"You've got your thirty pieces of silver. Now beat it before I change my mind about dropping you in it."
"I need my coat," he said as a blast of cold air blew in.
"Fuck that!" She manhandled him through the opening and pushed the door closed again with a massive shoulder. "The cops won't let him back on the campsite," she said, "so he's gonna freeze his arse off unless he wants to explain why you've thrown him out." She chuckled at James's expression. "But I guess you'd worked that out already."
He took her arm. "Let's have a brandy, my dear. I think we've earned it, don't you?"
The valley itself came under siege as soon as the roadblocks were removed at daybreak on the twenty-seventh, and any hope anyone had had of keeping a low profile evaporated. The Manor and the Copse remained under police guard but the tenant farmers, the Bartletts, and the Weldons found themselves at the mercy of the press and the broadcasting media. Shenstead House attracted the most attention because of Julian's remarks on travelers in the local newspaper. A copy was posted through the door, and his phone rang continuously until he disconnected it. Photographers hung around outside his windows, waiting for pictures while reporters shouted questions.
"Do you feel responsible because it's a traveler who did it?"… "Did you set the dogs on them? Is that what started this?"… "Did you call them thieves to their faces?"… "Do you know who this man is? Has he been to Shenstead before?"… "What's his interest in the Manor? Why did he kill the gardener?"… "Why did he attack the Colonel's granddaughter?"… "Do you think he was responsible for Mrs. Lockyer-Fox's death?"
Inside the house, Eleanor sat in huddled, gray misery in the kitchen while Julian, looking little better, paced his study behind closed curtains. Every attempt he'd made to contact Gemma on her mobile had been diverted to voicemail, as had his attempts to raise Dick Weldon. Both mobiles were switched off, and the landlines to Shenstead Farm and the Squires's farm were permanently engaged, suggesting they, too, had been disconnected. His only email contact with Gemma was at her office, which was closed until after the New Year, and his frustration grew with his inability to find out what was going on.
There was no one else to phone except the police, and in the end that's what Julian did, asking to speak to DS Monroe. "We need help," he told him. "I'm worried sick that these bastards are going to learn about my wife's phone calls, and then what are we going to do?"
"There's no reason why they should."
"Are you expecting me to take your word for that?" demanded Julian. "No one's telling us what's going on. Who's this man you've arrested? What's he saying?"
Monroe broke off to talk to someone in the background. "I'll be coming out to talk to you later, sir, but in the meantime I suggest you and Mrs. Bartlett stay out of sight. Now, if you'll excuse-"
"You can't just leave it at that," Julian broke in angrily.
"What else do you want to know, sir?"
Julian ran an irritable hand up the back of his neck. "These reporters are saying the Colonel's granddaughter was attacked as well. Is that true?" There were more voices at the other end, and it stoked his ire to be relegated to second place. "Are you listening?" he barked.
"Sorry, sir. Yes, her arm was broken, I'm afraid, but she's on the mend now. Look, my best advice is to keep your head down and stay quiet."
"Bugger that!" said Julian aggressively. "We're effectively imprisoned by these bastards. They're trying to photograph us through the windows."
"Everyone's in the same boat, sir. You'll have to be patient."
"I'm not prepared to be patient," he snapped. "I want this scum removed from my doorstep and I want to know what's going on. All we were told last night was that a man had been arrested… but from the questions being shouted through the letterbox, he's one of the travelers."
"That's correct. We've already confirmed it with the press."
"Then why didn't you tell us?"
"I would have done when I came out to see you. Why is it so important?"
"Oh, for God's sake! You said last night that Prue thought Darth Vader was one of the travelers. Can't you see how vulnerable it makes us if Ellie's connection with this man gets out?"
There was another break for muted conversation. "I'm sorry, sir," Monroe said again, "we're very busy here, as you can appreciate. What makes you think the murder of Robert Dawson has anything to do with your wife's phone calls to the Colonel?"
"I don't," Julian countered crossly, "but you seemed convinced of a connection between Ellie and the travelers when you were questioning her."
"I was repeating what Mrs. Weldon said… but it wasn't a serious suggestion, sir. Mrs. Weldon was hysterical about the intruder at Shenstead Farm. It led her to some rather bizarre conclusions. At the moment we have no reason to link the events of last night with the nuisance calls that your wife has been making."
"Right," Julian growled, "then perhaps you'd like to send a car to deal with these reporters outside my window. I'm an innocent party to all of this and I'm being treated like a criminal."
"We're very stretched, sir," said Monroe apologetically. "If it's any consolation, Captain Smith's having a far worse time of it."
"It's no consolation," he snapped. "I'm sorry the girl was hurt, but it's not my fault if she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now are you going to send a car or do I have to cause a breach of peace to get some attention?"
"I'll send a car, sir."
"Do that," said Julian, slamming the phone onto its rest, then removing it again when it started to ring. He raised two fingers at the curtains. "Bastards," he mouthed.
Monroe replaced the receiver with a thoughtful smile for his inspector. "I told you he'd phone before long," he said "He's shitting bricks… wants to know what Fox is saying."
"What are you going to do?"
"Let him stew a bit longer. He's a control freak… it drove him mad to think I wasn't giving him my full attention." He pondered for a moment. "The longer we leave him to the mercy of the photographers, the more het up he's going to be. He wants to leave that house rather badly, but whether to do a runner or get rid of evidence, I don't know. Probably both."
"Do you seriously believe he's behind it?"
Monroe shrugged. "I certainly believe he set up his wife to make the phone calls. He was far too relaxed last night. I was watching him. He was playing her like a patsy. It's interesting. She obviously sees herself as a forceful character-Mrs. Weldon certainly does-but compared with the husband she's a lump of jelly."
"He may just have taken a payoff to get her involved."
Monroe narrowed his eyes toward the window. "Possibly, but he's carrying a lot of expenses… the wife's demands… the girlfriend's demands… the horse… the hunt… the cellar. There were two sets of golf clubs in the hall… his and hers… not to mention the BMW, the Range Rover, the designer rooms and designer clothes. According to Mark Ankerton, this is his second marriage. He was divorced twenty years ago and has a couple of grown-up children. We're talking about a guy who only ever made senior-management level… had to give half his wealth to his first wife… supported children… sold his house before the boom… then took early retirement at fifty-five to live like a lord." He shook his head. "It doesn't add up."
"Fox is making him out to be the biggest arms dealer in Europe. How likely is that?"
"On a scale of one to ten? Zero," Monroe admitted. "I'm guessing he was into a share of the silver and the paintings, and he'll have a heart attack when he hears about the guns. I think Fox was telling the truth about giving him the file, though. Bartlett certainly knew who Captain Smith was. As to whose idea it was-" he made a rocking motion with his hand-"six of one and half a dozen of the other. The timing suggests Fox. The Colonel's never been one for socializing, but he didn't leave the house after his wife's death. I'm betting Fox became bored with using Vera to steal for him and wanted to get inside himself. The method-driving the old boy into an exhausted defense of his terrace while Fox went in th
e back-suggests Bartlett. He's a nasty piece of work. I can easily believe he killed the Colonel's dog to up the ante."
"Mark Ankerton quoted 'fog of war' at me. Something to do with confusing the Colonel about where, who, and how powerful the opposition was."
"I prefer hunting metaphors," said Monroe. "Fox and Bartlett are two of a kind. They both enjoy terrorizing dumb animals."
The inspector chuckled. "The Colonel's not a dumb animal."
"Might as well be when he's accused of raping his daughter. How do you argue against a thing like that?"
"Mm." The inspector eased himself off the edge of the sergeant's desk. "There's something very personal about Fox's pursuit of that family. Do you think he's telling the truth about the affair with the daughter? The psychiatrists will have a field day if he is. Pampered little rich girl. Boy from the wrong side of the tracks."
"We'll be asking for confirmation as soon as we have access to Elizabeth."
"She'll deny it for Captain Smith's sake."
"I hope she does," said Monroe. "The man's an animal. If he really believed the girl was his daughter, why did he attack her?"
The inspector moved to the window. "Because he doesn't see her as an individual… just as a member of a family he's obsessed with. It's bloody odd, frankly. The Colonel and his son have jumped in with offers of DNA to prove there's no relationship between themselves and Fox."
Monroe nodded. "I know. I spoke to Ankerton. His argument is that any similarity to Leo is coincidental, but it's the similarity that led Fox to plague the family. He spouted a load of gobbledegook about transference and depersonalization… something to do with bringing the Colonel down to size in order to feel superior."
"Mm. But Captain Smith is refusing a DNA comparison?"
"On Ankerton's advice." Monroe pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. "Give her a break, guv. She's a decent girl, and there's no compulsion to force her to find out who fathered her. It won't affect the case."
The inspector nodded. "Has Fox said how he and Bartlett hooked up again? That's the key to who planned it. They would certainly have overlapped in ninety-seven, but Bartlett wouldn't have known how to find Fox once he vanished. Common sense suggests it was Fox who made the initial contact."
"Says it was a chance meeting in the Copse, and Bartlett threatened to turn him in for impersonating Leo if he didn't cut him in on this deal."
"What was Fox doing in the Copse?"
"Sussing out the Manor. Says he read about Ailsa's death and wanted to know how the land lay. He doesn't deny that he was there to rob the place, but he does deny the wholesale stripping of the contents that he claims Bartlett wanted. According to him, Bartlett said the Colonel was a sitting duck. The trick was to make him so reclusive that it would be weeks before anyone else realized the place had been emptied."
"The Colonel would have to be dead for that."
"Which is what Fox says Bartlett ordered. Along with Robert and Vera Dawson. They were lonely people. No one spoke to them. By the time anyone bothered to investigate-probably Mark Ankerton-there'd have been no witnesses, the travelers would have been long gone and we'd have concentrated our efforts on them."
"Do you buy that?"
The sergeant shrugged. "It's undoubtedly what Fox was planning, but I can't see Bartlett going for it. The coats and balaclavas are the key. My guess is the plan was to concentrate everyone's attention on the travelers during the holiday while Bartlett and Fox went into the Manor, tied the Colonel up, stripped the place, and left him to be found by Bob or Vera when they bothered to turn up for work. Assuming he was still alive, he would have told us the travelers were responsible."
The inspector folded his arms. "Or accused his son because of the nuisance calls."
"It's quite neat, guv. Fox said they were planning to take the tapes so we wouldn't know the calls had happened. That's why I think he was intending to kill the old boy."
"Then Mark Ankerton and Nancy Smith turned up."
"Right."
"What did Fox have to say about that?"
"That Bartlett ordered the go-ahead anyway."
"How?"
"Through Vera."
The inspector gave a grunt of amusement. "That woman's very useful to him. He blames her for everything."
"He certainly knows how to use women. Look at Mrs. Bartlett and Mrs. Weldon."
"A coven of bloody witches," said the inspector morosely, staring out of the window. "That's what happens when rich bastards export their inflation to the countryside. Communities die and the scum floats to the surface."
"You having a go at me, guv?"
"Why not? Your house is twice the size of mine, and I'm a sodding inspector."
"Luck of the draw."
"Bollocks! There should be a tax on people like you and Bartlett using your megabucks to deprive country people of homes. That way you'd both have stayed in London, and I wouldn't have a psychopath in my cells."
Monroe grinned. "He'd have come anyway… and you wouldn't have had my expertise."
Another grunt of amusement. "So what about the wife and Mrs. Weldon? Any ideas? Ankerton's after their blood, but the Colonel's refusing to prosecute because he doesn't want the incest allegations in the public domain. He says-and I agree with him-that it doesn't matter how powerful the DNA evidence, mud will stick."
Monroe stroked his jaw. "Arrest and caution? It would be water off a duck's back to a fifteen year old, but it may just terrify the living daylights out of a couple of middle-aged harpies."
"I wouldn't bet on it," said the inspector. "They'll be back in each other's pockets before the week's out, blaming Bartlett for their problems. They've no other friends. You could argue the Colonel brought his problems on his own head. If he'd been more welcoming to newcomers, the women wouldn't have behaved the way they did."
"I hope you didn't tell Mark Ankerton that."
"I didn't need to. The Colonel seems to have realized it for himself."
Nancy and Bella stood side by side at the drawing-room window, watching James and Wolfie in the garden. Wolfie looked like the Michelin Man in some oversize castoffs that Mark had discovered at the bottom of a chest in Leo's old bedroom, while James had decided to sport his great-grandfather's tatty ulster. The pair of them stood with their backs to the house, gazing out over the valley and the sea beyond and, from the way James was gesturing, it looked as if he were giving Wolfie a brief history of Shenstead.
"What's gonna happen to the poor little tyke?" asked Bella. "It don't seem right to let him be swallowed by the system. Boys of his age never get adopted. He'll just be parceled around from foster mum to foster mum till he starts to get stroppy in adolescence, then they'll bung him in a home."
Nancy shook her head. "I don't know, Bella. Mark's going through Ailsa's files at the moment to see if he can locate a copy of this housing application she made. If he can find a name… if Wolfie was one of the children… if Vera was right about teaching him manners… if there are relatives…" She broke off. "Too many 'ifs,' " she said sadly, "and the trouble is, James thinks Fox or Vera has already done a similar search. According to him, Ailsa's boxes were neatly stacked the last time he went into the dining room… now they're all over the place."
"Martin Barker ain't holding out much hope. He was the community policeman at the time of the squat, and he reckons it was a woman with daughters." She touched a comforting hand to Nancy's shoulder. "Better you hear it now, darlin'. The other thing he told me was they've found kids' and women's clothing in a hidey-hole in Fox's bus. They think they're trophies, like the fox brushes he hung."
Tears sprang into Nancy's exhausted eyes. "Does Wolfie know?"
"It ain't just one kid and one woman, Nance. Martin says there's ten distinct pieces-all different sizes. They're doing tests to see how many DNA prints they come up with. Looks at the moment like Fox has been murdering wholesale."
"Why?" asked Nancy helplessly.
"Dunno, darli
n'. Martin says people would've accepted him easier if he had a woman and kids with him… so he'd take on some spares till he got bored with the crying… then, wham, he'd hit 'em with a hammer." She lifted her shoulders in a heavy sigh. "Me, I'd say the fucker probably enjoyed it. I expect it gave him a sense of power to get rid of people no one else gave a shit about. Scares me rigid, to be honest. I keep wondering what would have happened to me and the girls if I'd been stupid enough to fall for the sod."
"Were you tempted?"
Bella pulled a face. "For a couple of hours when I was stoned. Didn't trust him much, but I liked the way he made things happen. Put it this way, I can understand why poor old Vera fell for him. Maybe your grandma, too. He could turn on the charm when he wanted, that's for sure. They always say psychos are good at manipulating people… 'n' you can't do that without charisma."
"I suppose not," said Nancy, watching James kneel down to put an arm around Wolfie's waist. "Why do you think he left Wolfie alive?"
"If you believe Martin, 'coz he needed a kid to make himself look respectable for this adverse possession lark. I don't buy that, though. He could have picked up a junkie and her babes the last place he was at. I mean he wasn't gonna hang around long, so it didn't matter who he brought with him. I only spoke to Wolfie's mum once 'n' I wouldn't have been remotely surprised if he'd changed her for a different model.'' She gave another sigh. "It makes me feel bad. Maybe I could've saved her if I'd taken a bit more interest… but you don't think, do you?"
It was Nancy's turn to offer a comforting hand. "Not your fault. So what's your theory on Wolfie?"
"I know it sounds crazy, but I reckon Fox liked him. He's a brave little bastard… been telling me about his John Wayne walk, so Fox wouldn't think he was scared… 'n' talking posh so Fox'd think he was clever. Maybe he's the one kid the fucker took a shine to. The way Wolfie describes it, Fox doped him up to the eyeballs before he took the hammer to Vixen 'n' Cub… and the only reason Wolfie saw it is because he woke up when his brother started calling for him. It makes your heart bleed, it really does. There ain't a kid in the world should have to go through something like that… but you gotta reckon Fox put him out so he wouldn't have to kill him."
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