Dark Ritual

by Patricia Scott

  “You’ve been seeing Trish the barmaid, you say? And you didn’t make a play for Sandra Peterson?”

  Brown chuckled. “I would never have made first base with her. Sandra was a real high flyer. Howard Tefler was more her mark, I’d say. I wouldn’t have tried anything on with her. She made it clear that she wasn’t interested in any man here. She flirted. Yeah. It was a game with her. I reckon that she’d been badly hurt at some time or other. Didn’t trust anyone. Except that deaf boy Martin Robbins.”

  “You saw her with him?”

  He nodded. “Sure. Often. They were friends of long standing. There was a kind of closeness there. I think it went much deeper than that for his part though.”

  “So what about Macey? You must have seen quite a bit of him lately.”

  “Lover boy?” He snorted and shook his head, the light shining on it now served to emphasize the close shave he must frequently give his brown hair. “He’s just a spoilt rich kid throwing his weight around. Heard about the scratches she gave him.” He grinned. “You know that he carried a knife on him by now.” He lighted up the cigarette and dragged on it. Then said with a wide grin, “Don’t think he would have used it though. It was all bloody show.”

  “You’ve been here three years, Mr. Brown. And know most of these people you’ve mentioned?”

  “I can’t see either of them hurting the girl. Could be one of these crop circle oddballs taking the chance on her while they were here on a short visit. Or Bell perhaps. He was looking pretty interested in her. She’s been out with Tefler. She could have been seeing Tefler on the sly.”

  Twenty-six

  Peale picked up Martin’s statement from Fowler’s desk. “The timing in this is critical, Bob. The pile of corn stubble under the body when found was bone dry so Sandra was killed and the fire lighted before the rainstorm and Martin says as much in his statement here.” Peale looked down the page carefully. “That’s right, the thunder and lightning started fizzing and cracking overhead and it was pissing down, Bob, after he arrived at the chicken farm in time to surprise the Bells then engaged in clearing out the young birds.”

  Accompanied by PC Boyd and DC Coombe, Bell came into the incident room where Fowler and Peale awaited him. Fowler leaned back in his chair and studied Bell’s thin weak features. Strain showed obviously on them. To his credit or his vanity perhaps he was dressed as smartly as before.

  “A great deal depends on what you have to tell us, Bell, about Sunday night. Martin Robbins has shown us the young birds he kept as evidence against you. And you can no longer evade the evidence of your smuggling racket. It won’t wash.”

  “No comment. I want my lawyer.”

  “You sacked Robbins when he turned up at your place in an attempt to protect Miss Peterson. He was too late. According to Robbins she had already left. You were visibly upset and clearing up the evidence when he arrived.

  “Did you use violence against that young woman, Bell? You took the camera from her and removed the film. No doubt she protested. But you didn’t call the police?”

  “No comment.”

  Peale walked round him. “If you did this you knew that you would be forced to reveal what had brought her there.” Bell stared up at him. “What you’d kept hidden for so long on your farm. So how long was Sandra in your company after the confrontation?”

  “No comment.”

  “She intended to make it public the following day, didn’t she?” Fowler said. “She had effectively put an end to your lucrative smuggling racket. So what happened next, Bell? Did you assault her? Did you kill her?”

  “No, Fowler, no, I didn’t.”

  “Someone killed her. Did you let your greed and frustration over ride your caution?”

  Bell’s hand worried his moustache. “We didn’t kill Sandra! We wanted her off the place. But we didn’t touch her physically. It could only serve to make things worse for ourselves. She would have sued us to add to our troubles. I told her that if she continued with it Martin Robbins would suffer.

  “He’d taken care of the birds and taken a good salary for it. She listened when I said it could do great harm to him and his mother if she exposed us. Erika came in behind her through the door, snatched the camera off her and took out the film.”

  “As easy as that was it, Bell? You surprise me,” Fowler said with a glance at Peale. “So when did she leave?”

  “She left immediately after we took the film from her camera. Where she went afterwards,” he shrugged, “God only knows. I couldn’t tell you.”

  “So how long were you involved with her? How long did this confrontation take?”

  He pursed his lips. “I’d say no more than ten minutes.”

  “Martin Robbins, when did he turn up?”

  “Soon afterwards, about five minutes later. Hot on her heels I’d say. He was nigh on hysterical trying to make sense of what we were telling him.

  “He’d known what Sandra intended doing. I told him he was a bloody whistleblower and a bloody fool and he’d go down with us. I’d make sure of that.”

  “So how did he behave then?”

  “All he cared about was the girl. We told him she’d come and gone and ordered him off the farm.”

  “And he left?”

  “Scarpered more like it with his tail between his legs.”

  “How long after this before the storm broke, Bell?”

  He frowned and rubbed the excuse for a moustache thoughtfully. “First noticed the thunder I think after we’d made it to bed with a slug of whisky. At least Erika did. It was nearly one o’clock.”

  “Telfer was on his way back home from his club and he phoned me just after that, and the rain was hitting the windows by then really heavy. Erika is scared of the lightning. Had to try and calm the little woman down. Shall never forget it. It was one hell of a bloody night.”

  “And Sandra Peterson’s last one, Bell.”

  Twenty-seven

  “Mrs. Bell, I would like you to tell us your version of what happened to Sandra Peterson when you discovered her on your property on Sunday night?”

  “May I smoke, Chief Inspector?” Erica Bell said as she took her seat in the room. Called in separately, like her husband she had dressed well for the occasion.

  One cool lady, Peale thought with a smile. “Sorry. This is a no smoking area, Mrs. Bell. Shan’t keep you long.

  “Sandra Peterson let herself in with Martin Robbins’s key, which he gave her to investigate the secret room on your chicken farm. And she found the parrot fledglings that were brought up and kept there. So how did you feel about this, Mrs. Bell?”

  She studied them calmly. “What do you expect me to say? That I invited her in with open arms? It was most upsetting at the time. No, I didn’t welcome her invasion of our private property. She was an uninvited intruder. She came with intent to damage our good reputation in the community.”

  “She took a film of the young birds and the records kept on them by Robbins with her camera, which you took from her when you found her there.”

  She stared them out with a smile.

  “Mrs. Bell, how did you persuade Sandra to hand it over?”

  “She had no right to be there. And I told her that. She took the film without permission to use against us. She handed it over.”

  “She was an investigating journalist, Mrs. Bell. She was feisty and used to taking risks,” Fowler said. “So I ask you again, how did you get the film from her without using force of any kind?”

  She shrugged her slim shoulders. “How do you think? Miss Peterson was sensible, young and attractive. She liked nice things and we offered her a bribe. To forget what she’d seen. Money is a good persuader, Sergeant Peale.”

  “Your husband is an ex-Army officer, Mrs. Bell. Does he keep a gun on the premises? And did he threaten her with it if she didn’t hand over the camera?”

  Fowler nodded. “I see. So this was how Sandra was persuaded to give it up. And she was sensible enough not to risk her life
. But perhaps none of this would have happened, Mrs. Bell, if only Martin had told her beforehand about the two birds he’d taken care of at home. In case something like this happened to her.” Fowler shook his head.

  “About what time did she leave?” Peale chipped in quickly.

  “Soon afterwards. I think she was more angry than frightened when she threw the film at us and rushed out.”

  “She threw it at you.”

  “Martin Robbins he came soon afterwards. He went crazy. Thought we’d hurt Sandra when he saw the film I was holding and Rollo told him it was all for nothing. Sandra had no evidence and we were getting rid of everything there.”

  “How long did he stay?”

  “Not long. A minute or two perhaps. He was difficult to deal with, he was upset. He stayed long enough for Rollo to sack him.” She shrugged. “And he rushed out. Wanted to catch up with Sandra.”

  “The thunderstorm storm, Mrs. Bell. You remember that? How long afterwards?”

  “What makes you ask that?” She bit her bottom lip. And looked visibly disturbed, “I hate them. I could not sleep with the rain and the thunder. I took a pill to sleep, Rollo had a whisky. But the thunder was very noisy. And the lightning.” She gasped. “Most frightening.”

  “And about what time would this be?”

  “About one, I would say,” she answered but looked puzzled. “May I go now?”

  “A moment or two. So what did you think when you heard about her death, Mrs. Bell?”

  “Disturbed. What else? We knew nothing of what she did or where she went afterwards. Or who killed her and put her in the field.”

  “You think she was put there, Mrs. Bell?”

  She sighed. “I do not think that a girl like Sandra would meet up with anyone in a crop circle so late at night. I think she wanted time to sort out how she was going to explain to her editor that she had no evidence.” She paused. “But I think she must have met her killer instead.”

  “We shall come to collect your husband’s gun. Or would he rather bring it in?”

  Twenty-eight

  Richard came down on the Friday for his summer holiday break and Viviane was pleased to see him. He was as curious as her about Sandra’s death.

  “Rafe Conway was her tutor, Mum. They had had an affair. He wasn’t in the Uni last weekend. He can’t have been involved,” he said when she questioned him.

  “Bob Fowler will want to know more about Conway. I couldn’t help him. Perhaps you can.”

  “I can’t help much. It was over a year ago as far as I know.”

  “Why was he texting her then?”

  “Did you know that Sandra intended to take a medical career originally, Mum? She gave up the idea half way and decided that journalism was more her mark. I was a new sprog when we first met in Bristol Uni and she was quite kind to me. She left soon after.”

  “You said that she was hard to get to know... Was she?”

  He was quiet for a movement. “She could keep her distance when necessary. She has — had — one good friend, a girl called Terri Davies. They shared a flat afterwards in Marylebone, London. She would know far more about Sandra than anyone else, I think.

  “I feel sorry for the Petersons. Sandra used to talk quite a lot sometimes about her German grandmother to me. I think that girl genuinely loved this place. I wasn’t surprised when she joined in with the protesters to protect Kilernee Hill and its sacred treasures. She was no pushover though.”

  Viviane laughed. “Oh — she most certainly wasn’t. She would fight hard for what she believed in every time. I think I can tell you now what she was really up to here. Something Martin alerted her to when he asked for help.”

  Her son listened as she filled him in. “So was Sandra killed because she got involved in this? What does Bob Fowler think about it?”

  She sighed as she dished up the chicken salad. “It’s much more complicated than that. Her death could be based on an old pagan harvest sacrifice. A fertility ritual.”

  He slurped on the orange juice he was drinking. “A pagan harvest sacrifice killing! Who are you kidding, Mum? That’s crazy!”

  “It seems that’s how she was killed. She was knocked out, stabbed and then the killer attempted to set the funeral pyre alight in the middle of that crop circle. It’s so similar to what was carried out here in the past.” He stopped eating. “It was only the storm that helped to put out the fire. She would have been a charred cinder if it not been put out by the heavy rain.”

  His face showed how disturbed he was. “I had no idea it was that bad. How on earth did it happen?”

  “We don’t know. I would have said that there are several suspects here who would have the motive to kill her.”

  “Men, I suppose. She certainly attracted them. But why was she killed? Was she assaulted? Was it rape?”

  “Apparently not. Her death appeared to resemble their pagan sacrifice thing.”

  “How on earth could it have happened?”

  Viviane couldn’t give him an answer. She went through all the possibilities with him.

  “Is there anything else you can think of that you knew about Sandra? She must have spoken about her parents sometimes.”

  He looked thoughtful. “Didn’t know how to take her really. Not that happy. She had that thing going with Rafe Conway. For a time.”

  “Was he her tutor?”

  He nodded. “Yep. He’s married. And his wife Lauren has the cash. She’s got a rich daddy. Sandra knew she was making a mistake and learnt the hard way. Got her fingers badly burnt, I think.”

  Viviane thought of the terminated pregnancy. “Has he got children?”

  “Don’t think so. No.”

  “So he won’t be coming to the funeral.”

  “Wouldn’t think so. He’s not a bad bloke, you know. But he’s not likely to risk his marriage and all that lovely lolly. The wife’s family owns a fleet of cruise ships.”

  Viviane shook her head. Poor Sandra. But she must have known that the dice was heavily loaded against her from the start.

  Twenty-nine

  A girl walked into the incident room. A small slender girl with dark curls and pretty elfin looks whose smile did incredible things to Peale as she approached him and Fowler and raised the libido of the rest of the males working in the incident room.

  “Good morning. Who’s in charge here?” she said with the attractive lilting voice that established her Welsh roots instantly.

  “Good morning. I’m DCI Fowler, miss. And you are?”

  “Terri Davies. I’m Sandra Peterson’s friend. We shared a flat in London.”

  “Thank you for coming in, Miss Davies. We would like to ask you a few questions about her.”

  “I have some questions to ask as well. First of all I would like to know what’s going on here. Have you arrested anybody?”

  Fowler smiled. “Not yet, Miss Davies.”

  Peale intervened. “It would help us, Miss Davies, if you could tell us about any recent boyfriends Sandra may have had?”

  She frowned. “Surely in such a small place like this you can’t have that many suspects.”

  “We’re working on it, Miss Davies. Did Sandra give you any reason to think that she’d made any enemies here in Lower Milton?”

  “I wouldn’t say so. She could sometimes be a bit sharp. But she was generous and kind to a fault. I came away from the Uni still in debt, and she has helped me out by paying the larger part of the rent.”

  “Really. So boyfriends, Miss Davies. Did she have any regular boyfriends?”

  “If she did, she wasn’t about to see them down here. Was she?”

  Peale thought she was being deliberately evasive, loyal to her friend still.

  “Were you surprised when she left London suddenly to come down here?”

  “She told me she was helping out an old friend, Martin Robbins?”

  “Has she ever mentioned a man to you called Rafe? Would you have known him, Miss Davies?”

  She pu
rsed her lips together tightly. “He was her tutor.”

  “Anything else. Miss Davies?”

  “He’s married. You can find him at the university.”

  “Was theirs a long standing relationship?”

  She looked as if she was going to refuse to answer this. “It was... But I don’t really know when it finished. She was especially cagey about him.”

  “Thank you, Miss Davies.”

  “So you will you be attending her funeral? You know that her parents live in the old Mill house, up river. You’ve not met them?”

  “Yes, I met her father once. He popped in at the Uni and took us out to lunch one day. A nice man I thought. He would like to spoil her but she wouldn’t let him. I saw some of his paintings displayed in a gallery. He was certainly talented. But then her mother is too.”

  “I think they will be pleased to see you, Miss Davies. Have you managed to find anywhere to stay?”

  “Yes actually, it was the Vicar, Tim Stevenson, who came to the rescue. His wife Jo invited me to stay with them at the vicarage, as I was Sandra’s friend. When I phoned them to ask the time of the funeral service. I didn’t want to trouble the Petersons.”

  Thirty

  The village was quiet, bathed in the mid day sunshine. Cameras and mikes kept well to a minimum as people out on the street and crossing the green were slowly making their way to the church. Uniforms kept the media at a distance from the churchyard. Tim Stevenson would have a full house. He had introduced speakers outside as it seemed so many wanted to take part in the service. Sandra’s friends and working colleagues had come down from London for the service.

  In the beautiful old church Viviane sat beside Richard at the back and studied all the familiar everyday faces seated in pews around her. She wondered if she was sharing the same thoughts with Bob. Was he looking for a look of remorse or fear on the face of a murderer? Was everyone there who should be? Tefler and the Bells were absent. The Browns were there, so was Jason Macey.