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Wilson stared at his hand as if it was in danger of becoming extinct within the next few seconds.
“Wasn’t so bad, was it?” Robbie passed him a napkin.
Wilson made a show of wiping his face and his brow whilst still breathing heavily. “You’ve still got me fucking hand.”
“I know I have,” said Robbie. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why have you still got me fucking hand?”
“Because I want to know where he lives.”
“Carpenter’s Yard, Bramfield.”
“Thank you,” said Robbie. Standing up he pressed hard on Wilson’s arm and slid the knife out very quickly.
“Oh Jesus,” screamed Wilson.
“Enjoy the rest of my lunch. You’ve earned it.”
Chapter Twenty-six
Gardener and Reilly were coping with heavy traffic in the centre of Leeds. They were on their way to see Fitz for a post-mortem report on Jane Carter.
Gardener’s thoughts were consumed with the information they had collected during the morning, and another early morning meeting in the incident room with his team. Once actions had been given, they decided to pay Robbie Carter a visit. His van was parked on the drive. When they knocked on the front door, he came from around the back to see who it was.
Robbie had not cleaned the place – as far as Gardener could see he hadn’t actually lifted a finger; everything was still as he’d left it on the previous Friday night. The man was in no better shape. His hair was a mess: he was unshaven, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt that had not seen the inside of a washing machine for some time. His feet were bare.
Both detectives declined a cup of tea.
Once Robbie was seated Gardener had asked for the names and addresses of his late wife’s doctor and solicitor. He obliged, but when questioned about her will, he claimed he had not seen a copy. He figured there were more important things on his mind. The grief was starting to hit home. He wasn’t sure what to do next. Gardener had offered the services of a family liaison officer; Robbie declined. Before Gardener left he asked Robbie – rather casually – if he had any other computers apart from the one they had found in the house. Robbie said he hadn’t but they were more than welcome to do another search if they didn’t believe him.
Having left the house, they drove into Bursley Bridge to the doctor’s surgery, who had a full book of appointments. Gardener left a card and asked if the doctor would make contact.
From there it was over to an address in Thirsk. Solicitor Gerry Rowland had an office in the market square above one of the bigger shops. He’d been very sorry to hear about the death of Jane Carter, and had found her a lovely woman to deal with on all occasions – her last appointment having been approximately six months ago. Gerry Rowland confirmed that Jane Carter had decided to change her last will and testament.
Gardener and Reilly were all over that like a rash. The previous document had included a sum of money to be left to her husband, Robbie, who had yet to make contact with the solicitor. The new one excluded him completely. She had given no reason. Rowland was completely satisfied that she was of sound mind, fit and healthy. He did not question the matter further. She was his client – not the other way around.
The new will saw the largest portion of the money left to Atkinson’s riding stables, in the hope that he would set up a riding school specifically for new riders wishing to follow their dreams in horse riding, show jumping and racing as a profession. A further amount was to be left to fund an on-site vet, which Jane Carter felt they badly needed. The rest was to be divided and paid to a small number of close personal friends.
Rowland confirmed it had been witnessed and signed by her good friend, Carrie Fletcher.
On leaving the solicitor, Gardener phoned Dave Rawson and gave him the heads up on the news before asking him to visit Carrie Fletcher. After that, they had a quick bite to eat in one of the local cafés.
Gardener was suddenly aware that the car had stopped and they were outside the morgue.
“You okay, boss?” Reilly asked. “You were miles away.”
“I was just thinking about Robbie Carter.”
“And the will?”
“What else? Do you think he knew?”
“Not sure,” said Reilly. “But the new will suggests he had nothing to gain by killing her.”
