Anderson sat in the passenger seat still none the wiser as to their eventual destination, Charlotte sidestepping his questions to quickly turn the conversation round to McDowell.
“Before you clam up, I’ve been fully briefed,” she announced, keeping her eyes on the road ahead as it wound its way towards Graythorp. “I might be a sceptic but Mum seems determined, so let’s just see where it all leads. Is there anything more on Pat McDowell?”
Anderson was already regretting his haste in involving mother and daughter but it was a little late to turn back the clock. “There might be more to the Russian connection than just one of Zhilin’s books.”
“Are we talking about McDowell or Erdenheim?”
“I’m guessing it’s the same thing. McDowell was at the Farriers with a man and an older woman, common language Russian. When I say Russian, I might actually mean Polish; Yuri and Lara, I’ve decided to call them.”
“Very poignant… Are you suggesting Dad had seen them at the Farriers?” The car slowed, Charlotte glancing to her left, drawn – like Anderson a few hours earlier – to the tributes at the base of the sycamore.
“The dates don’t work,” Anderson said, hoping he didn’t need to explain further. “It’s just another intriguing fact to add to the rest.”
“Intriguing isn’t perhaps the word I would have used; random seems nearer the mark.”
Anderson’s retort was stilled as they passed through Graythorp. Two hundred yards beyond Erdenheim, Charlotte turned west onto a narrow back lane, pulling into a driveway partly-hidden behind a line of stumpy trees to park beside a mud-spattered Range Rover.
It was in fact part of a farm complex, Charlotte taking a moment to work out where to go before leading the way to the farmhouse’s side door. Even as she went to press the bell, the door opened wide to reveal a woman in her fifties, her smile of welcome tinged also with a hint of sadness.
“Miss Saunders and Mr Anderson is it?”
“That’s right; Charlotte and Michael, please.”
They shook hands, Anne Teacher ushering them through into the large kitchen, readying mugs as she continued to talk.
“I was so sorry to hear about the Commander; as you know I spoke to Jessica and things just won’t be the same without him. Always helpful, always polite; the commander was a true gentleman. What with young Darren as well; it was all so sad… Now, can I get you some tea?”
Charlotte smoothly took control, Anderson’s article on Darren now transformed into a feature on Erdenheim. He nodded and agreed where it seemed appropriate, happy to wait and see what Charlotte had in mind. It quickly became clear that the meeting had been arranged through Jessica, the Commander’s diary pored over to try and work out why he had visited the Management Centre.
“As I said to the Commander at the time,” continued Anne, quickly becoming more animated. “I have nothing against Erdenheim itself or it being where it is, and everything was fine until early March. It’s not as if we have many animals, so an occasional helicopter isn’t a problem. But then all of a sudden lots of brash Americans turned up with their loud voices and louder cars, none with the patience to have to crawl for a mile behind a tractor. Every night it was a noisy barbeque and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t cigarettes they were smoking. I was just hoping the Commander could persuade them to tone everything down a bit.”
Anderson finally found his voice, “Is it still as bad as when you spoke to Commander Saunders?”
Anne pursed her lips, “It improved as soon as he had a word with them and I did thank the Commander. At the moment, it’s much better and there’s just the one sports car; even so, I can’t help but think about poor Darren and worry as to whether my John might be next.”
Charlotte nodded in understanding, the arrival soon after of Anne’s husband taken as their cue to leave. The sequence of events involving the Commander might be somewhat clearer now but not the precise reason for his subsequent actions. Charlotte’s doubts were pushing Anderson into a potentially risky strategy, both hoping that his visit to Erdenheim would help supply some answers.
“We have lots but we have nothing,” said Charlotte, as they headed back to Marshwick. “And no motive. Perhaps Pat McDowell isn’t quite the ogre you seem keen to portray.”
“That’s always been likely,” admitted Anderson. “I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.”
Charlotte glanced quickly across at Anderson, “There is one more thing. Did you know my father had a heart condition?”