The Moonlit Door

by Deryn Lake

  But one evil soul was lying awake and grinning in the darkness, thinking of the pleasure it had experienced in watching the boy die and planning how, soon, it must repeat the performance. Yet not before the heat had died down, not until the police were bored with the case and had pushed off back to Lewes. Then it would be safe to creep out in the moonlight and search for another innocent victim and have fun all over again.

  THIRTEEN

  The school reopened on Monday morning, aware that one of their classrooms was now out of bounds and instead occupied by a dozen computers and a squad of policemen and women. This was an inconvenience to the teachers and a source of magnificent fun to the children, who tiptoed along the corridor and peeped in through the door’s glass windows at the activity inside.

  Particularly enjoying this form of recreation were Belle and her cohorts, Debbie and Johnnie. The fourth member of their gang, Billy Needham, was no longer with them, and Debbie was still red round the eyes from crying in bed last night.

  ‘It’s no good weeping for him,’ said Belle, adopting a somewhat saintly expression. ‘My mother says he’s gone to a better place.’

  ‘But what he had to suffer in order to go there,’ remarked Johnnie, who was aged ten and felt superior to girls.

  ‘He probably enjoyed it,’ Belle answered carelessly. ‘Come on, the bell is going in a minute. Let’s go and pull faces at the policemen.’

  ‘Well, I don’t want to,’ Debbie said. ‘I’m going back to our classroom.’

  ‘Oh, do as you please,’ Belle answered, and flounced off in the direction of the incident room.

  But her plans were thwarted by the arrival of Tennant and Potter at precisely the moment she and Johnnie crouched down outside the door, their faces peeping over the bottom of the glass.

  Tennant had had a great deal of experience with juvenile delinquents which had soured his opinion of the young, even one as entrancing as Belle.

  ‘You’re not going to be able to see much from down there,’ he commented to the two squatting forms. ‘And I am most certainly not going to ask you in. So if I were you I’d get to my lesson in double-quick time.’

  Both children were startled and leapt to their feet. Just for a minute Belle and the inspector eyed one another up, his gaze penetrating, hers undergoing a rapid change. She dropped a small curtsey, something which she had discovered won an adult’s heart immediately. The man did not seem impressed.

  ‘Shoo,’ he said. ‘Be off.’

  ‘Kindly go away,’ said Potter. ‘This is a very serious case regarding one of your schoolmates and we don’t need little children pulling faces at the door.’

  Johnnie took to his heels but Belle loitered. She dropped another very small curtsey and said, ‘I’m so sorry, sir. We won’t let it happen again.’

  Tennant watched her departing back and said, ‘Precocious little madam.’

  Mark chuckled. ‘When you said “Be Off”, I wondered what the B stood for.’

  ‘Not hard to work out,’ Tennant answered, and began that morning’s briefing.

  Meanwhile, in Foxfield, Chris O’Hare was at his day job, owning and running a small car repair shop. He liked working with his hands, enjoyed the challenge of keeping some of the terrible old rust-buckets that he had to service, on the road. It was a special joy when somebody with a wad of cash brought in a decent vehicle for him to look over, and today he was in luck. The retired major from Lakehurst brought in an Alfa Romeo Giulietta for a full service.

  ‘How long do you think you’ll be?’

  ‘Should be ready by this evening, sir. It’s one that needs to be treated with love, you know. Can’t be done in a hurry.’

  ‘I’m afraid the interior is in a bit of a mess. The cat had an accident and we had to take it to the vet. I’m sorry, but the poor thing bled a bit.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll clear that up, Major. Have it like a new pin.’

  ‘Reg,’ Chris called out as soon as the major had been driven away by his wife in her little runaround, ‘I’ve got a job for you.’

  The smallest of the archery team, a short, leathery, cheerful-looking man came on to the forecourt, wiping his hands on a filthy rag.

  ‘And what might that be?’

  ‘The major’s cat bled all over his car. Would you be kind enough to clean it up?’

  ‘You always keep the dirty jobs for me.’

  ‘That’s because you’re so easy-going, Reg. You’d do anything for anyone, you would.’

  Reg laughed and winked a vivid brown eye. He looked like a garden gnome with the paint peeling off. He had shaved his head and had his chest waxed. In fact, the only hair on him was pubic and that, according to local legend, was massive. As were his feats with the ladies, which were monumental, according to him, legend being quiet on that point.

  Reg sighed, hitched up his brown dungarees and was making his way back into the workroom when Chris suddenly called out ‘Coppers’ and a second later an official car slid into their line of vision.

  ‘What do the bastards want now?’ said Chris under his breath.

  But Reg had no time to answer as the door opened and out of the car got Sergeant Potter and Inspector Dominic Tennant, looking tremendously attractive and not at all what Reg would have considered to be the kind of copper he was used to.

  ‘Good morning’, said Dominic and produced his identification.

  ‘Do you wish to speak to me or Mr Marney or both of us?’ asked Chris, his hair almost white in the early sun.

  Potter answered. ‘Mr Marney actually. We’ve just come from your house where we were directed on to here.’

  Reg grinned and Tennant thought that there was absolutely nothing more lascivious than a bald gnome looking pleased with himself.

  ‘That would be Donna-Marie,’ Reg said, and winked one of his dark brown orbs at Potter.

  ‘Really?’ said Tennant, and then, because he couldn’t resist it, said, ‘Your daughter?’

  The bald gnome grinned – he had very small teeth with a couple of gold ones in the top – and said, ‘No, me girlfriend. What did you think of her?’

  ‘I couldn’t really say,’ Potter answered. ‘She told us where you worked and then rushed out of the house. Said she was late.’

  Marney opened his mouth to continue talking about his love life but Tennant cut him short.

  ‘Mr Marney, I would like to ask if you can tell us exactly what you did after the end of the fair. In other words, where were you exactly and what did you do?’

  The gnome scratched his bald pate with a leathery hand. ‘Well, let me see now. When the fair closed I packed up my equipment.’ He gave a dirty laugh which both Tennant and Potter ignored. ‘Then went off with the other blokes to The White Hart. No, that’s not quite true. I spent a few minutes talking to a group of young ladies who had come up to see my longbow, which is very special, I can tell you.’

  The two policemen studiously ignored the double entendre and continued to listen.

  ‘Well, one of them asked me to show her the woods and we went into them for about half an hour.’

  ‘Can you tell me the name of this person, please?’

  ‘It was Lois. That’s all I know. I think she lives in Lakehurst but I’m not sure.’

  Potter, who was writing madly in his notebook, looked up. ‘Did you see anybody else while you were there?’

  ‘Only that mad old tramp who hangs around. Daft Dickie they call him.’

  ‘What was he doing?’

  ‘Watching us. We were having a quickie and I was going at it—’

  ‘Thank you,’ interrupted Tennant.

  ‘Well, I shouted at him and he ran off. He’s a crazy old bugger but he’s quite harmless.’

  ‘What’s his real name?’

  ‘Richard Donkin, I imagine. Don’t really know because he’s been called Dickie as long as I can remember.’

  ‘And what happened when you had finished in the woods?’

  ‘I popped into the Great House bu
t then me and the other archers went off to our local in Foxfield.’

  ‘That’s the haunt of the morris men, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, most of them were in there but not my boss Chris. I left him in the Great House making a great effort with a girl, who was very cut-glass. I don’t think he was getting very far.’

  Tennant nodded. ‘And were you at home alone that night?’

  Reg Marney looked slightly shamefaced. ‘Yes, I was, truth to tell.’

  ‘Did you know the murdered boy?’

  ‘No, never met him. Poor little sod.’

  They stood up, making their way out of the dingy office into which they had been shown. Chris O’Hare was under the bonnet of a car but looked up as the two policemen walked past.

  ‘Have you heard from Skye at all?’ asked Tennant casually.

  ‘Not a dicky bird. I tell you, Inspector, there was something odd about that girl.’

  ‘Can you be a little more exact?’

  ‘Well she insisted that we sit round the corner of the pub, as if she was trying to keep her presence hidden from the crowd. Not that she need have worried with that silly Patsy Quinn bitch there signing autographs. Can’t think how she got a career going when she only came fifth.’

  ‘I think she’s jolly good,’ said Potter. ‘She’s got a nice personality, which is more than you can say for some of the terrible people who win.’

  Tennant said reprovingly, ‘We’re here to discuss a brutal murder, not pop stars. Go on about Skye, Mr O’Hare.’

  Chris straightened up and said, ‘If I want her I could get her, you know.’

  ‘You’d use witchcraft I suppose,’ said Potter acidly, still slightly annoyed by Tennant’s last remark.

  The car mechanic slanted his eyes. ‘Is that what you think?’

  ‘Yes, I do. Would you?’

  ‘I’d rather not discuss it. It weakens the spell. Let’s simply say that there are cunning tricks as old as time itself that one can use to bring a lady to your side.’

  Tennant would rather have died than admit it but he felt a thrill of interest, which he firmly clamped down.

  ‘Mr O’Hare, is there anything further you want to tell me about Skye?’

  ‘I’ve told you already. She had an upper-class accent and had obviously been to a good school. She said she wanted to walk home and I said I would walk with her. But she insisted that I leave her at a certain point. I tried to kiss her but she pushed me away and said my black make-up would spoil her dress. That’s all that happened and that’s all I have to say. We made no arrangements to meet again.’

  ‘Thank you very much. We’ll let you know if we hear any more of her,’ said Potter.

  Afterwards in the car Tennant said, ‘Why did you say that? We’re not running a dating service.’

  ‘Sorry, sir. I can’t seem to do a thing right today.’

  There was silence for a few moments then Tennant said, ‘Let’s go to the incident room. I could do with an hour or two on the computer.’

  As they turned into Lakehurst High Street they saw Patsy Quinn leave her grandmother’s house, get into her small blue car and head off in the direction of London.

  ‘One unhappy little vicar, I believe’ said Tennant, and Potter, his humour restored, nodded his head and gave an answering grin.

  In the vicarage Nick was having a brief break before he got into his car and started on the duty of taking communion to the bedbound. It was something that often brought him much joy but today his mind was full of Patsy Quinn and the feeling that this was a relationship he was going to pursue to the limit – whatever that turned out to be. In the last two days he had seen as much of her as was decently possible and, despite the fact that a shadow had been cast over everyone by the savage killing of a blameless boy, he had enjoyed his time spent in her company. She was attractive – bordering on beautiful – but it was her extraordinary golden glow that had captivated his heart.

  Nick sat very still, his mug of lapsang souchong halfway to his lips, wondering at the fact that he had used that phrase, even privately, to himself. It was delightfully old-fashioned but it summed up exactly what his feelings were. He was falling in love, and instantly following this revelation came the horrid thought that he was not certain how to proceed. The best way might be through her grandmother, he thought, and made a mental note to visit Mrs Platt quite shortly.

  There being only two bedridden people to call on, so frail that he had to lift their heads to receive the Holy Sacrament, Nick decided to look up his friends at Fulke Castle when the short services were finished. He had always loved the place, even though the very sight of it overawed him. And today was no different. It reared up out of its moat, the ancient bricks telling the story of its incredible past, a past which the vicar knew well, having participated in a Son et Lumière held within its ancient walls. Having rung Sir Rufus to check that it was convenient, Nick drove across the causeway and parked his car in the private car park.

  Rufus opened the door into the Victorian part, his hair the colour of beaten copper in the sunshine.

  ‘Nick, do come in. As I told you, the girls are all out so it’s just me, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I won’t stay long, if you don’t mind. I just called to see if the bad news had reached your ears.’

  ‘You mean about the killing of that small boy? Oh, yes, we heard it on Sunday. One of the kitchen staff came in and told the rest and it soon came round to our part of the castle. Is it true he was shot by an arrow?’ Nick nodded. ‘It must have been some lunatic. Nobody in their right mind would contemplate such a thing.’

  ‘Our old friend Inspector Tennant is in charge of the case.’

  ‘Is he? Well, that’s one good thing, I suppose. The news quite upset the girls, particularly Araminta. She burst into tears.’

  ‘How old is she now?’

  ‘Just eighteen. The phone never stops ringing. All would-be boyfriends.’

  ‘Does she have anyone in particular?’

  ‘She’s got a crush on one of the younger brothers of a friend of mine. It’s all rather alarming.’

  ‘How old is he, for heaven’s sake?’

  ‘Twenty-eight. And he’s been married and divorced.’

  Nick sighed. ‘I’m afraid we must move with the times, Sir Rufus.’

  ‘I thought I did until it came to my own wretched daughter. Do you think it is too early for a drink?’

  Nick looked at his watch. ‘I think it is.’

  Rufus laughed. ‘I take it that’s a yes.’

  Nick answered. ‘A very weak one. I’m driving.’

  Rufus looked at him and shook his head. ‘I’m hardly likely to ring the police, now am I?’

  The vicar could think of no suitable reply.

  In the somewhat cramped conditions of one of the school’s classrooms, Potter looked across at Tennant and shouted, ‘Sir.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I think I’ve got something. Listen to this. Richard Donkin was questioned under caution about the murder of his stepfather in 1989 but they couldn’t find enough evidence to pin it on him. His stepfather, George Grimes, was apparently extremely violent to both him and his mother and was discovered with his throat slashed from ear to ear, with no sign of forced entry or burglary. They had a ghastly time trying to interview Donkin because he’s pretty well autistic.’

  ‘Here, let me have a look at that, will you?’

  Potter obligingly slid off the seat and Tennant took his place in front of the computer.

  ‘Well, bugger me,’ he said. ‘The consensus was that the boy was guilty as hell but they simply hadn’t enough evidence to charge him.’

  ‘Apparently some old farmer stuck up for him and wouldn’t be shifted from his story. Provided the perfect alibi. Says Donkin slept in his barn and he saw him in there asleep at one o’clock in the morning.’

  ‘I think we should get our Dickie in for questioning. I’ll get a psychiatrist who specializes in dealing with autism to come a
long.’

  ‘I don’t know that that will do much good, sir. He might just sit there mute.’

  ‘It’s all very well to think about that. We’ve got to find him first.’

  ‘Very true.’

  ‘I’ll ask Lewes to let me have a few extra men.’

  ‘I think we’re probably going to need them.’

  Dickie had gladly accepted Giles Fielding’s offer of an early evening meal. It had been some while since he had eaten anything hot and cooked – if one discounted the odd burger – and so he sat in appreciative silence while his host poured him a jug of beer and threw another log on the farmhouse fire.

  Opposite Giles’s house and sheep fields was a small lane and the only building in it was Olivia’s weekend house, which she had inherited from her parents and which she only came down to late on a Friday evening. Giles kept a weather-beaten eye on it for her, not so much fearing a burglar but lads from the village playing silly buggers, and up till now she had always been glad of his reassuring neighbourly presence. But these days she found that she was spending a little more time there – engagements permitting – and was very much enjoying her new romance with the debonair inspector, so different from anything portrayed on television. In truth, she was more drawn to Dominic Tennant than she would admit even to herself. So it was with a certain lift of her heart that Olivia heard his gentle knock at the door. She flung it open but it was to see a small girl standing there. The child looked absolutely terrified.