by Penny Grubb
‘You didn’t see him at the show? He shot a few pictures.’
‘Of me?’
‘No, there was just one brief bit of you with your husband towards the end of the day. He concentrated on the horsey stuff. The kids jumping the fences.’
‘Oh, he did, did he?’
Heather’s tone made Annie look up sharply. She hadn’t expected anyone to make anything of Terry being at Milesthorpe Show.
‘You want to tell Tina about that,’ Heather said. ‘She’ll go spare. She barred him from setting a foot on her land.’
Milesthorpe Riding School and Livery Yard. Prop: Ms Christina Hain.
‘How could she bar him from Milesthorpe Green?’
‘Not the Green. They don’t do the ponies and horses on the Green. Imagine what a state it’d be in. No, you said he filmed the jumping, the Showcross. They do that on her land.’
‘Why would she bar him?’
‘God knows. I don’t know why she bothered with him in the first place. Little squirt.’
‘You say you saw him the day after the show, the Monday. Did you see him after that?’
‘Not really. I think he kept out of my way once he realized he might be in for a leathering from Jason.’
‘Not really?’ Annie pushed.
‘Look, I bumped into him the next weekend. The Sunday it must have been. But it was nothing. He was coming out of Ted Balham’s. We didn’t speak.’
Coming out of Balham’s that Sunday? Annie felt the prickle of retreating blood. In the gap between the Sunday and the Tuesday, Balham disappeared and Terry died. Accidental death? Every angle she came at it, something reared up to mock that official verdict.
‘Was Mr Balham at Milesthorpe Show?’ she asked.
‘Ted?’ Heather screwed up her eyes in thought. ‘Yeah, I think so. Yes, I’m sure so. I remember seeing him.’
‘Have you seen him since?’
Heather shook her head. ‘He’s gone walkabout, hasn’t he? No, I don’t remember seeing him after the show, but then why would I? The kids found a dead sheep or something up on the cliff. They were going round saying Terry had done Ted in.’ Heather laughed. ‘That’d be a bit of drama for Milesthorpe. He’d have loved to have had that to write up.’ Suddenly serious, she looked Annie in the eye. ‘It was a dead sheep, wasn’t it? Everyone’s saying it was a body, but there’d have been something on the news, wouldn’t there?’
Yes, thought Annie, I assumed that, too. She shrugged a don’t-know as her mind turned to the woman, still unidentified, who had lain up by the cliff top, and thought how shocked everyone would be when the truth came out. ‘Did Terry know Mr Balham well?’
‘Not that I know. He was asking questions at one bit, though.’
‘What sort of questions?’
‘He’d asked me once how long Ted had been a church warden.’
‘Why would he ask that?’
‘No idea. I told him I hadn’t a clue. Told him to go to Doris for that sort of stuff.’
‘Doris?’
‘Doris Kitson.’
Annie paused to let things sink in. She’d write it all up later, but for now she had a satisfying feel of spreading the net, grasping at the substance that had brought Terry to Milesthorpe. ‘The Sunday before he died, can you remember what time you saw him?’
‘Mid-afternoon. Threeish.’
The glow of satisfaction deepened. She’d started to nibble into those missing hours. Martha had seen him off just after two. ‘And after that? Did you see him again?’
‘Nope, not a whisper. That was the last I ever saw of him.’
After she left Heather Becke, Annie called Mrs Earle on Orchard Park to ask if there’d been any disturbance the previous night.
‘No!’ The tone became tetchy. ‘I told you that already. I told you when it is. Tuesday and Friday.’
‘Are you sure? What was the landing like this morning? Any sign anyone had been there?’
‘No. How many times, for God’s sake! I told you. They only do Tuesdays and Fridays.’
‘Have you been out of the flat yet today?’
‘What would I have been out for?’
‘Will you go and check the landing?’
‘Oh bloody hell. What a frigging palaver.’
Annie listened to doors slam, and the sound of a television rise then fade away.
There was an echo to Mrs Earle’s voice when it came again. ‘There’s fuck all. It’s like it always is except after Tuesday and Friday. Satisfied?’
One more piece in the Earle jigsaw. Annie clicked off her phone and headed back through Milesthorpe to the house she’d visited the night before.
At Colonel Ludgrove’s, it was Mally who answered her knock. ‘Oh, it’s you.’ Mally looked her up and down then turned to shout back into the gloom of the hallway. ‘Grandad, it’s her.’
Annie followed Mally’s retreating form into the house.
Colonel Ludgrove sat in an armchair in a dowdy living room. Annie smiled and sat on a settee opposite. She was disconcerted to see Mally plump herself down in another chair and look expectantly from one to the other of them.
‘Not going out with your friends today, Mel?’ her grandfather asked.
‘Nah, they’re grounded. Laura’s dad’s been telling tales again. He’s a stuck-up old fart, always interfering.’
‘Now, Mel,’ her grandfather admonished, but his mouth curved to a smile of amusement.
‘Yes, but Grandad, he is. I don’t care about him always grounding Laura but he keeps sneaking on Kay, too, so I’ve no one to go out with. It isn’t fair.’
‘He rang me, too, last night. Thought you should be kept in for a day or two in case you’re traumatized.’
‘Huh! I’m not a wet like Laura.’
The old man chuckled and threw Annie a glance that said he was proud of a granddaughter who stood up to all-comers.
Annie was reluctant to talk in front of Mally but the girl seemed set for the day so she explained again about her job for the Martins and asked about the night Terry died.
Mally yawned. ‘God, it’s so boring. Dead bodies everywhere.’
‘If you haven’t friends coming round, why not go and get a film from the shop to watch this evening?’ He turned to Annie and pointed at an untidy heap of DVDs by the television. ‘Not that we don’t have plenty already, but she claims she’s seen the lot.’
‘Well, I have. I don’t mind some of them again though.’
‘But wouldn’t you prefer a new one for this evening?’
‘Oh all right. I haven’t got any money though.’
With an effort the old man pushed himself up out of his chair to reach into his back pocket and pull out a note.
‘Five? Can’t I have ten then I can get some crisps and stuff to have while I watch it.’
‘Now Mel, there’s plenty of that sort of stuff in the pantry and your mother said–’
‘Oh go on, Grandad, just this once.’
With a resigned shake of his head, he swapped the five for a ten and handed it over.
‘Thanks Grandad.’ Without a backward glance, Mally was gone.
He settled himself in his chair. ‘Yes, well, Mr Martin, the first of the bodies. Do you know who they found up there on the cliff, by the way? Young Mel told me it was Ted Balham. I do hope not. He was an odd cove but good company for an evening now and then.’
Unlike Heather, Colonel Ludgrove hadn’t discounted the rumour. There was little point pretending.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve no idea who it was. I don’t think any identification’s been made yet, but …’ Annie paused, not sure how far she could go without breaching the agreement to keep things under wraps. The old man looked shrunken and forlorn. She could at least give him a crumb of comfort. ‘Look, I probably shouldn’t say anything so please don’t quote me, but I know it wasn’t Mr Balham.’
‘That’s good. I’ve few enough friends left in the village. I wouldn’t want to lose one like that.
’
‘Did you know Terry Martin before he died?’
The old man shook his head. ‘Had a call from the woman at the livery yard a few weeks ago. Said she was worried he’d been bothering young Mel. Young Mel can look after herself but I had a word with the lad, set him straight.’
‘When did you speak to him?’
‘Oh, it’ll be three weeks ago now, maybe more. Told the woman who runs the yard, a Miss Hain … told her to send him up to me next time he showed up. He came, too. To be frank with you, I didn’t expect him. Thought his sort would just do a bunk. Put him straight. He pestered my granddaughter at his peril.’
‘That did the trick, did it?’
‘Oh yes. Though he didn’t seem to be that bad a cove. He wrote for the newspapers. Told me he was following the village rivalries. Pony shows, you know. The big Showcross was coming up. Of course, young Mel would have been right in the running if her mother hadn’t had to sell the pony. I expect she’s told you all about it. I’ve told her not to dwell, not to bore all and sundry with family troubles, but she was very upset. They don’t understand at that age. She won the event the year before, you see. Broke her heart to see the beast go, but she stood up straight and took it on the chin. She spent hours out there helping her two friends.’ He indicated vaguely towards the window. Annie’s gaze followed and saw churned and muddy ground where there must once have been an imposing sweep of lawn. At one edge was a construction of concrete blocks and poles, a clone of the obstacles she’d seen on Terry Martin’s film of the ponies at Milesthorpe Show. ‘She’s a generous-hearted girl. They took the cup, you know, after she’d coached them. Couldn’t have it herself but made sure it didn’t leave the village.’
‘And Terry Martin?’ Annie tried to coax him away from the altar of adoration of Mally.
‘Never saw him again alive. Not been home long the Tuesday when Tremlow phoned in a complete funk. Intruder in his garden. Of course, it was him.’
‘So you didn’t see him at all in the week after Milesthorpe Show? Or the following weekend?’
‘No. Don’t even know if he went to the show. Said he was going to write it up but I can’t say I saw anything in the local rag.’
A sulky voice broke in from the doorway. ‘Well, he was at the show.’
Annie wondered how long Mally had been in the shadows listening, and what had happened to the putative trip to the shop. How much of her anger was at her mother for going away and leaving her behind?
‘No sulks, young lady. We take what life throws.’ It was the nearest to a sharp tone that Annie had heard him use.
Mally perked up at once and smiled. ‘And we throw it right back.’ She laughed. ‘But he was at the show and he promised to write it up about us being best and he never did, the liar.’
‘Did you see him at all after the show, Mally?’ Annie put the question on impulse and watched Mally’s gaze slide away.
‘Yeah … coupla times. Grandad, can I watch a film now? When she’s gone anyway.’
Annie tried to hide her irritation at Mally’s rudeness. She needed her on side if she wanted off-the-record information on Terry Martin.
The colonel said mildly, ‘Why not watch upstairs in your room? I’ll be having a nap down here.’
‘Oh Grandad, go on. It’s a better telly down here.’
‘I thought you were going to the shop to get a new film for the evening. It’s such a nice day. You should be out getting some fresh air. Why not go down to the stables–?’
He caught himself not quite in time. Annie saw Mally’s expression darken. The pony she’d had to sell. Nothing to go to the stables for. Was that the source of the coiled spring of rage inside her? But surprisingly no eruption came. Mally’s glare lightened. ‘Yeah, I will. Laura’s grounded. I’ll tell Tina she said I could take Boxer out. Good idea, Grandad.’ She turned to Annie. ‘I saw him the next weekend. He was OK. He wasn’t always a creep.’
‘Don’t let Miss Hain catch you out in lie, Mel.’
‘Don’t worry, Grandad. I’ll ring Laura first.’
‘Can you remember exactly when you saw him the following weekend, Mally?’
‘Dunno. Sunday afternoon. I was going to meet Kay. He was just walking along.’
‘Did you speak to him?’
‘Mr and Mrs Tunbridge won’t allow her to say yes, Mel.’
‘Don’t fuss, Grandad. I’ll tell her not to tell them.’
‘Did you speak to Terry, Mally?’
‘Nah, not really.’
‘What time did you see him?’
‘’Bout three o’clock. I told you, I was on my way to Kay’s.’
‘Be back in time for tea. Mrs Kitson’s coming round to cook for us.’
Mally made a face. ‘I hate her cooking. I’ll get Tina to do me something. See you later.’
‘Mel, what about your …? Oh dear, youngsters of today.’ He gave Annie a resigned shake of his head as Mally disappeared in the middle of his speech. ‘Maybe I’d better ring Doris. Wouldn’t want her cooking for nothing. On the other hand, if I know young Mel she’ll likely be back ravenous before six.’
Annie saw the lines of worry deepen across his forehead. He should never have been left in sole charge of a young adolescent, let alone one as headstrong as Mally. She felt she should leave him to have some peace while he could, but she’d barely touched on her real reason for being here.
‘Could you tell me about the night Terry Martin died? I’d like to know as much about it as I can.’
‘For the parents, you mean? Yes, I can understand that. I’ll tell you what. You have a vehicle, don’t you? We’ll call round to Charles Tremlow’s. You’ll want to talk to him as well. Never saw action in his youth, you see. Couldn’t take it. Hard to think of a man making his three score years and ten and never seen a dead body, but there it is. A bit of company’ll do him a power of good.’
Annie was taken aback. Of course, she wanted to interview Tremlow, but to her own timetable, not someone else’s. ‘Yes, I do want to talk to him, but I wouldn’t want to make things worse by dropping in unannounced. He might not be ready to talk about it.’
The colonel gave her a gentle laugh. ‘I see you’re old-fashioned like me, Miss Raymond, but that’s not the modern way. The modern way is to talk about it, bring it all out into the open. The police offered counselling, you know. Can you believe it? Streets overrun with thieves and layabouts and they offer counselling. But no, I’ll take advantage of your transport if I may, and do an old friend a favour. He needs the company. He hasn’t been himself since it happened.’
As Annie watched him heave himself from the chair, she ran Mally’s words through her head. Both Heather Becke and Mally had seen Terry Martin the Sunday before he died. By the looks of it, he’d come from lunch with his parents straight to Milesthorpe. He’d called on Balham. Had Balham already gone walkabout, or did he and Terry talk that afternoon?
Chapter 10
Annie knew from the map that Charles Tremlow’s house lay close to Colonel Ludgrove’s but he directed her round yet another loop to the bridge over the stream that bisected Milesthorpe. It was hard not to become disorientated and also absurd to think the colonel had made this journey under his own steam late at night.
‘I thought it was nearer than this, Colonel.’
‘No distance at all as the crow flies. Have to go right round by road, of course.’
Annie thought of the protracted journey out to the cliff the night before. ‘Whoever designed Milesthorpe’s roads wasn’t someone in a hurry,’ she commented.
‘Milesthorpe was two villages years ago. No direct routes at all from one side to the other, not until they bridged the stream. Look at the older houses, you’ll see they face the wrong way. Built to face the village main street, of course, but once they bridged the river, the main street became the back lane. Better in the old days. Smaller village. Good families.’
‘How did you get to Mr Tremlow’s that night?’
&n
bsp; ‘Track from the bottom of the garden and across the field.’
‘That can’t have been easy in the dark.’
‘Wouldn’t normally go that way, of course, but the chap was clearly desperate. One does what one must in times of crisis.’
‘And you’d both been out?’
‘Yes, parish meeting. First Tuesday of the month. Ted Balham never turned up, but that wasn’t unusual. I wasn’t in the house five minutes before the telephone went. Tremlow in a blue funk. Told him to ring the emergency services; said I was on my way.’
Tremlow’s house stood at the bottom of a crescent of similar houses, bathed in hot sunlight, the shadows short, reflective surfaces glinting like glitter sprinkled around the street. The gardens were neat for the most part with a couple of makeshift wooden fences spoiling the overall effect. Tremlow’s wore an air of genteel neglect, faded paintwork and dingy net curtains. Annie walked slowly up the path matching her pace to the colonel’s. He ignored the front door and headed round the side of the house. Annie looked down the garden to see the track he’d mentioned, but the vegetation was too thick and high.
At the sound of locks being drawn back she turned to the house to see a door swing open. Tremlow looked smaller than she remembered from Terry Martin’s funeral, slightly bent, dark hair thinning unevenly. The skin round his face and neck hung loosely in folds, his expression haggard. Annie saw sleep deficit in eyes that looked as black as though he’d been punched.
With a fussy and nervy manner he invited them in to sit at a small Formica kitchen table.
‘Charles, this is Miss Raymond. She’s a private detective, looking into the death of that reporter chappie.’
‘Oh dear.’ Tremlow pulled at his ear lobe. ‘Do they think it’s murder then?’
‘No, no. Pull yourself together, old chap. Miss Raymond wants to know how it happened that’s all. I thought we’d go through it together for her.’
‘But we’ve done all that for the police. Why do we have to keep going over it?’
‘I’ll tell you what, Charles. You’ve not had a proper cup of tea, have you? Shall we let Miss Raymond make us a fresh pot?’