by Dick Francis
I drove out of Lambourn on the Wantage road and turned into the drive of Kate’s parents’ house. They had moved here five years ago when Kate’s father had retired and Bill had taken over the stables. But Arthur Rogers had enjoyed his retirement for only a few weeks before being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and he had survived for barely two months after that. Daphne, his widow, now lived here alone and was one of the grandes dames of the racing world.
I stopped in front of the house and wondered if anyone would be up yet. I pushed the bell and heard a reassuring faint ringing somewhere deep inside. Daphne was indeed up but still in her dressing gown as she opened the door.
‘Good morning, Sid,’ she said with a smile. ‘What brings you here this early?’
‘Morning, Daphne,’ I said, returning the smile. ‘Is Kate here?’
‘Why?’ The smile disappeared.
‘I have to see her.’
‘Did Bill send you?’ she asked. ‘I always said that Kate shouldn’t have married that man. He’s brought disgrace on this family. Race fixing, indeed!’
Murder, it seemed, was acceptable.
‘Is she here?’ I asked again.
‘Maybe she is, and maybe she isn’t. Why do you have to see her?’
‘Look, Daphne, it’s important. Something’s happened to Bill.’
‘Something else? What’s he done now?’
‘Is Kate here?’ I asked again in a more forceful tone.
‘She’s asleep. In the spare room.’
‘Are the children with her?’ I asked.
‘No. They’re in the attic rooms,’ she said. ‘Shall I go and wake them?’
‘No,’ I said, ‘leave the children. Let me go and wake Kate.’
She looked at me quizzically but made no objection as I went past her into the house and up the stairs.
‘It’s the room at the front,’ she called after me, ‘over the front door.’
I knocked gently on the door and opened it a little.
‘Is that you, Mum?’ said Kate sleepily from inside. ‘Who was that at the door?’
‘Kate,’ I said, speaking through the crack. ‘It’s Sid Halley. Can I come in?’
‘Sid! What are you doing here? Did Bill send you?’
‘Yes, Bill sent me. Can I come in?’
‘Just a minute.’ I heard her get up and open the wardrobe door. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Come in.’
She was wearing a tweed overcoat and pink slippers.
‘Sorry,’ she said with a laugh, ‘I haven’t got a dressing gown with me.’ She looked tired and her eyes were red from too much crying. ‘Where’s Bill?’ she asked.
‘At home.’
‘What are you doing here, then? I told Bill I’d be back by ten.’
‘When?’
‘When what?’
‘When did you tell Bill you’d be back by ten?’
‘Last night. Look, Sid, what’s all this about?’ She was beginning to be alarmed. ‘Is Bill all right?’
‘No, Kate,’ I said, ‘I’m afraid he’s not.’
‘Oh my God! What’s happened? Where is he?’
‘Kate, I’m afraid Bill’s dead.’ There was no easy way.
‘Dead? He can’t be. He was here last night.’
‘I’m so so sorry.’
She sat down heavily on the bed, her overcoat swinging open to reveal a pink nightdress with little blue and yellow flowers embroidered around the top.
‘He can’t be dead,’ she whispered. ‘Everything was all right last night. He came round about eight o’clock and we talked for a couple of hours. He wanted me to go home with him then but the children were asleep so I said that I’d be home this morning.’
She looked at me. ‘Was it a car accident?’
I nodded. Better, I thought, to have only one shock at a time.
A tear rolled down her cheek and fell on to her coat. A second followed and soon she was sobbing uncontrollably. She lay down on the bed and I put a pillow under her head and covered her with the duvet.
‘I’ll go and get you a cup of tea,’ I said, and went downstairs to find that Daphne was still where I had left her.
‘Is Bill dead?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Thought so. Why else would you be here and so determined to see Kate. How?’
‘Let’s get some tea.’
She led the way to the kitchen and put the kettle on.
‘How?’ she asked again.
‘I’m not really sure. He was shot.’
‘Shot! I thought it must have been an accident.’
‘No, I’m afraid not. He was shot in the head. It looks like suicide — but I’m not so sure it was.’
It was Daphne’s turn to sit down. ‘You mean it might be murder? It can’t be. He was here last night.’
‘How did he seem?’ I asked.
‘Oh, the usual… bloody-minded.’ It was no secret that Bill and his mother-in-law did not get on, and that was putting it mildly. As she had rightly said, she had not approved of the marriage and thought that Bill was nowhere near good enough for her daughter.
‘He came round here and begged Kate to go back to him. I thought she was better off without him and I told her so.’
Daphne could be a very stupid woman at times, I thought. The fact that it had been Kate who had cheated on Bill seemed to have passed her by.
‘Grannie, why is Mummy crying?’ Young William was standing in the kitchen doorway. How do you tell an eleven-year-old that his father’s brains are all over the sitting room wall?
His carefree, little-boy days had ended. Today, as the eldest of the four, he would have to carry his share of responsibility for his brothers and his sister. Today, he would become a man. A challenging task for one so young.
I made the tea for us all and took one up to the spare room.
Kate was lying on her side, curled up like a foetus. She wasn’t actually crying now. She was staring with unseeing eyes at the pillow next to her head.
I sat down beside her and laid my feeling, right hand on her shoulder. ‘Kate, I’m so sorry.’ It seemed to be an inadequate starting point.
She rolled on to her back and looked at me. ‘Where was the crash?’ she asked. ‘Was it last night? I must go and see him.’
She started to get up but I held up my hand.
‘Kate,’ I said, ‘you must not go and see him. You must remember him as he was and not as he is now.’
‘Oh God!’ she wailed and the tears flowed again. There would be many tears in the days ahead. She sat up and clung to me, her head on my shoulder. I could feel the wet warmth of her tears on my neck.
And I cried with her. I cried in grief for my lost friend.
‘Please tell me what happened,’ she said when at last the sobs eased.
If I had not been there, she would have learned the grisly details soon enough. Just as soon as some caring but clumsy policeman, detailed to inform the next of kin, had arrived to notify her that her husband had put a.38 revolver in his mouth and blown off the back of his head. I had no doubt that the gun in question was the same gun that Chief Inspector Carlisle had been looking for two days ago, the same one that was used to make the holes in Huw Walker’s chest.
‘Kate, my love, I’m afraid Bill didn’t die in a car crash. It seems that he may have shot himself.’ I tried not to make it sound as dreadful as it was.
‘You mean — he committed suicide?’ She had leaned back to look at my face.
‘It appears that he might have.’
‘Oh, my darling. Why?’ Her voice was a-quiver as a fresh round of sobbing sent a shudder through her body.
‘Here, drink your tea.’
She drank the hot sweet liquid. Best cure for shock there is.
‘Why?’ she said again. ‘Why would he? It’s my fault. I should have gone with him last night. Oh God, why didn’t I go with him?’
‘Kate, you mustn’t blame yourself.’ But I could see that she would. ‘You need to
be strong for the children.’
‘Oh my God, how will I tell the children?’
‘You’ll find a way,’ I said.
There was a gentle knock at the door and Daphne came in with all four of them, little three-year-old Alice in her arms.
I told Daphne to contact me on my mobile if she needed anything and left them to it. This was a family-only task.
I let myself out of the front door and was walking over to the Audi just as a police car swept up the drive and the same young policeman as before climbed out.
‘Ah, Mr Halley,’ he said, ‘we’ve been wondering where you’d got to.’
‘You only had to call,’ I said, holding up my phone.
‘My inspector’s not pleased with me for letting you and Miss Burns leave the scene.’
‘Tough.’
‘I’ve been sent to inform the next of kin of Mr Burton’s death.’ Punishment for his failing, I thought. ‘Is Mrs Burton here?’
‘Yes, she is. But I’ve saved you the trouble. I told her myself, gently.’
‘Oh.’ He seemed relieved. ‘But I need to make it official so that I can report back.’
‘She’s telling her children now. So don’t interrupt her.’
‘Right,’ he said rather indecisively. ‘I’ll just wait here for a while. I’m expecting a female officer any minute. Please will you go back to Mr Burton’s house to see Inspector Johnson right now.’
‘OK,’ I said, and drove away.
The posse had made themselves at home in Bill’s kitchen. Four men sat at the table. One of them stood up as I walked in through the back door.
‘Yes, sir,’ he said, ‘can I help you?’
‘I’m Sid Halley,’ I replied.
‘Ah, we’ve been looking for you.’
‘You’ve found me, then.’
‘I’m Inspector Johnson, Thames Valley Police,’ he said. ‘Where is Miss Juliet Burns?’
‘At home in bed.’
At their request, I gave them both Juliet’s address and my own, together with my date of birth. Strange how the police always want to know how old everyone is. They said I was free to go but I should expect to be contacted in due course by the coroner.
‘Don’t you want to interview me?’ I asked.
‘Why should I?’ said Inspector Johnson. ‘Looks like a pretty straightforward suicide. Done us a favour if you ask me.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
‘Couldn’t bear the thought of going to prison for murder. Saved us all the time and money.’
‘Are you sure it’s suicide?’
‘Forensics will find out. We’re waiting for them now.’
‘Just make sure they check that he did fire the gun,’ I said. ‘Residue on the hands and all that.’
‘Everyone’s a bloody detective these days,’ he said. ‘You’ve been watching too much television, sir.’
‘Ask them to check all the same.’
‘I’m sure they will.’
He had made up his mind that Bill had killed himself and I wasn’t going to convince him otherwise at the moment. I hoped forensics might do so in due course.
I went to see Chief Inspector Carlisle in Cheltenham. I had phoned first to see if he would be there and he met me in the police station reception.
‘Morning, Mr Halley.’ It felt like afternoon but my watch showed that it was still only nine thirty.
‘Morning, Chief Inspector,’ I replied. ‘Can I borrow some of your time?’
‘As long as it’s not a waste.’ He smiled. ‘Wasting police time is an offence, you know. Shall we go through to an interview room?’
‘I’d rather go out for a coffee,’ I said. ‘I’ve haven’t had breakfast yet.’
He appeared to consult his inner self and decided that it would be acceptable for him to have coffee with a ‘public’ and agreed to let me drive us the short distance down to the Queen’s Hotel in my car. The previous week, this hotel would have been heaving with the masses from across the Irish Sea, here for the racing festival. Now it was tranquil and calm. We found a quiet corner of the restaurant and ordered not only coffee, but toast and marmalade as well.
‘Now, what do you want to see me about?’
‘You are aware, I presume, that Bill Burton was discovered dead this morning.’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘Thames Valley rang me.’ He made Thames Valley sound like a person not a police force. ‘But how do you know that he’s dead?’
‘I arrived at the house just after he had been found by Juliet Burns.’
‘You’re making a bit of a habit of being around at critical moments.’
‘Coincidence,’ I said, and remembered that Bill had been told he could go down for coincidence. ‘Do you think Bill Burton killed himself?’
‘Why do you ask?’ he said.
‘Because I don’t.’
‘Ah,’ he said, ‘the loyal friend who believes his pal is innocent of all charges in spite of a load of evidence to the contrary.’
‘Don’t mock me.’
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘You’re the last person I should mock. You’ve probably solved more cases than I have.’
I raised a quizzical eyebrow.
‘Word gets round, you know. Never mind a criminal records check, most employers these days would like their staff passed by you. “Okayed by Halley” has become slang for reliable and honest.’
‘Well then, don’t mock me when I say that I don’t believe that Bill Burton killed himself.’
We waited in silence as a waiter put the coffee and toast down on the table.
‘Tell me why you don’t believe he killed himself.’
‘He had no reason to do so. When I spoke to him last night he was positive and determined. Suicide was the last thing on his mind. He was hardly likely to ask me to come and ride out this morning if he was contemplating doing himself in.’
‘Maybe something happened overnight,’ he said.
‘It did. His wife agreed to return home.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I’ve spoken to her. I went to tell her that Bill was dead. I thought it was better coming from a friend. I told her mother, too. They can both confirm that Kate was going to go home this morning. So he had every reason to live.’
‘You’re telling me he was murdered?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who by?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Almost certainly the same person who murdered Huw Walker.’
‘But why? What’s the motive?’
‘To stop the police hunt for the real killer. If the police’s prime suspect is found with his head blown off, with the same gun as that used for the first murder grasped in his hand, the obvious conclusion is that he had been overcome with guilt for his actions and done the honourable thing.’
‘Seems a reasonable conclusion to me,’ he said.
‘Bit too convenient, don’t you think? And where was the gun? You failed to find it when you searched his house?’ I was guessing, but it had to be so.
‘True,’ he said, ‘but we didn’t take the whole place apart brick by brick, and it may have been somewhere in the stables.’
‘Nevertheless, I’m convinced he didn’t kill himself — and, even if he did, he wouldn’t have done it in the house for his wife to find — or, for heaven’s sake, his children.’
‘He might have done if he wanted his revenge on her for talking to the police about Huw Walker.’
The waiter came over and politely asked that, as breakfast was now finished, did we mind moving to the lounge so he could set up for lunch.
‘I have something for you to listen to,’ I said. ‘Can we go out to my car instead?’
We went and sat in my car in the hotel car park.
I slotted the tape from my answering machine into the car tape player and let it run to the end of Huw’s second message. Carlisle pushed the rewind button and listened to it all through again.
‘You should have given
this to me sooner,’ he said.
‘I only found it this morning.’ He looked at me in disbelief, which I suppose was fair enough.
‘Funny,’ he said, ‘I’d forgotten that he was Welsh. Makes him more of a man rather than just a body, if you know what I mean.’
I nodded.
Carlisle pushed the rewind button a second time and played the tape once more. I didn’t need to hear Huw’s voice. By now, I knew those messages by heart.
‘Hi, Sid. Bugger! I wish you were there. Anyway, I need to talk to you. I’m in a bit of trouble and I… I know this sounds daft but I’m frightened. Actually, Sid, no kidding, I’m really frightened. Someone called me on the phone and threatened to kill me. I thought they were bloody joking so I told them to eff off and put the phone down. But they rang back and it’s given me the willies. I thought it was all a bit of a lark but now I find that it ain’t. I need your bloody help this time, mate, and no mistake. Call me back. Please call me back.’
And the second one
‘Where are you when I need you, you bugger? Come on, pick up the bloody phone, you bastard! Can’t you tell when a mate’s in trouble? Just a few losers, they says, for a few hundred in readies, they says. OK, I says, but make it a few grand. Do as we tell you, they says, or the only grand you’ll see is the drop from the top of the effing grandstand. Should have bloody listened, shouldn’t I?’
‘When did he leave these messages?’ asked Carlisle.
‘I’m not absolutely sure,’ I said.
‘Didn’t your answering machine tell you?’ he asked.
‘No, it came out of the ark,’ I said, ‘but, as you heard, there was another message between the two from Huw. I found out from that caller that he telephoned just before eight in the evening the day before Huw died. So one of Huw’s calls was before eight p.m. and the other after.’
‘So you didn’t just find them this morning,’ he said.
‘Well, no, not exactly,’ I said, suitably chastised.
Carlisle ejected the tape and put it in his pocket. ‘I’ll take this, if you don’t mind,’ he said.
I was sure he would take it even if I did mind.
‘I’ll give you a receipt for it when we get back to the station.’
‘Doesn’t sound like someone frightened of being killed by a jilted husband,’ I said. ‘More to do with fixing races.’