Stone Dead

by Frank Smith

  ‘Did you ever go back and try again?’ Tregalles asked.

  ‘No point,’ said Tyson. ‘She had him eating out of her hand.

  ‘She was a whore,’ said Emily. ‘You should have told him that, Tom. That would have changed his tune.’

  Tyson sucked on his pipe. ‘She was that,’ he said softly.

  Tregalles said nothing, but noted that both of them spoke of Lisa Remington in the past tense.

  The door opened and Eric appeared. His eyes flicked in Tregalles’s direction and quickly moved away. He looked toward his father as if for direction. ‘Finished the wood, have you?’ Tyson said. His voice had softened, and he looked upon the boy with affection.

  Eric nodded vigorously. ‘Good lad,’ said Tyson. ‘Get yourself some tea and sit down. This is Sergeant Tregalles. He’s come to ask some questions. Don’t be frightened, lad. He’ll not harm you. Remember what I told you?’

  Eric nodded and busied himself with the tea, never once looking at Tregalles. Reluctantly, it seemed to the sergeant, Eric took his seat at the table. Several spoonfuls of sugar went into his tea, and he began to slosh the tea around with his spoon.

  ‘Don’t spill it on the cloth,’ his mother told him sharply. ‘It’s clean on.’ But her warning came too late. Eric bowed his head and refused to look at anyone.

  ‘Now look what you’ve done. Stupid boy. Take that spoon off him, Tom.’ The words were sharp, cutting, meant to hurt.

  ‘It’ll wash, Ma,’ Tyson said. ‘He can’t help it.’

  ‘Of course he can!’ The shrewish voice rose in anger. ‘He does it to annoy me, that’s all.’ She sighed heavily. ‘But Thy will be done,’ she said resignedly. ‘If this must be my burden, then so be it, Lord.’

  Tyson avoided Tregalles’s eyes. He looked uncomfortable. ‘What was it you wanted from Eric?’ he asked, obviously anxious to change the subject.

  What the sergeant wanted was to find out whether Eric had seen or heard anything that might help him. But Eric seemed uneasy and, if he had been less like a child, Tregalles would have said ‘evasive’. In fact, it was hardly an interview at all because Eric’s answers were limited to a nod or shake of the head, and his father’s interpretations of what he thought Eric meant.

  ‘He doesn’t understand days like you and me,’ Tyson said when Tregalles tried to pin Eric down. ‘Yesterday, last week, last month, they’re all the same to him. You’re wasting your time, Sergeant.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Tregalles said, ‘but tell me, why is it that we keep finding Eric in the garden up there at the cottage, Mr Tyson?’

  Tyson had been relighting his pipe, but now his hands became still, and he shot a sidelong glance at his wife. Eric’s head bent lower as if he sensed the stream of invective that was about to pour from his mother’s mouth.

  ‘See? I told you, Tom!’ Her shrill voice rose to a screech. ‘You wouldn’t have it, but I told you he’d been up there, shaming us all.’ She turned hate-filled eyes on her son. ‘Spawn of the devil, that’s what you are,’ she hissed. ‘Sneaking off to see that whore! You’ve brought God’s wrath down on this house. On me! Just look at what you’ve done to me. Look! I tell you!’

  Her face twisted in pain as she almost threw herself forward across the room. Her two sticks thudded hard against the floor with every painful step as she made her way toward her son. Her eyes glittered with pure hatred as she raised a stick above her head.

  Tregalles was half out of his chair, but Tyson was quicker. He grabbed the upraised arm with one hand, and caught his wife from falling with the other. In fury, she hurled the stick at her son, but it flew harmlessly past his bowed head.

  ‘You’re evil!’ she hissed. ‘Evil. Do you hear?’ Her eyes rolled upward and she collapsed in Tyson’s arms. Tyson gathered her up as if she weighed nothing and carried her over to the bed. Spent, utterly exhausted, she lay there weeping, and when Tyson turned to face him, Tregalles saw tears in his eyes.

  ‘I think you’d best be gone,’ he said quietly. ‘Ma isn’t quite herself, today.’

  ELEVEN

  FREEMAN PROTRONICS was a small company that had found a unique niche in a highly competitive software market, and the driving force behind it was Mike Freeman. In ten short years he had come from being an unemployed programmer, having been made redundant in the latest ‘reconstruction’ of a major company, to the successful owner of a small but lucrative software company.

  He’d known from the start that there was no point in trying to compete with the major companies, because they were very good at what they did. But there were literally thousands of small businesses out there who wanted to take advantage of the new technology, but found that the programs offered were frequently too large and cumbersome for their needs. And too expensive. They needed programs designed specifically for their particular business, and Mike Freeman was able to fill that need.

  The business started slowly, but within two years he was looking for additional people, and the first person he took on full-time was his own daughter, Janet, just out of university. Guided by her father, she had spent three years specializing in industrial programming, and she turned out to have a natural aptitude for the work. Within two years, Mike was struggling to keep up with her. The industry was changing so fast that it was impossible to keep abreast of new developments. More people were taken on, young people trained in the latest technology, and Mike’s business expanded rapidly.

  Today, Paget was told, twenty-two people worked for Freeman Protronics. ‘And that doesn’t include Janet or myself,’ Mike Freeman told Paget proudly. ‘Couldn’t have done it without Janet, though.’ He beamed at his daughter, who had just joined them in his office. ‘Full partner, now, is Janet. Fifty-fifty all the way. This will all be hers when I’m gone.’

  ‘Oh, Dad, you’re not going anywhere,’ said Janet Freeman, obviously embarrassed.

  Mike Freeman was a small, red-faced, balding, aggressive man full of nervous energy. He had been holding forth for several minutes on the evolution of the business, and he looked as if he had every intention of continuing, but Janet cut him off.

  ‘Do you have news of David, Chief Inspector?’ she asked anxiously.

  Janet Freeman would be about thirty, Paget judged. She was taller than her father, and she had none of his features as far as Paget could see. Her face was long, oval and pale, framed by soft waves of chestnut hair that brushed her shoulders. Her anxious eyes were dark, and she looked tired. She wore a two-piece suit, plain, severe, and her fingers toyed nervously with the buttons of the coat.

  ‘Won’t you please sit down?’ said Paget, who had risen when she came in.

  She read his face. ‘It’s bad news, isn’t it?’ she said. She turned a chair so that it was facing Paget and sat down. ‘Please, just tell me.’

  Paget nodded. When it came right down to it, there wasn’t an easy way to break the news that someone near and dear was dead. ‘I’m afraid so,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid he’s dead, Miss Freeman.’

  She blinked rapidly and looked away. ‘How?’ she asked. ‘Was it an accident?’

  Paget drew in a deep breath and shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, but we believe he was murdered,’ he said gently.

  ‘My God! Are you sure?’ Mike burst out. He rose swiftly to his feet and came around the desk to stand by Janet. ‘I mean, who identified him? Couldn’t there be some mistake? What happened?’

  ‘There’s no mistake, Mr Freeman,’ Paget said. ‘He was identified by his medical and dental records. Unfortunately, the body is quite beyond ordinary recognition.’

  Janet Freeman drew in her breath and clutched her father’s hand, but remained silent. She seemed to be holding herself tightly, afraid to speak. Mike Freeman eyed Paget narrowly. ‘You don’t know who did it, do you?’ he said. It wasn’t exactly an accusation, but it sounded like one.

  ‘No, we don’t,’ said Paget candidly. ‘Which is why I must ask for your co-operation. Yours and Miss Freeman’s, as well as that of your staff.�
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  Freeman’s head came up sharply. ‘The staff?’ he said. ‘What do they have to do with it?’

  ‘Frankly, I don’t know, at the moment,’ said Paget, ‘but almost anything we can learn about Mr Gray’s movements prior to his death could prove useful. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid it’s necessary, Mr Freeman.’

  Freeman opened his mouth to say something more, but Janet put a hand on his arm. ‘Leave it, Dad,’ she said softly. ‘We will do anything we can to help you find whoever did this, Chief Inspector.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss Freeman.’

  Mike Freeman returned to his seat behind the desk. He closed his eyes for a moment, then reached for a carafe and poured himself a glass of water. He took a small box from his pocket, opened it and took out a tablet. ‘Angina,’ he said by way of explanation, and swallowed the tablet.

  Janet Freeman was immediately concerned. ‘Are you all right, Dad?’ she asked anxiously. ‘Do you want me to take you home?’

  But Mike Freeman shook his head. ‘I’m fine,’ he insisted. ‘It’s just—well, it was a bit of a shock, hearing about David,’ he said. ‘Probably sent the old blood pressure a bit over the top for a moment.’

  ‘He’s supposed to avoid stress since his heart attack,’ Janet explained.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Paget said. ‘If I’d known…’

  Mike Freeman waved the apology away. ‘No need to concern yourself,’ he said. ‘It was just a twinge, and the tablets take care of that.’ He turned to his daughter who was regarding him with concern. ‘Don’t worry, Janet,’ he told her. ‘Everything will be all right. I’m more concerned about you. God knows, it’s worse for you than it is for me.’

  Janet Freeman watched her father for a moment as if to assure herself that he was indeed all right, then turned back to Paget. ‘You said you needed our help,’ she said, ‘and you shall have it.’ Her voice shook, but there was a determined set to her mouth. ‘But I must know what happened.’ She took a deep breath and pushed the next words out with visible effort. ‘How did David die?’

  Paget quailed inwardly. He had been dreading this, and as he looked into those dark, enquiring eyes, he wished there was a way to avoid what he had to say. How did one tell a woman that the man she was about to marry had been found at the bottom of a well after having his face shot away in the bed of another woman?

  You didn’t. You skimmed over the details, merely saying that Gray had been shot while visiting a young woman, who had since disappeared. But Janet Freeman wouldn’t let him off that easily. Her face grew paler, but her eyes never left his face as he was forced to tell her of Gray’s body being concealed in the well, which was why identification had to be made by dental records. When he had finished, she just sat there, hands clasped in her lap, eyes unwavering.

  ‘You’re telling me that this woman, Lisa Remington, was David’s mistress,’ she said at last.

  ‘That is the way it looks, Miss Freeman,’ Paget told her. ‘There is evidence to suggest that this was not their first meeting.’

  ‘Bastard!’ The word was barely audible, but Mike Freeman’s face was dark with anger as he spat the word out.

  ‘And she killed David?’ said Janet. ‘This Lisa Remington.’

  ‘We don’t know that,’ said Paget. ‘As I said, she is still missing, and we are doing everything we can to find her.’

  ‘Seems straightforward to me,’ Mike Freeman growled.

  Janet Freeman’s head came up, and there was pain in her eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said to Paget, ‘but I don’t think I’m quite ready for questions. I—I think I would like to go home, now. Would you mind if we talked about this later, Chief Inspector?’

  ‘Of course.’ Paget got to his feet as Janet Freeman rose from her chair. Mike Freeman stood up as well, and made as if to go with her, but his daughter waved him away.

  ‘I’d just like to be by myself for a while, if you don’t mind, Dad,’ she said. ‘Frank will run you home if you need a ride.’

  Freeman grimaced. ‘Had to give up my licence after the heart attack,’ he confided to Paget. ‘Damned doctors should mind their own business. It’s bloody inconvenient, I’ll tell you. Have to be up by six to get my morning walk in.’

  ‘I would like to talk to you and your staff first thing Monday, if that can be arranged,’ Paget told him, then turned to Janet. ‘Perhaps you will feel more like talking to me then,’ he said.

  The young woman nodded wordlessly. ‘I’ll go out the back way,’ she told her father. ‘I don’t think I could walk through the front office right now.’ With a brief nod to Paget, she left the room.

  * * *

  FRANK PORTER watched from his window as Janet Freeman walked across the parking area to her car. She walked stiffly as if holding herself in; not at all like her usual long-limbed easy stride. The word had gone round the office like wildfire that a chief inspector was in with Mike, and Frank Porter wanted very much to know what was being said.

  Janet unlocked the car and got in. She sat there for some time before starting the engine. He wanted to go out to her, but he knew it would be the wrong thing to do. Wait, be patient, he told himself. God knows, he’d had enough practice. Besides, it was too late. Janet had started the car and was pulling out.

  He watched until she was out of sight, then returned to his desk. His hands felt clammy, and his stomach felt decidedly uneasy. He opened a drawer and reached for the tablets he always kept there. One more shouldn’t hurt. The tablet stuck in his throat and he had to swallow hard to force it down.

  Porter’s fingers drummed nervously on his desk. If he had known it would be like this, he told himself, he would never have gone along with Mike. But even as he formed the thought, he knew it to be a lie. He’d never had a choice, he thought gloomily. Mike always got his own way. Porter sighed heavily. He wished the chief inspector would leave so that he could find out what Mike had told him.

  * * *

  PC YATES was fed up with digging. He and three others had been at it for what seemed like hours; digging, sifting, refilling, then moving on to the next square. His back was killing him. This wasn’t why he’d joined the force. If he’d wanted to dig gardens, he could have done that on his dad’s allotment. This was just a waste of time.

  He jammed his spade into the ground. ‘Going for a leak,’ he told the man next to him.

  ‘Skiving off again, Yates?’ the man grumbled. ‘You’d better have your waterworks seen to before you run out of piss.’

  ‘If Yates ever runs out of piss, there’d be nothing left,’ said another.

  ‘Up yours, Thomas. And yours, too, Jack.’ Yates kicked the mud from his boots and disappeared around the side of the house. He made straight for his hiding place, a niche between the chimney and a large, old-fashioned water butt. It was an ideal spot, sheltered from the wind, but more importantly, out of sight of the mobile unit.

  He tucked himself in beside the wall and lit his cigarette. This was more like it. He slid down on his haunches and sat with his back propped up against the wall. The ground was a bit damp, but what the hell. His clothes were filthy after all that digging anyway.

  The sun was warm on his face. Cosy little spot, this, he thought as he surveyed the tiny space. He ran his fingers over the wooden barrel, sensing the thickness of the staves, and wondered how old it was.

  A piece of cloth was caught on one of the hoops of the barrel, and without thinking, he pulled it loose. He was about to drop it on the ground when something about the feel of it stopped him. It was soft, like a fine gauze but silkier to the touch, and he liked the feel of it against his fingertips. It was four to five inches long, by about two inches wide, and hemmed on one side. Obviously, torn from a piece of clothing, Yates thought, and he spent several pleasant moments thinking of the possibilities. Nice bit of material, he concluded. Sort of a peachy colour except for the dark brown stain in the corner.

  He dropped the material on the ground, took another drag at his cigarette, and closed his eye
s against the sun. It would be easy to go to sleep here.

  Yates had almost finished his cigarette before the nagging little thought deep inside his brain managed to struggle to the surface. He picked up the piece of material and examined it carefully. Could that be blood? he wondered.

  The door of the mobile unit banged, and Yates scrambled to his feet. He ground out his cigarette and scuttled out of his hiding place just in time to reach the garden as the sergeant came round the corner.

  ‘Another rest period, is it, Yates? Just off for a smoke, were you?’

  Yates looked pained. ‘No, Sergeant,’ he said. ‘I was just going to bag this.’ He held up the piece of flimsy cloth. ‘Could be blood,’ he said, indicating the dark stain.

  The sergeant eyed Yates. The bugger had been up to something, but he wasn’t sure what. ‘Are you trying to tell me you dug this up?’ he said scornfully.

  ‘No, sir, of course not. It would be all muddy then, wouldn’t it?’ Yates glanced around. ‘No, I found it there,’ he said, pointing to a small shrub. ‘It was caught on one of the branches underneath. I just happened to see it while I was digging.’

  * * *

  AUDREY TREGALLES was glad it was Friday. The bell had only just gone, but already some of the children were coming out of the door. They must fly out of their seats when that bell goes, she thought, and for a moment remembered her own school-days when Fridays meant a happy, if temporary, release.

  Olivia was one of the last ones out. She had always been very deliberate in everything she did, and she could be exasperating when they were all ready to go somewhere and she was still only half dressed. It wasn’t that she dawdled, exactly, it was just that she had to think about everything before she did it, and she couldn’t understand why her father got so worked up about it.

  ‘You always say you want me to look nice,’ she would say to him when he was standing there fuming and looking at his watch, ‘but it takes time, Daddy. Doesn’t it, Mummy?’ Audrey smiled to herself. Children! They knew exactly how to get around their parents. Sometimes you could shake them, yet five minutes later they could bring a lump to your throat and you could hug them to pieces.