‘This is dreadful,’ said the tiny woman, leaning down to pick up a crushed apple. Her voice had a high quavering register like the tootle of a clarinet. Charles held out the black bin liner and she dropped it in. He was dressed in pale golfing slacks with a high waist buckled over his paunch, and a diamond-patterned pullover. The old lady tilted her head upwards and noticed Erika, Moss and Peterson approaching. She had large cloudy eyes, prominent lips crowded with wrinkles, and a prodigious nose. Her forehead was very small, resulting in a low hairline, which almost collided with her bushy pale eyebrows.
‘Yes, can we help you?’ she said, imperiously.
Charles put his head down and busied himself picking up the fallen fruit. Erika introduced them all, and they flashed their warrant cards.
‘Ah. So you are responsible for pranging my Knobbed Russet?’
Moss raised an eyebrow, and Peterson peered down at her.
‘I beg your pardon?’ said Erika. The woman pointed to the apple tree with her walking stick. The tree was bent at an angle.
‘Thus. One of your police vehicles hit my Knobbed Russet… This apple tree is very rare…’ She bent down and picked up one of the apples, and Erika saw it was ugly and deformed, with a puckered tumour-like growth on one side. ‘Don’t be fooled by their ugliness. They have the most beautiful flavour. Lovely in a pie or with a piece of cheese. You’re lucky we have a good crop this year,’ she added, pointing her stick at the tree still groaning with fruit, ‘I just hope you haven’t damaged the root structure.’
‘What’s your name, ma’am?’
‘Mrs Henrietta Boulderstone. And I’d prefer Mrs Boulderstone, if you please… This is Mr Charles Wakefield.’ There was something in her accent and manner which indicated she was posh, of old money.
‘We’ve met. I hope your night in the police cells wasn’t too uncomfortable?’ asked Erika. Henrietta tilted her head up to fix Charles with a poached-egg Midas stare. He did something Erika didn’t expect. He blushed, and a ruddy glow spread across his smooth shiny face. There was an awkward pause and he kept his head down. ‘We’re here to investigate the murder of Vicky Clarke.’
‘Terrible business. Terrible,’ said Henrietta, after a long pause. She kept staring at Charles. Was she waiting for him to explain? thought Erika. There was something childish and petulant about the way he was ignoring them, as he dug an apple from the muddy tyre tracks.
‘How well did you know Vicky?’ asked Moss.
‘We exchanged pleasantries. We come from very different generations.’
‘Were you at home last night? One of our police officers rang your bell.’
‘Yes. I was in, but I retire very early, by eight o’clock. I’m lucky to be a very heavy sleeper, and my bell doesn’t work. I only saw this,’ she said waving her stick over the churned-up grass, ‘when I woke early this morning. I own both flats on the top floor. I use one as my studio.’
‘Are you an artist?’
‘Yes. My medium is predominantly photography,’ she said imperiously.
Charles had moved away from them towards the building to collect the last of the deformed-looking apples from the muddy tyre tracks.
‘Did you see anyone unusual coming or going yesterday afternoon? We’re looking at the hours between 3pm and 8pm,’ asked Peterson. Henrietta moved her attention to Peterson and looked up at him approvingly.
‘That depends on your definition of unusual,’ she said.
‘A stranger? Anyone acting suspiciously.’
‘Define suspicious?’ she asked, putting her hand to the heavy bronze necklace she wore. Her eyes had a girlish glee about questioning Peterson.
‘Please, answer the question,’ said Erika. Henrietta rolled her tongue around her mouth.
‘No. I didn’t see anyone suspicious. In fact, I didn’t see anyone all day until Charles called by at 6pm, and we took the air up on my terrace, didn’t we?’ she added, turning her body to face him.
‘Er, yes,’ he said, looking up furtively, still trying to extract an apple from the dirt.
‘Stop messing about with that and come over here,’ she snapped. He pulled the plastic bin liner with him and came to join them. He seemed childlike and shy in the presence of Henrietta. ‘You arrived at my front door, just as the six o’clock news was starting, and we went right out on the terrace.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I stayed for less than an hour, forty-five minutes.’