Death at Coombe Farm

by Phillip Strang

  Chapter 14

  The publican in Coombe was pleased to see Tremayne and Clare. ‘My first customers of the night,’ he said. Clare looked at her watch; it was after seven in the evening.

  ‘Business slow?’ Tremayne said.

  ‘About average. It got a little busier when Old Ted and Gordon’s wife died, local gossip, but after that, it’s quietened down. I saw you over the road with the vicar. Any news there?’

  ‘News or gossip?’

  ‘One and the same,’ the publican said. For a man going out of business, he still remained cheerful.

  ‘The vicar is helping us with our inquiries, that’s all.’

  ‘In the back of a police car, not likely. Is he the murderer?’

  ‘No. What do you know about him?’

  ‘He came here about nine or ten years ago. He’s popular in the village, not one of those fire-breathing, rot in hell types. He’d come in here, have a pint, as well as coaching the local football team, not that they’re any good. I reckon a one-legged man could outtackle half of them, but they’re keen, so’s the vicar. Is he coming back?’

  ‘Not tonight.’

  ‘Any night?’

  ‘You ask too many questions,’ Tremayne said. ‘What are you like on answers?’

  ‘It depends.’

  ‘Dr Fletcher, when he lived here, what sort of man was he?’

  ‘That’s before my time. They had gone before I got here.’

  ‘I would have thought us taking the vicar away would have brought the gossips in.’

  ‘Maybe later when you’ve given me something.’

  ‘We’re not here to keep you informed. We’re here as police officers investigating a murder,’ Tremayne said. ‘What do you reckon? Who do you think could have killed two people?’

  ‘Anyone of the Selwoods.’

  ‘Marge Selwood said she wasn’t a good shot.’

  ‘Telescopic sights and it doesn’t matter, does it?’

  ‘Do you think she killed Old Ted and then her daughter-in-law?’

  Tremayne chose not to answer the publican’s question. There was a man of the cloth at Bemerton Road; he needed to be interviewed. He and Yarwood had one drink before heading back to the police station. Outside, a group of villagers were assembled. ‘You’ve no right to arrest the vicar,’ one of them said.

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘Molly Dempsey.’

  ‘And why shouldn’t we have arrested him?’

  ‘If he was taking shots at Claude Selwood, he had every right. Mr Selwood, he was a bad man, always interfering in this village, wanting to tell us how to live our lives.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘There’s a plan to build low-cost housing in the village. Mr Selwood, he was all for it, but none of us wanted it.’

  ‘This is the first we’ve heard of it.’

  ‘Why? His wife knew about it.’

  ‘And how do you know what we’ve arrested the vicar for?’

  ‘This is a small village. News travels.’

  And nosey people are everywhere, Clare thought. It was apparent that their conversation with the vicar had been overheard.

  ‘There are laws in this country. Are you suggesting we should ignore it and let the vicar go free?’

  ‘Yes. Reverend Walston was supporting us against the Selwoods.’

  ‘Are they all the same as the father?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Assembled before Tremayne and Yarwood, five women, one man, and all of them drawing their pensions. Clare realised that the people who stood between Tremayne and herself, although not in a menacing way, were the sort of people who would resist progress at any cost. In the past, the transition from horse-drawn to motorised, candlelight to electricity, the corner store to the supermarket, yet all had come, and the world had not stopped rotating on its axis.

  Tremayne and Clare sidestepped the people and left the village. ‘Funny bunch,’ Tremayne said as they drove away.

  ‘Small village, frightened of change. Hardly a reason to take pot shots at Claude Selwood.’

  At the police station, they grabbed a quick bite to eat. Afterwards, the interview room and the vicar, his dog collar prominently displayed.

  ‘Reverend Walston, you’ve been charged with aggravated assault with a deadly weapon.’

  ‘An air rifle hardly constitutes a deadly weapon.’

  ‘A debatable point of law,’ Tremayne said. ‘Regardless, shooting Claude Selwood is a criminal offence, which resulted in the man’s death.’

  ‘I didn’t intend to kill him.’

  ‘What about the horse?’ Clare said.

  ‘I meant no harm.’

  ‘Then why? Didn’t you realise that in time we would discover you?’

  ‘I did what was necessary.’

  Clare could see that Tremayne was frustrated. The Reverend Walston was meant to be an upholder of right over wrong in the village of Coombe, not someone who committed a criminal offence. And then, there were the villagers who felt his actions were justified.

  ‘We were waylaid by Molly Dempsey,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘She is one of my flock.’

  ‘Another person who believes you had a right to take shots at Selwood.’

  ‘I was doing the Lord’s work.’

  ‘And when did the Lord agree with you breaking the law?’

  ‘Claude Selwood had no right to control our lives. He had no right to tell me what to preach. No right to buy up property in the village or to build cheap housing.’

  ‘Why? It’s a free world. If he had the money and people were willing to sell, then what’s wrong.’

  ‘The local people disagreed with the new development.’

  ‘We had never heard about it before. Are you sure it wasn’t only the group we met? And besides, any new building would require planning permission.’

  ‘They would give it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Money talks.’

  ‘Are you assuming there would be corruption? Coombe is stagnating, you know that. The pub’s about to go out of business. You probably get very few people in your church.’

  ‘I appreciate the old ways,’ Walston said.

  ‘But you’re a young man,’ Clare said.

  ‘I’ve found peace in Coombe. I want it to stay that way.’

  ‘We’ll check, so you may as well tell us. What do you mean?’

  ‘I was six. My father was a violent man, drunk most of the time. He came home one night, angry. He had a knife. He killed my mother, as well as trying to kill me. I ran out of the house. Don’t go looking for him. He died in prison.’

  ‘And after that?’

  ‘I was brought up by my mother’s sister. She lives in a village like this.’

  ‘As sad as it may be, it doesn’t excuse the fact that you became involved in violence.’

  ‘I wasn’t angry when I fired that rifle at Selwood. I just wanted him to stop what he was doing.’

  ‘Claude Selwood was a stubborn man. How would he know it was a warning?’

  ‘I would have told him it was a sign from God for his wickedness.’

  ‘Was your aunt a religious woman?’ Clare asked.

  ‘Devout, three times on a Sunday to church.’

  ‘Would she condone what you have done?’

  ‘Sometimes it is necessary to do wickedness to ensure goodness.’

  Clare had even considered going out with the man if he had asked, and now, she realised that the man’s view of the world was distorted. As violent as his childhood had been, the horror of seeing his mother killed, he was still a criminal. Whether it was the actions of a sane man or not was for a psychiatrist to determine.

  ‘We’ll need a statement,’ Tremayne said.

  ***

  ‘What is it with these villages?’ Tremayne said. He was standing outside with Clare. He was enjoying a cigarette; she was tolerating the smell.

  ‘How is it, that on the occasions that we’ve spoken to the v
icar, he has acted normally. None of his extremist views has surfaced, and then, there’s a group of villagers condoning his behaviour?’ Clare said.

  ‘Maybe it’s all that fresh air, somehow it affects the brain.’

  ‘You’re in the land of the fanciful now, guv.’

  ‘I know, but we’ve come across these sorts of people before. Normal law-abiding citizens who for some reason commit illegal acts. And how can they believe it’s lawful?’

  ‘A sign from God.’

  ‘Rubbish. If the Reverend Walston can shoot an air rifle, he could have also killed Old Ted and Cathy Selwood.’

  ‘No reason. Old Ted and Cathy Selwood were not involved with the new development.’

  ‘We need to talk to Molly Dempsey again,’ Tremayne said.

  ***

  An uneasy truce between Gordon Selwood and his mother existed. After Rose and Crispin Goode had visited the main house, and after Gordon had driven them home in the Jaguar, he visited his mother, told her that he had met his son.

  His mother had reacted calmly to the news, told him that she had been wrong in separating him from Rose.

  Marge had to admit that, on reflection, Rose had done an excellent job in bringing up her grandson.

  The cottage suited her, that’s what she said to her son. ‘Such unpleasantness. What about you and Rose?’

  ‘Don’t try and make something out of it. Cathy’s not yet buried, and Rose and I were only young. Crispin’s my son. I’ll do the right thing by him, that’s all.’

  ‘There’s something else,’ Marge said. She knew the bombshell she was about to announce. ‘Before I met your father…’ a pregnant pause, ‘there was another man.’

  ‘What are you trying to tell me?’

  ‘I need to be sure.’

  ‘Of what? Are you telling me this other man may be my father?’

  ‘It’s possible. I’ve never thought about it before, not even when we were disputing the farm and the house, but now…’

  ‘What’s changed? Are you so desperate that you conjure up another man?’

  ‘I need to know. You now have a son. I need to know the truth, we both do.’

  ‘No, I don’t. Crispin’s my son, I know that. As for you and your men, then that’s up to you. I’ve no intention of agreeing to DNA testing. And, as for the future, the main house is off limits to you, as am I. They’re releasing Cathy’s body in the next day. The funeral will be next week. You’re not welcome. I don’t want your crocodile tears flooding the place.’

  ‘There’s no vicar. They’ve arrested Reverend Walston.’

  ‘Did the man know my mother is a whore?’

  ‘How dare you,’ Marge Selwood said. She came forward and slapped her son hard across the face. Gordon stood back, not sure what to do. His mother had made an admission which he was unable to process. He turned around and walked out the back door of the cottage, almost pulling it off its hinges as he slammed it hard.

  Marge Selwood sat down at the kitchen table, not sure what to do. It was the first time she had cried for some time. Her husband’s death had given her sadness, but no tears. Old Ted’s had left her ambivalent, and Cathy’s had left her overjoyed, but with Gordon, her own flesh and blood, even if not Claude’s, she felt sorrow.

  After a few minutes, she sat up straight, took stock of herself and phoned Nicholas, her second eldest.

  ***

  Molly Dempsey was not hard to find, even the publican knew where she lived, and the woman was strictly teetotal. Busybody was his description of her.

  Outside of the village, a five minute walk, the cottage of Molly Dempsey. At the front, a small picket fence with a gate that creaked on its hinges as Tremayne opened it. A dog barked from inside.

  ‘That’s Berty, he’s harmless,’ Molly Dempsey said. Around her waist, an apron. ‘I’m just baking a cake.’

  ‘You were very vocal earlier after we arrested the vicar,’ Tremayne said. He noticed that the dog, a small terrier, had taken a shine to Clare and was sitting on the floor alongside her. Both of the police officers had been given the mandatory cup of tea, along with freshly-baked scones.

  ‘The Reverend Walston is a good man, just the sort of person this village needs.’

  ‘He’s broken the law.’

  ‘Who else was going to put a stop to this nonsense? Claude Selwood was a wicked man who’d do anything for his own benefit, even destroy this village.’

  ‘Mrs Dempsey, it’s called progress. You can’t stop it.’

  ‘It’s not the kind of progress we want. Ten years ago, you could leave the door to your house open, and no one would come in, but now…’

  ‘Have you been burgled?’

  ‘No, but it could happen.’

  It was clear the woman was narrow in her understanding of the world. She and Old Ted would have had a lot in common, Clare thought.

  ‘Walston was new to his parish,’ Tremayne said. ‘Why have you and your group embraced him?’

  ‘He understands our needs. He is willing to stand up to the Selwoods and their wicked ways.’

  ‘Wicked ways?’

  ‘Gordon and his woman.’

  ‘Which woman?’

  ‘The one that died.’

  ‘She was murdered. Why are you against her when most of the people that we’ve spoken to liked her. It was her that had convinced her husband to not sell the farm.’

  ‘We know her type.’

  ‘What do you mean? She’d only be here for a short time.’

  ‘Another one after the Selwood fortune.’

  ‘Another?’

  ‘Rose Fletcher, we saw her here the other week. We’d know that shameless woman anywhere. That’s all the Selwoods get involved with, cheap women.’

  ‘Rose Fletcher is, in our opinion, a good person. Why do you criticise her?’

  ‘She made sure that the eldest son made her pregnant.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘Her parents disappeared, paid off more likely.’

  ‘Mrs Dempsey, I’m afraid you’ve got your facts wrong. Rose Fletcher was a young woman. She made a mistake, as did Gordon Selwood. And as for her parents, they left here of their own free will, the shame of what had happened was too much for them to stay.’

  ‘That’s what you think.’

  Tremayne and Clare could see a woman, who regardless of proof, would continue to hold to her views. Her testimony was suspect but would be noted.

  They left the cottage and walked back to the village. In the main street, they ran into Marge Selwood. ‘What is the story about a low-cost housing development?’ Tremayne asked.

  ‘Claude had an idea to bring some life into the village. There’s some land not far from here, and a couple of buildings on it. And it wasn’t necessarily low-cost. The locals around here, or at least some of them, are suspicious of change. I can’t blame them, though. I wasn’t in agreement with Claude on any new development, but he was adamant.’

  ‘We’ve arrested the vicar.’

  ‘I’ve heard.’

  ‘We always thought he was harmless,’ Clare said.

  ‘He and Claude used to have the occasional disagreement.’

  ‘Serious?’

  ‘Not really. Reverend Walston was an ardent socialist, Claude was for capitalism. With them two, it was the English Civil War, all over again. On one side, the Roundheads, on the other, the Royalists. It wasn’t violent.’

  ‘Would the reverend be capable of murder?’ Tremayne said.

  ‘If he can shoot at Claude and the horse with pellets, who knows?’ Marge said. ‘If you’ve no more questions, I’ve something to do.’

  ‘No more for now. How’s Gordon?’

  ‘We’re not talking. He’s got Rose back in his life, and Cathy not even buried. What kind of man does that?’

  ‘Romantically involved?’

  ‘Not yet, but they will be. She was always the woman for him, and now my grandson is hanging around. Your sergeant brought the two of the
m out to the house.’

  ‘Not out of pleasure,’ Clare said. ‘There are two murders and all of a sudden, two more members of the Selwood family appear. I needed to understand how they fit into the puzzle.’

  ‘They don’t fit, not yet, and hopefully never.’

  ‘Do you dislike Rose?’

  ‘Not personally. A silly mistake shouldn’t blight anyone’s life, and she was always pleasant to me. From what I know of Crispin, she’s done a good job.’

  ‘She has.’

  Chapter 15

  Nicholas Selwood arrived at his mother’s cottage thirty minutes after she had left the two police officers. Inside the cottage, the two, mother and son, sat down to talk.

  One was unsure as to why he was there; the other was nervous on account of what she was about to say.

  ‘Nicholas, we need to deal with Gordon. He’s met with Rose Fletcher. Do you remember her?’

  ‘A long time ago. She was Gordon’s girlfriend.’

  ‘There’s a complication. She had a child.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Did you know she was married to Gordon at the time?’

  ‘She was only fifteen.’

  ‘She was sixteen at the time of the birth. Her father was firm in that he wasn’t going to have his daughter give birth to a bastard. We agreed, and they were married. After the birth, the marriage was dissolved.’

  ‘That means the child is his heir, and if it’s male…’

  ‘It is. He’s sixteen, nearly seventeen.’

  ‘Have you met him?’

  ‘I’ve met Rose recently. Her son is a typical Selwood. He’s intelligent, and I like him.’

  ‘What is the problem?’

  ‘You will never inherit the farm and the house, and I want them back.’

  ‘Are they important? You’re comfortable here, and I’m making plenty of money.’

  ‘Nicholas, you’re a Selwood. Stand up for yourself, assert your right. If Rose is there advising Gordon, and then his son, we are lost.’

  ‘Cathy’s not yet buried. He’s hardly likely to do anything now.’

  ‘Not now, but in the future. Six months, one year, what does it matter? We’re out, and they’re in. Do you want that?’