[DCI Neil Paget 01] - Fatal Flaw

by Frank Smith

  These things he observed almost peripherally, because his attention was drawn to the small boy who was watching him from his seat on a swing. The swing was suspended from a heavy lateral beam that ran from high above the doorway where Paget stood, to a point above the bench on the opposite wall. The boy would be about seven or eight, Paget judged, fair-haired, pale and solemn-eyed.

  ‘Would you give me a push, please?’

  And polite. Paget walked over to the swing and gave it a push. The boy gripped the ropes and wriggled his bottom more firmly into place. ‘Harder, please. I like to go high.’ He began to pump with vigour after each push.

  ‘I’m not sure you should go much higher than that,’ Paget said. The beam to which the swing was attached was some twelve or thirteen feet above the floor, and the arc the swing described was formidable. Paget wasn’t a small man by any measure, but even he was having to stretch to keep the swing going.

  ‘I’ve been higher,’ the boy said, continuing to pump.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Paget, ‘but I’d rather you didn’t while I’m here. What’s your name?’

  ‘James. Everybody calls me Jimmy, but it’s really James. Except Sally. She calls me James. Sally put the swing up for me.’

  ‘Do you know where Sally is? I came to see her.’

  James skewed round on the seat to look at him and the swing wobbled dangerously. ‘Are you her boy-friend?’ he asked.

  Paget steadied him on the next back swing. ‘No. I’m here on business.’

  ‘Oh.’ James lost interest. ‘She’s in the office.’ He uncurled one finger from the rope and pointed as best he could.

  At the far end of the barn was a loft, and beneath it a corner had been partitioned off to form an office. The door was slightly ajar, and Paget could hear the murmur of voices beyond.

  ‘I want you to let the swing die down, now,’ he told the boy. ‘I have to go and talk to Sally. All right?’

  ‘I shan’t fall off,’ said James. ‘Sally lets me go higher.’

  ‘I’m sure she does, but I’m not Sally, and I’d feel much better if you’ll promise me you’ll let the swing die down.’

  ‘Will you give me another push before you go?’

  ‘Only if you do as I say.’

  ‘All right.’

  Paget knocked on the door and heard Sally Pritchard call ‘Come in’. He stuck his head inside and saw that she was on the phone. One hand covered the transmitter. ‘Sit down,’ she mouthed, ‘I’ll only be a minute.’

  He’d barely taken a seat when Sally hung up the phone and sat back in her own chair. ‘You’ve come for the list, I suppose?’ Her voice was flat, civil enough, but little more. She looked cold and pinched about the face, especially around the eyes. Yet it wasn’t cold. An electric heater was blasting heat across the tiny office.

  ‘The boy, James - he’ll be all right, will he? He likes to go high, he tells me.’

  Sally Pritchard smiled, but it was obviously an effort. ‘He’ll be all right,’ she told him. ‘Why? Did he con you into pushing him? He’s perfectly capable of doing it himself, you know.’

  Paget smiled. ‘I seem to remember doing much the same at his age,’ he said. ‘He seems like a nice lad. James...?’

  ‘Lucas, the owner’s boy.’ Her face softened as she glanced through the open door. ‘He’d spend hours on that swing if you’d let him, but his father...Well, that’s not what you’ve come to talk about, is it. Chief Inspector?’

  ‘No. Do you have the list?’

  Sally unbuttoned the pocket of her shirt and pulled out a folded piece of paper. ‘I sat down and wrote this out last night,’ she told him. ‘I knew it would be a madhouse here this morning.’ She handed the paper to Paget. ‘Apart from Monica, everyone on the first page either lives or works here. The ones on the second page are the people who dropped in for a drink. Clients, people we do business with, and some of the girls who work part-time here to help pay for boarding their horses.’

  Paget glanced at the second page. ‘Did any of these people know Monica well?’ he asked.

  ‘No. None of them did as far as I know.’

  Paget continued to look at the list. ‘I see,’ he said as he folded it and put it away. He stood up. ‘Perhaps we could have a look at that shed, now?’

  Sally Pritchard half rose to her feet, then sank back into her chair again. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but I’m waiting for a telephone call, so I’ll give you the key and you can look for yourself, if you don’t mind. The shed’s at the top end of the yard. It’s the small, metal one. You can’t miss it.’ She opened a drawer and took out a ring containing several keys. ‘It’s the smallest one,’ she told him as she handed him the ring. ‘You will let me have them back when you’re finished, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course. Tell me, is the door to the shed usually kept locked?’

  She nodded. ‘It’s supposed to be,’ she said, ‘but I’m always having to get after someone for leaving doors unlocked. When you’re in and out all the time, you don’t want to be bothered with locking and unlocking doors if you can help it, but we’ve had more than our fair share of pilfering, and sometimes the horses get into things they shouldn’t. Mr Lucas gets very upset if he finds a door unlocked. It was open when I found Monica, of course. It shouldn’t have been, but it was.’

  ‘Who has access to the keys to the shed?’

  ‘Everyone - that is, all the regular staff. They all have their own keys.’

  ‘I see.’ Paget was about to leave when another thought occurred to him. ‘I saw you talking to a tall, dark-haired woman earlier this morning,’ he said. ‘I have the feeling that I should know her, but I can’t for the life of me think where I might have seen her. Do you know who I mean?’

  He had asked the question out of simple curiosity, but Sally Pritchard’s reaction was strange. She became very still, and her eyes went completely blank. ‘I spoke to a good many people this morning,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know who you mean. Sorry.’

  ‘No matter,’ he told her. ‘I was just curious. No doubt it will come to me when I least expect it.’

  He moved to the door. ‘I see Dr McMillan is riding today,’ he said. ‘Is that her horse? The big grey?’

  Sally nodded. ‘That’s Busker,’ she said. ‘He’s a bit of a handful, but she’s a good rider.’

  ‘Come here often, does she?’

  A frown creased Sally’s brow. ‘Does this have something to do with Monica?’ she asked him.

  Paget smiled disarmingly. ‘No. Just curious,’ he said. ‘Thank you. Miss Pritchard.’

  James was waiting for him as he left, and true to his promise, Paget stopped and gave the boy a push. ‘I can go higher,’ the boy told him as Paget moved away. ‘Watch me.’

  ‘Just for a minute, then.’

  James kicked out, sending the swing higher and higher while Paget stood in the doorway and watched. It was like being at Wimbledon, he thought, as his head swivelled from side to side, following the sweep of each arc. But James was showing off, now, trying to impress him, so Paget waved goodbye and went off to find the shed.

  10

  The storage shed was as Sally Pritchard had described it. She was right; there was nowhere for anyone to hide, but someone could have slipped out of the back door quite easily. Paget opened it and looked out. There was a wire fence about ten feet away, and beyond it was the schooling ring. It afforded little in the way of concealment, but Monica’s assailant - if indeed there had been any such person - had only to run a few paces either way along the inside of the fence to gain cover among the other buildings backing on to the ring. And it had been dark.

  He examined every inch of the floor, but it was impossible to tell whether or not a struggle had taken place. It would be a waste of time to have Charlie and his people go over it, he concluded. Too many people had access to the shed for any findings to be of value.

  On his way back to the red barn to return the key, Paget met the girl he’d s
poken to earlier about the hunt. She had a bucket in each hand, and was eyeing him with open curiosity as he approached. On impulse, he stopped and introduced himself.

  The girl set the buckets down. ‘Penny Wakefield,’ she said. ‘Syl said she thought you’d be coming round. I did wonder when I saw you earlier today.’

  ‘Syl being Sylvia Gray, I take it?’ he said.

  ‘That’s right. She said you thought Monica had committed suicide. Is that right? Did she?’

  ‘It’s because we don’t know how she died that we’re asking questions,’ Paget explained carefully, although privately he thought he was probably wasting his breath. Simply asking whether Monica had ever spoken of suicide had made it fact in most people’s minds. However, since the subject had come up, he might as well put the question. ‘Did she ever mention any such idea to you?’

  ‘No. She never was what you might call happy, but suicide? No.’

  ‘Were you at the Christmas party here on Thursday?’

  ‘Till about half-past five. I had to leave then to catch the bus. See, I had Christmas Day off, so I went home.’

  ‘I see. Tell me, did you know Monica very well?’

  The girl shrugged. ‘I don’t think anyone knew Monica very well,’ she said. ‘But she used to talk to me sometimes. She had some funny ideas, but she wasn’t a bad kid.’

  ‘Funny ideas? About what? Can you give me an example?’

  Penny sighed. ‘I don’t suppose it can do any harm if I tell you now,’ she said. ‘Poor kid. They were about her mother, mostly. She was always making up stories about her. How important she was, and how much she wanted Monica to be with her, but something always seemed to come along to prevent it. She would even tell me that she’d been up to London - even Europe - to visit her mother on weekends when I knew very well she’d never been any farther then Broadminster that weekend. And no matter where it was, her mother always had this fabulous flat, and they would go out together to all the best shops and the finest restaurants.

  ‘It was all a load of old rubbish, of course, but I never let on that I didn’t believe a word of it. If it made her feel better to tell all those stories about her mother, where was the harm?’

  ‘But did she believe them?’ Paget asked.

  The girl thought about that carefully before she replied. ‘I think she did while she was telling them,’ she said slowly, ‘but deep down I’m sure she knew them for what they were. Sad, really, when you think about it.’

  Sad wasn’t the word for it, thought Paget. Monica Shaw was emerging as a pathetic figure virtually abandoned by her mother, yet desperately denying it even to herself.

  ‘Do you know if she told these stories to anyone else?’

  Penny shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘No one else ever mentioned that she had, and I’m sure someone would have if she’d told them anything like that.’

  ‘Why you, then. Miss Wakefield? Don’t misunderstand me, but it’s just that I had gained the impression that Monica rarely shared her thoughts with anyone.’

  Again, the girl shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, ‘unless it was because I was one of the few who would put up with her. She was always pestering Sally for something to do, but most of the gang around here wanted nothing to do with her, so Sally used to send her along to help me. See, Monica wasn’t what you might call well co-ordinated. You had to be patient with her. Perhaps I was a bit more patient than the others.’

  ‘Tell me about Thursday. Did you talk to Monica then?’

  ‘Not much. Not what you’d call real talk. You know what it’s like at a party; everyone talks but nobody listens. Not that it matters as long as they’re having a good time. I saw her there, of course, but that was about all. Anyway, I was up the yard half the time, trying to get finished before I left.’

  ‘Did you by any chance see Monica anywhere near the shed up there?’ Paget nodded in the direction of the storage shed. ‘Say somewhere between five and six that afternoon? Perhaps with someone else?’

  Penny looked at him sharply, then glanced towards the shed, a strange expression on her face. That was Monica?’ she said, her voice rising. ‘I never thought...’ She broke off and turned back to Paget. ‘Are you sure it was Monica?’ she asked him.

  ‘Perhaps you had better tell me exactly what it was you saw that afternoon,’ he said.

  ‘It wasn’t so much saw as heard,’ she said slowly. Penny Wakefield sounded slightly bewildered. ‘The little devil! I never dreamt...’ She looked at Paget. ‘Sorry,’ she apologized, ‘but it comes as a bit of a shock. If I’d known it was her he had in there...’

  ‘From the beginning, if you don’t mind. Miss Wakefield,’ Paget prompted her.

  ‘Yes. Well, I’d just finished up, and was on my way up to the room to change, you see. Syl and I have the end room above the stalls, next to the shed.’ She pointed to a row of small windows beneath the eaves. ‘I saw Maurice go into the shed, but I didn’t think anything of it at the time. I was in a bit of a hurry because my bus was due in twenty minutes, and I had to get down to the gate to catch it.

  ‘Anyway, I changed and was on my way out when I noticed that the light over the shed door was out, and that made me wonder whether Maurice had locked the door when he left. He’s always leaving it open,’ she explained, ‘and he always says it wasn’t him, so I went over to check.’

  ‘Did you put the light on?’

  ‘No. The bulb was gone.’

  ‘Gone? You mean burnt out?’

  The girl shrugged. ‘I suppose so,’ she said.

  ‘I see. Please go on.’

  Penny Wakefield shifted her weight from one foot to the other and glanced over at the shed. ‘Well, when I got to the door, I could hear voices, and I realized that Maurice had...well, there was someone in there with him.’ She stopped, but under Paget’s quizzical gaze reluctantly went on. ‘They were...well, you know...’

  Paget played dumb. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know,’ he said blandly. ‘They were what?’

  Colour began to creep into the girl’s face. ‘They were having it off,’ she said baldly.

  ‘Try to remember exactly what you heard,’ he said. ‘It may be important.’

  Penny Wakefield looked doubtful, but furrowed her brow in concentration. ‘I didn’t exactly hang about,’ she said, ‘so it wasn’t much. He was...well, coaxing her, you might say. I don’t remember the exact words.’ The colour in her face was rising fast.

  Paget waited. His eyes never left Penny’s face.

  ‘He said something like “It’s all right. I won’t hurt you...” something like that. Like I said, I didn’t hang about.’

  ‘And what did she say?’

  Penny shook her head. ‘I didn’t hear her say anything. Just noises, you know.’

  ‘Noises?’

  Penny laughed nervously. ‘More like squeaks,’ she said, looking more embarrassed than ever. ‘There was a lot of thrashing about.’

  ‘As if she were struggling?’

  ‘Yes. She...’ She stopped as the implication of the question sank in. ‘I don’t mean...’ she began, and stopped again.

  ‘Could she have been struggling? Trying to get away? Could someone have had a hand over her mouth, for example? Is that why you only heard squeaks, as you call them?’

  ‘I - I suppose,’ Penny admitted reluctantly, then more defiantly: ‘I didn’t know it was Monica. I thought...Well, it could have been anybody, couldn’t it?’ Her voice took on a belligerent tone. ‘I mean, with Maurice about, even the cat isn’t safe.’

  ‘Who is Maurice?’ Paget asked the question although he thought he knew the answer from the list given to him by Sally.

  ‘Maurice Blake. He’s head trainer and instructor.’

  ‘I was under the impression that Sally Pritchard occupied that position,’ he said.

  ‘She should,’ the girl said with surprising vehemence. ‘She can run circles around Maurice. But no, she’s mainly responsible for Thornton H
ill; she must have close to forty girls from over there now, so a lot of her time is spent on training. But Maurice brings the women in and that pleases Mr Lucas. Not that he’d be very pleased if he knew everything Maurice does around here,’ she added darkly. ‘And since Ernie Craddock was killed the other week, Maurice thinks he’s cock-of-the-walk.’

  The name stirred a memory. ‘Craddock,’ he said. ‘Was that the chap who died after being mugged outside a pub?’ he asked. He hadn’t handled the case personally, but he remembered some of the details.

  The girl nodded soberly. ‘Bastards! He was a good old stick, was Ernie,’ she said. ‘Never did anyone any harm. And he knew more about horses than Maurice will ever know.’ She drew in a long breath and let it out again. ‘Maurice was cocky enough before, but now, with Ernie out of the way, he reckons he’s got a clear field.’

  He remembered, now. It was thought at first that Craddock had been run over, but according to the pathologist’s report, someone had cracked his head open with a heavy instrument, probably metal, and had then left him lying under the back wheels of a van parked in the yard. It was dark when the owner got in to drive away, and he drove over Craddock’s head. The driver went into a state of shock when he realized what he’d done. He thought he’d killed Craddock, of course, but the post-mortem revealed that Craddock was dead before the van went over him.

  That Penny Wakefield didn’t like Blake was obvious, but she was being remarkably candid, and Paget asked her why.

  The girl glanced around although no one was in sight, and lowered her voice. ‘Because I’m giving in my notice at the end of the month,’ she told him. ‘I’ve got a better job lined up at Church Stretton, but I haven’t told anyone yet.’