by Rebecca Tope
‘Dad – I’ve been meaning to ask, why didn’t you go to her funeral? You didn’t have anything else to do, and everybody else was there.’
Russell went pink and glanced at his wife. ‘Notoriety,’ he muttered. ‘Everyone would be staring at us and wondering about the poisoned man. We didn’t think we could face it.’
‘He means me,’ said Angie. ‘I haven’t been dealing with all this as well as I might. A funeral would have been the final straw.’
Christopher grinned. ‘Straw!’ he said, as if a very funny pun had been uttered. Nobody else smiled.
‘So Tristan’s well and truly in the frame,’ said Russell. ‘What a strange feeling that gives me. I never had him down as particularly clever or devious. If your theory’s right, wouldn’t he have had to plan every tiny detail, days in advance? For a start, he’d have to make the lethal drink, keep it safe, organise that protest as well as setting up a drink stall. I mean – that’s not even legal, is it? Don’t you need a licence or something? Then he’d have to hope Childers came by … I don’t know. None of it sounds feasible to me.’
‘He must have had help,’ said Simmy. ‘And it looks as if that could only have been from Candy.’
‘Or Daphne,’ Angie put in. ‘She’s the one with property in Patterdale – or expects to have. If she was in on it, the whole thing might make more sense.’
‘One of them could have known that Childers was going on the lake cruise,’ said Simmy. ‘They might even have got the ticket for him.’
‘No, he booked it on his computer,’ said Angie. ‘But they still might have known about it. He had plenty of time to meet them all and have a chat on Saturday. Tristan might have known everything Childers planned to do on Sunday.’
‘So how are we going to catch him?’ asked Christopher. ‘Can the police just arrest him and force him to confess?’
‘Obviously not,’ said Russell impatiently. ‘This is all pure speculation. Even if Tristan handed him the poisoned drink, he might not have done it deliberately. Somebody else could have planted it there.’
‘Highly unlikely,’ said Christopher. ‘That really would require superhuman skills.’
‘We need Ben,’ said Simmy, as Bonnie had said several times through the week. ‘And he’s going to be here first thing tomorrow.’
The implications of this caused various reactions. Christopher groaned, Russell looked worried and Angie said, ‘Really? That might be just the thing to straighten us out.’
‘His mother doesn’t want him distracted, though. I gather from Bonnie he’s finding it all a bit overwhelming at uni. Apparently, there are people just as clever as him in the world, which came as a bit of a shock,’ said Simmy.
Christopher smirked. ‘Didn’t I always say you overrated him?’
‘Stop it,’ Simmy snapped. ‘You’re deliberately trying to annoy me.’
‘I suppose I am. It comes of having wasted most of the afternoon playing guessing games about a murder.’
‘Honestly, Christopher, you never change, do you?’ said Angie. ‘What would your mother say if she could hear you talking like that?’
‘She can’t hear me, can she? And I hate to say it, but I think she’d make some sort of comment about me being more like you than her. You must have had a formative influence on me in the maternity ward.’
It was an old joke, that the babies had been swopped at birth, or at least been given too much exposure to each other’s mother. In many ways their characters were closer to the other parent. Frances Henderson had been an unassuming woman, seeing the best in people and seldom taking much initiative. Angie Straw was much more scratchy and outspoken, wary of being under anyone else’s control. ‘Everyone marries their mother,’ was a mantra Angie often quoted. Which only reinforced the notion that Simmy was more like quiet, restrained Frances and Christopher the outspoken one like Angie.
The talk continued as they walked the short distance to the Elleray pub. It was the default venue for Simmy, whenever a meal was suggested, and the walk was barely ten minutes. The food was satisfyingly straightforward.
Angie’s second wind seemed to be holding up. ‘I for one am still not altogether convinced that it was Tristan, you know. It all feels very tenuous to me, even after what Stuart told me. There must be all kinds of other explanations.’
‘It was him,’ said Christopher. ‘I’m telling you.’
‘You should have been with us at the lunch party, both of you,’ said Russell. ‘You could have watched out for clues. We didn’t even realise there was any significance to the greenhouse – or the beehives. We had no idea about all that.’
‘I still can’t believe he’d have invited us if he’d poisoned Grant Childers. That’s the thing that keeps coming back to me. I know he’s a bit arrogant and self-important, but I don’t think anybody would be that brazen.’
‘It probably happens all the time,’ argued Christopher. ‘He probably wanted to check whether you suspected him. Or maybe it was his wife’s idea and he had to go along with it.’
‘I bet he wouldn’t have invited us, though,’ said Simmy. ‘He must have heard about the other murder cases, with Ben and Bonnie being so clever at finding the killers.’
‘A reputation that is not entirely justified,’ Christopher pointed out. ‘As I understand it, you mostly just stumbled into things and got the answer more by luck than anything else.’
‘Nice to see you so busy,’ Russell said, beaming his envious approval at the Elleray landlord who came over for a chat. ‘Just how we like it, eh?’
There did not appear to be anything else to discuss regarding Tristan and Childers and Dorothea Entwhistle. ‘We’ve done all we can,’ said Simmy.
At half past eight, when they were just finishing their coffee, a message pinged onto Simmy’s phone. ‘It’s Moxon,’ she said. ‘Tristan Wilkins has been arrested and charged with premeditated murder.’
Angie sighed. ‘And still we have no idea why. Even poor Grant Childers didn’t know.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ben Harkness arrived at ten on Sunday morning, having got a train to Carlisle the previous evening with a fellow student, staying at his home overnight. From there he got an early bus.
‘Just like a typical student in the olden days,’ sighed Helen happily. ‘Scrambling all over the country on public transport and expecting other people’s parents to provide accommodation.’
‘Just like we were,’ said her husband.
‘Well, not so much us as our parents,’ Helen realised. ‘Most of us had our own cars. Those were the glory days when students were a real elite.’
‘I’m older than you. I had a harder time of it.’
Ben stayed for an hour before excusing himself and walking up to Corinne’s to find his girlfriend.
The weather was dry, the cloud less oppressive than in recent days. ‘Let’s walk up to Troutbeck and see Simmy,’ said Ben. ‘I need some exercise.’
‘Simmy’s meant to be cooking a proper Sunday lunch for Angie and Russell. She won’t have time to talk to us.’
‘We’ll take it slowly, and go to the Mortal Man first. By the time we get there, lunch’ll have finished and they’ll be glad to see us.’
‘There’s something to tell you,’ said Bonnie nervously. ‘Rather a big and complicated something.’
‘Does it involve Simmy?’
‘Oh yes. And Angie and Russell.’
‘Then can we leave it till later? I want to tell you all about my course, and my new mates and the lecturer whose beard is eighteen inches long – and what we’ll do in the Christmas vac, and stuff like that.’
‘No problem,’ said Bonnie, hugging his arm and grinning. ‘I can hardly believe it’s really you.’
They opted to walk along lanes and footpaths, through High Hay Wood, before joining the smaller of the two roads leading up to Troutbeck. It was an uphill hike of five miles or so, with views across Windermere to the woods on the western side. The youngsters pa
used at intervals to point out familiar landmarks and catch their breath. They talked much less than they’d expected to. The tree-lined tracks they used were shadowy and cool, the leaves turning yellow and brown. It was almost half past one when they reached the popular Troutbeck pub. ‘I’m not really hungry,’ Bonnie said. ‘Isn’t it weird the way exercise makes you want to eat less, not more?’
‘There’s a good biological explanation for it,’ Ben told her. ‘It’s the main reason why people who walk a lot lose weight. Not the burning of calories, but the reduced appetite. But we’d better have something.’
They drank fruit juice and shared a sandwich, and were finished before two o’clock. ‘Is it too soon to go to Simmy’s?’ wondered Bonnie impatiently. ‘Christopher’s going to be there as well. We don’t want to miss them. They might be going to Patterdale again to look for a house.’
‘They won’t mind,’ said Ben with confidence. ‘They know I’ve only got one day here.’
‘We needed you,’ she said simply. The whole story of Grant Childers’ death was threatening to burst out of her. ‘Helen wouldn’t let us tell you anything, but now they’ve arrested the man who did it, so it’s safe. If you see what I mean.’
‘Wait,’ he told her. ‘I want everybody to be there.’
‘Poor Tanya,’ Bonnie groaned. ‘She’s going to miss it. She isn’t going to be happy about that.’
‘I can fill her in later,’ said Ben carelessly. ‘If I’m home by five, there’ll be plenty of time. You can come too, of course.’
‘Do you think Simmy will drive us home? We’ll have to walk all the way, otherwise.’
‘Let’s wait and see,’ said Ben. ‘No need to worry about it now.’
She looked up at him, trying to identify quite how he had changed. He was still her devoted boyfriend, with no signs of having outgrown her or found someone else. But he was less securely attached to her than before. He had other things to think about, other tasks and ambitions. She would never dare to take him for granted, or lapse into her old lethargic ways. She would have to read and study and think and listen if she was to be worthy of the great man he was destined to become. Despite knowing this, she was not afraid. Instead it gave her life a purpose it had always lacked. Ben Harkness was, after all, a geek. Most girls would be nervous of him, or simply bewildered. They would chafe at the lack of direct attention, and the even greater lack of interest in ordinary quotidian matters.
‘What?’ he said, when she gave a brief chuckle.
‘I learnt a new word last week. “Quotidian”. Isn’t it great! I wanted to ask Mr Straw if he knew what it meant, but I haven’t managed to yet.’
‘One of my favourites,’ laughed Ben. ‘Atta girl.’
Simmy threw open her door in an unmistakable welcome. ‘Hey, Ben! I wondered when I’d see you. How did you get here?’
‘We walked,’ said Bonnie. ‘Have you finished lunch?’
‘Ten minutes ago. We ate every scrap of the pork. The joint I got was too small. There might be some pudding left, though.’
‘We’re not hungry,’ said Ben. ‘I’ve come to hear the story. Bonnie hasn’t told me a word.’
‘She’s a better man than I am, then. I’d never have managed to hold it back for a whole morning.’
‘I’m literally bursting with it,’ said the girl.
‘No, you’re not,’ said Ben.
‘Not literally, or you’d be splattered all over the wall by now,’ said Russell, who had come out of the kitchen to greet them. ‘Good to see you, boy,’ he told Ben.
And then, after moving everybody into the little living room and finding them all a place to sit, the whole saga of Grant Childers and Tristan Wilkins and the poisoned drink was revealed. Bonnie did most of the talking, but Simmy and Angie regularly interrupted, especially to supply details the girl had been unaware of. After twenty minutes of this, Bonnie wailed, ‘I’ve missed such a lot, haven’t I? I’ve hardly been involved in it at all.’
‘I’d gladly have swopped places with you,’ said Angie drily.
‘Well, that’s it, more or less,’ Simmy finished. ‘Except the question of Why? What possible reason could Tristan have for wanting Childers dead? Every time we try to understand it, we end up thinking he must surely have needed him alive.’
Ben rubbed his nose, then tugged an earlobe. ‘Seems fairly obvious to me,’ he said. ‘Surely the Wilkins man wanted the development to go ahead and was only pretending to be against it?’
They all stared at him. Christopher snorted and Simmy yelped ‘No!’ in disbelief.
‘Explain,’ ordered Bonnie.
‘Well, everything points that way. It was common knowledge that Simmy and Chris want to live in Patterdale, right? Stuart Carstairs for one was keen to help if he could, because he’s got a thing for you, Mrs Straw. He must have asked around, including Tristan Wilkins and Dorothea Entwhistle and loads of other people. Tristan and Dorothea were most likely having an affair, probably for the past twenty years or something. I dare say you’ll find that she’s left all her property to him, which would give him quite a nice fund for setting up a development company. Daphne Wilkins apparently owns a disused barn near Patterdale, as well. So, how about if Tristan and Dorothea hatch a plan to float the whole idea of a new tourist park up there, pretending to be dead against it? That way, they’d sow the seeds in people’s minds, gauge opinion, and make everyone think they were on the side of the angels. They invited Candy’s mate Childers to come and speak. But when they saw his speech, it was far too good. It risked turning the whole population against any sort of new building. So he had to go. The means were right there to hand, because Dorothea had her lethal cocktail all ready for when her cancer got too much. Candy Proctor was an innocent stooge, useful because she fancies Tristan and is fairly thick. Daphne’s barn provides a handy cover story as well. Probably if the tourist park did get built, it would be a simple matter to hive off some of the materials and labour to do the conversion for peanuts. The whole thing would look like a win−win for all concerned. The only fly in the ointment was Childers, poor chap.’
‘Yes, but—’ Simmy’s mouth opened and shut helplessly.
‘The boy’s a genius,’ said Russell. ‘An out-and-out gold-plated genius.’
‘I said it was Tristan all along,’ said Christopher quietly. Nobody took any notice.
‘It’s a very long way from sowing the seeds of an idea to actually getting the building done,’ said Angie. ‘Years and years.’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Ben. ‘Wilkins knows all the right people. All he needed was a favourable climate, a few people murmuring that it wasn’t actually such a bad plan, some sort of sop to the people of Patterdale, and bingo. Those lodges don’t take much time to erect. I think the whole thing was brilliantly clever.’
‘If it hadn’t been for Tanya and her video, he’d have got away with it,’ said Angie. ‘Be sure you tell her we all realise that.’
‘Her evidence will take pride of place at the trial,’ said Ben. ‘That should be more than enough for her.’
‘It’s the only evidence,’ worried Bonnie. ‘Are we sure they’ll get a conviction?’
‘That remains to be seen,’ said Ben. ‘All I’ve done is give you a reason why.’
‘Which is what poor Grant Childers wanted to know, with his dying breath,’ sighed Angie. ‘He could never have guessed.’
‘No,’ said Simmy.
It was a week later that Simmy had a phone call from Daphne Wilkins. ‘They’ve granted bail,’ she said. ‘But he’s not allowed to communicate with you or your family. So I’m doing it instead, on my own account, not his. I wanted to tell you that the barn in Hartsop is yours if you want it. I’ll give it to you. The conversion plans are all drawn up, so all you have to do is find builders and oversee the work. It could be finished by Easter, if the winter’s not too foul.’
‘But—’ spluttered Simmy. ‘Why? I mean – you can’t be serious.’
‘I
’m leaving the area. I obviously can’t stay here after what’s happened. My husband can expect to spend much of his remaining life in prison. I intend to sell this house and move to France. And, to be honest, I feel I owe it to your parents to compensate them somehow. I could see your poor mother was suffering the after-effects of what happened. It’s the least I can do.’
‘Well … gosh. Thank you. I can hardly believe it.’
‘You’re welcome,’ said Daphne.
Christopher was even less able to credit the news. ‘She must be joking,’ he said.
‘She’s not. I think she wants to rub Tristan’s nose in it, and this is one way of doing that. She must be absolutely sick at it all.’
‘I wonder what she thinks about Dorothea Entwhistle?’
‘Probably wishes she could give all her stuff away as well. House, greenhouses – the lot.’
‘You’d better be on the lookout for a mysterious fire, then. A woman scorned is a dangerous thing, remember.’
‘And she’s not the only one, is she? What about Candy Proctor? She came to see my parents yesterday, saying she’ll never agree to give evidence against Tristan.’
‘I don’t imagine she’s got much choice.’
‘Nobody comes out of it very well, do they? All duped by the cunning Mr Wilkins.’
‘Except Stuart. My dad’s quite worried about the way my mother thinks he’s the real hero of the hour.’
Christopher laughed. ‘So we’re going to live in Hartsop, are we? Is that close enough to Crookabeck for you?’
‘I guess it’ll have to be,’ she said cheerfully.
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