by Keith Finney
"One thing is obvious though. He sees no connection between Geoff’s body disappearing from the morgue and his cause of death. As for getting us pulled over on Sunday, nope, I don’t believe it. He’s either a good actor, or stupid. And I know which of the two I'll settle for."
Ant was aware of Lyn's studied look as he took another gulp of his pale ale.
"The thing is, Ant, do you see any connection?"
He placed his glass back onto the table with the reverence of an antiquarian mounting a precious artefact ready for close inspection.
"Let’s put it this way, someone didn’t want Geoff Singleton’s body interfered with, which begs two questions: who and why?"
The reappearance of Sarah interrupted his flow.
"I’ve kept two slices of lemon cheesecake back for you, if you’re in the mood?"
Ant smiled. Lyn licked her lips.
"Does that come with ice cream?" asked Ant.
"Frothy cream from a can for me," said Lyn.
Sarah touched the side of her nose.
"I’ll see what I can do."
Sarah disappeared as quickly as she’d appeared, leaving the two friends to resume their analysis.
"As I see it, Lyn, there are three possible suspects: Hannah herself, though she'd have to have been a magnificent actor to carry it off, but not impossible. Then there’s dear Rufus."
He could see Lyn was desperate to jump in.
"Well, you told me he knocked around with some dodgy characters. Perhaps the deal with Geoff went pear shaped, and Rufus wanted his money back—or worse?"
Ant rubbed his chin between two fingers.
"You're correct. Rufus is as mad as a box of frogs when the mood takes him. But kidnapping a body? I guess we won't know for sure until or unless he contacts Hannah demanding money for its safe return. But you know—"
"Hang on. That's two who might be in the frame. You said three?"
Ant smiled.
"Did I? Oh, yes, I did, didn't I? Well, there's Jakub Baros."
Lyn sat back in her chair and stared at her fellow sleuth.
"Who?" she said as if Ant had simply made the name up.
"Jakub Baros, Hannah’s first love. Apparently, he’s the jealous sort. What's more, he’s been seen in the village."
Ant stemmed a flood of questions from Lyn by recounting his chance encounter with Annabelle.
"Did she describe what he looked like?"
Ant thought for a moment as he mentally ran through their conversation.
"A bit scruffy, and a scar."
Lyn banged her glass onto the table with such force that it gave Ant a start.
"I saw him yesterday, or rather, he almost knocked me over. And if he drives a four by four, we can put him at the boathouse on Saturday morning," replied Lyn as she told Ant about the damage to Irene Chapman’s car.
Good eye for detail.
"You're learning, Lyn. Fabulous. All I can say is that Hannah’s lucky to have a friend like Annabelle to watch her back."
Their eyes locked.
"You know what?" said Sarah, as she returned with the sweet. "The way you two look at each other, well, people might think you’re an old married couple still mad about one other."
Ant frowned as he broke eye contact to engage Sarah.
"Married? That’s for crazy people."
Ant turned back to Lyn and noted her gentle smile fading as she played with her glass, eyes now firmly fixed on the turning object.
9
Burnt Out
"So there you are, Anthony. I was just talking to this young detective about the war. His father was at Monte Casino as part of the Italian campaign like me. Small world, isn’t it?"
Ant couldn’t disguise his surprise at finding Detective Inspector Riley in the library of Stanton Hall, let alone hear him being described as "young."
He greeted the smiling policeman politely enough. After all, that’s how he had been brought up, but he felt uneasy as he tried to make sense of what the policeman was doing talking to his father.
"I mentioned to the Earl of Stanton that my dad went all the way through without so much as a scratch. Isn’t that amazing?"
Ant gave a faint smile and nodded as he turned to a side table and poured a cup of coffee.
No visible scars, anyway.
"Well," said the earl, "I’ll leave you two gentlemen to get on with things. I’m sure the detective has had quite enough of the ramblings of an old soldier."
Riley managed an embarrassed smile.
"Goodbye, Detective Inspector Riley, and thank you for the wonderful work your colleagues and you do in keeping us all safe."
You might well blush.
Ant escorted his father into the terrace conservatory and made sure he was safely seated before rejoining his visitor in the library.
"He’s a remarkable man. Mine’s the same. They don’t make them like that anymore, do they?"
Ant nodded.
Maybe there’s more to Riley than I give him credit for.
"His generation are certainly tough cookies, Inspector. Not surprising given the experiences they all went through."
Ant offered Riley a top-up of his coffee.
"They’re all the same. War doesn’t distinguish between high and low born, does it, Lord Stanton?"
Ant paused as he replenished Riley’s drink, unsure if the detective had reverted to type, but gave Riley the benefit of doubt.
"As you say, Detective Inspector, war doesn’t give a damn who it hurts."
The room fell into silence.
Riley glanced around his elaborate surroundings, seeming to linger on the more ornate features of a pair of bookcase cabinets.
Ant watched and waited.
Wait for it. One rule for the rich, another for the workers.
He was pleasantly surprised when the expected sarcasm didn’t materialise.
"We traced the car that stopped you on Sunday."
"Really?" replied Ant, caught out that the detective had bothered to follow the matter up. "And the owner?"
"It was stolen, I’m afraid, so no trace there. We found it burnt out on an abandoned World War II airfield between Norwich and Cambridge."
Ant took a few seconds to digest the information and formulate where to go next. Taking Riley’s empty china cup and saucer from his outstretched hand, he returned the delicate object to a veneered mahogany side table.
"Dare I ask about fingerprints?"
"As I said, the car was burnt to a crisp. We think a couple of local scallywags found it, took it for a spin before dumping and setting light to it."
"Then how did you come to find it?"
Riley smiled, which was not something Ant had seen him do often.
"A coincidence, and good police work. Over recent months, we’ve had reports of kids using laser pens to distract pilots. We asked the aviation authority to let us know about any incidents they receive from aircrew. We got one such report earlier this week. We followed it up, and hey, presto…"
It wasn’t often Ant felt compelled to congratulate the detective. He felt the need to do so now.
"What can I say? But why are you going to so much trouble if it was just kids who torched the car?"
Ant’s question was framed to drag as much information from Riley as possible.
"Well, as you mentioned to me the other day, whoever stopped you knew quite a bit about your background."
"Are you any nearer to finding out who he was?" replied Ant, eager for any clue the detective might unwittingly provide.
Riley took a step back, turned, and began to make his way to the door.
"We’re working on that. I should also just mention that I expect you to contact me immediately should you hear anything about the whereabouts of Geoffrey Singleton’s body. Do we understand each other?"
Just can’t help himself.
"Anthony, Lyn is on the telephone. Don’t keep the girl waiting."
The Earl of Stanton’s voice carried down
the long gallery of Stanton Hall without Ant’s father having to raise his voice.
"Got it, Dad," replied Ant as he lifted the receiver.
"Ant, I’ve just taken a call from Hannah. She sounds terrified."
"What’s wrong?"
"She says she’s seen Jakub Baros peering into her front window. I’ve sent Tina round to keep her company. Shall I ring the police?"
Ant knew he had to act quickly.
"Where’s Annabelle?"
"Hannah garbled something about her having to fly back to Poland to arrange finance for some building conversion project."
"Okay," replied Ant. "That makes sense. Annabelle told me she wanted to buy the old Methodist hall. I guess that’s what she’s on about. Don’t ring the police. I’ll shoot over straight away."
Ant arrived to find Tina fussing over Hannah, trying to get the woman to drink tea. The traumatised woman sat in a far corner of the large room shaking like a leaf as she stared through a picture window onto the front garden.
"What’s been going on?"
Tina shrugged her shoulders.
"Lyn asked me to come over, and this is what I found. I’ve had a quick look around outside, but I can’t see anyone."
Ant noticed a short length of old wood about two inches square resting on the arm of a chair.
"Just as well you didn’t find him, Hannah." Ant smiled as he pointed to the timber.
His effort to lift her mood failed. There was no reaction.
"Look at me," said Ant quietly as he knelt down beside Hannah. His persistence paid off. Eventually, she made eye contact.
"Good." His calm, gentle voice began to tease Hannah from her stupor.
"Tell me about this Jakub chap. It's safe, don't worry. We won't leave you alone."
Ant watched Hannah tense at the mention of her old flame's name.
"I promise you; I won’t let anything happen to you. Annabelle told me the pair of you were fond of each other when you were younger. Yes?"
He could tell that being taken back in time had a curiously cathartic effect on Hannah. For a few seconds, her facial features relaxed. The moment soon passed.
"Yes, you are correct. He was my first serious boyfriend. We lived in a small village, and he was very handsome."
Ant smiled, urging Hannah to continue.
"But as we got older, he started to get into trouble. Small things at first then more serious. He met some bad people. And if he thought I had looked at another boy, he got very angry. One time he hit…"
Hannah’s voice tailed off, and tears began to flow.
It's okay to remember. Let it out.
"And Geoff?" Ant worked hard to help Hannah maintain eye contact.
That's it, Hannah. Come on, smile. It's okay to remember the good times with those we grieve for.
"He came to the village one day. I was down at the harbour, and he had come to look at a boat. He bumped into me. I think he did it on purpose." Hannah broke into a broad smile. "And that was it. We were inseparable. But Jakub…"
Her voice began to tremble as she spoke his name.
Ant knew he’d pushed things as far as he could.
"Listen," said Ant, getting to his feet, "why don’t I have a look around while you get a few things together. I’ve spoken to Lyn. She thinks it might be a good idea for you to spend a couple of days at her place. It’s right in the centre of the village with plenty of people around. It beats being stuck here in the middle of nowhere, don't you think?"
Ant observed a small nod. That was enough to confirm arrangements.
10
Cold Comfort
Ant's quad bike roared to life as he pressed the engine start button and twisted the throttle. In seconds, the machine had crossed Stanton Hall's shingle courtyard and raced into the open countryside.
As he took in the view of the family's land, he remembered a time when he'd found it difficult coming to terms with the privileges he enjoyed. This was balanced by the memory of his parents' decision not to send him to preparatory school but to the local primary.
I hated being the odd one out.
Ribbed mercilessly by most of the other kids, he knew his parents had been right to ensure he experienced the real world. Some of those children now worked for the estate just as their parents had. Others left the village and went on to professional careers. His best friend, Lyn Blackthorn, was a case in point. She’d left to get away from her warring parents, worked hard for her degree, and returned to the village as a head teacher.
He, too, had felt the need to escape after the death of his older brother and the responsibilities that would eventually fall to him. As he pondered the future of the business, the finances of which didn’t make for restful sleep, he watched two figures scurrying about on the roof of one of the estate’s Victorian follies.
He was too far away to make out who they were. However, given the remote location, he knew they had to be locals.
Well, I'll be damned. They're stripping the lead.
In his youth he'd have jumped into the fray. Now he took a more measured approach. If military conflict had taught him anything, it was that rushing into a situation without weighing up the options usually ended badly.
Not exactly an armed threat, but here we go.
Ant cut the engine and allowed the quad bike to coast the final hundred yards down a gentle slope to the edge of a clearing from where he could keep his unwanted visitors under observation.
Two teenagers skipped across the steep pitch of the obelisk like a pair of mountain gazelles. Even though they were damaging a building of historical value, he couldn’t help but admire their athleticism.
About fifteen I'd say.
Dismounting the bike, Ant crept up on their blind side until he stood at the foot of the flint-faced construction. As he heard one of them sliding down to the eaves in preparation to jump, Ant stepped back so he could confront the intruder.
"Good morning, young man. Can I help you with that? It must be heavy?"
The sound of Ant’s authoritative voice caused the youth to shout in terror for his mum. Both youth and lead dropped from the eaves onto a lush carpet of long meadow grass.
Ant turned his gaze from the dishevelled youth rubbing the hand his loot had fallen onto, to his accomplice, who was peering over the roof's edge to investigate the kerfuffle.
"Nice to meet you too, young lady. Do come and join us. Would you like a hand?"
Ant offered the girl an outstretched hand to ease her descent. Dismissing his offer, she leaped clear and landed next to her partner in crime.
"I hesitate to ask the obvious, but what exactly are you doing?"
The would-be thieves glanced at each other, then the lead, and finally at Ant.
Your faces really are a picture.
"Fair enough. I suppose that was a stupid question."
The youths scrunched their faces as if competing in a gurning competition.
"What’s he on about?" muttered the boy.
"He’s mad. Who is he, anyway?" replied the girl without bothering to look at the adult towering over them.
Top marks for bravado.
He remembered being their age. One which excluded adults from having anything of interest to say and whose only function was to shout and make teenagers’ lives a misery.
"An apt enquiry, young lady. I'm the man whose family owns the ground you’re sitting on. Oh, and the lead you kindly thought to relieve us of."
The youths turned to look at the alloy resting forlornly in the long grass, then at Ant.
"If you own this lot, you’re not going to miss a bit of lead, are you?" The girl nodded in an act of solidarity with her more forward accomplice.
"True, but that isn’t the point—"
"It’s okay for you. You’re rich, right? We’ve got nothing. No money or any chance of a job. There isn't anything for us around here. My dad says the rich get richer, and the poor stay poor."
Well, that told me.
He
observed the pair for a few seconds, their eyes locked on his. Neither had used bad language, given him backchat, or tried to run for it. Instead, they were standing, or rather sitting, their ground.
"Well, what do you want to do with your lives?"
His question met with two sets of shrugging shoulders and four eyes inspecting their respective owner’s scuffed trainers.
"Nothing. You’ll drop us in it with the police. They’ll take us to court, and the judge will let us off and tell us not to do it again. It’s always the same."
Ant’s irritation surfaced.
"Is that so, young man? Then get off your backsides and do something about it. Or are you both more comfortable playing the victim, always choosing to blame others, and thinking of a dozen reasons why you can't do something to help yourselves?"
He waited and watched as the teenagers looked at their mobiles, deciding if they should bother to respond.
"Listen. I’m not interested in the police. I had my own issues with them when I was younger, so I’m hardly going to set them on you."
The teenagers looked up from their screens and frowned. Adult interest was not something they were used to.
"Let's try this again. What do you want to do with your lives?"
The girl answered first, albeit hesitantly.
"A mechanic."
I think you've just blown your mate away.
Emboldened, the boy joined in.
"Working with animals."
Now it was her turn to look surprised.
Ant smiled, careful not to appear patronising.
"Something tells me that’s the first time either of you have talked to anyone about your ambitions."
Neither responded.
"Okay, give me your mobile numbers, help me put the lead back on the roof, and we’ll say no more about it. I promise you; I’ll have a word with one or two people to see if there’s anyone that might have an opening. Do we have a deal?"
Your smile tells me we do.
For goodness' sake Fitch, go on.
Ant stood back amused as his friend stared nervously at the half-open doors to the painted steel shipping container.