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‘Yerse,’ said the colonel, ‘but there’s a family trust. He’d been able to apply for funds from it, since he’d turned eighteen.’
Strike now took out his notebook and pen. Phillipa’s and Nicholas’ eyes followed these movements closely.
‘He started applying for money the moment he moved in with Mazu, but the trustees weren’t going to give him money just to fritter away,’ said the colonel. ‘Then Allie turned up here one day out of the blue to tell us Mazu was pregnant.’
‘He said he wanted money to get baby things, and make Mazu comfortable,’ said Mrs Graves.
‘Daiyu was born in May 1988, right?’ asked Strike.
‘That’s right,’ said Mrs Graves. The tremor in her hands was making every sip of tea risky. ‘Born at the farm. Allie rang us up, and we drove over right away, to see the baby. Mazu was lying in a filthy bed, nursing Daiyu, and Allie was very thin and jittery.’
‘As bad as he’d been before he was arrested,’ said Colonel Graves. ‘Orf his medication. Told us he didn’t need it.’
‘We’d taken presents for Daiyu, and Mazu didn’t even thank us,’ said his wife. ‘But we kept visiting. We were worried about Allie, and about the baby, too, because the living conditions were quite unsanitary. Daiyu was very sweet, though. Looked just like Allie.’
‘Spittin’ image,’ said the colonel.
‘Except dark, and Allie was fair,’ said Mrs Graves.
‘Would you happen to have a picture of Allie?’ asked Strike.
‘Nick, could you—?’ asked Mrs Graves.
Nicholas reached behind him and extracted a framed photo from behind the one of Phillipa sitting on the large grey horse.
‘That’s Allie’s twenty-second,’ said Mrs Graves, as Nicholas passed the picture over the tea things. ‘When he was all right, before…’
The picture showed a group, at the centre of which stood a young man with a narrow head, blond hair and a distinctly rabbity face, though his lopsided grin was endearing. He greatly resembled the colonel.
‘Yes, Daiyu was very like him,’ said Strike.
‘How would you know?’ said Phillipa coldly.
‘I saw a photo of her in an old news report,’ Strike explained.
‘I always thought she was just like her mother, personally,’ said Phillipa.
Strike was scanning the rest of the group in the photograph. Phillipa was there, dark haired and stocky as she was in the hunting photograph, and beside her stood Nick, his hair military short, with his right arm in a sling.
‘Injured on exercises?’ Strike asked Nicholas, passing the photograph back.
‘What? Oh, no. Just a stupid accident.’
Nicholas took the photograph back from Strike and replaced it carefully, hiding it again behind the one of his wife on her magnificent hunter.
‘D’you remember Jonathan Wace coming to live at the farm?’ asked Strike.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Mrs Graves, quietly. ‘We were completely taken in. Thought he was the best thing about the place, didn’t we, Archie? And you liked him, didn’t you, Pips?’ she said timidly. ‘At first?’
‘He was politer than Mazu, that’s all,’ said the unsmiling Phillipa.
‘Fella seemed intelligent,’ said Colonel Graves. ‘One realised later it was all an act, but he was charmin’ when you first met him. Talked about the sustainable farming they were going to do. Made it sound quite worthy.’
‘I looked him up,’ said Nicholas. ‘He wasn’t lying. He had been to Harrow. Big in the drama society, apparently.’
‘He told us he was keeping an eye on Allie, Mazu and the baby,’ said Mrs Graves. ‘Making sure they were all right. We thought he was a good thing, at the time.’
‘Then the religious stuff started creepin’ in,’ said Colonel Graves. ‘Lectures on Eastern philosophy and what have yeh. Thought it was harmless at first. We were far more concerned about Allie’s mental state. The letters to the trustees kept comin’, clearly dictated by someone else. Passin’ himself orf as a partner in the farming business, y’know. Balderdash, but hard to disprove. They got a fair bit out of the trust, one way or another.’
