Any Day

by Brian Lancaster

  “None. I’m a bit of an energy freak about lights, about leaving them on.”

  “Fair enough. Although sometimes a couple of lights in a house can be a good deterrent. But what I’m getting at is that somebody could have assumed the place was empty. Of course, that still doesn’t excuse them or explain why they would want to burn the place to the ground.”

  Leonard volunteered how his late father had left him the property and how his aunt had decided to challenge the will. Leonard also told him about the intruder.

  “And you didn’t think to report this?”

  “With hindsight, I should have done. Adrian thought I should, but no harm was done. And to my knowledge, the only other person with a set of keys is my cousin. So we got the locks changed and assumed that would be that.”

  PC Morgan jotted down a few notes on his notepad as Leonard gave him the details.

  “I see. And the full names of your aunt and cousin?”

  “Millicent and Matthew Darlington,” said Leonard as PC Morgan stopped writing and looked up from his pad. “I don’t know if they have other names.”

  “Millicent Darlington? Now there’s a name I didn’t think I’d ever hear again.”

  “You know her?”

  “I know of her. Let’s just say I’ve been here before. In this house. Long time ago, mind. Suicide. Dreadful affair.”

  “Luke Darlington?”

  PC Morgan had been looking about the room as he spoke but brought his gaze back to scrutinise Leonard.

  “She told you about him, did she?”

  “Not her. My mother told me. Luke was my cousin."

  “Was he now? First suicide I’d ever dealt with. Terrible affair. I think it pretty much broke his father.”

  “So I heard.”

  “Three years after I first joined the force. Twenty-five, I was. Still really doing my apprenticeship with my old gaffer, PC Rhys Schofield. He passed on some ten years back. But I remember the day well.”

  “You found him?”

  “His father found him. Story is he’d gone missing and been reported locally to the Clifton police. Mike, his father, sent the younger son, Matthew, to look in all Luke’s regular haunts around Clifton, while he drove here. We got the call at lunchtime, from the Manor Inn. They didn’t have a landline in the house back then. Was in a proper state, was poor Mr Darlington. He’d had the sense not to touch anything. Something I’ve learnt in my career is that in emotional cases like that, people often touch things at the scene, try to cut down the body, and in doing so ruin what could be decent evidence. When we arrived here, the lad was still hanging there, the ladder tipped over on the floor.”

  “Anything suspicious?” asked Adrian. Leonard could almost have predicted the question from him.

  PC Morgan laughed at that.

  “My old gaffer was scrupulous. Wanted everything checked and double-checked. He treated someone taking their own life on his patch as a personal affront. But Luke had written a suicide note, penned by his own hand, neither forced nor forged. Only Luke’s prints were in the room. Everything had been carefully arranged by him. No doubt about it, he took his own life. Mrs Darlington was the only one who didn’t come down, but she insisted we record the fatality as accidental death, fairly screamed at my old gaffer down the phone, she did, when he refused. Seemed more upset about that than the actual death of her son. But there was no mistaking. He’d taken his own life.”

  “What was the motive?” said Adrian. “From what we’ve heard, he had everything to live for.”

  “I’m afraid that’s something he took with him. Although I have my suspicions.”

  “And what were they? Just out of interest?”

  “From what I could tell, Luke got on with his dad, but his mother wore the trousers in the family. Luke fought against the current but I reckon he got to a point where he couldn’t take any more of her. My gaffer thought he may have also had certain inclinations and proclivities—and I’m sure you of all people know exactly what I’m alluding to here—that went against the mother’s strict religious ideology.”

  “Pippa Redfern, an old friend of his, seems to agree with you. I like to think we live in more enlightened times.” Leonard purposely smiled at Adrian then. “So what happened? After Luke was found?”

  “Another story altogether. The fallout from the incident was almost as bad. After that, the Darlingtons stopped coming to the area. Don’t think they were welcome anymore, not by most. Locals gossip, naturally, and the whole incident fairly shook up the townsfolk. You see, crime round here was, and still is, committed largely by outsiders over the holidays. Mostly petty stuff, you know? Drunks disturbing the peace, drink driving, the rare case of domestic abuse, kids shoplifting, that kind of thing. We used to have four or five caravan sites dotted around the area back then. Farmers made extra income renting out fields. We rarely saw serious crime. Most deaths aren’t suspicious. They’re mostly from natural causes and on occasion from accidents on farms usually involving casual labourers doing stupid things.”

  As PC Morgan spoke, Leonard looked up with disbelief when Morgan’s counterpart stepped in through the plastic sheeting at the back of the house. The realisation hit him hard that anybody could get into the house if they wanted, despite Adrian’s reassurance. He made a mental note to chase the window company, to see if they could deliver and install earlier, and if not, to provide more substantial security at the back of the house. Oblivious, Adrian pulled out a chair for the young policeman and handed him a cup of tea.

  “I remember we had three accidents the year I joined. Unheard of in these parts. All preventable, but made worse by the heavy rains over the summer. One local guy, Max Williams, lost his footing while repairing a fence on the steep side of a duck pond. Down on the Hughes’ farm, it was. Tragic. Nobody knew the poor bugger couldn’t swim. By the time Hughes’ son went to check on him it was too late. Then we had this popular Australian bloke, Hunter somebody, helping on the farm out by Franksbridge. Loved driving the tractor, he did, but went up a wet slope far too steep. Bloody thing came down on top of him. Didn’t stand a chance. Locals would have known better. Last was an English lad, not much younger than me back then, slipped and fell off the roof of a farmhouse in Nantmel and landed on some machinery, cleaning leaves from the guttering of all things. Sort of thing you ought to leave to the professionals, in my book.”

  “Max Williams?” asked Leonard. “Freya’s father?”

  “You’re becoming a proper local, aren’t you? Fairly common name around these parts, Williams. But, yes, that’s him. Nice bloke, he was. Took after his mum. Thirty-six, he would have been when it happened. Used to do odd jobs around the town, anything he could get to provide extra cash for his mum and his kids. But also volunteered helping out with local causes. Folk really liked him."

  Leonard nodded. Perhaps he was beginning to understand how Freya had come to be a recluse, losing her father at such a young age, her brother going on his travels the following year, and then Luke taking his own life the year after that. Her grandmother passing away must have been the final straw.

  “Charlie, do you think we could get back?” said the younger policeman. “Only, we’ve got to write up this report and, well, I wouldn’t mind getting back to the missus before the kids wake up.”

  “Yes, of course, Bobby. Don’t mind me. You know how I like to gab when I get the opportunity. Okay, gents. I’ll leave you be. Make sure you get that window boarded up.”

  “We will. And just to let you know,” said Leonard, “I’m putting in CCTV at the front and back of the house, and also installing security lighting. Early next week, if the installers can fit me in. So if anyone else tries anything, I’ll be able to provide you with solid video evidence.”

  “That sounds like a sensible precaution. In the meantime, I’m going to check into Matthew Darlington’s whereabouts and Bobby here’s going to examine local footage on road cameras to see if anyone was in the area last night. Unfortunately, I k
now for a fact that we have very few in this area, but we’ll do our best. We’ve got your contact details, so we’ll be in touch.”

  Leonard stood with Adrian at the front door, watching the men in uniform stroll back down the driveway by the early morning light, chatting together. Once they were out of sight, Leonard closed the door, sighed, and thumped his back against the wooden door panels.

  “Do you think it was your cousin Matthew?” asked Adrian. “Who started the fire?”

  Once again, Adrian had been reading Leonard’s mind. The more he thought about what Mary had said, the more he agreed that Matthew was too ineffectual to bother going to such extreme lengths. But if I wasn’t him, who was it? And the more burning question—for want of a better expression—was why?

  “I’ve no idea. Let Morgan do his job and check him out. One thing’s for sure. I’m making a call later, once the world’s woken up, and calling in a favour from my friend Kennedy. I want this place safe for you to work and stay in next week. God, Adrian. Have I done the right thing? Refurbishing this place? The last thing I want to do is put you and Toni in any danger. I’m wondering if it’s all really worth the effort—”

  “Stop right there,” said Adrian, abruptly, before taking Leonard by the arm. “And come with me.”

  Leonard let Adrian lead him across the living room towards the plastic sheeting. Sunlight had begun to glow through the opaque, translucent material. Reaching out with his free hand, Adrian found a parting in the sheet and scooped a handful aside before pulling Leonard through, into the morning light.

  As soon as Leonard stood still and took a lungful of fresh morning air, he realised what Adrian was doing. From the vantage point of the raised patio, the garden had been transformed. Lush, manicured lawn stretched down to the outer edges, where evergreen bushes marked out the boundary. As promised, Pippa’s company had erected a pretty gazebo in the far right corner, with a small bench inside looking back to the house. All around the edges of the lawn, bushes of differing heights and varieties had been planted, with some original flora—the apple tree behind the brand-new garden shed, the three firs along the right boundary. But it was the panorama beyond that caught Leonard’s breath, the sun rising over a blanket of various shades of verdant patchwork marking out the farmlands of Wales, with dark waterways meandering through, all beneath a sky of pure blue optimism.

  “Now tell me it isn’t worth the effort,” said Adrian, lacing his fingers into Leonard’s.

  “Okay. Point taken. Next time I start to complain, bring me out here. This is truly amazing.”

  Everywhere Leonard looked, he picked out more details. A small bird box had been installed in the apple tree, while all around the patio, Pippa’s company had provided long garden boxes of what he assumed to be herbs and colourful but easy-to-maintain garden flowers.

  “What time is it?” asked Adrian.

  “Coming up to six-thirty,” said Leonard, checking his phone. “What do you want to do? Go back to bed?”

  “After all that drama, there’s no way I could sleep.”

  “Who said anything about sleeping?” said Leonard, squeezing his hand.

  Adrian snorted, released their hands and folded his arms.

  “As much as I like the idea, I think I ought to board up that window first, while you go and tidy up the kitchen. You’ll be done before me, so I suggest you go up and shower first, I’ll follow. And then, because I need to be fed, we head to the Manor Inn for breakfast. I don’t fancy doing anything around here this morning. Is that okay?”

  “Agreed on the breakfast front. But I thought maybe this morning I could put my skeleton keys to good use and find out if there’s anything locked away in the drawers of that dresser.”

  “I forgot about that,” said Adrian, brightening. “Good plan.”

  “No idea why, but I’ve got a feeling we might find some answers today.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Discovery

  As a rule, the Manor Inn only provided breakfast for in-house guests renting rooms, the actual pub closed for business until ten-thirty. But Megan, who was on duty that morning and usually pretty strict with her house rules, welcomed them like family. Only once they had been seated did they realise why.

  “First off, the car mechanic from Newton came by at six on the dot this morning and drove your truck away,” she said, her eyes on Adrian. “But more to the point, what in the name of all that is good happened last night? Fire engine siren blaring past here in the early hours, waking the dead. We’d only gotten to bed at one, what with all the weekend revellers. My Dave said it sounded like they was heading out your way. Phoned the fire station in Llandrindod Wells to find out. They wouldn’t tell him much but I assume you must have had a spot of trouble. Am I right?”

  Adrian looked to Lenny. He didn’t know how much he wanted to divulge. Fortunately, Lenny answered for them.

  “We had a fire in the house. Nothing serious and Adrian here managed to get everything under control before the fire crew arrived. But we called them out just to be on the safe side.”

  “Oh,” said Megan, a slight hint of disappointment, pulling a small pad and pencil from her apron pocket, ready to take their order. “Well, of course you’re right. Better to be safe than sorry.”

  “I’ve been on building sites all my working life,” said Adrian. “So I know to keep a decent fire extinguisher handy. But of course, once the firefighters had been called out, they needed to do a full inspection.”

  None of what they said was untrue. No doubt, though, at some point—if PC Charlie Morgan were close friends with Dave Llewellyn—they would know the real cause. Adrian wondered if they ought to confide in Megan. After all, she had eyes and ears everywhere. Once again, Lenny was way ahead of him.

  “Megan, can I tell you something in confidence?” asked Lenny. “You’ll probably hear about this sooner or later anyway.”

  Adrian almost grinned at the instant change in Megan Llewellyn’s expression, morphing from the relaxed, friendly but somewhat bored landlady, to being completely engaged and focused.

  “You can tell me anything, dear,” she said, her voice low, as she pulled out a seat.

  Lenny explained not only about the petrol bomb thrown through the window, but also about having an intruder letting themselves into the house. Adrian watched as Megan’s mouth dropped open in shock. As Lenny described them getting the fire under control before the firefighters and PC Morgan arrived, Megan simply nodded and tutted a few times, but did not once interrupt.

  “The thing is, Megan, to my knowledge, the only other person who knows where the place is and has a set of keys is Matthew Darlington—”

  “And Freya Williams.”

  “Sorry?”

  “The Williams family used to have a set of keys. Didn’t Freya tell you? From what I understood, one of their family kept an eye on the house all the year round, and used to go in to clean, dust and air everything before they arrived. Well, the Darlingtons didn’t use the place from one year to the next. So once the Williams’ got notice, they’d clean up and also put some basics in the fridge. They’d also go in and clean after the Darlingtons left. You didn’t know?”

  “No, I didn’t,” said Lenny, catching Adrian’s eye.

  “You should check with Freya. I think Mr Darlington paid them a little something for their trouble. But after everything that happened, they may have taken the keys back.”

  “Just out of interest, though,” continued Lenny. “When was the last time you saw Matthew? It’s probably nothing, but I’m just trying to rule him out.”

  She sat back in her seat then and scratched the pencil into her scalp.

  “December just gone,” she said, eventually. “Would have been a Friday. But he didn’t stop over. He’d been to check the pipes in the house on that death-trap of his. Came in here for his lunch on his way back to Bristol. Never one for chatting much, is Matthew. You don’t honestly think he was behind it?”

  “Probably n
ot,” said Lenny. “As I say, I’m just trying to rule people out.”

  “Death-trap?” asked Adrian. “What do you mean?”

  “His motorcycle. Dave knows the make. Noisy old thing should have been put out of its misery years ago.”

  Adrian turned to Lenny, who appeared to know instinctively what Adrian was thinking and shook his head. Lenny had been the one awake and had not heard the sound of a motorbike last night. Although, in fairness, the winds could have muffled any engine sounds.

  “But I’m guessing you never heard a motorcycle engine last night,” said Megan, catching on too. “Because, believe me, if he’d been on that noisy thing, you’d have known. Sounds like a machine gun, it does.”

  “Point taken.” Lenny laughed, relaxing. “And no, we didn’t hear anything."

  When the conversation lulled, Adrian piped up.

  "Can we get two of your fantastic fry-ups with all the works?”

  “Of course you can, dear,” said Megan, who appeared a lot brighter now. “First, let me fetch you some tea and coffee the way you like it.”

  Once they had finished, at around seven-thirty, Adrian asked Lenny to drive him to the food superstore in Llandrindod Wells.

  “Are you sure you want to cook?” asked Lenny as they pulled out of the pub car park.

  “Absolutely. I was going to make dinner last night, remember? Least I can do is cook for you tonight.”

  “And as much as I appreciate the gesture, that’s not part of your contract.”

  “Neither is sharing your bed. But I’m still keen to do that, too. And anyway, more to the point, what contract?”