‘First of all, the smoke alarm. They had one installed in the kitchen.’
‘Yes, it was installed as soon as they moved into the house. Brian insisted on it.’
‘Who advised him where to put it?’
‘Advised him? I don’t think anyone did. The kitchen was the obvious place. It’s where accidents are most likely to happen.’
‘I see.’
Of course, in one way the kitchen was the obvious place for a smoke alarm. Every day, the fire service could be guaranteed a tea-time call-out to an overheated chip pan somewhere. But if Brian Mullen had bothered to read the manufacturer’s instructions he would have seen a different recommendation. If he’d taken any notice of it, he might have kept his family alive. But there were too many ‘ifs’ in that equation.
Nevertheless, Fry filed away the impression of Brian Mullen as the sort of man who’d toss the instructions disdainfully aside as he whipped out a screwdriver and relied on his masculine instincts to get the job done.
‘Lindsay was proud of her kitchen,’ said Mrs Lowther. ‘It’s not six months since she had new units put in, and a canopy cooker hood with a double extractor. It was immaculate.’
‘Yes, I’ve seen it,’ said Fry. ‘I wonder, during the past few weeks, did Lindsay or Brian mention anyone hanging around near their house, or someone suspicious coming to the door?’
‘No, not at all.’
Before much longer, Fry had exhausted her questions. To be honest, she was glad to get out of the conservatory and away from the plants.
‘What sort of business do you run, sir?’ she asked.
‘I own a very successful export company. We deal mostly in machine tools, which we sell all around the world. We’ve been planning a shift towards computer technology, but that’s not our core business right now.’
Not a wholesale florist’s, then. She’d just wondered. As they went back through the house, she saw begonias and chrysanthemums in the living room. And there were foliage plants everywhere: monstera, yucca, palms. It was like the hothouse at Kew in here.
‘Oh, you have a visitor,’ she said when they reached the door.
A man was coming up the path towards the Lowthers’ door. He was taking his time, pausing to smile sadly at the stone angel, stepping carefully on the flattened tortoises. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, smooth faced and wearing an overcoat of a kind that you didn’t see very often these days. Fry wondered if he was a journalist.
‘Oh, it’s John,’ said Mr Lowther. ‘Our son.’
‘Does he live here?’
‘No, he has his own apartment, in Matlock. Poor John, he’s very upset – he and Lindsay were so close.’
‘Is he older than your daughter?’
‘No, two years younger.’
John Lowther looked at Fry and Murfin curiously as they met on the porch step.
‘These people are the police, John,’ said his father. ‘They’re here about Lindsay and the boys.’
‘We were close. Did they tell you?’
‘Your parents? Yes, they did.’
‘I’m shut up completely.’
‘I’m sorry?’
But Lowther was looking at Gavin Murfin. ‘I like your tie.’
Murfin looked aghast at getting a compliment. ‘Er, thanks.’
‘Are you all right, Mr Lowther? I know it must be a very difficult time for you.’
His eyes travelled back towards her, but failed to focus. ‘Pardon? What did you say?’
‘Have you thought of seeing your doctor?’
Lowther laughed. ‘I don’t see my doctor, because he’s not here.’
He went into the house, where his mother greeted him with a sob and a hug. Fry and Murfin walked back to the car. For a few moments, neither of them spoke. Then Fry started the engine and drove slowly back down the road.
‘A bit of a teacake,’ said Murfin.
‘What?’ said Fry, thinking he was talking about food, as usual.
‘That Lowther bloke. He’s a bit of a teacake.’
‘You mean John? Come on, Gavin, you just didn’t like him because you thought he was gay.’
‘What if he was?’ protested Murfin. ‘I don’t judge people like that. Well, not any more. I’ve done the course.’
‘Yeah, right. You’ve learned not to say out loud what you’re thinking, that’s all.’
Murfin sniffed, but didn’t deny it.
‘Besides,’ he said, ‘you don’t have to be gay to admire my tie.’
‘No, just colour blind.’
‘Well, did you like him?’ asked Murfin.
‘He was a bit odd, I suppose.’
‘Two sandwiches short of a picnic, more like.’
Fry sighed. ‘Is it getting near lunchtime by any chance?’
‘Well, now you mention it –’
‘All right, all right.’
Fry knew when to give in to necessity. She couldn’t understand the way Gavin lived to eat, instead of the other way round.
Sometimes she thought that most of the people around her had life upside down, or back to front. Take the Lowthers, for instance – they had a garden full of furniture, and a house full of plants. Something wrong there, surely?
In Foxlow, a police patrol arrived outside the gates of Bain House at about a quarter past one that afternoon. Thirteen sixteen hours, according to the incident log. PC Andy Myers pressed the intercom button on the gatepost a few times, but got no response.
‘Maybe it’s not working,’ said his partner.
‘I can hear it buzzing.’
‘Well, Control can’t give us a phone number for her.’
‘She must be ex-directory.’
‘So what do we do, then?’
Myers looked at the wrought-iron gates and the stone pillars on either side. ‘One of us has to get his arse over these gates. There should be a release on the other side. Mind the spikes when you get on top, Phil. They look lethal.’
‘Oh, thanks a lot. Don’t strain yourself, will you?’
‘I’m the driver. I have to stay with the car.’
Myers watched his partner struggle over the gates, grumbling all the way as he tried to avoid ripping his uniform or impaling his hand on a spike. Finally, his boots crunched down on to gravel at the other side and he found the release button to open the gates.
‘The bloke who phoned in was a farmer name of Cross,’ said Myers from the window of the car. ‘He says there’s a bedroom window open round the back somewhere, and a light on.’
‘Why didn’t he climb over the bloody gate, then?’
‘Him? He’ll be long gone, ploughing his sheep or something.’
‘You don’t get out into the country much, do you, Andy?’
The two officers went up to the front door and knocked. They still got no reply. Myers began to walk round the side of the house.
‘Yes,