by David Woods
“Oh my God, not again?”
He was taken to the same small interview room as previously, and left to sit alone on the same hard chair he occupied before. As he looked around the stark room its walls seemed closer together, giving the impression they would close in on him, and his mind wandered to his previous brainwashing sessions. A shiver went down his spine as he recalled Pratt’s angry face, and he remained in melancholy reflection for nearly an hour until the inspector came in and sat down. He asked many questions about the building site, the most important being how long the turf had been laid. Then he asked about Jim’s movements over the previous week, and he had just about run out of questions when a plain-clothes officer came in with a sheet of paper. The chief read it and then said, “It seems Simpson was killed last Friday night. Where were you that evening?”
“I was at home after eating at the local pub as usual.”
The chief inspector read the report again. “Right. You can go now.”
“May I really?”
“Yes, but make sure I can find you at any time.”
“Okay.” Jim was taken back to his office where he collapsed into a chair, exhausted.
The next day a police search party turned the offices and building site upside down looking for evidence, and Jim was relieved when none was found. The newspapers had pictures on their inside pages of policemen digging with the headline: ‘What are they looking for?’ But no explanation was offered nor was there any mention of Jim’s name.
* * *
Garry read the brief story and cursed loudly. It had been a bad week and Thursday’s paper added to his misery with no mention of a man helping with enquiries, or even the acknowledgement of a murder.
It was late afternoon when the phone rang, with the bank manager sounding very serious. “Mr. Osborne, I’m afraid interest rates are to be increased in the morning and I must insist you reduce your overdraft substantially.”
“But they were supposed to be going down, not up.”
“They’re definitely going up, which is very serious for you.”
“Can’t you hang on until I sell the farm?”
“Yes. But it had better be a very quick sale.”
Garry put the ’phone down and then rang the estate agent, who had no new buyers. “How long would it take to organise an auction?” he asked.
“Weeks, Mr.Osborne. And then you’d have to auction the dead stock separately. And there would be nothing to stop Grainger bidding.”
“No, I suppose not. Have you told him I won’t sell to him?”
“Not yet. I’m stalling for time.”
The next day Jane came into work for the first time since Garry went berserk and, having heard the news about interest rates, she decided to confront him again, walking bravely into his office and standing well back from the desk. “Are you living permanently at your flat now, or is there another woman?”
“I’ll live in my flat on my own until I’m ready to come home.”
“I see. Now what are you doing about the interest rate increase?”
“Thinking about it.”
“There’s nothing to think about. The farm must be sold quickly.”
“I’m not selling to Grainger, and that’s final.”
“Why not?” She raised her voice.
“I’m not telling you, you bitch. In fact I might just let the company go bust.”
Jane gave him an icy stare and spoke slowly. “You can’t avoid selling the farm. I checked with the bank and found you had to put it up as security on our huge loan. A loan that’s costing a fortune every day.”
He felt trapped and stuttered: “B-But I won’t sell to Grainger.”
“You’ll have to when I tell the bank manager you turned down a very good cash offer.”
He slumped in his chair feeling drained and defeated, but after a while he looked up at her with pleading eyes. “Please give me until Monday.”
“If you tell me why you hate Grainger.”
“I can’t and won’t. Please don’t be a bitch.”
“All right, Monday morning it is, but I don’t see what difference it makes.”
“You’ll see.”
“How will I see?”
“Something’ll happen to alter the situation.”
“What will happen?”
He did not answer and just turned his head away.
The next day he arrived at work late and looking ill, sitting in his office all day in a state of deep depression. He rang the agent several times without receiving any good news, and Jane and the staff avoided him all day, heaving a collective sigh of relief when he left early, saying he was feeling ill. He went to his flat and drank heavily, fearing his world was falling apart with enemies closing in rapidly, and it was obvious he could not avoid selling to Grainger if the police did not charge him. Friday’s papers reported the murder of Simpson, but just indicated that the police were making enquiries and no suspects were being held yet.
* * *
Jim spent most of Friday trying to get down to work, but as he was still worried about the murder he could not concentrate. In the afternoon the chief inspector called and Jim invited him into his office. “Any news?” he asked.
“Yes. Poor old Simpson was killed some distance from here, transported to your site and buried.”
“Good heavens. Why and where was he killed?”
“We’re pretty sure it was Black Heath. An old lady walking her dog reported a pool of blood which matches Simpson’s. And his clothes had grass stuck to them.”
“But why bury him on my site?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
“What d’you mean?”
“Well, it’s obvious someone is trying to stitch you up with a murder charge. Probably the same person who tried to kill you,”
Jim had already worked that out and had spent a long time wondering what to do about it, bearing in mind there were two reasons for not divulging Osborne’s name — Angela and Jane — neither of whom he wanted to hurt in any way. He looked at the chief’s serious expression and retained his own as he said, “It’s the most likely explanation, but as I said before Simpson didn’t know who it was. And I’ve no idea.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Why would I keep that from you? After all I’m the one in danger.”
“True. If you think of anything let me know.”
“I will, of course. Have you got any leads?”
“Yes. A white van was seen leaving the site about the right time that night.”
“So he even tried to make it look like one of our vans?”
“Yes. We’re checking your vans right now.”
The chief left and Jim sat wondering what to do next, relieved because the inspector did not suspect him, and sure it was only a matter of time before Osborne was caught. The next day he went to work to try to catch up with paperwork, but at lunchtime his thoughts turned to Jane, so he finished his sandwiches and rang Manor Farm.
Jane answered and sounded pleased when he asked, “May I come and see you tomorrow?”
“Yes, of course. Come for coffee.”
Jim arrived at the farm wondering if Garry would be there and, if so, whether he would be hostile, but was relieved when he found Jane alone. Initially he asked about William.
“He’s fine and playing with Angela’s daughter.”
“Oh, that’s nice. Can we have a serious chat?”
“Yes, of course. Come into the kitchen.” The coffee tasted good and they ate biscuits together. “I’m sorry about Garry refusing to sell. That’s what you want to talk about, isn’t it?”
“Well, no. I didn’t know about that.”
“Oh, so the agent didn’t tell you?”
“No, he didn’t. But I’ve been very occupied with other things.”
“Oh yes. The murder.”
“That’s right. Why won’t he sell?”
“I don’t know. I expect it’s his obsession again.”
“Don’t worry. He’ll have to sell, or else.”
“I see. So I’ll still be able to buy?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Well, I wanted to talk about what happened in the past. I think you should know the truth about your husband so you can be prepared for the future.”
Jane sat in silence whilst Jim told her about the attempt on his life years ago. He explained how he had threatened to expose Garry to stop him trying to kill him again. Jane went pale, but stayed silent for a while after he’d finished.
“Why are you telling me now?” she said.
“Please don’t think I want to worry you unnecessarily, but I fear for you in the future.”
“Why?”
“Well, you read in the paper about that murder? The victim was the same man who was involved in the attempt on my life, and the only person who knew of Garry’s involvement.”
“Oh, I see. Mr. Simpson?”
“Yes. He probably tried to blackmail your husband.”
“Oh, my God. His hands!” She slumped forward, burying her head in her hands.
Jim felt distraught at seeing her like this and said softly, “I’m very sorry to have brought such bad news. I just wish it weren’t true.”
His gentle words eased her tormented mind and she looked up and whispered: “So you’re sure Garry killed Simpson?”
“As certain as I can be. After all he was the only one to gain. And he tried to implicate me.”
“Yes, you’re right, I’m afraid. He was out very late last Friday night, and his hands looked as if he spent the night digging.”
“That caps it, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, this is terrible! But why didn’t you tell the police?”
“I felt that if they didn’t find out, you and Angela wouldn’t have to bear the pain of the terrible scandal.”
“But Jim, you could have been convicted of the murder!”
“Oh, well, Chief Inspector Green is too clever for that. He’ll track Garry down very soon. That’s why I’m telling you about it now, so you can be prepared.”
“How long do you think it’ll be before the police realise who the killer is?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure it won’t be long.”
Jane sat in silence for a while before speaking with a shaky voice: “Oh my God. It’s too terrible to bear.” She slumped forward again, this time crying into her hands.
The sight of her crying filled Jim with compassion and guilt until he could not stand it any longer. He moved from his chair as if by instinct, kneeling down beside her and laying his arm across her shoulders, holding her gently against him. Her crying continued for a minute or so, but then she stood up slowly with Jim still holding her and turned towards him, burying her head in his chest, while he folded his arms around her in a firm but gentle embrace. She returned his embrace, where they remained for some time, with Jane experiencing a warm feeling of comfort, protection and love, which she wanted to go on forever. He buried his face in her hair, kissing her while experiencing overwhelming compassion and affection for the beautiful woman in his arms.
Eventually Jim spoke in a husky emotional whisper. “I’m sorry about all this. Please tell me if there’s anything I can do.”
She remained pressed hard against his body and whispered, “You’ve already done too much, and it’s my problem now.”
“Please call on me for anything.”
“I will. But just hold me for a while longer.”
She looked at him with tears still in her eyes. He kissed them away and then kissed her lips with a long and lingering passionate kiss, which drove away all thoughts of the problems ahead and delivered them into a brief period of ecstasy. When they finally stopped for breath, reality replaced passion. Sitting down again, they drank more coffee, Jane feeling strengthened and more able to face the future.
* * *
Garry spent a miserable weekend in his flat, working all day Saturday trying to keep his mind off his obsession. He read several newspapers in the evening and listened to the news, hoping to learn that the police had arrested Grainger. Again he was surprised and disappointed to find the media had lost interest, preferring more sensational stories. After going out for a meal which he only picked at, he then went back to his flat for a drinking session and bed alone.
He slept late on Sunday and just ventured out briefly to buy several newspapers and a snack lunch. In the afternoon he read the papers until the words became blurred and he dozed off, waking up in the evening in time to listen to the news again, but he was desperate when there was still no mention of the murder. Only a few more hours and he would have to capitulate and let his enemy have the farm. It was too much to bear and made him so angry he cursed and swore as he reached in his cabinet for a new bottle of brandy. Not bothering with a glass, he just tipped the bottle back to fill his mouth with the comforting liquid, and after two huge gulps was in a different world.
Grainger immediately appeared with a long whip, leering down at him as he lay helpless on the hard ground. He drank again, hoping the scene would change, but it got worse as his arms and legs were tethered to stakes and he could not move. To avoid the stinging blows he took several more large gulps, but it just made matters worse, with his body being slashed to ribbons, blood oozing out of the wounds. He tipped the bottle right back and drank the remaining liquid which sank inside his body, causing a warm glow to reach his limbs and extremities. The scene changed with him wrenching himself off the ground, sending the stakes flying and then beating Grainger unmercifully with his own whip until he was writhing in agony and begging for mercy, and finally dying before his eyes. The vision gradually faded into a warm red glow.
* * *
Jane went to work as usual on Monday and tried to get involved with business, but her thoughts wandered from Jim, and how she wanted to see much more of him, to Garry and worrying about the desperate situation he had got himself into. Her worst thoughts were realised at about three in the afternoon, when Chief Inspector Green arrived. He asked to see Garry and Jane spoke to him truthfully, “He’s not here to-day.”
“Oh! Where is he, Madam?”
“I’m not sure, but he could be at Osbornes, his other company.”
She watched him disappear before phoning for a taxi which took her to Garry’s Belgravia flat, as she wanted to warn and protect him. The door was locked so she opened it with a key he had given her years ago, to find the smell of stale drink-laden air was almost suffocating and rushed to a window, throwing back the curtain and opening it wide. She turned to find him in his favourite chair, slumped forward, his ashen face looking in pain. His eyes were closed and one hand gripped the empty bottle lying in his lap. She stood for a second, then felt his forehead, which was sticky with sweat and cold. She bent down to listen to his shallow breathing, then tried to revive him, but without success and he just slumped forward. She was stunned and could not think what to do next.
The sound of a police car with siren approaching shook her out of the trance and she stumbled towards the door, not wanting to be there when they arrived. Slamming the door, she ran downstairs, just managing to join a crowd walking by as several policemen rushed towards the building. She felt wretched and in absolute turmoil, not knowing what to do but with a desperate need to get away. Without thinking she ran to a phone box and rang Jim, blurting out her story and he said, “Just stay where you are. Don’t move, and I’ll come straightaway.”
She put down the receiver and stayed by the phone box as if commanded by God himself.
Jim arrived an hour later and as she jumped into his car he reached over and kissed her forehead, before driving to a quiet place where he parked and listened to her unload her troubles. She told him all about Garry’s drink problem and how he had treated her so badly in the past, the whole story tumbling out as if she could not stop herself. He studied her tormented face, sympathising with everything she uttered,
and within an hour, a huge weight had lifted from her slender shoulders and she felt relaxed. Jim with his reassuring manner had made her feel able to face the difficult time that would follow, and he drove her back to her office saying as they parted, “Let me know if I can help in any way.”
“Thank you very much, but I must be on my own until this mess is cleared up. It’s something I have to do by myself.”
“I understand, but I’ll be looking forward to seeing you again soon.”
Garry was taken to hospital just in time to prevent him dying from alcohol poisoning. He recovered for just long enough to sign the necessary documents agreeing to sell Manor Farm to Jim Grainger, but the strain and anguish of selling to his enemy caused him to collapse with a nervous breakdown, and he was too ill to be questioned by the police.
Three weeks later Jim decided he could wait no longer, as he was longing to see Jane. He rang her office.
“Hello, Jim, it’s so good to hear from you.”
“Can I see you soon?”
“Yes. Come to the farm on Saturday.”
He arrived early on the bright autumn day and walked along the track to a point overlooking the forest below, the trees beautiful with their leaves changing colour. The sunlight heightened the contrasts, making the view quite breathtaking and he stayed for a while before meeting Jane. When she arrived, looking lovely in a blue and white floral dress, they kissed briefly and went into the kitchen, where Jim helped to prepare the coffee as they chatted about things in general, before sitting opposite each other.
“I’ve good news for you,” said Jane. “The sale of the farm is going ahead as fast as possible.”