Remember Me Page 11

‘Yes I am, I left on that Sunday like I said. I’m sorry about not telling you about when I came back.’

  ‘Very well, Mrs. Pratt, we will check this out,’ Ford says, ‘thank you for coming.’

  ‘Like I had a choice!’ Pratt gets up and starts to walk towards the door. Terry catches up with her and opens the door for her.

  ‘Let me get someone to take you home, Mrs. Pratt.’

  ‘No need for that, I can manage,’ Pratt responds. She sweeps out of the station with her big handbag tucked under her arm.

  Terry walks back to his desk. Now, that was interesting about the fight. Better check one more time if Estelle Warner didn’t leave the Scillies by other means after all. And why did Pratt lie about when she’d come back? And if she had lied about that, maybe she had lied about when she’d left too? Although why would Pratt kill Eric Warner?

  Jimmy Carter, The Abbey Chronicle

  After digging a bit more into Eric and finding very little, Jimmy drives in the afternoon to Elm House to talk with Estelle before the inquest. The obit, such as it was, has already been published, but he’d like to see her anyway. She’s not that much older than him and she is, as he had told Mike, a very good looking woman, and those eyes – a man could drown in them.

  Jimmy gets to Elm House and parks his car beside the little red Audi. The sun comes out and it feels warm. Jimmy starts to roll up his shirtsleeves, then takes one look at his very white and slightly hairy arms, and decides having the sleeves rolled down is a better idea.

  The doorknocker makes a very hollow sound. He waits for a moment and then reaches for it again when the door opens.

  ‘Oh there you are,’ she says. ‘Come on in.’ She smiles. Today she’s wearing an ankle-length grey and white shirtdress with a red belt showing off her tiny waist. Blood red toenails peek out of grey flip-flops.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs. Warner.’

  ‘Estelle, please.’

  ‘Thank you Estelle.’ Jimmy follows Estelle to the same room as before.

  There are flowers in vases around the room.

  ‘Can I offer you anything to drink?’

  ‘No thank you, unless you’re having something?’

  ‘I was about to have a glass of white wine, it’s such a lovely day, isn’t it? Maybe we could go and sit outside?’

  ‘Sure, white wine sounds good.’

  Estelle walks to the kitchen and gets a bottle of Chablis out of a wine cooler.

  ‘The cork screw is in the top drawer there; can you please open the bottle?’ Jimmy finds the corkscrew and uncorks the bottle. Estelle opens the fridge and finds some olives.

  She grabs two glasses, a bowl of olives and a box of crackers and walks ahead. Jimmy follows her through the dining room where the heavy green silk curtains are drawn to keep the sun out. Estelle walks to the French windows and opens them to a large veranda. A group of wicker chairs with bright yellow cushions surround a glass-topped wicker table.

  ‘Please, pour us some wine,’. Jimmy does as he’s told, and sits down.

  ‘Mmm, this is good,’ he says. ‘I don’t drink white wine very often but this one is very good.’

  ‘It is one of my favorites. I don’t care for those Australians at all any more. I used to like them but then Eric taught me about wine, especially about French wines. He used to say that in France there’s a wine for every occasion and every day has its own cheese.’ Estelle sighs deeply. Her eyes start to water.

  ‘I can’t believe he’s gone. What am I going to do? What am I going to do?’ She dries her eyes with a handkerchief and blows her nose. ‘I guess I’ll have to sell this house, there’s not much point staying here on my own is there? I don’t even know anybody over here, except you,’ Estelle flashes a sad smile to Jimmy. ‘All my friends live in London. God, what am I going to do without Eric?

  ‘You’re not planning to go back to the Scillies then?’

  ‘Oh no, never! I’ll never go back there!’ Estelle says, waving her hand so dismissively she nearly spills her wine.

  ‘So you lived in London quite a while then? I’ve only been there a couple of times, it’s so very big and busy.’

  ‘London is wonderful if you know where to live and play. There are some less than likable areas of course. And houses are getting very expensive, Eric says, or said, I mean. We had a nice little house near Notting Hill. It wasn’t very big, but it was very nice. Too bad we sold it to move out here. Otherwise I could have moved back there. More wine? You have barely touched yours.’

  ‘Thank you, it’s very good but I still have to drive back. Have to be careful. So how come you moved here to Faukon Abbey? It’s not exactly close to anything, certainly not London.’

  ‘As I said, we looked at a lot of houses, and this one felt like home. And per Eric, we got a lot of house for our money, and since we wanted to start a family this was a good size. Nice garden for kids to play in too.’ Estelle again sighed deeply and took a sip from her glass. ‘Why is it called Faukon Abbey anyway? It is a very odd spelling. I’ve asked a few people but nobody seems to know.’

  ‘Faukon Abbey would be spelled Falcon Abbey nowadays. The town is named after a Priory, which was founded back in the 1100s. The first prioress was apparently very skilled in hunting with falcons. And she trained all her followers in the art, too.’

  ‘Hunting with falcons? Falcons as in birds? How does one do that? Aren’t falcons wild birds?’

  ‘Falcons are wild, but they can apparently be trained to hunt prey for you, smaller birds like grouse.’

  ‘How do you mean? You tell the bird to go catch another one and it brings it back to you?’

  ‘Apparently so. It takes a lot of skill to train falcons.’

  ‘I had no idea. And you say this was done by a woman? A nun? I thought nuns only took care of the sick or hit you on the knuckles at school?’

  ‘The Priory was apparently a poor one and they had to get food somehow. They had a sick house too. There is a small museum in Faukon Abbey next to the Priory ruins by the church. St. Katharine’s is the only thing that survived the reformation.’

  ‘So, how come you’re stuck in this place then, Jimmy?’ Estelle fills her glass again. ‘Do try these olives. They were Eric’s favorite too. French – he said these were the kings of olives… or was it lucky olives for kings? I do not remember.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He takes an olive and pops it into his mouth. ‘These are indeed very good. Funny shape though, very pointy.’

  ‘Now tell me, what are you doing stuck in a small place like this? How many people actually live here?’

  ‘I have not been here that long. I think that in Faukon Abbey there are only around three thousand people or so. The surrounding area, probably another thousand.

  ‘God, it’s not much bigger than the Scillies! What do people do here? They all can’t be farmers, surely?

  ‘No, not all. We do have the specialty glass factory; a lot of people work there. The town used to be bigger when the coal mine was in operation. It was closed about a hundred years ago. Many people work in Exeter too. The golf course expansion with the hotel and all that is supposed to bring a lot of new jobs too.’

  ‘Ah yes, the golf course. I’ve been reading your little Chronicle. I like your articles.’

  ‘Thank you. My dream would be to work for The Guardian. They have the best journalists in the world.’

  ‘Well if that is your dream, why are you staying here then? Why don’t you move to London and make your future there?’

  ‘It’s not that easy. To be hired by them, you have to be really good. And I’m not sure if I’m good enough, not yet anyway.’

  ‘Rubbish, you just move there and go for it. You have to believe in yourself.’

  ‘Thank you for the encouragement.’ Jimmy smiles. His mobile phone rings. ‘Oh no, it’s my editor. I have to take it, I’m sorry.’ He walks to the other end of the terrace, listens for a while and then walks back.

  ‘I’m sorry. My editor wants me back i
n the office pronto. Thank you so much for your time and wine. I can get back to my car from this side, right?’ He takes her hand, ‘Thank you again’.

  ‘Yes, you can. Drive carefully.’

  Jimmy walks back to his car, and drives to The Chronicle office.

  Wednesday 28th of May

  The Inquest

  The inquest begins. The coroner starts by shortly explaining the purpose of the inquest, which is to establish the circumstances surrounding Eric Warner’s death. He then starts calling witnesses.

  The first witness is Detective Inspector Peter Greene, who reports where and how the body was found. He reports how the Emergency Services were called by a member of the public at twenty-five past one on May twelfth. The caller said a man who appeared to be in a bad way had been found in Tersel Woods sitting down and leaning against a tree. Police officers and paramedics who arrived on the scene fifteen minutes later attended the man but he was pronounced dead at the scene. He was then transported to Brookside Hospital where his death was confirmed by Dr. Monroe. At the time he was found, he had no identification with him, no mobile phone, and it is not clear how he had arrived at Tersel Woods. His fingerprints were not found in any system. He was identified first a week later, on May nineteenth, thanks to DNA, as Eric Warner of Elm House, Mulberry Hill, Faukon Abbey. His wife Estelle Warner identified him the following day.

  The coroner asks DI Greene a question about the person who found the body and about the weather at the time the deceased was found. Greene responds that it was partially cloudy; there had been some rain showers on Friday and Saturday, but on the Monday when Mr. Warner was found it had been dry. Greene also states that despite repeated efforts, they have not been able to locate the person who found the deceased and had called the Emergency Services. The call was made from a prepaid phone and they had not been able to connect the phone number or address given on site to anyone. At the time, more concern was placed on emergency medical treatment, and the death was deemed as non-suspicious and most likely due to natural causes. Thus the method and order of suspicious death investigation were not in place. The coroner appears to be concerned about the witness, or rather the lack thereof.

  The pathologist, Dr. Percy Slater, reports next the results of the post-mortem examination of Eric Warner, which he had conducted on Thursday fifteenth of May. ‘Initially, Dr. Slater says, ‘there appeared to be nothing suspicious about Mr. Warner’s death. He appeared to have died of a cardiopulmonary arrest. However, he seemed to be in a good health, and there were no blockages in his arteries. Additionally, his heart and lungs as well as other organs seemed all to be in good working order for someone of his age, which after identification turned out to be forty-two. So, based on the post-mortem examination results, what caused him to have an apparent heart attack is not clear, as he had no signs of any pre-existing disease. We are running some additional toxicology tests; results of which we have yet to receive. The body appears not to have been moved, and there were no signs of any external violence, no visible injuries. He appears to have died about an hour or two at most before they found him as he was still warm when the ambulance crew arrived and rigor mortis had not set in. It seems, based on lividity, he had just sat down, leaned against the tree and died.’

  The coroner asks if there were any known health issues or if Mr. Warner was using any medication which could have caused his sudden death. Dr. Slater states that there are a multitude of medications, familial risk factors, genetic abnormalities and toxic gases which all can cause heart attacks. Even the sudden start of rigorous exercise can cause a heart attack.

  However, Dr. Slater continues, he had just this morning heard from DI Greene that Mr. Warner was a great believer in alternative medicines, and as those are poorly regulated, they can contain just about anything. The coroner asks Dr. Slater about familial risk factors – didn’t Eric Warner’s father die of heart attack? Dr. Slater responds that he didn’t have any information as to how Mr. Warner’s father had died or when, so he couldn’t comment on that. The coroner states that it was apparently public information as it had been posted in The Abbey Chronicle’s obituary. Slater responds that it is an increased risk, not a certainty. Before Dr. Slater can continue with his lecture, the coroner thanks him and calls back Peter Greene.

  Greene states that because the Warners had recently moved to the area, Eric Warner didn’t yet have a GP in the area, according to his wife. The police had found his former doctor in London. When he (Greene) had travelled to London on Tuesday, he had also interviewed Mr. Warner’s doctor, one Dr. Aron Holmes, in London. Reading from his notes, Peter Greene states that according to Dr. Holmes, Eric Warner’s health was very good, or at least it was at the time of his last checkup on November twentieth 2012. Per Dr. Holmes, Mr. Warner did not at that time display any signs of any health issues which would have caused him to have a heart attack eighteen months later. Being in good health, Mr. Warner didn’t feel the need to visit a doctor regularly. Dr. Holmes mentioned that Mr. Warner had told him about benefits of alternative medicine, especially Chinese and Indian herbal medicine and also homeopathic medicines and supplements, and had said he used those if or when he needed. Dr. Holmes said he had explained to Mr. Warner the risks with alternative medicines and especially with herbal medicines, which may have unknown side effects. Mr. Warner had laughed at that and stated that he had reliable suppliers.

  ‘Did you find any information as to who may have supplied Mr. Warner with these alternative medicines?’ the coroner asks.

  ‘No, not yet’ Greene replies.

  The coroner thanks Peter Greene and Dr. Slater. Next person to testify is Estelle Warner who for the occasion is dressed in a somber beige and black top with black pants. Her hair is tied in a twist. She testifies about her husband’s good health, saying that Eric was in excellent health, never missed a day of work, played squash and had absolutely no health issues. She then breaks down and starts to sob, stating that Eric would have been alive if she had been at home. The coroner thanks her.

  Estelle goes back to her seat. As the coroner is saying how at this time it’s yet unclear how Mr. Warner died, he gets interrupted by a young woman who shouts ‘He was murdered, don’t you see?’ The coroner asks who she is and if she would like to take the stand. The young woman, very skinny, with pale skin and very heavy black eye makeup and very red lips. She is dressed in black jeans and a pale pink top. Her long black hair has bright red strands. She walks to the stand and sits down.

  ‘Could you tell your name, please?’

  ‘I’m Elizabeth Warner, Eric Warner was my dad.’

  ‘And how old are you?’

  ‘I’m eighteen.’

  ‘Where do you live?’

  ‘Currently in London.’

  ‘Thank you. Could you clarify what you meant with your statement, please?’

  ‘My father was in the prime of his life and in excellent health. There is no way he could have died of a heart attack. He was poisoned!’ She was nearly shouting again.

  ‘Thank you, miss Warner, we can hear you just fine, no need to shout. Why do you think he was poisoned?’

  ‘Because he didn’t give more money to her! She’s going bust and needs money.’

  ‘Who are you referring to? Who needs money?’

  ‘My mother,’ Elizabeth states with flicker of a malicious glee appearing in the corner of her eyes.

  ‘Who is your mother?’

  ‘Mrs. Warner, she sits there.’ Elizabeth points with her hand.

  ‘Estelle Warner is your mother?’ the coroner asks.

  ‘No, her, behind ‘Stelle, Mrs. Margaret Warner, my father’s first wife and my mother.’

  Everyone turns to look at a woman seated two rows behind Estelle Warner. They see a middle-aged woman with short curly brown hair with a big yellow scarf on her shoulders and a stunned look in her face. She appears to want the floor to open up and swallow her.

  The inquest is adjourned; the cause of death cannot be e
stablished at this time as doubt remains as to how Eric Warner died, the coroner states. People start leaving the room, talking and commenting on the outburst by young Ms. Warner.

  Jimmy Carter, The Abbey Chronicle

  Jimmy catches up with Estelle as they exit the building. She’s in a state. He takes her arm and offers to drive her home, but she refuses. She’s visibly shaken. He follows her with his car to make sure she gets home all right. She drives a bit erratically, speeding up and slowing down. He keeps following her all the way to Elm House. She parks her car close to the door and runs inside. He parks his car next to hers and follows her inside. Estelle practically falls in his arms. She is crying. ‘That was awful, so awful.’ He holds on to her and guides her, gently sitting her down on the sofa. He turns toward the side table and pours her a large cognac. She sits with a bewildered look on her face. ‘How could she do it? Why did she do it? I do not understand.’

  ‘Here, have a sip of this,’ he says and gives her the glass.

  Estelle takes a gulp, and starts coughing. Then she just keeps shaking her head, repeating how awful it all was. She finishes her cognac and asks him for a refill. Jimmy gets it for her.

  Once she seems to have calmed down, he goes and sits next to her.

  ‘You don’t really think Margaret Warner killed your husband, do you?’

  ‘I don’t know, but it’s possible, I wouldn’t put it past her. She hated it when Eric fell in love with me and left her. She hated me for taking him away from her. I’m sure she could kill him just to get him away from me as she couldn’t keep him for herself!’

  ‘But why would she do it now? Haven’t they been divorced for a long time now?’

  ‘They divorced after Eric and I had fallen in love. Their marriage had been over a long time and after Karen, their younger daughter, died, Eric was so devastated. She –’ Estelle nearly spat, ‘couldn’t comfort him. He would have been totally destroyed if it hadn’t been for me. And then she went and tried to skin him for all the money he had. She didn’t succeed – after all, she was nothing, a nobody, and Eric was a successful lawyer. He was the one who had made all the money; she never worked a day in her life!’ Estelle keeps gulping down her cognac.