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  ‘Ah yes, of course, what a tragedy, Poor Estelle. I can send you his biography we used to have on our website. That would give you all the info you need.’

  ‘Thank you Mr. Gibbens. Appreciate it. Is there anybody else I could talk with?’

  ‘Not at this time, we are very busy. But if you call later in the week, maybe. I’ll email you the bio. Thank you for calling, now I must go. Goodbye.’

  ‘Thank you for taking time to talk with me.’

  He gets the feeling there’s a lot good Mr. Gibbens could have said but didn’t. But, at least the clerk is a man of his word. A few minutes later Jimmy receives an email with the bio the law firm had had on their website until Eric left the firm. It has info about where Eric graduated (University of Edinburgh) and how he went into corporate law with one law firm (Gordon and Robins), stayed for four years and then came to work for Boxton, Gillen & Smithers as a solicitor and a senior associate working mostly with mergers and acquisitions. He was there until he left a year ago to pursue private investment opportunities. Very barebones, but due to lack of anything better, Jimmy uses most of it for the obit. He hopes to find out more from Estelle Warner. He reminds himself to ask her for a picture to post alongside the obit.

  He drives past the house and has to turn around, finds the driveway and parks his car next to a small red Audi. His old metallic green Saab 900 looks very shabby in comparison, even though it’s a convertible. Jimmy loves his car despite the fact that there are not too many days you can drive with the top down, which itself tends to leak.

  Jimmy walks to the door; the doorknocker bangs loudly. The door is opened by a beautiful brunette with long curly unruly hair, wearing a moss green top over cream colored pants. She has the biggest and saddest eyes he’s ever seen.

  ‘Hello, I’m James Carter, from The Chronicle. I called earlier. I hope this is a convenient time?’

  ‘Ah yes, so you did.’

  ‘I am sorry for your loss, Mrs. Warner. As I explained, I only want to get some details for the paper.’

  ‘I don’t have much time, but do come in, please.’ Estelle motions Jimmy inside the house. She closes the door after him, and then leads him to a living room.

  ‘This way. Please take a seat.’

  Jimmy sits down on the sofa closest to the door, while Estelle walks to the other one facing him.

  ‘So, what would you like to know?’

  ‘As I mentioned on the phone, my editor would like to get some background information about your husband. We don’t have that much about him since you haven’t lived here that long.’

  ‘Very well. We moved here nearly a year ago from London where Eric had been a solicitor with Boxton, Gillen & Smithers. We moved here to start a family.’

  ‘You are a bit young to be retired, so I assume Mr. Warner was going to keep working?’

  ‘Eric was tired of dealing with law. He wanted to do something different and he likes golf. We looked at different areas, and found Elm House. I fell in love with the house – it is such a lovely home now after we renovated it all. Took a lot of work to get it livable, I can tell you. An old woman had lived here all by herself for years and there was stuff all over! Mostly just rubbish by the look of it. We had to get a skip and just about filled two of them. My gosh, Verena and I worked our fingers to the bone to get rid of all the grime and dirt.’

  ‘Verena?’ Jimmy asks.

  ‘Oh, our old housekeeper who moved with us here from London. She had to move back to Islington, so we now have a local one.’

  ‘It most certainly is a lovely house. I really like how light and airy it is here. Many of these old houses tend to be gloomy and furnished with a lot of dark furniture. They often feel bleak and depressing,’ Jimmy gushes. ‘Would you mind if I took a few pictures of you sitting there?’ Jimmy takes out his camera from his bag.

  ‘No, go ahead.’ Estelle runs her fingers through her hair. ‘Is here good?’

  ‘Yes, perfect.’ Jimmy gets up and takes a few pictures of her and the room.

  ‘Thank you. Would you happen to have a recent picture of your husband we could use in the paper, for the obituary?’

  Estelle’s eyes fill up again, and she sighs loudly, biting her lips. She finds a handkerchief in her trouser pocket and wipes her eyes and nose.

  ‘I am so sorry, Mrs. Warner.’

  ‘Oh, I got carried away here for a while talking about all the fun we had when working on the house.’ Estelle sighs deeply, her eyes welling up again. ’I do miss him so!’

  ‘I am so sorry’, Jimmy says again. ‘Anything I can do?’

  ‘No, nothing at all.’ Estelle sighs deeply. She gets up and walks to the side table where she pours herself a large cognac. ‘Would you like one?’ she asks Jimmy.

  ‘Thank you but no, I have to drive back to work.’

  Estelle walks towards the window and looks out. ‘The Saab 900 is yours?’

  ‘Oh yes, it’s old but it’s my dream car.’

  ‘What about it being a convertible? It’s not very handy, is it? I’ve heard they leak a bit.’

  ‘Ah yes, unfortunately that has happened,’ Jimmy sighs. ‘Are you interested in cars?’

  ‘Oh I like Saabs, my first one was a very ancient 99 and then I had a 900 for a while too. We have old cars in the Scillies. Wish I still had one, Saabs were so much fun to drive.’

  ‘Agreed, and the seats in the Saab are the best. If I ever have to give up my car, I’m going to take the seats out and use them in the house as gaming chairs. They’d be perfect for that!’ Jimmy says emphatically. ‘Did you grow up in the Scillies, Mrs. Warner?’

  ‘Oh please, call me Estelle, no need to be so formal. Yes, I grew up in St. Mary’s. My mother works in the Abbey Gardens in Tresco, but we lived in St. Mary’s, had a small cottage just outside Hugh Town. When I turned twenty, I moved out, intending to see the whole wide world, and only ended up in London.’

  ‘That’s where you met Eric?’

  ‘I worked for Mr. Smithers as his executive assistant. Eric had joined the firm a while earlier.’

  ‘Ah, meeting at work – best way to meet people isn’t it?’ Jimmy says.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well you learn to know the person better that way, don’t you think?’

  ‘Anyone at your work?’ asks Estelle, taking small sips of her drink.

  ‘Oh no, not anymore’ Jimmy says, blushing.

  ‘Oh, come now, a good looking guy like you. Don’t tell me you don’t have a girlfriend?’

  ‘Alas, as it is now, no.’ Jimmy says. He looks at his watch. ‘I really am sorry to bother you but I have to be getting back to the office. It would be really good if we had a recent picture of your husband we could use in the obituary. Would you happen to have one handy? Also, we would like to know his birthday too, we usually print that, though only month and year.’

  Estelle goes to the hall and gets her handbag. She digs a bit and finds her mobile. She scrolls back and forth.

  ‘I don’t think I have any really good pictures, but I can email you a couple I took last year when we were on holiday in Lisbon. I’ll send you his birthday too.’

  ‘That would be perfect. Thank you.’ Jimmy digs up his card from his pocket. ‘Here is my contact info. Is there anything particular you’d like us to mention in his obituary? Hobbies? Was he interested in charities? You and Eric didn’t have any children together, correct?’

  ‘No children yet, we moved here to start a family.’ Estelle dabs her eyes again.

  ‘I believe he had been married before?’

  ‘Yes, Eric had been married before, they had two children, and one is still alive. Do you really have to mention that? It was a very unhappy marriage and they divorced after their daughter died in 2009. Eric took it very hard. I don’t think it makes sense to mention anything about that marriage. Do you have to?’

  ‘Well we do normally state that the person had been previously married and leaves a child from their previous mar
riage. That’s all, so just a few words. How old is the child?’

  ‘Oh, Lizzie? She’s what, about eighteen or nineteen now.’

  ‘Do you have any relationship with her? I mean in many divorce cases the father has visiting rights and so on.’

  ‘Lizzie used to come every now and then and stay a weekend when we lived in London. She hasn’t been here once. Anything else you need to know?’

  Jimmy was going to ask a bit more about Lizzie but it seems to be a touchy subject.

  ‘No thank you, I think I have everything I need. Is it ok if I take a couple of pictures from the outside of the house as well?’

  ‘Sure, I don’t see why not.’

  ‘Thank you again for your time. The obituary will be in tomorrow’s paper and online as well. I will forward you the link to it as soon as it is up.’ Jimmy gathers his things.

  Estelle walks with him to the door where Jimmy shakes her hand and thanks her again. Estelle closes the door and goes back inside.

  Jimmy walks towards the gates to get a good picture of the house. He takes a few and walks to his car and drives back to The Chronicle’s office.

  Back in his office, Jimmy sets out to write the obituary. What the heck am I going to write about this guy? He wasn’t particularly remarkable any way you look at it. He got into law school at Edinburgh University, got married, got a job, and didn’t really do anything particularly noteworthy. If it hadn’t been for the way he’d died, and because they still haven’t figured out the reason for it, he wouldn’t be anything worth writing much about at all.

  Jimmy gets Mike to approve a trip to London to get a bit more info. There is definitely some-thing about Eric Warner that nobody wants to talk about. Why did he leave his job? And why was Estelle so cagey about how she and Eric met?

  Wednesday 21st of May

  The Abbey Chronicle, page 2, Obituaries

  Eric Warner

  Eric Warner who was born in Kirkcaldy, Scotland in 1970, died on May 12th. He studied at the University of Edinburgh and received his law degree there, following his father and grandfather as a lawyer. Shortly after his graduation in 1996, his father died of a heart attack, and Eric decided to move to England. He was accepted as a trainee associate in a law firm in London, and completed his practice and subsequently qualified as a solicitor. He joined Boxton, Gillen & Smithers in 2007. He gained extensive experience in public company take-overs, institutional equity issues, general corporate advisory and mergers and acquisitions work. He had previously dealt with information governance law and advised on data protection compliance, information sharing and freedom of information issues for multiple companies in Scotland.

  Mr. Warner enjoyed travel and had a passion for the great outdoors. He also played football and squash and was reluctantly dragged to London’s galleries and museums by his artistically minded wife, Estelle. Mr. Warner and his wife Estelle recently moved to Faukon Abbey, where they lived in Elm House on Mulberry Hill. In addition to possible local investment opportunities, Eric Warner and his wife were looking forward to starting a family here.

  Eric Warner is survived by one daughter from a previous marriage, in addition to his wife Estelle. His mother died in a car accident 2012.

  DI Peter Greene and DC Terry Ford

  ‘Terry, what do we know about Warner’s first wife? Is she still alive? And if so, where is she? And what about the daughter? What do we know about her?’ Greene asks as soon as he enters his office, sipping coffee.

  ‘Not much, sir. Her name is Margaret Warner; daughter’s name is Elizabeth. They got married in 1996 and divorced in 2009. She lives in Penzance, apparently has a B&B there.’

  ‘Very well, why don’t we drive there and ask a few questions.’

  ‘Right now, sir? What about the Trevane case? The inquest for that is this afternoon.’

  ‘Ah yes, so it is. One of us has to go to that one. Can you handle it on your own?’

  ‘Yes sir, I think I can.’

  ‘Good, I think it will be good practice for you. I don’t think Slater had any doubts about it being a murder-suicide, did he?’

  ‘No, sir, Mrs. Trevane had advanced Alzheimer’s and he just couldn’t handle it anymore.’

  ‘Indeed, so all you are going to be asked about is how and when they were found and all that. Print out the address for first Mrs. Warner and I’ll drive there. How long ago did they divorce again?’

  ‘About five years ago.’

  ‘And how long ago did Mr. Warner marry wife number two?’

  ‘About four years ago.’

  ‘Well, maybe the first wife didn’t take too kindly to him getting married so fast, or who knows, she may have had issues. I’ll drive there.’

  He finds Margaret Warner’s B&B, called Cramond B&B, after a bit of a driving around. It is located in a middle section of Regency townhouses near the Promenade. No parking spots in front so he drives around and finds a spot out on the street around the corner. The B&B has a small garden in the front with a border of fragrant white roses starting to bloom, a lot of plants and flowers, in various size pots. There is a small sitting area with comfortable-looking chairs near the entrance. Greene rings the bell.

  The door is opened by a woman, about forty, a brunette with a few grey strands in her short slightly curled hair. She has green eyes with a few crow’s feet in the corners and a friendly open face. She most likely had a great figure when she was younger, but now is a bit full-figured. As far as Greene is concerned, she is beautiful.

  ‘Hello, if you’ve come about a room, I’m sorry to say we are all full this week.’

  ‘Are you Mrs. Margaret Warner?’

  ‘Yes.’ She looks at him quizzically. Peter presents himself and shows his warrant card.

  ‘Oh my God, has something happened to Lizzie?’

  ‘No, not that we know of at any rate. Can I come in, please? It’s about your former husband, Eric Warner.’

  ‘Eric? What’s he been up to this time?’

  ‘Can we talk inside please?’

  ‘Sure, come in.’ She waves him inside. ‘This way. I hope you don’t mind, but I have to do the dishes. I assume this isn’t going to take long? You can sit down there. Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?’

  ‘Coffee would be lovely, thank you.’

  Peter sits down in a chair by a small built-in desk in the corner of a kitchen and looks around the well-appointed kitchen. ‘What a fabulous looking stove you have.’

  ‘It is, isn’t it? The former owner was a Frenchman and he had it brought over from France. It works with a precision you wouldn’t believe, and the oven is wonderful for baking too. Are you into cooking?’

  ‘I’m renovating my house, especially the kitchen.’

  ‘Oh that can be so much fun and a pain, and very costly. Are you doing it yourself?’

  ‘Yes I’m planning to. I haven’t started on the kitchen yet, still on the planning stage, figuring out things.’

  ‘That’s the fun part’, Margaret smiles, ‘until you see the price tag.’

  While they were chatting, she had been deftly loading the dishwasher. She puts a cup of coffee in front of him and a plate of madeleines.

  ‘Sugar, milk or cream?’

  ‘No thank you.’

  She leans against a large worktable, made of old solid-looking oak. He admires how well the color of the smoky green top she is wearing over her jeans matches her eyes.

  ‘So what did you want to know?’

  ‘I’m very sorry to have to tell you, but your former husband, Eric Warner, is dead,’ Greene says and looks closely at her.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Margaret’s hands fly to cover her mouth. ‘What happened? Car crash? When? And why are you telling me? Lizzie wasn’t in his car? Does Estelle know?’

  ‘He died on May twelfth, and Estelle knows. It wasn’t a car accident. No others involved. We are still investigating.’

  ‘Oh my, oh my God. I have to call Lizzie. You haven’t told her yet, have you?’ />
  ‘Lizzie is your daughter – no, ma’am, we haven’t. Would you like to sit down?’

  Peter gets up and offers his chair to her.

  ‘Thank you.’ Maggie sinks down and covers her face with her hands.

  ‘Is there anything I can get you? Water or something stronger?’

  ‘Water would be good.’

  Peter walks over to the sink and finds a glass on a nearby shelf. He fills it with water, hearing some muffled moaning and sniffles behind him. He lets the water run for a while.

  ‘Here,’ he offers her the glass. ‘Is your daughter here or would you like me to call her?’

  ‘Oh no, I have to do it.’

  ‘Very well. I’ll leave you to it, and I can come back another day. I only have one question to ask you now, and I’m very sorry to ask you but I have to. Where were you on May twelfth?’

  ‘I was in Edinburgh.’

  ‘Alone or with someone?’

  The phone rings.

  ‘Mom, is it true?’

  Peter hears an agonized voice from the other end.

  ‘It’s Lizzie, can we talk some other time? I have to talk with her now, please?’ Margaret says, covering the phone.

  ‘Yes. Thank you for the coffee. I’ll let myself out.’

  On his way out Greene hears the muffled discussion from the kitchen. He stops on his way to check out the B&B. Outside the kitchen he sees the breakfast room - with yellow walls, and the flowery chintz curtains it looks very sunny and bright. Through the large window there is a view of a well-maintained garden in the back. On his way back to the entrance, Greene passes a good sized lounge, with a sofa and a pair of big leather chairs. A table covered with all sorts of brochures about what to do in Penzance stands in the center. On a corner table there’s a computer, apparently for guests’ use. Greene walks out and drives back to Faukon Abbey.