by Granger, Ann
At that moment his ear caught the sound of an approaching vehicle. A car’s headlights swept over him. He turned towards them and waved his arms above his head to attract attention and signal help was needed. The car stopped. A door slammed. Footsteps and another figure, tall and thin, coming briskly towards him.
‘What’s the trouble?’ called a competent voice.
‘S-someone’s hurt,’ Roger stammered. ‘I don’t know who he is.’ Nor did he know who the newcomer was. Rescuer or the attacker returned? No, not the attacker who had run away. But someone in league with the attacker?’
‘Badly hurt?’ enquired the new man.
‘B-blood,’ Roger could only babble. ‘There’s a lot of blood.’
‘Roger, is that you?’ asked the voice unexpectedly.
‘Yes. Who is that?’
‘It’s Stephen Layton. Let me take a look.’
No voice and no name could have been more welcome. ‘Thank goodness!’ cried Roger. ‘We need a doctor here!’
Layton had reached him. He stretched out a hand and, wordlessly, Roger handed over his torch. Layton hunkered down over the fallen figure.
‘It’s Gervase Crown!’ he exclaimed. ‘Someone’s hit him over the head.’
‘What?’ croaked Roger. ‘How can it be him?’ (In moments of stress, he afterwards told himself, one does say daft things. Why shouldn’t it have been Crown? It was Crown’s house.) ‘Blood,’ he repeated. He wanted to say something else, more sensible, but the word came out of its own accord. ‘Lots of blood …’ Oh hell, he was sounding like Lady Macbeth.
‘Steady on, old chap,’ urged Layton. ‘Nasty shock for you, but get a grip. Yes, quite a bit of blood but head wounds do bleed a lot. Have you phoned for an ambulance?’
‘Er, no,’ admitted Roger. ‘I only just …’
‘I’ll do it.’ Layton handed back the torch and took out a mobile phone. As a background to his thoughts, Roger heard the doctor organising the ambulance and requesting that the police be informed. All the things, in fact, that Roger should have been doing. But Roger’s mind was on something else: that other shape, that amorphous shadow running away from the building. He, Roger, had been alone out here with a violent criminal, probably a murderer. The full horror of it all engulfed him. The apocalyptic figure reeling from the ruins, the mysterious shadow of an attacker flitting away through the night like some great bat, Gervase’s blood on his hands, the humiliation of his own paralysis, uselessness …
‘They’re on their way,’ said Layton. ‘You all right now?’
‘What? I, no, excuse me,’ mumbled Roger.
He took a few uncertain steps away from the fallen man and threw up comprehensively, thereby, as he was miserably aware, contaminating a crime scene.
Jess, Carter and Millie had just about finished their pizzas when the news came through to Jess on her mobile. The ringtone caused both Carter and Millie to look up in interst. Even the shiny black eyes of MacTavish, whose head poked out of a pink tote bag hung on the back of Millie’s chair, seemed to take on an added gleam.
Jess took the call, asked the other two to excuse her for a moment, and moved outside the restaurant to take the rest of it. When she came back, she said quietly to Carter, ‘Gervase Crown has been taken to the General Hospital.’
She hadn’t said it quietly enough to keep the news from Millie’s sharp ears.
‘Is that the man called Gervase you were talking to when Auntie Monica and I found you?’
She was not the sort of child whose questions could be ignored.
‘Yes, I’m afraid he is,’ said Jess. She said it in a way she hoped conveyed that the matter was not up for any more discussion, at least with contributions from Millie.
‘Badly hurt?’ asked Carter calmly.
‘Conscious.’
‘I thought he was the murderer,’ observed Millie thoughtfully. She looked up with renewed alertness. ‘Has someone tried to murder him?’
‘I’ve asked for a guard to be put on his room,’ Jess told Carter. ‘They’re still examining him at the moment.’
‘You stay here, I’ll check it out,’ said Carter and disappeared into the street in his turn.
‘I’m interested too,’ complained Millie. ‘You ought not to leave me out. That’s bad manners.’ She was watching her father through the plate-glass window as he walked up and down with his phone to his ear.
‘I know you are, love, but it’s police business and I’m sure you know that makes it private.’ Jess tried to sweeten the rebuff with a smile.
Millie, and MacTavish from his tote bag, regarded her with disgust. ‘According to you,’ said Millie accusingly, ‘everything interesting is private.’
Chapter 18
The police constable seated outside the room rose to his feet as Jess came down the hospital corridor towards him. ‘Everything OK here, ma’am,’ he said confidently.
‘Good, have you spoken to the victim?’
‘I stuck my head round the door earlier and asked how he felt,’ admitted the constable. ‘He answered me all right, said he was fine. Well, he don’t look fine,’ the constable qualified Gervase’s claim. ‘He’s got his head all bandaged up and they’ve got him hooked up to a drip. So far no one’s tried to see him. Nurses and a doctor were going in and out all morning, of course, but no visitors from outside and none have turned up so far this afternoon. But I dare say the word won’t have got round yet, will it? That he’s here?’
‘You’d be surprised,’ Jess told him.
‘I was told I wasn’t to let any visitors in.’ The constable looked enquiringly at Jess.
‘For the time being, that’s right. I’d rather no one other than the police and hospital personnel see him. But make a note, would you, of anyone else who asks? Name and address. Examine any flowers, chocolates or grapes, anything like that, brought or sent in for him. Oh, and make a note of who they’re from.’
Gervase had few friends so it would be interesting to see who might turn out a well-wisher.
As the constable had said, Gervase’s head was indeed impressively swathed in bandages and a neck brace held his head immobile. He was propped up in bed with his eyes closed, but opened them as Jess came in. He raised a hand in salutation and said hoarsely, ‘Hi! O guardian of the law.’
‘Hi to you,’ returned Jess. ‘I’m sorry to see you here.’
‘Better than seeing me on a trestle down at the morgue.’
‘Yes, I won’t argue with that. You sound compos mentis. Can you talk to me for a while?’
‘The dreaded police interview.’ Gervase sounded resigned.
‘It’s entirely your decision. The doctor wasn’t very happy about my talking to you. They’re concerned about concussion. He said it would be all right if you felt up to it.’
‘Oh, my mind’s all right or I think it is. My vision’s fine. I’m not seeing two of you there. I’ve got a bloody big headache, or would have, if they didn’t pump painkillers into me via that hatstand they’ve got me attached to.’ Gervase gestured weakly at the drip line hanging from the dolly. ‘That’s probably affecting anything I say. The best way to describe how I feel today is as if I have a bad hangover. I can’t turn my head because of this collar. That’s a nuisance. I wrenched my neck somehow when I twisted trying to avoid my attacker.’
‘The same doctor I spoke to on my way in,’ she told him, ‘said you’d been very lucky. Another blow would have resulted in much worse.’
‘Like Pietrangelo? I realise that.’ His fingers twitched as if he would make another hand gesture, but he decided against it. ‘I really feel bad about that poor guy. I met his girlfriend, you know.’
‘Sarah Gresham? Where? When?’ Jess was startled. ‘Last night?’
‘No, not last night.’ Gervase tried a negative movement of his head, but frowned and abandoned it. ‘I have to try and remember not to do that … I was looking round the house, a couple of days ago, and she was there, leaving flowers on the spot where his
body was found. The flowers are still there. I saw them last night, all withered already. She should have put them in a jam jar of water or something. Poor kid. I was so sorry for her and felt to blame because it does seem he got killed instead of me. I should have let Reggie sell him the house.’
Gervase’s speech sounded disconnected but Jess persevered.
‘You knew Pietrangelo wanted to buy?’
Gervase waved a hand in negation. ‘Not specifically him, no. Reggie had emailed me to say someone had enquired. I emailed back to tell him, no chance. I really didn’t know what to say to Sarah. It was my damn fault really, that’s what I kept thinking while I was talking to her. I should have sold the house or told Reggie to tell anyone enquiring I’d be happy to sell. Perhaps I should have sold it to Serena when she was so keen to buy, or given her the damn place. Then that poor fellow wouldn’t have been creeping round on the quiet. Poor girl, she looked so wretched and I could only blather nonsense and not say a damn thing to comfort her. She kept saying she understood why I hadn’t wanted to sell, but she’d totally misunderstood. She thought I’d been attached to the place. Fortunately, Muriel turned up and saved the day for me.’
‘Miss Pickering? What was she doing there?’ asked Jess, surprised.
‘Walking her dog. She’s always had a dog. She’s a feature of the lanes around here, stumping along with mutt in tow. This one looked pretty weird, like something a mediaeval mason might have carved for a gargoyle. But she started telling me what a waste of space I was, or words to that effect, and that gave Sarah an excuse to leave us and spared me having to try to make any more conversation with her. So Muriel, ghastly old bat, did me a good turn.’ He smiled wryly.
‘Why does Miss Pickering think you a waste of space, in your words?’ Jess asked. It sounded, from Gervase’s description of Muriel, as though the opinion might be mutual.
‘She thinks that of everyone,’ Gervase said. ‘Men, in particular. She had a tyrannical father. She didn’t like my father, either, as it happened. Don’t blame her for that. Neither did I. But she did like my mother, funnily enough.’
‘I have spoken to Miss Pickering,’ Jess told him. ‘She said she had been friendly with your mother.’
‘I remember it. It was a strange sort of friendship.’ Gervase became thoughtful, his eyes unfocused and apparently looking back down the years. ‘I think my mother was sympathetic to Muriel, liked her, I suppose. On Muriel’s side I fancy it was more in the nature of a schoolgirl crush. Only neither of them was a schoolgirl, of course. I tagged along occasionally on one of their shared walks. I could see the hero-worship in Muriel’s phizzog. My mother was a good-looker. She used to go up to London sometimes, shops and theatre, that sort of thing. Then she’d tell Muriel about it all. Muriel never went anywhere; and always looked like one of her dogs. That’s unkind. I shouldn’t say that. But my mother must have seemed glamorous to her, like a film star – if Muriel had ever gone to the cinema. I suppose she had a TV.’
I didn’t see one, thought Jess. When I visited Muriel there was no television in that sordid sitting room.
Gervase was continuing, ‘She was upset when my mother left. Told everyone my father had murdered her and buried her in the countryside somewhere.’
‘What?’
‘He hadn’t, of course. I can tell you that as a proven fact because I met my mother again just under a year ago and had lunch with her. She still looks good. Anyway, no one but Muriel suggested it at the time. My father got on to his lawyers and I presume they told her to shut up. So she did. I have teased her occasionally by telling her I know where the body’s buried. I shouldn’t do that. I think when my mother left, Muriel felt it like a bereavement.’
‘Why did she hate your father? Just because your mother left the marriage and the area?’ Jess asked carefully.
Not, apparently, carefully enough. Gervase’s expression suddenly became unexpectedly shrewd. ‘You’ve spoken to Muriel. She probably told you. Dad used to beat my mother up. I don’t mean all day, every day. Only in the bedroom, after they’d gone to bed. I understand now it was a sex thing. He couldn’t do it, I suppose, unless he beat her up first, to get himself going.’
‘But you knew? As a child you knew that he used violence towards her?’
‘Not why, but that he did it, yes.’ Gervase’s eyes narrowed to slits. ‘He was clever enough not to hit her face. He just went for the rest of her. I could hear the thump of his fist landing and the muffled cries she gave, stifling her shrieks in case I heard. I heard, anyway. I used to sit on the stairs in my pyjamas, strangling my teddy bear and wishing I were brave enough to rush in and protect my mother. But I knew I couldn’t.’
‘Poor kid,’ said Jess involuntarily. ‘That was a terrible burden for you to bear all alone.’
‘Oh, I don’t think I was alone in knowing about it. Muriel knew, after all. The au pair – we always had one of them – had a flat up in the attic so she might not have heard them, but I dare say she did. Sounds, even small ones, travel in a house at night. Besides, there are other ways of knowing. People knew or suspected, but they didn’t say anything. That’s how it goes. None of our au pairs stayed very long.’
‘I have dealt with a number of domestic violence cases,’ Jess told him. ‘Often other people do suspect. But they think it’s private, between husband and wife.’
‘There you go, then. I shall always believe that old devil Stephen Layton knew because he was their doctor. But he didn’t do a damn thing. Anyhow, I have that prize bore, Roger Trenton, to thank for my not ending up stretched out dead last night, and to my great annoyance I have to be grateful to Stephen Layton, too.’
‘Layton was there last night?’
‘Came along in his car and found Trenton stooped over me, wringing his hands. Or so I gather.’
‘Tell me about it,’ Jess invited. ‘Stop if your head hurts or you feel the painkillers are making you muzzy.’ She took out her little tape recorder and placed it on the bed. ‘I’ll record if you don’t mind. Start from when I left you with your cousin.’
‘OK.’ Gervase drew a deep breath. ‘After you left I stayed chatting to Serena for a few minutes. Not longer because it had got dark and I had agreed to go back to The Royal Oak and settle my bill, move somewhere else. Only I never got back there to do that, so all my stuff is at The Royal Oak. Has anyone told them I’m in here?’
‘I’ll make sure they understand that you want to keep the room on,’ she promised. ‘I suppose you will have to, for the time being, if you’ve got your belongings there and you’re in here.’
‘Got everything including my passport there.’
‘We still suggest you move elsewhere when you leave here.’
Gervase grimaced. ‘Serena’s been on the phone insisting I move in with them. Poppy Trenton rang her last night and told her what had happened. Both of them, Serena and Poppy, are threatening to visit me.’ He closed his eyes briefly. ‘Serena says I need nourishing fare to recuperate. Hospital food not good enough. I thought I’d escaped the lamb hotpot. I think my cousin learned to cook over a campfire when she was a Girl Guide, and hasn’t progressed much since then. Don’t let her hear me say that on your tape …’ He gestured at the tape recorder and smiled weakly.
Jess smiled back and shook her head. There was a silence during which Gervase stared past her at the opposite wall. She said quietly, ‘I will go and come back later if you want.’
‘No, stay. Just don’t rush me. I left Serena’s place and set off back to Weston St Ambrose. The route took me within half a mile of Key House. Although I had things to do, I made a detour to see if everything was OK there. I didn’t expect to stay more than ten minutes. I parked up under the hedge. I turned the car lights off and perhaps should have left them on. Then I’d have seen if anyone else was out there. I walked around a bit inside the house. Made a lot of noise because of the rubbish underfoot. If anyone else followed me in I wouldn’t have heard. They would know exactly where I was f
rom the racket I was making. I had a torch. I was shining it at the walls in what had been the kitchen. I personally don’t regret the loss of the house, but the general poor state of what’s left does have me worried. While that girl, Sarah, was there, what was left of a cupboard fell down. I was just able to pull her out of the way in time. We both fell to the ground. She screeched like a banshee. I thought it was because she believed I was the killer on the loose. But it turned out it was because she saw in me a resemblance to her boyfriend. It must have given her a heck of shock. Anyway, last night I was just thinking perhaps I ought to leave in case a chunk of stone fell down on my head …’ Gervase’s lips twisted wryly. ‘Then I realised someone else was there. I couldn’t see who it was. But I knew I wasn’t on my own.’
‘You heard someone?’
Gervase took a moment to consider his answer. ‘Not at that moment. I just – you know how it is when you feel you’re being watched? I can’t tell you exactly what alerted me, if anything did. Yes, there was breathing. Someone breathing noisily.’
‘Panting?’ Jess asked. ‘Out of breath?’
‘No, more like, well, excited. I called out. Just asked if anyone was there.’
‘No one answered?’
‘No,’ Gervase said perhaps a touch too firmly.
Jess asked quietly, ‘You have just said that at first you didn’t hear anything to alert you to another presence, other than a sound like heavy breathing. But you felt you were not alone and you called out to ask who was there. Are you quite sure no one else spoke?’
‘Quite the Sherlock Holmes, aren’t you?’ said Gervase resentfully. ‘Picking up every little word. I could be wrong about the breathing. The wind makes noises. I don’t know I did hear anything human. It was very faint. It could have been ash settling, something falling down … But the whole place is like that, crackling and rustling. It was like being stuck in a forest at night. It might have been an animal strayed in there.’