Death at Beacon Cottage

by Betty Rowlands

  ‘You’re wasting your time there,’ he informed her. ‘They never got around to touching the car. I thought I made that clear to the uniformed schoolboy who came to take my statement.’

  ‘I haven’t actually spoken to the officer concerned,’ said Sukey through her teeth. ‘Do I understand you got a good look at them – good enough to give a description?’ Blaine gave an exaggerated sigh of exasperation. ‘I suppose you want it all over again? One had a shock of hair like a bloody caveman and the other had a shaved head with a moth-eaten bird’s nest on top. Tall and skinny, the pair of them – that seemed to ring a bell with your mate. He asked me if I’d be willing to attend an ID to see if I could pick them out and I said I’d be delighted.’

  ‘That’d be great.’ Sukey packed her equipment away and stood up. It sounded like a couple of the younger Hodsons and she wondered if Blaine would be so keen if he knew of their record of intimidation. ‘I’m pretty sure I know the family the officer was referring to,’ she said, ‘and if you’d be prepared to give evidence—’

  ‘Any time. The old bloke in there’ – Blaine jerked his head in the direction of the house next door – ‘warned me to keep quiet if I didn’t want the next brick through my front room window. I told him it’d take more than a couple of teenage yobbos to scare me off.’ He squared his jaw, doubled his fists and assumed an aggressive stance. ‘Middle-weight boxing champ in the Royal Marines three years running,’ he boasted. ‘Never beaten either, just came to the end of my term.’

  ‘It strikes me your neighbours can count themselves lucky to have someone like you around to keep an eye on things,’ said Sukey and was rewarded with a smile that she found only marginally more pleasant than his normal expression. ‘I’m sure the police’ll be in touch with you soon.’

  ‘No problem. I take it it’s OK to use the car now?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Blaine turned on his heel and went back indoors. ‘Well, thanks for your trouble,’ Sukey muttered sarcastically under her breath as she returned to her van. She was about to make her report when her call sign came through on the radio. ‘Sukey, your fairy godmother’s been busy,’ George Barnes informed her. ‘Break-in at Bussell Manor, near Stroud. Valuable antiques stolen and an employee in need of medical attention. Uniformed in attendance, CID and ambulance called for. Mandy’s already on her way and I want you to join her. This is a big one, so make sure you don’t miss anything.’

  ‘Will do, Sarge.’ Sukey felt the adrenalin surging through her system at the prospect. ‘Be there in half an hour.’

  Two

  ‘How the hell does he do it?’ Detective Inspector Jim Castle stood in the galleried entrance hall of Bussell Manor and scratched his head in disbelief. ‘State-of-the-art, all-singing-all-dancing security system, and he just walks in and out of the place as if all he had to do was unlatch the front door with a credit card.’

  ‘Or slide down the chimney like Santa Claus,’ agreed Detective Sergeant Andy Radcliffe with a wry grin.

  ‘If only Crowson and Morris hadn’t given our people the slip,’ Castle went on in the same disconsolate tone. ‘We could at least have nabbed them with the loot, and maybe got them to grass on Rodriguez. As it is…’ His frown deepened, then faded momentarily as the constable guarding the front entrance popped his head round the door to announce the arrival of the second SOCO. Moments later, Sukey Reynolds walked in, staring about her in a mixture of admiration and awe.

  ‘More like a National Trust house than a private home, isn’t it?’ she commented. ‘Who’s the owner?’

  ‘A wealthy American called Wilbur Patterson,’ said Castle. ‘He bought the property from an impoverished local bigwig and is spending a small fortune restoring it to its original early nineteenth-century grandeur. Seems he wanted an appropriate setting for his collection of antiques.’

  ‘Is he here?’

  ‘On his way down from Scotland, spitting fire and brimstone by all accounts and threatening to sue the firm that installed the security system.’

  ‘Don’t blame him.’ Sukey’s practised eye slid round the huge empty space, searching among the suits of armour and the various items of Regency furniture, ornaments and other artefacts, but failing to spot anything resembling a sensor.

  ‘The control panel’s behind the door.’ Radcliffe pointed to a box gleaming with pinpoints of green light mounted on the wall. ‘The housekeeper swears the system was set as usual and the doors locked and bolted on the inside before she and her husband went to bed last night.’

  ‘Have we located the point of entry?’

  ‘Not yet. All we know is that when they got up this morning to open up the house for the workmen, the system was off and the front door unbolted. The first thing they did was to check that room over there.’ Castle nodded towards a room at the back of the hall where, through the open door, Sukey caught a glimpse of her colleague surveying the scene, fingerprint equipment at the ready. ‘That’s where he keeps most of his collection. I’ve never seen anything like it in a private house – everything set out and labelled like exhibits in a museum. They realised a number of valuable items were missing and called us. I doubt if Mandy’ll find anything useful,’ he finished gloomily. ‘There’s never been a smell of a clue at any of the previous jobs.’

  Sukey stared at him in astonishment. ‘You know who did it?’

  ‘Oh yes, we know who did it,’ Castle said grimly. ‘We even knew he was going to do it and approximately when. The trouble is, we didn’t know where.’

  ‘But how—?’ Sukey began, then broke off as she met the detective’s eyes. Their expression told her plainly that she was not here to ask questions, but to do a job. While they were on duty, Castle was the senior officer and she a lowly civilian employee. No doubt he would reveal more of the background to the case later on; in the meantime, there was work to be done.

  ‘Where would you like me to start?’

  ‘Have a scout round outside – see if you can find where he got in. You might get lucky and find something.’

  ‘Right.’ She headed for the door, then turned round. ‘George Barnes said someone had been hurt – was there a struggle?’

  ‘Nothing so dramatic,’ said Radcliffe. ‘The housekeeper went into a severe state of shock when she realised what had happened. She’s been sent to hospital for a check-up.’

  ‘Poor woman. What about her husband?’

  ‘He went with her. We’ll have to get their detailed statements later.’

  Outside, Sukey stood for a few moments admiring the view, as picturesque a prospect as anything the Cotswolds had to offer. Perched on a grassy knoll overlooking the tiny village of the same name that nestled at its feet, Bussell Manor dominated a wide expanse of countryside. On this sparkling April morning, everything was fresh and bursting with new life. Hedgerows erupted in a froth of blackthorn blossom, burgeoning new growth threw a mist of green over patches of woodland, sheep grazed on rolling acres of pasture and the plaintive cries of new-born lambs blended with the joyous song of a thrush perched on a nearby chestnut tree.

  She walked a few paces down the drive, turned and stared up at the handsome stone facade topped with a row of stone figures in classical poses gazing out across the valley. They had a proprietorial air, as if claiming everything in sight as their own. They did not; however, offer any help with her present task and she began a systematic tour of the exterior of the house, her practised eyes searching for the smallest clue.

  It was not long before she spotted the first indication of the complex security system – small, inconspicuous sensors installed at intervals beneath the string course that ran the entire length of the facade. Their purpose, no doubt, was to activate the exterior lights and possibly also some audible signal inside the building. Assuming that they too were in operation at the time of the burglary, the thief must have found some way of either avoiding or deactivating them.

  At the rear of the house she came on a cluster of outbuildings. It was evide
nt from the piles of builders’ materials and equipment scattered around that major works were still in progress. A van bearing the name of a local contractor was parked beside a heap of sand and a couple of men in overalls were sitting on a wooden bench drinking mugs of tea and smoking cigarettes. Pop music blared from a transistor radio. She went over and introduced herself.

  ‘I’ve been asked to try and find the point where the burglars got in,’ she explained. ‘Did you by any chance notice whether any of your stuff had been disturbed?’

  The two men shook their heads, glancing at one another for confirmation. ‘Can’t say we did,’ said the younger of the two, a red-faced individual with a genial smile revealing several missing teeth.

  ‘The coppers were already here when we arrived and we were told to keep out of the way and not touch anything till they gave us permission,’ the older man explained grumpily. ‘Just when we get some decent weather, we have to sit here on our arses and waste time,’ he went on, scowling. ‘I’ve had to tell the rest of the crew not to turn up. It’d be nice if you could get on with your job so that we can do ours,’ he added pointedly.

  ‘I’ll do my best. What about those ladders?’

  Sukey pointed to where several were lying on the ground beside a heap of sand. ‘Are they exactly where you left them?’

  ‘Couldn’t say for sure,’ said the first man. The second merely grunted. Recognising that she was unlikely to receive much help from that quarter, Sukey walked across to the ladders, checking the ground at every step. She turned back towards the house and looked up, noticing that in contrast to the elegant stone of the other three sides some other, inferior material faced with plaster and covered with cream paint had been used for the rear wall. There were three rows of windows; those on the ground floor were protected by iron bars and on the upper two by closed shutters, except for one window on the second floor where the shutters were open. Still picking her way carefully, she moved closer and noticed a dark streak on the plaster immediately below the sill. Directly beneath it she spotted two depressions in the soft earth.

  With rising excitement, her eyes glued to the ground, she headed back to the spot where she had noticed the ladders and saw on the muddy, trampled grass distinct traces of sand and several partial shoeprints. None was clear enough to be of any use until, on a small patch of sand that had somehow been separated from the main heap, she found one which was clear enough for identification purposes. She got out her camera and the younger and more amiable of the two workmen strolled over to watch.

  ‘Found something interesting?’ he enquired.

  ‘Maybe.’ Sukey focused the camera and took a couple of shots. ‘Would you mind staying away from this area, please?’

  ‘Oh, sure.’ He moved back a few paces, still watching. ‘You reckon the burglar made that foot mark?’

  ‘It’s possible.’

  ‘Proper little Sherlock Holmes, aren’t you?’ he said in admiration. ‘What d’you deduce from that, Watson?’ he asked in a mock upper-class voice.

  ‘It looks like a trainer and it’s pretty well brand-new.’ She glanced down at the heavy boots he was wearing. ‘It certainly isn’t one of yours,’ she commented with a smile. ‘Do you know if anyone else working on the site wears Reeboks?’

  The man guffawed. ‘You kidding? On what we get paid? Anyway, they’re not allowed – we all have to wear these special boots.’

  ‘Of course you do.’

  ‘My name’s Charlie,’ he added conversationally.

  Sukey nodded without responding, put her camera in the pocket of her denim jacket and retraced her steps, this time studying the ground even more closely and trying to figure out how a man carrying a ladder could have managed to plant it against the wall without triggering the lights. From what she knew of such arrangements, sensors were normally angled outwards to avoid being activated by nocturnal animals prowling near the house. A human walking upright would certainly be picked up, but if the burglar had approached on all fours, pushing the ladder along the ground in front of him… yes, there were distinct indications that the grass had been flattened along a line leading to the point below the unshuttered window. She took more photographs and made some notes before packing her camera away.

  ‘Finished?’ asked Charlie, who had continued to observe her every move from a discreet distance.

  ‘For the time being.’ She went across to the older man. He had studiously ignored the proceedings so far, but was presumably in charge. ‘I’m going to arrange for this area to be cordoned off,’ she informed him. ‘I’d be grateful if you’d keep clear of it for now.’

  ‘If you say so,’ he said sourly. He lit another cigarette and turned up the volume on the radio.

  She made her way back to the entrance to the house and found Castle and Radcliffe conferring with Mandy in the hall.

  ‘Any joy?’ asked Castle. ‘We haven’t had much here,’ he added, his expression still gloomy. ‘Mandy’s dusted around, but we’re pretty sure they wore gloves – we’ve never found any prints at the previous jobs.’

  Sukey reported her findings and for the first time a trace of a smile softened his aquiline features. ‘Splendid!’ he exclaimed. ‘We can easily identify the room in question. Andy, you’ve got that plan of the house the butler, or whatever he calls himself, gave us before he left for the hospital, haven’t you?’

  ‘Right here.’ Radcliffe produced a large sheet of paper and spread it on an ornate chest. The four of them clustered round it while Sukey made some calculations. Five minutes later they were in a well-equipped and furnished office on the second floor.

  Sukey examined the sash window.

  ‘The catch has been oiled recently,’ she told them. ‘Anyone with a Swiss army knife could have opened it from the outside.’

  A gleam appeared in Castle’s greenish eyes and he rubbed his hands together. ‘Well, that answers our first question,’ he said gleefully. ‘Well done, Sukey. Now it’s up to you girls to find some evidence to prove that it was our man. Good hunting!’

  Three

  Absorbed in their task, the two SOCOs were at first only vaguely aware of the approach of a small aeroplane, but as the noise of its engine grew louder Mandy went over to the window and glanced out.

  ‘It’s coming down!’ she exclaimed. ‘D’you suppose it’s in trouble?’

  Sukey joined her in time to see the plane disappear behind a line of trees beyond the outbuildings where Charlie and his disgruntled foreman were eating sandwiches and reading newspapers. ‘I think it’s landed,’ she said. ‘It’s probably Wilbur the Wealthy, come to check on what’s missing.’

  As if to confirm Sukey’s guess, the sound of the engine died; moments later, the figure of a man appeared through a gap in the trees and strode towards the house. He was tall and heavily built, but his movements were athletic and despite his balding crown – easily visible from the women’s first-floor vantage point – she judged him to be no older than his mid-thirties. His fawn safari jacket and slacks had an expensive-casual appearance, cut to minimise his tendency to run to flesh, and his face was the colour of weathered brick. Even from that distance, he exuded anger and agitation; he strode past the two workmen without acknowledging their presence and vanished round the angle of the building.

  ‘There’s going to be an explosion any minute!’ Mandy predicted gleefully.

  The two of them hurried out on to the landing, which gave them a direct view of the front door. They were just in time to see it flung open to the accompaniment of a stentorian voice bellowing, ‘I don’t need an ID to enter my own goddam house!’ as the newcomer burst in and headed across the hall towards the room where the collection was displayed. Jim Castle, who had been conducting his own examination there after Mandy had completed hers, met him in the doorway.

  ‘Mr Patterson?’

  ‘That’s me.’ Patterson rocked back on his heels and glowered. ‘Are you the officer in charge?’

  ‘Detective Inspector Castl
e.’ He held up his ID, which received a cursory glance and a grunt. ‘It seems pretty clear from your excellent labelling system which items were taken,’ Castle went on in his most emollient tones, unaware of the two pairs of ears straining from above, or of Sukey mouthing ‘Creep!’ as Mandy stifled a giggle.

  ‘We’ve made this list.’ Castle handed Patterson a sheet of paper. ‘It would of course help our investigations if you have photographs of any of the pieces—’

  ‘Sure, sure, no problem,’ Patterson said impatiently. ‘Jeeze, the bastards knew what to go for!’ he muttered as he scanned the list. ‘That lot adds up to several million bucks. Let me take a look.’

  He made a move to enter the display room, but Castle put a hand on his arm. ‘I’d be obliged, sir, if you’d stay out of there until we’ve completed our examination.’

  Patterson jerked his arm free. ‘I don’t take kindly to being ordered around in my own house…’ he snarled. The watchers held their breath, anticipating a confrontation, but Castle stood his ground and after a moment Patterson, with what appeared to be a mighty effort at self-control, backed down. ‘So when did this happen?’ he demanded, his manner still belligerent. ‘Any idea who did it?’

  ‘All I can say at the moment is that we think we’ve found the point where the thief entered the house. Our SOCOs are checking your office – let’s join them and they’ll explain what they’ve turned up so far. Oh, this is Detective Sergeant Radcliffe,’ Castle added as the DS emerged from one of several doors leading off the hall. The two men exchanged nods. ‘He’s been checking all the doors and ground-floor windows.’

  ‘No sign of forced entry, Guv,’ said Radcliffe.

  ‘Right, let’s go upstairs.’

  The two SOCOs hastily withdrew from their vantage point and resumed their efforts with dusting-brush, tweezers and plastic sample envelopes. When the three men entered the room, Castle explained what they were doing and said, ‘Sukey, perhaps you’d tell Mr Patterson what you found.’