Deadfall

by Lyndon Stacey

  The three of them arrived back at Farthingscourt just before one o'clock and walked straight into the aftermath of an incident.

  As Linc drove the Discovery up the drive towards the house he could see Geoff Sykes standing at the top of the steps by the front door. He hurried down as the vehicle drew closer and something in his expression made Linc pull in and stop, rather than continuing round to the stable yard.

  'Geoff? What is it?' he asked, opening the Land-Rover door.

  'Thank God you've come! It's your father, sir. He's had an accident.'

  Linc went cold. 'What's happened? Is he all right?'

  'Tyre burst on the Range-Rover and he drove into the ditch over back of Piecroft Copse,' Sykes told him. 'Cracked his head on the doorframe. Wasn't wearing his seat-belt, of course.'

  'Where is he now? Hospital? When did it happen?' Linc had got half out of the Discovery but now he sat back in.

  'No,' Sykes said, looking even more agitated. 'That's just it. He won't go to the hospital. Says he's all right. You know how stubborn he can be – beggin' your pardon, sir, but you know how it is. Mary's with him upstairs, she sent me to wait for the doctor.'

  'Yes, I know how it is,' Linc agreed. 'I'll go on up.'

  He became aware that a small group of paying visitors had assembled, just within earshot, and were drinking in the drama.

  'Good morning,' he called brightly. 'Do feel free to go on in.'

  The tourists returned the greeting and hurried off towards the steps as Linc pulled the Land-Rover door shut and drove round to the yard.

  He took the backstairs two at a time and marched briskly along the worn carpet of the east wing corridor to his father's bedroom, where he met Mary coming out.

  'Ah, Linc,' she said in tones of relief, shutting the door behind her. 'Your father's in there. Did you see Geoff? The doctor hasn't arrived yet, I suppose?'

  'No. Geoff told me what had happened. Shouldn't he be in hospital?'

  Mary pulled an exasperated face. 'If you can convince him to go, you're a better man than me.'

  'Being awkward, is he?' Linc asked.

  'Awkward,' she stated, 'is the polite word for it! But seriously, I think he's probably okay. We'll just have to see what the doctor says. He's cut his forehead, which might need a stitch or two, but he swears he didn't black out. I think he's just badly shaken, but it hasn't improved his temper, I know that!'

  'Poor Mary,' Linc said, putting his hand out impulsively. 'He doesn't deserve you, you know?'

  For a moment, she looked deeply touched, then she gathered her usual business-like cloak around her once more. 'You'd better go in. Maybe you can coax him out of it.'

  Linc had grave doubts about that but he promised to try, and went on in.

  He found his father shoeless but still fully dressed, lying on top of the counterpane on his four-poster bed, with the two wolfhounds on the floor beside him. They thumped their tails softly as Linc approached.

  'Hello, boys,' he murmured.

  Someone, presumably Mary, had taped a lint dressing on to the patient's brow, and he was reclining against his pillows with his eyes shut, apparently unaware that Linc was there. He looked pale and the shock of the morning's events had left his features looking gaunt. For the first time it was brought home to Linc that his father was getting old, and the realisation softened the tone with which he greeted him.

  'Hi there. What have you been up to?'

  Sylvester's eyes opened and focussed on his son.

  'Oh. It's you,' he muttered unencouragingly.

  'How are you feeling?'

  'I've got a splitting headache and I think I've broken my thumb,' he said, closing his eyes once more.

  'I expect the doctor will be here soon,' Linc said. 'He'll give you something for the pain.'

  'If you'd been here where you were supposed to be, this would never have happened,' his father declared, opening his eyes again and glaring at Linc. 'Sykes would have been free to go instead of me having to.'

  With an effort, Linc ignored this unfairness.

  'What happened? Geoff said a tyre burst.'

  'Or somebody burst it.'

  That gave Linc a jolt.

  'What? What d'you mean?'

  'I mean somebody shot it out,' Sylvester averred. 'Reagan phoned. Told Sykes he thought he'd seen Jim Pepper out near Home Farm. Wanted you to go in case there was trouble, but of course you weren't here. You were too busy out playing with your horses! I said I'd go, but when I was halfway there this happened.'

  'But what makes you think someone shot at it?' Linc asked, frowning. 'If you have a blow-out it can sound like a pistol shot, you know.'

  'I know that,' he snapped. 'I'm not a fool, you know! But I wasn't going that fast. I'd slowed down a bit because I thought I caught sight of someone in the bushes at the side of the road. If I hadn't, I'd probably have been killed!'

  Linc didn't know what to say. He turned away to look out of the big rectangular-paned window on to the neatly planted beds of the formal garden below.

  Now you must watch your back, the note had warned. Was this what it had meant? If the tyre had indeed been shot out, then had his father been the intended target at all or, driving one of the estate vehicles, had he been mistaken for Linc? After all, when Reagan made the call he would have expected it to have been Linc who responded.

  Reagan? Did that mean he was involved? Or Pepper? But that didn't make sense; Jim Pepper's feud against the Tremaynes could have nothing to do with the warning notes.

  'How did you get back?' he asked his father.

  'Reagan came and found me. He's gone back to get the tractor and pull the Range-Rover out.'

  Linc turned. 'I'm not sure he should do that. Better let the police see it in situ first. Has anyone called them?'

  'I don't suppose so. I didn't tell Mary about the shot, she'd only have worried. Can't see the sense in calling them anyway. We know who's behind this: Pepper and that no-good son of his.'

  'Nevertheless, as you said the other day, the police ought to be told. We haven't any proof and just maybe they can find some. I'll go and ring Rockley and I'll tell Reagan to hold on, if it isn't too late.'

  'Oh, all right. Do what you want – you always do! Where's that blasted doctor got to? This hand hurts like the blazes!'

  'That blasted doctor has just arrived,' Dr Small said, advancing quietly into the room and closing the door behind him. 'He got held up treating a child with a nasty reaction to an insect bite. My apologies.'

  'Yes, well, I expect you are busy,' the Viscount admitted with a touch of embarrassment, and the young doctor winked at Linc in passing.

  Smiling, he left the room and almost bumped into Mary, who was waiting just outside.

  'Did you manage to settle him down at all?' she asked anxiously.

  'Not noticeably,' Linc confessed. 'It appears that I'm almost completely to blame for the whole incident. If I hadn't been out "playing with my horses" it would never have happened.'

  'Oh, dear! I did hope he wouldn't say that to you,' Mary said. 'He said it several times when we were waiting.'

  'Don't worry. I'm used to it,' he assured her. 'And now, just to make him more annoyed, I'm going to phone Rockley. This has got to be looked into.'

  Rockley was off duty, so the Viscount was attended by an officer he didn't know, which darkened his mood still further. Linc had been too late to stop Reagan moving the Range-Rover but DS Manston organised a search of the crash area and arranged for the vehicle to be taken in for forensics to examine.

  Manston, a solidly built forty-something who had a deceptively open and childlike countenance, struck Linc as a very shrewd man. He arrived within fifteen minutes of Linc's call, for which he had no doubt his father's title and irascible reputation were responsible, and took the measure of his man almost immediately. The Viscount had transferred to the library to receive Manston, against Dr Small's advice, and Linc left them to it, intending to catch the policeman as he was leaving.
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br />   As it turned out, Manston was keen to talk to him, which was just as well because he'd been called to his office to take an important phone call by the time the policeman had finished interviewing his father.

  Manston rapped on the pine door, opened it and leaned round.

  'Mr Tremayne, may I have a word?'

  'Sure. Come on in,' he invited. 'And call me Linc, please.'

  In stark contrast to his senior, Manston declined all offers of refreshment but, to Linc's amusement, he too commented on the chair.

  'I'm beginning to think the seating at your station must be abysmal,' Linc remarked. 'Perhaps they don't want to encourage you to spend very long in it.'

  'Probably.' Manston smiled. 'Now, this business with your father. Have you got any thoughts on it?'

  'He seems fairly sure it wasn't an accident.'

  'Yes, he does. And he's prepared to name names.'

  Linc pursed his lips. 'Jim Pepper. Yes, it could have been . . .'

  Manston's interest sharpened. 'But?' he prompted.

  Linc unlocked the top drawer of his desk and took out the latest sheet of newsprint.

  'I found this under my windscreen wiper the other day. I presume Rockley has told you what's been going on?'

  'He has.' Manston took a polythene bag from his pocket and put his hand in it before reaching for the paper. 'When exactly did you get this?'

  'Er, Tuesday, I think it was. I'd parked in Blandford and it was there when I got back.'

  Manston scanned it. 'And you didn't think we'd be interested, I suppose.'

  'Yeah, I'm sorry. I've had one of those weeks. But, to be honest, the other notes haven't thrown up much information so I didn't think it was urgent.'

  'And you think today's incident may have something to do with this?'

  'I'm not sure.' Linc frowned. 'Today sounds more like Pepper's work, especially in light of what Reagan saw. But I don't think Pepper has anything to do with the notes.'

  Manston enclosed the newsprint in the polythene bag and sealed the top.

  'You would seem to lead a very complicated life, Mr Tremayne.'

  'It's certainly getting that way,' Linc sighed.

  'And what did you do to provoke this?' Manston asked, gesturing at the warning note.

  'Nothing that I'm aware of. I've pretty much run out of ideas. That's what makes it even more puzzling.'

  'But it doesn't bother you unduly?' Manston queried, looking at him oddly.

  'Not much I can do about it,' he observed matter-of-factly.

  The detective gathered together his pen, pocket book and the polythene bag, and stood up, smiling slightly. 'I see what the DI meant about you now. Well, I'll be off. We'll be in touch about the Range-Rover or if this turns up anything new. And,' he added, pausing by the door, 'if anything else happens or you remember something else you should have told us, perhaps you'll give us a call? Our clairvoyancy department is a bit short-staffed at the moment.'

  Linc grinned. 'Yeah, yeah. Give my best to Rockley when you see him. No news your end on the Abby Hathaway case, I suppose.'

  Manston shook his head. 'Nothing much to report, I'm afraid, but that doesn't mean we're not doing anything. The investigation is ongoing, so leave it to us, okay? And try to stay out of trouble for five minutes.'

  NINE

  TROUBLE WAS THE LAST thing on Linc's mind that evening as he dressed to go out. He had a table booked for eight-thirty at his favourite restaurant, and after dropping in on the conservation workers' shindig in Farthing St Thomas's church hall, he would be off to pick up Josie. There wasn't strictly any need for him to turn up at the party but he wanted to thank the volunteers personally for the hard work they were cheerfully putting in at the mill. He felt, too, that he owed it to Nikki at least to put in an appearance, after she had gone to the effort of organising the evening.

  When he left the house just after half-past seven it seemed set fair to be a fine evening but by the time he got to Farthing St Thomas, just a couple of miles away, a strong breeze had sprung up, carrying with it a few spits of rain. Linc parked the Morgan and pulled the soft-top into place before going into the hall. Inside, the party was already underway. Balloons and streamers decorated the walls and ceiling, and in the kitchen area a trestle table groaned under the weight of a huge buffet. As usual, Nikki had excelled herself.

  Because most of the group was actually bunking down in the anteroom of the hall for the weekend, they had helped set everything up and consequently the drink was already flowing and spirits high. A local DJ had been hired and was operating from the tiny stage but, in common with most of the parties Linc had ever been to, people were much more inclined to chat than dance at this stage of the evening.

  The conservation group consisted of between thirty and forty individuals of diverse ages and backgrounds who, it was impossible to think, would ever have found themselves socialising under any other circumstances. But as Linc moved among them it seemed that, having been thrown together, the eclectic group was interacting really well. As the alcohol consumption rose, releasing inhibitions, some of the younger volunteers began to take to the dance floor and amongst them there were a few faces that Linc felt he'd seen before, though he couldn't imagine where.

  He moved across to the makeshift bar area where Crispin was helping Nikki dispense polystyrene cups full of fruit punch or beer. Bowls of nuts and crisps stood on every available surface, and in the kitchen behind the bar Linc could see Beverley arranging sprigs of parsley and twists of cucumber on the plates of sandwiches and sausage rolls. Typical of her to try and add a bit of spurious sophistication to what was a fairly rough and ready affair.

  'Is it my imagination or are there a few more here than we started with?' Linc queried, in something only a couple of decibels lower than a yell. It seemed inconceivable that so few people could make so much noise.

  Crispin nodded, leaning close to his brother's ear. 'One or two of the youngsters from the village have found their way in but I've had a word and they've promised to behave. I feel a bit sorry for them, there's not a lot for them around here.'

  'Okay.' Linc made the thumbs up sign. It was easier than trying to make himself heard.

  'Hope you've got the hood up on that car of yours,' Crispin added, matching his actions to the words. 'It's been raining quite hard.'

  'Yeah, she's all covered up.'

  'Have you tried Nikki's punch?' He proffered a cup.

  'Thanks.' Linc took it and sniffed appreciatively. 'What's in it? Don't forget I'm driving.'

  Crispin smiled, shook his head and gave him the thumbs up, which Linc took to mean it was fairly safe, but before he had the chance to take more than an experimental sip, his attention was claimed by the group co-ordinator who wanted a word with him and his signature on a form.

  'We need to go somewhere a bit quieter,' Linc said, leaning towards the man and indicating the doorway into the anteroom. He placed his drink on Crispin's table, close to the huge stainless steel punchbowl, pointed at it and yelled, 'Back in a minute.'