by Peter Helton
Annis was making progress with her mural, a vast eruption of painterly energy across the expanse of the pool house wall. She was excited by just how different working on a large scale was. She needed litres of oil paint, much larger brushes and much longer arms. Brushstrokes that before would have been the result of a sweep of the arm now had to be executed at a run. Several times a day Annis ended up in the pool, surveying the progress from a watery distance. Stoneking was no longer bored; he was now torn between watching Annis at (and in) the pool and following the progress of police and archaeologists outside. I found him beside the pool and Annis in it. While she tread water I told her how I had just missed Dealey’s miraculous ascent.
‘I hope that won’t turn out to be the moment when seven grand slipped through your fingers. Why don’t you come in? The water is lovely . . .’
‘I might at that. My shorts are still in the changing room.’
I was still climbing out of my street clothes when rapid footsteps approached down the corridor and the door to the changing room was flung wide. Guy Middleton. He was flushed and breathless. His earlier depressed state had now given way to agitation.
‘Bloody hell, there you are. I’ve been all over this damn pile looking for you. Where have you been? And what do you think you’re doing? You’re supposed to protect me, not swan about elsewhere. Your car wasn’t even here so presumably you weren’t even in the grounds when you should have been right here keeping an eye on me; it’s what you’re getting paid for. They’re going to kill me, Chris, they’ve decided to finally do it. It wasn’t Paul they were after; everyone knows it was really me. And here.’ He whisked a piece of notepaper from his jacket and held it out to me. In its centre I read the laconic statement:
We will finish it here.
I read it and thought I shared the sentiment. I stepped into the shower cubicle and turned on the water.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he asked querulously.
I snapped. ‘I am going for a swim in yonder pool, Guy. Stand next to it if you want to be protected or lock yourself in the loo until I’m done. Alternatively do what normal people would do, go to the police and tell them everything. The nasty notes, the blackmail, the pranks and why you think everyone wants to kill you. Excuse me.’ I dripped past him out of the changing room and marched righteously down the corridor towards the lovely blue wetness shimmering at the end of it.
‘Mr Honeysett!’ A different voice this time but I didn’t care, I marched right on into the pool house. ‘Chris Honeysett!’ Just as I reached the edge of the pool the place suddenly got crowded. Not just Middleton but Needham’s Airedale terrier, DI Reid, a huge uniformed PC wearing a stab vest and Carla were all bearing down on me. ‘Chris Honeysett,’ DI Reid said again. He added: ‘I’m arresting you on suspicion of attempted murder; you do not have to say anything . . .’
The rest of the caution was lost in a spray of water as I bombed into the pool. ‘You what?’ I asked when I surfaced. A satisfying amount of water had landed on the DI’s trouser legs, though he didn’t look well-pleased. He started rattling off the caution again so I dived. Suspicion of murder? Had everyone gone mad? From under water I watched Annis swim across. I surfaced next to her.
‘Who did you try and kill, hon?’ she asked, unconcerned, while above us by the edge of the pool the Airedale terrier had another go at arresting me, starting the whole litany again with ‘Chris Honeysett . . .’. Of course, until he had completely read me my rights I wouldn’t legally be under arrest, so I waggled my fingers at him in a friendly goodbye and dived. I can hold my breath for quite a while but even so this couldn’t go on for much longer, yet at the moment it seemed like fun. I was wondering what he would do next. Would he go and get his cozzie? I found out when I surfaced again. ‘Constable, get in there and haul him out!’ he said with precisely the voice a Bond villain uses when he says: ‘Release the sharks.’ Now Stoneking was standing up there too. He began to berate the DI for the intrusion but was cut short. ‘Shut up!’ Reid bellowed. ‘You’re out on bail, Mr Stoneking, best to remember that.’ He turned to the constable. ‘Well? What are you waiting for?’
The constable looked reluctant. ‘Couldn’t we, I don’t know, drain the pool?’
‘Don’t be daft, that’ll take forever. Get in there.’
The constable pulled a doubtful face but started unlacing his boots. Suddenly Carla spoke up. ‘Nobody is going into that pool without first having a shower! The changing room, Constable, is over there!’ She pointed and glared menacingly at the officers.
DI Reid took a deep breath but I got there first. ‘Shut up, Reid, I’m coming out.’ I swam to the side and heaved myself up. ‘Stand back,’ I growled at Reid, ‘or I’ll shake myself like a dog.’
This time he rattled the whole caution off and finished with ‘. . . may be given in evidence. Do you understand?’
‘Only too well. Mind if I dry myself?’
Chlorine was actually quite a nice smell, I decided as I sat in the back of the police car and sniffed a strand of my damp hair for something to do while we drove down to Manvers Street police station. Easily recognizable, it was without doubt the ugliest building in Bath, no matter how often they changed the entrance lobby. Inside too they kept trying to tart it up with public money that would have been better spent on a few sticks of dynamite.
And on some decent teabags, I contemplated as I tasted the beige water I had been offered after much pleading. The afternoon had passed unpleasantly. Everything in police stations takes a very long time. I had been processed, fingerprinted, despite my dabs being on file, had my phone and other stuff taken from me, all but the fluff in my pockets. It was getting late, I had been fed triangles of sandwich and was now sitting in Interview Room No.1 with a PC at the door and DI Reid across the table from me, and that polystyrene beaker of rapidly cooling tea was my only resource. I had been told the tragic news that Kate Grimshaw, my solicitor, was at present kayaking in Canada and I had declined the offer to choose a replacement from the offices of Norfolk & Chance, solicitors. DI Reid had brought a DS along, a fussy-looking chap in a polyester suit who never said a word, which is probably why I can’t remember his name. Reid and I had been through an hour of the ‘Did!’, ‘Didn’t!’, ‘Did, too!’ bit and now he was trying a new tack.
‘On the night in question you were watching the lawns remotely from your car. You had in fact earlier secretly set up surveillance cameras all over the grounds.’
‘Neither secretly nor all over the grounds. At least Mark knew about it.’
‘That would be Mr Stoneking? Sorry, I’m not on first-name terms with the stars like you so obviously are, Mr Honeysett. You are aware that Mr Stoneking is himself on bail pending charges relating to illegal substances discovered on his premises?’
‘Tell me: why do police officers talk like that? Relating to illegal substances discovered on his premises? What’s wrong with cannabis plants found in the greenhouse? And yes, I am aware of it, but I think it’s his gardener who grew the stuff for his own enjoyment.’
‘My governor re-arrested him the moment he was released earlier today. Very keen to liaise with local cannabis growers, is the Super.’ The DI’s silent sidekick smiled unpleasantly. Reid folded his hands comfortably. ‘So you hung around out there, keeping the place under surveillance until the victim showed up on your infrared camera. Then you went across in the dark and hit him over the head with a spade.’
‘Nope.’
‘This spade.’ He reached under the table and produced the spade that had been found with Paul’s blood and hair on it, wrapped in clear plastic. ‘I am showing Mr Honeysett exhibit B. This is the spade you used in your attempt to kill your victim.’
‘Nope.’
‘Then how do you explain that it had your fingerprints all over it?’
‘Not sure I can.’
‘And only your fingerprints,’ Reid said happily.
‘Oh, hang on, I can explain it.’<
br />
‘Thought of something, have you?’
‘A few nights ago I couldn’t sleep and heard noises. I went down to have a look around and found the spade lying on the lawn. I picked it up and put it out of the way against a tree.’
‘How convenient. And there are no other fingerprints on it because . . .?’
‘We had nighthawks at Tarmford Hall. They probably wore gloves. Look. What possible motive could I have for hitting the Time Lines cameraman over the head?’
‘You tell me. There’s always the possibility of course that you thought it was Mr Middleton you were hitting.’
‘And what would my motives be for that?’ I was about to say when someone at the door called the DI away. ‘Interview suspended, DI Reid leaving the room,’ he said for the tape, though why they still do that when the whole thing’s on video anyway is beyond me. In case they get a blind jury, perhaps. Okay, so maybe ‘It must be the spade I touched a few days earlier’ wasn’t the most convincing explanation but it would have sufficed for Needham because Needham would know I didn’t do it. He’d still go through the whole due process, of course, but he wouldn’t need convincing. Then why did he leave me in the clutches of his Airedale terrier? I never thought I would miss the Superintendent.
Reid stayed away for what seemed an age, which gave me plenty of time to think the events through. Would nighthawks, in the grounds to dig up bits of metal their machines detected, wear gloves? In summer? Perhaps they didn’t want to get their hands dirty. But no fingerprints at all still seemed odd. I had found that the tool shed had been broken into; could the spade have come from there, and if it had, should there not be Sam the gardener’s prints on them? Had the spade been deliberately put in my path so I would leave prints on it? But how could anyone have foreseen me being there in the middle of the night?
When Reid did return he was carrying a manila envelope and looked smug. He told the tape he was back, then sat opposite me with a smile that was meant to be unnerving.
‘So,’ he said happily, tapping the envelope on the table. ‘Now it’s all beginning to make sense.’
‘I doubt it.’
‘Oh, don’t you worry,’ he said, reaching inside and pulling out a sheaf of colour prints. ‘It’ll make sense to the jury.’ He spread the photographs out on the table. ‘Bit of a peeping Tom, aren’t you, Honeysett?’
The photographs looked horribly familiar but even more pornographic blown up large by the police lab: the pictures I had found on a mini SD in Paul’s room and had left in my phone. Where the police had found them, jumping to the obvious conclusion.
‘Now we know. Middleton was a naughty boy by the looks of it. You photographed him doing it and no doubt blackmailed him. Middleton refused, perhaps? You wanted to teach him a lesson? Only who you thought was Middleton turned out to be Paul Fosse, wearing Middleton’s hat. Something like that, was it?’
‘I didn’t take those pictures. Paul took them.’
‘You were in this together? Had a quarrel? You hit him with a shovel.’
‘No, we were not in it together. I found the pictures on an SD card in Paul’s room after he had been attacked.’
‘That room was thoroughly searched and all things like USB memory sticks and SD cards taken away.’
‘Apart from this one.’
‘I’m sure Middleton would have been quite willing to pay blackmailers since the girl was very young indeed. We know because we also know who she was and the data tells us when the pictures were taken. So that girl was fifteen at the time he was . . . doing that to her.’ He tapped one of the pictures.
‘You know who the girl is?’
‘Was, sadly. Yes, the sergeant in IT who examined your phone recognized her. She remembered seeing her picture from when she went missing. The girl killed herself by jumping into the River Wye with her pockets full of stones. Her name was April Rhymer. In due course we will have a serious chat to Mr Middleton about it.’
‘Hang on, April Rhymer? There’s a Julie Rhymer working on the dig. They could be sisters.’
‘Fascinating. These photographs, where did you take them and how did you manage to get close to Middleton? Just tell us the whole story. From the beginning.’
‘I already have. Look, all the things that have been happening to Middleton, they could well be connected with . . .’
‘What things? He was alive and kicking when we arrested you. Nothing’s happened to Mr Middleton as far as I’m aware.’
‘Your awareness doesn’t stretch very far then. DI Reid, you know how the condemned man is allowed one phone call?’
‘Well?’
‘I’ll make mine now.’
‘After this interview has concluded.’
‘It has. I’ll not say another word until I’ve had my phone call.’
Yet Reid managed to drag it out for another hour before he was willing to escort me to an office where I would be allowed to use a landline. I demanded to have my mobile back since the number was on there. I was told they would get it for me so I could look up the number but would not be allowed to use my mobile. This too seemed to take an age. Outside it was beginning to get dark. Finally a PC came in with my phone.
Naturally you’re not allowed to call just anyone, in case you tell them to dispose of evidence or tell them to do a runner. He wouldn’t even let me dial, the suspicious so-and-so. ‘Who is it you wish to call?’ Reid asked.
‘Mike.’
‘Mike who?’
‘Mike Needham. Your boss. Sorry if you’re not on first-name terms with the Super.’
‘How did you get his mobile number?’
‘The usual way. He gave it to me.’
Reid looked doubtful but dialled. I held my breath until at last he got an answer. ‘DI Reid here, Super. Mr Honeysett would like a word . . . yes . . . no . . . ah-huh . . . okay.’ Eyebrows raised, he handed over the receiver. ‘He’ll speak to you now. Keep a civil tongue, mind.’
I was glad now that my last phone call to Needham had met with such approval. ‘Mike? It’s Chris. Guy Middleton has been shagging an underage girl called April Rhymer who later killed herself. A Julie Rhymer has been working on the dig. Middleton has been getting threatening notes. The last one said ‘we’ll finish it here’ or something in that tone. He got it earlier today. The dig is practically over. I have the ominous feeling—’
‘I’ll be down in a minute,’ was all I heard Needham say before he hung up. I handed the receiver back to Reid. He looked like he was getting ominous feelings too.
Five minutes later I had been released into DSI Needham’s custody and we were off in his big grey Ford. ‘Do you know that they are sisters or is it just speculation?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know anything but it’s too much of a coincidence.’
‘Soon find out.’ Mike made a call on his airwave while zooming the big car out of town. It didn’t take long to get confirmation. Julie was April’s older sister. ‘You knew about this child abuse thing?’ Needham asked sharply.
‘He told me he was being blackmailed by someone. Looks like it was Paul Fosse. I found photos of Middleton and the girl in Paul’s room. Middleton has been paying him at every dig.’
‘Did he smash Fosse’s head in?’
‘Hard to say. I didn’t see whoever did it, just saw him being hit.’
‘And you think the sister blames him and wants to revenge herself on him?’
‘I think she tried at least once before to kill him. The ballista dart was surely meant for him, but hit the re-enactor chap instead.’
Needham heaved a grim sigh, grabbed the blue beacon and stuck it on his roof. When we left the main road he turned his siren on too. ‘Problem is we have nothing on her sister, not a fingerprint, nothing.’
‘Talking of fingerprints, mine are on the shovel that did for the cameraman. I was looking for nighthawks in the dark when I stumbled over it. They must have dropped it. Probably wore gloves.’
‘I’m sure they did. Because th
ey weren’t nighthawks and weren’t after Roman stuff.’
‘Oh?’
‘I’ve just had a long chat with Stoneking’s gardener. He’s been shooting his mouth off to cellmates that he has a big nest egg of bullion from the Bristol robbery buried somewhere at Stoneking’s. Word got out and some ex-cons have obviously been digging up the place looking for it. Only what they dug up was Olive’s long-lost lover. It’s all nonsense of course, the gold thing, there is no nest egg. All the gold was recovered; he was just trying to show off. He was hopping mad when I told him the lawns were full of holes as a result of his own bragging.’
I was holding on tightly now as Needham splashed the car through the ford across the Tarm and then heaved it left into the narrow lane along the boundary wall of the Stone King’s realm. Mike stopped the car in front of the gate and I jumped out and rang the bell on the intercom. There was no answer. I waited a long minute. I paced impatiently along the length of the gate. From the furthest corner I could see flickering lights where I could glimpse the house through the trees. I went back to the car. ‘It looks like there’s a fire of some kind, could be a bonfire but I doubt it. And there’s no answer.’ Needham reached for his radio and I gave the gate a push, then lent on the bell again. Then I decided I’d had enough and started climbing the wrought-iron gate.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ said Mike, getting out of the car.
‘You said yourself it’s like a climbing frame. See you on the other side.’
‘Remember you’re still under arrest and in my custody. Don’t do anything stupid like breaking your neck.’
It really was just like a climbing frame. I resisted the temptation to jump down the other side and climbed impatiently to the bottom. For a few moments I tried to somehow open the gate but there was no release mechanism that I could see. ‘Sorry, Mike. Have to wait until I get to the house.’ I left him standing there holding his radio and jogged off towards the hall. It didn’t take me long to discover what the flickering lights were. The fire was in the car park in front of the house. Guy Middleton’s Range Rover was completely ablaze. There were people standing around watching and some were running around. Stoneking was there with a fire extinguisher, one of the technicians was holding one too, but the petrol fire was so fierce neither could get near enough to even attempt to put it out. Next to the Range Rover stood a white van whose paint was blistering. I found Emms standing there, arms folded across her chest, her face shining in the glow from the fire.