by Joyce Cato
‘Sir Hugh?’ Flora hazarded.
‘Perhaps. But then again, there were people in and out of that tent before the judging even started. It might have been a villager we don’t even know about yet. No, wait a minute, that won’t wash now. Sir Hugh admits to smelling the rose just before the judging started, and he’s still in the land of the living. So unless he was lying, it must have been planted more or less at the last minute.’
‘Still, at least we’ve got somewhere to start now, sir,’ Flora said encouragingly.
Jason nodded. ‘We’ve got to find out how and when James and Ross Ferris came to an agreement about changing their judging roles,’ he mused. ‘I’ve got a feeling it might be important.’
Flora didn’t quite see why, but she wasn’t about to argue with a superior who had a clearance rate as high as Jason Dury’s.
‘We’ll have Ferris in now, I think,’ Jason said, his pale blue eyes glittering. ‘It should be interesting to see what he has to say for himself.’
CHAPTER 13
After all they’d heard about him, their first actual sight of Ross Ferris came, perhaps naturally enough, as something of an anticlimax, although there was just a whispered hint of something out of the ordinary about him. A miasma of power, perhaps. He had blond hair well cut, and a good enough looking face in a heavy, portentous sort of way. His clothes and accessories must have run very nearly into four figures.
He looked very much like what he was, Flora thought archly – a rich, self-important, self-made man.
‘Please, take a seat, Mr Ferris,’ Jason ordered him crisply.
Ross had been doing assessments of his own, and the man in front of him looked every bit competent enough to be in charge of a murder investigation. And the fact that there was no respect whatsoever in the ice-cold blue eyes looking him over was something that Ross found particularly unforgivable. He was used to being treated with far more cautious awareness than this policeman was affording him.
Restlessly, his gaze turned to the female officer, and his grey eyes widened appreciatively. Now she was quite a looker.
‘Thank you,’ he said, taking a seat as if he were doing them all a great favour. ‘I must say, I don’t appreciate being told that I can’t leave this damned playing field. Isn’t that illegal imprisonment, Sergeant?’ he demanded, holding the younger man’s pale blue gaze in a blatantly obvious power struggle.
Jason merely smiled. ‘It’s Chief Inspector, Mr Ferris,’ he corrected him mildly. ‘And no it isn’t.’
Acknowledging that locking horns with this man would accomplish nothing, Ross merely linked his hands over his knees and stared at Jason with a bored expression, a bare smile lifting the corners of his fleshy lips.
Jason felt antagonism stir within him, and quickly crushed it. No doubt that was just what Ross Ferris wanted. If you could rile a man, you could distract him and dictate the terms of a conversation. Jason had no intention of letting Ross Ferris play his little games here.
‘Now, sir, if you can tell me how you came to be judging the dahlias this year, and not the roses as everyone supposed, I’d be much obliged,’ Jason said, with such sardonic politeness that it was Ross’s turn to grit his teeth in anger.
Ross sighed. ‘Really, as if that could in any way be relevant, Inspector—’
‘Chief Inspector,’ Jason interrupted him blandly.
Ross smiled wolfishly. ‘Chief Inspector,’ he repeated drolly. ‘If that’s a sample of the kind of questions you’re going to ask, I must say I’m rather disappointed. What on earth can it possibly matter what class of flower I was judging? And why are we going through all this rigmarole for a vicar who died of a heart attack anyway?’
Jason stopped himself from smiling in anticipation. Never-theless, he was certainly going to enjoy this. ‘Firstly, sir, who said that James Davies died of a heart attack?’ As Ross’s mouth dropped open, he added silkily, ‘And what class of flower you were judging, and why, is vitally important, or I wouldn’t have wasted my time asking you. Now, Mr Ferris, answer the question please,’ he added, a definite warning bite to his voice now.
Ross’s wide grey eyes narrowed cunningly. ‘You’re treating his death as suspicious then, Inspector?’
Jason began to feel like killing Ross Ferris himself.
‘It’s Chief Inspector. And yes. We’re treating the death of James Davies as suspicious in the extreme,’ Jason gritted.
Ross leaned back in the chair, making it creak. ‘In that case, perhaps I should call my lawyer.’
He was only doing it to be obstructive, Jason realized that at once, but two could play at that game.
‘Oh?’ he leaned forward, suddenly looking keen. ‘Are you admitting then that you have reason to be worried, Mr Ferris? Did you have a grudge against the vicar of this parish by any chance?’
Ross jerked upright, his hands falling apart, and totally losing his carefully created image of amused observer. ‘What? No, of course not. I hardly knew the man,’ he blustered.
‘I see. Do you know of any reason why anyone should want to kill Reverend Davies?’
‘Of course not. The man was totally harmless,’ Ross said scornfully.
‘And yet he was murdered, Mr Ferris. By a tiny exploding gas capsule containing cyanide.’ Even now he had trouble describing the method of murder without feeling like he’d stepped into a James Bond film. It obviously had the same effect on Ross Ferris, for he suddenly burst out laughing.
‘What?’ he barked scornfully.
Jason smiled. ‘I know – sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? But we found the remains of just such a device secreted in a rose head.’
Ferris slowly felt himself growing cold. ‘In a rose, you say?’ he asked, his voice suddenly croaking hoarsely. He nervously flicked out a thick pink tongue to run over his dry lips. His eyes darted to Flora, then away again, his gaze flickering around the tent as if searching for answers in the bland canvas awnings.
‘Yes, Mr Ferris,’ Jason said succinctly, and with distinct pleasure. ‘In a rose. The class of flower that you, and not the vicar, were set to judge. In fact, every person I’ve spoken to so far was sure that you were judging the roses this year. Sir Hugh tells me that a list of judges was even sent out in a newsletter to every house in the parish just a few weeks ago. So perhaps you can tell me how it came about that when the judging started, you were at the dahlia table instead?’ he asked sweetly.
By now, Ross Ferris was quite white. ‘You think that someone meant to kill me, don’t you?’ he demanded, his pupils dilating in shock, his voice coming out in a bare squeak.
‘Either that, or you planted the capsule in the roses in order to kill James Davies, and then convinced him to swap places with you so that you could judge his class of flower in complete safety,’ Jason said calmly, watching him carefully.
With a wave of his hand, Ross Ferris dismissed the idea, apparently without even thinking about it. And then he blinked. Twice. ‘Wait a minute. This … capsule. It must have been tiny, like you said. Microscopic, almost.’
‘It was.’
‘And it was filled with cyanide gas, you say? How was it activated?’ He was leaning forward now, the colour flooding back. He was breathing fast, obviously a man under extreme stress and excitement.
‘Our experts believe some chemical in human breath probably triggered it,’ Jason said reluctantly. ‘But until they can run proper tests, that hasn’t yet been proven.’
‘Trenning,’ Ross Ferris said flatly, leaning back once more in his chair, a hard, ugly look crossing his face. ‘It could only have been made by Gordon Trenning, one of my top people. Only he had the right mix of expertise in both gas and micro-technology. You have to arrest him right away.’
Jason watched the conflicting emotions cross the other man’s face – fear, anger, and, finally, a sort of reluctant admiration. ‘Who’d have thought he’d have had the guts,’ Ferris murmured, shaking his head in disbelief.
‘And who exactly is Gord
on Trenning?’ Jason asked, as innocent as a lamb.
Ferris snorted. ‘The man who made that capsule, that’s who,’ he snarled. ‘The man who tried to kill me. And I want him arrested, now!’ he finished, his voice decibel level rising dramatically.
‘That might prove rather difficult, Mr Ferris,’ Jason said mildly.
‘Oh?’ Ferris shot out the word challengingly, and leaned forward aggressively in his chair. ‘And why’s that? Did you let him get away?’ he sneered. ‘Don’t tell me. He’s done a runner, and you let him,’ he snorted disgustedly.
‘No, Mr Ferris. Dr Gordon Trenning isn’t going anywhere.’ And much as it annoyed him, he was sure that the puzzled and frustrated look that crossed the businessman’s face was perfectly genuine.
‘I don’t understand,’ Ross said, a shade more cautiously now. He was beginning to think that this fresh-faced copper was playing him for a fool, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit. He was sure to know someone who both owed him a favour and who knew the Chief Constable. When he got back home, he’d soon arrange for a rocket to be lit under the bum of Chief Inspector Jason bloody Dury.
‘I’m telling you, only Gordon Trenning could have done this,’ he snarled, frustration making him go puce in the face. ‘He is brilliant in his field, and—’
‘Oh yes, I’m sure you’re right,’ Jason interrupted, anxious not to get lost in techno-babble again.
‘Then it’s obvious that he must have made the damned thing,’ Ross yelped. ‘So why can’t you arrest him and get this over with?’ He was all but huffing indignation now, and Jason was pleased to see that it made all his good looks vanish.
‘Because he’s dead, Mr Ferris,’ he said flatly.
For a few long seconds there was total silence in the tent.
Then, ‘What? What did you say?’ Ross Ferris croaked.
‘He’s dead.’
‘When?’
‘A matter of an hour or so ago.’
‘Here?’
‘Yes. Here.’
The grey eyes flickered. ‘He was … killed?’
‘Yes.’
‘Like … like the vicar?’
‘No.’
‘Oh.’
It was quite a sight to see, Ross Ferris demoralized and bewildered, Jason mused. ‘Now, if you’d just answer some more questions. Sir Hugh tells us that he passed the display of roses, and bent to smell and handle the display of Peace. Did you see him do this?’ Jason would feel better once he’d got this little snippet of information confirmed by a (more or less) unbiased witness.
‘Yes. As a matter of fact I did notice him by the roses,’ Ross said, a little too hastily. ‘You think he and Gordon were in it together? That Sir Hugh planted the capsule then?’
Jason smiled. ‘Now why should he do that, Mr Ferris?’
Ross flushed angrily. Now he was sure this copper was playing games with him. ‘Oh come on. You must know by now. Both Trenning and that old duffer had reason to hate my guts.’ He said it as if it was something to be proud of, rather than the reverse.
No doubt, for all his life Ross had been trampling over people and expecting nothing less than rancour and repugnance in response. He must have grown a hide inches thick, Jason mused. ‘So I’ve heard,’ he agreed calmly, the mocking tone of his voice going straight over Ross’s head.
‘Well, there you go then. Why don’t you arrest him?’
‘Who?’
By now Ross was on the point of blowing his top altogether, and Flora felt like getting up and applauding her boss. He was by far one of the best wind-up merchants she’d ever come across. And after years in the police force, that was really saying something.
‘Sir Hugh, of course!’ Ross yelped. ‘It’s obvious that he must have planted the capsule. He and Trenning were in it together. Trenning made the capsule, Sir Hugh planted it, thinking I’d be killed, and then he killed Trenning to shut him up.’
Jason shook his head patiently. The fact that he’d just repeated their current top theory was beside the point. ‘Well, that’s one way of looking at it, Mr Ferris,’ he said mildly, as if humouring a child. ‘But you still haven’t told me how it was that the Reverend Davies came to be judging the roses in the first place,’ Jason reminded him.
‘Oh what the hell does that matter?’ Ross all but yelled. He took a deep breath and made an obvious effort to bring his temper under control. Until he did, it was obvious he was not going to be able to regain the upper hand.
He began, in a much more reasonable tone, to explain himself. ‘I happened to be in the tea tent when Mrs Davies told me that her husband was going to have a hard time judging his class this year. It was by far the largest entry and according to local gossip it was going to be particularly contentious, with several contestants expecting to get the top prize. I thought a vicar might find it hard to tread on so many people’s toes, so I thought I’d find him and offer to swap; the roses are much easier to judge. I thought I was doing him a favour, that’s all.’
Jason had to hand it to him. He’d said that with almost total conviction and innocence.
‘I see,’ he said flatly. ‘And you told Mrs Davies about this sudden attack of altruism of yours?’
Ross, this time, began to look slightly uncomfortable. ‘Well, no. I mean, I didn’t think of it at the time. I just got my tea and left. But later, when I saw the vicar, I remembered what she’d said and approached him.’
‘I see. And was he … er … pleased about your offer to take the terrible dahlias off him?’ Jason asked sardonically.
Ross flushed. ‘Yes, as a matter of fact he was,’ he lied boldly.
Jason nodded. ‘And who heard you making these arrangements to swap with the vicar?’
‘No one. We were alone at the time.’
‘In a crowded field? Surely someone could have overheard you?’ Jason pressed.
‘No. We had a spot to ourselves.’
Jason’s eyes glinted knowingly. ‘I see.’
Ross saw too. Say what you liked about him, Jason thought grimly, the man had brains, and saw at once the significance of what that private chat with the late James Davies had meant. No one could have known that he and James had swapped, so everyone thought it would still be him who’d be judging the roses. Jason checked the businessman for signs of overt panic, and couldn’t see any. Obviously, he was a cool customer under fire. Which was a little unexpected, perhaps, but was it significant?
Could he have put two and two together much sooner, and then killed Gordon Trenning to ensure that his employee never got another chance to try to murder him? A nice little case of retroactive self-defence that would have been!
Jason considered Ross Ferris a little harder. He certainly had a temper. And he was obviously a man who could keep his head and think fast under fire. And Jason wouldn’t put it past him to act as judge, jury, and executioner – especially where his own safety was concerned. So far, he’d been thinking along the lines that the person who’d killed James Davies had also killed Gordon Trenning. But was there really any evidence for that? The killings, when you came to study them, were so vastly different. James Davies’s death smacked of premeditation. Careful planning. Cunning. Gordon Trenning’s murder, on the other hand, had all the hallmarks of a hasty, opportunistic killing – a quick bash over the head with something blunt and hard when nobody was looking.
Jason sighed. He had to admit that the thought of being able to arrest Ross Ferris was tempting.
Realizing that Flora and Ross were staring at him, both almost able to hear the wheels turning in his head, Jason forced himself to concentrate.
‘Can you think of anyone else who might want you dead, Mr Ferris?’ he asked, making it sound as if he expected the man to come up with a list at least twenty strong.
Ross, picking up on it, angrily opened his mouth to deny it, and then a sudden, thoughtful look took over. ‘Well, yes as a matter of fact, I do know of someone else,’ he was forced to admit quietly. ‘And
she’s here today,’ he added. ‘But she wouldn’t have the guts,’ he scoffed, and shook his head. Then his eyes narrowed in more ominous thought. ‘Or would she? I thought the little witch had showed up just to embarrass me, and try a spot of blackmail, but perhaps… . Yes, and I saw her talking to Trenning earlier on,’ he continued excitedly, leaning forward in his chair once more.
‘Mr Ferris,’ Jason interrupted, his voice as sweet as honey. ‘Perhaps, under the circumstances, you might care to share your thoughts with us. Who exactly are you talking about?’
Ross smiled grimly. ‘Certainly, Inspector. It’s my wife. Or soon to be ex-wife, I should say. Melissa. What’s more, as I said, she’s actually here at the fete. Although she shouldn’t be. She’s no longer resident in the village, and I doubt very much that anyone would have gone out of their way to invite her. She must have just remembered the fete was today and decided to come.’
‘Is that so surprising?’ It was Flora who slipped in the question, unable to prevent herself.
Ross snorted. ‘If you knew Melissa, you’d think so. We’re separated and she’s currently living in London. She hates and loathes the countryside and Caulcott Green in particular. When she left, she swore never to grace us with her presence again. I’d have said wild horses wouldn’t have been able to drag her to an event so bucolic and unimportant as this.’
‘But you’re sure that she’s here?’ Jason asked sharply.
‘Oh yes. Positive. I haven’t spoken to her, but I’ve seen her around once or twice. Believe me, she’s rather hard to miss.’
‘And you’re going through the process of a divorce? From the way you’ve been talking, I take it that it’s not a particularly amicable process?’ Jason added drolly.