Sweet revenge on my part, I supposed, if my presence had robbed him of hot dinners and someone to be nasty to.
‘Do you have to repeat everything I’ve said to that officer you came with?’
‘No, not the private bits,’ I told her.
‘You’re really lucky working with a good-looking man like that.’
I would not necessarily tell him that either.
Patrick was just leaving as I closed the kitchen door after me and I relieved him of the shotgun.
‘Anything?’ he asked laconically when we were outside.
‘Plenty that’ll get Latimer run out of Hinton Littlemoor on a rail,’ I said. ‘But not much else other than a splendid set of chef’s knives in the kitchen with none missing and the fact that Latimer’s wife thinks he may have shooting rights at Hagtop Farm. It could have been Keith Davies he had a row with in the pub one night. No veg patch, by the way.’
‘So he’s a one-time fraudster, a liar and—’
‘It’s possible he’s still on the make. His wife thinks he might be getting back-handers from people putting in planning applications – he’s on that committee too.’
‘Um. But as far as this case is concerned?’
‘A blank. Unless the gun was fired twice.’
‘Short of getting a search warrant and tearing the place apart looking for gold ingots …’
‘Evidence is what we need,’ I sighed.
‘We’ll call in at the rectory for coffee,’ Patrick decided. ‘See if Mother’s got the list of the WI ladies. That’ll eliminate them from the inquiry, another bloody box ticked.’
I caught the tautness in his voice. ‘Is your shoulder hurting?’
‘Yes.’
As far as the snippet of information about John was concerned I decided to keep it to myself for the present and let events take their course; to divulge it right now might do more harm than good.
The couple were only just back from their night with the Makepeace family, a short break that had obviously done Elspeth good.
‘There!’ she said, taking a folded sheet of paper from her bag and giving it to Patrick. ‘We called in at Hazel’s on the way home.’
Patrick thanked her and slipped it into an inside pocket of his jacket. Not the leather one he had been wearing the previous night, which was probably ruined.
‘Had another run-in with roughs?’ she casually asked him, noticing a telltale wince.
Patrick beamed upon her. ‘No, I fell over a motorbike.’
‘I hear there was a shooting at the barn last night.’
The police, in the shape of Inspector Bromsgrove, were yet to make any official announcements but word spreads like a winter virus in rural communities.
‘A couple of aspirins with your coffee?’ Elspeth went on to suggest before Patrick could make a reply and perhaps realizing that she was not going to get any more out of him right now.
‘Thank you.’
‘I do hope nothing’s happened to Roger or Steven,’ she said, going down with all guns blazing.
‘No, they’re alive and well,’ Patrick assured her.
‘We ought to have a word with them,’ I said to him.
He met my gaze. Yes, his shoulder was giving him hell.
‘Beer talks,’ was all I said on the subject just then.
To Elspeth, Patrick said, ‘If you see an unmarked car parked by your drive with one or two blokes sitting in it don’t worry. I’ve asked that the rectory be placed under surveillance in case you get any more unwanted visitors. People coming here might be stopped and asked who they are, that’s all.’
The discomfort was sufficient to ensure that when we were ushered into where Steven was doing paperwork on the kitchen table the young farmer received a severe fright. I do not think Patrick was rehearsing what he would do and say on the way to speak to him but when confronted with a possible security leak his resentment surfaced.
‘What did you say?’ was his opening question. ‘What did you and your dad blab all over the bar? Or to the whole village? Or all of bloody north Somerset?’
The demeanour of the man before him was sufficient to drain the blood from Steven’s face. ‘N-nothing,’ he managed to get out. ‘We didn’t say a word to anyone.’
‘The Tanner brothers are both dead! When they turned up at the barn to look for what we found someone blasted them to hell with a shotgun. In the back. You were the only people who knew about it.’
‘I – I swear to you we sat in a corner on our own and said nothing,’ Steven said. ‘OK, we might have whispered a bit to each other but there was no one who—’
‘You whispered,’ Patrick interrupted. ‘Boy, you and your pa have voices like soddin’ foghorns.’ He flung himself out of the chair he had commandeered on the opposite side of the table and paced the room. ‘Who was sitting or standing near you?’
‘No one, really. As I said, we were sat in a corner. There was nobody that near to us.’
‘The fact that you were in a corner would amplify anything you said and when you’d had a drink or three you wouldn’t have realized that you weren’t effin’ whispering at all!’ This last was an impassioned yell. He wasn’t acting. And because he was shouting he wasn’t really going to lose his temper either, which was nice.
I seated myself in the chair. ‘Steven, do please try to remember who the other people were, whether they were close to you or not.’
Steven said, ‘The usual old codgers. Just the sort of folk you see in the public bar most nights. One or two young couples, a few strangers who had driven out from Bath. The only people I knew by name were the landlord, his wife, Sid Coles and his cousin Matt Leyton. Oh, and Spooky Sue and her boyfriend.’
‘And who might they be?’ Patrick wanted to know.
‘I don’t know her surname. She says she’s a white witch or some such nonsense. He’s a traveller, one of a bunch living in a lay-by on the Shepton Mallet road. They were knocking back scrumpy and all over each other.’
Grabbing the list that Elspeth had given to him, Patrick unfolded it and placed it in front of Steven with the blank side uppermost. ‘There. Draw a plan of the inside of the bar. Mark the tables and then try to remember who was sitting at them. Don’t worry about the ones you don’t know the names of. Just write C for codger and YM and YW for young man or woman.’
‘But I can’t even remember how many tables there are!’
‘Think! God above, man, you’ve been in the place enough times!’
‘We’ll go outside while you do it,’ I said, giving Patrick a meaningful look.
We exited.
‘He’s not going to remember a thing while you’re standing over him gnashing your teeth,’ I said as we strolled in the yard. I had a sudden recollection. ‘While I was on my way to the barn last night I passed quite close to the mill. The lights were on by the garages and the doors of two were open. A woman was going in and out of them but I didn’t recognize her.’
‘A visitor, perhaps.’
‘If you remember, James’s initial investigation discovered that Keith Davies had not used his garage but had rented it to another resident. It crossed my mind, that’s all.’
‘Damned if I can remember any more,’ Steven reported sheepishly a few minutes later.
Patrick sat down and examined the plan. Taking up the pen he put in a few additions of his own. ‘The door to the outside is there, the fruit machine is in that corner, a pillar with a dried-flower arrangement on a small shelf is next to it there and the archway to the restaurant is between that and the bar. And there’s another small table under a window in that alcove. Who was sitting there? Anyone?’
‘I don’t know. Sorry, I couldn’t see it from where we were sitting.’
‘But that was actually the closest table to yours, just on the other side of wooden panel that acts as a screen. Didn’t you see anyone when you first entered? They would have been in your full view as you crossed the room.’
Steven shook h
is head. ‘No. I’m really sorry. S’pose Dad and I were a bit taken with what had gone on that evening.’
‘Can you describe any of the people whom you thought were strangers, folk who gave the impression they were out for a drive and a bite of supper?’
But Steven could only remember the barest details.
Patrick pocketed the plan. ‘It’s OK. Sorry, I shouldn’t have shouted at you. There’s absolutely nothing to say that someone wasn’t lurking outside the barn when we were all in there last night and overheard our conversation.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll keep you posted.’
‘I still feel responsible,’ Steven mumbled.
‘The murderer’s responsible.’
Joanna phoned my mobile to tell us that James did not have MRSA but the infection was nevertheless a bad one and he was on the kind of antibiotics that made him feel truly awful. Another piece of good news was that he was being allowed to go home on condition that he took things exceedingly quietly. At least, I thought it good news: Patrick, for the DCI’s own well-being, was convinced that they ought to keep him in hospital, chained to the bed.
‘He’ll be content so long as we keep him right up to date with the investigation,’ I said, over a sandwich bought from a roadside snack-bar.
‘So when’s he coming home?’
‘This afternoon.’
‘We’d better call in, then. Or, as you say, he’ll stagger into the nick in case everyone rats up.’
‘Was Steven’s plan of any use?’
‘No, I don’t think so. As he said, old village codgers, codgers-to-be and a few strangers, couples.’ He delved into his pocket and drew out the sheet of paper, somewhat crumpled now. ‘Here. This is a nice little job for you to do while I talk to the landlord of the Ring O’Bells to see if he can remember anyone sitting at that table during the time Steven and Roger were there. Please check up on the WI ladies. Drop me off in the village and take the car. Find out if they noticed anyone in the rectory who perhaps shouldn’t have been there. Then we can both go and brief Carrick and soothe his fevered brow.’
‘It’ll take me most of the afternoon.’
‘Surely not!’
I looked at the list. ‘There’s only half a dozen of them but you can’t just storm in and out again. They’ll be elderly and can’t be rushed. And without wishing to sound pompous, I am Elspeth’s daughter-in-law. I don’t want to do anything that might reflect badly on her.’
‘As you wish. Give me a ring then, when you’ve done.’
‘Enjoy your pint,’ I said, giving him an I-see-through-your-cunning-ruse grin.
It seemed to me that we were taking things too gently but the mundane checking had to be done. It was sensible to give Bromsgrove free rein at the nick and carry on ticking boxes, as Patrick had put it, especially while his shoulder was giving him a bit of trouble.
It quickly became obvious that I was behind the times. The first on my list, Miss Hannah Oldberry (a name suggestive of old lace, 4711 perfume and a cottage hung with roses), turned out to be a wild-looking female with long wavy red hair who was probably in her thirties. She lived in a rundown bungalow behind the village hall. Several wolf hounds in various stages of decrepitude which had been lying in the long grass of the front garden escorted me to the door, wearing expectant expressions.
Miss Oldberry apologized for the utterly revolting smell that wafted out as she opened it, going on to say that it was green tripe she was cooking for them in an old twin-tub washing machine. She removed from her shoulder a ginger cat I had not noticed as it exactly matched her hair and then banished the dogs to a pen. Several mostly bald hens exploded from it as she opened the door.
‘Sorry, the place is always like a zoo,’ said Miss Oldberry. ‘All rescued, you know, even the chickens. So-called spent battery ones. Poor little buggers have never even seen a blade of grass until we rehome them. What can I do for you? You wouldn’t like some hens, would you?’ she added eagerly. ‘They really do lay, you know, when they’ve got themselves back together again.’
I told her I would think about it and went on to explain the reason for my visit. It would become increasingly tedious, I knew, repeatedly to clarify my exact role as it was unusual for a policeman’s wife to become involved in his work. I decided I would merely say that Patrick, who these ladies must know by now from Elspeth had a change of career, had requested my help.
‘There was an intruder at the rectory?’ Miss Oldberry echoed. ‘How dreadful. Do you mind if we talk out here? The pong inside’ll kill you.’
‘I just need to know which of you ladies left the room where the committee meeting was being held to visit the cloakroom so I can find out if they saw anyone in the hall or on the stairs. Elspeth thought just two had but it might have been more.’
Hitching up a pair of men’s trousers probably bought at a jumble sale she plonked herself down, with furrowed brow, on a low wall. ‘Now then … Elspeth, our chairman – none of that politically correct crap with us, please note – served the tea and cakes, Maggie Ruislip was helping her and they had a natter afterwards about arrangements for the trip. I was talking to Joan and Cathy and none of us went to the loo, yes, I lie, Cathy did.’
‘They would be Mrs J. O. Dutton and Mrs C. Southy?’ I said, consulting my list.
‘That’s them. There were only seven of us at the meeting as everyone else was unwell or couldn’t make it. That just leaves two to think about. Ah! Yes, there’s a new member and she found herself volunteered on to the committee as she’s had secretarial experience. Didn’t seem to mind. I can’t remember her name, though. Do you have them all written down?’
‘It has to be either Mrs L. M. Brandon or Lady Rockley.’
‘Oh yes, Marjorie. She was talking to Flo, she’s Lady Rockley.’
‘Marjorie Brandon?’ For some reason with the different first initial I had not made the connection.
‘That’s right. I understand Elspeth went to see her recently as she’d been told she didn’t know anyone in the village and was a bit on her ownsome.’ Miss Oldberry’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘And her husband’s an old bore, or something along those lines.’
‘Did she leave the room?’
‘I really couldn’t tell you if either of them did. I didn’t notice. You’ll have to ask.’
Which I did, and as I had predicted it took over two hours, especially as I tarried at Lady Rockley’s historic and beautiful house. It turned out that she was a fan of my books, eager to ask questions and thrilled to meet the author. This is heady stuff when you write and makes up for those signing sessions at bookshops when only your agent, your husband and a traffic warden coming in out of the rain turn up.
Finally, I had the information I needed, although it was not conclusive, nor quite complete, as Marjorie Brandon was not at home. I had left her until last as she lived nearest to the rectory. Cathy Southey had indeed visited the cloakroom in the hall – she told me she saw no one else – but Elspeth had not been quite correct in her recollections as most of the women had helped carry the tea things into the kitchen when the meeting had finished and had then stood around chatting in various parts of the ground floor for several minutes. None of the ones I spoke to had seen anyone not connected with the group, had not even glimpsed John, but from what they said it was obvious they had not necessarily had each other in sight all the time. The latter fact was only important from a formal police point of view, of course: none of these people was a suspect.
This was the state of affairs as I sat making notes in the Range Rover, parked at the mill, while everything was still fresh in my mind. Then, having finished, I phoned Patrick, who following a request from Inspector Bromsgrove had taken a taxi to the nick, to tell him. I got out of the car: while I was here I would walk round to the garages and see if I could remember which ones I had seen with the doors opened the previous night.
It was very quiet and already getting dark as the sky was heavily overcast, everything dripping and sodden after s
leety rain, the ground still slushy from the snow. I could not remember the last time the sun had shone.
The memory of the woman I had seen haunted me for some reason. She had been tall and assured but perhaps not young, the hair either blonde or silvery grey under the lights. Could it possibly have been Marjorie Brandon? Or a daughter? With regard to the former I dismissed the idea out of hand but then made myself think about it. I had only ever seen her in bed and because of her illness the impression had been one of frail weakness. I phoned Elspeth.
‘Marjorie? Well, obviously, she’s recovered now,’ she said. ‘She’s very well, in fact.’
‘What’s she like, though?’ I asked.
‘Oh, vivacious, quite jolly, we’re glad to have her.’
‘How tall is she?’
‘Around five feet eight or even nine, I should say. Just a little taller than me, come to think of it. Are you on your way here?’
I told her that I would be there shortly and rang off.
No one was about and there were no lighted windows at the old mill, the place could almost be unoccupied. I expected the lights by the garages to come on automatically at my approach but they appeared not to be security lights and must be activated by a switch somewhere. This was lucky as I did not want to draw attention to my presence. I have a bit of a thing about not wishing to be suspected of snooping around, not a particularly useful trait for a would-be detective.
Everything was tidy and quite deserted. Gazing along the row I reckoned that those I had seen with the doors opened were the third along from where I was standing and the one at the far end. I strolled down and tried the third door. It was locked.
Although I was pretty sure I had seen the woman lock both doors the previous night the one at the far end was not. I hauled up the door and looked in, mindful of police procedures, the need for search warrants and all the rest of it.
Just a blue car. A hatchback. Nothing else.
Fourteen
‘It’s extremely tenuous,’ Patrick said. ‘You said you thought you were followed to the Tanners’ place and back again by a blue car and then, in a garage at the mill that could possibly be rented out to the Brandons, you discovered a similar vehicle in the same shade of blue. You’ve found out that Marjorie Brandon was present at the rectory on the day someone put tea in Elspeth’s drawer. It’s possible William Brandon was in the pub and overheard Steven and his father talking but could he really have been in the one in Bristol and organized the mob that did over yours truly? You can’t just snap your fingers and conjure heavies out of thin air, you know.’
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