‘You didn’t even see him then?’
‘No,’ Sheaffer replied. ‘He could have run anywhere. The dogs are very good, though, and the helicopter should be up there any time now.’
‘I didn’t know you had anything to do with the police.’
‘I hadn’t advertised it, but it meant I was nearby.’
‘Yes. Thank you.’ She forced down more tea as Haggard returned.
‘We’ll need to take a statement from you, Mrs Hetherington, but there are some points I want to sort out immediately.’
‘I’ve told you what happened. I don’t know anything else.’
‘How long has Mr Jowett been staying here?’
‘He arrived on the eighth of June.’
‘And he was on his own?’
‘Yes.’
‘Was that unusual?’
‘It’s happened before. There was a man last year. He came to fish.’
‘And why were you here this evening?’
She replaced the cup on a side table. ‘I’d just called in to see Mr Jowett.’
‘What about?’
‘Nothing important … Just for a chat.’
‘Do you make a habit of that with your guests, Mrs Hetherington?’
‘Not a habit, but … I like to make sure everything’s all right.’
‘But he’s been here for nearly a month, any problems would surely have been sorted out by now, wouldn’t they?’
‘Yes … but I’d got to know him.’
‘How?’
‘We’d met in the village, talked to each other. He came to the pageant last Saturday. I knew he was on his own and … I like to be friendly with people who stay here.’
What was stopping her telling the truth? Did she fear Haggard and Sheaffer would be shocked — or vulgarly amused? Earlier that evening she had been prepared to face her husband and mother with it and damn what anybody thought. Now she was prevaricating, making what could become traps with evasive lies.
‘I see … And you’re certain nobody else was staying at this cottage?’
‘Absolutely. Why?’
‘Obviously we’re in the very early stages of this investigation, but there are signs of another person having been here.’
‘That’s impossible.’
‘Do you know which bedroom Mr Jowett used?’
How loaded was that question? ‘The back, I think.’
‘The one in the front has also been slept in and there was a glass of water beside it.’
‘But we heard whoever it was in there. It’s right above this room.’
‘Was he having a sleep, Mrs Hetherington? Had he found a glass and poured himself some water?’ Haggard waited, but, confused, Joyce said nothing. ‘You also say that the first thing you heard was the sound of glass breaking, then he came downstairs and immediately tried to force his way in through this door … yes?’
‘That’s right.’
‘But you’ve also told us that the knife belongs to the cottage and was kept in the kitchen. If he ran straight down to this room, how did he get hold of it?’
‘He could have gone into the kitchen first — before going upstairs — but we didn’t hear him.’
‘That’s possible,’ Haggard agreed. ‘But it makes no sense. This wasn’t an opportunist thief who saw an open door and decided to try his luck. People like that don’t arm themselves — and they get out as fast as possible when they realize they’ve made a mistake and someone is in the house. And why go upstairs when anything worth stealing would be down here? And what about the whisky? Unless Mr Jowett kept a bottle in the spare bedroom for some reason.’
‘He doesn’t drink whisky.’ That came out spontaneously.
‘Indeed? We’ll check that with him.’ Haggard nodded at Sheaffer, who left them. ‘So if it wasn’t a chance burglar, Mrs Hetherington, who might want to harm you or Mr Jowett?’
‘Nobody. It’s impossible.’
‘No, it’s not … It happened.’ Haggard hesitated. ‘Is there anything you’re not telling me?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ve told you exactly what happened.’
‘And there’s nothing you want to add?’
‘No.’
Haggard had seen too many people lie. ‘Would you like to call your solicitor, Mrs Hetherington?’
‘What! Why should I need to do that? I’ve not done anything.’
‘Possibly not, but what you and Mr Jowett have told us so far raises a great many questions. A serious offence has been committed, and I have to be absolutely certain that neither of you is holding anything back.’
‘For God’s sake, are you going to charge us? What with?’
‘At this moment I have no reason to charge anyone with anything.’ Haggard was growing impatient. ‘But I’m not leaving anything to chance. You’ve lived in Finch long enough to remember Tannerslade Farm.’
‘Tannerslade?’ The name terrified her. ‘What on earth’s that got to do with it?’
‘Possibly nothing. But we never caught those men, and now there’s an extremely dangerous individual out there somewhere. If you and Mr Jowett hadn’t managed to keep him out of this room, I could be investigating two more murders. I want him caught, Mrs Hetherington, and until I’m satisfied you’re telling me everything you know, I have the power to keep you here.’
‘I don’t know anything apart from what I’ve told you.’ Apart from the fact that … No, she had to protect him. ‘Why should I keep anything from you?’
‘One of my officers will take your statement. We can do it here. Please wait a moment.’
As he stepped into the hall, Harry Pugh and Sheaffer appeared from the room opposite.
‘How’s it going?’ Haggard asked.
‘He says he bought the whisky for a nightcap,’ Sheaffer said. ‘To help him sleep.’
‘How stupid does he think we are?’
‘He’s lying through his teeth about everything,’ Pugh growled. ‘But he won’t budge. Swears he was the only one staying here.’
‘Lean on him, Harry. Drop the idea that she’s told us something.’
‘Has she?’
‘Nothing that’s any use. Get back in there and take her statement, Chris. I want to find out if there’s any sign of our villain yet … What is it?’ Turning away, he was stopped by a woman constable.
‘I’ve just been to see Mrs Hetherington’s mother, sir —’
‘Good. No need for her to be worried.’
‘— and she says they were having an affair.’
Haggard looked at Pugh. ‘That’s both of them lying, Harry.’ He turned back to the constable. ‘Why the hell did she tell you?’
‘She was in a state about it. Said she was disgusted with her.’
‘So much for mother love … Is she all right on her own?’
‘She had a visitor, some woman she knows. I said Mrs Hetherington would probably be home soon.’
‘Don’t hold your breath.’ He turned to Sheaffer. ‘Ask her where we can contact the husband. I want to know where he’s been tonight.’
As Haggard stepped out of the cottage, a helicopter clattered overhead and began to sweep across the fields.
*
Lambert stared as a longhorn beetle crept over the back of his hand, its legs probing the hairs, as if blind, before it slipped off and crawled away. His eyes went to his watch; he must have been sitting there for more than two hours, almost as still as the woman. Why had she been so different from the others? Because he had killed her with his hands, battled to defeat her desperate fight for life? The gun had been an impersonal tool that involved no connection. And he’d been younger, perhaps crueller, more fiercely determined that his life had not yet begun and must not be destroyed. Now he had failed because his weakness had been to pretend he had strength. There was nowhere left to hide. Jowett would crack, and all the love of all the women in the world could not prevent it. The most bitter thought was of Victoria’s satisfaction that would feed off her ha
tred … Could he drive back to London to kill her? He didn’t have the courage — neither did he have the courage to face the threat of gaol with which he had terrified Jowett. But there’s one thing, Randy; I’ve got the guts to get out.
Standing up took an enormous effort and he walked back to the car like an old man. Summer stars were appearing in the dusky mauve sky; he had known their names once.
*
Harry Pugh broke Jowett mercilessly, pouncing on every moment of fear, slamming back contradictions, accusing him of lying even when he was telling the truth. This wasn’t an official interview that would have to be recorded, but the first round of a serious inquiry, and if Pugh had ever worn gloves he would have taken them off now.
‘Bollocks, Mr Jowett!’ His accent was deepening with emotion. ‘We’ve found fingerprints to match the ones on that knife all over this place, including the room you and Mrs Hetherington were in.’ In fact, the police had only just started in there, but Pugh would make ammunition where he lacked it. ‘So he didn’t just walk in here tonight! Did he?’
‘He must have done!’
‘With a bottle of whisky from the village shop? Who’d been sleeping in that other bed?’
‘I don’t know!’
‘Don’t know? What do you know, Mr Jowett? I’ll tell you what I know. You’ve been having it off with Mrs Hetherington. Randy little bugger, aren’t you? Can’t keep your hands off another man’s wife. Was that it? Did you use different beds? Bit of novelty?’
‘Leave her out of this.’ Jowett began to cry, red meat for his tormentor.
‘But we can’t leave her out, can we? She was here with you tonight. Planning some more nookie, were you?’
‘Shut up!’
‘Was it her husband? The man upstairs?’
‘No!’
Pugh pounced again. ‘But if you don’t know who he was, how do you know it wasn’t him?’
‘He spends the week in London.’
‘There’s handy. All the time you want to get your end away.’
‘It wasn’t like that.’ Jowett could feel himself cracking.
‘But you’re lying to us. You’re both lying. Why?’ Tearstained and quivering, Jowett’s face pleaded for relief. Pugh’s voice dropped to persuasion. ‘You know who he was, don’t you? Come on, lad. It’ll be better if you tell us. It’s important. We have to catch him.’
‘May I have some water, please?’ The question was croaked out.
‘Of course you can.’ Pugh nodded an instruction to the constable in the room with them, then sat down next to Jowett, a menacing presence now reduced to an overweight man on a chair. ‘How about a cigarette?’ He held out a packet, invitingly. ‘There you are … Better? Now take your time. We know somebody else was staying here, all right? And you must have known him, mustn’t you? Was that a yes? Good, we’re getting somewhere. What was his name? Pardon? Giles. Friend of yours, was he? Not really a friend … Hang on, here’s your water.’
He watched while Jowett drank. ‘Not too fast, you’ll give yourself hiccups … All right, so he wasn’t really a friend. So why was he here? When did he arrive?’
There was a silence as Jowett smoked. ‘May I speak to Joyce, please? It’s very important.’
‘Just a few more questions first. Where does Giles live?’
‘I don’t know … honestly. In London somewhere.’ Jowett turned his face to Pugh again and there was nothing but defeat in it. ‘I want to make a statement.’
‘Of course you can, but tell me more about Giles. Do you know where he’s gone?’
‘No. He just ran away.’
‘Has he got a car?’
‘Yes … but he left it in Bury St Edmunds.’
‘Whereabouts?’
‘I can’t remember … Parked in a road.’ He frowned as if trying to see it. ‘There was a pub nearby … Marquis of something.’
‘Granby?’ Pugh coaxed.
‘Yes. I think so. It’s a grey Saab.’
Pugh snapped his head at the constable. ‘Corner of Lattimore Street. Get someone on to it … Thank you, Mr Jowett. So how do you know him?’
The dam had burst and Jowett was helpless in the flood. ‘Joyce had nothing to do with it. Promise me you believe that.’
‘All right,’ Pugh coaxed. ‘Take your time.’
Jowett’s head sank in despair, and when he spoke again the Welshman strained to hear his voice, little more than a croaking whisper.
‘We were the ones at Tannerslade Farm.’ Staring at the floor, he did not see Pugh’s eyes harden. ‘It was only meant to be a robbery, but Giles had a gun. I never wanted them to be killed.’ He looked up pleadingly, then it felt as if his head had exploded as a massive hand, swung like a club, smashed against his face. He was hurled backwards, then rolled out of the chair, blood pouring from his mouth.
‘You fucking shit! Christ, I’ve been waiting for this, boyo!’
Jowett scrambled away, hand held up for protection, as the sergeant moved towards him.
‘Leave it out, Harry!’ Alerted by Pugh’s shout, Haggard had burst in.
‘He killed them.’ A thick finger shook with fury as it pointed at Jowett cowering against the wall. ‘At Tannerslade. Two minutes, Peter. Then you can come back in.’
Haggard leapt between the two men. ‘I said out!’
‘They were kids!’
‘We all know that, Harry. I was there as well. Now, I haven’t seen anything, but either you get out right now or I break you. I mean it. Don’t push your luck.’
Jowett whimpered as Pugh remained glaring at Haggard before walking out of the room. The Inspector helped Jowett to his feet. ‘Is what my sergeant just said true?’
‘Yes.’
‘And the man who was here tonight was also involved? Very well, Mr Jowett. I must advise you that I am placing you under arrest. One of my officers will caution you, then you will be taken to Suffolk police headquarters for questioning. You can call your solicitor from there.’
‘I have to speak to Joyce first.’
‘I’m afraid that’s impossible at the moment.’
‘She knew nothing about it.’
‘You can include that in your statement.’
*
Joyce was numb as she was driven back from Ipswich at two in the morning. Beside her in the back, Sheaffer watched her carefully.
‘I could stay with you tonight, if you like,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to intrude, but if it will help …’ Joyce’s head gave the tiniest shake of refusal. ‘What about calling your doctor? He could give you something.’
‘I don’t need anything.’
‘Look, I’m not happy about your being alone. I know your mother’s there, but … You’re positive you don’t want us to call your husband?’
‘Will you stop it, please?’ she begged. ‘I don’t want to talk.’
The car slid through the night, Joyce staring out of the window, Sheaffer rarely taking her eyes off her. Lambert’s car had been found and his address traced, but there was no sign of him. In the morning the media would be printing and screening his picture, warning people not to approach him; airports and seaports were on full alert. Wanted for questioning in connection with the murders of Ben and Annie Godwin, Cheryl, Thomas and Amanda Hood at Tannerslade Farm, Finch, Suffolk in July 1990. A second man was in custody and would appear before magistrates. Lambert’s mother, with a strange irony, had suffered a heart attack when she had been told and was in the hospital where he’d pretended she was. His wife was hiding from the anticipated press pack at her parents’ home.
There was a light showing downstairs as the car reached Joyce’s house.
‘This is my number,’ Sheaffer gave her a slip of paper. ‘Call me if you want. It won’t matter what time.’
Joyce put it in her pocket as if she had instantly forgotten it was there and slowly climbed the steps to the front door. Grace was asleep on a chair in the front room.
‘Oh, you’re home, dear.’ She smi
led with relief as Joyce gently touched her arm. ‘The police wouldn’t tell me what time you’d be back, but Lillian stayed. I made her go to bed. What’s happened?’
‘I’ll explain in the morning, Mummy. It’s very late.’
‘But they said someone had attacked you. At the cottage.’
‘I’m all right … Did they tell you that?’
‘Oh, yes. They were very good. They came to see me … Was it him?’
‘Who?’
‘You know. The one I saw you with.’
‘No. Not him. He’d never hurt me, Mummy.’
Grace grimaced as she tried to move. ‘Oh, I’m so stiff … I tried to ring Ralph, by the way.’
‘Why?’ However inevitable, Joyce was still dismayed she had done it. ‘I’d have let him know.’
‘You’ll still have to. There wasn’t any reply. He must be out somewhere. He’ll be so worried when you tell him.’
‘Come on. Let’s get you to bed.’
Holding her mother’s arm she helped her slowly up the stairs; at the door of her room, Grace stopped.
‘You will stop this … this business with him, won’t you? He can’t be worth it, and I’d be so terribly hurt.’
Joyce swallowed painfully. ‘I don’t think … you needn’t worry about that now.’
Grace smiled and stroked her cheek. ‘That’s good. All I want is for us all to be happy.’
Joyce kissed her goodnight, then walked across the landing and lay fully dressed on her bed; within moments, a dreadful form of sleep closed off reality.
*
There had been no point in going to collect his own car; the Volvo was fast enough on night roads. Lambert drove south, skirting London, across the Thames at the Dartford bridge, through Kent and into Sussex, an image of chalk cliffs in his mind, of childhood holidays and many things long lost. Dawn was lighting the Channel as he passed through silent Eastbourne and up the hill on to Beachy Head. There’d been a pub near here — the Tiger at East Dean — where he had played on the green when the family had stopped for lunch forever ago. The unfenced road climbed until all he could see was the slope of the Downs, then he pulled off on to short smooth grass and the sea appeared ahead of him. He stopped the car and switched off the engine, listening to morning gulls and the distant crash of waves. Jowett must have told them everything by now, and they would be hunting him. A cigarette would have been good, but he had not wanted to stop and buy any. OK. Do it … The woman’s face came back, the stranger who had chosen the wrong road at the wrong time. It was curious that he felt worst about her. Would he see her again soon, one of the newly dead, or was that just superstition? And if he met her, would he meet them as well? He would soon know … unless this was the threshold of oblivion.
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