A Meeting of Minds by Clare Curzon

When he could see nobody through the poky
front window he applied himself to the bell. And kept his finger there. After a short wait the door was snatched open and Childe’s belligerent face scowled down at him.
    â€˜Bloody hell!’ he was greeted.
    â€˜Yes, me again. Can 1 come in?’
    The man wavered, then past Beaumont’s shoulder glimpsed a uniformed officer inside the Toyota. He drew back and allowed Beaumont to squeeze past, heading for the rear quarters. There was a light on in the poky kitchen. A laptop computer was open on the table beside a plate of congealing beans on toast.
    â€˜Brought your work home with you, then,’ Beaumont remarked amiably.
    â€˜Little chance of getting any done, if your lot were coming to swarm over everything.’
    â€˜A pity, though. It left nobody in charge at the centre. There were decisions to be made, questions answered.’ Hands in pockets, Beaumont leaned over the computer screen. ‘You don’t seem to have got very far with it. Perhaps that’s because you don’t have Ms Winter’s password. It is her personal laptop, I imagine?’
    Childe looked uncomfortable, hesitated, then opted for bluff. ‘Of course it is. I need to take over where she left off. It’s all up in the air without someone to direct the business. How otherwise will suppliers’ accounts get paid or orders flow?’
    â€˜You weren’t in total control then? What exactly was your function as manager?’
    â€˜I had charge of landscaping contracts. Once the garden plan was agreed with the customer I costed it; made out the order for stonework, decking, building materials, plants, trees, water features; collected the stuff; arranged for the labour and transport; then oversaw the work. Then there was all the jobbing our gardeners do for private customers. You know: lawn trimming, pruning, planting, tree-lopping. And there’s council work we’ve taken on besides, now that everything’s going out to private tender.’

    â€˜Very impressive. I suppose all of that is on the computer I saw Miss Dunster using when I arrived?’
    â€˜Most of it, but …’
    â€˜You were saying?’
    â€˜I didn’t cover the ordering or opening contracts. You saw what chaos it was this morning, with all that stuff coming in and her not there.’
    â€˜You mean Ms Winter? She kept the money-handling side of the business in her own hands?’
    â€˜All the paperwork for it, and the correspondence, yes.’
    Beaumont’s wooden puppet-face took on a look of innocent wonder. ‘D’you know, I find all this fascinating. Perhaps you’d like to show me how you would tackle it. I’ve often thought I ought to do a course in computer skills.’
    â€˜I can’t.’ Childe tried to conceal his frustration. ‘I need the right password to access the programme.’
    â€˜Which only Ms Winter would have known? I see.’ Beaumont allowed enlightenment to spread across his features. ‘So her being dead is a bit of a nuisance. But she’ll have told it to someone, for safety’s sake. Who at Greenvale, do you think, would have had that confided to them? Miss Dunster? No? Well, who was the unfortunate lady closest to?’
    Childe scowled. ‘Nobody. She wasn’t one to have close friends.’
    Beaumont was regarding him with the baffling insouciance of the host of a million-pound quiz programme asking, ‘Do you want to ask the audience?’
    He let a silence build between them, then, ‘I just happen to know a computer expert,’ he said at last. ‘A policeman. Which is lucky. We’ll take the laptop to him. And as I said, there are questions to be answered.’
    He closed the computer and tucked it under his arm. ‘I can give you a lift to the nick. Your motorbike will be quite safe here, if we leave the constable to look after things.’
    It seemed for a