‘She’s still capable of causing trouble.’
‘Tremayne, you’re barking up the wrong tree with her. The council’s not likely to be favourable to a change in zoning just to accommodate Len Dowling. The man’s still suspect after the hornet’s nest you stirred up last time, accusing my fellow councillors and me of corruption.’
‘Just doing my job.’
‘I’ve seen the application for Coombe Farm,’ Freestone said. ‘I’ll leave it up to others more skilled than me to decide on its merits, but it looks possible. It’s a risk on their part though. Rural land is at a premium, residential is currently going through a downturn. The margins will be tight, although that’ll not stop Dowling.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The man pushes the envelope, takes the risk, minimises the financial damage.’
‘Which means if it doesn’t work out, it would be Gordon Selwood who’d take the loss.’
‘Chris Dowling, Len’s brother, is a solicitor. He’ll be working the percentages, ensuring he and his brother are isolated through a trust, limited company, whatever is necessary.’
‘And Gordon Selwood?’
‘It’s his land. If it doesn’t work out, he’s still got to deal with it.’
‘Would it be easy to fool Selwood?’ Tremayne said.
‘The proposed development is expensive. People tend to get confused when big numbers, big profits are mentioned.’
‘When does the application come up before the council for deliberation?’
‘In two weeks’ time. It will be the time for the public and those with a vested interest to put forward their cases for and against.’
‘An opportunity for Molly Dempsey to say her piece?’
‘She’ll monopolise the proceedings if she can. She was so vocal the last time when the house demolitions in the village were approved that she had to be escorted off the council premises.’
‘Anyone else gets so emotional?’
‘Only her. Mind you, she’s got a point. The developers would bulldoze everything down purely for profit.’
‘But you allow them.’
‘We’re careful. You can’t halt progress totally. Sometimes decisions need to be made, and as long as the strict guidelines are followed, then we have to approve.’
‘Your personal view of the Coombe Farm application?’ Tremayne asked.
‘I don’t have a problem with it, only with Dowling.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘The man’s a slimy toad. He doesn’t care about anything other than himself and his wife.’
‘Fiona. Any updates on her?’
‘You’re the police inspector. Why are you asking me?’
‘You knew her better than me.’
‘She’s everywhere in the city ingratiating herself. She’s a councillor now.’
‘Will she be involved in approving her husband’s application?’
‘Not this one. She’s probably going to be the mayor of Salisbury next year.’
‘Not bad for a cheating wife, is it?’
‘And possible murderer?’
‘That’s a closed case. The death was recorded as an accident.’
‘Fiona and Len Dowling, two of the most unscrupulous people, yet they always come up smelling of roses. Why is that, Tremayne?’
‘They’ve no conscience, and even after we had found out about her cheating on her husband, Fiona’s out there giving speeches about the need of a loving marriage, advice to the forlorn from a woman who had erred. Not once did she consider that she’d done anything wrong, nor did her husband.’
Chapter 20
Rose Goode’s return to the village of Coombe breathed life into the pub for a couple of nights, much to the delight of the publican. Even Molly Dempsey had entered the premises and ordered a small sherry.
The first anyone knew of Rose’s impending return was when the lease wasn’t renewed on the Goode’s house. The family had been there for over five years and were well integrated into the community, and had not wanted to leave. They secured another place not far away from the previous one.
The second indication was when a removal van arrived at the house. The third was when Rose walked into the corner store and said hello. One or two of the villagers had seen her up at Coombe Farm, one or two could swear they had seen her in the village wearing a coat with a hat and scarf, but none had been given official notification from the woman herself.
‘Mrs Golding, it’s good to see you. You remember me, don’t you?’ Rose said to the lady behind the counter.
‘Rose Fletcher, of course. You’ve not changed.’
‘I’ve decided to come home.’
‘Welcome back. You disappeared all of a sudden, the last time. We all wondered why.’
‘I don’t think it’s a secret, do you? Not then, not now.’
‘They said there was trouble.’
‘I was pregnant, everyone knows that. And besides, my son is a great joy. Crispin’s his name. You’ll see him around the village soon enough.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘He’s at the house helping us to move in.’
‘And his father?’ the woman asked. Rose knew her to be another gossip. She wasn’t going to allow her the satisfaction of making up stories about her to bandy about.
‘Gordon Selwood is his father, you know that. And just for the record, Gordon married me before the birth, divorced me after. Crispin is legitimate, I just wanted everyone to know.’
‘Where were you all these years?’
‘The last few in Salisbury.’
‘I never saw you, and I go there regularly.’
‘I know you do. I’ve seen you, and besides, I don’t look the same as when I was fifteen. Nobody ever recognised me, not even Gordon.’
‘His wife died tragically.’
‘I never met her, but I’m told she was a good person. Popular in the village?’
‘We all liked her, but Mrs Selwood, she used to say some wicked things about her.’
‘I’ve not come to say anything derogatory about anyone. I just wanted to say hello, and to ensure that Crispin is welcomed into the community.’
‘He will be,’ the woman said. Rose looked at the woman, knew she had not changed. The woman had a loose tongue, and any innuendo, salacious or otherwise, she would be recounting it over the counter to whoever came in. Now, she had one fact that she could not use to her advantage: Crispin was legitimate.
Rose walked out of the little shop after purchasing a few items and walked back to the house. She had thought she would never re-enter the house again, but she had entered the main house at Coombe Farm, she would have no trouble with her parents’ house.
Back at the house, Crispin was excited, although a little dismayed that his mother had kept the house a secret from him. He had always believed that his mother had been entirely open with him; that they were a team, and then, as a result of the car accident, he has a father, wealthy as well, and a family home, much better than the one in Salisbury. He was confused.
‘We’ll talk later,’ Rose said. She knew her son had changed in the last few weeks, but then he was sixteen, a susceptible age, an age where a person needs stability, and their lives had not had that since the car accident and the deaths at Coombe Farm.
Rose hoped that Gordon would be able to help with Crispin and his transition into village life, but she did not have high hopes.
It was apparent in the village that Coombe Farm wasn’t performing as well as it had in the past, and Gordon Selwood seemed to be more interested in frivolous pursuits, mainly cars. The Jaguar had gone, replaced by a Mercedes, and he could often be seen either cleaning it or standing back to admire. Those in the village knew that Claude Selwood would not have been worrying about a car; he’d have been out on Napoleon or in a Land Rover, checking on the farmhands and the livestock.
But with Gordon, there was no checking, other than the minimal. And the farm had an air of impending decay
, not that it would have concerned Gordon, a man who definitely did not have his eye on the ball. Although Len Dowling did, and he was in his ear, even out at the farm and in the village now. No more sneaking around, no more meetings at the top of the hill, walking across cold and wet fields of an early morning.
‘Where do you want this?’ Crispin said as he held a vase that his mother liked.
‘In the kitchen for now. We’ll tidy the place up afterwards.’
Crispin had checked out his bedroom, better than the one he had had in Salisbury. Before anything else, he had made sure to put up a few posters of cars he liked. He’d checked out the internet connection; it was adequate.
Downstairs, the removal men completed their work and left.
‘We’ll need more furniture,’ Crispin said as he came downstairs.
‘It’s certainly bigger than the other place,’ Rose said. She missed the old house, small and homely, but assumed she would adjust, and Crispin was pleased to be in Coombe. He had seen Gordon’s new Mercedes on the way into the village; she knew he’d be up there later in the day, although it was clear that Crispin’s mannerisms were being affected by Gordon’s influence. Rose preferred that they weren’t, but he was his father and a decent man.
Rose knew she did not love Gordon, probably would never again, but she was lonely, and he was available. In time, at least long enough to allow the memory of Cathy to fade, she thought she may see if the three of them could form a partnership, a father and a mother married, but it wasn’t for now.
A knock on the door. ‘Mrs Selwood, please come in,’ Rose said.
‘Hello, Mrs Selwood, or is it Granny?’ Crispin said as he embraced the woman.
Rose had not felt the need for an overt display of affection, having remembered back to when she had been fifteen and pregnant.
‘Granny, yes, I’d like that,’ Marge Selwood said. ‘I’ve brought you some flowers, a housewarming present.’
‘Thank you,’ Rose said. She wanted to tell the woman to get out of her parents’ house, but could not. ‘Please stay and have a cup of tea,’ she said instead.
A lively conversation ensued between grandmother and grandson. It was genuine on Crispin’s part, Rose knew that. The grandmother, Rose could never be sure about. She had known the woman since she had been a child, yet the woman remained an enigma. On the one hand, she could be obsequious, on the other, devilish and cruel.
Rose remembered the words she had used against her in the kitchen of the Selwoods house. Even her husband, Gordon’s father, had tried to shut her up, to no avail.
As Marge Selwood sat there discussing Crispin’s schooling, his interest in cars, his future, Rose could see a woman who had sworn profusely, called her a hussy, a tart, no more than a common street-walker, only fit for seducing.
Rose left the room and went outside on the pretence of checking that all was in order. Apart from a tile on the footpath the removal men had broken when they had dropped the metal leg of a chair on it, everything was fine. She was finding the situation awkward. For so long, it had been her and Crispin against the world, and even when Derek Goode had been in their lives, it had not changed. Probably the reason he left, she thought. She regretted the ending of that marriage. Derek Goode, an uncomplicated man, had not come with any baggage, and definitely not with a mother-in-law who could not be trusted. His mother had been pleasant and had never interfered, and even after the divorce, the two women had kept in contact.
Rose returned inside the house. ‘Crispin’s going to enjoy Coombe,’ Marge Selwood said. ‘You will as well.’
‘It’s been a long time. I’m not sure how I feel.’
‘It’ll be fine, Mum,’ Crispin said. He came over and gave her a reassuring hug.
Marge Selwood left soon after. Outside of the house, Rose watched her walk down the street. She knew that Granny Selwood was not finished and she would yet cause more trouble.
***
With the end of the demolition work at the development site in the village, a hush came over Coombe. The heavy vehicles had ceased to belch out their toxic fumes, the noise of their engines was no longer heard.
Tremayne had noticed the ambience in the village as he stood with Clare outside the pub. ‘I don’t like it,’ he said.
‘What’s not to like? The serenity is beautiful,’ Clare said. She had grown to like the village, just the sort of place that appealed to her.
‘Did you ever watch any of those horror movies, the village just like this, and then all of a sudden, a great evil comes over it?’ Tremayne said.
‘Sometimes when I was young. The movie where you’re sitting calmly, the next where you jump up with a start.’
‘That’s what this feels like. Idyllic for the moment, deathly the next.’
‘A fervent imagination, that’s what you’ve got, guv,’ Clare said. She understood what he meant, though. The projected development at Coombe Farm was still planned, three people had died, and Rose and Crispin Goode were back in the village. All the characters were in their place.
‘Something’s brewing, I can feel it.’
‘You’re right. What are we doing here?’
‘Someone’s ready to make a move. That farmhand you went riding up the hill with?’
‘Callum.’
‘What’s he up to?’
‘He’s still up at Coombe Farm.’
‘Okay, let’s go. This place is giving me the creeps,’ Tremayne said.
‘Why? Can’t you hear the birds chirping, the cows mooing in the distance.’
‘That’s the problem, I can. Give me noise and people arguing anytime. This place has the feel of death. It’s hard to explain.’
‘I can feel it too,’ Clare admitted.
Up at the farm, Callum was cleaning out the stables, Napoleon in one corner. Clare took a carrot she had purchased in the village and gave it to him. ‘He doesn’t forget kind people,’ Callum said.
‘You’ve met Detective Inspector Tremayne?’ Clare said.
‘Not formally. What can I do for you?’
Tremayne could see a young man unaffected by the outside world. His demeanour was of a country yokel, his haircut severe and unfashionable. It was clear that Coombe was his part of the world.
‘Just a chat,’ Tremayne said. ‘The village is quiet, as though everything is as it should be.’
‘It is,’ Callum replied.
‘Has everyone forgotten about Old Ted?’
‘Not forgotten, moved on. In Coombe, everything moves slowly, and Old Ted, he was an easy man to forget.’
‘What do you mean?’ Clare said.
‘He was that sort of person. Born and bred in Coombe, but when you think back to him, what do you remember?’
‘A man in his seventies, unable to retire, kept to himself, never spoke unless spoken to.’
‘That’s it. There’s nothing left to remind us of him, and even his cottage doesn’t look the same since Mrs Selwood moved in and fixed it up.’
‘There was something,’ Tremayne said. ‘And whatever it was, he was murdered.’
Clare picked up a brush and started to brush Napoleon. Tremayne looked over at her, realised that she wanted him to go away. He took the hint and went outside of the stables, taking a cigarette from a packet at the same time.
Clare stopped giving attention to the horse and turned to the farmhand. ‘Callum, you’re not levelling with us. What’s the truth about Old Ted?’
‘I don’t know what you mean. Old Ted minded his business, the same as I do.’
‘And he was murdered for knowing nothing. Maybe you’ll be shot for minding your own business as well. Have you considered that?’
‘Old Mr Selwood, sometimes he used to play up.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘When he was younger, he used to mess around with another woman.’
‘Who?’
‘Old Ted, he didn’t like to talk.’
‘Then why was he telling you?’
‘What happened?’
‘I was standing outside the stable, at the other end, and the door was slightly ajar. Old Ted’s inside talking to the horse. The horse is not saying much, only standing there.’
‘How long were you standing there for?’
‘Five, maybe ten minutes.’
‘And what did you hear?’
‘Mr Selwood and Old Ted’s wife. No one knew, not anyone in the village, and it was a long time ago.’
‘How long?’
‘When they were younger. Mrs Selwood, she was expecting Gordon, and Mr Selwood and Old Ted’s wife, well, they sort of got together.’
‘And Old Ted told you this?’
‘Not really. I just overheard.’
‘Did you mention it to Old Ted?’
‘Not me. I was only new at the farm, and I knew I wouldn’t be here for long if I said anything.’
‘Did you know Old Ted’s wife?’
‘Oh, yes. She was a lovely woman, not like Old Ted. She liked to talk.’
‘And never a hint from Old Ted and his wife as to what had gone on?’
‘No. They always seemed a happy couple.’
‘Why are you telling me?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe you’re right in that he’d been killed for something he knew, something I know.’
‘Does Mrs Selwood know about this?’
‘I’ve no idea, and that’s the honest truth. There’s a lot that goes on in this village, but that’s the only thing that seems important.’
‘What else?’
‘A few affairs, that sort of thing.’
‘And Old Ted continued to work here for all those years.’
‘That was Old Ted. He didn’t like change, nor did he like unpleasantness. He’s the same as me really. I don’t want the houses at the top of the hill, no more than he did. But then, we’re simple countrymen. I come to work, do my bit, and go home, the same as Old Ted. Maybe Mr Selwood had to sell the land up the top, I wouldn’t know. I only know that Old Ted was against it.’
The DI Tremayne Thriller Box Set Page 86