Mask of Innocence

by Roger Ormerod

  I thought that there could be more to it than that. Jeremy had a strangely distorted personality, I already knew, and I’d attempted to reconcile his now undeniable fraudulent activities with his frantic belief in the sanctity of fairness. It could only be that his mind separated the two fields of his convictions, but subconsciously he felt he had to flaunt his code of fairness in order to balance his flouting of professional rectitude.

  It was clearly, at that time, useless to present such a theory to Paul.

  ‘Come on...come on!’ he said wildly.

  I was scraping the frost from the car windows. ‘There’s no hurry, you know. If we’re too late, and he’s unloaded the things into the cottage, we can simply bring them back in the boot.’

  ‘It wouldn’t,’ he said, his teeth clenched, ‘be the bloody same. He’s got to be stopped. God knows what he’ll think up next.’

  I said no more about it. We got in the car, and the glass began steaming immediately. I glanced at my watch. It was eight minutes since I’d watched Jeremy disappear behind that hedgerow. He would need at least another seven or eight minutes, even if he managed to do it without collapsing.

  As I turned the car, I caught sight of Jennie, wildly waving from the front door. She, too, had thrown on something quickly, and a padded anorak on top.

  ‘Don’t waste time with her,’ said Paul tersely.

  Calmly, I halted the car, and reached back to unlatch the rear door. She clambered in.

  ‘What on earth’s he up to?’ she asked, leaning forward.

  ‘Nothing to do with you, Jen,’ said Paul shortly. ‘What d’you want to come along for?’

  She was angry with him. ‘It’s my place, isn’t it? Or it’s going to be. And that’s where he’s heading. The lodge. And with those two heavy suitcases. You don’t have to tell me — he’s got those stone faces in them. Hasn’t he?’

  She reminded me that I hadn’t taken the time to check that. I turned to Paul. ‘Did you check? In the gallery — did you put your head inside, and make sure?’

  ‘I looked in,’ he said flatly. ‘Can’t we get moving?’

  ‘Take it easy, Paul.’ I wasn’t going to be hurried, if only with the objective of making the whole expedition less tense. ‘And they’d gone? The masks?’

  ‘Stripped out. Every one of ‘em. What else could it be...we’ve got to stop him, stop him!’

  I detected the movement as Jennie slid along the seat to be behind Paul. She put a hand on his shoulder. ‘I don’t mind if they’re left there, Paul,’ she said quietly. ‘Let him do it. Let him have his bit of victory. It can’t hurt. I’ll phone Joe, and he’ll drive over and take them away. Somewhere safe.’

  Paul laughed. We were now on the move, but all the same, for him to laugh at that time, even in a flat and derisive tone, and to say what he then said, raised him several notches in my estimation.

  ‘And he’d put ‘em in an empty kennel and leave his dogs to guard ‘em!’

  ‘Can you,’ she asked quietly, ‘think of anywhere more safe?’

  And in that she was quite correct, I had to admit to myself, though the thought of around £180,000 worth of masks sitting out in an open kennel — dogs or not — was a little disconcerting. Even ludicrous.

  I saw no reason for taking it fast, in spite of Paul’s insistent, ‘Come on! Come on!’ I drifted the car along until we were opposite the rear of the cottage, and drew to a halt. They both scrambled out, leaving the doors swinging, then they raced each other for the gap in the hedge, Jennie winning by a yard as she hadn’t had to run round the car.

  ‘Take it easy!’ I shouted after them. ‘There’s barbed wire all over the place.’

  But Jennie was already leaping over tangles of it, Paul nearly abreast of her now. I took it more steadily, having a good idea what I would find, and strolled round the cottage to what had been designated the front.

  And there he was, though it was not as I’d expected.

  Jeremy was sitting on one of the suitcases, the other standing beside him. His head was hanging wearily, and he was still gasping in air. He was wearing only trainers and jeans and a T-shirt, in spite of the frost, no doubt having anticipated the difficulty of the task he had presented to himself. And it seemed to have drained him completely. His face was red, perspiration streaming down it, the T-shirt clinging to him. His elbows were on his knees, and I noticed that his hands were shaking. The other two simply stood and stared at him, their anticipations not having conjured up this exact picture.

  ‘It’s locked,’ Jeremy managed to say numbly, as though this possibility had not occurred to him. ‘The bloody door’s locked.’

  ‘There’s a spare key under the flowerpot,’ Jennie reminded him severely. That he should have succeeded in the immense task of bringing up the two suitcases, to Jennie a virtual impossibility, but had finally failed through such a minor issue as the key...this seemed to annoy her. She was disappointed in him. Jennie spread her affections far and wide, and, to her, Jeremy deserved a share. And he had fallen short of her expectations. ‘Oh really, Jerry!’

  I reached down and lifted the flowerpot, just as Jeremy spoke in a dull tone of utter defeat. ‘It’s not there.’

  There was no key under the pot.

  ‘You could’ve borrowed mine,’ Paul assured him, his voice cold. ‘Seeing you were making off with my Olmecs, you might as well have done it without all this fuss. I’d have helped you, if it means that much.’ And there was quite a sour note in his voice when he rounded off that sentence. ‘We must all bow to your stupid obsessions.’

  ‘But he’s quite right, you know,’ I said to the group. ‘The spare key’s not here.’

  ‘What?’ Paul was suddenly alert. His mind had been lagging. ‘What d’you mean? I’ve got valuable stuff in there. Valuable to me. Is the door open? Have you tried...’

  ‘D’you think I didn’t?’ asked Jeremy wearily.

  I was beginning to feel uneasy about this situation. For the first time I gave the rather flimsy front door my undivided attention. I concentrated.

  There was no handle to that door, and it naturally opened inwards. This meant that, on leaving, you would have to use the key, in the lock and half-turned, in order to draw it shut. Then you would turn the key to lock it, withdraw the key, and replace it where it had come from. Your pocket, or in this case, under the flowerpot. Then you would leave.

  Yet it wasn’t there. So — where was it?

  I turned and faced them. ‘Who’s got a spare key to this door?’

  ‘I told you — me,’ said Paul. ‘I come up here to paint.’

  ‘Jennie?’

  ‘Oh yes. I’ve got a key, of course.’

  I couldn’t see why it should be ‘of course’. She read my expression. ‘I come up to tidy it a bit for Paul. Sometimes.’

  ‘So it’s you...’ Paul burst out. ‘No wonder I can never find anything.’

  I shook my head, silencing him. ‘Something you need to know before you get married,’ I said, smiling at Jennie. ‘Never tidy for a man. We don’t like it.’

  I was trying merely to lighten the combined tension I could read in their eyes, no doubt generated by my attitude to the situation. But there was something strange — out of place — and in those circumstances I can’t prevent myself from becoming concerned.

  ‘You, Jeremy?’ I asked.

  He shrugged. ‘Never needed one. I’ve got one somewhere, I think.’

  ‘But you came all the way up here, with that weight...’

  ‘I knew there’d be one under the pot.’

  ‘But there wasn’t?’

  ‘No!’ He seemed infuriated that he should have been defeated by such a minor obstacle. By now he’d had time to recover. The flush had left his cheeks and he was breathing more normally again.

  I looked consideringly at their array of faces. They all three seemed uneasy, but that was because they couldn’t understand what was worrying me. I turned away, and considered the window beside the doo
r. It was the only window into the room, but nevertheless it was small. I went to it and attempted to see inside, but my bulk shaded it, and it was fogged with rain-cast dirt. When I drew back a little the bright sky behind me was reflected in the glass. I saw nothing.

  ‘What the hell’s all this?’ Jeremy demanded.

  ‘You might as well know, then perhaps you’ll have something to suggest. The key was there, under the flowerpot, yesterday. I saw it myself. If it’s been used since then, to open the door, and it hasn’t been put back, which would’ve been the natural thing to do, then there’s only one explanation.’ I looked at their blank faces. ‘It’s not definite, I suppose, but the odds are it means the person who used it is still inside.’

  For a few moments they were baffled, then they understood. The blood ran from Jennie’s face. Jeremy got to his feet, stumbled, and recovered, then demanded, ‘Who the hell could be inside, damn it? And why would he be lying low — when we’re here? Why?’

  ‘I don’t know that.’

  ‘Then what do we do?’ The pitch of Jeremy’s voice had risen. He was clearly exhausted, and was trembling on the edge of panic or possibly from the chill of the sweat, now cooling rapidly.

  I smiled to calm him. ‘What we do is try to confirm it, one way or the other. I want all three of you to come round to the other side — the back. All right?’

  They nodded. Jennie’s eyes were huge. ‘Me too?’ she asked, waving her arm, trying to dismiss the situation. Her imagination was leaping round all over the place.

  ‘All three,’ I said. ‘Come on. And you can leave the cases there, Jerry.’

  This was another attempt at lightening the atmosphere, but he took me seriously, shrugging his shoulders. Paul grimaced.

  I led the way to the other side of the building. Here was the flimsy door to the tiny kitchen. The other three were silent, a tight group. I said, ‘There’s not necessarily anything to worry about. Now...this is the kitchen door, Jennie?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And I suppose you remember how flimsy the bolts are? You’ll remember, you couldn’t shift them for rust?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, if you like,’ she muttered. She stared at her feet.

  ‘And it’s fastened now?’ I put a shoulder to it. It moved a fraction, but that was only the slack in the hinges. ‘Paul — come and put your shoulder against it.’

  ‘Why should I...’ He was impatient.

  ‘Just to confirm it is fastened. But don’t go too heavy at it.’ Giving Jennie a shrug, and Jeremy a lift of the eyebrows, Paul did as I’d asked. ‘So what?’ he asked.

  ‘Just to confirm it is fastened. Jennie, do you mind if I break it open?’

  ‘Mind? Me? Why me?’

  ‘You’re the closest to being the owner. I need permission, otherwise it’d be breaking and entering enclosed premises. And I want all three of you to remember exactly what I do.’

  ‘Why?’ demanded Jennie. ‘Why this daft pantomime?’

  ‘So that you’ll all three be able to confirm my actions, and why I’m taking them.’ Playing safe, really. Just in case.

  They stared at me, only now understanding that I was suspecting something strange, if not serious.

  ‘Gerron with it,’ said Paul. He was frowning. At least, he of all of us had something inside there that he considered important — his paintings — and he wasn’t too happy at the thought of somebody having trespassed on the property.

  So I leaned more heavily on the door. Nothing splintered. Simply, the bolts came away from the hasps, or rather, the hasps came out of the frame and tinkled on to the red quarry floor.

  I turned. ‘Stay where you are.’

  By this time, my seriousness had impressed itself. They nodded wanly.

  The kitchen showed no indication of having changed since I’d seen it last. The tap still dripped mournfully. The door into the sitting-room opened away from me, there being not the space for it to have opened into the kitchen. A touch of my shoulder creaked it open.

  Now I could see much more easily than I’d been able to from outside. The floor space had been completely bare when I’d last seen it, so that there was no difficulty in detecting that the bulk of a large man was spread out in the centre. He was lying face down, but with his head twisted sideways, arms and legs spread. There was a dark patch, presumably blood, but colours were difficult to detect in the poor light. It spread sideways from the head, though not extensively. Head wounds do not bleed much.

  I knelt beside him. My eyes were now becoming accustomed to the gloom, and I could detect that the side of his head, just above his left ear, was smashed in. Moving round, lowering my head as far as I could without having to support myself with my hands, I tried to examine his face. It was difficult. But, considering the bulk and the general shape, the bandy legs, the near-baldness, I was quite convinced that this was Charlie Pinson.

  The ex-gamekeeper had come home to die.

  I got to my feet and stood there, casting my eyes around and trying to impress the setting on my memory. I knew I wouldn’t get the chance again. But there was very little to see. The floor, other than for the body, was completely bare. No...there was one other item. Beside his right hand, an inch or two from his reaching fingers, there was lying a chunk of rock, still, I could just detect, with earth and bits of grass clinging to it.

  Then I had to accept grimly that I was in the presence of violent death. It had been all very well to fling my imagination around and indulge in strings of fanciful theories involving the will and its multiple effects on people’s lives. But now, abruptly, the situation had changed. This had to take precedence over paltry matters such as inheritance.

  I didn’t know how long I had been standing there, perhaps only seconds. There was still one more thing to be done. I crouched down and touched the back of Pinson’s outstretched hand.

  It was cold. Even, it seemed, colder than the air in the room, though that was impossible. But it meant to me that he’d been lying there all night.

  I straightened, and walked out to the others. They were standing in an awkward, tight group. They must have been aware, from my extended absence, that I’d found something...well...unspeakable. Yet the question was stark on each of the three faces.

  ‘It’s Charlie Pinson,’ I said flatly. ‘He’s dead, and it looks like violence.’

  Jeremy looked about, as though desperate for a suitcase to sit on. But they were round at the front.

  10

  I wanted a word with the two brothers, so the answer to one question was obvious. It was Jennie who had to return to the house.

  ‘Jennie,’ I asked, ‘do you drive?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ She seemed dazed. I didn’t know whether I could trust her to remember what I had to ask.

  ‘Then take the car — I left the keys in — and drive down to the house and call the police. Just say there’s a dead man in the cottage here. That’ll set the wheels rolling. Tell my wife, if you see her, that I’m stuck here, and why. She’ll understand. If you see your mother, Tessa, tell her, if she’s at all interested, that Pinson’s dead, and that it’ll be a police matter. If you see Mary—’

  ‘D’you think I’m a silly kid?’ she demanded, though her voice wasn’t steady. ‘I know what to do and what to say.’

  ‘Yes. I’m sure you do. Now get along with you. Oh...and bring something back for Jeremy, or he’ll get pneumonia.’

  She stripped off the anorak and tossed it to him. ‘It’s his, anyway. I just grabbed the first thing.’ Then she turned and ran to the Granada.

  I said nothing to the other two until I’d watched her get away. The drive was too narrow for her to turn the car, so she had to take it into the lane and back it round. She did it smoothly and neatly, then she was away.

  There was silence. The two others were waiting for something from me, not looking at each other but at their feet. I led the way round to the front of the cottage, aware that Jeremy had to have something to sit on. He headed straight fo
r the suitcases, and sat heavily. There were two of them. Paul didn’t avail himself of the other, but plodded around, backwards and forwards. I waited. My years in the police force had been good training in the use of patience. I wondered who would speak first.

  It was Paul. ‘Now what do we do?’ His voice was toneless. He was lost in a situation he couldn’t handle.

  ‘We do nothing. Just wait here for the police to turn up.’

  Jeremy lifted his head. ‘Why can’t we wait down at the house? It’s stupid, just hanging around here.’

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed. I lit my pipe. The smoke barely drifted in the still air, and my breath was condensing with it. ‘Very nearly as stupid as bringing a hundredweight of stone masks all the way up here, and well nigh giving yourself a heart attack from the look of you.’

  ‘Tcha!’ he said in disgust. ‘I keep myself fit.’

  ‘I’m certain you do. Physically, you’re probably Al. It’s mentally I’m doubtful about.’

  He simply scowled. We were talking to avoid discussion on the death of Charles Pinson. Nobody wanted to talk about that. But Jeremy had to justify himself.

  ‘I wanted the damned things out of the gallery. That’s all. So’s not to distract the man when he comes.’

  ‘Comes?’ I asked blankly. Playing it stupid, it’s called, a useful interrogation procedure. I was surprised to find that this was what I was doing. Not directly. Not firing off questions. Just nudging things out into the open.

  ‘When the agent can manage to get here,’ said Jeremy, not willing to specify Sotheby’s because that had originally been Paul’s suggestion, and he was unwilling to concede anything, even a thought, to Paul.

  Paul was moving around restlessly, turning his back on us, staring into the woodland as though we might have provoked movement from a hidden stag. He jerked a few angry words over his shoulder. ‘We don’t have to argue about that. They’ll be here...’ He shrugged, and was silent. He, at least, was using his common sense.

  ‘Give them time,’ I said.