Scaring Crows

by Priscilla Masters

  ‘And was that the rug Aaron Summers’ body was found lying across?’

  Colclough did this, pretended to be ignorant of the facts. And then when you felt you had to spell out everything ... everything... he would trot out some seemingly insignificant detail that proved he knew the case. Knew it back to front, forwards and backwards. He could trip the unwary up.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And what about this artist fellow?’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘The sculptor who lived in that derelict windmill sort of place in the wood. What sort of contact did he have with the family?’

  ‘Not much ...’

  ‘I suppose he was friendly with the farmer’s daughter too.’

  ‘He knew her.’ she said. ‘He’s admitted to nothing more.’

  Mentally she was still cursing Colclough’s thirst for detailed knowledge so early on in the case. And it proved to her how little she knew about anybody.

  They both glanced across at the board. The photos of Ruthie had been blown up. Her face stared out at them dumbly. Mothershaw’s hand was clearly visible, resting on her shoulder. Colclough’s eyes seemed to stick on the hand.

  He knew.

  ‘I’d be very suspicious of this sculptor fellow, Piercy. Artists, crimes of passion. Strangers in their midst. You know what havoc townies can cause in these rural communities.’

  She almost laughed. ‘I can’t see him pulling the trigger, sir.’

  Colclough’s eyes bored holes into her. ‘Like him, do you, Piercy?’

  She shifted uncomfortably. ‘I don’t think he’s guilty although I agree with you that he probably is not unconnected.’

  ‘What the hell do you mean, not unconnected?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir. I simply feel that his presence could have been the catalyst for subsequent events.’

  But she did know. She had put her finger on the throbbing pulse of the case. Colclough was right. Strangers could cause havoc in isolated rural communities, like this.

  Colclough was still studying her. ‘And relationships within the family?’

  ‘Good – by all accounts. Brother and sister were devoted.’

  ‘And father and daughter?’

  ‘I’ve heard no one say anything to the contrary. They seem to have been a close-knit family. There has been no suggestion that there was anything within the family that led to the shootings.’

  ‘So what did?’

  Joanna had no answer.

  Quite abruptly Colclough looked bored, hot, ready to leave.

  ‘Check the whole thing out, Piercy. That’s my advice. Check everything. And don’t trust people.’

  She thanked him for the advice.

  ‘Oh – and all leave is cancelled until further notice.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Mentally her heart gave a little skip. She had the perfect excuse for seeing nothing of Miss Eloise. The child could have her father all to herself until the case was solved or scaled down. But the nasty, nagging little voice refused to remain silent. ‘You won’t be able to avoid Eloise when you and Matthew are living together. She will be there when you wake up in the morning, when you return home from work at night. She will be there if you have to visit the bathroom in the middle of the night. And if she can’t sleep one night Matthew will leave your bed and go to his daughter.’

  It was a future she was reluctant to face.

  8.30 a.m.

  She watched Mike’s car turn around in the yard before approaching him and sticking her head in through the window. ‘Congratulations,’ she said. ‘You’ve just managed to miss Colclough.’

  He climbed out and locked the door. ‘And what did he think?’

  ‘Not very impressed so far. I think he thinks we’re being a bit slow.’

  Never at his best first thing in the morning Mike grunted.

  Inside the Incident Room the telephone was ringing. Joanna picked it up. ‘Are we ready to tackle Shackleton?’ she asked. ‘Because he wants to make a statement.’

  Mike’s eyes gleamed. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘At the station.’

  ‘Tell them to give us twenty minutes to get down there,’ he said, ‘and a long, blank tape.’

  They found Shackleton in the waiting room. He stood up nervously as they entered. He had lost weight since they had last seen him. And he looked as though he hadn’t slept much either.

  ‘Have you found out anything yet?’

  Joanna felt some sympathy for the man. He had known the family well. She had not. Hers was not an emotional involvement in the case but a professional one. She had often considered the painful role for relatives and friends in murder cases. And judging by the raw grief in Dave Shackleton’s face he was still suffering.

  They led him into an interview room and switched on the tape.

  He began talking straight away. ‘Have you not found Ruthie?’

  She studied his open, sunburnt face and answered evasively. ‘Nothing definite. But our investigations have turned up various relevant facts.’ It was time to play rough. ‘Facts we’re certain will have a bearing on the case. For instance, Mr Shackleton, why didn’t you tell us you were having a relationship with Ruthie?’

  He flushed a deep, embarrassed red. ‘I weren’t,’ he said. ‘I mean – I was fond of her. Really fond of her. I’m not denying that. I did like her a lot. But she weren’t interested in me.’

  ‘Not ever?’

  Shackleton looked even more uncomfortable.

  Joanna picked up the thread. ‘So she was interested in you – until someone else came along.’

  ‘No, no,’ he protested. ‘It weren’t like that. There was no one else.’ There was a short pause while he thought. ‘I’m sure. I’m sure. It were Jack.’

  Korpanski pounced on his words like a cat on a mouse. ‘Are you suggesting she was having an incestuous relationship with her own brother?’

  ‘N-No ...’ Shackleton stammered. ‘It-it-I-I didn’t mean that.’

  ‘So what did you mean?’

  He turned to Joanna gratefully. ‘Having to watch him all the time. He was getting worse, you see. More violent. More difficult for Ruthie to manage. She weren’t free.’

  ‘To marry you? Are you suggesting that Jack Summers was a bar to you marrying his sister?’ The cobra in Mike’s voice would have paralysed a harder, tougher man than Shackleton.

  ‘No – No.’

  ‘You would have liked to have married Ruthie, wouldn’t you, Shackleton? Nice farm, Hardacre. Worth a bit. And she was a pretty girl.’

  ‘I had no designs.’

  ‘So was it your baby she was carrying?’

  Shackleton looked astounded. ‘Ruthie...? Ruthie ...? A baby?’ He dropped his face into his hands. ‘I never knew,’ he said, hugging his arms. ‘I never knew. I – loved Ruthie. We all did. She was light as thistledown, graceful as a flower. You don’t understand, you police. She was lovely, beautiful. Good. And gentle. If you had seen her tending those animals you would know.’

  Again that image, a girl, herding cows, singing ... singing. Shooting ... Shooting?

  ‘And she had the most terrible conscience about Jack. Knew it was her fault he was like he was. Blamed herself. Never stopped blaming herself.’

  And Shackleton still didn’t realize it. He had had the perfect motive for wanting to wipe Jack Summers off the face of the earth and thus free Rapunzel from her castle.

  The two police officers exchanged glances.

  ‘You’d better tell us everything, Shackleton,’ Joanna said. ‘Everything you know.’

  And the questions became even more direct.

  ‘When did you last see Ruth Summers?’

  Shackleton licked dry lips. ‘I don’t know. About a month.’

  Mike towered over him. ‘Think.’

  ‘Middle of June.’

  ‘Didn’t you think it strange that the girl had vanished?’

  Again Shackleton’s eyes held that haunted, hunted look. ‘Yes,’ he
said finally. ‘I did. I thought it was very peculiar. Because Ruthie was always there.’

  ‘Did you ask her father and brother what had happened to her?’

  Shackleton nodded and Joanna had to ask him to speak into the tape recorder, which elicited a soft ‘yes’.

  ‘And what did they say?’

  ‘Silly things. They’d say she was out the back when I knew she weren’t. Or they’d say she’d gone shopping when the Landrover was parked up. They were lying.’

  Joanna gave Mike another swift glance. So Aaron and Jack had tried to cover up Ruthie’s absence. Why? And where had she been? Missing for weeks before the murders.

  There had to be a connection.

  They pressed Shackleton for more.

  ‘I been visiting that farm for fifteen years,’ Shackleton said. ‘And there was something unusual going on. But I didn’t know what. How could I? They didn’t confide in me. They shut me out.’

  ‘Did you ever attend the local cattle market?’

  ‘Sometimes. Occasionally. If my round was finished early I’d go along, out of interest, see what the animals was fetching.’

  Mike bent over him. ‘It must have been quite a pipe dream for you,’ he said, ‘thinking that one day, if you played your cards right, you might even own your own farm, buy and sell your own animals.’

  Shackleton shifted uncomfortably on the hard chair.

  ‘When did you last go to market?’

  ‘Middle of June.’

  ‘Do you mean June 10th or June 17th?’

  ‘I can’t be sure. One or the other.’

  ‘And did you see Ruthie then?’

  Shackleton thought for a moment. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No. She weren’t there.’

  ‘And the week before that?’

  Shackleton smiled. The memory must have been conjured up. ‘I remember now,’ he said. ‘I saw her June 10th. Because she were teasing me about it being my birthday a couple of days later. Said she’d keep me some eggs.’

  Joanna nibbled her thumbnail. Those bloody eggs again.

  ‘And the following week?’

  Again Shackleton needed to think about it. ‘No,’ he said. ‘She weren’t there.’

  ‘Thank you. Now tell me about Martin Pinkers and the missing cows.’

  Shackleton flushed. ‘We had no proof,’ he said. ‘I can’t point the finger when I don’t know.’

  ‘But Aaron Summers thought Pinkers had taken the bull. He went there.’

  Shackleton ran his fingers through his springy dark hair. ‘And that was a disaster,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’ Mike was playing the innocent.

  Shackleton looked from one to the other uneasily.

  Joanna smiled. ‘Because Pinkers threatened them with a gun, didn’t he?’

  Shackleton looked relieved. ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘And then a few months later both Aaron and Jack are found shot.’

  Shackleton said nothing.

  ‘Do you think Pinkers carried out his threat?’

  Dave Shackleton looked confused. ‘I did wonder,’ he began. ‘But I went there, didn’t I? I went there to tell him about the shootings and to use his phone. I can’t have thought he did it, can I? Or I wouldn’t have gone.’ He was looking to Joanna for reassurance. But she couldn’t give it to him. Instead she let the silence grow. Sometimes silence elicited more facts than questions. Silence was uncomfortable. People would speak to break it.

  So she let the silence hover for a couple of minutes while both she and Mike stared at Shackleton. Then suddenly she put her arms on the desk and leant forward. ‘Now tell me about Tuesday morning,’ she said quietly.

  Shackleton swallowed. ‘I was doing my round,’ he said slowly, ‘as I do every morning. I collect the milk from four farms. Hardacre was the third. I always leave Fallowfield until last.’ He grimaced. ‘Pinkers can be awful late with the milking. I often have to wait for him to finish.’

  ‘Tell us about the four farms.’

  ‘Firstly I call at Wheatsheaf,’ Shackleton said. ‘That’s farther out on the Buxton road. Then secondly I go to the Rowans’ place.’

  Joanna interrupted. ‘Did you see Mr Rowan that morning?’

  ‘Not him.’ Shackleton gave a shrug. ‘He has all sorts of people to do his work for him. Doesn’t like getting his hands dirty. Or his poncie shirts.’

  ‘Bit of a ladies’ man?’ Mike put in.

  The comment seemed to put Shackleton at his ease. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘He does fancy himself something rotten.’

  Joanna waited patiently before continuing. ‘So to get to Hardacre from the Rowans’ you must have passed Fallowfield.’

  Shackleton nodded.

  ‘Did you see Martin Pinkers there?’

  ‘I heard the milking machine. I didn’t actually see him. He must have been in the sheds.’ Shackleton was fidgeting with his hands, pressing his fingers together, bleaching them white, displaying his tension. Joanna listened intently.

  ‘Anyway – I drove past Fallowfield into the Hardacre drive but the lane was blocked with cows. I couldn’t understand what was happening. They hadn’t been milked. Their udders were full. Some of them were dribbling. And the machine was quiet.’ He shivered. ‘Like a ghost town the place was,’ he said. ‘No sound at all. No tractors busy around the field, no machinery, nothing but the blasted cows runnin’ riot.’ He frowned. ‘I knew something was wrong when nobody came out to meet me. Before I went inside the farmhouse I knew something terrible must have happened.’

  ‘What was your guess?’ Joanna asked curiously.

  Shackleton sucked in a long, deep breath. ‘I tried to make myself believe they’d overslept.’

  He was evading the question but they let him carry on. He would answer all before he left. There was something open and honest about the ruddy face. Shackleton would not be good at concealing either facts or emotions. Or so Joanna thought.

  ‘Carry on, Mr Shackleton,’ she prompted.

  ‘I parked the tanker up by the milking sheds, where I normally go. I still hoped that either Aaron or Jack would be in the milking sheds. Perhaps the machinery was broken down.’

  But Joanna was convinced Shackleton had not thought this at all. She caught his eye and straightaway Shackleton flushed a deep, tomato red. He’d been found out.

  ‘Then I went to the farmhouse.’

  ‘I suppose you hoped you’d see Ruthie there?’

  After a pause Shackleton nodded – briefly.

  ‘The door to the porch was standing open.’ He started gulping again as though short of air.

  ‘Was the door wide open or ajar?’

  ‘Wide open. The weather was hot. They were glad of any breeze. It was always standing open – except when they were out. Then they closed it.’

  This, Joanna knew, was true.

  ‘So the gun would have been clearly visible to whoever came to the front door?’

  ‘To get some air through.’ Shackleton flushed. ‘You don’t understand. They didn’t think about the gun. To you police it’s really important.’

  ‘It turned out to be of significance to them,’ Joanna commented drily.

  ‘They just forgot about it. It meant nothing to them.’

  ‘Until somebody came to pay them a call, picked it up and blasted the pair of them through the chest.’

  Shackleton worked his chin.

  ‘Go on,’ she said.

  ‘I saw Aaron first. At least I saw his feet. Sticking up. One boot on. Then I saw Jack sitting against the wall with that ... that’ Shackleton’s eyes were filled with pity, with pain and with disgust. ‘With that big hole in him. There was blood everywhere. And such a smell. A sick, sweet scent. And flies. They were everywhere. Like an old-fashioned butcher’s shop before they had those funny blue lights in them.’

  And Joanna was vividly reminded of the swarming bluebottles in the pretty, jewelled lights of the Victorian porch, so deceitfully like the stained-glass windows of an ancient chu
rch, the sunshine streaming in over the muddy Wellington boots, the umbrella stand.

  ‘Did you see anyone else around?’

  Shackleton’s head jerked up, his face guarded. ‘Who do you mean? I would have told you if I had seen anyone.’

  ‘Would you?’ Joanna murmured. ‘Would you have mentioned if you had seen someone simply near the farm, perhaps on the footpath?’

  ‘I didn’t notice,’ Shackleton said quickly.

  ‘Just think, Mr Shackleton. Think. Anyone? Anyone at all?’

  Shackleton’s eyes were wide open. ‘I didn’t see any one,’ he said slowly.

  ‘So what did you see?’

  ‘A dog,’ Shackleton said, bemused. ‘I saw a dog.’

  ‘Do you mean one of the farm dogs?’

  Shackleton shook his head slowly. ‘No,’ he said. ‘That’s the point. It wasn’t one of the farm dogs. It wasn’t Noah and it wasn’t Pinkers’ mangy old hound.’ Dave Shackleton was getting excited now. ‘It was an Alsatian,’ he said. ‘Loose, sniffing along the lane.’

  ‘Was it with anyone?’

  ‘It didn’t have to be,’ Shackleton said excitedly. ‘I know whose dog it is. And it never goes out alone.’

  ‘So whose dog is it?’

  ‘I don’t know his name but I’ve often seen him on that walk.’

  ‘What does he look like?’

  ‘He’s a big man. Tall, big stomach. He always wears those long shorts, down to the knees.’

  Joanna smothered a smile. ‘Bermudas?’

  “That’s right. And they’re always really brightly coloured. And he wears a T-shirt, usually white with some writing on it.’

  ‘And you saw the dog when you drove into Hardacre Farm that morning?’ Joanna gave Mike a swift, excited glance. It was the first real break.

  Shackleton leant across the desk. ‘I did,’ he said, ‘and I’m perfectly sure. I know it was that very morning because I can remember fretting the dog’d chase some of the cows.’

  ‘Do you know where the man lives?’

  ‘No – somewhere in the town.’ Shackleton paused to think. ‘I’ve a fancy I’ve seen the dog somewhere near the supermarket.’

  Joanna turned aside to Mike. ‘Get that description out,’ she said sharply. ‘No one fitting that description has come forward to say they were in the vicinity of Hardacre that morning.’