“Look, Katie, I just need a little chat, that’s all,” he said, in a creepy, whiney tone I’d never heard before. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You didn’t,” I lied. “So if you could just let go…” I yanked on my handlebars but his grip was firm. If it hadn’t been so scary, it would have been quite funny, the sight of two adults tussling over a bike, like a couple of kids in the playground, arguing whose turn it was to ride it.
“Please. Hear me out,” Gerald went on, his face getting redder and redder with the effort of holding on. “I want to apologise for last night at the Parish Council meeting. I don’t know what came over me, I really don’t. I’d had some bad news, you see.” Suddenly he loosened his hold on my handlebars. His shoulders slumped and he looked so unhappy that I almost felt sorry for him. “A dear friend of mine was tragically killed, but even so, there was no excuse for taking it out on you. I’m deeply, deeply sorry, my dear.”
Gerald Crabshaw apologising? Had I wandered into some parallel universe by mistake? There’d be a squadron of pigs flying overhead next.
“That’s ok… There’s nothing… to apologise… for.” My voice came out in jerky little puffs as I tried pull my bike away, without losing too much dignity in the process. “If you’d just… move… I really… am late.”
“No, wait. Please. This won’t take long; I’ve come up with a way to make things up to you a bit. Forget last night’s Parish Council meeting with its mind-numbing ramblings about pot holes and missing cats’ eyes. I’ve got a story for you that could well turn out to be the scoop of the century. Isn’t that what you journalists say?”
I bristled. “Actually, the editor’s having second thoughts about employing me, thanks to you.”
He had the grace to look uncomfortable. “Well, yes, I’m sorry about that. But don’t worry, I’ll talk to Mike, I promise. Trust me, Katie, this story will be a big one,” his piggy little eyes gleamed. “I mean, as in front page of the nationals. Mike will be desperate to take you on, but this will get your CV out there. You’ll be able to take your pick.”
I didn’t believe a word of it. I’d already been made a fool of once today, thanks to my so-called journalistic ambitions. It wasn’t going to happen again. “Sorry. It sounds great, but, if you could just let go…”
“Look, I know we got off on the wrong foot, but how about we meet up later and I give you all the gen, and you can make up your own mind what you do about it? The story’s a cracker, Katie. I can promise you that.”
A cracker? I was about to tell him no, but then thought with an inward smirk how Liam had been trying all day, without success, to get an interview with Gerald. And here was the man himself, practically begging to talk to me. What if he was on the level?
He must have seen the indecision in my face, because he went on. “Listen, I’ve got to pop into Dintscombe quickly, then I’ll be dropping in to the pub for a quick one. Why don’t we meet there in, say, an hour?”
“But the pub will be closing soon,” I said.
He shook his head. “Donald’s expecting me. There’s no way he’ll close, if he thinks there’s a chance of selling another pint or two.”
I remembered the way Gerald had threatened me the day before, and was about to say no way, when I stopped and thought about what he’d said. I looked at him closely. Certainly there was none of the usual swaggering bluster about him today. In fact, he looked as if he’d shrunk since last night. His eyes had a vacant, dazed look, his skin pale and sallow. Maybe he really was grieving for Doreen.
What harm could it possibly do? The memory of Liam’s stinging words still rankled. If I could get one over on him, then so much the better. And it would do no harm to my standing with Mike, the editor, would it? If, of course, what Gerald was saying was true. Which I very much doubted. Even so, it might be worth going along with him for now. I’d be safe enough, meeting him in the pub, after all. What did I have to lose?
But before I could say anything, his patience must have run out because he scowled and jerked on the handlebars so hard I almost overbalanced. “For heavens’ sake, girl, what’s to think about?” he snapped. “I suppose the story’s not enough for you, is that it? You want money as well?”
“What do you mean? I don’t…”
“You saw us, didn’t you? Up in Compton Wood. I thought at first it was your mother parked in the gateway and wondered what she was doing there. But it wasn’t her, was it? It was you.”
I backed away as far as I could without falling over, flustered by his sudden change of tone. Gone was the penitent, apologetic man. In his place, the arrogant pushy one I knew so well. Once again, I looked around at the deserted village street.
“I – I don’t know what you mean, honest,” I said quickly, my heart thudding so loudly I thought he must be able to hear it. “And why would I want money? If I’d seen something up in Compton Wood – which I didn’t, I swear – I wouldn’t say anything, I promise, least of all try to blackmail you.” My words tumbled over each other in my rush to convince him. “Look, I’ve got to go. My friend will be wondering where I am and start sending out search parties.”
“You’d better not say anything,” he snarled, now reverting completely to type, “Else it will be the worse for you.”
I was scared, of course I was. Why else would I be standing there, gabbling like an idiot? But there was something about the way he spoke that lit a fuse in me so that, for a moment at least, I forgot my fear and felt only blind, reckless fury, as I remembered Marjorie and Doreen.
“Oh right,” I flashed. “Is that how you deal with everyone who gets in your way? First Marjorie, and now Doreen. Lost a dear friend, was that how you put it? How could you do that to someone you pretended to be fond of?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t think I had anything to do with either death. Besides, Doreen’s was just a tragic accident.”
“That’s not what the police are saying,” I said.
“Oh and of course, I’m forgetting, you have a direct line to the police, don’t you?” he sneered.
“I have my sources. In fact, one of them’s a particularly good friend of mine. And he was saying that Doreen Spetchley did not die in the fire. That she was dead before it started.”
Of course Ben Newton hadn’t said anything of the sort to me. The information had come from Liam via the police press conference. But it wouldn’t hurt Gerald to think I had a good friend in the force.
“Suspicious circumstances, they’re saying,” I went on while he stood, open-mouthed, looking like I’d just punched him in the stomach.
His face went from white to grey, and all fifty shades in between. He stepped back from the bike as if the handlebars had suddenly become searing hot, all the while staring at me, with the half-desperate, half-spoiling-for-a-fight look of a cornered rat.
I took my chance, yanked the bike towards me, then pedalled off as fast as I could, the anger that had given me that little spurt of courage now evaporated.
“Katie, come back,” Gerald shouted after me as I put on a turn of speed that would have impressed Bradley Wiggins. “There’s something you need to know—”
I wasn’t planning on hanging around long enough to find out what it was he thought I needed to know. I reckoned I could probably guess. As I got near the Winchmoor Arms, the door opened and Elsie and Olive came out.
I jumped off my bike and on to the pavement as Gerald’s look-at-me Porsche roared past, making enough noise to wake up all the residents of St Bartholomew’s church yard.
“What’s got up his nose?” Elsie asked, staring after him.
I shrugged, hoping they couldn’t see how my hands were shaking as I leaned my bike against the pub wall. “Who knows?” I said, as I waited for my heartbeat to return to normal.
“He looked like the devil himself was at his heels,” Olive said. “You know what they say, drive like the devil…” she shrugged. “Or something.”
“Boy racer!” Elsie ye
lled after him.
“And what about you, dear?” Olive asked, turning to me with a smile. “Did you and your young man have a nice day at the beach yesterday?”
I was about to ask how she knew where Will and I had gone but decided to save my breath.
“He’s not my young man,” I said shortly. “But yes, thank you, we had a good time. Excuse me.” I inched past them.
“No point going in there. Donald all but threw us out,” Elsie said with a sniff. “Asked if we were going to sit there, nursing our drinks and toasting our toes in front of his fire, all afternoon. And did we think he had money to burn?”
“Yes,” Olive chimed. “And then he said if we didn’t have anything better to do, then he did. He was quite grumpy, which is unusual for him. He’s usually very friendly, in his own quiet way. Missing his wife, I dare say.”
Elsie snorted. “Missing his wife? That’s not very likely. I expect he just wants to go and put his feet up. So there’s no point in you going in there, hoping to be served, young lady. Number one, I don’t hold with young people drinking themselves silly in the middle of the day when they should be doing a decent day’s work like the rest of us. And, number two, he’ll probably refuse to serve you anyway, seeing as how he sacked you. So I’m saving you the embarrassment of being refused.”
“He didn’t sack me. And I’m not going in for a drink,” I said. “I just want to see Jules.”
“Then he’ll definitely chuck you out for distracting his staff when they should be working,” Elsie chortled as she pulled a bright pink woollen hat that looked more like a tea cosy over her newly-permed head. “Come along, Olive. Let’s get home before I catch them new-monials again. How these youngsters get away with standing around with practically nothing on, I don’t know. Don’t know they’re born, some of them.”
“I hear your mother’s got a dent in her car, dear,” Olive said. “Was she very upset? Thinks the world of that little car, does Cheryl, doesn’t she?”
“Olive! Are you coming, or are you going to stand there all day gossiping?” Elsie demanded.
Olive gave me one of her sweet, apologetic smiles and hurried after her friend, whose tea cosy hat bobbed up and down as she bustled off down the deserted High Street.
I glanced at my watch. Jules should be out any moment but I didn’t want to hang around outside in case Gerald came back. I reckoned I’d risk Donald’s bad mood.
***
It took a while for my eyes to get accustomed to the gloom of the bar after the brightness of the street. At first I thought it was empty. Then I heard the sound of chinking glasses and saw that Jules was behind the bar, unloading glasses from the glass washer, while from the back kitchen came the reassuring sound of Donald, banging around.
“Blimey, Kat, you look like you did that day we got chased by John Manning’s bull.” Jules looked at me anxiously. “What’s wrong? Do you want a drink?”
I shook my head. “No thanks. I’m just a bit freaked out. I don’t know what would have happened if Elsie and Olive hadn’t chosen that moment to come out of here. An unlikely pair of rescuers but, boy, was I pleased to see them.”
Jules’s eyes widened. “What happened?”
“He threatened me. Again.”
“Who?”
“Gerald Crabshaw. He’s quite mad, you know. Completely bonkers. Did you know he was having an affair?”
“Now why doesn’t that surprise me? He’d chase after anything in a skirt, the old lech,” Jules said as she began placing glasses on the shelf above the bar.
“Yes. Nothing unusual there, as you say. But it was who he was having the fling with that’s the big deal. It was only that woman who died in the fire in Dintscombe yesterday. Not only that, but I’m pretty sure he broke up with her with just hours before the fire.”
She put the glass down. Suddenly I had her full attention. “You’re kidding.”
“Course I’m not. But that’s not the half of it. Because of something you said, I’m pretty damn sure I’ve got proof that he killed Marjorie. I knew there was something that didn’t quite fit but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Then this morning I did. And that’s why I wanted to come here and check it out with you before going to the police.”
“Check what out?” Her eyes danced with excitement as she leaned across the counter towards me. “And what sort of proof? Stop talking in riddles, girl. You always were one for spinning out a story.”
I chose to ignore that. “Remember when you were late picking Kylie up from school? The day Marjorie Hampton was killed?”
She pulled a face. “Tell me about it. Her teacher still hasn’t forgiven me. Neither has Kylie.”
“And why did you say you were late?”
“Because the main road was closed by an accident for most of the afternoon and the bus had to go around all the villages. It took forever.”
“Exactly. That’s what was niggling around in the back of my mind for ages, only I was too dumb to make the connection. Don’t you see? Donald and Gerald were each other’s alibis for the afternoon of Marjorie’s murder. One of them, I can’t remember which, said they were at a meeting about the site of a possible new playing field out on the bypass that day. But you see, they couldn’t have been, because the road was closed. There was no way they could have got there. They were lying.”
“Donald?” Jules looked anxiously in the direction of the kitchen and lowered her voice. “Surely not. He’d never have the nerve…”
“He would if he was desperate enough. It’s my bet Gerald’s got something on Donald to force him into backing up his story. And that’s why Gerald got me sacked from the pub. It all makes perfect sense now. I think the site meeting line was the first story they came up with and it was only later they realised the road was closed and then had to change it to something else. Which they probably did. Only, of course, I’d been told the first version. It’s just a pity it took me so long to remember it.”
“So they told porkies about where they were,” Jules said as she took more glasses from the glass washer “Perhaps they had some dodgy deal of their own going on. I’ve seen Gerald in a huddle with Shane Freeman on several occasions, and it didn’t look like they were discussing Bristol City’s chances this season. The word around the bar is that, since Shane’s been on the continental run, he’s the go-to man for cheap cigarettes and booze. But that doesn’t mean any of them had anything to do with Marjorie’s murder.”
“Maybe not,” I agreed reluctantly. “But it’s a bit iffy to start giving false alibis during a murder investigation, wouldn’t you say? If whatever they were doing was innocent, why lie about it?”
Jules looked worried. “You’ve got a point. So, what are you going to do about it?”
“Tell the police, of course. It’s up to them what they do about it, but I think they’d be very interested in the fact that our Councillor Crabshaw lied about his whereabouts the day Marjorie Hampton was killed, don’t you?”
Before Jules could say anything, Donald rushed into the bar, his expression grim.
“Juliet, I’m so sorry,” he said. “That was the school on the phone just now. I’m afraid your Kylie’s had an accident. Only a bit of a bump on the head, they say. Nothing to worry about, but they think you should come up right away and take her home. That she’ll be—”
But before he could deliver the rest of the message, Jules was gone, leaving the door wide open behind her.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Donald walked across the dimly-lit bar and quietly closed the door that Jules had left open in her rush to get to Kylie.
“Oh dear, children can be such a worry, can’t they?” he murmured as he made his way back across the room, straightening up a couple of stools as he did so. “Always into something. I must say, I’m often quite relieved that Joyce and I were never blessed.”
“Poor Jules.” I fastened my coat and stood up, ready to leave. “She looked quite frantic.”
“I’m sure little Kyli
e will be fine.” Donald went behind the bar and carried on unloading the glass washer where Jules had left off. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation just now, what with the pub being so quiet.”
And you straining your ears to hear, I could have added. But didn’t.
“Publicans do a lot of that, you know,” he went on, straightening the glasses on the shelf above him. “Overhearing things they aren’t meant to.” He closed the glass washer then pulled out a stool and sat down, one elbow leaning on the bar. He looked like he was settling down for a good long chat. “Sometimes people act as if I’m not there, you know. The invisible man. I’ve heard them going on about me being the ‘grey man’, taking the mick about how Joyce shouts at me, things like that. Sometimes, I can be standing right there by the bar. But they just don’t notice me.”
“I’m sorry.” I had no idea what I was apologising for, but it felt like he was expecting it. And I did, indeed, feel sorry for him. Whatever Gerald had bullied him into doing was none of his choosing, I was willing to bet. But maybe he hadn’t overheard the bit where I was speculating about his involvement. I hoped not, anyway.
“I heard what you said about Gerald Crabshaw – and – and me,” he went, his head bent as he straightened up the already straight beer mats along the counter.
I swallowed hard. He had heard us after all. Jeez, this was awkward. “I’m sorry,” I said again, with an embarrassed laugh. “You know what us girls are like when we get together. Just talking a load of nonsense, that’s all. Dad always says…”
“I’ve had my suspicions about Gerald Crabshaw for some time now, same as you have.” Donald cut across, his words coming out in a rush, like he’d suddenly made up his mind to say something.
“You have?” My heartbeat quickened and I took a step towards him. “Suspicions about what?”
But before he could answer, my phone rang. Talk about bad timing. Just when Donald was about to open up. I looked down at it quickly, about to switch it off, when I saw with a jolt that it was Will. He never phoned me during the day. In fact, he never phoned me at all if he could help it.
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