by Ann Cleeves
“Now, Doctor, I would be grateful if you could give me a detailed account of your movements yesterday evening.”
“Yes, of course. I knew that you would ask me.”
He described the trip from the mainland, the discussion at the supper table, John’s sudden absence, in minute detail.
“I was devastated by Charles’s decision to sell the island,” he said. “Since I retired my work here has been increasingly important to me. It does not only have personal importance, but real scientific value. I felt that it was essential that I should persuade Mr. Todd that our work should continue. I had to show him that without his help the trust would not survive. I thought that if I summarized the accounts, so that he could understand the position more easily, he would be more sympathetic. You must understand that I was engrossed in my task. I certainly had no intention of eavesdropping.”
“But you overheard a conversation which you feel may be relevant?”
“Oh no.” The doctor seemed shocked. “I’m sure that it has nothing at all to do with Charlie’s death. But I feel that it is my duty to tell you.”
He’s enjoying this, Savage thought as Paul Derbyshire repeated the fragment of argument between Jerry Packham and Pamela Marshall. So even distinguished doctors enjoy a good gossip. The thought saddened him. He felt let down.
“You’re quite sure of Mrs. Marshall’s words?” he interrupted. “They were having a row, then she said: ‘If you haven’t got the nerve to do it, I have.’”
“Quite sure, Superintendent.”
“What do you think she was referring to?”
“As I’ve explained, I don’t know. I really was concentrating on the accounts.” There was a strong trace of regret in his voice and Savage believed him.
“What did you do yesterday evening, after Mr. Packham and Mrs. Marshall had left the common room?”
“I decided that I should go to see Charlie Todd to explain to him the enormity of his suggestion.”
Savage’s face and voice betrayed no interest. “ So you saw Mr. Todd last night?”
“No, Superintendent, I did not. If you will allow me to explain. I decided that I ought to see him. I even went upstairs to change into more suitable clothes. Then I noticed that it had started to spot with rain, and it occurred to me that I could just as easily talk to him in the morning. It looked most unpleasant outside. I returned to the common room.”
“Did you get up early this morning to go to meet Mr. Todd?”
“I did not.” Unnecessarily, he added: “After breakfast I went out for a walk. Just down the island. To check the traps.”
But Savage was not interested in the ornithological routine of the island. He was beginning to feel the pressure of time. There always was pressure, but the incoming tide was relentless, completely inflexible, and that was something new. It was a challenge. He dismissed the doctor with a flash of a smile, but little courtesy.
“Do you want to see Mr. Packham or Mrs. Marshall again?” Connibear asked when the doctor had left the room.
“I don’t think so. I’ve not much time left, if I’m to get off this place before the tide comes in. I want to see everyone. Pamela Marshall and Jerry Packham had an argument, but Todd wasn’t mentioned at all. It could just have been a lovers’ tiff. Packham admitted that he was trying to cool things with the beautiful Pamela.” He gave the matter his full attention for a few seconds then set it aside. “It sounds like a domestic matter to me. Not relevant.”
He turned to Connibear. “ Let’s see the keen ringer—Nicholas Mardle.”
Nick Mardle looked older than his twenty years, prematurely middle-aged, with a sagging, pear-shaped body, dark, straggling hair. The only remnants of adolescence were his poor skin, his ungainly posture. Savage felt an initial impatience at the slovenly appearance, then restrained himself. The boy would have to be carefully handled.
“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” he said routinely.
“That’s all right,” the boy said. “We’re used to being treated like dirt. We do all the work here, but they still think of us as kids.”
The outburst surprised Savage. He said nothing. The boy did not have the experience to cope with silence. He would continue to talk.
“They treated Charlie in exactly the same way. You would never think that he actually owned the island. They decided where the traps should be built, how often the school parties should be allowed, all the matters of policy. Then they told the rest of us.”
“They?” Savage tried to speak mildly, but his impatience was influencing his style. The effect was rather one of controlled intensity, but Nick Mardle was too self-centred to notice.
“Doctor Derbyshire and Miss Carson. They consult Mrs. Marshall and Jerry Packham if they’re here, but they’re not very often. I come every weekend, and in the spring and autumn I walk over in the evenings if the weather is good for birds, but they only talk to me if they want me to do some maintenance work.”
“Doctor Derbyshire did say that you did most of the ringing here. I was hoping to talk to you about the nets, the ringing procedures.”
“Did he?” Nick was pleased but suspicious. “John rings more birds than me because he’s here all the time, but I do twice as much as anyone else.”
“Yesterday evening you and your friend were ringing waders on the shore?”
“Yes. As the tide comes in, the waders come in to roost. We put a four-panel, sixty-foot net on the strip of sand at the north end. We did quite well.”
“So you have different-sized nets to catch different birds.”
“Yes. That’s right.”
“I understand that when you were looking for a net, you found one that you couldn’t use, because it had a missing guy. Can I take it that it was one of the kind that you would use for waders?”
“Yes. Sixty foot long, with four gathered shelves to catch the birds in.”
“And this net, the one with the missing guy … Did you get the impression that it had been put away as you found it, or had someone rifled through it, to pull out the rope? Just a minute, how are the nets stored?”
“In nylon bags in the cupboard over there.”
Connibear pulled open the heavy wooden door of a built-in cupboard. About a dozen nylon bags, the sort used for carrying small tents, were piled on the floor. Many bamboo and metal mist-net poles were leaning against the wall at the back of the cupboard. Other pieces of ringing equipment and bird bags were piled on a shelf to one side, and hanging on a nail were several strands of nylon rope of different lengths.
“Why not just take a piece of rope from there?” Savage muttered to himself. “Why bother to open the nets?”
Nick Mardle seemed to be trying to remember how he had found the incomplete net.
“I think that it had been put away without the guy,” he said. “The bag was completely closed and the drawstring at the top pulled tight, but the net hadn’t been properly folded, just roughly rolled up as if someone had put it away very quickly.”
“Do you know when that particular net was last used?”
“No. It would have been some time in the last two months. The waders don’t come in until July. Unless of course it was put away like that last season. I know that John has caught some big numbers of waders—redshank and knot—over the summer. Liz helps him a lot with the nets, and Miss Carson potters around presiding over the proceedings if she’s here. On very warm evenings it has been known for Doctor Derbyshire to ring a few birds—as long as someone else is around to identify them, and age and sex them.”
“I see.” Through habit, Savage was careful to conceal his disappointment. He turned back to Nick Mardle.
“Can you describe exactly what you did yesterday evening?”
Savage listened to the now familiar story of Charlie’s revelation at the supper table.
“Did you go out with your friend immediately after supper?”
“Not immediately. Mark’s a gentleman. He went to help Liz with the wash
ing up. I was feeling a bit shattered.”
He looked up at Savage. “ I like it here,” he said simply. “ I couldn’t imagine not being able to come to the observatory.”
“That’s when you went to look for the nets?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see anyone while you were down on the shore?”
“Liz came down later in the evening, looking for John.”
“Were you together on the shore for the whole of the evening?”
“No.” Once again he looked at the superintendent and there was anxiety in his face. “ I found that I’d left my favourite ringing pliers here, and I came back to fetch them. But I didn’t go and set fire to Charlie’s house. I quite liked him. He wasn’t like the rest of the family.”
“You know the Todds?”
“I work for them. I’m assistant manager of one of their shops—the leisure wear and sports equipment shop in the High Street. My family has been working for the Todds for years.”
Savage caught the sharp note of bitterness in the boy’s voice, but did not follow it up. He was short of time and it was probably not relevant.
“Did you see anyone when you were on your way back to the observatory?”
“No, but someone had been out. Everyone hangs their coats in the hall, just outside the ringing room here. There’s a duffel coat that’s been here for years. For all I know it was left behind by Trinity House. There was a sharp shower of rain while I was on my way back to the shore after collecting my pliers. When we came into the observatory after finishing ringing, I noticed that the duffel coat was wet.”
“Was the coat used by anyone in particular?”
“No. We’ve all borrowed it at some time, to save having to go upstairs for a waterproof, or if we’ve come over to the island without a coat.”
“Can you tell me what happened this morning?”
“Mark and I went out to do a seawatch. We got up about seven-thirty. I would have set the alarm to go off earlier if I had known it would be so windy. When we got out I wanted to go to the hide, but Mark thought that it wouldn’t do to interrupt Jerry and Charlie. We came back in time for breakfast. You know what happened afterwards when we went down to the hide.”
“Yes. I know. I’ll not keep you much longer. Where did you meet Mark? Were you together all morning, until you went to the hide?”
“We shared a bedroom. He’s a really heavy sleeper. I woke him up. We went to the bathroom separately, but apart from that we were together all morning.”
“Thank you. Thank you, Mr. Mardle. You’ve been very helpful.”
Superintendent Savage decided immediately that Mark Taylor looked like a monkey. He did not have any prejudice against monkeys, but he did against longhaired, unkempt, bearded young men who looked like them.
“Sit down,” he said shortly. “ You’re a student, are you?”
“Yes,” Mark answered. “How did you know?”
“You look like one.”
Mark, who was considered unconventional by his friends, thought that the policeman’s image of a student was dramatically out of date, but he said nothing. Superintendent Savage felt that he was being rushed. It was gone four and he still had to speak to Elizabeth. He turned the full force of his personality towards Mark.
“Now,” he said. “You’re a student so you’re a bright lad. We’ll have no messing. Do you know who killed Mr. Todd?”
“No,” Mark said. “ If I knew I would tell you. Without waiting to be asked. I liked Charlie. And not all students hate the police.”
Savage allowed himself one short, bark-like laugh.
“No. I don’t suppose that they do. Describe in detail what happened to you yesterday evening. Start after the evening meal. Unless anything important happened before that.”
“No, there was nothing important, except that everyone seemed more irritable than usual. I had coffee in the common room with everyone else. Everyone except John, of course, and Elizabeth who was in the kitchen. Then I went to help her wash up.”
“Why would you want to do that? Fancy her, do you?”
Mark blushed deeply and uncontrollably. Savage pretended not to notice and continued: “ Not that that’s got anything to do with me. What happened then?”
“I went with her to help her to carry some wood for the common-room fire. Pam and Jerry were there. It looked as if they’d been arguing. Anyway, I felt a bit awkward about intruding. Liz went to the flat and I went to find Nick. He was in the ringing room trying to untangle one of the mist-nets. We went ringing.”
“He says that he came back to the observatory to fetch some pliers. What did you do while he was away?”
“Carried on ringing.”
“You didn’t leave the net?”
“No.”
“And this morning, did you go out before Mr. Mardle woke you at seven-thirty?”
“No.”
Once again Savage looked at his watch. “I’ve no more questions just now, Mr. Taylor. Thank you.”
They went to interview Elizabeth in the kitchen, where she was preparing the evening meal. It would have been just as quick for Connibear to have fetched her into the ringing room, but Savage felt the need to demonstrate his impatience, the hurry. She was carrying a large pan of potatoes from the table to the stove. He took it from her, set it on the gas ring.
“You shouldn’t be doing that,” he said, “in your condition.”
She sat on the stool by the table. She was wearing red. Connibear, looking at her and at Savage, thought how alike they were, with their dark hair and strong features. She could have been his daughter. There was an immediate antagonism between them, more like that between family members than between strangers.
“John told you,” she said. The superintendent could tell that she did not like him. “ I wish that he hadn’t done.”
Despite his impatience, Savage was intrigued by her. “How did you come to be living here, Miss Richards?” he asked. He wondered why it seemed so important.
“Mrs. Richards,” she said. “ I’m divorced. I was married to a BBC camera man. He was working on a documentary film on Bardsey—that’s an island in North Wales. I went with him. It was the last attempt to save our marriage. John Lansdown was assistant warden at the observatory there. When Frank, my husband, left, I didn’t go with him. John got the job here the following season, and I came too. Though what the hell that has to do with you or with Charlie Todd, I don’t know.”
“Do you like it here, Mrs. Richards?”
“I love it,” she said.
“Do you know who killed Mr. Todd?”
“No.”
“I’ve got a pretty clear picture of what happened yesterday evening throughout the meal and immediately afterwards, but there are a couple of questions I’d like to ask. Were you surprised when your boyfriend left the dining room?”
“No. He always reacts to things emotionally. He’s impulsive.”
“When you took the wood into the common room yesterday evening I understand that Mrs. Marshall and Mr. Packham had been arguing. Could you hear what was said?”
“No. But I’m sure that they’ll tell you if you ask.”
“Why did you go to find Mr. Lansdown yesterday evening? Were you worried that he would do something silly?”
“It depends what you mean by silly. I was worried that he would spend all night on the Beacon, brooding. I was not worried that he might try to set light to the Wendy House, or steal a mist-net guy with the intention of strangling Charlie.”
“What sort of coat were you wearing when you went out?”
“I wasn’t wearing a coat. I’ve got an oiled fisherman’s sweater. I was wearing that.”
“You went to the shore to talk to the boys who were ringing?”
“Yes. I thought that John might be with them.”
“Which way did you walk to find him?”
“There are steps cut into the cliff just below the Wendy House. I climbed those and walked through
Charlie’s garden.”
“Could you see into his house?”
“I didn’t look.”
“Did you see anyone else?”
“No.”
“What time did you wake up this morning?”
“A quarter to seven when the coastguard phoned up for John to hoist the cone.”
“Did you get up then?”
“Yes. I was feeling sick. I went to the bathroom.”
“You didn’t go outside?”
“Not until later, until we were cooking breakfast, and by that time the seawatching hide was cut off from the island.”
“You met Miss Carson while you were out?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see her leave the observatory?”
“No. She must have gone out before me.”
Suddenly his mood changed. He became, almost, fatherly. “I want to leave one of my men here, to keep an eye on you all. Will you be able to put him up?”
“Yes. It’ll be in the dormitory, where we usually put the schoolchildren, but he’ll be on his own in there.”
“That will be fine, fine.” He seemed about to say something else, to tell her, perhaps, to look after herself, when Martindale walked in. The young man stood awkwardly, just inside the door.
“The Land Rover’s ready, sir,” he said. “Connie asked me to tell you.”
“Just coming, Martindale.” He turned to Elizabeth. “ This is the constable who will be staying here tonight.”
They walked together to the yard, where the Land Rover was waiting. John was there, talking to George Palmer-Jones. Savage approached the two men, spoke to Palmer-Jones, then shook his hand. He nodded to John and climbed into the Land Rover. Connibear was obviously not used to driving it. The gears grated, it jerked forward and they were gone.
Elizabeth left the group in the yard and went out on to the Beacon. She watched the Land Rover cross the sand, and wished that she were with them.
Chapter Seven
Immediately after lunch George Palmer-Jones went to the Wendy House. The police had finished there, and Savage had given him permission to look around, and a key. The police search could not, he thought, have taken very long. There were only two rooms of any size, with a galley-like kitchen off the living room, and a shower room next to the bedroom. He had decided to visit the Wendy House, not so much because he wanted to see where Charlie lived, as to be on his own. His brief explanation at lunch of police procedure had made him, to the other residents of the observatory, an expert, someone who could relieve anxieties. He had encouraged a discussion about the murder, but now he needed to be on his own, to sort out the information he had gained so far. On such an island privacy was almost impossible, but no one would come to the Wendy House. He would have thought that in such a place it would have been impossible to commit murder, to do anything at all, unobserved. The murderer must have had considerable luck, or the crime had been very carefully planned. Yet would there have been time for such planning? Charlie Todd had arranged to be in the seawatching hide only the evening before he died.