by Ann Granger
‘Hello, Tess,’ said Guy Kingsley in mild surprise. ‘Looking for Hattie? She’s not out here. As far as I know, she’s in the house.’ Before she could answer, he went on, ‘What do you think?’ He waved proudly at the building work that had transformed the former stables.
Tessa Briggs, standing with her hands in her gilet pockets and her boots planted firmly in the muddy yard, glanced dismissively at Guy’s pet project. ‘Will be OK, I suppose. Hope you don’t lose money on this brainwave, like the others!’
‘You always show such confidence in me, Tess.’
‘Don’t call me Tess! I don’t like it and you know it.’
‘I don’t like you dissing all my ideas, but I put up with it. So you can put up with me calling you Tess,’ he retorted.
Tessa drew a deep breath. ‘I haven’t got time for a stupid argument with you. But it’s you I want to see, not Hattie.’
Guy looked genuinely surprised. ‘Good grief! I thought I was right off your list of favourite people, together with Carl. I don’t blame you for not liking Carl. I don’t care for the blighter myself. But I—’
‘Oh, do shut up, Guy!’ burst out Tessa. ‘This is very important! And I’ve got to tell you quickly before Hattie comes out here.’
A wary look entered Guy’s eyes. ‘OK, come inside. It’s quite safe. Derek’s gone off for his lunch.’ He brushed ineffectively at his wood-shaving-speckled sweater. It had holes at both elbows and rivalled Tessa’s gilet for ‘scruffy’.
Tessa followed him into the stable block, where, despite her urgent need to speak to him, she was briefly distracted by the freshly plastered walls, the half-installed plumbing, the stacked planks and the carpet of sawdust.
‘Hell!’ she said. ‘What a mess!’ She got back immediately to her errand. ‘Listen up, Guy, it’s Carl I’ve got to talk to you about.’
‘He’s not around, is he?’ snapped Guy. ‘I told him to stay away! He upsets Hattie. He’s always broke and he’s always moaning about John Hemmings’s will!’
‘He won’t be bothering her again about that, or anything else. He’s dead,’ said Tessa bluntly. ‘Or I think he is.’
‘What on earth do you mean? You think he’s dead? Who says so?’
‘Will you shut up for a minute? I’m telling you, or trying to!’ Tessa drew a deep breath. ‘I took Fred down to Crooked Man Woods to walk him. We were going down one of the tracks and turned a bend to find coppers all over the place. They’d had a report of a body. And there was a body, right enough. It was propped up against a felled tree trunk. Fred went dashing up to it straight away and I went after him to try and catch him. The copper floundering around trying to seize his collar couldn’t do it. I’m pretty sure it was Carl – the dead’un, I mean.’
‘You know Carl as well as I do,’ said Guy suspiciously. ‘How can you only be “pretty sure”? You must know. How did he die?’
‘Shotgun blast in the face. That’s why I’ve got some reservations. But the face – what was left of it – looked like Carl. And it was his hair; long enough for a girl, like he wore it – daft hairstyle at his age, in my opinion. But Fred knew him, no doubt about it; he started howling. Carl didn’t have many qualities that recommended him to me, but he was good with animals, I’ll say that. He made a fuss of Fred on the rare occasions we met up with him and Fred never forgets a friend.
‘There was a woman police officer there, in ordinary clothes, not uniform, a sharp-looking number with red hair, and not the type to miss a trick. She and the fellow with her, a lynx-eyed blighter with a face like a wet week, also in civvies, asked me if I recognised the dead man, because they thought my dog did. I didn’t let on, but there was Fred, tugging like mad, trying to get to the body, whining and telling the world he knew him. It was clear neither of them believed me. They then asked if I’d heard a shot earlier, and I mumbled about the clay-pigeon range and said I never took any notice of shots.’
‘That, Tess, old girl,’ said Guy evenly, ‘was bloody stupid, if I may say so. You wouldn’t pay attention to shots coming from the clay-pigeon set-up, but you’d pay attention to one coming from the woods. Shooting isn’t allowed there. You should have been on the phone to the police, reporting it. Especially if it was a single shot, not like the shooting range, where they blast off quick fire.’
‘To be honest, I had heard something earlier but wasn’t sure enough. I waited for another and there wasn’t one, so I left it. I didn’t mention that to the police in the woods. I panicked, I suppose.’
Guy frowned. ‘The officers you spoke to sound like plainclothes – CID. What were they doing there? Got there pretty quickly, didn’t they, for a suicide?’
Tessa looked at the ground. ‘That’s just it. There were uniformed guys poking about in the trees, and I got the impression the other two didn’t think it was suicide. Don’t ask me why they were so suspicious. He was sitting there, half his face gone, and a shotgun lying across his legs. How could it be anything else?’
There was a pause, then Guy said firmly, ‘Listen, Tess. Perhaps Fred was howling like the hound of the Baskervilles, but that doesn’t mean he knew it was Carl. It may be that he just knew the person was dead, and that freaked him out. You think Fred’s a super-intelligent dog, but he’s not a human, is he? You can’t say that he has a human’s thought processes.’
‘Fred knew the bloke,’ said Tessa stubbornly. ‘Even the cops could see it.’
‘Well, I’m not going to frighten Hattie into hysterics just because of Fred’s behaviour. I don’t think we should tell her about this right now. We can wait until—’
‘Until what?’ Tessa broke in angrily. ‘Until the police arrive with the news? Who would you rather told her? Them or us?’
‘If it wasn’t – isn’t – Carl, then they won’t come, will they?’ he pointed out.
‘It was Carl,’ said Tessa bluntly.
Guy said nothing and they stood in the shadowy stable amongst the debris, staring one another out. Finally, Guy took off his tweed cap, put up a hand to sweep an errant fringe of hair off his forehead, and replaced the cap with a military precision. ‘All right, I respect your judgement, Tess, even if I’m not sure about Fred’s. You reckon it was Carl, we’ll take it that it was the silly bugger. What was he doing in Crooked Man Woods? He lives in London. If he was in the area at all, he’d have been coming here to bend Hattie’s ear about money.’
‘I don’t know, do I?’ retorted Tessa.
For a moment, a wry smile touched Guy’s lips. ‘Oh, I’m never sure what you know, Tess.’
Her complexion turned a beetroot red. ‘Look here, I didn’t ask to find him!’
‘No, no, of course you didn’t,’ he soothed her. ‘All right, it was Carl you found – or someone else had found earlier and called the cops. If not, the police wouldn’t have turned up so fast. Any sign of another civilian hanging around? Some innocent walker looking green or throwing up in the trees?’
She frowned. ‘There was a youngish fellow, leaning against a tree a little way off. He did look a bit pale. He wasn’t being violently ill or anything like that; he was pretty calm, in fact.’
‘OK, Tess, then this is what we’ll do. I’ll go into the house and find Hattie, tell her you’re here and that, possibly, you’ve got some bad news. I’ll explain it all, and then call you in if Hattie wants to hear more. I’ve never wished the fellow dead. But in one way I hope you’re right and I’m not about to frighten my wife into hysterics just because Fred threw a hissy fit in the woods.’
Harriet was huddled in a big old leather chair with side wings in the style sometimes called ‘Queen Anne’. It had been her father’s favourite seat. She ran a hand over the warm, smooth surface of the padded armrest, sensing his hand making the same gesture and, before his, an earlier generation doing the same thing. This room had been his study and escaped alteration through the years. As a small child, she had liked to climb into the chair and curl up. It had always made her feel safe. It was failing to work its magic now. With
a long wool cardigan wrapped around her and her fingers gripping a mug of lemon tea, she was waiting for Tessa to arrive with Guy.
The tea made her hands hot and the rest of her feel colder. She had drawn up her legs under her and knew that she had adopted the stance of that long-ago little girl. When her mother died, she had spent a lot of time in this chair. Then Nancy had arrived in her life as her father’s new wife and someone Dad had optimistically hoped would be a new mother for her.
Harriet could see Nancy in her mind’s eye: her floating skirts, ethnic waistcoats and multicoloured strings of beads, her long, mermaid-like, russet hair. She had cut an incongruous figure in the setting of the old house, fluttering through its rooms like some exotic butterfly that had flown in through a window and become trapped. Nancy had done her best, but she was far from the traditional notion of a mother. She never encouraged Harriet to eat her greens or suggested they spend a wet afternoon baking and decorating little cakes. But she did spend a whole hour one summer afternoon braiding daisies into her stepdaughter’s hair. Harriet hadn’t minded Nancy’s arrival, because she sensed a return of happiness in her father. The problem had been that Nancy had trailed Carl in her wake, a truculent, difficult small boy.
Harriet remembered the first time she and he had met. He had stood in the middle of this room, staring round at everything and judging every stick of furniture and china vase. She had gazed at him fascinated because he was so beautiful, with his thick bob of blond hair and bright blue eyes. Then he had turned those blue eyes on her and assessed her in the same way he’d been judging the room. She had known then, with a child’s unerring intuition, that she would never be free of him. He had arrived determined to take over everything: her father as replacement for the father who had deserted him, her home, her life and, ultimately, her.
Yet, in a curious way, they’d got along well together during their shared childhood. She’d felt that Carl had been proud to have her as his sister, even if she hadn’t really been that, not a blood relative at all. He’d protected and championed her as loyally as a real brother would. She had sensed how vulnerable he was, deep down, particularly when Nancy died from a tumour on the brain diagnosed far too late. Harriet, not quite fourteen, had run to throw her arms around lanky, just-sixteen-year-old Carl and had promised to look after him.
‘He took me at my word,’ she murmured into the steam rising from her lemon tea. ‘Poor Carl.’
Everything had been all right until Guy arrived in her life. Carl had recognised someone who would make a stronger claim on her and couldn’t contain his jealousy. Guy, she was sure, had identified how dangerous Carl could be.
And now Carl was dead; gone, but never to be forgotten. She had heard the crunch of wheels earlier and knew that Tessa had arrived and that, true to the scenario she had sketched out to Harriet earlier, she would be talking to Guy, telling him what had happened. Soon they’d appear to break the dreadful news. Or perhaps Guy would come alone. One or both, they would tell her; and all she had to do was look shocked. Wasn’t that what Tessa had said?
‘I’m an idiot,’ Harriet whispered. Her tea was cooling rapidly and the steam had almost evaporated. ‘If I’d been thinking even a little clearly, I’d have refused to go along with Tessa’s game plan. It’s barmy. We won’t get away with it. I should have picked up the phone, called the police to report that I’d found a body as soon as I got back here, then gone and told Guy. We’d have waited here together for them to come. But I called Tessa instead. Now I’ve got to get through this shameful piece of play-acting. Guy’s not a fool. He’ll know that something’s wrong. Eventually, I’ll have to tell him that Carl was coming down here to see me, because what other reason could there be for his presence but a plea for money? Guy will ask why Carl was in the wood. It will all come out. Guy will be upset that I’ve misled him. And then, what about the police? Isn’t deliberately misleading them an offence? Tessa and I will look a pair of real idiots because of her stupid plan to “find” Carl.’
Maybe she could phone the police before Guy and Tessa got here? But it was too late. Footsteps were approaching.
She heard Guy ask, ‘Hattie?’ She looked up and saw him gazing down at her with concern. Tessa stood a little behind him. She looked worried. She thinks I can’t go through with it, Hattie thought. Probably, she’s right.
There was no need to act out any pretend shock. She was stunned by Tessa’s news. A wild card had been thrown on to the table. Tess had not ‘found’ Carl. Her friend had driven to the woods and set off down the blue path, only to find the police already there. Harriet could hardly believe her ears. How could the police have got there so soon? She gazed from Guy to Tessa and back again, unable to speak. Guy interpreted that as distress. He spoke of calling their doctor. Tessa intervened.
‘We don’t need a doctor. We just need to put her to bed, keep her warm and let things take their course.’
They guided her upstairs. Tessa undressed her and tucked her up like an infant. But as soon as they left her, Harriet slid out of bed and – still like a small child – crept out on to the landing. She leaned over to try to catch what they were saying. Their voices were muffled. They’d closed the drawing-room door. Harriet ventured down the stairs, almost to the very bottom, where she sat down, face pressed against the uprights of the banister, listening.
Guy’s voice was loud and angry. She could hear what he was saying clearly. ‘What the hell is going on, Tess?’
‘How do I know?’ from Tessa.
She sounds too defensive, thought the eavesdropping Harriet.
‘I know my wife.’ Guy’s voice faded then grew louder again. There was a bump, as if he’d collided with something. He must be striding up and down the room. ‘You should have told the police you thought the dead man was Carl.’
‘Well, I didn’t!’ snapped Tessa.
‘And I’m going to!’ he retorted.
‘Suppose it isn’t Carl?’
Guy’s voice grew angry. ‘You told me you were sure it was! Or that ruddy dog of yours was sure! You persuaded me to tell Hattie he was dead on the basis of it. For pity’s sake, are you now changing your mind?!’
‘No!’ Tessa exploded. ‘I’m not. But Hattie’s in no state to have the house filled with police.’
‘Think straight, Tess, can’t you? You have – we have – information, and it should be given to the police. I’ll phone them now. I’ll say you’ve discussed it with me. That’s true. You have. You were doubtful, when you saw the body, whether it could be Carl, and you didn’t want to mislead them. But you’ve had time to think it over and now you’re sure. You came here because you were distressed and felt the family should know of the possibility.’
‘That’s true, too!’ said Tessa sourly.
‘Right! So we’ve decided to tell them.’ Guy was now sounding very crisp and military, even though it was a good while since he’d left the army. ‘It’s a requirement, Tess!’
‘Hattie can’t cope with the police now!’ Tessa was digging her heels in. She’s trying to protect me, thought Harriet. They both want to protect me but they have different ideas how to do it, always have had.
‘And when they do find out his identity, they will come here! What then? They’ll soon suss out we already know.’ His voice was growing aggressive. Guy didn’t lose his temper often, even when arguing with Tessa. But when he did there was something ruthless about him.
Tessa had heard it, and there was a silence. Sounding grumpy in defeat, she said, ‘All right. But wait until tomorrow. First thing in the morning, I’ll call the police. I’ll tell them I’ve been thinking about it all night. That I decided I had to tell them I think it’s Carl.’
‘No, Tess, we tell them now! We’ve already told Hattie. How can we tell the police tomorrow? Tell them you weren’t sure in the woods, but you’ve thought it over and you are now!’ A short pause, then Guy spoke again. ‘Harriet’s my wife and it’s my decision. Since you won’t pick up that phone, Tess, I blo
ody well will!’
‘All right!’ Tessa was angry because she knew Guy meant it. ‘Just let me go upstairs and warn Hattie that the police may turn up at any moment.’
Harriet hurried back to her bed.
Moments later, Tessa appeared, with a face like thunder. ‘Your husband is impossible!’ She made a visible effort to control her ire. ‘How are you doing, sweetie?’ She sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Listen, love, Guy says we must tell the cops I have identified Carl. He’s right, of course. But the’ – Tessa glanced over her shoulder towards the closed door and lowered her voice – ‘but the rest of our plan still stands.’
‘Our plan?’ Harriet muttered. ‘My plan was to meet Carl in a nice, quiet place, without Guy knowing, and make him accept that there would be no more money. Not this nightmare.’
Tessa drew in a deep breath and then released it with a hiss. ‘Then you agreed to my plan. Look, the main thing is, you weren’t there. You didn’t find him. Guy can wonder all he likes what Carl was doing in Crooked Man Woods, but there is absolutely no reason for him to know you’d arranged to meet him there. Nor that you found Carl before I did.’
Harriet said: ‘You didn’t, did you, find him? When you and Guy told me about it just now, you said that the police were already there when you got to the woods.’
‘Yes, I hadn’t expected that. I don’t know how the cops got there so quickly.’ Tessa scowled, then took her friend’s hand. ‘Keep your nerve, Hattie. It will be all right. No one need know you were in the woods this morning. You’re doing fine now. Guy accepts you’re shocked. The cops will accept you’re shocked. They’ll come and talk to you, sure. But then they will go away and – and whatever happens, you won’t be involved.’
‘Is Inspector Campbell in the building?’ Ian Carter asked, stepping from his office into the corridor to intercept Tracy Bennison, who was marching briskly past, the soles of her shoes squeaking discordantly on the freshly cleaned floor tiles.
Bennison skidded to a halt with a noise like the skirl of bagpipes as his voice sounded behind her. She backed up a few steps. ‘I saw her earlier, sir. I think she’s still here.’