Unlucky For Some

by Jill McGown

  “Is it?”

  “Think about it—the gunman tries to kill Grace Halliday, but Shaw throws himself on top of her, and he misses, hits the tree. He thinks he’s been seen, and that panics him, makes him jam the rifle. Grace gets away, but Shaw can’t get up, and though he’s a sitting duck—” He grinned. “If you’ll pardon the expression, madam,” he said to the duck, who was trying to persuade the last duckling to take the plunge, “—he can’t shoot him. If you were going to hit him on the head with something, what would you choose?”

  Judy was still holding the rifle, and the answer was staring at her. “The butt of the rifle.”

  “But he didn’t. Why not?”

  Judy thought for a few moments. “Because he’d planned to do something else with the rifle, and he carries out his plans to the letter,” she said. “If Dr. Castle’s right about him.”

  “I think he must be right—using the rifle butt would be the first thing that occurred to anyone. So perhaps he wanted to leave the rifle in the summerhouse. Maybe Stephen really did find it there.”

  Judy frowned. “But why not use it on Shaw, and then leave it in the summerhouse? That wouldn’t interfere with his plan.”

  “Perhaps because it had to be there before Stephen was, and he was running to a tight schedule. He would be able to see that Shaw was like a beached whale—he could afford to take the two minutes to run along the shortcut, deliver the rifle, and come back. Shaw wasn’t going anywhere, and no one else was likely to come down the path to the lake.”

  Judy nodded slowly. That made sense. And she agreed with Lloyd that someone was deliberately implicating Stephen in these murders. Neither of them was saying so, but they were both talking about the same someone. Tony Baker was at the bottom of all of this. But why? If they could answer that, they might get somewhere.

  “Did you experience a moment’s déjà vu when Baker told us his story?”

  Judy nodded. Yes, she had. He had been here, waiting in the car park, and had decided to walk back the way he had come. The last time he did that, he found Wilma Fenton’s body. This time he found the badly injured Jack Shaw.

  “We need to find out who knew Stephen was meeting Ben at the summerhouse,” she said briskly. “And who else could have got hold of Stephen’s gun. And if Tony Baker knows how to handle a rifle.”

  Lloyd looked a little surprised. “You’re going with my theory? After the last one?”

  “I’m not discounting your last one—you were right about this being the showdown, I’m sure. And I suspect you were right about a lot of other things, too, as usual.”

  “I’m always right.”

  She smiled. “Can I leave you to deal with the SOCOs and any inquiries you think should be made in the village? I’ll send Gary Sims over here for you, so you won’t be stranded. But I want to be in on Stephen’s interview.”

  “Sure.”

  She took out her mobile phone again, and had a small argument with herself. Yardley had today off like normal people, now that he wasn’t on the inquiry. Waterman would almost certainly be talking to him, and it really wouldn’t be very pleasant for Yardley to know nothing at all about it. She wouldn’t tell him any more than he would have known in his capacity as head of CID. No details. If she confined herself to what would appear in the newspapers, and the name of the man arrested, she wouldn’t be breaking any rules.

  “I’m going to ring Yardley,” she said. “He has a right to know what’s happening.”

  “Good,” said Lloyd.

  Michael looked out of his study window at the ruins of his great May Day celebration. The police had told everyone to leave, to go home. The place was silent, the grounds littered with abandoned stalls. The fairground people had been told to stay in their caravans, and the solution the police had come up with for the drivers who couldn’t simply walk home, and whose cars were parked at the lake, was to make them wait in one of the marquees until the all-clear. They would be less than pleased about that. His grand gesture had been a catastrophic failure.

  Ben had remained in his room, but now the door opened, and he was there.

  “Can we leave yet?”

  “They haven’t said so.”

  “The armed police have gone—I saw their vehicles drive away. The others are still here, though. I want to talk to them. I’m worried about Stephen.”

  Michael stiffened. He didn’t want even to hear his name spoken, but now he was a little confused as to why. Partly anger. Partly guilt.

  “I can’t raise him on his mobile, and Rosie says he’s not at the pub. And she doesn’t know where his mother is.”

  “Neither do I,” said Michael. “She’s supposed to be here for lunch, but I expect the police have told her and Tony that they can’t come into the grounds.”

  “But where’s Stephen? I told Finch he was in the summerhouse—he didn’t seem to be too bothered, did he? Surely they should have checked to see if—” He broke off as Michael’s phone rang.

  Michael glanced at the display. He’d ignored the one from Tony Baker, but this one was from Ray, so he answered.

  “Mike? You asked me to keep you posted about Stephen Halliday—well . . . it’s not good news, I’m afraid. He’s just been arrested for attempted murder. But you probably know that already, since it happened at your place.”

  “Was he involved in this firearms incident?”

  “He was the firearms incident. I don’t know any details, not being on the inquiry anymore, but I thought you’d want to know.”

  “Thanks, Ray.” Michael put down the phone again, and looked at Ben. “Well, you can stop worrying about your little friend,” he said. “And you won’t be setting up home with him after all. Not unless you want to move into Parkhurst with him. Or Broadmoor. Or wherever it is that he belongs.”

  Ben frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “He’s just been arrested for trying to murder someone. He was the cause of all the armed police being here—that’s why they weren’t too bothered about his safety.”

  “You’re making that up! I don’t believe you.”

  “You don’t have to take my word for it. I’m sure it’ll be on the news sooner or later. They think he’s the one who’s been killing all these people round here.”

  “They think what?”

  “You heard me.”

  “But that—that’s ludicrous! What on earth has Stephen got to do with it?”

  “He’s been taken in for questioning after every one of them—didn’t he tell you?”

  Ben shook his head, his mouth slightly open.

  “You don’t tell each other much, do you?”

  “But—hang on,” said Ben. “What about the first one? The one Tony Baker witnessed—the one in Malworth? It happened the last time I was home, and it happened at nine o’clock. Stephen was with me at nine o’clock.”

  “I know. But he wouldn’t tell the police where he was.”

  “That’s because he knew it would get back to you!” Ben jumped up. “He was frightened to tell them where he was! I have to tell them.”

  Michael shook his head, and went to the study door, standing in front of it. “No,” he said. “You’re not going to the police.”

  “Of course I am! He was with me when that woman was killed!”

  “You are not going to the police and telling them that you and that boy were—” Michael couldn’t bring himself to say the words. “In one of my own flats? You can’t do that to me!”

  “Why not? Because Uncle Ray will get to know? Because he’ll find out that your son isn’t the macho man you wanted him to be? You’d rather they suspected Stephen of murder? Well, tough. I’m going to the police, and that’s final. What in God’s name would make them think that Stephen’s killing people? And what on earth was going on here today?”

  Ben—bigger, taller, stronger, younger—pushed Michael out the way, and opened the door to find the housekeeper right outside, trying to look as though she had heard nothing. She
glanced at Ben, then stood on tiptoe to address Michael over his shoulder.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Waterman, but there’s a police officer downstairs.”

  “Good,” said Ben, pushing past her.

  Michael went after him, following him downstairs to where a uniformed inspector was standing in the hallway.

  “I want to come and make a statement,” Ben said.

  “And you are . . . ?”

  “My name’s Ben Waterman. I’m Stephen Halliday’s partner.”

  Michael had known that he couldn’t stop him, but hearing him say those words made his whole body go limp.

  “And this statement would be about what, Mr. Waterman?”

  “These murders. The first one in particular. I was here that weekend, and I know where Stephen was when that happened. And today—Stephen was here to see me. I don’t know what’s been going on, but you’ve arrested the wrong man, and I want to talk to someone.”

  “Well, Mr. Waterman, I’m sure the inquiry team will want to take your statement. They’re operating from Barton HQ. Do you know where that is?”

  “Yes, but I don’t have a car.”

  “Then we can take you, if you’d like.”

  “Yes. Now, please.”

  “Shortly, sir.” The inspector turned to Michael. “Mr. Waterman, I just came to tell you that the incident has been resolved, and that your guests have been told that they can collect their cars from the lakeside whenever they like. Parts of your grounds are still cordoned off, I’m afraid, though. The scene-of-crime officers will be working there for some time.”

  “What happened?” asked Michael.

  “I’m afraid all I can tell you is that someone was seriously injured in your woods, sir.”

  “Not by Stephen!” shouted Ben.

  “All right, sir—don’t worry, we will take your statement in due course. Please just calm down.” He turned to Michael. “Well, thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Waterman, and our sincere apologies to your guests and yourself for the disruption to your May Day celebrations. Right, sir,” he said to Ben. “Shall we go?”

  Ben looked back over his shoulder at Michael as he went out with the inspector. “For your information,” he said, his voice calm and measured, “I won’t be back. Not tonight—not ever again.”

  He meant it. That wasn’t being said in the heat of the moment—he meant it. Michael stared after him, unable to say anything, unable to move, then gathered his wits, and ran to the door.

  “Ben? Ben! Ben—please! Ben!”

  But Ben wouldn’t even turn round again, and Michael watched helplessly as he went off with the police. Today couldn’t have gone any more wrong if the sun had risen in the west.

  Tony unlocked the back door, and pulled the bolt back. If he was going to be alone in the pub, he was going to make certain the door was locked at all times, after today’s bit of absentmindedness.

  He opened the door to Lloyd and a young man who was introduced as Trainee DC Gary Sims.

  “Grace is at the hospital with Jack Shaw,” he said. “I thought you would know that.”

  “Yes, we do,” said Lloyd. “It’s you I’d like to speak to, Mr. Baker.”

  “I was at your headquarters all morning. I gave someone my statement, such as it was. I told you everything I knew earlier.”

  “Just some additional queries,” said Lloyd.

  “And I’d like to look at Stephen’s gun cabinet,” Sims said. “I’ve got a search warrant here.”

  “Certainly.” Tony didn’t bother looking at the warrant. He fished the keys out of his pocket again. “It’s in this room here,” he said, opening the door. “The keys are kept in that desk—the right-hand drawer. And the key to the drawer is on this ring. It’s that one,” he said, selecting one of the small keys.

  “Thanks,” said Sims, taking the keys from him.

  Tony left Sims to it, and showed Lloyd into the sitting room. “So how can I help you?”

  “Could you tell me exactly what arrangements you had made with Mrs. Halliday for this morning?”

  “I’ve already told you. I had arranged to meet her in the car park at the lake at eleven o’clock.”

  “With a view to doing what?”

  “Oh, I see. Sorry. I’d booked a trip in a hot-air balloon. Just up and down again. There’s a place near here that does that. I arranged it three weeks ago—I couldn’t believe my luck when I saw the weather this morning. And then this awful thing had to happen.”

  Lloyd smiled sympathetically. “Like the man said—life is what happens when you’ve made other plans.”

  “Quite.” He still didn’t know what had happened to his plans. Why was Jack Shaw there at all? Was Grace bringing him along on their date? He didn’t understand, and she had been too worried about Jack to talk to him properly.

  “Did anyone else know of your arrangement to meet at the car park?”

  “I didn’t mention it to anyone, but Grace might have done, obviously. It looks as though she must have told Jack—she said he saved her life.”

  “And when did you tell her about it?”

  “I didn’t—that is, the balloon trip was going to be a surprise. I told her I was taking her somewhere, but I didn’t say where.”

  “No—I meant about meeting you at the car park.”

  “Oh, of course. This morning, I think.”

  Sims came back in, and handed him the keys. “Do you know when Stephen last used his rifle?”

  “He went out shooting with Jack Shaw last night.”

  “You didn’t happen to see him put the guns away, did you?”

  “No—Grace and I had gone to bed before he came home.” Tony looked over at Lloyd, who was perusing the bookshelf, taking out his glasses. “I shouldn’t bother,” he said. “Grace isn’t what you’d call a great reader. It’s all travel guides.”

  “Did you all leave for the Grange together this morning?” asked Sims.

  “No—we were going to, but I got held up with business. Jack came, and he and Stephen and Grace all went up in Grace’s car. I followed about half an hour later.”

  “So you were on your own for that half hour?”

  Lloyd seemed excessively interested in the travel guides, for some reason. Tony was finding it difficult to concentrate on what Sims was saying. “Yes,” he said, then remembered that he wasn’t. “Except for when Mike Waterman was here,” he said.

  That got Lloyd’s attention. He snapped shut the book he’d been looking at. “What time did Mr. Waterman come here?” he asked.

  Oh, dear. He was going to have to admit to his lack of security-consciousness. “I can’t tell you, exactly,” he said. “Some time between ten and twenty past nine. I was upstairs, and came down to find him standing in the corridor—it seemed I had inadvertently left the back door open.”

  “So anyone could have come in?” Lloyd put the book back on the shelf.

  Tony hadn’t thought about that. “Well . . . yes,” he said. “I suppose they could. But if you’re thinking that someone could have taken Stephen’s rifle—I had the keys in my trouser pocket. They’d have had to force the drawer. And they didn’t, as you saw.”

  But even so, Lloyd was looking just as grimly disapproving as Mike Waterman had, Tony thought, as he showed his visitors out, and locked and bolted the door once again. For God’s sake, it was a simple moment of forgetfulness—not the crime of the century.

  Keith was on his way back to Stoke Weston, wishing he’d left the summerhouse the way he had gone to it. His only thought at the time had been to get back to civilization as quickly as possible, and that meant using the shortcut through the woods to the other path. If he hadn’t done that, they would never have known he’d been anywhere near the summerhouse. But they’d been there, and he had been given a considerable fright, so he had broken the habit of a lifetime and volunteered information to the police.

  They had wanted him to give them a formal statement about it, and he’d had to wait forever before someo
ne could see him, all so that he could tell them exactly what he had already told them.

  Keith had thought that his last moment had come when he saw Halliday with that gun. He’d never liked guns himself. They were too complicated for him. He’d read a gun magazine once, and hadn’t understood a word. It was all calibers and cartridges and weird names. People in Stoke Weston loved them—some of them had got up some sort of pressure group when the laws were being tightened up. But as far as Keith was concerned, they could ban them altogether.

  Give him a good old blunt instrument any day.

  Tom looked at the young man who sat opposite him and Judy, and tried to see him as a psychotic killer who would take his resentment of Tony Baker’s arrival in his life to the lengths of attempting to murder his own mother, and he couldn’t. He had waived his right to legal representation, as he had on each occasion that he had been questioned, something Tom felt was a bad mistake, but he could always change his mind.

  He had wanted his mother informed of his arrest, and she had charged over from the hospital, creating enough of a scene at the desk that Judy had decided that it was best all round if she acceded to her repeated and very loud requests to see Stephen, in the interests of moving the inquiry along. Now she was back at Jack Shaw’s bedside, thank goodness.

  Tom had spoken to her when Lloyd and Judy had gone looking for Shaw. She had told him that she had given Jack Shaw a lift up to the Grange, and had left him watching the Morris dancing when she went to meet Baker at the lake. She had seen no one on her way down to the lake, and had had no idea that Jack was there. The first she knew of his presence was when he pushed her to the ground. She saw nothing of who was shooting at her, because she was too busy staying alive to care who was trying to kill her. It was enough to know that someone was. When she’d been told of Stephen’s arrest, she had dismissed out of hand the possibility of it being him, of course, but she had told Judy that Stephen was having what she had called “a bit of trouble” adjusting to the idea of her and Baker. And that, of course, brought Dr. Castle’s snapshot into perfect focus.

  Stephen had explained why he was in the summerhouse, and had explained, convincingly, Tom thought, what his thoughts had been on finding the rifle there, and why he hadn’t complied immediately with the disembodied orders.