Guns in the Gallery

NINETEEN

Of course, the Whittakers had a driver. And of course he looked as unlike a uniformed chauffeur as it was possible to be. The laid-back style of Butterwyke House was carried through in all its domestic staff. Though they were undoubtedly servants, they dressed and were treated more like members of the family. Ned and Sheena still weren’t quite at ease with their huge wealth.

The driver’s name was Kier. In his early thirties, casually dressed in a crisp white T-shirt, well-ironed jeans and neat moccasins. Chervil had arranged before Jude started her session with Sam Torino that he would drive her back to Woodside Cottage and he was hanging around Walden when she appeared from the treatment yurt. But Kier didn’t look as though he were waiting in a professional capacity. That wouldn’t have been cool. He somehow managed to make it appear as if he just happened to be there, and yes, he’d be happy to take Jude home.

He drove a very new-looking Toyota Prius. Of course, the Whittakers would run green cars. Though their contribution to saving the planet might have been a little diminished by the size of their fleet of Toyota Priuses.

Jude was pleased to have the opportunity to question someone with perhaps a different view of recent events at Butterwyke House. And though, as ever, she was emotionally drained by her healing efforts, she quickly got on to the subject of Fennel Whittaker’s death.

Kier, she found, was more than ready to talk about it. In fact, from the fervency of his words, she got the impression that he might have held a candle for the dead girl for some time. He certainly didn’t have much time for Denzil Willoughby.

‘I used to drive the two of them around a bit. Ned’s very generous with my services.’ He didn’t sound as though he were entirely happy with that state of affairs. ‘And of course when it came to Fennel . . . well, he could never refuse her anything.’

‘No. I saw him earlier in the week. He was terribly cut up about what happened to her.’

‘I don’t think he’ll ever recover,’ said Kier, as if stating an unarguable fact. ‘I think she could have got better. There seem to be lots of new treatments, drugs, talking therapies . . . It’s probably the best time ever to suffer from depression, in terms of getting the condition cured.’

‘Is it something about which you know a lot?’ It was the polite way of asking whether Kier himself suffered from depression.

‘No. Not really. I’ve got most of what I know from talking to Fennel. She was up with all the latest treatments. She was absolutely determined to get better, somehow. That’s why I was so devastated when I heard that she’d actually done it.’

This was good news to Jude. It meant that she wasn’t the only person who had found positivity in the girl’s mindset. ‘And you think she did actually do it?’ she asked gently.

The slowness of Kier’s response showed that the idea of murder had never entered his head. ‘How d’you mean?’

‘Well, I’d seen her a couple of times in the weeks before her death and, like you, I thought she seemed quite up, certainly not on the verge of topping herself. So, if she didn’t commit suicide . . .’

‘Well, it sure as hell wasn’t an accident.’ Kier was again slow – or perhaps unwilling – to make the logical connection. ‘Are you suggesting that she might have been murdered?’ he asked at last.

Jude shrugged. ‘As Sherlock Holmes put it, “Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.”’

‘Yes, I’ve read some of those stories,’ said the driver thoughtfully, still trying to come to terms with the new idea. ‘I think I’d rather believe that Fennel was murdered . . . you know, as opposed to killing herself.’

‘If that were true, we’d be back to the old question: “Who Done It?’

Kier nodded slowly. ‘Yes, we would.’

‘Any thoughts?’ asked Jude. ‘Anyone you’d cast in the role of murderer?’ He remained silent. ‘You probably know as much as anyone about what goes on at Butterwyke House.’

‘Yes, I see quite a lot.’

‘And you probably know how the different family members get on together . . .’ Jude knew she was pushing her luck. The Butterwyke House staff she’d met all seemed extremely loyal and might be reluctant to confide anything to their employers’ discredit.

But Kier seemed to be too caught up in the ramifications of the new idea to feel such scruples. ‘Well, Chervil and Fennel always had a fairly volatile relationship, but I think basically they were OK with each other. I mean, I think Chervil resented Fennel’s illness . . .’

‘That’s the impression I got.’

‘At times she almost seemed to suggest her sister was putting it on . . . you know, just to draw attention to herself.’

‘And do you believe that?’

‘No,’ he replied vehemently. ‘I’ve seen the states Fennel used to get into . . . you know, when I was driving her around. No, the illness was genuine. I even . . .’ He stopped himself.

‘You even . . . what?’ asked Jude softly.