by Ted Tayler
“Times have changed, Alex,” said Neil. “A pub like that, in the middle of nowhere, on the main road, it was probably a haunt for people looking for a certain type of company.”
“That explains a lot,” said Alex. “Gus always queried why the local rag hinted that Alan Duncan was gay. The less-enlightened older locals put two and two together and made five when Alan chose that running route. It was rubbish, but why let that spoil a salacious story?”
Gus had returned to his desk with a black coffee.
“We can leave as soon as you finish your cuppa, guv,” said Luke. “Mrs Campbell-Drake granted us an audience at High Grove Farm.”
“A tad pretentious,” said Gus. “Does the Prince of Wales know?”
“I don’t think milady will be too fussed, guv,” said Neil. “A farmhouse has stood on the site for over four centuries.”
“I’d better wear a jacket,” said Gus. “I’ve got a tie in my glove compartment too.”
“You look smart enough already, guv,” said Lydia.
“I wasn’t thinking about how I looked, Lydia. I bet an ancient building like that will be cold even in August. Farmers would have you believe they spend twenty hours a day outdoors, why bother with installing central heating?”
Gus and Luke headed for the lift.
“Did you grab a copy of those photos, Luke?” asked Gus.
“Yes, guv,” asked Luke. “Shall we take my car?”
“Daft question, Luke,” said Gus.
CHAPTER 9
“I asked Alex for the most convenient route to Biddestone, guv,” said Luke. “It should take us around twenty minutes to reach the centre of the village. I’m not sure where the farm is, though. Did you visit Slaughterford Road?”
“It’s one of several that branch off from The Green in the middle of the village, Luke. It won’t add five minutes to the trip. Are you worried we’ll miss our slot?”
“She sounded brusque on the phone. I can understand why the officer who took the original 999 call was flustered.”
Luke found Slaughterford Road without incident and followed the meandering road until he saw High Grove Farm's sign. He drove into the farmyard and parked to the side of the main building. The farmhouse had a thatched roof, tiny windows, and wisteria blossom remains adorning three-quarters of the building's front. Everything looked to have been there for the entire four hundred years.
The front door wouldn’t have looked out of place as the entrance to a castle. The dark-stained, formidable oak barrier was covered with metal studs and looked impenetrable. Cold callers beware.
“You couldn’t buy a door like that at B&Q,” said Gus.
Gus heard the clip-clop of horse’s hooves behind him as he stepped from the car.
“I’ll be with you in ten minutes. Alice will look after you until then.”
The horse rider wheeled away coming no closer and trotted to the far side of the yard. Gus presumed the large building on that side was the stables. He wondered how many horses one family needed.
Luke pointed to a wrought-iron attachment to the side of the door.
“Is that what they call a butler bell-pull, guv?” he asked.
“No good asking me, Luke,” said Gus. “I’ve never had a butler. Especially not one called Alice.”
Luke rang the bell.
Gus smiled at the comforting sound of a bolt getting drawn back and a well-oiled key turning in the lock. He was glad they were visiting this remote farmhouse in broad daylight. At night, in the depths of winter, that sound would evoke memories of every Hammer horror movie he’d ever watched.
The door opened, and Alice stepped forward into the sunlight.
“You rang?”
Gus resisted the temptation to ask whether Vincent Price was at home.
Alice qualified as an elderly retainer. Diminutive in stature, she had probably been living here since Davinia Campbell-Drake’s husband was a child.
“We did,” he replied. “Your employer told us you would look after us while she stabled her horse. We’re the police officers she’s expecting.”
“Follow me, please.”
Alice was a lady of few words, it seemed. Luke and Gus followed her indoors.
The contrast between the bright sunlight outside and the low-ceilinged, dark interior caused Luke to stumble on the flagstone floor.
“Pick your feet up,” said Alice. “You get used to it.”
Gus hoped they were heading for a conservatory, or an orangery, at the rear of the house that offered light and warmth. A chill ran down his spine as a pair of brown eyes pierced the gloom. As he ducked his head to leave the hallway, Gus realised that one of Davinia’s ancestors had employed a taxidermist on the head of a fox and mounted it over the doorway.
They were in luck. Alice had brought them through to a sunny verandah that ran the width of the main building.
“I’ll bring coffee,” said Alice.
“Black without for me,” said Gus.
“I’ll bring coffee,” repeated Alice, “with everything you’ll need to suit your particular taste.”
That’s me put in my place, thought Gus. Luke was grinning at him over the top of Alice’s head.
“It’s as if the place is frozen in time, guv,” said Luke when they were alone. “Can the whole farm be like this? How do they operate at a profit?”
Alice returned in less than a minute with a tray. Gus was disappointed she hadn’t used the silver version. He had to accept that a copper tray was good enough for the lower classes.
Gus couldn’t fault the tray’s contents. Alice had even remembered the biscuits.
Gus heard boots on the stone floor outside the sunroom as he finished his second custard cream. It was the measured step of someone who wasn’t in a hurry to reach them, despite having delayed their meeting by ten minutes already.
The door opened and in swept the lady of the house. Davinia Campbell-Drake wasn’t what Gus had expected. Nobody had described the farmer’s wife to him. He had conjured an image in his head based on the report of her phone call to the police.
It showed once more that he shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Davinia was tall and elegant, with a mane of blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. Gus reckoned she was in her mid-fifties, although the top-brand jacket, jodhpurs and boots helped to knock ten years off that, if not more. Davinia Campbell-Drake could pass for Suzie’s elder sister.
Davinia took a seat on the opposite side of the room and poured herself a coffee.
“Call me Bunny,” she said. “Everyone does. It made life easier when Mummy was alive. She was Lavinia. Don’t stand on ceremony; dig into the biscuits. I won’t be joining you.”
“I don’t need to remind you why we’re here, ma’am,” said Gus.
Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to call her Bunny, and the meeting would stretch until lunchtime if he kept using her full name.
“You’re taking another look into that dreadful business up at Fifty-Acre field,” said Bunny.
“We are,” said Gus, “and we’d appreciate it if you would describe the events of that evening.”
“I ride out at various times of the day,” said Bunny. “Ten years ago, I exercised our string of horses more often than I do today. We stable horses here for the hunt, and for owners that send horses to point-to-point meetings, that sort of thing. It’s a living in one sense, but it’s important to retain a way of life. I doubt you would understand. Sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”
“Freeman,” said Gus, “my colleague is DS Sherman. Gus and Luke, to our friends. Which is the nearest Hunt to you?”
“People who ride with the Beaufort are our main source of income,” said Bunny.
“Was a Wednesday evening ride a regular thing for you?” asked Luke.
“In the summer months, I rode at least four nights a week, so that Wednesday was no different. I left here at six and used the fields and tracks to reach Challows Lane. Then I planned to stay on Ham Lane until By Brook.
A combination of the Weavern Lane and more of our fields would have got me home by eight.”
“Did you see any strangers around the farm in the weeks before the murder?” asked Gus.
“I would have reported them to the police if I had,” said Bunny. “The animals in our charge can be valuable, of course, but they are worth more than money to their owners. Horse thieves are the scum of the earth. We’ve always had to keep a close eye on any of our larger equipment. We’ve got security lights and CCTV for the main house and the yard. Foxes might get to the stables or the barn where we park our horseboxes, Land Rovers and quad bikes, but human vermin shouldn’t get within one hundred paces.”
“Did you see anyone after you set out from here that night?” asked Luke.
“Two dog-walkers from the village. Both of whom I’ve known for decades. They have permission to enter our fields. Other than that, I can’t recall anyone, except Mr Meakin. One tends to forget him. Meakin was forever running up and down the lanes.”
“What about Alan Duncan?” asked Gus. “He ran on every Wednesday evening during the four years he lived in the village. Surely, you must have noticed him?”
“I didn’t know the man,” said Bunny. “Four years in a village is but a blink of an eye. Someone told me later that Duncan had several routes he took for his weekly run. I might have seen him on Ham Lane once or twice, but I wouldn’t have recognised him.”
“What drew your attention to the body?” asked Gus.
“Let me correct you,” said Bunny. “I did not know it was a body. I don’t fall asleep in the saddle or stare at the tarmac; I keep my eyes peeled. To check the state of our fields as I ride, ensuring there are no open gates, broken fences, or unwanted litter. Townsfolk are prone to drive into our beautiful countryside to dump a piece of furniture or a freezer at any time of the day or night. As I passed Fifty Acre field, I spotted something that shouldn’t have been there. I grabbed my mobile phone from my jacket pocket and dialled 999. You must have that detail recorded somewhere.”
“We do,” said Gus. “The call came in at seven fifty-three. The desk sergeant sent two uniformed officers to the scene, and they arrived at around eight-fifteen.”
“Well, there you are then,” said Bunny Campbell-Drake. “Was there something else? I have a business to run.”
“Not so fast, Bunny,” said Gus. “You confirmed that you saw Greg Meakin that evening. Greg’s important because he passed Mr Duncan and can verify Alan was still alive at twenty to seven. If you rode through the lanes and tracks from this farmhouse to Challows Lane and saw Mr Meakin, then you too were on Challows Lane well before seven o’clock. We’ve visited Fifty Acre field, and By Brook. So we know you could trot on horseback from the duck pond in the village's centre to the very end of Ham Lane in twenty minutes. We believe that Alan Duncan died in that field, somewhen between seven and seven-thirty. If you are telling us the truth about the route you took, you either saw the murder or were the killer. What do you have to say to that?”
“You can’t possibly believe I killed that man,” said Bunny.
“What I believe is solely influenced by the facts, nothing else,” said Gus. “Until this evening, I didn’t have a suspect that I could place in the field where the murder took place at the right time. You told us earlier that you never saw a stranger in the weeks leading up to the murder. We’ve been searching for a car and its driver who were seen on many occasions by villagers. We have sightings at the duck pond, out at Giddeahall, and on Cuttle Lane.”
“I didn’t kill Mr Duncan,” said Bunny. “You must believe me.”
“Did you leave this farm at six on the evening on the twenty-eighth of May, ma’am,”
“Yes,”
“Did you ride through the fields and on the tracks you described until you reached Challows Lane?”
“Yes,”
“Did you see Greg Meakin, as he ran along Challows Lane towards The Green?”
“Yes,”
“Did you see Alan Duncan when you joined Challows Lane?”
“I didn’t know who it was, but, yes, there was a person one hundred yards ahead of me.”
“What were they wearing?”
“A dark singlet and shorts, navy blue, and orange trainers.
“What did you do next?”
“I stopped to let my horse rest for a while.”
“Could you see the road junction from where you stopped?”
“To The Butts, d’you mean? Yes, I could.”
“Did any cars pass you, or did you see anyone take the alternative road.”
“I heard a car when I first stopped riding and dismounted. The driver must have taken a wrong turn, stopped, reversed, and then followed The Butts road.”
“This was at around a quarter to seven, am I right?”
“About that, yes,”
“Did you see the make or model?”
“A Vauxhall, perhaps, but I couldn’t be certain.”
“When did you remount and ride on?”
“At ten to seven,”
“What did you see when you reached Fifty Acre field?” asked Gus. “The truth, please.”
“Two men in the gateway, arguing. One was Mr Duncan. I didn’t recognise the other man.”
“What was the argument about; could you hear?”
“Worthless,” said Bunny. “That was the only word I could make out. It was none of my business, as long as they stayed off our land, so I rode past them and around the bend as quickly as I dared. That’s when I saw the car. That was a Vauxhall too. Whether it was the same car, I don’t know. The driver’s door was open, and the motor was still running. It appeared to be a road rage incident where Mr Duncan had strayed into the middle of the lane, nearly causing an accident. After I reached By Brook, I followed the lane for a while and then cut through the trees and across the fields. I wasn’t in Ham Lane when I saw the body. I was crossing the fields to bring me back to Slaughterford Road when I glanced to my right. It was Mr Duncan. I could see the orange trainers even from that distance. The other man had disappeared.”
“Time?” asked Gus.
“Half-past seven.”
“Carry on.”
“I made my way onto the lane that leads to Slaughterford Road. As I rode into the farmyard, I heard a car. It was that Vauxhall driver. He must have driven to By Brook and taken the lane towards the White Hart at Ford. It’s the only way he could have reached High Grove Farm from that direction. He slowed by the gateway and then sped off towards the village. I never saw him again.”
“What did you do between then and seven fifty-three?”
“Wrestled with my conscience,” said Bunny. “I had to tell someone what had happened, but I couldn’t say how much I’d seen. So, I left it a while and then told the officer that someone had dumped rubbish in our field. That driver frightened me. I can see his face now, a sickly smile, and then he tapped his nose before driving away. As if to remind me, he knew where I lived.”
“Is the man you saw arguing with Mr Duncan among these photos, ma’am?” asked Luke.
He showed Bunny an array of submariners plus the mystery man.
Bunny pointed out the same man as Greg Meakin and the others.
“That’s him. Who is he?”
“We don’t know yet,” said Gus. “Our colleagues should have had this information ten years ago, Mrs Campbell-Drake. I’m afraid this isn’t the last you’ll hear of this matter.”
Gus and Luke left Bunny in the sunroom. As soon as he closed the door, Gus saw Alice appear out of the darkness.
“Lovely coffee, Alice. Thank you,” said Gus.
Luke looked back when they reached the front door. Alice hadn’t moved.
“You’ve upset her,” she said.
“Your mistress might appreciate seeing a friendly face,” said Gus.
“Where will I find one at such short notice?” said Alice.
Gus sat beside Luke and waited for him to drive them back to the office.
“Three steps forward, two steps back, as usual,” said Gus. “Lady Muck will have to face a charge. We can’t let people decide how involved they wish to be in a murder enquiry. What that woman saw didn’t change the time of death, but Banks would have had a decent description of the killer before the autopsy. Because someone whispered suicide in his ear early doors, he didn’t pull the stops out until the autopsy revealed that Duncan died of strangulation.”
“Banks and Tallentire didn’t grill her in the way you did, guv,” said Luke.
“Hang on,” said Gus. “The times she stated in 2008 didn’t gel with what she said this morning. I thought that something else had occupied her for an hour. Perhaps, a liaison kept her out of Ham Lane and Fifty Acre field until five to eight. Oh, Mr Meakin, what a large telescope you’ve got. These posh types often fancy a bit of rough from time to time. The last thing I expected was for her to admit that she’d seen the killer arguing with our victim.”
“What did you make of the word that Bunny said she overheard, guv?”
“Worthless? The killer could have been passing comment on Alan Duncan as a person, or as a friend. We know they met when Duncan was on shore leave. Perhaps, Duncan sold the guy something that was supposed to be valuable, but it turned out to be a fake or a cheap knock-off. We must dig deeper, Luke. Let’s get back to base. Why, what do you think?”
Luke started the car.
“From everything we know of Alan Duncan, I can’t see anyone who would believe he’d get involved in anything shady, do you? He was Mr Dependable, one of the good guys. Neil and I spoke to several people at the factory yesterday. Duncan was a stickler for getting the job right. The company’s clients knew they could rely on him to ensure the products they ordered met their specification. The boss had a dozen pieces of correspondence he’d received after the news broke that showed how valuable Duncan was to the business.”
“Whatever secret Duncan was hiding, he buried it deep,” said Gus.
Blessing Umeh had left the Ferris’s farm in Worton a few minutes early. The drive into Devizes and out to London Road was shorter than her daily drive to the Old Police Station office, but you could never rely on things being as you remembered them. Her father had drummed that into her often enough. Blessing didn’t want to be late.