“Close to the freezers?”
“No. No. Nowhere near the freezers. He was just inside the entrance. There are a couple of chairs that Sally put there, for people to sit and wait if the Post Office counter was busy. Mr Manning was in there, stretched across them. Asleep.”
Ben made no comment. Just carried on writing in his notebook. “Did you notice anything else? Anything unusual?”
I shuddered. “Apart from Marjorie, stuffed head first into one of the freezers, you mean?”
I didn’t mean it to sound so flippant. But the words were out before I could stop them.
“Apart from that.” Suddenly he’d stopped being the old mate from school and had become very business-like.
“No. Nothing,” I said quickly. Nothing, this is, apart from John’s shotgun lying in the corner behind the chairs where he’d been ‘sleeping’. But, old school mate or no, I wasn’t going to volunteer that particular bit of information. I figured they’d have found it by now anyway. “I’m sorry, Ben. There’s nothing more I can tell you. I wish there was. Because I really, really want you to find whoever did this.”
I turned away, not wanting him to see the tears that had sprung to my eyes.
“We will, Katie. I promise you,” he said as he stood up to go. “That’s all for now. Apart from your contact details, of course. Are you still living with your mum and dad, at their place off the High Street?”
“Yes, and my name—” I stopped. I’ d been going to tell him that I preferred to be called Kat these days. But suddenly all that rubbish about what I was or wasn’t going to be called seemed trivial and childish.
I gave him my mobile number, and Mum and Dad’s full address and number, then followed him back outside. I went across the yard to collect my bike, trying not to look at the entrance to the old farm shop. The rain had stopped now and the blue and white police tape that cordoned off the entrance fluttered like bunting in the chilly morning breeze.
I stepped back as a police car drove past, with John Manning, hunched, head down, in the far corner of the back seat, a grim-faced policeman by his side.
Will stood by the yard gate, ashen, gripping the top bar of the gate as he watched them drive away. The dog, Tam was, as always, by his side.
I walked up to him. Tam nuzzled my hand as I did so, her nose cold against my skin. “What’s happening? Where are they taking your dad?”
“Yeovil Police Station.” He sounded dazed, like he’d just been roughly woken from a deep sleep.
“But why? They’re surely not going to charge him? He’ll need a lift home once they realise they’ve made a mistake. Come on, Will. Get the car out and we’ll go after him.”
I was already half way across the yard towards Will’s car, but he called me back. “There’s no point. According to the sergeant over there, he’s just ‘helping them with their enquiries’. Not that he’s in any fit state to help anyone, least of all himself, he’s that hung over, the silly old fool.”
“But that’s ridiculous. Why can’t he help them with their enquiries right here? Why drag him all the way to Yeovil?” I looked around to ask Ben Newton the same question, but he was nowhere to be seen.
Will shrugged. “Search me. He wasn’t helping himself, that’s for sure. I tried to get him to shut up but the moment the police got here, before they’d so much as asked him a single question, he went on and on about how he and Marjorie had had words and he’d told her to push off. Even called her an interfering old baggage, would you believe? Right there, in front of that stony-faced sergeant. He – he said—” He gripped the gate rail tighter than ever and turned to face me. “You know what they found in the shop, close to where Dad had been sitting, don’t you?”
“His shotgun.”
Will stared at me. “How the hell did you know that?” he asked.
“Because I saw it. Like you said, it was behind the chair where he’d been sleeping. Propped up in the corner.”
“You saw it, and you didn’t think to tell me?” He glared at me.
“I didn’t know what to do.” My anger, as always, flashed to meet his. “I was shocked, not thinking clearly. And no, I didn’t tell the police. They asked me if I’d seen anything unusual – apart from Marjorie, of course – and I said no. After all, a shotgun’s not exactly an unusual sight around a farm, is it?”
“That’s something, I suppose,” he muttered.
“Besides, even if I had told you, what would you have done? Removed it from the scene?”
He chewed his thumbnail. “I don’t know.”
“So they found his shotgun. But it hadn’t been fired, had it?” I went on.
“They’re taking it away for forensic examination. He said he’d been using it to shoot rabbits yesterday.”
“Then that’s what he’d been doing, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I think so.” He pushed his hand through his already tousled hair. “I can’t swear to it but I’m pretty sure I heard him, up there in Top Meadow. But it’s one of those sounds you hear so often that you don’t take any notice. So even that didn’t help him.”
“So they think Marjorie was shot, do they?”
“How would I know?” His voice crackled with bitterness. “They don’t tell you anything. Just ask the same damn questions over and over, like they’re hoping to trip you up.”
“They’re only trying to find out what happened.”
“Trouble was, Dad was getting more and more wound up, the more they asked.” He turned his face away and looked down at his hand, still gripping the top of the gate, his knuckles white. “I was waiting for him to come out and say how he’d threatened her with his shotgun if she came back. For all I know, he’s probably done so already. They’re going to pin this on him, Katie. I know it.” His voice was low, hopeless.
“Of course they won’t. Because he didn’t do it,” I said with complete conviction.
“Yeah, right. And they never get things wrong, do they? Innocent people never get convicted. Because he is innocent, isn’t he?” He wiped his hand down across his face and his eyes, when he looked up, were full of fear. And a hint of doubt. “You know, Marjorie Hampton really got under his skin the other day. Lecturing him about how he should pull himself together, how ashamed Mum would be of the way he’s behaving. He was still beside himself with fury when I saw him. I’ve never seen him quite that bad before.”
“Will, don’t go there,” I placed my hand over his and squeezed tightly. “Marjorie Hampton is – was – an interfering old busybody who had no right to speak to your dad, or anyone else, the way she did. Of course he got mad with her. Anyone would have done. That doesn’t mean she deserved to be murdered, of course.”
“Of course not. And yeah, I suppose you’re right.” Still the doubt – and the fear –shadowed his eyes. “He couldn’t have done it, could he?”
“Now you listen to me, William Manning,” I said fiercely. “Your dad’s one of the gentlest, kindest people I know. Of course he couldn’t have done it. Remember how he showed me how to take care of the orphan lambs? And taught me to ride that bad-tempered little pony of yours, when all you did was laugh at me and call me Scaredy Cat? And how he cried, along with us, when Blue died?”
“He loved that old dog, didn’t he?” A smile flickered across Will’s face as he reached down and fondled Tam, and the black and white collie whimpered and pressed closer into his legs.
“Like I say, he’s a big softy. He could never—” I swallowed hard as that dreadful image filled my head again and my stomach gave yet another sickening lurch.
“And in the pub last night,” he said harshly, his eyes bleak. “Was he a big softy then, do you reckon?”
“Well, no,” I said slowly. “He was…”
“Morose. Drunk. Anti-social. Bitter and angry. Not exactly the man you remembered, I’ll bet. Not the same man who cried over a dead dog.”
I was forced to admit I hadn’t even recognised John when he’d first stumbled into the bar last nigh
t. “Even so, underneath it all, he is the same man. He’d never do something like that. No matter how drunk, or angry, he was.”
“I hope to God you’re right. But if he didn’t, then who did?”
“How would I know? I just know it’s not your dad,” I reached out a hand towards him. “Look, Will, come on down to our house. At least you’ll get a decent cup of coffee there. Don’t stay here on your own.”
He shook his head. “No. I’m going to see if I can get hold of a solicitor. Then I’ve got to go up and sort out the animals. I was on my way up there before… before. Thanks for everything, Katie. For being there. I appreciate it. And I’m sorry for barking at you like that just now, about the gun. You were right not to tell me. Because I don’t know what I’d have done if I’d known. I’ll let you know, about Dad.”
As he turned to go into the house, the dog and I both followed him.
“It’s ok,” he said as we reached the back door. “I’m fine. I don’t need babysitting. Honest.”
“You might be fine. Your kitchen, on the other hand, is disgusting.” I glanced at my watch, surprised to see that it was still only ten past eleven. “I’ve got half an hour before I need to get away for my lunchtime shift at the pub. You go and do what you have to do and I’ll clean up here. It’s not going to help anyone if you go down with salmonella poisoning. Because I’ll tell you now, I’m not looking after those vicious cows of yours.”
“You, doing some housework? Now that’s a first. This I must see.” he said with a quick grin. And in that moment, in spite of the grimness of the day, my spirits gave a little lift. It was so good to feel back on the old easy terms with Will again. But it was a pity it had taken such a horrible tragedy to bring us back together.
I punched him on the shoulder. “Don’t go getting the wrong idea, Will Manning. This is a one-off, you do realise that, don’t you? It’s just that I don’t want to taste anything as foul as that coffee you made me before ever again. It was gross.”
“You didn’t complain at the time.”
“That’s because I was being polite, you idiot.”
He laughed. “Now I know I’ve wandered into a parallel universe. Katie Call-Me-Kat Latcham, not only volunteering to do the washing up but being too polite to complain that the coffee doesn’t meet her exacting townie standards? You’ll be wearing a frilly apron and rubber gloves next.”
“In your dreams, boy. And if you don’t get out of here, I’ll have you drying up.” I started lifting the crockery out of the sink, but paused and turned to face him. “I’ve just had a thought. Someone’s bound to have seen Marjorie Hampton yesterday after she’d been up to see your dad, because she’d have had to go back down past the school again. It’s the only way to the village. I wouldn’t have thought her confrontation with your dad would have taken more than five minutes. I should be finished in the pub in time to catch the school run this afternoon. Some of the young mums must have seen her. Damn it, I wish I’d thought to tell Ben that.”
“Ben?” Will looked puzzled.
“You must remember Ben Newton? He was in your year at school. Nerdy kid with glasses.”
Will shrugged. The only people he remembered from school were the lads in the rugby team. And my friend, Jules, of course. But then, everyone remembered Jules.
“What about him?” Will asked.
“He’s a policeman now. He spoke to you. Said it was you who told him where to find me.”
Will shrugged. “They all looked the same to me.”
“Well, he was the one who interviewed me. And I wish I’d thought to tell him that Marjorie stopped to have a go at one of the mums on the way up here to the farm. If one of them remembers seeing her on the way back down, that would put your dad in the clear, wouldn’t it?”
It was a long shot. But, like the washing up, it was good to be doing something. Or, at least, planning to do something. Anything to stop me thinking. And remembering.
Chapter Seven
There was no need for superfast broadband in Much Winchmoor, which was just as well because there was zero chance of getting it. The news of the murder went round the village faster than a rat down a drainpipe and reached the pub way before I did, particularly as I’d stopped off at home to shower and change.
“Are you sure you want to go to work, Katie, love?” Mum asked anxiously after I told her what had happened. “You’ve had a terrible shock. I’m sure Donald would understand.”
“But, Mum, I want to do it,” I said. “If I stay here, I’ll just think about it. Over and over again. I’d much rather be busy.”
Besides, I could have added but didn’t, I wanted to see if anyone had seen or heard Marjorie Hampton after she’d left John Manning yesterday afternoon. Ok, so I wasn’t going to wade in and solve the murder before the police did. That only happened in books, not in real life. But I needed to do something. And if I could find someone who saw Marjorie Hampton after she left the farm, that would go a little way to easing the feeling of utter helplessness that hung around me like a November fog.
So, as I often do when I’m feeling a bit shaken up, I dressed to impress. I chose my tightest jeans, my spikiest-heeled boots, my sparkliest, pinkest tiny little biker jacket. I even spiked my hair up, to match my boots. It was all a bit much for Not Much Winchmoor. But it made me feel better. At least for a while.
Donald did a double-take when he saw me and muttered something about how he thought we’d already had a chat about ‘inappropriate clothing’ and how I’d better watch out I didn’t harpoon someone’s foot with those heels.
But he couldn’t go on at me for long because, as soon as the doors opened, the customers poured in on a tidal wave of ghoulish curiosity. In no time at all the bar was heaving – and nobody was interested in what I was wearing. The only thing on anyone’s mind was the murder. The wildness of the speculation increased in direct proportion to the number of pints of Ferret’s Kneecaps consumed. After a couple of hours of it, I found myself wishing (a) that we could turn the clock back to the night before when they were all talking about my love life, and (b) that I’d worn more sensible shoes.
The frantically busy lunchtime session had Donald breaking into a smile every time he went to the till, in spite of my ‘inappropriate clothing.’ He was one happy bunny.
But I was wishing I’d listened to my mum and stayed at home. I felt tired and shaky as the shock was beginning to kick in. I couldn’t wait for my shift to end and glanced down at my watch for the tenth time in as many minutes.
“Are we holding you up?” Elsie Flintlock said sharply. “Only the way you’re hopping about, you’re giving me heartburn. Me and Olive have come in here for a quiet pensioner’s lunch and we don’t expect to be hurried out, like we’re in the way. This isn’t one of your fast food, eat all you can as quick as you can, places. Respect, young lady. That’s what you need to learn. Respect for your elders. We fought a war for the likes of you. Just you remember that.”
I was aware of Donald hovering in the background, so bit back a retort. Besides, there was no point in arguing with Elsie Flintlock. You could never win. Her keen blue eyes missed nothing and her acid tongue could have stripped varnish. Donald frequently grumbled that the pair of them always stayed longer if the weather was cold, to save on their heating bills at home.
She was the unelected leader of the Much Winchmoor Grumble and Gossip Group – or, to give it its correct title, the Much Winchmoor Young Wives’ Group. Not that any of the members were under sixty-five. It was just that there hadn’t been a vicar in the last thirty years with the courage to change the name.
But, if anyone knew who was doing what, where and to whom, Elsie Flintlock was that person. What she didn’t know about the goings-on in the village probably hadn’t happened.
“No, of course I’m not in a rush, Mrs Flintlock. You take all the time you need,” I said, as I collected the empty glasses and put them on the bar, ready to stack in the glass washer. “I was just hoping to catch
Jules, on her way to pick her daughter up from school. But it doesn’t matter. I’ll catch her later.”
“Jules? What sort of name is that when it’s at home?” Elsie snorted. “I suppose you mean Olive’s granddaughter, Juliet. The girl you used to be really friendly with until you dropped her for your trendy new friends in Bristol.”
“I didn’t drop her,” I protested. “She got married and I moved away, that’s all. We’ve kept in touch.”
Not strictly true. Jules had got pregnant with Kylie at about the same time I started college. Over the last five years, we’d exchanged the odd email and followed each other on Facebook, not much else. But Elsie didn’t need to know that.
“I’ve heard she’s in the family way again.” Elsie said, with a shake of her head. “That useless husband of hers doesn’t earn enough to keep himself in shoe leather, let alone a growing family. And they’re already bursting at the seams in that little shoebox of theirs. Olive here was only saying just now, how are they going to fit another in…?”
“I want to ask her about John Manning. Or rather, if she or any of the other mums saw Marjorie Hampton on Tuesday afternoon after she’d been up to the farm to see him.”
That diverted Elsie’s attention away from Jules and Ed. Her sharp pale blue eyes glinted as she drained her glass and handed it to me. “I’ll have another half of Ferret’s, please, and Olive will have an orange juice. And you can tell that skinflint boss of yours, he can be done under the trade descriptions act for calling that soggy mess we’ve just eaten a steak and mushroom pie. Not a single mushroom, and if that was steak, then I’m Victoria Beckham.”
I smothered a smile. Anyone less like Victoria Beckham than Elsie Flintlock was hard to imagine. The only thing they had in common was a pair of razor-sharp elbows, that Elsie used to good effect if she wanted to clear her way through a crowd.
“Do you want me to pass your complaint on to Donald?” I asked, handing them their drinks. “I’m sure he’ll want to know if a customer isn’t satisfied.”
“No point,” Elsie sniffed. “He takes no notice. Now, what were you saying about John Manning? I hear he’s been charged with Marjorie Hampton’s murder and that it was you who found her headless body.”
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