Just Not Cricket

by Joyce Cato

  This time, James Cluley slouched further down in the chair. He stared at the back of his hands for a moment, heaved a massive sigh, and then he looked up at the policeman helplessly. It seemed as if he was desperately trying to find the right words, but in the end, he merely shook his head helplessly.

  ‘You won’t believe me about that,’ he predicted sadly. ‘You just plain won’t believe me.’

  ‘Try me,’ Causon said quietly.

  But again the old man shook his head. ‘It’s no use. You just won’t believe me,’ he repeated again, shaking his head obstinately. ‘Hell, I wouldn’t believe it, either, except I know that it happened.’

  Jenny stirred on her seat. She didn’t like the sound of this.

  ‘You knew that Tristan Jones was behind the pavilion all the time, didn’t you?’ Causon began, carefully steering the old man towards his confession. ‘When it first got around that he was missing?’

  James sighed and shrugged. ‘Yes, I knew,’ he admitted quietly. He passed a shaking hand across his forehead, and his shoulders slumped back.

  Lane shot his superior a triumphant look, and began to scribble furiously in his notebook. At a nod from Causon, he quickly informed the suspect of his rights, according to PACE. But the old man barely seemed to listen. Instead, he continued twisting his hands about in his lap, and shaking his head in frustration.

  Jenny wanted to warn him that he really should shut up and get himself a solicitor, but she knew that Causon wouldn’t thank her for interrupting the flow of his interview, let alone giving the old man unsolicited legal advice.

  ‘I saw him go behind there, just as tea was finishing,’ the old man admitted now with surprising ease. ‘He was eating the last bit of something and he looked around, as if checking to see that he wasn’t being watched, and then he slipped behind the back of the building,’ James said listlessly.

  ‘And you followed him?’ Causon encouraged.

  ‘Oh no. No, the thought never crossed my mind,’ James said, with a slight laugh. ‘I was sure, knowing Tris, that he’d be meeting up with some floozy or other back there, and I’m no peeping Tom!’ He looked up at Causon with a brief flash of rebellion. Then he sighed and shook his head. ‘But I’ll admit that I was sort of curious as to who it was that he was seeing now. So I watched and kept an eye on both ends of the building to see her come out. I thought … Never mind what I thought,’ James said, flushing a bit.

  But Jenny could easily guess. The old man had wanted to know who Tris’s latest conquest was, in case there was some way that he could use it to twist Tris’s arm into giving him his money back. She doubted that James had even thought of this in terms of blackmail, though. In his mind, it would have been justifiable.

  And who was to say that he wasn’t right? In a sort of twisted, natural justice sort of way.

  ‘So that’s why I know you won’t believe me,’ James said yet again. It was annoying the policeman, Jenny could see, this constant refrain of his that he wouldn’t be believed, and Causon shot a glance at Jenny to see if she understood this any better than he did. But she could only give him a brief don’t-have-a-clue shrug.

  ‘Believe you about what?’ Causon pressed impatiently.

  The old man twisted restlessly on his chair. ‘Well. I saw Tris go behind the pavilion, right?’ he began heavily.

  All the others nodded.

  ‘And I kept a sharp eye out on the pavilion, all the time that Max was batting. So I knew that neither Tris nor his lady love had left or sneaked off.’

  Jenny could see that Causon was becoming red-faced again, and was obviously having trouble keeping his temper and patience intact, and silently urged the old man to get on with it before the inspector said something they’d all regret.

  ‘So when he was needed to bat, I knew just where he must still be,’ the groundsman plodded on patiently, oblivious to his audience’s angst. ‘So I kept watching, expecting him to come out one end, and his bit of stuff to skulk out the other. But he never appeared, see? So eventually I offered to go and fetch him, still keeping an eye out until the last minute to see who might come out. But no one did.’

  James turned on his chair to look fully at Causon, who was still staring at him blankly, waiting for him to get to the point, and said tensely, ‘Don’t you see? Don’t you get it yet?’

  James Cluley looked at Jenny, then at Lane, and finally back at the inspector again, beginning to look angry himself now. ‘I looked behind the pavilion, and there he was, the poor sod, quite dead. But nobody else had left the scene.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘ But that’s simply not possible,’ Causon said, after a moment’s startled thought. He frowned, then eyed the old man cynically. ‘Unless you’re lying, of course. You do realize that that’s by far the most likely interpretation of what you’ve just said,’ he finished heavily.

  ‘I know that, isn’t that what I’ve been saying all along?’ James demanded helplessly. ‘That’s why I was so sure that you just wouldn’t believe me.’

  The frustration was clear in his voice now, and Jenny for one, was convinced that it was real. The older man sounded both indignantly aggrieved, which was the way you genuinely felt when you were speaking the truth and no one believed you, and at the same time, resigned. As if, even before he’d put his case, he knew that it was hopeless. All of which combined to incline the travelling cook to believe him. Either that, or the groundsman was wasted in the world of turf management, and should get himself to a theatre forthwith. Where he could give Gielgud, Olivier, Richardson, and all the others a few pointers.

  ‘That’s exactly why I haven’t said anything about it long before this. Don’t you think I know how far-fetched it sounds?’ he demanded. ‘Even I can see that it’s simply not possible. I’ve spent the last half an hour or so since it’s happened trying to make myself believe I had to have been mistaken. That someone must have slipped out, I dunno, really quickly maybe or something, so that I didn’t notice. But I just don’t think it happened. I can’t really take it all in,’ the old man was carrying on bitterly. ‘But I’m not lying, I know I’m not, even though I also know there’s no way on earth I’ll be able to convince you. And it stands to reason that you’ve got no incentive to believe me anyway. A man with a job like yours – he must have people lying to him like troopers all the time.’

  James Cluley heaved a massive sigh and rubbed a hand wearily across his chin. ‘And you don’t have to say it, either, about how bad it looks for me. I ain’t blind, nor yet stupid,’ he added bitterly. ‘But I swear, on my dear old mother’s grave, I didn’t kill him. But again, I have no way of proving it. I can only tell you the truth, and hope … Somehow …’ he trailed off, as if once more acknowledging the futility of his cause, and his thin shoulders slumped. But when, after a few moments, he raised his face again, he was looking stoical and oddly calm. ‘But the simple fact is,’ the old man reiterated simply, ‘I did see Tris go behind the pavilion, and I know that nobody else came back out again – at either end. And yet, when I went to get him, he was dead. And that I didn’t do it. Now, make of that what you will, but that’s all I can say.’

  Exhausted, and finished, he slumped forward, and dropped his head into his hands.

  Causon opened his mouth to speak, looked at the old man’s set shoulders, and then closed it again. In all his years as a policeman, he’d never heard anyone deliver such a preposterous statement with such heart-felt belief before. His sergeant, he noticed, was looking similarly nonplussed.

  ‘But what you’re saying simply can’t be true, man,’ Causon said, beginning to feel both frustrated and deeply affronted. Did this old man take him for a fool? Was he really thinking that he’d be so gullible as to swallow any old tripe? ‘Are you trying to cover for someone, is that it?’ he asked, seeking out the mostly likely explanation. ‘Your daughter, perhaps? Or grandson? I can understand, if that’s the case. It’s only human, to try and protect those you love. Hell, even I’d probably do the
same in your position,’ he encouraged. But even as he said it, he could see how little sense that made. He didn’t need that Vulcan chap in those old Star Trek episodes to tell him that he was being illogical. For if James Cluley had seen anything like that happening, why would he make up such a stupid, impossible statement to try and cover for it? Why not just keep quiet and say nothing at all?

  He glanced at Jenny Starling, who shook her head helplessly and was clearly as clueless as himself. Then he watched her raise a thoughtful eyebrow. Clearly, she wanted to discuss this latest development with him in private, and he certainly had no objection to tossing things around with her.

  Like many police officers before him, he was finding it very useful indeed to have her as a sounding board. She had a clear head, and a no-nonsense way of thinking that could do wonders in helping you see things in their proper perspective.

  ‘Mr Cluley, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like you to leave us for just a short while,’ Causon said wearily. ‘But don’t leave the grounds, sir,’ he added quickly, ‘we’ll want to talk to you again soon, I have no doubt.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ the old man said with obvious relief, and got up quickly from the chair and moved over to the door, where a uniformed officer stood outside and watched him approach. He was still shaking his head in despair.

  As he went by, the young constable said to Causon, ‘Sir, I just thought you might like to know that two WPCs and two other volunteers from traffic have arrived. I asked the men to cover the two other exits, apart from the main one at the car park, and to take a note of anybody either trying to enter or leave, and the WPCs are helping us collate witness statements. I hope that’s all right, sir?’

  ‘Yes, yes, that’s good thinking,’ Causon said, a touch impatiently. ‘Let me know when the medical examiner finally arrives, will you?’

  ‘Sir.’

  When they were alone again, Causon turned to her and said flatly, ‘OK, Miss Marple, let’s have it. What’s your take on what’s been going on?’

  Jenny sighed and glanced idly out of the French window. As she did so, she saw Erica go by, carrying her long sleeved blouse draped loosely over one arm, looking pensive. As well she might. And so much for her burning quickly, Jenny thought with a wry twist of her lips. She didn’t seem to be that concerned about her precious pale complexion now.

  And that the sun was still viciously hot out there was obvious when she saw Sir Robert pass by, going in the opposite direction. He was red-faced and sweating copiously with the heat, and looked, in fact, almost ill. Jenny hoped that he wasn’t coming down with heatstroke or something.

  She saw husband and wife meet up, talk briefly, and then part company again, with Sir Robert heading back towards the pavilion. Was he hoping to be allowed to see his son’s body?

  She wondered, with a pang, if the Joneses had been able to offer any sort of comfort to one another, but somehow doubted it. They didn’t strike her as being a mutually beneficent couple.

  ‘Miss Starling,’ the inspector chivvied, and as she was forced out of her reverie, she felt herself feeling unaccountably grumpy. Here she was, being asked things that she felt utterly unprepared to answer, and it simply wasn’t fair, damn it!

  ‘Oh, why ask me?’ she answered Causon’s question resentfully. ‘You know everything that I do, after all,’ she pointed out in exasperation. ‘What do you think is going on?’ She wasn’t sure why she was feeling so out of sorts, except for the fact that all she’d wanted from this day was a pleasant stint of baking. And being presented with murder and mayhem instead, was making her feel downright crotchety.

  She sighed, brushed a lock of long dark hair out of her eyes, and tried to arrange her thoughts in some semblance of order. Then she duly apologized to the two policemen. ‘Sorry, I have no right to takes things out on you.’

  Instead of looking angry himself, however, Laurence Causon shook his head with every appearance of contrition. It was just so easy to forget, he realized with some surprise, that this woman was only a civilian. She hadn’t gone through any training or counselling and perhaps it wasn’t fair to take her for granted like this. It was just that she was such a good witness, and clearly had such a good head on her shoulders, that it hadn’t occurred to him not to make use of her.

  But before he could say any of this, however, Jenny Starling had already got over her wobbly and began to pace back and forth, as she clearly began to employ her brain cells.

  ‘Well, on the face of it, James Cluley must be lying about what he saw. Or says he didn’t see, if you understand what I mean. And yet … You know, he sounded as if he actually meant what he said,’ she added with a puzzled frown.

  Causon eyed her curiously. ‘Which only means that he’s good at lying,’ he dismissed at once. ‘If you had my job, you wouldn’t be at all surprised by the human race’s appetite for lies. Who knows, perhaps he’s spent years in amateur dramatics, and could give Sir Larry Olivier a few master classes. Then again, maybe he’s a bit …’ And here he placed his forefinger against the side of his temple and made a twirling notion. ‘But my bet is that he’s covering for someone. Either his daughter or his grandson, or both, most probably. After all, they’re the ones he’d have most reason to want to protect.’ Here he shot Sergeant Lane a graphic scowl. ‘We’re going to have to go and have a word with that precious pair soon, and see if we can’t start getting at the truth about that family once and for all,’ he added grimly. ‘I want you to go outside and ask someone if they can find anyone who saw Marie Rawley around the cricket grounds any time this afternoon.’

  ‘Sir,’ Lane said and slipped out, returning a minute later.

  Jenny looked at Causon thoughtfully. ‘You have, of course, considered the possibility that James may have been lying about not seeing anyone go behind the pavilion with Tris for a very different kind of reason?’ she asked quietly.

  Causon smiled grimly at her. ‘For strictly financial reasons, you mean?’ he said, nodding.

  Yes, of course he had immediately thought of that, and he was impressed that this civilian cook had thought of it, too. It was, after all, his job to think the worst of everyone. And years of experience of people behaving very badly indeed had made this very easy for him. But he was still a little taken aback to realize that the cook, who seemed to get on with everyone and seemed so easy-going, was also capable of looking automatically on the black side. And it was even more impressive because he suspected that Jenny Starling rather liked the old man. But evidently, that clearly hadn’t stopped her from taking a purely sceptical view of the situation.

  ‘Well, we know he’s hard up for money,’ Jenny said, reluctant to talk like this about James, a man that she had, in fact, rather begun to like, but knowing that the possibility had to be aired. ‘And if he saw who killed Tris, it might just have occurred to him that a little blackmail could prove very lucrative indeed.’

  Causon again nodded, and mentally began rubbing his hands together in glee. Now this was more like it. Something positive he could get his teeth into. ‘Especially if the killer was loaded up with a few of the old readies,’ he said, rubbing his fingers together in the universal gesture that denoted the presence of money. ‘So who amongst our pool of possible killers would be able to make it worth Cluley’s while?’ he demanded.

  ‘Sir Robert and his wife must be rolling in it,’ Sergeant Lane pointed out instantly.

  Jenny grimaced. ‘You think Sir Robert would kill his own son?’ she asked, a touch scandalized. Then blushed, as she realized how naïve that must have sounded.

  Causon grunted. ‘I’ve known parents kill their children for the price of their next fix. And vice versa. And I once arrested a man who’d killed someone because he’d been paid a hundred quid to do it, and a moped thrown in. A bloody moped, I ask you.’

  Jenny blinked.

  ‘Right. Well, I imagine a lot of people out there,’ and here she waved a floppy hand outside at the playing field, ‘aren’t exactly short of money. N
owadays, if you can afford to live in a village, you have to be reasonably well off.’ She sighed, as she considered the injustice of this. Being on the move a lot, she had yet to try and buy a place of her own, but she doubted she’d be able to afford a place in any country village. A smart little semi on the edge of an attractive and old market town would probably be the best that she could hope for. And even then, she might be aiming high.

  She heard Graham Lane echo her sigh, and she had no doubt that he’d already learned much the same lesson.

  ‘Then again,’ she continued prosaically, ‘Lorcan Greeves was in business with Sir Robert, and a stockbroker can’t be poorly off. Not to mention Max Wilson. I don’t know what he does for a living, exactly, but I bet he isn’t a plumber, or stacks shelves at Tesco. From his Sloane Ranger accent, and his duds, and the fancy four by four that he arrived in, I would hazard a guess that he’d been born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth.’

  Causon laughed. ‘Not that that means much these days – some so-called aristocrats are so cash poor they live off baked beans. But in our debonair cricket captain’s case, he’s probably rolling in it. He’s probably a banker, or in real estate management, something along those lines would be my guess.’ He sighed and rubbed his face wearily. ‘No, you’re right. The field’s wide open when it comes to that. Cluley could expect to blackmail any one of them and confidently expect to put his finances back in the black.’

  ‘Always supposing that that was his motive for lying,’ Jenny began, but then had to wonder. It just didn’t feel right, somehow. ‘It is, after all, just pure speculation on our part.’

  ‘You still think he’s more likely to be protecting someone?’ Causon caught her pensive mood and shrugged. ‘Got a soft spot for the old geezer, have you?’ he jeered gently. ‘Well, you could be right. I’m not saying I’m sold on the blackmail scenario myself. But if so, then that brings his grandson right back into poll position, doesn’t it? Or his daughter, maybe. Which reminds me … Since Marie Rawley is so anti-police, perhaps you’d like to come along with me when I question her?’ Causon asked craftily. ‘After all, having another woman there, and one who doesn’t have anything to do with the police, might make her talk more freely,’ he put in, oh so casually.