Bricks and Mortality: Campbell & Carter 3 Read Free Page A

in the night sky from his bedroom window at around midnight. ‘Lit up the room, like a candle.’ He had known straight away it would be Key House.
    ‘Why?’ asked Jess.
    Trenton grew indignant at her question. ‘Because the place has been left to go to rack and ruin and it was only a matter of time before squatters moved in. That, or some yobbo bent on mischief. I have written myself, numerous times, to the council and twice to the owner, Gervase Crown.’
    ‘You have an address for Mr Crown?’ Jess asked hopefully.
    ‘No. I’ve got an address for his solicitors, and I can give you that. I wrote to Crown care of them. I supposed they sent the letter on. I got no reply. I asked Crown what he intended to do and when. That was an excellent property in good order when he inherited it. He lived in it less than six months, then sold off the contents in a house sale – half the county turned up for that! Crown pocketed the cash and took off into the blue, leaving the place abandoned. Man’s a lunatic.’
    ‘You spoke of squatters,’ Jess said. ‘Had you seen anyone around recently?’
    ‘No,’ Trenton told her reluctantly. ‘I don’t see it my job to look after the property if Crown can’t – or won’t.’
    This statement was at odds with his earlier claim to have written twice to the owner about the state of Key House and to have bombarded the council with his grievance.
    ‘Don’t think …’ added Trenton, drawing himself up to his full height. ‘Don’t take it into your head that I’m here because I’m some sort of ghoulish sightseer! I always take a good brisk walk every morning. Often come this way.’
    At this the woman with the dog turned and directed what could only be described as a sneer at the speaker.
    ‘Someone will come to speak to you later, Mr Trenton, if that’s all right,’ said Jess. ‘Ivy Lodge, you say?’
    ‘Straight on that way.’ Trenton pointed down the road away from the scene. ‘Can’t miss it. It’s got a splendid old oak tree just behind it.’
    Trenton departed and Jess turned to the dog walker.
    ‘Gasbag!’ said the dog walker pithily, watching as Trenton’s figure disappeared at a quick march.
    ‘You are?’
    ‘Muriel Pickering – and I
do
walk by here every day, with Hamlet.’ She pointed at the pug, which turned a baleful stare on Jess.
    ‘You live nearby, then, or have you driven out here?’
    ‘I walk!’ repeated Ms Pickering. ‘I’ve just told you so. I’m not afraid to use my legs. I live at Mullions, that’s the name of my house. It’s down that lane there.’ She pointed at a narrow turning just visible some yards behind them. She then directed another scowl towards the vanished Mr Trenton. ‘I
never
see Roger Trenton walking this way. Load of rubbish. The only place Trenton does any walking is on a golf course. He was out here rubbernecking. And no, I didn’t see any suspicious person or persons, creeping about the place. Yes, there have been tramps using the place occasionally in the past. Not recently. It probably wasn’t difficult to get in. I dare say, if you were to take the trouble to go round the back of the house, you’d find a window smashed or a catch broken. Only,’ added Ms Pickering, ‘no use you trying to check that
now
. Everything will be broken now.’
    This was true. Jess made a note of her address and said, as she had told Trenton, someone would be round to speak to her.
    As for the travellers, wherever they were camped, it was unlikely they had been responsible for the blaze. They’d have left the area immediately if so. Having sighted Jess, they were probably packing up and leaving even now. If tracked down and questioned they would have seen and heard nothing.
    There were people who wanted to talk to the police but didn’t know anything. Roger Trenton would probably prove one of those. There were those who, if they did know anything, wouldn’t tell you out of sheer contrariness and Muriel Pickering might well