Just Not Cricket

by Joyce Cato

  She herself, however, wasn’t feeling quite so sanguine.

  After Lane left with his prisoner, Causon paced restlessly back outside into the corridor and then on through to the kitchen.

  He’d told his sergeant to process Greeves as quickly as possible, hand him over for a formal interview to whoever senior was available, and then get back as quickly as possible. He’d need Lane back at the cricket grounds to help organize the search for bloodied clothing, and once the much-needed reinforcements started rolling in, there was going to be a lot to do. Whether or not he was as convinced as his sergeant that, with the arrest of Lorcan Greeves, all their troubles were now over, was hard to say. He remained grim-faced and thoughtful as he stood staring out of the window at the activity beyond.

  Jenny, naturally, had followed Causon back to her preferred domain, and immediately went to the sink to fill the kettle for a cup of tea. She had never had any trouble arranging her priorities, and couldn’t help but sneak a quick look at the barbecue meats she had marinating in the fridge. They looked good. Now if only she could convince the inspector that there was no harm in letting her cook them later on. After all, even if the spectators were allowed home, there would still be plenty of police and forensics personnel on site, who were bound to be hungry.

  And thinking of food … She automatically began to arrange some of the delicious tea leftovers on a large plate, and pushed it towards the inspector with an encouraging nod. At which, he quite visibly brightened a little.

  ‘Well, and what do you make of all that?’ the inspector asked gruffly, sitting down at the kitchen table and eyeing the plate happily before selecting a fruity, nut-topped slice. He bit into the slice gingerly, and then, after chewing a few times, with much more gusto. He gave a definite smile and helped himself to a second slice.

  After that, he selected a jam tart.

  Then some sort of pastry parcel.

  Then another jam tart.

  He licked one finger free of sugar as he watched and listened to the cook give her verdict, his shoulders gradually relaxing slightly.

  Jenny beamed at him. She liked to see a man eat. Well, she liked to see anybody eat. It made everything seem better.

  ‘Well, I think that if Lorcan Greeves has got James Cluley’s blood on him, as well as his own, your forensics laboratories will very quickly be able to prove it,’ she said, absently nudging a wedge of neglected meringue to the front of the plate. ‘And that, as an intelligent man, Lorcan Greeves would be aware of that, too.’

  She felt safe in offering up this obvious objection first. Although she had no reason not to believe that Lorcan Greeves was the killer, she was by no means convinced yet, and they might just as well start picking holes in the theory now as later. It might just save them having to wipe egg off their faces.

  Causon grunted. And selected a strawberry scone. ‘So you think he’s too smart to lie about something so easily verified?’ He thought she was probably right, but was too busy eating to confirm it. ‘Well, whether or not his solicitor advises him to confess all,’ he said sardonically, ‘we still need to speak to Marie Rawley as a matter of some urgency, and see if she’s willing to be any more forthcoming about what they were arguing about. If they were, that is. And even if she does confirm his story, it doesn’t automatically leave him out of it. He could conceivably have argued with her and then killed James later.’

  Jenny sighed, and reached for her handbag. ‘Well, it would be rather a stupid story for him to tell if it wasn’t true, don’t you think?’ she parried. ‘Presumably, Marie Rawley is not likely to lie and say that she was brandishing a knife about if she wasn’t. And it’s not as if she has much incentive to confirm it, even if she had been.’

  ‘Unless the two were in cahoots to kill Tristan Jones. And all this is some sort of half-baked story they’ve concocted between them to give them a sort of weird alibi,’ Causon theorized. He champed down on a deliciously cooked, slightly gooey meringue and walnut concoction with a sigh of bliss, and then eyed the denuded plate thoughtfully.

  He decided not to take the last pastry parcel.

  He didn’t want to look like a greedy pig.

  ‘But you don’t really think that he argued with Marie, got a cut on his hand, and then killed James, do you?’ Jenny demurred, harking back to his earlier comment. ‘Surely he wouldn’t have been able to. He’d have needed both his hands working properly if he was going to stab James with a cricket stump,’ she objected.

  Causon sighed. ‘You’re right. Besides, if he was already bleeding badly, the last thing he’d want to do is leave traces of his blood and DNA all over his second murder victim.’

  ‘And he couldn’t have killed James before he and Marie had the fight,’ Jenny pointed out, with irrefutable logic. ‘Not unless we’ve got the timings all wrong. We’re assuming Lorcan and Marie Rawley had their spat quite a while before James was found. But we won’t really know that for sure until we get Marie’s side of the story.’

  ‘And she could still lie about it. If they were in cahoots, that is,’ Causon said glumly.

  Jenny shook her head helplessly. This was all getting rather complicated and messy to her mind. It was all ‘she said, he said’ and unconfirmed and tight timings. And in spite of Causon’s speculations, Jenny wasn’t by nature, a conspiracy theorist. And she thought it highly unlikely that there were two killers, or two people acting in tandem.

  But it was still possible that she was wrong about that. As surprising as it sounded, even she wasn’t infallible! Still grinning self-mockingly over this unfortunately true fact, she picked up her handbag and slung it casually over one shoulder.

  This time when they attempted to leave in order to interview a prime suspect, they were able to make their way to the village without further incident. Nobody rushed up to them with yet another body for them to inspect, nor were they presented with a suspect trying to flee the playing field.

  Causon had received directions to the Rawley residence from Lane before he left with Lorcan Greeves, and within a few minutes, they were walking up the garden path of the Rawleys’ neat little semi.

  He rang the bell in a brisk no-nonsense way, and muttered quietly, ‘I don’t think we’ll break the news of the death of her father just yet. Not until after she’s given her version of her argument with Greeves. All right?’ He looked at her sternly.

  Jenny had no other option but to nod unhappily, although she felt distinctly uneasy about keeping such a tragic fact a secret, even for so short a time. She couldn’t help but feel that a daughter had a right to know immediately when she’d lost a parent. But then, this wasn’t her call, and if Inspector Causon’s methods might appear somewhat brutal, she could understand his reasoning. If his witness broke down on hearing such devastating news, any statement she might have to make concerning the murder of the first victim would have to wait. And, as the policeman whose job it was to find out the facts as quickly as possible, she supposed he could claim some justification for his hard-headedness.

  Jenny’s unhappy musings halted when the door in front of them was abruptly opened, and a pale-faced, dark-haired woman regarded them bitterly. Already she had a mutinous, stubborn look on her face, indicating that she’d recognized Causon as being a police officer. She looked slightly more puzzled when her gaze flitted to Jenny, however, since the cook didn’t look much like anybody’s idea of a female police officer, even in plain clothes.

  The woman stood firmly in the doorway and made no effort to move to one side or invite them in. ‘Yes?’ she shot at them belligerently instead.

  But for all her apparent bravado, Causon could see what Graham Lane had meant about sensing something fragile about her. There was a tense, white and tight look about the woman’s face that spoke of someone who’d received a severe shock, and not too long ago.

  Jenny flinched as she wondered what the death of her father would do to someone already so brittle with tension. She hoped the woman’s husband was home, and that
he had the telephone number of their GP readily to hand.

  ‘Mrs Rawley?’ Causon was already showing her his ID card, which, it had to be said, didn’t seem to impress her much. ‘Inspector Laurence Causon. This is Miss Jenny Starling. We’d like a word—’

  ‘You’re not talking to my Mark,’ Marie Rawley interrupted him flatly. ‘I told that other policeman that came and I’m tell—’

  ‘It’s you we want to talk to, Mrs Rawley,’ Causon interrupted her in his own turn, and saw the woman blink in surprise. ‘We can either do it here, or at the station, that’s up to you.’

  For a moment, Jenny thought Marie Rawley was going to opt for the police station just to be awkward, but then she clearly thought twice about it. No doubt she realized that if she were to be taken from her home, her son would be left unguarded. And she was obviously determined that that wouldn’t happen.

  It made Jenny wonder why she was so terrified of letting the police talk to Mark. Did she really think he might have killed Tris? In which case, what did she know that they didn’t? The fact that she’d been keeping a close eye on her son during the course of the day was becoming clear. Perhaps she’d seen something that had convinced her of his guilt?

  ‘You’d better come in then, I suppose,’ Marie said reluctantly, curling her arms around her middle, as if warding off a sudden chill – which, in the fierce heat of the early evening, was patently ridiculous.

  ‘This way,’ she said quickly as they stepped into the hall, opening the door to their immediate right. She seemed afraid that, once having gained admittance to the house, either the inspector or she herself might make a sudden dash for the stairs, or towards one of the other rooms, where her son might be found.

  The lounge she showed them to was small, rectangular in shape, and decorated in muted tones of peach and mint green.

  ‘Have a seat.’ Marie half-heartedly indicated a green-covered plush sofa, and perched herself on one of two matching armchairs, grouped around a gas fire, with a faux-marble fireplace. She sat so near to the edge of the seat that it must have been putting a tremendous strain on her calves, but she didn’t seem to notice. Jenny sat more comfortably back in the other armchair, whilst Causon settled his bulk onto the sofa.

  It sagged somewhat, but he didn’t seem to mind.

  ‘As you know, we’re investigating the murder of Tristan Jones,’ Causon began. ‘You knew him, of course?’

  ‘I knew of him, more than knew him,’ Marie corrected cautiously. ‘He visits his father regularly, and I’ve seen him about the village. We exchanged a few words, in passing, you know the way you do. To be polite.’

  ‘You’ve never been romantically involved with him then?’ Causon asked blandly.

  Marie stared at him as if he’d suddenly grown two heads, and Jenny could almost see him give a mental shrug. Well, she supposed, he’d had to ask, if only to get that possibility off the table.

  ‘I’m a married woman,’ Marie finally said, flushing angrily.

  ‘It’s no secret that Mr Jones had something of a reputation with women, Mrs Rawley,’ Causon said, mildly enough. ‘And I don’t suppose he drew the line at married women, necessarily.’

  ‘Huh! But my name’s not Michelle Wilson,’ Marie Rawley said, a shade vindictively. ‘And I don’t believe in adultery,’ she added. ‘I daresay that makes me old-fashioned nowadays, but …’ She shrugged her shoulders, and fixed her gaze steadily ahead. ‘Was that all you wanted to ask me? If so …’ She made a hopeful move to half-rise, but was quickly waved back by one of Causon’s large, expressive mitts.

  ‘We’ve only just started, Mrs Rawley,’ Causon warned her, and watched her shoulders slump. ‘I understand you visited the playing field this afternoon. On at least one occasion, maybe even two?’ He was, to some extent, chancing a shot in the dark here, for the primary interviews for the majority of the people attending the cricket match were yet to be collated. And so far he had no definitive information of anybody’s movements.

  But this time he struck lucky.

  ‘I may have done,’ Marie admitted warily, no doubt realizing the futility of denying it. No doubt some of her neighbours must have seen her on the playing field and would, in due course, admit as much.

  ‘Can you tell me what you did there, Mrs Rawley?’

  ‘Can’t I have gone to watch the cricket?’ she asked mockingly, and for the first time, displaying a flash of bitter humour.

  ‘Did you?’ Causon asked her levelly.

  Marie sighed. ‘No. If you must know, I went to talk to Sir Robert.’

  This time it was Causon’s turn to blink in surprise. He clearly hadn’t been expecting that. And neither had Jenny.

  ‘Oh?’ Causon, seriously wrong-footed, became more cautious. ‘And what did you want to see the Lord of the Manor about?’ he asked. He’d clearly picked up the locals’ somewhat irreverent title for the man, and it made Marie’s lips twist in a parody of a smile.

  ‘You might well ask. If you must know, I wanted to know what he meant to do about that son of his,’ she flared.

  ‘Tristan Jones?’ Causon clarified.

  ‘He’s only got the one son as far as we know,’ she flashed back. ‘Although if it’s a case of like father like son, who knows how many bastards he might have scattered across the county.’

  ‘And what did you want Sir Robert to do, exactly?’ Causon asked, careful to keep his own tendency to sarcasm firmly under control for once.

  ‘I wanted to know if he had a conscience that I could prick,’ Marie said finally. ‘I know that Tris didn’t possess any such thing, but I thought if I could talk to Sir Robert directly, as a mother, he might feel guilty enough to make sure Dad got his money back.’

  She looked down at her hands now, as if ashamed of having to admit to pleading with the big man.

  ‘You may not know, but Dad promised Mark he’d pay to put him through university. Mark’s really bright – all his teachers say so, and could have a really bright future in the IT industry. Dad thought the same, so he invested his savings with their firm – well, with Tris, specifically. Mark insisted that Tris was a real genius with money, and that he could make Dad’s savings double in a year. Hah!’ Marie laughed bitterly. ‘Instead he lost the lot.’ Her fingers were twisting restlessly in her lap now. ‘And Tris, of course, made like it wasn’t his fault – all innocence and Mr Be-reasonable. He blamed the economic downturn … oh, what does it matter what financial gobble-de-gook he came out with to justify his incompetence? Let’s just say that he wiggled out, like he’s done all his life. We consulted a solicitor, of course, but there was nothing we could do. Dad signed all the forms giving Tris permission to invest, you see. No doubt all that fine print covered the Joneses from any personal liability. Those people are all the same, anyway,’ she concluded bitterly. ‘They always stick together.’

  Causon nodded. ‘I see. So your son had real reason to hate Tris Jones, didn’t he? Because of him, his future’s been severely blighted.’

  ‘You leave Mark out of this,’ Marie instantly snapped. ‘We’ll see he gets to university. He can always get a student loan to fund his degree. We’ll see him get there, all right. No matter what.’

  Causon smiled thinly. ‘I’m sure you will, Mrs Rawley,’ he said soothingly. ‘So, what did Sir Robert have to say?’ he asked curiously. ‘Was he willing to do anything to help?’

  Marie snorted. ‘He said he’d talk to Tris. As if that would make any difference – that boy didn’t care what anyone thought or said about him – not even his own father. He had the hide of a rhinoceros. He didn’t give two hoots about the damage he caused. And I reckon his father was beginning to realize it too,’ she added, a malicious gleam coming to her eyes now.

  ‘Did you kill Tris?’ Causon asked her calmly.

  ‘No, I didn’t, though I’d have liked to. I certainly felt like it,’ Marie said with defiant candour.

  ‘What can you tell me about Lorcan Greeves?’ the inspector suddenly asked, d
eliberately changing the subject so abruptly in a clear attempt to keep her off-balance.

  And apparently it worked, because instantly, she went pale. Then she swallowed hard. She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again and once more swallowed hard. The hands in her lap began to twist frantically.

  ‘What about him?’ she muttered. ‘He works at the same firm – the one that the Lord of the Manor runs. He and Tris were supposed to be friends. Well, until he broke up Lorcan’s engagement. Slept with his fiancée, didn’t he?’ she said, with a grim smile. ‘It caused a right stink, I can tell you.’

  But Causon refused to take this particular bit of bait. ‘Mr Greeves is currently receiving medical treatment,’ he swept on instead, watching with interest as her hands convulsed into fists, and her breathing became a little laboured. ‘He was attacked with a knife,’ he added starkly.

  ‘What? No, that’s not …’ Marie half-rose from her chair, and then sank back down again.

  ‘That’s not what…? Mrs Rawley?’

  ‘Why are you telling me this?’ Marie whispered back.

  ‘Because Mr Greeves was found trying to clean himself up in the gents’ toilets in the cricket pavilion. And naturally, we were very intrigued by this,’ Causon said in massive understatement. ‘At first he tried to tell us some fairy story about cutting himself on a broken beer glass.’

  Her face lit up. ‘Well then …’

  ‘But when he couldn’t produce the evidence of this by pointing us to the broken pieces of glass,’ Causon ploughed on, ‘he finally had to admit that he’d been in an argument with someone.’

  Marie went so still that for a moment Jenny thought she might actually have stopped breathing.

  ‘A woman,’ Causon went on inexorably. ‘A woman, apparently, who’d sought him out, and had brought a knife along with her.’

  Marie let out a long, shuddering breath.

  ‘Care to comment on that, Mrs Rawley?’

  Marie shook her head helplessly. ‘What does Mr Greeves say happened?’ she asked at last, licking her lips nervously.