Jest and Die (Jordan Lacey Mysteries Book 5)

by Stella Whitelaw

  He did not look too well. Perhaps the heat was getting to him. DI James was not around. I did a quick check but no tall, granite-jawed detective on the premises.

  I drove back to Denbury Court with a cut-out cardboard box for the framework and a ruler for scale. I also had the equipment for mixing the quick-setting plaster. According to the instructions, I would have to be pretty quick to not set myself too. I did not fancy a weekend in plaster.

  The lean figure of Mr Steel was waiting for me at the end of the drive of Denbury Court. I could see he was distraught. He was pacing up and down, his arms folded across his chest. I hoped it wasn’t Jack or Russell, two sick doggies after inhaling fumes or eating grass. That would be really unpleasant.

  He came towards me as soon as he saw the distinctive ladybird climbing the steep road. He was waving his arms so I slowed down and stopped.

  ‘What’s the matter, Mr Steel?’ I asked, winding down the window.

  ‘Look what they’ve done! Look what someone has done! Driven right over it and I was so careful to protect it with a piece of plastic sheeting and a cloche from the greenhouse. Smashed, all smashed to pieces.’

  Now I could see what Mr Steel was talking about. Someone had driven over the cloche and the boot print, flattening the whole lot. No doubt the print underneath would be a mash of tyre, plastic and crushed grass. Not a lot of help.

  ‘Did you see who did it?’

  ‘No, I thought I heard this lorry or big car chuntering up the hill. We don’t get many lorries. It’s plain hooliganism.’

  ‘Maybe or maybe not. I’ll see what I can rescue of the print and the tyre. It might come in useful.’

  ‘I am so sorry,’ said Mr Steel.

  ‘Don’t worry. It’s not your fault. We’ll find the mystery sprayer, even if I have to stay up all night, perched in a tree in your garden.’ I sounded braver than I felt. No tree was going to feel safe.

  ‘You don’t mean that?’

  ‘I do. I’m Latching’s number one surveillance expert. Give me something to watch and I’ll watch it. A nice tuna sandwich and a thermos of coffee and I’m there till dawn.’

  ‘You deserve wild smoked salmon,’ said Samuel Steel. ‘I’ll get Anne to make some. Are you going to start tonight? I mean, right away? That would be brilliant.’

  What could I do? My big mouth had led me into it again. I had not planned to do any night surveillance, and certainly not that night, but some fool talked me into agreeing.

  ‘Yes, tonight,’ I said. Pin a medal on me. Call me a heroine. I’d probably lose my mobile up a tree.

  Two

  Here am I, up a tree with the sharp branches prickling through my jeans. This was ridiculous. Why couldn’t I have done my surveillance from a deckchair in the greenhouse? The view, of course. I had a bird’s-eye view of Latching if I didn’t fall off.

  I’d come a roundabout way so that no one saw me arrive. A bus to the back of Latching, up a few lanes and then across a field to the lower edge of Updown Hill. Quite a walk.

  Anne Steel had left a cling-film wrapped packet of smoked salmon sandwiches for me and a thermos of coffee. It was a kind gesture. She was out again and I had not met her yet.

  ‘This is Anne’s bridge evening,’ said Samuel Steel apologetically.

  ‘Players get addicted to bridge,’ I said.

  ‘Anne’s group is addicted. The house could be falling down around them but they’d have to finish a rubber.’

  We selected the best tree for viewing. It was a sturdy pedunculated oak with a large crooked crown some distance back from the drive entrance but with views in both directions. The only drawback was that I needed to be a bodybuilder, or a squirrel, to climb the rough, furrowed and rugged trunk. There were no holds.

  ‘Once I’m up, I’ll be alright. There’s masses of foliage. And I’ll be able to get down using a fireman’s drop.’

  ‘A fireman’s drop?’

  ‘Holding on with your hands, using your height and arm’s length to minimize the distance of drop.’

  ‘Useful to know.’

  ‘Bend your knees on landing and roll over,’ I added.

  A ladder was the answer. Mr Steel held it steady while I climbed up into the heart of the tree. I hoped this was not going to be a regular occurrence. My camera was tucked into my back pocket and I’d checked the number of shots left after taking a few snaps of the damage to the garden.

  ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right?’ said Mr Steel. He was obviously dubious about leaving a young woman up one of his trees. Maybe he was not insured, I’ll be indoors if you need me. And Anne will be returning home about eleven. She drives a white Mazda coupe.’

  I nodded through the branches. There was a strong branch that I could sit astride with the main trunk as a backrest. ‘Don’t forget to take away the ladder.’

  This was new to me, being up a tree (quercus robur). Most surveillance cases were on foot or in the car. You could do something, keep yourself occupied. Read or listen to the radio, write up notes, draw pretty pictures. There was nothing to do in the encroaching night gloom except count leaves. I wondered if acorns were edible. Squirrels and pigs eat them.

  Biology: the name oak comes from the Anglo-Saxon ac and Teutonic aiks. Acorn means oak-corn. How come I could remember this from my schooldays but was quite unable to remember any mobile phone number? Only James had a mobile identity that I could remember. But then James was special, even when he was not talking to me.

  He was talking to me these days, in a restrained, aloof manner. He had not completely forgiven me for arranging to go on holiday to Cyprus with DS Ben Evans. That we did not actually go, he had brushed aside. He thought it was because all leave was cancelled due to a red alert in London. I knew that I had also missed the plane checkin time at Gatwick airport entirely. One day I would tell him the whole story. I could visualize his reaction now, those dark eyebrows raised in disbelief, the curved mouth sardonic, the blue eyes boring into me for the truth.

  It was easy to think about DI James, stuck up a tree, only the prickles making me fidget. This surveillance was so boring. I was reduced to filing my nails.

  Anne Steel arrived home at 11.08. Punctual lady. The low white car swept up the drive. Butchery must be doing well despite the various beef scares. The garage door opened automatically and she drove inside. I never caught more than the briefest glimpse of her. She looked slim and elegant.

  Pouring coffee from a thermos whilst up a tree and holding a torch is not easy. I dropped the lid and spilt scalding coffee on my knee. Burnt lower lip with same scalding coffee. Decided that a bottle of water was a safer idea. Shopping list: blow-up cushion, game of peg solitaire, fruit gums.

  The smoked salmon sandwiches were gourmet. Making them last was the main problem. I rationed myself to one dainty triangle, hostage-style, every half hour. It was starvation by numbers.

  A few cars went by, their headlamps sweeping past the curve of the drive. There was a beauty spot on the top of the hill and a favourite parking place for courting couples who wanted to admire the views of Latching. Or any other twinkling views.

  The lights in the house went out. I was in for a long wait if this spray merchant was a dawn riser. I peered down through the mosaic of foliage. The moon was casting silvery streaks across the lawn and distant sea. I had not checked on the moon. He would not come if there was moonlight to illuminate his antics.

  I’d give it another two hours. The retainer had been generous and I had to earn it. Car lights swept down the hill, heading for home, a travel lodge, or a more secluded parking spot. DI James never took me to a secluded parking spot. Come to that, neither had Ben Evans.

  The night was full of noises. Scamperings in the undergrowth, bats swooping, night owls hooting. I saw a fox in full glory loping across the lawn, his tail the colour of fire, his high-pitched barking unnerving. I thought I saw the majestic striped head of a badger, but he moved quickly through the shrubbery despite his bulk.

  I ne
arly forgot why I was there.

  I think I had almost fallen asleep.

  There was a sudden flurry of cars accelerating up the hill, turning into the drive. I jerked awake. I recognized the flashing lights and garish green and yellow stripes on the cars. It was the police. Uniformed men got out of the cars and started racing towards the tree. My tree. The sturdy oak. They flashed lamps up into the branches. I was completely blinded. I forgot all about the fireman’s drop and fell out of the tree.

  In a split moment of impact, I remembered to bend my knees and roll over. I lay on the grass, face squashed, my heart pounding, wondering what I had broken.

  ‘I should have known it was you,’ said DI James.

  He went down on his knees and peered into my face. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I gasped. ‘Winded.’

  He told his men to back off. I could not see what was happening. He came back to me and started to feel me all over. It was a purely medical examination. ‘Does this hurt?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why were you lurking up a tree?’

  ‘I do not lurk.’

  ‘What were you doing up a tree?’

  ‘I’m on surveillance.’

  ‘Up a tree?’

  ‘Yes, I was. For Samuel Steel who lives here. This is his house. Remember, the lawn spraying case.’

  ‘Ah. We got a call from a couple who said they thought they saw a prowler at Denbury Court.’

  ‘But was it me or someone else? I don’t think they could have seen me. Perhaps there is a prowler. You’d better check, hadn’t you?’

  Dl James sent his men round the house and garden. Lights came on. I ached all over but I did not think I had broken anything.

  I pushed myself up into a sitting position and caught my breath. Aaah … it felt as if I had cracked a rib. There was a numbing pain in my side somewhere, about where the ninth, or floating rib exists. I said nothing. There was no way I was going to any more hospitals. They’d think I was a malingerer or had a crush on one of the doctors.

  Mr Steel came hurrying out of the house, flashing a torch. A navy striped silk dressing gown flapped round his legs.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he was saying. ‘Have you caught him?’

  ‘Detective Inspector James,’ said James, showing his badge. ‘We were called to investigate a reported intruder and your garden is being searched now. Unfortunately Miss Lacey fell out of a tree and somewhat delayed matters.’

  Now I did not like that remark. He was putting the blame on me and that was not fair.

  ‘My falling out of a tree took up all of ten seconds,’ I said. ‘You can hardly register that as a delay.’

  ‘I had to check that you were not injured.’

  ‘Two patrol cars full of uniformed police to check on the health of one winded female detective? Isn’t that slightly overdoing your concern?’

  DI James decided to ignore me, as he often does. He turned to Mr Steel. ‘Miss Lacey is obviously uninjured. Her tongue is as sharp as usual.’

  Mr Steel remembered his manners which was nice. ‘You’d better come indoors, Miss Lacey,’ he said. ‘You need a cup of tea laced with brandy.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said faintly, hoping I’d make it to the house. I held my side. It seemed a very long walk. I hardly noticed where I was going. Mr Steel took me through to a kitchen at the back. It was one of those gorgeous French farmhouse type kitchens with hanging brass pans and garlands of garlic and herbs strung from the oak beams.

  ‘This is the oldest part of the house,’ he said, seeing the interest in my eyes. ‘Did you know that Denbury Court is classed as a Grade II manor house? Look at the floor, it’s the original stone flagging.’

  ‘Beautiful,’ I said.

  ‘Although the kitchen has every modern appliance, we have tried not to spoil the authentic atmosphere.’

  ‘It’s perfect.’ I thought of the tiny corner kitchen unit in my living-room bedsit. Just enough room to shred a lettuce or make some soup. You could have prepared a banquet in this kitchen. They probably did in years past.

  Samuel Steel made me a large cup of tea and added a generous dispensation of brandy. I sat down at a long, polished pine table, still holding my side. The tea was navy brew, strong enough to stand a spoon in, too strong for my taste but I acted the polite visitor and sipped. The brandy was pretty fiery, burning my throat.

  ‘And you saw nothing at all?’ he asked.

  ‘No, I think there was too much moon. I need to check dates of damage with moons. Maybe he prefers the darker nights.’

  ‘Of course. I’ve kept a random log of the damage during the latter part, not at first, because it did not dawn on me that someone was doing it. I just thought it was the dry summer. I’ll fetch my diary for you. We can soon check.’

  Still no Mrs Steel around. She had not appeared. How odd. I began to wonder why. I would have thought she might have got up to find out what was going on. Police cars flashing lights in a drive and burly officers tramping round the garden are enough to wake anyone from the deepest sleep.

  Mr Steel returned with his diary. He’d scribbled in things like: ‘4 more plants dead’ and ‘another area of lawn lined brown’. His diary had little symbols for the size of the moon each week, and sure enough, the sprayer worked mostly during the last quarter of the moon and the first when the light was poor.

  ‘Now we know the best time for me to keep watch,’ I said. ‘That’s helpful. I’ll be back in a week’s time. Meanwhile I’d like to talk to a few people. Could you give me the name and address of the people who owned Denbury Court before you?’ He nodded and began writing it down on a kitchen pad. ‘And perhaps the people who bought your old house?’

  I was not quite sure why I added them on to the list. It seemed to broaden the investigation, an investigation which at the moment went nowhere. I had to look as if I was doing something for his retainer.

  ‘No problem,’ he said, handing me a sheet of paper. ‘All very nice people. Nothing to do with this, I’m sure.’

  ‘Of course not. I’d like to check that it hasn’t happened before,’ I said, improvising fast. ‘There could be a chain of events.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Mr Steel, not really understanding.

  ‘Thank you for the tea. I’d like to go home now but I’ll keep in touch.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss Lacey. I hope you remembered your fireman’s drop.’

  I winced. My side was hurting with every breath. ‘I remembered the roll.’

  The police officers had gathered outside. They had found nothing and no one. DI James did not look as if he was going to offer me a lift. I would have to grovel. I rehearsed some grovelling words.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Steel,’ I said at the door. ‘May I ask you one thing? I would have expected your wife to have got up and come downstairs. I would like to meet her. Did she not hear all this commotion?’

  ‘I doubt it. Anne has trouble sleeping so she takes sleeping tablets, prescribed from the doctor. She’s always dead to the world.’

  ‘I see. Goodnight then, Mr Steel, or rather good morning. And thank you for the brandy.’

  I strolled towards the first patrol car. DI James was waiting with the passenger door open.

  ‘Do you want a lift?’ he said, sparing me the humiliation of asking. His heart had that much generosity in it.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, getting in carefully.

  He slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. ‘They don’t do anything for cracked ribs these days,’ he said, checking the rear-view mirror. ‘Once they used to wrap an adhesive bandage round the chest which helped support the ribcage but was sheer agony to rip off. Now they don’t bother.’

  ‘What makes you think I have a cracked rib?’ I said, holding on to my side as the car reversed down the drive.

  ‘I could feel the tenderness. Don’t worry. Six weeks and it will have healed. The first two weeks are the worst.’

  I groaned. ‘Thank you for the e
ncouraging news. I still have to work and it hurts.’

  ‘Painkillers and a deep support bra, that’s the answer.’ He said it with an edge of suppressed amusement as if he thought I deserved every sharp twinge and agonizing breath. Or perhaps it was the deep support bra. ‘Remember not to cough or laugh.’ I extracted a shape from my back pocket.

  ‘Would you like a squashed sandwich?’ I said. ‘Smoked salmon. I didn’t get a chance to thank Mrs Steel when she came home.’

  *

  DI James was right, as always. A packet of 16 painkilling tablets diminished rapidly. They would not sell me a larger quantity in case I topped myself. Anyone wanting to quit this world could have gone into three adjacent chemist shops along the pedestrian walkway and bought enough tablets in ten minutes to send them off to everlasting dreams.

  The waist-length bra was harder to buy. Only the older winceyette-type draper’s shops stocked them. I pretended it was for my mother and that we were the same size. It was expensive. I chose a plain one, no lace, no rosebuds, workmanlike cotton and latex. It felt like putting on plated armour but the support did help. I could breathe with minimal pain. Don’t make me laugh or cough or ask me to bend in any direction.

  I wrapped myself in mythical cottonwool for a couple of days and dusted my shop. There were a few customers, mostly browsers. I had invested in one of those magnetic fibre dusters and cleaning was a doddle. My shop had never been so dust free. I was round the entire shop, without lifting a thing, removing dust, flicking at cobwebs, spiders and mould, in minutes. It was magic. I felt like a saviour.

  ‘So,’ said Doris, passing by with an armful of shopping. ‘You are in the wars again?’

  ‘I fell out of a tree.’

  ‘One of them bird watching twitchers, are you?’

  ‘Something like that, only I was observing a human variety of rare bird.’

  ‘So I heard.’

  ‘Tell me, Doris, how is it that you know everything that I do and I know nothing?’

  ‘Mavis and I are old friends, from schooldays. Mavis has a neighbour who cleans up at Denbury Court. Very short grapevine. This cleaner found a thermos on the grass under a tree. Heard about the police taking someone into custody. She passed it on. Mavis and I can spot one of your cases a mile off.’