
"You have no children?"
Crowe shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not. And that is how it's always worked within the family. Unfortunately, I will be the last Crowe to work the land around these parts." His face took on a faraway look, then he sighed and returned his attention to Tom. "So, we made a decision a few years ago to lease out much of the agricultural land to tenant farmers, sold other parts for development and have kept an open mind regarding the future. It's all been quite an adjustment for us but, despite the land being in my blood, a worthwhile one, I fancy."
The door to the room opened and a woman entered. She started when she caught sight of Tom and Eric, placing one hand on her chest in surprise.
"I'm sorry. I didn't realise we had company."
"They're from the police, love," Crowe said. "This is my wife, Elizabeth."
Both Tom and Eric smiled as she came to sit alongside her husband. As she sat down, Daniel Crowe reached across to adjust the hem of her flowing summer dress, ensuring that it adequately covered her legs. Tom found the action curious because her dress was in no way revealing.
"Whatever are the police doing here?" she asked. She appeared nervous about their presence, sitting down and putting her hands together in her lap.
"They're
