Death on the Downs

by Simon Brett

  ‘No. Of course not. But be careful. He’s volatile and . . .’ The sergeant stopped, as though he’d been about to go too far.

  ‘Volatile and . . .?’ Carole insisted.

  ‘I’ve mentioned I think he’s into drugs. I haven’t got any proof yet, but . . .’ He shook his head in exasperation. ‘Why am I telling you this? I rely on your discretion to keep quiet about it.’

  ‘Of course.’ Well, to everyone except Jude.

  ‘So what was it Brian said to you last Friday?’

  Presented with the direct question, there was no way Carole could avoid the direct answer. ‘He suggested that the bones I found might have belonged to your mother.’

  Baylis nodded slowly. Again he appeared unshocked, almost as if he had been expecting that response. ‘I see. Well, it’s an old rumour. No surprise it should have resurfaced again.’

  ‘And is it a rumour to which you give any credence?’

  This time his face closed over. ‘No,’ he replied curtly. ‘I’m not pretending my parents got on. If you think I’m about to say, “Never mind, we were poor but we were happy,” forget it. We were bloody miserable. When I was a kid, I spent as much time out of the house as I could. Out on the Downs all the time.’

  ‘Must’ve been a great place to play, though.’

  ‘Oh yes, we had plenty of games.’ The grin this time was wry. ‘It’s easy for kids to play out their fantasies up on the Downs. Except, as I say, I was only out there so’s I didn’t have to go back home. My dad was a violent man, I don’t deny that. And yes, my mother walked out when I was fifteen. Just upped and left.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Oh, don’t bother. You get over things. I joined the police force, made my own mates, got my own life now. Never think about those times.’ He was clearly lying when he said the words. ‘As I say, my mother walked out on my father. He didn’t kill her. Nor did I, in case that was going to be your next question.’ Then, before Carole could respond, he went on, ‘Interesting, though, that Brian should raise that suggestion to you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, for one thing, why you? Apart from the fact that you discovered the bones, you have nothing to do with the case. Why should he bother to go chasing over the Downs after you?’

  ‘I think he’d somehow got the impression that I was making my own private investigation.’

  ‘And are you?’

  Carole couldn’t meet his sardonic eyes. ‘No, of course I’m not.’

  He didn’t sound convinced. ‘You’ve been around Weldisham rather a lot the last couple of weeks. You and your chubby blonde friend.’

  She’d never heard anyone describe Jude as ‘chubby’. Least of all a man. Men seemed too immediately caught up in Jude’s aura to be critical of her appearance. And when they’d been introduced, Baylis had apparently responded like the rest. Maybe in his vocabulary ‘chubby’ was a compliment.

  Carole blushed. ‘Well, obviously we’re interested.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it’s not every day you find a dead body.’

  She wondered what access he’d had to her records, whether he knew that this was in fact the second dead body she’d found within the year. ‘Not every day I find a neatly packed set of bones, no,’ she responded cautiously, and then moved quickly on. ‘You said “for one thing” . . .’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You said “for one thing” it was odd Brian should target me. Was there “another thing”?’

  ‘Well, I suppose . . .’ He seemed undecided whether to tell her more, but then shrugged and grinned. ‘Basic rule of police investigation. When someone volunteers a significant piece of information for no very good reason, they might well be doing it to divert suspicion from something else.’

  For a moment, Carole considered an application of Baylis’s words to what he himself had said about Brian Helling’s possible drug habit. It was surely unprofessional for a policeman to drop that kind of hint. He’d have to have a very good reason for doing it . . . like, say, deliberately building up suspicions of Brian Helling . . . in order to divert suspicions away from someone else . . . even from himself.

  But Carole didn’t pursue the thought out loud. ‘So, Lennie, you’re suggesting that Brian Helling raised the old rumour about your mother to me to stop me focusing my enquiries in any other direction?’

  ‘Something like that.’ He smiled at her ironically. ‘Except, of course, you’re not conducting an investigation, so you wouldn’t be wanting to focus it in any direction . . . would you?’

  ‘No.’ Again she couldn’t hold his gaze.

  He rubbed his chin. ‘Still, it’s interesting that Brian should have bothered to try and divert your suspicions. Maybe I should have a word with him . . . and with his mother . . .’

  ‘The eyes and ears of Weldisham.’

  ‘Yes. I’ve a feeling that the two of them know more about those bones than they’re letting on.’

  This exactly reflected Carole’s views, but she didn’t embark on further discussion. Her moment of doubt about Detective Sergeant Baylis’s motivations had engendered caution. So she just asked, ‘Can you tell me something about Pauline Helling?’

  ‘If it’s something to which I know the answer, yes. And if, of course, it’s not classified information.’

  ‘I don’t think the answer to this is going to breach any security regulations. She used to work in Weldisham as a cleaner, didn’t she?’

  ‘Mm.’

  ‘Who did she work for?’

  ‘Graham Forbes. Graham and his first wife, Sheila.’

  ‘It’s very frustrating.’ Jude was slumped in one of her shapeless draped armchairs, a glass of white wine in her hand.

  Yes, she does look chubby, thought Carole. Something nobody’s ever accused me of being.

  ‘Charles Hilton’s been away conducting this course in Ireland. He’s not back till late tonight. So I can’t ring him till tomorrow to fix a time to see Tamsin.’

  ‘Are you sure you’ll be able to, though? I thought last time you saw him he denied she was even at Sandalls Manor.’

  ‘Yes, but now I know from Gillie that she definitely is there. Charles’ll let me see her.’

  ‘You sound very certain of that. Have you got some hold over him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What?’

  Jude grinned. ‘Don’t ask.’

  And, with a degree of unwillingness, Carole didn’t.

  ‘You say Lennie Baylis was going up to see Pauline Helling?’

  ‘Yes. This evening. He rang her from my place. Said he needed to talk to her. To talk to Brian too, if he was going to be there.’

  ‘And was he?’

  ‘I don’t know. Detective Sergeant – Lennie didn’t say.’

  ‘From what you’ve told me, Carole, Pauline Helling certainly knows something about those bones you found.’

  ‘I’m sure she does. And Brian’s involved too, somehow.’ A gloom settled over Carole. She sighed. ‘But I doubt if we’ll ever find out in what way. Lennie Baylis will. The police will. They’ve got the information, they’ve got the technology. They’ll sort it.’

  ‘Don’t be defeatist.’ But the mood was infectious. Jude’s response sounded automatic rather than heartfelt.

  There was a silence.

  ‘Do you want some more wine?’

  ‘Shouldn’t.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Oh, all right.’ After her glass had been recharged and she’d had taken a long sip, Carole said, ‘Do you know, I had another call from Barry Stillwell earlier this evening . . .’

  ‘Don’t know why you sound so surprised about it.’

  ‘He wants to take me out for dinner – again. I can’t understand why he keeps pestering me.’

  ‘Well, that’s not very difficult. Obviously because he fancies you.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  Jude looked flabbergasted. ‘What’s ridiculous about it?’

  ‘Look, I�
�m in my early fifties. God knows whether I ever was attractive to men, but I’m certainly not now.’

  ‘Are you saying that women in their early fifties can no longer be attractive to men? God, if I thought that, I’d top myself.’

  ‘There are exceptions, obviously, but I’m sure, even you, when you get to my age—’

  ‘Carole, Carole, stop. What’s all this “when you get to my age”? I’m older than you are.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m fifty-four. You’re fifty-three, aren’t you?’

  ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘Because you told me.’

  ‘You never told me you were fifty-four.’

  ‘You never asked.’

  ‘There are lots of things I don’t know about you, Jude.’

  ‘Probably again because you never asked. There are no big secrets about me.’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘I still can’t get over this thing about you not thinking you’re attractive. In the teeth of the evidence. There’s Barry Stillwell panting to get his hands on you.’

  ‘Yes, but who’d want Barry Stillwell’s hands on them?’

  ‘That’s not the point. He may be the most boring creature on God’s earth, but he’s still a man. And as a man, he fancies you.’

  ‘Maybe, but—’

  ‘And then there’s Ted . . .’

  ‘Ted Crisp?’ Carole blushed. ‘He doesn’t fancy me.’

  ‘Of course he does.’

  ‘But you saw how he behaved to me in the Crown and Anchor last night.’

  ‘He was in a mood last night. Something had got up his nose. God knows what, but it certainly doesn’t mean he’s stopped fancying you.’

  ‘Jude, don’t be silly.’

  ‘Silly? Oh, this really upsets me. Have you never thought of yourself as attractive?’

  ‘Well, there were times, I suppose . . . Not since David walked out.’

  ‘Really hit you hard, didn’t it, Carole? You’re still hurting from that.’

  ‘Rubbish.’ Carole tossed her head. ‘It’s happened to any number of women. And what you have to do when it does happen is just get on with things.’

  ‘I would think when it does happen what you have to do is talk to someone about it.’

  ‘Is that what you’d do? You said you’d had man trouble over this weekend. Have you talked to someone about that?’

  ‘Yes, of course I have.’

  Carole was taken aback, even a little hurt. ‘Who?’

  ‘Friends. I’ve hardly been off the phone for the last forty-eight hours.’

  ‘Oh.’ Carole’s mood of gloom hardened into despair. She remembered, when she had offered a sympathetic ear, Jude had refused. ‘Have you talked to the man himself?’

  ‘No, of course I haven’t. I need support, not more humiliation. Talking to supportive people helps. It really does. You should try it.’

  Jude could not have known how much her words hurt. Unthinkingly, she had excluded her neighbour from the category of ‘supportive people’. Carole felt very alienated, forced once again to realize how little she knew Jude. As a result, her response was scornful. ‘That’s not my style. I can’t go all touchy-feely about things. I can’t spill out my guts to some complete stranger.’

  ‘Who said anything about complete strangers? Friends. For the last couple of days I’ve been talking to friends.’

  The line of Carole’s mouth hardened. ‘I think I have to get on with my own life in my own way.’

  ‘Who would you be letting down if you didn’t?’

  ‘Myself. I was brought up to believe that you should stand on your own two feet. You should be able to manage on your own.’

  ‘Without ever asking for help from anyone else?’

  ‘Ideally yes. I mean, obviously, if you’re physically ill, you need help from a doctor.’

  ‘And if you’re mentally ill?’

  Carole coloured with affront. ‘I am not mentally ill!’

  ‘I didn’t say you were. I was talking in general terms.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Presumably this – what shall I call it? – this independence of yours means you’ve never shared what you’re really feeling with anyone?’

  ‘Maybe not. As I said, I’m not the kind to wear my heart on my sleeve.’

  ‘And presumably that’s why your marriage broke up?’

  Carole stopped in her tracks. The assessment was so accurate it almost winded her. And, to her amazement, she started to cry.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Jude was ringing at her doorbell as soon as Carole got in the following morning. She’d just taken Gulliver for his walk on Fethering Beach. Her neighbour must’ve seen her go past the window and rushed round straight away. Carole was prepared to be embarrassed about the previous night’s uncharacteristic lapse into weakness, until she saw the expression on Jude’s face.

  ‘What on earth is it?’ Carole had never seen her friend’s serenity so shot to pieces. The cheeks were red, the brown eyes wide with excitement and anxiety.

  ‘Come back to my place. I’ll show you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I videoed it. Quick!’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘The local news. They had a headline about it, so I switched the video on straight away. I got most of the report.’

  ‘Look, I’ve got to take my coat off and give Gulliver a drink and—’

  ‘Come on!’

  Carole perched on the swathed arm of a chair while Jude fiddled with the video control to wind back the tape. The playback wheezed into life.

  ‘ . . . a terrible tragedy,’ said a reporter’s voice. ‘The fire, which is believed to have started on the ground floor, spread very quickly.’

  The screen filled with a blackened shell, from which wisps of smoke still rose. It took Carole a moment to recognize Heron Cottage.

  ‘Because Weldisham is so far from the main road and because the fire had taken such a firm hold before the alarm was raised at four o’clock this morning, the emergency services were able to do little. By the time they reached the cottage, it was already virtually demolished.

  ‘One body, that of an elderly woman, was found on the premises in an upstairs room. She has yet to be formally identified.’

  Chapter Thirty-five

  ‘I’m only here because you went to Heron Cottage yesterday morning. I saw her in the evening. Apart from me, you’re probably one of the last people to see Pauline Helling alive. I’m sorry, it’s just a formality. I have to ask you a few questions.’

  Since Brian Helling had planted the thought in her mind, Carole couldn’t get rid of it. Detective Sergeant Baylis might well have an agenda of his own, outside his official duties. It did seem odd that he was constantly talking to her, and maybe his aim was not to get information but to assess her suspicions.

  And why was it always him? Carole Seddon’s knowledge of police procedure was rudimentary, but knew there’d be other officers involved in the investigation of the bones she’d found. And possibly even a whole new team investigating the incident – no one was yet calling it a crime – at Heron Cottage. So why was it once again Detective Sergeant Baylis who was sitting in her front room?

  ‘Of course, you can ask me anything you like,’ she replied smoothly, ‘but I don’t think there’s much I can add to what I said when we last met.’

  ‘No, but you didn’t really tell me what kind of state Pauline Helling was in when you visited her.’

  ‘I don’t know what kind of state she was in normally. I’ve only seen her three times in my life, only spoken to her once, and on each occasion she was as antisocial to me as she could be. From all accounts, antisocial was her customary manner. So I suppose I’d have to say, when I visited her, she was quite normal.’

  ‘She didn’t seem ill or anything, did she?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Because if she had been particularly doddery, sh
e might have been more likely to have knocked over something, not noticed an electrical spark flying out of the fire . . .’

  ‘She didn’t seem particularly doddery. Come on, you saw her yesterday evening. Surely you could judge for yourself.’

  ‘I’m asking you, Mrs Seddon.’

  ‘All right. Well, I’ve answered your question. Have they any idea how the fire started?’

  He shook his head. ‘Far too early to say.’ It was easy for him. In terms of information, he held all the cards. Any time he wanted to avoid a question, Baylis could back away behind professional police-speak. Far too early to say . . . our enquiries are still progressing . . . we haven’t had the results yet . . .

  ‘You’re waiting for the report from the forensic examination of the scene?’

  ‘Exactly, Mrs Seddon.’

  ‘And have you had the results of the other forensic examination yet?’ she asked, challenging him with her pale blue eyes.

  He looked uncomfortable. ‘Which other forensic examination?’ But he knew what she was talking about.

  ‘The examination of the bones I found.’

  He hid again behind his professional front. ‘I’m afraid, even if I had such information, I wouldn’t be able to divulge it until permission had been given.’

  ‘No, but something must be known by now.’ Carole recognized that she was getting increasingly reckless, but wasn’t quite sure why. ‘They’ll have got a DNA profile from the bones.’

  ‘But for that to have any meaning, they’d have to have tissue to match it to.’

  ‘Might they not try to get a match through relatives of the deceased . . .?’

  He chuckled at her absurdity. ‘If you don’t know who a victim is, it’s sometimes very difficult to trace their relatives.’

  ‘You haven’t been asked to give a sample of DNA, have you, Sergeant?’

  The expression on his face could not have changed more if Carole had slapped him.

  ‘I was just meaning that there were rumours about your mother when—’

  ‘I know exactly what you were meaning, Mrs Seddon.’ He stood up. ‘I came here to talk about the fire at Heron Cottage and I think there’s nothing else I need to ask you.’ He moved towards the door. ‘Oh, there was one other question . . . When you went to see Pauline Helling yesterday morning, did you see Brian?’