A Killing in the Family

by David W Robinson

  Putting them all back in the folder, he concentrated on the old man.

  “All right, so all the evidence is that he is your son. That doesn’t rule him out. And I know, I know,” Joe held up a hand to silence Sir Douglas’s protest before it could materialise. “He’s not interested in the money. I could fake disinterest, too.”

  “But to what avail, Joe? I keep asking myself this same question. Why would he do it? If he needs money, he doesn’t have to fake disinterest, I’ll give him more than he could ever dream of. Quite honestly, the same goes for the others, too. If any of them need money, all they have to do is ask.”

  It was a conclusion Joe had come to several hours earlier, and the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced Sir Douglas called it right. “If it’s not about money, then we have to look at other possible motives.”

  “Or it’s a huge practical joke, in which case your work will begin on Sunday.”

  The remark prompted Joe’s memory. “Where are the original threatening letters?”

  “In there.” Sir Douglas pointed to the safe. “They’re in a sealed, A4 envelope.”

  “And who has access to the safe?” Joe demanded. “Just you?”

  The old man shook his head. “Me and Toby. We’re the only two who know the code. Is it important?”

  “Yes and no. If anything should happen tonight, the police will want to see those. If it doesn’t we’ll need them on Sunday morning. Either way, I don’t want anyone to be able to get at them. Douglas, you mentioned a couple of grandchildren. Are you absolutely certain—”

  The elder Ballantyne silenced him with an upraised hand. “Impossible, Joe. I wanted them here for my birthday, but they’re young kids and they have far more important things to be doing. They’re both out of the country. South of France, I think. In any case, they haven’t been anywhere near this place for months.”

  Joe passed the folder back. “You’d better get this back under lock and key. There’s not much more I can do other than talk again to the family and staff tomorrow.”

  He stood up and watched while Sir Douglas placed the folder back in the safe, then closed and the door and tested it to ensure it was locked. He then closed the display unit door and staggering a little, ushered Joe out of the room.

  “Just remind me of the procedure with the morning mail?” Joe demanded.

  “Postman comes about seven or seven thirty every day and leaves the mail at the gate. Alistair usually goes for it about a quarter to eight. He sorts it and leaves it on the hall table and everyone collects their own as they’re passing.”

  “But there would be ample time for anyone to drop those notes on the table.”

  “We usually take breakfast as a family from about seven thirty. A little later on a weekend. So yes, there would be plenty of time.” Sir Douglas led the way back to the dining room. “Sorry you came, Joe?”

  “Not really. It makes a change from dealing with bolshie truckers and crazy apprentices from the factories round us.”

  Sir Douglas grunted his approval and made for the French windows.

  Joe stayed him. “Just one last thing before we join the others. The air horn. Keep it at your bedside tonight. Just for the sake of peace of mind. I’m right across the landing from you. I can be there in a matter of seconds.”

  Sir Douglas laughed. “Don’t worry, Joe. It’ll be there on the cabinet, along with my blood pressure pills. And like the blood pressure pills, I won’t even touch it until tomorrow morning. Even then it’ll only be to give it back to you.”

  ***

  Joe joined Sheila and Brenda on the terrace. The sun had been set for almost an hour and still the air hung heavy with sweat.

  At ten thirty, Sir Douglas retired and Katya, still feeling ill, bid everyone goodnight and made her way in. Ten minutes later, Joe elected to follow suit, and went up to his room, threw off his clothing, and after a quick, cooling shower, climbed into bed.

  Sleep was difficult. With only a thin, cotton sheet and a light throw on the bed, he was still too hot. At just after eleven, he removed the throw, and lay down again.

  The long, tiring day took its toll, and at length he drifted off into a sleep filled with vivid dreams of warmer climes and willing, yet faceless women. He woke once at one o’clock to visit the lavatory, and was asleep again within seconds of climbing back into bed.

  The dreams did not return. He was aware of nothing.

  And then the sound of the air horn screamed into the night.

  Chapter Seven

  Joe leapt out of bed and wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts and his carpet slippers rushed out onto the landing.

  At the far end of the corridor, Rodney, pulling on a dressing gown, was already hurrying towards him, and as Joe rammed open the door of Sir Douglas’s room, others began to appear.

  “What the hell is going on?” Toby demanded, dashing into the room behind Joe but ahead of Rodney.

  Joe did not answer. He was momentarily stunned by the sight on the bed. Sir Douglas was apparently unconscious. A large kitchen knife was jammed into his right shoulder and blood had spurted then flowed across his striped pyjama jacket onto the bed linen and, covering the dock for his mp3 player, which sat on the bedside cabinet. Its green light flashed absurdly as if waiting for him to pick it up, its illumination pale beneath blood smears.

  Across the room, a window pane was open.

  “Check on the old man,” Joe insisted, and hurried to the window.

  While Rodney and Toby bent over Sir Douglas, Joe looked out. He could see nothing and no one. The silent grounds were shrouded in summer darkness. From somewhere behind the house the first light of a new day was trying to dispel the night. Joe checked his watch and read three fifteen. He had to remind himself that it was the height of summer and at this latitude the night never really turned totally black. The cars and Toby’s helicopter sat silent in front of the house, but when he leaned through the window and looked down, he could see the ladder, which on their arrival had been laid amongst the shrubbery below, now leaned up close to the window.

  The first inklings of a theory forming in his mind, he turned back to find others had entered the room. Serena took one look at her father-in-law and almost passed out, Verity was obviously made of stronger stuff, but her husband immediately tried to get both women from the room.

  As Sheila and Brenda arrived, Toby, ashen faced, reached for the knife. “Don’t touch it,” Joe snapped.

  Toby leapt back as if he had suffered an electric shock, and Joe concentrated on Rodney. “You’re the nurse. Can we pull the knife?”

  Rodney bent to look over the wound again. “Best not. We need to see if we can stem the bleeding for now.”

  Toby turned to leave. “I’ll get the whirlybird wound up.”

  “No,” Joe ordered. “We need paramedics and sharp.”

  “I can have him at the local hospital in five minutes,” Toby insisted.

  “Sure you can, but look at the way he’s losing blood, and you just heard your stepbrother. You could kill him just by moving him. Now use your nut, boy, and call the paramedics.”

  “He’s right, Toby,” Rodney said, casting a professional eye over the wound. “We can try to stem the bleeding until they get here, but we daren’t risk moving him.”

  “Paramedics and an emergency ambulance,” Joe ordered. “NOW!”

  While Toby rushed to obey, Rodney, stood at the far side of the bed from Joe, turned away from the old man and glanced down to the floor. With a puzzled expression, he bent to pick something up. “What’s this?”

  “No,” Joe urged. “Don’t touch…”

  It was too late. Rodney had already picked up the air horn. Putting it down again as if it were red hot, he apologised. “Sorry. Did I do wrong?”

  Joe clucked irritably. “You’ve just disturbed evidence. Not to worry. Sheila, Brenda, could you go to my room, and in my case, you’ll find a pack of latex medical gloves. Would you bring them?” While
they went off to follow his orders, Joe rounded on the others.

  Verity and Serena were at the door. As he turned, Quentin moved from the dresser and joined his wife at the door. Jeffrey took his place, and stared intently at the contents of the dresser top.

  Joe’s irritation flooded over. “Out. All of you.”

  Whatever took Jeffrey’s interest, he forgot it, and rounded on Joe. “Who put you in charge, Murray?”

  “We’ve already disturbed too much evidence, and the longer we’re in here, the bigger the mess we’re making. Now please leave, all of you.”

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” Quentin demanded.

  Joe answered with an irritable question. “How many attempted murders have you investigated?”

  All four looked askance.

  “Er…”

  “I’ve done more than you’ve hooked balls down the dogleg ninth.”

  “You’re a policeman?” Serena asked.

  “No. A talented amateur. Now get out, all of you.” As they left, Joe concentrated on Rodney. “All right, nursie, you’re the main man. How do we stop the bleeding?”

  Rodney sucked in his breath. “With difficulty.” He looked around the room. “How long will it take for the medics to get here?”

  Joe shrugged. “Ask me another. I’m a stranger here, too.”

  “Like I said, we daren’t remove the knife. Don’t know what damage has been done. The paramedics will take it out, and pack the wound so he can be shipped to the nearest hospital. All we can do is apply pressure with cloths, towels and so on. Not very hygienic but it’ll help keep him alive.”

  Joe hurried into the bathroom. He emerged a moment later with three handtowels, none of which looked freshly laundered, and several toilet rolls. As he came out, Alistair arrived.

  “The very man,” Joe said. “First aid kit?”

  “Downstairs. I’ll away and get it.”

  “Good on you. And while you’re at it, can you bring some freezer bags?”

  Alistair frowned. “Freezer bags? What ye gonna do? Keep him fresh for the paramedics?”

  “For once, don’t question, just do,” Joe insisted.

  “Aye. Right. So you are gonna stick the silly old bugger in the freezer until he’s due at the mortuary.” Alistair left to obey.

  Joe handed the towels and toilet rolls to Rodney. “Let’s get to it.”

  As they began work packing and pressing around the wound as best they could. Toby returned.

  “Paramedics on their way,” he announced. “ETA ten to fifteen minutes. Ambulance should be a minute or two behind them. I’ve ordered Alistair to open the gates and leave them open.”

  “Good.” Joe was already sweating, the heat of the night and the exertion of pressing against the wound taking its toll on his energy reserves. “We need the police out here, too.”

  “No way,” Toby declared. “You know what the old man was like about the cops.”

  “Circumstances have changed, Mr Ballantyne,” Sheila said returning with a box of latex gloves. “Your father has been attacked, and the police need to be informed.”

  Rodney took a pair of gloves, pulled them on and took over from Joe, who wiped blood from his hands and also put on a pair of gloves while he addressed Toby. “This is attempted murder. If you try covering it up, you’re committing an even bigger crime.”

  “This is a family matter, Murray,” Toby snapped.

  “It’s a criminal matter,” Joe corrected him.

  “If I call the police and Father comes out of this, he’ll hit the roof.”

  As Toby was speaking, Alistair returned with the first aid kit and roll of freezer bags. He scowled at the younger Ballantyne. “Stop being an eejit, and call the police. And nobody’s interested in what Doogie might have to say about it. Now get it done.” There was a moment of eye to eye contact, before Alistair concluded, “If you don’t call them, I will.” He handed the first aid kit and roll of bags to Joe.

  “Thanks God for someone with some sense,” Joe said and cracked open the box before handing it to Rodney.

  “Anything we can do?” Brenda asked.

  “Yes. Clear off out and let’s keep the room as clean as we can for the cops.” Joe checked his watch. “Wait. It’s almost half past three. Get the kettle on. Sweet tea for those in shock, and you know how many sugars I take. Better put together a roll call, too, make sure everyone is here and no one does a runner.”

  Toby appeared on the edge of losing it again. “What the hell are you saying, Murray?”

  “I’m following your line of thinking. This is a family matter, but I’m talking extended family… and friends. All of us.” Opening a freezer bag, Joe picked up the air horn by the siren and dropped it in, before pressing the seal-easy edge together. “There. That should keep any dabs safe for the cops.” He faced Toby again. “Look, this house, these grounds are more secure than vaults at the Bank of England. It’s almost impossible for anyone to get in or out without being noticed. And that reminds me; Alistair, you need to get the security video for the night.” Addressing Toby again, he went on, “Whoever attacked your father is here, in the house. Either that or he – or she – has already done a runner through the window.” He jerked his thumb at the open light. “We need to make certain everyone is here. And be advised, the police will question everyone on their whereabouts when it happened. Now for the last time, get out.”

  Toby and Alistair left, and Joe concentrated on assisting Rodney.

  “You’re getting wound up, Murray,” Rodney said. “I don’t know why, but losing it won’t get us anywhere. I can manage if you want to grab a cuppa.”

  And maybe that’s just what you want me to do, Joe thought. Leave you alone so you can finish the job.

  “I’ll be okay.”

  Joe looked down at the old man. Despite the depth of the wound and the amount of blood lost, he appeared quite serene.

  “How come we didn’t hear him cry out?”

  Working to pack the wound as best he could, Rodney frowned. “The walls are brick,” he said.

  “True, but he doesn’t look as if he put up much of a fight.” Joe began to feel his agitation rising. “There’s something not right here. You’d have expected him to shout out before snatching the air horn, and I’m sure I would have heard him.”

  “You’re getting anxious, Murray. Take five. Get a breather.”

  Joe recognised the sense of the advice, and backed off.

  He ambled to the window and gazed out on the growing dawn. There was still nothing and no one to be seen, but as he watched, Jeffrey stepped out to smoke a cigarette.

  Reminded of the son-in-law’s interest in the dresser, Joe abandoned the window and crossed to it. Like every other item in the room, it was comparatively new. Self-assembly, made of white MDF, the top was cluttered with cosmetics in the centre of which sat an old cassette radio player, its drawer open. Joe could not immediately see where Jeffrey’s interest had been, but then he noticed, amongst the bottles of Givenchy, Calvin Klein, Hugo Boss after shaves, and the canisters of spray deodorant, a gap where a bottle was missing, its former presence given way by marks in the dresser top.

  Joe smiled to himself. So that was Jeffrey. Helping himself to the old man’s after shave. Outwardly the important businessman, the smart dresser, the hit with women, but at heart a simple thief.

  ***

  Within the hour, Sir Douglas had been attended by paramedics, who had congratulated Rodney on his life-saving efforts, and whisked away to the nearest hospital, in Burnley. Toby, determined to follow his father, had to be restrained.

  “The police will need to speak to you,” Joe insisted, and was supported by Alistair.

  “Use your head, man. You can do nothing for the silly old bugger. Wait and talk to the police, then you can get off to the hospital. They may have some news for you by then.”

  Rodney, too, spoke up in support. “We understand how you feel, but they’ll rush him straight into surgery.
You can do more good here.”

  Toby allowed himself to be persuaded and the whole house gathered in the drawing room to wait for the police, at which point, Sheila and Brenda dragged Joe off to one side.

  “Everyone’s accounted for, Joe,” Sheila whispered with a quick glance around the room, “except for Katya.”

  Joe chewed his lip. “Can’t remember if I saw her car out front. I’ll go check.” Clearing his throat, he addressed the room. “Excuse me, people, but could someone get Katya out of bed? The cops will need to speak to her, too.”

  While Alistair ambled off to get the young woman, Joe made his way from the drawing room and stepped out through the front entrance into the cool, early morning air.

  He checked the cars. His was there, of course, so was Serena’s limousine and her husband’s helicopter. Jeffrey’s Mercedes was easily recognised, as was Quentin’s sober Jaguar saloon, which Joe had seen in the garages the previous afternoon. Alongside them was Rodney’s Vauxhall. He had noticed all of these from the bedroom window, but the Mini Cooper he had noticed the previous day was gone. Was it Katya’s?

  Away to his right, the gathering light of dawn glowed behind the darkened bulk of Pendle Hill. Years of getting out of bed at this hour had taught Joe that the sun would be up in about an hour, and not only would the distance between the house and her (if indeed it was her) increase, but so would the rate at which she could separate herself from the house. Even with heavier traffic, it was easier to keep up a higher average speed during daylight hours.

  Joe returned to the drawing room to find Alistair speaking with Toby. From the angry set of the younger Ballantyne’s features to Alistair’s sour face, the discussion did not look pleasant.

  Joe joined them. “Katya?”

  “She’s no answering,” Alistair said, “and this wally thinks I should break the bloody door down.”

  “Did you try the door?”