Dead Weight (Three Oaks Book 11)

by Gerald Hammond

  ‘This is Alistair Branch’s dog,’ I said.

  ‘Damn!’ he exploded. ‘I should hae shot the bugger mysel wi’oot calling you.’

  ‘You know that he’s been arrested in connection with Mrs Horner’s death? His dog’s only been out looking for her master.’

  Mention of Alistair seemed to feed his venom. ‘When I heard it, I thocht I’d be rid o the bastard for good. Aye walking up beyond the march there an the dug coming onto my land. It can seek for ever, far’s I care. Yon Mrs Horner was a fine wumman, aye polite an freenlie when she came to buy a lamb for the freezer. An aye paid cash,’ he added as though that incitement to tax evasion alone entitled her to a halo.

  For some reason, I had envisaged Mrs Horner living a hand-to-mouth existence, lacking the ready cash to fill her freezer. ‘Really?’ I said.

  ‘Aye. Just the other week, she was here. She’d had me kill and hang the lamb for her but she came an took it awa an did the rest hersel. A fine wumman. Showed proper respect for an auld man, nae like you, ye bugger. She’d nae mair use for fancy dugs than I hae.’ He snorted in the direction of poor June. ‘She’d been tae the polis, she telled me, an laid a complaint against a dug that bit her while she was oot walkin an a summons was served. Determined to hae the dug destroyed, she was,’ he finished with relish in his voice.

  ‘Whose dog was that?’ I asked.

  ‘She nivver said.’

  If I stayed any longer I would lose my temper and do something rash. June would have walked steadily at heel but, just to make sure that Williamson would have no excuse to feel provoked, I put her on the thin lead that I always carry in my pocket. He shouted something after me but I made a point of letting him see that I preferred talking to the dog.

  *

  Audrey, who had been busily engaged in her favourite task, hosing down the concrete of the runs, finished coiling away the hose and approached.

  ‘I have Mr Branch’s dog here,’ I told her. ‘She was on the farmland, looking for her master. Would you take her back to Mrs Branch and warn her that June may get shot if she gets away again and goes among the sheep?’

  ‘Of course. But first, do you think I could have a minute to tell you something?’ she asked shyly.

  ‘If you ask nicely,’ I said.

  Audrey usually responded to a little leg-pulling in kind, even flirtatiously, but this, it seemed, was not the moment for levity. She pursed her lips. ‘Please. Can we go somewhere the others won’t see us?’

  Between the kennels and the oak trees there are a bench and a table, each cut by chainsaw out of a solid log from the original third oak which had come down in another storm years before. Its successor was only now beginning to contribute its share to the shade and shelter. The surface of the bench had dried enough to be sat on. We could see across the fields to the village and beyond but the house and kennels were hidden by the hedge which we had planted to shelter the dogs from the wind. June lay at our feet, shivering from time to time despite the warmth of the day. I hoped that she had not done herself an injury. She was too old a dog to be tearing across the fields like a lurcher.

  ‘Now,’ I said. ‘What is it?’

  Audrey looked at me with large eyes. Her clothes, which belonged on a scarecrow, were well spattered with mud and water but the bone structure of her face was beginning to emerge from the puppy fat and I thought that she had a sixty-forty chance of turning into a good-looking woman. Her skin was good and her chestnut hair had a natural wave and gloss. I could well understand how Sam had fallen under her spell without his yet quite realizing why. One of these years the glow of romance and then the flare of sex would transform him and his relationship with the rest of the world. I felt a momentary stab of pity mingled with envy.

  ‘I wanted Sam to speak to you,’ she said, ‘but he wanted me to do it because I’m older than he is. And I think it upset him and he wasn’t sure that he could keep his voice steady. If I tell you some things, you won’t let the others know that it came from me?’

  If I had thought of making a funny answer, the seriousness of her expression would have stopped me. ‘Definitely not.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want Dennis or my auntie to know that I’d made any trouble. We did a lot of switching around, because what one person will tell to another they might not tell somebody else. So while Dennis went with Francis to see Mrs Jordan, Sam and I went to Mrs Dalton. She’s my aunt,’ Audrey explained earnestly. ‘We made the excuse that we wanted to play a game on Steven’s computer. Steven always lets us.

  ‘Aunt Beattie – that’s short for Beatrice – was having coffee with Mrs Pelmann on the terrace. Patio, they call it, but that’s just being snobs,’ Audrey said with serene superiority. ‘Anyway, the computer was just inside the window and we could hear every word. Almost every word.

  ‘They were talking about Mrs Horner. Well, of course they were. It’s the first thing anyone talks about just now.

  ‘They both agreed that she was an awful woman. And I must say that I go along with that,’ Audrey said. ‘She was the sort of woman who tried to catch you doing something she could complain about. Mrs Bullerton caught Francis smoking once but it was Mrs Horner who phoned his parents. Anyway, Mrs Pelmann said, “Did you have trouble with her also?” and Aunt Beattie said, “Who didn’t? How do you mean, also? Did she fall out with you too?”

  ‘“Did she ever!” Mrs Pelmann said, sounding quite upset. She said that when the McIntoshes are going away they sometimes ask the Pelmanns to look after their house, feed and water their rabbit in the garden and also water the tomatoes in the greenhouse. She said she’d usually let Horace – that’s the rabbit, a great big black one – out for a run around. He’s very friendly and trusting and never goes far and the garden’s well fenced, and anyway he always comes when he’s called. He’s been neutered,’ Audrey explained. ‘He’s Katherine’s rabbit. She’s only six and she dotes on him.

  ‘One day early last week, Mrs Pelmann said, she let Horace out while she changed his bedding, and watered and fed Mrs McIntosh’s tomatoes. When she’d finished, she couldn’t see Horace but he sometimes goes round into the front garden. She went round the house but she couldn’t see him there so she walked a little bit along the road calling and came back. Then she found that although there’s a solid wall between the two gardens there was a hole where a drain or something went through once upon a time just below ground level, and Horace must have known about it because he’d dug down and gone through to Mrs Horner’s garden. She went round to fetch him and Mrs Horner came out and kicked up an awful fuss. She blamed Horace for eating the carnations in her front garden, the bit that’s outside the wall, although Horace hadn’t been in the front garden and everybody knows it’s the wild rabbits from the Moss and Horace could never have eaten that much anyway.’ Audrey paused for breath. ‘And she said that if it happened again she’d kill and eat him, which was what rabbits were meant for anyway.’

  ‘Not very neighbourly,’ I said, ‘but not enough to kill for.’

  ‘But there’s more,’ Audrey said unhappily. ‘We couldn’t hear very well because she lowered her voice, but something happened on Friday morning. I’m not sure what, but Horace hasn’t been in his hutch since then. And Aunt Beattie said something about a replacement and not being able to find something as big and black and friendly. Sam thinks that Mrs Horner must have killed Horace and eaten him and that’s what upset him. Would anybody really do something like that?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘But a wise man once said that there’s no deed so evil that you can be sure that nobody’s ever done it.’

  ‘What I wanted to ask you, Mr Cunningham, was do I tell the police? I don’t want to get Mrs Pelmann or anybody else into trouble but I really like Mr Branch. When I fell off Sam’s bike and cut my knee, he washed the blood off and carried me all the way home.’

  I thought it over while she watched me anxiously. ‘You’ve told me,’ I said at last. ‘That’s enough for the moment. I’ll tel
l Mr Hastie what you overheard but not who told it to me. He can tell the police in his own way and time if he finds that he needs to in order to get Mr Branch out of trouble.’

  Audrey threw me a relieved smile, jumped to her feet and picked up June’s lead. ‘Another thing,’ I said. ‘Do you know who around here received a summons because their dog bit Mrs Horner?’

  ‘I’ll see if I can find out.’ She turned away.

  I called after her, ‘Audrey, would you make sure that somebody goes to see Mrs Branch and takes June for walks every day?’

  ‘We’re already doing that,’ she retorted indignantly. ‘Dennis went before breakfast but she’d already gone off when Mrs Branch let her out to do a pee in the garden.’

  I hurried back to the house. Beth was alone in the kitchen, preparing salad. ‘You wouldn’t happen to know if anybody around here got a summons because their dog bit Mrs Horner?’ I asked.

  She shook her head. ‘It would have been worth a fine,’ she said.

  ‘It might not just be a fine. One or two sheriffs have started ordering the putting-down of dogs that haven’t even bitten anybody. Let me know if you hear anything. I’ve just about caught up with myself,’ I told her. ‘I think I’ll go and see if I can help your cousin. He’ll be at Mrs Horner’s house?’

  She looked at me in surprise. ‘He may be, if he isn’t visiting Alistair or arguing with the police. How do you think you can help?’

  It was usually easier to tell Beth everything than to try to keep anything from her. The place seemed to be unusually lacking in listening ears. ‘Keep it under your hat,’ I said, ‘or whatever else you happen to be wearing, but I’ve just heard that there was a row between Mrs Horner and the lady who was to feed the McIntoshes’ rabbit while they’re away—’

  ‘Mrs Pelmann,’ she said.

  ‘How on earth did you know that?’

  ‘Emily McIntosh brought Angus, their West Highland terrier, to board with us while they’re away. When she booked him in, she asked if we could keep the rabbit as well. I explained that he wasn’t quite the type to be happy in the rabbit pen and he wouldn’t take kindly to being stalked by spaniels and pointed by a GSP; and we don’t have any other rabbit accommodation. When she brought Angus in, the day before they went off to France, she said that they’d solved the problem of Horace. Mrs Pelmann was going to feed him as she’d done once or twice before.’

  Beth sometimes seems to be psychic but there is usually a perfectly logical explanation. ‘As simple as that!’ I said. Apparently, Mrs Horner threatened to kill the rabbit if he came near her garden again and there seems to be some reason to believe that she may have done it. I thought that I might take one of the dogs and see if I can’t find some sort of evidence. Bruce may be able to use it to distract attention from Alistair.’

  Beth surprised me by nodding cheerfully. ‘Take Jason with you. He has the best nose of the lot and he needs the exercise. And I won’t say a word.’

  ‘The rain will have washed the scent away.’

  ‘Maybe not. And he could still find a buried rabbit.’

  Jason was Beth’s personal Labrador. He was getting on in years, rather stiff and slightly grizzled, but Beth was right. He had the best nose in the business and was fixated on rabbits. He could probably find a dead and buried rabbit if it was ten feet down. Jason was enjoying the sun on the front lawn and indulgently watching Sam and Dennis throwing rubber balls for pups to retrieve.

  I went indoors for the miniature camera which we use to record the progress of dogs in training, mainly for the benefit of future purchasers. Then I whistled Jason up and took him first to the rabbit pen so that the scent of rabbit would be fresh in his mind. Then we set off by my favourite path. Jason managed a frisk or two and investigated a few patches of cover along the way. If I had been carrying a gun he would have recovered his lost youth and energy for a few hours even if he had suffered for it later.

  We emerged beside the pub. I called Jason strictly to heel. As we crossed the bridge over the burn I saw that Bruce had been right. Trees, now in full leaf, on the sloping ground rising from the burn and also above the garden walls of Roland Bovis’s and Mrs Horner’s houses, cut off the view of all but glimpses of rooftop.

  The garden walls of the first house presented a blank face broken only by Bovis’s side gate. A strip of front garden between Mrs Horner’s house and the road showed definite signs of rabbit damage and I noticed that Jason was showing interest, but the house itself was set into another high garden wall, closed by a pair of wooden gates in need of paint at one gable. There was no room beneath for a rabbit to pass.

  I opened half of the gate and confirmed that the water butt only came into view after the first couple of paces, from behind the garage and a Lawson’s cypress. The garden was well if unimaginatively kept but the exterior of the house itself was beginning to show signs that expenditure on maintenance was due. We emerged from the gateway again and went to the front door.

  Bruce, clipboard in hand, opened the door and beckoned me inside. ‘Come on in. I was just about to make coffee.’ It was a not displeasing echo of Judith Tolliver. Bruce led the way through a tired-looking hallway to a cramped kitchen and indicated a chair at a plastic-topped table. Jason settled beside me with his chin on my foot. The kettle was coming to the boil.

  ‘Any news of Alistair? Or Mrs Branch?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s taking it phlegmatically. He has a proper faith in British justice and the Scottish legal system. She’s bearing up somehow. The sister who’s come to stay with her proves to be a tower of strength. There’s not much I can do for either of them at the moment, so I’m getting on with the preliminaries of executry. The only fresh news I can offer you is that I caught up with the lorry driver.’

  ‘The one from the sand-pit?’

  ‘That’s the one. He asked me how the hell I expected him to remember anyone that he’d seen from his cab while following a twisting road and approaching a junction and then described a man who was looking down over the rough ground opposite the houses, close to the junction with the main street. Not much of a description, unfortunately, but understandable in the circumstances. The main feature was that he was wearing long, baggy shorts. The driver didn’t notice any more, he was too taken up with the man’s pale legs.’

  ‘So now all we have to do—’ I began.

  ‘Don’t say it! The driver also said that he’d passed a woman walking from the houses towards the sand-pit. He’s seen her before, he said. Tall, strong-looking and grey-haired was about all that he could remember.’ Bruce slapped his hand down on the desk, sending several papers fluttering to the floor. ‘This is the ultimate in awful tasks,’ he said peevishly. He looked up at the ceiling and blew out a long breath. ‘I don’t think that she threw away a piece of paper in her life, her filing system was modelled on a rubbish tip and every scrap has to be scrutinized in case she left a later will or wrote a codicil, or in case there’s some clue to an undiscovered fortune. And the worst of it is that the firm doesn’t get paid for my work as executor.’

  ‘They don’t?’ I said. I was under the impression that lawyers were invariably first in the queue for payment.

  ‘When a client asks a solicitor to act as executor, you’re more or less bound to accept although it’s usually unpaid. Work done as a solicitor can be charged for, but not work as executor. It’s a fine dividing line. Provision for a fee can be made in the will but it’s a subject that one can hardly bring up at the time, especially if the client isn’t all that well off. The most that one can do is to put a little extra onto the account for drawing up the will.’

  ‘And enjoy the client’s coffee after she’s gone,’ I said as he came back to the table with two steaming mugs.

  ‘There is that, although it’s only instant and decaff. And then there’s the interruptions. I’ve just had her nephew and his lady-love here.’

  ‘Mrs Bovis?’ I said. ‘They took their time.’

  ‘They were sailing
in the Adriatic and only just got word. They wanted to know all about everything. Fair enough, I suppose, but I could have done without the distraction.’

  ‘I’ll go away, if you like.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. I don’t know what you’re doing here, but I’m glad to see you. You can give me a hand with the inventory.’

  I have always hated anything that smacks of stocktaking. In the army, I had been known to volunteer for almost anything rather than check stores. ‘I can be more helpful than that,’ I said hastily. ‘I have some fresh information for you. I hear that Mrs Horner was bitten by somebody’s dog and was making a fuss about it. If she was pushing for the dog’s destruction, that could give the owner a motive. I wouldn’t expect the prosecution to go ahead without the principal witness. Can you find out who the owner is?’

  ‘I can try,’ he said, ‘but it isn’t on the public record until it comes to court. The police may tell me, as a favour, but more likely not.’

  ‘Try,’ I said. ‘And there’s more. I can’t reveal the source but it should be easy to confirm.’ And I told him the tale of the friendly but footloose Horace.

  ‘A little girl’s pet rabbit,’ he said musingly, ‘and it disappears while she’s away on holiday. The persons responsible for looking after it would feel very guilty and in my experience one guilt soon spawns another. If there were any suspicion, let alone proof, of . . . What would one call it?’

  ‘Bunnicide,’ I suggested.

  ‘Yes, very funny,’ he said, po-faced. ‘Whatever the real facts, the revelation of other parties with motive and opportunity can be a useful tactic. Unfortunately, one can’t spring it on the prosecution. Advance notice has to be given of a defence by impeachment.’

  ‘Hold your horses,’ I said. ‘It may really have happened that way. If we could prove it, Alistair’s off the hook straight away. If Mrs Horner really did snuff poor Horace, what do you suppose happened to the body?’