by Amy Myers
She was still burbling, still rambling on, as they left.
‘When we came for him,’ Mike told them, ‘he was sitting stuffing a dead squirrel. Seemed more important to him than what we were saying. Disgusting. Said it was his father’s hobby and he’d ordered him to carry on. He’s as potty as his mother. He said he had to kill Damien Trent and Clemence Gale. No emotion. Talked of the squirrels with more feeling. “I had to protect Mum,” he said. “She told me to do it, so I did it.” He said he knew that Sean’s gun was in that shed, and he’d had army training in his youth. He told Trent that the footpath was a short cut to his cottage, and he was inviting him back for a drink after taking him to see Shaw Cottage. Trent, being a stranger, believed him. He’s a weirdo, all right. Seemed to think there was nothing much wrong in murdering two people.’
Georgia shuddered, remembering Christopher’s words. ‘Oh, yes,’ he’d said, when she’d asked if he knew who had killed Damien. If she had persevered, would he have admitted that he was guilty? She doubted it. Christopher was the perfect carer. His job was to provide Birdie’s comforts, and the two murders were on her list of needs. That was enough for him.
‘We’ve enough DNA to hold him on,’ Mike told them. ‘Clemence had plenty on her. I doubt if Birdie’s caught up with the DNA generation. Meanwhile he’s blandly confessed to both Damien and Clemence’s murders, both the planning and the execution unfortunately. Birdie will deny everything, of course, and she’s unfit to plead anyway. We’d have a job holding her on Alwyn Field now. What’s that poem about cats?’ he asked out of the blue.
‘Eh?’ Peter recovered quickly. ‘“Macavity the Mystery Cat” maybe?’
‘Yeah. He wasn’t there. That’s Birdie for you.’
‘And top of it all, there’s Christmas coming up,’ Georgia pointed out to Luke as she finished bringing him up to date.
‘Don’t mention it, please. I’ll be busy reprinting poetry collections.’
‘Oh, good.’ Georgia was pleased. ‘So you’re back in favour again. Including The Flight of the Soul under Alwyn’s name?’
Luke grinned. ‘Yes.’
‘You’ll need me to put my house on the market to pay for it.’
He stared at her in amazement. ‘You’re serious?’
‘I’ll do it in the spring.’ Seeing his look of disbelief, she added, ‘But I’m getting the seller’s pack ready. Honest.’
‘Would you like an engagement ring for Christmas?’
‘Why not?’
A startled silence, then a crash as the pile of advance copies Luke was unpacking fell to the floor.
‘Didn’t you mean it?’ she asked politely.
‘Yes, but … No bloody buts. Of course I meant it!’
‘Then so did I.’ A pause while she looked at him, highly pleased. ‘We’ll tell Peter on Christmas Day.’ She’d been meaning to tell her father that they were expecting him to spend Christmas with them as usual, but so far she hadn’t had a chance.
‘Good idea.’
Celebrating took some time, and the phone call to Peter was never made. Better, Georgia decided, to tell him the news in person at Christmas.
To her surprise, Peter looked taken aback when she invited him the next morning. ‘Christmas Day?’ he queried. ‘Could we make it Boxing Day?’
It was Georgia’s turn to be taken aback. Peter always spent Christmas Day with her and Luke. ‘Of course. But why? You’re not being a burden, if that’s what worries you.’
Peter looked shifty. ‘As a matter of fact, I have a date already.’
‘With Gwen?’ His sister lived not far from Dover.
He looked smug. ‘No. With Janie.’