by Andrew Garve
‘Not if the lights aren’t shining on me, but it’s very unnerving when they swing across … In the beam, they probably could … Perhaps they’ll settle down in a few minutes …’
They waited. The cars were still manoeuvring about, taking up their positions round the field. Distant voices came floating over the quarry towards them. Someone was shouting instructions … Then the headlamps grew steady. The note of the tractor engine changed. It was on the move. Work must have started …
‘I’ll have to risk it,’ Mellanby said tensely. ‘They’ll be here all night …’
Sally nodded. ‘Do be careful!’ she called after him, as he slipped away.
Back in the field, he redoubled his efforts. With the moon up, and the lights glowing above the quarry, he could see well enough now without the lamp. He hacked and shovelled, with one eye all the time on the skyline. He had dug out another foot of earth before the next alarm. Then the noise of the tractor suddenly grew louder. It was coming nearer. It must be hauling its first load. Moving towards some gate. Its headlamps were swinging … Mellanby dropped flat again, his heart pounding. The beam was almost on him. It was on him. For a second, it seemed to hold him in a white glare. They’d seen him! They’d send someone down – it was all over … Then the spotlight passed. The tractor went on its way. Mellanby got slowly to his feet. He felt badly shaken. He couldn’t go on like this – it was too dangerous … Better to fill in the hole and take a chance on the depth. At least the suitcase would be out of reach of any ploughshare, if the field should be cultivated again … Quickly, he levelled the bottom of the hole and lowered the suitcase in and flung back the soil stamping down each layer. The earth wouldn’t all go in and he had to carry large lumps to the edge of the field and scatter them amongst the hazels. When the hole was full and firm he put back the turf he’d cut from the top and stamped that down too. In a few days, with luck, the surface would look much like the rest of the field. Kneeling down, so that his body shielded the lamp, he flashed the light on for a second to make sure that everything was all right. Then he gathered up the tools and walked heavily over to Sally. The tractor was just coming back into the cornfield.
‘Well, I think that’s done the trick,’ he said wearily.
‘Darling – you were marvellous …’
‘It was a pretty near thing, that tractor light …’
‘I know … Come on, let’s get you home.’
In silence, they crossed the quarry floor to the car. Mellanby stripped off his boiler suit and gum boots and locked everything up in the back. Then he slumped down in the passenger seat Sally took the wheel. Neither of them spoke much on the way home. Mellanby was too tired to talk. Sally was too worried. Tonight had been nerve-racking enough the prospect of another night like it, only worse, weighed like lead …
As they neared the house, Sally began to wonder if Kira would wake. If she did, they would have to say they had had a breakdown … John, with the marks of his digging still on him, would have to keep out of the way … Very quietly, she turned the car into the drive with the headlamps off and let it trickle to a stop. There was no sound from the house. They entered with the stealth of burglars. No one called out. Evidently they were going to be all right. Mellanby went straight upstairs to clean himself up in the bathroom. By the time Sally joined him, he was getting into bed. Five minutes after that he was asleep.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It was after nine in the morning when Mellanby was roused by Sally’s voice and the clink of a cup. He heaved himself up on one elbow, stiffly. Sally was sitting in her dressing gown, pouring tea at the little table between their beds.
‘Hallo darling,’ she said. She gave him an affectionate though rather wan smile. ‘Well – do you feel better for your six hours solid?’
‘I ache a lot more!’ he said. He took the cup she handed to him, and gratefully sipped the hot tea. ‘Have you seen Kira and the kids?’
‘Yes …’
‘Any comments?’
‘They hoped we had a lovely time …! Kira didn’t hear us come in – so everything seems to be under control so far.’
‘That’s a relief … Did you sleep all right?’
‘Not really – it took me ages to get off …’ Sally gave him an odd look. ‘As a matter of fact, darling, I’d no sooner closed my eyes than I had the most extraordinary thought … I’ve been longing for you to wake up so that I could tell you …’
‘Well, I’m awake now – just about!’
‘John – you remember when George rang you up that night to tell you that Roscoe had died …?’
‘Yes …’
‘What did he say? – about finding Roscoe. I expect you told me, but I’ve forgotten the details.’
Mellanby frowned in thought. ‘Well – as far as I can recall, he said he’d been out for a short stroll, and Roscoe had seemed all right when he’d left, and when he’d got back he was dead.’
‘Did he say when it happened? – finding him, I mean.’
‘Yes – he said about half an hour before he rang me.’
‘That’s what I thought … And how long after the phone call was it before you reached the caravan?’
‘Oh, – about three quarters of an hour … What’s all this leading up to, Sally?’
‘John, do you realize that not counting interruptions, it took you nearly two hours to dig out that new hole last night working at top speed?’
Mellanby stared at her. ‘Well …?’
‘Well, that was the thought that kept me awake … Darling, if George was telling us the truth he’d have had less than an hour and a half to dig a much bigger hole – a full-sized grave – and get Roscoe’s body into it and start filling it in again, before you got there … Could he have done it?’
A look of puzzlement settled on Mellanby’s face. The point hadn’t occurred to him before – he’d been much too upset on the night of Roscoe’s death, and much too preoccupied with danger since, to think about it – but he hadn’t much doubt of the answer now. He’d done enough field work in his life to know the sort of timetable that digging involved. Slowly, he shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think he could,’ he said.
‘He’s very strong, of course …’
‘Even so, I can’t see him doing it … It would have taken him quite a while to find a suitable place … Then he had to go and phone me, and get back … And he was digging in a tougher spot than I was, with only a spade …’ Mellanby shook his head again. ‘I’d say it was absolutely impossible … Sally, this is fantastic …!’
‘It is, isn’t it …? If we’re right, it means that Roscoe must have died before George said he did, and George must have got on with the digging and not told you about the death until the grave was almost finished!’
‘That seems incredible …’
‘I don’t know … He was obviously determined the body should be buried, and he didn’t know whether you’d agree or not … He might well have gone ahead on his own.’
‘It would have been a shocking thing to do,’ Mellanby said ‘Heavens, it was bad enough to go as far as he did without consultation – but to keep the death a secret deliberately, so that he could present me with an accomplished fact …! Sally, that would be unforgivable … I simply can’t believe it.’
‘What other explanation can there be?’
‘But it doesn’t make sense … After all, he didn’t know what my attitude would be – I might just as easily have turned to and helped him dig … It certainly wouldn’t be the natural thing to do. If a man dies, and someone besides yourself is jointly to blame, the first thing you do, surely, is to get in touch …? You’d be anxious to consult – you’d want to share the responsibility … I can understand George going ahead and using up the time before I arrived – but not keeping back the truth as a calculated policy. I can’t imagine anyone doing that in the circumstances.’
There was a little silence. Then Sally said, ‘Well, darling, facts are facts, aren’t they
? If what you say about the digging is right, that’s what must have happened … Unless, of course, you’re prepared to consider an even worse alternative.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Isn’t it obvious? If Roscoe died when George said he did, and it took George more than an hour and a half to dig the grave, then George must have started digging it when Roscoe was still alive!’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mellanby said, ‘What a horrible suggestion …!’ He looked appalled. ‘That can be ruled out right away.’
‘Can it?’ Sally’s face was wooden.
‘Of course it can … If George had had the slightest suspicion that Roscoe might die, he’d have called a doctor straight away – not dug a grave! George isn’t a monster.’
‘I’m beginning to wonder,’ Sally said. ‘We don’t really know George very well, do we? We don’t know what he’s capable of.’
‘We know him well enough for that, I should think.’ Mellanby gazed at her incredulously. ‘Why, it would have been deliberate murder – just as much as if George had gone in to Roscoe and hit him with a spanner.’
There was a little pause. Then Sally said, ‘Perhaps he did just that!’
‘Sally …! You haven’t any right …’
‘I’ve as much right as George had to keep the truth from you,’ Sally said stubbornly.
‘You haven’t the right to fling frightful accusations like that around …’
‘Darling, I’ve been thinking about this for hours – I’m not just talking wildly … Look, you said yourself that digging the grave without telling you about the death wasn’t natural – and I agree. If George had merely been concerned with the safety of both of you, he’d have phoned you first – so that isn’t the explanation … If he’d suspected that Roscoe might die, and hadn’t had anything more on his conscience than what happened at this house, he’d have called a doctor right away, if only for his own sake – anybody would … So that isn’t the explanation, either … But if he’d deliberately finished Roscoe off himself, then that would account for his not phoning you, and for his frantic haste to get the body buried … Don’t you realize? – there’d have been marks on the body he wouldn’t want you to see!’
For a moment, there was an uneasy silence. Then Mellanby said, ‘Well, you have a point there, I suppose … But there’s not a scrap of evidence to support it.’
‘Isn’t there …? Didn’t George keep on saying that Roscoe wasn’t fit to live – even after the fight was over and Roscoe couldn’t do any more harm?’
‘That’s a very different thing from killing him.’
‘Well, I think he meant it … He hated Roscoe much more than you did, you know, and in a far more violent way. There really was murder in his heart when he came here – he was absolutely beside himself. And I certainly don’t see him as a forgiving type. We don’t know much about him, but there’s one thing we do know – his feelings about Eve were primitive and he’d had a rough upbringing. He’s just the sort who would try to take his revenge. And think how easy it would have seemed, John, with Roscoe lying there only half recovered, and a convenient place outside to bury him, and no one but ourselves knowing what had happened or where he was … And there was almost no risk – George would know you’d have to cooperate with him afterwards, because you thought you were in it too.’
‘I was in it,’ Mellanby said. ‘It was I who hit him. All this is pure imagination …’
‘I don’t think it is – I’d say everything ties up. I think it’s quite possible you’ve been blaming yourself all this time for something you never did … A strong, tough man like Roscoe doesn’t die from an ordinary bang on the head – and that fall of his wasn’t really so terrific, you know … Honestly, darling, did he look as though he was going to die, when George took him away? You know he didn’t – he was already beginning to come round. You certainly thought he’d be all right – if it had occurred to you for a moment that he wouldn’t be, you’d never have let him be taken away like that – you’d have insisted on a doctor at once. We were both absolutely staggered when we heard he was dead – and we had good reason to be!’
Mellanby still looked unconvinced. ‘I can see what you’re trying to do, Sally – and don’t think I’m not grateful. You want to take the load off me, and God knows I’d be only too thankful if you could – but I’m afraid it’s not going to work. The fact is, you’ve really thought all this up because you wanted to.’
‘That’s not true, John – not entirely, anyway … Surely you agree there’s a case?’
‘Oh, there’s a sort of case, I suppose – but there’s still not a scrap of real evidence to back it up … Anyhow, I just can’t believe it. A lot of the things you said about George may be true, but I can’t see him as a cold-blooded murderer deliberately finishing a helpless man. And that’s not all … Aren’t you overlooking something rather important?’
‘What?’
‘Why, Eve, of course … I thought you liked her a lot … Can you see her cooperating in a diabolical thing like this?’
‘Eve took sleeping pills that night,’ Sally said quietly. ‘She wouldn’t have known a thing about it.’
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Mellanby was silent over breakfast. He still considered Sally’s idea fantastic, but he found it impossible to dismiss it from his mind. It was all very well, he realized, to say he couldn’t imagine Sherston as a cold-blooded murderer – but wasn’t that, perhaps, starting at the wrong end? Whatever Sherston’s reasons had been, there was no doubt at all that he’d behaved in a pretty infamous way. At the best, he’d been guilty of a gross, an unpardonable deception. If he was capable of that, against all expectation, might he not be capable of far worse things? Could murder really be ruled out? Not, certainly, without more consideration. As soon as breakfast was over Mellanby took himself off for a walk to think things out.
Carefully and conscientiously, he went over in his mind the various points in Sally’s case … There were gaps, undoubtedly. There were weaknesses. People often did guilty seeming things for innocent reasons … But not, surely, hustling a body secretly into a grave? What innocent reason could there possibly be for that – except the one they’d already discounted …?
What about other aspects of Sherston’s behaviour? What light did they throw? There was the message Sherston had asked Eve to pass on when she’d telephoned, saying that he was a bit worried about Roscoe … Not much help there. A message showing some anxiety would have been necessary, of course, to prepare the way for the later announcement of the death, if that had been planned. But it could equally have been genuine …
There were the contents of that message, though. Mellanby wondered again – did people with serious head injuries come round, and lapse back into unconsciousness, and then suddenly go out like a light? Didn’t they more often sink into a deep coma and slowly fade away? He would have to ask someone who knew. If the symptoms Sherston had described proved to be unlikely, that would certainly be a point against him …
Mellanby’s thoughts ranged … What about Sherston asking if Kira had been told of the night’s happenings, when he’d rung up with news of the death? A point in his favour, surely? If he’d already killed Roscoe, hadn’t he left that bit of checking up rather late? Would he have dared to risk murder without assuring himself about Kira beforehand …? Or had he taken it for granted that Sally wouldn’t want to talk about it that night …? Had he, perhaps, even overlooked Kira altogether until the thing was done? That would account for his undoubted relief … But it didn’t seem very likely …
There was one significant point, of course, that Sally hadn’t even thought of. Sherston had been very willing indeed to take Roscoe to the caravan. Strangely willing, perhaps, after all that had happened. He’d actually suggested it … It might have been no more than the considerate action it had seemed – but it might have been the eager removal of an intended victim. On the whole, Mellanby thought, a point against She
rston …
Then there was the rather hurried way he’d cleared out of the district after the burial … Understandable enough that he’d wanted to leave, of course, but he could at least have said where he was going … And he could certainly have telephoned by now, as he’d promised to do. Why hadn’t he …? Was there an element of flight in all this?
What about motive …? Revenge? – well, it was possible … Revenge and fear, mixed …? After all, Roscoe had twice made approaches to Eve, the second time with reckless violence … Had Sherston thought perhaps, that this formidable thug might try it yet again – and planned to kill him to make sure he didn’t …? Or, of course, the act could have been done on a sudden impulse – an opportunity taken. Murder would have seemed very simple in that place … Mellanby’s imagination could vividly conjure up the scene – Eve in a drugged sleep well before midnight; the lonely, silent quarry; the helpless man; the ease with which Roscoe’s worthless life could have been ended. One crack with the spanner … But had it happened?
Mellanby scarcely knew what to think now. He distrusted his own feelings – he was too aware of his desperate desire to shift the blame from himself. There was certainly a case – but was it stronger or weaker than before? He didn’t know … All he knew was that things couldn’t be left as they were – that, somehow or other, the situation had got to be cleared up … At the very least, he was entitled to an explanation of Sherston’s behaviour …
He turned for home, quickening his pace.
Chapter Thirty
Sally was with Kira and the children, picking Victoria plums at the bottom of the garden, when Mellanby reached the house. At the sound of his voice she detached herself and hurried up the path to meet him.
‘Have you decided anything, darling …?’ She studied his face anxiously.
‘I think we must try to find the caravan,’ Mellanby said.
She gave a little sigh of relief. ‘Yes, I’m sure it’s the thing to do …’