‘Small village, frightened of change. Hardly a reason to take pot shots at Claude Selwood.’
At the police station, they grabbed a quick bite to eat. Afterwards, the interview room and the vicar, his dog collar prominently displayed.
‘Reverend Walston, you’ve been charged with aggravated assault with a deadly weapon.’
‘An air rifle hardly constitutes a deadly weapon.’
‘A debatable point of law,’ Tremayne said. ‘Regardless, shooting Claude Selwood is a criminal offence, which resulted in the man’s death.’
‘I didn’t intend to kill him.’
‘What about the horse?’ Clare said.
‘I meant no harm.’
‘Then why? Didn’t you realise that in time we would discover you?’
‘I did what was necessary.’
Clare could see that Tremayne was frustrated. The Reverend Walston was meant to be an upholder of right over wrong in the village of Coombe, not someone who committed a criminal offence. And then, there were the villagers who felt his actions were justified.
‘We were waylaid by Molly Dempsey,’ Tremayne said.
‘She is one of my flock.’
‘Another person who believes you had a right to take shots at Selwood.’
‘I was doing the Lord’s work.’
‘And when did the Lord agree with you breaking the law?’
‘Claude Selwood had no right to control our lives. He had no right to tell me what to preach. No right to buy up property in the village or to build cheap housing.’
‘Why? It’s a free world. If he had the money and people were willing to sell, then what’s wrong.’
‘The local people disagreed with the new development.’
‘We had never heard about it before. Are you sure it wasn’t only the group we met? And besides, any new building would require planning permission.’
‘They would give it.’
‘Why?’
‘Money talks.’
‘Are you assuming there would be corruption? Coombe is stagnating, you know that. The pub’s about to go out of business. You probably get very few people in your church.’
‘I appreciate the old ways,’ Walston said.
‘But you’re a young man,’ Clare said.
‘I’ve found peace in Coombe. I want it to stay that way.’
‘We’ll check, so you may as well tell us. What do you mean?’
‘I was six. My father was a violent man, drunk most of the time. He came home one night, angry. He had a knife. He killed my mother, as well as trying to kill me. I ran out of the house. Don’t go looking for him. He died in prison.’
‘And after that?’
‘I was brought up by my mother’s sister. She lives in a village like this.’
‘As sad as it may be, it doesn’t excuse the fact that you became involved in violence.’
‘I wasn’t angry when I fired that rifle at Selwood. I just wanted him to stop what he was doing.’
‘Claude Selwood was a stubborn man. How would he know it was a warning?’
‘I would have told him it was a sign from God for his wickedness.’
‘Was your aunt a religious woman?’ Clare asked.
‘Devout, three times on a Sunday to church.’
‘Would she condone what you have done?’
‘Sometimes it is necessary to do wickedness to ensure goodness.’
Clare had even considered going out with the man if he had asked, and now, she realised that the man’s view of the world was distorted. As violent as his childhood had been, the horror of seeing his mother killed, he was still a criminal. Whether it was the actions of a sane man or not was for a psychiatrist to determine.
‘We’ll need a statement,’ Tremayne said.
***
‘What is it with these villages?’ Tremayne said. He was standing outside with Clare. He was enjoying a cigarette; she was tolerating the smell.
‘How is it, that on the occasions that we’ve spoken to the vicar, he has acted normally. None of his extremist views has surfaced, and then, there’s a group of villagers condoning his behaviour?’ Clare said.
‘Maybe it’s all that fresh air, somehow it affects the brain.’
‘You’re in the land of the fanciful now, guv.’
‘I know, but we’ve come across these sorts of people before. Normal law-abiding citizens who for some reason commit illegal acts. And how can they believe it’s lawful?’
‘A sign from God.’
‘Rubbish. If the Reverend Walston can shoot an air rifle, he could have also killed Old Ted and Cathy Selwood.’
‘No reason. Old Ted and Cathy Selwood were not involved with the new development.’
‘We need to talk to Molly Dempsey again,’ Tremayne said.
***
An uneasy truce between Gordon Selwood and his mother existed. After Rose and Crispin Goode had visited the main house, and after Gordon had driven them home in the Jaguar, he visited his mother, told her that he had met his son.
His mother had reacted calmly to the news, told him that she had been wrong in separating him from Rose.
Marge had to admit that, on reflection, Rose had done an excellent job in bringing up her grandson.
The cottage suited her, that’s what she said to her son. ‘Such unpleasantness. What about you and Rose?’
‘Don’t try and make something out of it. Cathy’s not yet buried, and Rose and I were only young. Crispin’s my son. I’ll do the right thing by him, that’s all.’
‘There’s something else,’ Marge said. She knew the bombshell she was about to announce. ‘Before I met your father…’ a pregnant pause, ‘there was another man.’
‘What are you trying to tell me?’
‘I need to be sure.’
‘Of what? Are you telling me this other man may be my father?’
‘It’s possible. I’ve never thought about it before, not even when we were disputing the farm and the house, but now…’
‘What’s changed? Are you so desperate that you conjure up another man?’
‘I need to know. You now have a son. I need to know the truth, we both do.’
‘No, I don’t. Crispin’s my son, I know that. As for you and your men, then that’s up to you. I’ve no intention of agreeing to DNA testing. And, as for the future, the main house is off limits to you, as am I. They’re releasing Cathy’s body in the next day. The funeral will be next week. You’re not welcome. I don’t want your crocodile tears flooding the place.’
‘There’s no vicar. They’ve arrested Reverend Walston.’
‘Did the man know my mother is a whore?’
‘How dare you,’ Marge Selwood said. She came forward and slapped her son hard across the face. Gordon stood back, not sure what to do. His mother had made an admission which he was unable to process. He turned around and walked out the back door of the cottage, almost pulling it off its hinges as he slammed it hard.
Marge Selwood sat down at the kitchen table, not sure what to do. It was the first time she had cried for some time. Her husband’s death had given her sadness, but no tears. Old Ted’s had left her ambivalent, and Cathy’s had left her overjoyed, but with Gordon, her own flesh and blood, even if not Claude’s, she felt sorrow.
After a few minutes, she sat up straight, took stock of herself and phoned Nicholas, her second eldest.
***
Molly Dempsey was not hard to find, even the publican knew where she lived, and the woman was strictly teetotal. Busybody was his description of her.
Outside of the village, a five minute walk, the cottage of Molly Dempsey. At the front, a small picket fence with a gate that creaked on its hinges as Tremayne opened it. A dog barked from inside.
‘That’s Berty, he’s harmless,’ Molly Dempsey said. Around her waist, an apron. ‘I’m just baking a cake.’
‘You were very vocal earlier after we arrested the vicar,’ Tremayne said. He noticed that the dog, a sma
ll terrier, had taken a shine to Clare and was sitting on the floor alongside her. Both of the police officers had been given the mandatory cup of tea, along with freshly-baked scones.
‘The Reverend Walston is a good man, just the sort of person this village needs.’
‘He’s broken the law.’
‘Who else was going to put a stop to this nonsense? Claude Selwood was a wicked man who’d do anything for his own benefit, even destroy this village.’
‘Mrs Dempsey, it’s called progress. You can’t stop it.’
‘It’s not the kind of progress we want. Ten years ago, you could leave the door to your house open, and no one would come in, but now…’
‘Have you been burgled?’
‘No, but it could happen.’
It was clear the woman was narrow in her understanding of the world. She and Old Ted would have had a lot in common, Clare thought.
‘Walston was new to his parish,’ Tremayne said. ‘Why have you and your group embraced him?’
‘He understands our needs. He is willing to stand up to the Selwoods and their wicked ways.’
‘Wicked ways?’
‘Gordon and his woman.’
‘Which woman?’
‘The one that died.’
‘She was murdered. Why are you against her when most of the people that we’ve spoken to liked her. It was her that had convinced her husband to not sell the farm.’
‘We know her type.’
‘What do you mean? She’d only be here for a short time.’
‘Another one after the Selwood fortune.’
‘Another?’
‘Rose Fletcher, we saw her here the other week. We’d know that shameless woman anywhere. That’s all the Selwoods get involved with, cheap women.’
‘Rose Fletcher is, in our opinion, a good person. Why do you criticise her?’
‘She made sure that the eldest son made her pregnant.’
‘And then what?’
‘Her parents disappeared, paid off more likely.’
‘Mrs Dempsey, I’m afraid you’ve got your facts wrong. Rose Fletcher was a young woman. She made a mistake, as did Gordon Selwood. And as for her parents, they left here of their own free will, the shame of what had happened was too much for them to stay.’
‘That’s what you think.’
Tremayne and Clare could see a woman, who regardless of proof, would continue to hold to her views. Her testimony was suspect but would be noted.
They left the cottage and walked back to the village. In the main street, they ran into Marge Selwood. ‘What is the story about a low-cost housing development?’ Tremayne asked.
‘Claude had an idea to bring some life into the village. There’s some land not far from here, and a couple of buildings on it. And it wasn’t necessarily low-cost. The locals around here, or at least some of them, are suspicious of change. I can’t blame them, though. I wasn’t in agreement with Claude on any new development, but he was adamant.’
‘We’ve arrested the vicar.’
‘I’ve heard.’
‘We always thought he was harmless,’ Clare said.
‘He and Claude used to have the occasional disagreement.’
‘Serious?’
‘Not really. Reverend Walston was an ardent socialist, Claude was for capitalism. With them two, it was the English Civil War, all over again. On one side, the Roundheads, on the other, the Royalists. It wasn’t violent.’
‘Would the reverend be capable of murder?’ Tremayne said.
‘If he can shoot at Claude and the horse with pellets, who knows?’ Marge said. ‘If you’ve no more questions, I’ve something to do.’
‘No more for now. How’s Gordon?’
‘We’re not talking. He’s got Rose back in his life, and Cathy not even buried. What kind of man does that?’
‘Romantically involved?’
‘Not yet, but they will be. She was always the woman for him, and now my grandson is hanging around. Your sergeant brought the two of them out to the house.’
‘Not out of pleasure,’ Clare said. ‘There are two murders and all of a sudden, two more members of the Selwood family appear. I needed to understand how they fit into the puzzle.’
‘They don’t fit, not yet, and hopefully never.’
‘Do you dislike Rose?’
‘Not personally. A silly mistake shouldn’t blight anyone’s life, and she was always pleasant to me. From what I know of Crispin, she’s done a good job.’
‘She has.’
Chapter 15
Nicholas Selwood arrived at his mother’s cottage thirty minutes after she had left the two police officers. Inside the cottage, the two, mother and son, sat down to talk.
One was unsure as to why he was there; the other was nervous on account of what she was about to say.
‘Nicholas, we need to deal with Gordon. He’s met with Rose Fletcher. Do you remember her?’
‘A long time ago. She was Gordon’s girlfriend.’
‘There’s a complication. She had a child.’
‘I know.’
‘Did you know she was married to Gordon at the time?’
‘She was only fifteen.’
‘She was sixteen at the time of the birth. Her father was firm in that he wasn’t going to have his daughter give birth to a bastard. We agreed, and they were married. After the birth, the marriage was dissolved.’
‘That means the child is his heir, and if it’s male…’
‘It is. He’s sixteen, nearly seventeen.’
‘Have you met him?’
‘I’ve met Rose recently. Her son is a typical Selwood. He’s intelligent, and I like him.’
‘What is the problem?’
‘You will never inherit the farm and the house, and I want them back.’
‘Are they important? You’re comfortable here, and I’m making plenty of money.’
‘Nicholas, you’re a Selwood. Stand up for yourself, assert your right. If Rose is there advising Gordon, and then his son, we are lost.’
‘Cathy’s not yet buried. He’s hardly likely to do anything now.’
‘Not now, but in the future. Six months, one year, what does it matter? We’re out, and they’re in. Do you want that?’
‘Not really, but what can we do?’
‘We can prove that Gordon is not your father’s son.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Nicholas, there’s something I’ve never told any of you, not even your father. I was involved with another man when I met your father.’
‘Are you saying that Gordon may not be our father’s son?’
‘I was in love with your father. I was sure it was his, I always have, but now with Gordon the way he is, I have my doubts.’
‘Does Gordon know about this?’
‘Yes. I told him I wanted to conduct a test. He reacted badly.’
‘What did you expect?’
‘I didn’t expect anything.’
Nicholas Selwood, a man devoted to his mother, wasn’t sure of what to say. He had not expected to be told that his mother had another life before his father. He phoned William, asked him to come over. His mother sat quietly in one corner. The pedestal that her two sons had placed her on had been firmly broken, and all because of necessity. For all her children’s lifetime, she had hidden her previous life from them, and now in one day, the past had resurrected itself, the memories of what she had done when she was penniless and with no support mechanism from her parents. She knew that if Gordon wasn’t Claude’s son, she could not say who was his real father. A reputation cherished and embellished, destroyed.
She had not expected Nicholas to remain so calm. She knew that William would have difficulty accepting the reality. She hoped both her sons would see the need to expose Gordon.
Marge recognised in Rose Goode a more significant threat than Cathy. Rose was pure and chaste, and she brought up a son, a son who should have been adopted, but hadn’t been, and there he
was, not less than eight miles away.
William arrived within twenty-five minutes. Marge made a pot of tea, three cups. Her voice was steady, but her hands were shaking, so much so that Nicholas had to pour.
‘Mother, you’d better tell William the truth and no procrastinating.’
Marge put down her cup, and, while holding her youngest son’s hand, she recounted the story she had told to Nicholas. At the end of the telling, William was in tears.
‘Was it worth all this?’ Nicholas asked his mother.
‘I told you because I love you both.’
‘Are we our father’s children?’ William asked. His face was ashen as he spoke.
‘I made a mistake once. Claude Selwood is your father. I was a good wife to him, you know that.’
‘What do you want us to do? Nicholas said.
‘In time you’ll forget what I have just told you.’
‘We won’t. But for now, we will do what is necessary.’
‘I need a sample of saliva from either of you and a sample from Gordon.’
‘Gordon will not comply,’ William said.
‘Then you must secure certain items from him without him knowing.’
‘Such as?’
‘Nail clippings, a toothbrush, a sample of hair, but it will need the follicle.’
‘How about yours?’ Nicholas asked.
‘I’m the mother of all three of you. I will send a sample as well.’
‘Is this strictly legal?’
‘No. I will want one of you to consent to be yourself, the other to be Gordon. You can use your own name, but we will know which is which.
‘And if he is our father’s child.’
‘Then he and his son will take the farm, and there will be nothing we can do.’
***
Cathy Selwood’s funeral was held in the local church, the vicar from the next village officiating. In the congregation, the Selwood family, although Marge wasn’t present. Also, Tremayne and Clare, as the two of them had known the woman.
Gordon Selwood was comforted by his brothers. Cathy Selwood had none of her family present. Nicholas and William made speeches on Gordon’s behalf. Apart from that, it was a short ceremony, Cathy’s coffin being taken to a plot in the graveyard not far from Claude Selwood. Up at Marge’s cottage, the woman trained a pair of binoculars on the churchyard. She was looking for the presence of Rose Goode, but she could not see her. Inside the cottage, she took a bottle of gin from the cupboard and poured herself a glass. If no one was coming to see her, then she did not want to remember the day.
The DI Tremayne Thriller Box Set Page 82