Amanda Cadabra and The Hidden Depths by Holly Bell (good book recommendations TXT) 📗

I do. Not a library, of course, just about three-cartons-worth. When I moved to The Elms, there wasn’t space for the extra boxes of books. So I asked Mrs Pagely if I could put them in the library basement. She kindly said yes, if I could find room. So I unpacked them and shelved them. Rather a higgledy-piggledy rush job, I’m afraid. Why?’

‘Well, it does give you a personal link to the stacks.’

His lustrous brown eyes grew troubled. ‘Oh dear, does that mean I’m implicated in the murder?’

‘No, Jonathan, I was thinking more of the Oracle and your connection to her through the books in the stacks.’

‘Ah, I see. Yes, I suppose so, but they weren’t mine. They were only in my possession. I’ll probably end up donating them to the library or giving them to Oxfam when I get round to sorting them out.’

‘I see, yes, that is a tenuous link then. I was just curious. Thank you, Jonathan.’

‘Is there anything else I can do for you, Amanda?’ asked the ever-conscientious assistant librarian.

She smiled. ‘Thank you, that’s everything.’

Oh well, so much for that line of enquiry, thought Amanda. As for the other things Jonathan had told her about his dream and the stacks ... no, there was no point in telling the inspector a lot of ethereal stuff that would be of no use to him.

***

Trelawney parked in the space before the charming barn conversion in a fashionable part of Chigwell, one of Essex’s most expensive locations. Nevertheless, there was a modesty about Damian Gibbs’s house, contrasting with his wife’s showier taste.

The inspector was anticipating, not only interviewing Gibbs but also getting a look at the place where Samantha had grown up. He rang the bell and Damian answered, dressed in a white cashmere rollneck and well-cut jeans. Gibbs, being slightly below average height, looked up at the inspector. His boyish face under thinning, short, light brown hair was friendly but strained.

Gibbs was more than happy to show Trelawney around the house.

‘I expect it’s really Sam’s room you need to see. I don’t know how much help it’ll be, though, Inspector. It was cleaned and tidied by my excellent staff almost immediately after she left for college. I’ll wait for you downstairs, shall I?’

‘Thank you, Mr Gibbs.’

Sure enough, there was little to be learned from the space. Samantha had taken whatever wall art, or knick-knacks that meant anything to her, off to her institution of higher learning.

Trelawney checked the neat drawers and wardrobes containing an array of designer apparel. Nothing useful there. He systematically checked under the bed, the mattress and any other usual hiding places. He found nothing he did not expect to find.

The inspector descended the beautifully handcrafted oak staircase, to find Damian seated on one of a pair of tan leather sofas. Their colour had been chosen to match the exposed beams of the original structure. The ceiling and wall spaces between were painted white. The effect was fresh and charming, the open-plan area of the ground floor having an understatedly luxurious feel.

Gibbs invited him to sit down opposite. The table between them bore refreshments.

‘Thank you, Mr Gibbs. Perhaps we could have a chat now?’

‘Of course, Inspector. Miss Cadabra not with you?’

‘She is otherwise engaged.’

‘Ah. Well, whatever I can do to help. I would have come much sooner, believe me.’

Here it comes, guilty parent, observed Trelawney to himself. But let’s see if he shifts any blame onto his ex-wife. Damian was continuing:

‘I was with my people on a team-building jaunt in Bolivia. We’d switched our phones off, just communicating with walkie-talkies. It’s very liberating, you know. Makes us rely on one another, builds trust.’

‘I understand.’

‘It’s perfectly safe, though.’

Hm, anxious to show he cares for his team, observed Trelawney, pays attention to health and safety. Damian Gibbs spoke again.

‘I’ve been to South America a few times. It’s one of my favourite places.’

‘And how long had you been out there when you got the call from us?’

‘A week, 10 days?’

‘And when did you last see Miss Gibbs?’

‘Well, let me think … erm, beginning of term, when Sam started at Chalkstable. I got her in there. She’d, er, been having some issues and it seemed like the best place for her at the time. I was hoping to interest her in my business and maybe pass it on to her one day. I thought it might help her to have some direction, some purpose. She was interested when she was younger.’

‘Did you know any of the tutors?’

‘No, not personally. I know the dean a little. It used to be a fine college …’ Trelawney detected the helpless defensive note and moved on.

‘How about her friends?’

‘I barely knew them. Sam used to go out to, and with, her friends rather than bringing them home. Although I encouraged her to,’ Gibbs insisted.

‘How about Pamela?’

Gibbs seemed relieved finally to be able to answer in the affirmative. ‘Yes, I did meet her, when I went with Sam to the college.’

‘And your assessment of her?’

Damian had to think back. Evidently, Pamela was not the sort that registered deeply with those who met her. ‘She seemed nice, kind. A bit of a mouse, but more the sort of friend I wished Sam would have.’

‘Do you know of any dubious associates Miss Gibbs might have had?’

‘I think some of her fashionable friends were rather … featherbrained and not necessarily the most positive influence, but other than that …’

‘Can you think of anyone who might have intended your daughter harm?’

‘Not at all. Never.’ Damian was definite on that point.

‘How about your friends, Mr Gibbs? I imagine that she must have met them here or when visiting your offices.’

‘Oh well, yes. I’m afraid, to a teenager, we all must have seemed like a bunch of has-beens, but she was at least polite to them.’

‘Was she more closely associated with any one of them than the others?’

‘Oh ... oh, I see what you mean.’ He repositioned himself in his seat and reached for his tea. ‘Well …