by Faith Martin
‘But I didn’t!’ Ronnie said, finally prodded out of his shock and into anger of his own. ‘I never liked Iris, I told David so! She was no good, anyone could see that, and I tried like hell to get him to see that! We almost fell out about her – you know all this.’
‘I know that’s what you pretended,’ Janet spat bitterly. ‘I know that’s what you’d have us believe. But David found out!’
She moved a few steps forward towards him, and that’s when Trudy spotted that she was holding something in her right hand, keeping it hidden by the side of her leg, in the folds of her skirt.
What is it? She shot a quick glance at Clement, caught his eye, then looked significantly at Janet, and surreptitiously moved her hand down to her own leg, matching Janet’s stance, and tapped her leg significantly. The coroner caught on quickly, of course, and his eyes narrowed as he too, realised that Janet was probably carrying a weapon of some sort.
Clement stiffened unhappily. Things, in spite of all his attempts to keep control of them, were beginning to get dangerously out of hand.
‘Found out what? What did David find out?’ Ronnie challenged rashly, then went abruptly white as he realised that he shouldn’t have asked that question again. After all, there might still be the slightest chance that they didn’t know it all … But it had been more than he could bear to have Janet, whom he’d always liked and secretly coveted for himself, looking at him and accusing him of preferring Iris, Iris of all people, over her.
‘About Iris’s sneaky little trips here, for a start,’ Janet snarled, lifting her chin to indicate their surroundings. ‘And you, his best friend! The poor boy must have known all about the rumours flying around about Iris and her ways with men, but he’d have ignored them, wouldn’t he? Believing Iris when she insisted that she was innocent, and it was just the jealous, spiteful gossip of the village women. Maybe in his heart he knew it wasn’t true,’ Janet paused to take a much-needed breath. ‘And maybe he found excuses for her – that Iris needed money and power and all the things he couldn’t give her. But for her to betray him with you, you of all people …’ Janet’s was almost shouting now. There were tears in her eyes, and rage and pain on her face, twisting it into an almost ugly mask. ‘Is that why you killed him? Did he confront you on that last day of his life? Accuse you?’
Ronnie began to back away under the attack, shaking his head at the barrage of questions.
‘What? No, I didn’t kill David! I didn’t kill Iris! Why are you saying all this?’
‘Because David wrote it all down,’ Janet said, her shoulders suddenly slumping, her voice dropping back to its normal level as the emotion seeped out of her, leaving her quiet and calm and grimly accepting.
Again Ronnie felt himself sway as fear rolled over him in great waves. ‘What? What did he write exactly?’ he whispered, not wanting to hear it, but knowing that he couldn’t go on a moment longer without it being said.
Janet looked at him now almost with pity. ‘He said you killed her. And then he hung himself in your barn. Except he didn’t, did he? You killed him. Unless you really did break his heart, and he killed himself after all?’
Trudy and Clement waited to hear what Ronnie would say next.
But Ronnie seemed incapable of saying anything. Instead he was staring at her as if one of them must have gone mad.
To both Trudy and Clement, who’d been watching and listening, hardly daring to breathe, let alone move, lest they make the situation even worse and more dangerous, it seemed as if Ronnie just froze. His jaw dropped and his face went slack. His eyes widened in total surprise. He looked as if he’d just been pole-axed.
‘What?’ Ronnie finally managed to whisper. ‘Are you saying David wrote down that I killed Iris?’
Something of his astonishment obviously reached Janet for now she stopped advancing towards him and stopped at stared at him instead, her head cocked just a little to one side. ‘Why are you looking so surprised?’ she asked, sounding half accusing and half genuinely puzzled. ‘He was your friend; you knew how clever he was. Did you really think he wouldn’t figure it all out? That you killed her?’
‘But I didn’t,’ Ronnie denied once more.
It was then that his father appeared around the corner of the house, a shotgun in his hand.
Chapter 33
‘What’s going on?’ Ray Dewberry asked, his eyes travelling from his son to Janet, to the coroner and then back to his son again. He strolled up to them, the shotgun broken casually across the crook of one arm. ‘I could hear raised voices all the way from the cowshed.’
At the sight of the older Dewberry, Trudy felt herself relax a little.
Beside her, Clement did not.
Instead he took a long, slow, breath, then moved one foot a little to the left, to make his balance more perfect. He clenched and unclenched his hands slowly, flexing his fingers and unutterably relieved to feel that neither of his hands were shaking.
He wasn’t a religious man, but in that moment he nevertheless offered up a lightning-quick prayer, amounting to little more than an appeal, really, that everything would be all right.
He wasn’t sure, but he thought he might die very soon.
‘Dad, it’s all right, it’s nothing,’ Ronnie said quickly, the first of them to speak.
His father looked at him, his bluff, ruddy, handsome face, frowning slightly. ‘What’s she doing here?’ he asked mildly, nodding at Janet.
‘We were going on a picnic,’ Ronnie said, feeling somehow very foolish.
Ray Dewberry smiled. ‘That sounds nice. A good-looking lad and pretty lass like Janet – that’s just the sort of thing you both ought to be doing. Off you go then, enjoy yourselves.’
Clement went more than a little cold. His mind instantly started calculating the pros and cons. On the one hand, getting Janet and Ronnie out of the equation limited the potential number of victims. On the other hand, it heightened the risk to Trudy, and himself, significantly. He didn’t mind so much on his own account – he was virtually an old man, and bloody Parkinson’s would soon start to erode his quality of life anyway.
But Trudy was so young …
Ronnie hesitated visibly. ‘Dad, I don’t think …’ he began to say, but didn’t get the chance to finish.
‘Mr Dewberry,’ Janet said. ‘There’s something—’
‘Janet, be quiet,’ Ronnie said harshly, urgently.
Janet, astonished, just gaped at him. ‘I will not!’ she eventually huffed. ‘Just who do you think you are to be telling me what to do? Besides, he’ll have to know sooner or later. Shall you tell him, or will I?’ she added aggressively.
Clement felt himself begin to sweat. He had to do something before it was too late. ‘Janet, I think we should drive you to the hospital to see your mother,’ he said quietly but firmly, glad to hear that his voice sounded calm and casual.
As he spoke, he tested his balance again. With his feet now planted firmly, it would give him the best chance of good propulsion if he had to suddenly spring forward …
Trudy looked at Ronnie, then at Clement, then at Ray, not sure what was going on. She had a slightly giddy feeling, as if she was looking down a kaleidoscope that kept twisting and turning slightly, altering reality around her. What the hell was going on here? What was she missing?
‘Mother can wait,’ Janet said with a shocking ruthlessness that momentarily distracted them all. ‘This can’t. Aren’t you working for the police?’ she suddenly asked Clement. ‘Can’t you arrest him?’
‘No,’ Clement said. ‘I’m not a police officer and I can’t arrest anyone.’
Trudy, though, was a police officer and she could arrest Ronnie Dewberry anytime she chose. She took a half-step forward and felt Clement’s hand curl around her wrist in a strong, almost punishing grip. Surprised, she halted at once, instinctively trusting his judgement. But much as she respected her mentor, it wouldn’t stop her from doing her duty when the time came. For now, however, she was willing to follo
w his lead and wait for the right time.
‘What are you talking about, young Janet?’ Ray asked, scowling slightly at her. ‘What’s all this talk about arresting people?’
Clement said, ‘Janet, I think …’
Janet, at the same moment, said loudly, ‘I’ve found David’s diary. He knew who killed Iris. He said so.’ Her chin came up defiantly.
Ray Dewberry nodded slowly. ‘Is that so?’ he said quietly, and looked sadly at his son.
‘Yes, and he said it was Ronnie!’ Janet flashed at him.
Clement saw Ray Dewberry reach for the barrels of his shotgun and snap it back into place, arming the weapon and making it lethally viable once more. ‘Did he now?’ he said ominously.
Ronnie said nervously, ‘Dad …’
Seeing the gun begin to turn in Janet’s direction, Clement knew he had to act, and act fast. ‘Actually, his diary doesn’t say anything of the kind,’ he said. His voice, mild and quiet though it was, had all the effect of a bomb going off.
‘What? Yes it does,’ Janet contradicted angrily.
‘But it does say that,’ Trudy said at the same time.
‘I didn’t!’ Ronnie’s voice added to the hub-bub simultaneously. All three turned to look at the coroner.
‘No, it said that RD killed Iris,’ Clement corrected them. He took a step forward and saw the shotgun begin to swing ominously his way.
As he did so, Trudy couldn’t help but let out a soft moan of frustration at her own stupidity as comprehension suddenly hit her with all the stunning force of a runaway locomotive. ‘Oh no! We assumed RD meant Ronnie Dewberry,’ she said mournfully – or at least, all of them had except Dr Ryder.
‘And yet there’s more than one RD in this case,’ Clement confirmed softly. ‘Isn’t there, Mr Dewberry?’ he said, meeting Ray Dewberry’s mild grey eyes. He forced himself to ignore the double-barrelled shotgun that was now levelled right at his midriff, his mind buzzing like sherbet.
Could he rely on Ronnie to shelter Janet if any shooting started? He thought so. He could at least be fairly certain that the farmer wouldn’t shoot his own son … would he? Clement could step in front of Trudy at any time if he thought the killer of Iris and David was going to shoot her – but that was a double-barrelled gun. One blast would kill him … but the second blast could still be used to kill her.
Damn it, why hadn’t they taken the time to update DI Jennings before rushing off? At least then he could be sure that help was on the way … He judged the distance between himself and the farmer and knew it was too far. Way too far …
Ray Dewberry sighed heavily.
Ronnie Dewberry closed his eyes and gave a soft sort of moan.
Janet, the last of them all to catch on, took a few more moments before she looked at Ronnie’s father and then said, appalled, ‘You? It was you who killed Iris!’
Duncan Gillingham could not believe his luck. After leaving his car back on the track, he’d crept down the lane, bent double at the bottom of the dry ditch that ran beside the hedgerow bordering the farm track to cover his approach. He had taken up position by the entrance to the yard, just behind the low stone wall that circumnavigated the farmhouse.
He’d been in time to hear almost all of what the four of them had had to say, and he’d been gleefully scribbling it all down in his fast and accurate shorthand in his trusty notebook. Janet Baines’s quotes alone had been pure solid gold!
He could almost see tomorrow’s headlines, blazoned across the front page, his own by-line prominently displayed; a first-hand, eyewitness story of a young woman confronting the killer of her friend. This was his ticket to play with the big boys and no mistake! He could see almost all the big daily tabloids squabbling with themselves to get in on his scoop. And a job offer couldn’t be far behind, right?
So when Ronnie Dewberry’s father had turned up, he could have screamed in pure frustration, sensing that the old man would act like a wet blanket, putting paid to Janet’s star turn.
And then, just like that, in no more time than it took to snap your fingers – or so it had seemed – it had all gone from pure gold, to something far, far darker. And much, much, scarier.
Moving inch by inch, desperate not to make the slightest little sound that might betray his presence, he moved forward on his knees and, mouth dry and heart pounding in his chest, risked lifting his head high enough to peek over the low stone wall.
He saw the middle-aged farmer at once, his sandy hair shining in the hot May sunshine, standing in the middle of his courtyard, a shotgun pointing straight at the old vulture. And right beside him, looking pale and tense and also right in the line of fire, was Trudy Loveday.
Duncan felt his heart give a massive lurch.
Bloody hell. Was it really true? Had David Finch written in his diary that RD had killed Iris Carmody? And was it true that it was Ray Dewberry, not his son Ronnie that he’d been referring to? And if so, would he really fire that damned gun? At that short range, the old vulture would be dead for sure. And there were two barrels to that gun.
Who would be next?
Chapter 34
Ray Dewberry looked at Clement with such a totally blank gaze that it sent chills up Trudy’s spine. She’d have felt better if he’d begun ranting and raving, or crying, or trying to explain and excuse himself. Anything would be better than that blank nothingness.
‘Dad, don’t,’ Ronnie repeated, but he sounded helpless, ineffectual.
Clement, in a bid to keep Ray Dewberry’s focus firmly on himself, and not on either Janet or Trudy, stepped casually to his right, a couple of paces away from his young friend, widening the distance between them. He suspected the farmer wouldn’t like it if he moved forward, trying to get closer to him, but at least he could make it harder for the man to shoot both himself and Trudy in quick succession. It might give her some sort of a chance …
‘Did you know what your father had done, Ronnie?’ he asked casually. ‘Or did you only suspect it?’
Janet blinked at this new idea, but (rather belatedly) now kept wisely silent. She had come here to confront Ronnie, safe in the knowledge that the whole village knew she was with him, thus making it impossible for him to do anything to her unless he was willing to hang for it. But even as she’d carried out her plan, she had never really, deep inside, believed that Ronnie was a killer. Instead, hadn’t she, deep in her heart, foolishly, stubbornly hoped that he’d be able to somehow explain away all her fears, and David Finch’s naming of him in his diary? But she had never, even in her wildest imaginings, thought that he might have been covering up for his own father! Now she turned wide, wondering eyes on him. She had fought for her own identity against the cloying demands of her mother for so long, that it had never occurred to her that the man she’d always wanted for herself might also have such a threatening and damaging relationship with his only parent.
Ronnie shrugged helplessly. ‘I wasn’t sure. I thought … When Iris turned up dead … I knew … But then there were so many other men … I hoped … I mean, my own father… I just couldn’t believe …’ He trailed off into silence.
Although his answer had been all but incoherent, Trudy had followed it easily. ‘You knew that your dad was another of Iris’s … what shall we call them? Admirers? Victims? But you told yourself that since there were so many men in Iris’s life, it could have been one of them that snapped and killed her?’ she said gently.
‘Yeah,’ Ronnie admitted, his voice barely a mumble.
‘How long had Iris been … seeing … your dad?’ Trudy asked, not sure what good it would do to ask so many questions now, but thinking that the more she could keep them all talking the more time it would give her to think what to do.
‘Months,’ Ronnie said bitterly. ‘Bloody months. She was bleeding him dry, always wanting this, asking money to buy that …’
‘Shut up boy,’ Ray Dewberry interrupted him, but without heat. His voice sounded as flat and expressionless as the look on his face.
‘Land! That’s the one thing a good farmer will never let go,’ Ronnie continued angrily, disgust deepening the tone of his voice now. ‘But she kept on and on at him, pleading, whining, wheedling. You think I didn’t know?’ Ronnie shot his father a swift, venomous look. ‘But I heard her, up in your room, when you thought I had gone out to the pub. “We could go to the Caribbean, Ray-Ray,”’ Ronnie said, parodying a girl’s sweet voice. ‘It made me sick. “Wouldn’t you like to see Monte Carlo, Ray-Ray? Think of it, walking into the casino and just placing one bet on the roulette wheel. Wouldn’t it be fabulous?” Oh yes, I heard her,’ Ronnie snarled. ‘And after having her in your bed – in Mum’s bed – you were really thinking of doing it too, weren’t you?’ he all but shouted now. ‘Selling off an acre or two here, an acre or two there. So you could spend it on that piece of—’
‘I said shut up boy,’ Ray said again. Oddly enough, he said it in exactly the same tone of voice as he’d said it before. His voice hadn’t risen, it hadn’t got angry, or threatening. It was just the same, flat, rather tired demand for him to be silent.
Clement didn’t like it. He didn’t like it all.
He took another step, placing him further still away from Trudy.
Then he saw Trudy notice what it was that he was doing. Saw too the flash of anger and accusation cross her face as she realised why he was doing it. Then he saw it change to one of quiet resolution, and he felt, for the first time, truly and utterly terrified. And to his horror, he saw her take a few steps of her own – in the opposite direction. Placing them even further apart – but in a forward direction, closing the space between them and the farmer. Putting her first place in the line of fire.