Rosemary Peterson was in the garden, intent on spraying a rose bush. She didn’t turn round to greet them till they were close and approached her. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t hear the door, darling.”
“DCI Fowler. And DS Peale, Rosemary. They want to ask us some more questions.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Peterson.”
“Good morning, Chief Inspector.” She put down the plastic bottle and smiled. “It’s only soapy water, I don’t like poisonous sprays. Have you any news for us? The inquest will it be soon?” she said. “It’s been a bad year so far and my ladybirds have been hard put to it to keep the damn greenflies at bay.”
She took off her gardening gloves slowly. “Sorry I wasn’t much help before. Thank you for giving me time to recover.” She shook her head slowly. “Although I doubt if I ever can. You don’t expect to be burying your child in your own lifetime. Have you any children, Chief Inspector?”
“No, I haven’t, Mrs. Peterson.”
“Won’t you come and see the progress I’ve made on my model?”
They followed her back into her studio where she took off the damp cloth, and revealed the clay head which looked finished now.
“What do you think of it?”
She touched the planes of the beautiful face gently with her finger tips. And Fowler felt that if she breathed into it, it could come to life. Those curving lips would break into a smile and the eyes would follow him round the studio room.
“I took this from her photos. She had no time or inclination to sit for me. Far too busy,’ she said. “It was intended for Alan’s birthday next month.” She caught back a sob and her husband put his hand gently on her shoulder.
Fowler nodded. He remembered Sandra’s face again as he’d seen it in the mortuary. And her father’s reaction it. “The inquest is on Friday.”
“Thank you.”
“You said that you didn’t see Sandra on the weekend Mrs. Peterson so you’re unable to tell me what she did. And Mr. Peterson was in London?”
“That’s right, Chief Inspector. So I was here on my own working on it Sunday. I wanted to get it finished. I saw Sandra in the post office earlier in the week. She was engaged in conversation with that Macey boy,” she said pushing back the mass of fair hair, which she kept in control with the aqua blue colored scarf she wore as a hair band. “We argued. I wanted her to come home. To stay here with us. We’d seen so little of her lately. It would have pleased Alan so much to have her here,” she said, her voice breaking now, betrayed how badly she felt about this.
“Mrs. Peterson, have either of you heard of anyone called Rafe? We found a text message on her phone from someone with that name. He was unable to reach her. Did Sandra mention him at all to you?”
Rosemary shook her head. “No, never. She kept so much from us during those last few days... Did she say anything to you, Alan?”
Alan reached out for her and drew her in close. “Sorry, Chief Inspector, our daughter never told us about this Rafe. As my wife has said Sandra told us little about her private life. Please can you leave us now?”
“We’re extremely sorry, Mrs. Peterson. We won’t trouble you further.”
“Thank you. Let me see you out.”
Fowler turned to ask, “I understand that you were in London from Friday evening till mid-day on Monday?”
“That’s correct, you can check up if you wish with the gallery and the hotel.”
Fowler nodded. “Thank you, sir.”
“Well, Peale,” Fowler said as they got in the car again. “We’re none the wiser over this unknown man in her life, Rafe. Perhaps he’ll get in touch with us if he cared anything at all for Sandra. Viviane Trent’s lad, Richard, might know something about him.” He eased into the front seat with a sigh. “Glad that’s over. It never gets any easier to handle.”
“Things should be happening on the chicken farm.” Peale grinned. “The Forensics will be giving it a good going over. Plus the Customs and Excise. They will interview Martin Robbins. Do you reckon he’ll face charges for his work there in it and for not reporting it earlier?”
“Hard to say.” Fowler rubbed his chin with his hand and shook his head. “He could get away with a warning as he saw the good sense in reporting it.”
“I’d like Bell to lose that smarmy, supercilious smile for once. He thinks he’s got it made.”
“He has for the moment, Peale.” Fowler smiled wryly. “I’d like to talk some more to Robbins. I think despite his misleading appearance he’s a smart lad. He must have known he would be held responsible for looking after the young birds. I can’t believe that he didn’t cover himself for that eventuality.”
Twenty-four
“Can you take pity on a poor starving policeman yet again?” Fowler leant against the door when Vivienne opened it to him. She had thought about him earlier, so wasn’t surprised to see him again.
She laughed. “Haven’t you got a home to go to Bob?” He looked sorrowful. “Oh—sorry I forgot you were still living in digs.”
She knew just how much she was going to miss these chats when the case was solved eventually. She pushed aside the thought that it might not be as it had been two hundred years ago. Someone might give away the murderer in the end.
“A bite to eat? Ham, cheese or tuna?”
“Ham, please.”
She laughed. “Spare me the hungry look. Come on spill it, Bob Fowler. You haven’t come for the food. I know you’re doing quite well with the pies and cakes. There’s something you want to tell me. It won’t leak out from here.”
He ran through what Martin had come in to give them and saw the look of disbelief and surprise growing on her face while she buttered the bread in the kitchen.
“You’re joking, aren’t you? Bell’s been breeding rare parrots in his chicken sheds! It’s got to be a scam. Who’s been telling you all this, Daisy Doughty? It sounds like something she would dream up.”
He shook his head. “It’s all true. Every barmy bit of it. Got it from Martin Robbins. He helped to look after the fledglings. He’s signed a statement and is prepared to stand up in court.”
She laughed and said, “You’ve taken my breath away, Bob. I can hardly believe it. You’re not simply winding me up?”
He nodded. “Nope.”
She put in the ham and handed over the sandwich on a plate, with an apologetic smile. “I expect you can still manage one of these. Sorry it’s turned out like a doorstep. I can hardly believe that the Bells of all people would get mixed up in anything like this. Would Howard Tefler have anything to do with it?”
“He is implicated. You’ve hit the nail on the head.” Fowler grinned picked up the sandwich and ate it appreciatively. “Thanks.”
“How on earth did Martin manage to work there? With that on his conscience? It’s so hard to believe. He’s such a responsible young man. Although I should think he’d take good care of the birds. He has had plenty of practice with his own.”
“Ah — well. According to his aunt, his mother needs round the clock nursing. The poor woman has early senility. I think that must have influenced him considerably.”
Viviane nodded. “Poor Martin. The Robbins kept that quiet then. I thought she’d dumped him on his aunt and had some kind of a drink problem. Jessica never said much if I asked her about his mother.
“I can see where this is going now. This egg smuggling was what Sandra was on to before she was killed. Am I right?”
Fowler nodded. “Yep.”
“So Sandra came down to see Martin when he could no longer keep quiet about what was going on here.”
“That’s right. Sandra was the one friend Martin could depend on to put him straight. I should think that she told him to leave the job obviously. But I also think he might have had some difficulty in doing this. The Bells would have known how badly he needed the money. Then Sandra came on the scene, like an avenging angel to help him. And because she found out what was going on, it forced the Bells to sack him.”
“Hard to say. They sacked Martin when he came looking for her. According to him he raised such a rumpus they had little choice.”
“He must have been scared rotten, poor lad. I can’t see them setting out to kill her though. Unless it was accidental. Rollo Bell would have to be pretty desperate to do that. He strikes me as having no backbone at all.”
As she spoke he observed the sparkle of mischief in her eyes and rising colour. She felt she was being helpful and she had been very much so... He reached over and held her hand briefly, grinned and released it.
“It’s been great, Viv. Thanks for putting up with this. Hope you can stand it for a while longer.”
Twenty-five
Fowler and Peale followed Martin and Jessica Robbins through the back garden, past the large aviary with its large compliment of small chattering birds, and unlocked the door on a small shed. Inside it was filled with warmth which they felt instantly. This was supplied by an electric fire. Fowler sensed that this mission was going to turn out to be a decider in the case ranged against Martin and knew now what they were about to be shown was important.
“Here they are, Inspector Fowler. These are those little ones that Martin kept and got away with several days ago.”
Two scraggy, pink, noisy, partly featherless birds waited impatiently for the food which Martin was now feeding them with carefully.
“These are two of them, Martin? Parrots?” Fowler asked carefully as Jessica hovered protectively in the background, she touched Martin on the arm and he turned round. “So you managed to save them. Good thinking, lad.”
He signed quickly looking at his aunt for help. “He said he knew what would happen to the young birds if he confessed all to Sandra. And last week brought them home as soon as he’d let Sandra know about it.”
“Knew the balloon would go up as soon as she worked on it. Perhaps she hoped to rescue some herself,” Peale said wide eyed, looking with obvious fascination at the wobbly, squawking fledglings gulping down the food. “Takes some careful feeding and caring to keep these going I expect.” Peale looked at Martin with respect now in his keen eyes. Fowler noticed and smiled.
“Worn the boy down to a shadow all this worry, more like,” Jessica Robbins said shaking her head. “If only he’d told me about it sooner. I would have made him do something about it long before this. He said he couldn’t leave the little birds’ fate to the Bells or Tefler. They only wanted the cash they got for the birds and these little ones depended on Martin. As you can see.”
“How long have the Bells been doing this lark?”
“He says fourteen months. He started work there about eighteen months ago. They were preparing to start it up and wanted to see how he would work with them. Martin did all kinds of work for Ted Maddocks, before then. Martin’s good with animals especially the lambs.”
She patted him on the shoulder. “He should have been a vet but we hadn’t the money to put him through the university training. And he likes the birds best of all. As a small boy he was always rescuing and bringing home fallen and injured birds.”
“I’m really impressed, aren’t you, Peale?”
“Yes — it’s good work. It must be very rewarding.”
“He has healing hands.” She looked lovingly at her nephew. She sighed heavily “He’ll have to hand over these two as evidence, won’t he?”
“Afraid so.”
Martin was signing now quickly. His face pale and anxious.
“He says not yet. He wants to keep them a while longer. He says they need the extra care. He thought he would lose them when he slept over so heavy the other morning. That’s why he was so upset. Like human babies they have to be fed often.”
“As long as it takes. He’ll be able to keep them another week or so to see them all right. Better off than the rest of they that’s for sure. Whatever they’ve done with the poor little devils. Takes lots of patience and care to bring them up. I can see that much.” Fowler patted the young man on the shoulder.
Peale did a thumbs up sign and nodded.
Martin nodded back and smiled.
“Thank you so much, Chief Inspector. You don’t know what a relief it is to us. Now Martin can mourn the loss of his dearest friend Sandra. He will want to see her parents too. He wants to tell them he really cares. He’s been fit for nothing with all this.
“He knows he bought it all on himself and he has been blaming himself for her death. Although I have kept telling him he was unable to stop her doing what she thought was right,” Jessica Robbins said, seeing the police officers out of the house. “I hope he will start listening to me now and use some common sense.”
They left the house deep in thought wondering whether they were any closer to catching Sandra’s killer.
“Gary Brown, the postmaster. Have we left him long enough to let him stew, eh, Peale? To let him think that he has got away with a false alibi? If asked, his wife will no doubt give him one? But we know different. He was out on Sunday night with his pretty lady from Oz. Not snuggled up beside his lady wife in bed. We must speak to both of them on their own. Liz Brown I hope will tell us what we want to know.”
The shop was busy. Filled with mid week shoppers and seething with gossip. The crop circle visitors were not so easy to get rid of and, despite the closure of the field, were buying photographs of the latest, most intricate circle, which had been taken from a helicopter and doing good business. Peale thought that if a picture of the murder scene had been produced for sale it would have most probably been snapped up by the more ghoulish visitors.
Lower Milton was the hubbub of excitement for all concerned. The press was filling up the Fox and Goose and they had had to ask for another early delivery of beer and spirits.
Fowler had been thinking that he would have to reverse the order of things and take Viviane for a meal there when things quietened down a bit.
“Good morning, Mrs. Brown. DCI Fowler, DS Peale. Can I take you away from your customers for a moment. If you’re not too busy? And your husband is he around?”
Liz Brown was a pretty brunette, and was, Fowler made a guess, in her mid thirties. What on earth had Gary Brown seen in Erika or Trish Carver that he couldn’t find in his wife? Fowler thought gazing at her over the counter.
Of course, DCI Fowler. DS Peale. If you’d like to come through the side door, please.”
The parlour was small but bright and sunny, and filled with souvenirs of Germany and Regimental portraits.
“Mr. Brown gave us his assurance that he was at home on Sunday night, Mrs. Brown.”
Her hazel eyes travelled over the officers faces swiftly. They gave little away. Her small chin lifted noticeably. “That’s right. He was.”
Fowler smiled. “Are you quite sure of that, Mrs. Brown? We have received information that he was out that night. He takes weekly karate classes in Gloucester I believe?”
“Yes. But not on Sundays.”
“I’m asking you again, Mrs. Brown. Do you know where your husband was after the hour of eleven on Sunday night? We have to clear all the local males of suspicion. He is not the only man in the village who was playing away that night that we want to talk to...”
She flicked her finger along a spotless shelf and sighed heavily. “I don’t always know what he’s doing. We have separate bedrooms. He snores you see. I heard the back door open.” Tears were not far away in her eyes. “I suppose that Dot, Reg’s wife told you about the row we had the other evening. It was rather noisy.”
She hesitated, biting off the cherry pink lip colour. “He’s having an affair.” She shook her dark curls and the tears sparkled on the dark lashes as the door opened and the object of their talk came into the room.
“Liz! Chief Inspector Fowler what brings you here?”
“Mr. Brown, we would like to speak to you. If
you will give us your time, please?”
Liz moved quickly pushed past her husband and went out.
“Liz!”
“Now, Mr. Brown, we have been given a different version of your movements on Sunday night.”
Brown stared back at them, rubbed his cropped head slowly with his hand, then grinned. “Okay, it’s a fair cop.” He shrugged those broad shoulders. “I was seeing Trish the Aussie barmaid from the Fox and Goose. We were in Barley woods for about an hour or so, nowhere near Maddock’s field. Got back home again by one a.m. She can give me an alibi.”
Brown made a desperate wide gesture with his arms, clapping them down by his sides. “Our marriage is falling apart.”
“As a matter of curiosity how did you happen to settle down here, Mr. Brown?”
“Saw this business advertised, liked the idea and decided to come here.”
“I understand that you served under Captain Roland Bell. What have your relations with him been since?”
“What has that to do with Sandra Peterson?”
Fowler continued, “Given that your wife has revealed that you had an affair with Bell’s wife in the past?”
Brown’s stony face relaxed and lightened.“Ding dong, Tinker Bell. You really want to know? It’s not good. But we manage to avoid meeting up. Unless it’s in the cricket season.”
“Why is that, Mr. Brown?”
“Because I made the big mistake of having the affair with Erika Bell. Soon after I was posted to Munster. Our paths crossed when she stepped in to offer me help with our army quarters before Liz joined me. Erika assisted me to make it look comfortable and attractive. Army quarters can be pretty basic.
“It’s my fault entirely,” he admitted with a shrug, “this marriage breakdown. I never told Liz when we first married that I can’t have kids. And I should have done. It wasn’t fair to the girl.”
He leant up against the fireplace and occupied his hands, deftly rolling a cigarette from tobacco and paper. Fowler was thinking about his own failed marriage. It was more than the lack of children that had been the cause of their breakdown.
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