In the Family

by Christina James

  Andy barely listened to the rest of it. If she was right, Nubisk had actually distributed the Red Indians a year before they had said in the report that they had prepared for Juliet. If there had been a mistake on their part, it was likely to be genuine, but it was a crucially important mistake, nevertheless. He would go back to them and ask them to check their records again. There was something else about the appeal that nagged away at the back of his mind. He made up his mind to watch the reconstruction again.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Jason Beech was behaving in quite a different way from yesterday. All his earlier surliness had melted away, and he had become assiduous in his desire to help the police as much as possible. He and his gang of tractor mechanics had assembled on the dot at 7.30 a.m. and by the time that Tim and Juliet arrived a few minutes later, they were already digging around the root with shovels and pick-axes. A huge floodlight had been rigged up on a makeshift platform against the far wall, and was bathing them in fierce white light. PCs Gary Cooper and Giash Chakrabati were also there. They had moved along a little from their station near the dustbins in order not to get in the way. Each of them looked across at the adjoining house every ten minutes or so, but it remained wrapped in darkness.

  Tim went to speak to them straight away. Gary Cooper greeted him first.

  “Good morning, sir. DC Armstrong said that you would want us to keep an eye on the house next door. Do you have any other instructions?”

  “Just keep an eye on everything, will you? This place and that house as well, if you can.” Tim spoke quietly. “I haven’t got a feel yet for what you might call the dynamics of what is happening here.” He frowned as he saw Henry Bevelton rounding the corner.

  “Good Morning, Mr. Bevelton. I had not expected to see you quite so early. It’s before your usual opening time, isn’t it?”

  “A little before, but I’m often early. Besides, I thought I should show you a little hospitality, since you are on my premises. I shall put the kettle on for Gloria.”

  Juliet could not help smiling at the limited extent of his chivalry. He did not retreat to his office, however, but remained hovering at the entrance, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his black woollen overcoat. Because he was standing behind Tim and herself, it was difficult for Juliet to keep turning round to look at him without attracting his attention; but on the two occasions on which she managed it, he was not looking at the tree root. His gaze was fixed anxiously on the house next door.

  It took less than an hour to remove the root. It yielded itself up just as Gloria teetered around the corner in a pair of high-heeled red ankle-boots.

  “Time for everyone to take a tea-break, I think,” said Henry. He spoke with his usual unctuous urbanity, but there was a tautness in his tone.

  Gloria rolled her eyes skywards, though she appeared to be in a good humour

  “Let me get through the door, then,” she said. “I’ve brought some biscuits today, too.” She withdrew them from a green plastic shopping bag with Harrod’s printed on it in gold, evidently expecting to be congratulated. “Your favourites,” she said to Henry, when the gesture produced no reaction. He did not reply. Gloria tutted and headed for the stairs.

  “Would you like to drink your tea in the office, Detective Inspector?” asked Henry Bevelton. Juliet thought that he seemed unduly keen to get Tim out of the way for a while. Before Tim could reply, she interceded.

  “I don’t think that there’s room for everyone up there, is there, Mr. Bevelton? It would be nice if we could all take a tea break together. Could we use the workshop again?”

  Henry’s face registered an interesting combination of expressions. He seemed worried, annoyed, irascible and, at the same time, somehow contemptuous. He sighed in an exasperated way.

  “Of course, if that is what you wish,” he said. “I’ll go and tell Gloria.”

  “What’s the matter with him?” said Tim as they watched his retreating back. “He seems like a cat on hot bricks.”

  “I don’t know; but I’m sure he’s hiding something. He didn’t take his eyes off the Atkins’ house all the time we were standing here.”

  Despite Juliet’s intention to gather everyone together for a tea-break, Jason Beech and Nick, Wayne and Karl had piled into the cabs of the two diggers with their thermos flasks. Their instinct that Gloria would not extend her hospitality to them appeared to be correct, for when she appeared with her tray of tea, it bore only five mugs, and ten chocolate ginger biscuits carefully set out in an overlapping circle on a plate.

  “Thank you,” said Tim. And, because he hated people to wait on him, he added, “won’t you join us?”

  Gloria wrinkled her nose.

  “I aren’t going in there, in all the muck and grease. Especially in these shoes. Besides, that place gives me the creeps.”

  “Why do you say that?” asked Tim.

  “I don’t know. It just does. There’s never enough light in there for one thing – not proper light, anyway. And that old man hangs around it too much for my liking.”

  “Which old man?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know,” said Henry Bevelton quickly. “Gloria, shut the door behind you when you go. There’s one hell of a draught blowing through.”

  “I’d be grateful if you’d let her finish, Mr. Bevelton. Which old man?” Tim repeated.

  Gloria gave Henry Bevelton a sheepish look. He stared back at her, and forced a smile.

  “The old man who lives next door now.”

  “You mean Ronald Atkins?”

  “I don’t know his name. The one who lives next door to Marjorie Needham. He only moved in a few months ago.”

  “Then you must mean Ronald Atkins. How often does he ‘hang around’?

  “Oh, I don’t know. Once or twice a month, I suppose. More often, some months. He seems to do it in fits and starts. I won’t see him for a while, and then he might be there two days on the trot.”

  “You say ‘some months’, but as you have also pointed out, he only moved into the house next door a short time ago. Are you saying that he used to loiter here before that?”

  “I’m sure that Gloria doesn’t . . .” Tim held up his hand.

  “Could you let her answer for herself, please, Mr. Bevelton?”

  “Much longer than that,” said Gloria with a kind of quiet defiance, as if she sensed that she was probably getting herself into trouble, but also realised that it was too late to turn back. “I can’t remember a time when he didn’t do it. The first time I saw him, I thought he might be a flasher or a stalker or something. But no, he just stands there, and if the door’s open, sometimes he goes in.”

  Tim deliberately caught Henry Bevelton’s eye. Henry immediately looked away, blinking rapidly.

  “Did you know about these visits, Mr. Bevelton?”

  “I . . . no, of course not. If I or Jason had seen him there, we would have asked him what he wanted and told him to go about his business.”

  Gloria opened her mouth to say something, and then closed it again. She looked flushed. Tim realised that he would probably not get any more from her for the moment. She would not contradict her boss deliberately.

  “Thank you very much for the tea, Gloria,” Tim said.

  She took it as a sign that she should go, as he had intended. She almost scurried away. Tim closed the door behind her. Henry Bevelton’s face had acquired a ghastly pallor which could not entirely be attributed to the strange yellow light cast by the Chinese coolie hat light fittings.

  “Mr. Bevelton, I believe that you told DC Armstrong that your acquaintance with Ronald Atkins was limited to the brief period in the mid-1970s when you were negotiating with his uncle for the purchase of the orchard that became your works yard?”

  “That is essentially correct. I also mentioned that there had been a few chance meetings since, both with him an
d with his wife.”

  “How long has your secretary worked here?”

  “Gloria? About ten years, I suppose.”

  “She seems to imply that Ronald Atkins has been a frequent visitor here for much of that time, and she states with certainty that his visits pre-date his taking up residence at his uncle’s former house.”

  “Gloria is possibly mistaken. I can assure you that . . .”

  The heavy workshop door was flung open, and Jason Beech hurried in. He looked excited.

  “Inspector, I think you should come back. We’ve just started digging and we’ve found a large package in the ground. It’s only a couple of feet from the surface. We haven’t lifted it out yet.”

  Tim hurried out of the workshop, closely followed by Juliet and Gary Cooper. Giash Chakrabati stayed behind. He was alarmed by the fact that Henry Bevelton was standing stock still by the workbench, his face set mask-like in a grimace. He grasped the older man by the arm.

  “Are you all right, Mr. Bevelton?”

  “I . . . yes, of course I’m all right. I just felt a slight pain in my chest, that’s all. Must be something to do with the cold. Or perhaps I drank my tea while it was still too hot.”

  “Why don’t you sit down, sir? There’s no need for you to go out there again.”

  “I . . . yes, I think you’re right. I’ll just sit here,” said Henry. He backed away from the workbench and propped himself on a large upturned plastic tub in one of the corners of the workshop. He leaned his back against the wall and closed his eyes. Giash left him there and went outside.

  The floodlight had been trained directly on to the hole that Jason Beech and his team had just gouged out of the ground. Still in place, but exposed and wiped free of most of the soil that had covered it, could be seen a large expanse of dirty plastic. The workmen were standing back slightly from their handiwork. The two detectives and Gary Cooper were crouching over the plastic. Detective Inspector Yates was holding a small paintbrush, which he was using to brush off some of the earth that was clinging to it. The atmosphere was taut with almost palpable excitement and anxiety. Everyone watched in silence. Each was both fascinated at what was being exposed, and apprehensive of what horror might be discovered next.

  “Can you see anything?” asked Juliet Armstrong.

  “I think that the plastic was once clear, or at least only semi-opaque,” said Tim. “It’s several layers thick. There’s something large under there: it feels quite soft. I’m not sure whether I should risk cutting into it, or just call SOCOs at once.”

  “What’s that, sir?” said Gary Cooper, pointing to one side of the plastic.

  “What’s what?”

  “There’s something lying there. Something small. It’s lodged at the side of the package.”

  Tim fished around gingerly. His fingers brushed something small and hard. He did not quite grasp it before it slipped further down the gap between the plastic and the edge of the hole.

  “Lost it!” said Tim. “Turn the floodlight off.” Jason Beech went to do his bidding. The small group stood there motionless as the powerful electric glare abruptly ceased, charcoal silhouettes set in relief against the paler grey sky of the early spring dawn.

  “Has anyone got a torch?”

  “Yes,” said Juliet.

  “Come and shine it here, will you? A bit further over. That’s it. Got it!”

  He pulled a peg-like object out of the ground, and held it under the beam of the torch, rubbing off as much of the dirt that was clinging to it as he could.

  “Christ!” he said.

  “What is it, sir?”

  “It’s a plastic toy Red Indian. Juliet, get SOCOs here as quickly as they can come. PC Cooper, have some posts put in the ground and cordon off this area as a crime scene. Cordon off the gate as well. Juliet, go to the house next door and detain Ronald Atkins. Just wait with him until we are ready to take him to the station. He will probably want to ring his solicitor. Allow him to do so. PC Chakrabati, make sure that Henry Bevelton does not leave the premises.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  As she had done many times over the past two days, Juliet scrutinised the windows of the Atkins’ house. All were in total darkness. She thought that it was near impossible that Ronald had not been watching the excavation work at Bevelton’s, and wondered whether he was in fact still resident. If he had some guilty secret connected with the apple tree, he would have realised that it would be exposed once he had seen it being cut down yesterday. That would have left him more than twelve hours to take whatever action he saw fit. Running was an obvious option, though somehow not one that she thought Ronald would choose. It was not just that he was too old, or that he gave the impression of not being very resourceful; it was because his whole life seemed to have been bound up with this house and what had happened there. She guessed that Ronald would be incapable of shaking off his past, however dire the consequences might be.

  She debated whether to approach the house through the garden and then imagined Jean Rook standing up in court and representing such an action as unfairly intimidating to her client. It was true that if Ronald were completely innocent and unaware of the activities that had been taking place in the old orchard, he would be frightened by a knocking at the back door, because there was no public access to it. Besides, in the unlikely event of his trying to escape now, he would be less likely to make a successful getaway through Bevelton’s yard than by simply walking out of his own front door and into the street.

  Two minutes later, Juliet was therefore standing at the old shop door, knocking as loud as she could against the glass and rattling the letterbox. There was no response. She tried to peer through the windows, shielding her eyes with her hands to try to accustom them to the darkness inside the shop. As she did so, the street light that faced the Needham house went out, and she was left in semi-darkness. She shone her torch into the building, but could see nothing.

  She rattled the letterbox again, and hammered as hard on the glass as she could.

  “Mr. Atkins? Are you there? It’s the police.”

  There was still no response. The house was silent. Eerily silent, she thought, though it would have been difficult to explain why. She had entered many unoccupied houses that were just uncomplicatedly empty; and some, like this one, that projected a different kind of ambience altogether.

  The door of the adjoining house suddenly began to judder. Juliet heard a strange clawing and scuffling sound coming from behind it. It alarmed her sufficiently to abandon the task in hand temporarily and move closer to it.

  “Hello?” she called. “Miss Needham, isn’t it? Can you hear me? Are you all right?”

  The response was a great deal of shoving and pulling from the other side of the door. Finally, it was yanked open far enough to expose a three-inch crack, through which Juliet could discern a considerable quantity of unruly grey hair and two sharp brown eyes.

  “This bloody door!” said Marjorie Needham. “I heard you knocking at the shop. Is something wrong?” Her voice was cracking with the effort of trying not to display her curiosity too blatantly.

  “There’s nothing wrong as far as I know,” said Juliet. “I just want to have a word with Mr. Atkins. Have you seen him today? Or heard him moving about?”

  “Neither hide nor hair,” said Marjorie Needham. Through the crack, Juliet could see the mane of grey hair bouncing as she shook her head. “But he can’t have missed all that digging you’ve been doing for the past three days. It would be enough to put the wind up both of them, I should think.”

  “What do you mean? Has Mrs. Atkins returned?”

  “Not as far as I know; and not if she’s got any sense.”

  “Who do you mean by ‘both of them’, then?”

  “Ronald and Hedley, of course.” She said it slowly and distinctly and with great emphasis, as if Juliet were rather s
low on the uptake.”

  “Miss Needham, can I come in for a moment? I don’t want to stand here on the street talking to you like this.”

  “Sure, if you can get in. Give the door a good push. It’s easier to get in from the outside, than out from in.”

  Juliet did as she was bidden. The door did not budge. Juliet remembered the training that she had received for breaking into houses when it was suspected that the person inside was ill or in danger. She took a short run at the door, and rammed it with her shoulder. It yielded suddenly, and she found herself skidding to a halt almost in the middle of Miss Needham’s small, untidy, and manifestly none-too-clean sitting-room.