Murder on Silver Lake

by Hugo James King

  “Did you set a date?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Wednesday.”

  “Wednesday?” I coughed back. “Even with the investigation?”

  Sniffing back a sob, she produced a handkerchief from her sleeve. “It’s my decision, they told me.” She looked away, pressing cloth to her face. “I want Gilbert in the ground as soon as possible.”

  “Did you see him?”

  “Wendy did.”

  I couldn’t ask her why she didn’t want to see him, but if I hadn’t seen Harry that last time, I wouldn’t have forgiven myself.

  “Gilbert wouldn’t want everyone fussing over him. He’d want to be buried, he’d want to be laid to rest. So, I’m honouring that part of him.”

  “But—but—” I softened my voice. “He was murdered, Harriet.”

  Sobbing harder, it turned into coughing wheeze. “And I want Wendy there,” she said. “She’s leaving soon, and I didn’t want her to leave before the burial.”

  I placed the bowl of cereal on the table. “I’m sure Wendy would come back.”

  “Vicar MacBride said that Wednesday is the earliest. I don’t even know if anyone will come, but that’s not even a concern right now.”

  On the way into Briarbury, there was St. Julian’s Parish Church, run by Vicar Hamish MacBride, a nice man in his sixties. He would do anything for anyone, and probably one of the only people Gilbert hadn’t try and fleece.

  “Do you need any help, financially?” I asked, recalling how expensive funerals were. “Because I can help, we can start a collection.”

  “No, no, no,” she said in a stammer. “Definitely not.”

  “Why not?”

  She cleaned away her tears. “Funeral expenses have already been paid out.”

  “His brother?” I asked, taking my cup of tea.

  “Thomas?”

  I nodded back, blowing at the surface of my drink.

  “Haven’t seen him, yet.” She blew at her nose. “Doubt he’ll come. He never cared for his brother when he was alive, why would he show interest after his passing.”

  It was painfully true. I hated to think she was right about the funeral being empty, especially when there were so many people who didn’t like Gilbert. And adversely, many of those people would’ve liked to see him six feet under.

  After a while, Harriet stopped crying and drank her tea. Charlie laid by her feet in his attempts at comforting her.

  “You really think someone could have killed him?” she asked.

  Pausing, I didn’t know what to say. “I think—I—I think someone did kill him.”

  “Wendy thinks so too.”

  “And she saw the body?”

  She nodded.

  “It must be hard to think about, but I trust whoever did this will be found out.”

  Sighing heavily, I figured she was about to cry once more. Instead, she stood, moving Charlie slightly. “I want to go see where his body was found,” she said. “Can you show me?”

  TWELVE

  I couldn’t say ‘no’. It would break what little spirit she had left, but I didn’t want to go back out there at all, not after what had happened. I looked to her, as she blotted her cheeks and rubbed her eyes. It made the decision for me.

  “Right then,” I said, slapping my knees.

  She smiled. “Really?”

  “Let me get dressed and wash my face first. But yeah.”

  Charlie was going to be happy once again. My stomach grumbled with tension; I didn’t want him to be sniffing around the area at all, and certainly not covering himself in any more blood.

  After washing my face and brushing my teeth, I dressed in my warm thermal clothing. Finally, sitting back down in the conservatory, I looked down at the soggy cereal in the bowl. I wasn’t hungry now.

  “Thank you for doing this,” she said, stroking a hand down Charlie back as he laid on her lap.

  “It’s only what I would’ve done for anyone.”

  I snapped my fingers at Charlie. “I think I’m ready.”

  Charlie jumped out of Harriet’s lap and ran a circle around the coffee table.

  “I’m sorry for my husband,” Harriet said. “He was a handful at times. Most of the time.”

  “Oh, I’m sure all is forgiven,” I replied. “Knowing my husband, he’ll have forgiven him, and now they’re both—both dead, so whatever happened, they’ve taken it to the grave.”

  “He regrets a lot of stuff,” she said, standing and pulling her handbag close. “It’s why he drank; so many bad business decisions. He tried his luck, and realised luck wasn’t on his side. The property market wasn’t on his side either.”

  My eyes widened. “Did he have property?”

  She scrunched her mouth up and shook her head.

  It ruled out one of Scott’s motives.

  “Everything he tried, he always lost money,” she said.

  “Even his first marriage.”

  “Well, Wendy regrets what happened. She apologised yesterday.”

  “Oh?”

  We walked to the front door, ready to put our rain boots on.

  “Because she took all his money, she wished she didn’t. Then she told me he offered her everything he had.” She puffed out her cheeks. “I didn’t even know.”

  I reached out for her arm. “Just shows he was sweet deep down.”

  “Yeah.” She smiled. “I didn’t even know. Apparently, he told her she could have everything. He wanted to start fresh with me.”

  “Wendy was the boss in their relationship,” I said. “Before you, Wendy and Gilbert would invite us out for meals. She was a powerful woman. I never saw her cry once, until yesterday.” I pulled my coat from the hook.

  Harriet stopped, sighing into her chest. “She did offer to help.”

  “That’s good,” I said. “Is she?”

  She dabbed the handkerchief at her cheeks, her hand shaking as she pressed. “I can’t,” she said. “I couldn’t take her money.”

  “I’m sure nobody wants to see you get in debt over this,” I said, pulling the coat zip all the way to my chin.

  Harriet put her anorak on, stifling sobs and sighs as she moved around.

  I opened the front door. “Let’s go.”

  Charlie raced out into the garden up the path to the gate.

  There was no rain, and the clouds didn’t seem to threaten it at all.

  Harriet headed out next and I followed, locking the door afterwards.

  A quiet overcame Harriet as we walked.

  “Are you going to be okay?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Eventually.”

  That was the right attitude to have. “It’s short notice, but I’ll try and make sure there are people at the funeral.”

  “You’d do that for him?”

  Not quite. I was doing it for her. I didn’t say a word, only a hum.

  “It would help, actually,” she said. “I don’t even remember any of his friends.”

  Before the divorce, before my husband’s death, before the stress of Gilbert, there existed a boy’s club, but I doubt any of those men still remained friends with Gilbert. “I’m sure he had them.”

  “Then I hope they show.”

  The thought of a funeral not being attended by any friends of family choked me. I promised I wasn’t going to cry, especially after everything Gilbert had put my family through. I held back the emotions and looked forward, glancing ahead to spot the police tape cording off the riverbank.

  “Up ahead,” I said.

  ‘POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS’, plastered over tape in big bold letters.

  Harriet continued to cry. “Is this it?”

  There wasn’t any blood on the banking, but the grooves in the dirt could be seen from where I presumed Gilbert had tried pulling himself. It was hard to see again. I turned, slapping my thigh and calling Charlie.

  “I don’t want you going near it,” I said to him as Harriet dipped below the tape.

  Charlie stayed by my
legs. We both watched Harriet, slowly stepping.

  She ran back. “Take me home,” she cried, throwing her arms around me. “I want to go home.”

  I knew I shouldn’t have brought her.

  “Are you okay to walk?”

  She nodded. “It was a bad idea.”

  “Let’s get you home then.”

  “Oh.” She gasped. “What about my chocolates?”

  I didn’t want to her, not while she had dirt all up her boots. The car was one of the cleaner places in my life. “I can bring them by later.”

  “You will?”

  I nodded. “I think your priority should be preparing for the funeral. Make a list and I’ll help you with it.”

  She sniffled and smiled. “Thank you.”

  * * *

  After delivering Harriet home safely, I walked to Ruth and Frank’s house. I was emotionally spent for the day, and I wanted to get back house, slip into my pyjamas and nap for a little while. But first, I had to tell Ruth what had happened.

  Ruth and Frank lived further along the road with a shorter road leading to their house. They lived in a secluded area covered mostly in trees, but during winter the stark brown skeleton branches gave eyes more access to their home.

  Halfway up the drive, Frank popped his head out of the door. “Evelyn.”

  “Frank.”

  Charlie barked, wagging his tail as he ran to him.

  Frank was taller than his wife, and their daughter studying in London was just as tall. They all made me feel awfully small when all three of them were together.

  “What brings you by?” he asked.

  I scoffed, swatting at his arm with my hand. “I’m here for Ruth.”

  He chuckled. “She’s in the study.”

  That’s how big their house was, they had a study. I had a home office, but that was a converted bedroom, they bought this house with a study already inside—on the ground floor.

  I rolled my eyes at him. “Hope I’m not disturbing her.”

  “Possibly, she’s reading Stephen King,” he said.

  Then I was definitely disturbing her.

  I left Charlie to pester Frank while I made my way to the end of a hall in order to pester Ruth. I knocked twice and listened for the painful drone of someone being interrupted.

  “What is it, Frank?” she snapped in her sharp tone.

  I opened the door. “Surprise.”

  “Eve!” she said with a large smile. “I thought you were Frank. He knows I’m busy reading, especially if I’m going to stick with my resolution of one book a week this year.”

  Their study had a family computer, which was barely used, and two large armchairs with a small table for tea, the rest of the study was a library of books, all classified by genre. “You should probably go for short books then.”

  Ruth placed a bookmark inside her book before closing it. “I was going to call you, actually,” she said. “After five chapters.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, we just found out the funeral is on Wednesday.”

  “Brings me to why I’m here,” I said. “Harriet just paid me a visit.”

  “News travels fast,” she said. “Frank went to the newsagents, and they already know, so we can guarantee the entire village knows now.”

  It was true. Francesca and Nancy weren’t the quietest, but when they were, it was usually while they were in church, and even then, they were bound to be gossiping about something, and it was probably going straight into my ears.

  I took a seat in the armchair beside her. “She doesn’t think anyone will turn up,” I said.

  “Nonsense, everyone will be there. Everyone wants to know what happened, and I bet the killer will be sat inside the church with the rest of us. Guaranteed.”

  I shuddered. “Perhaps we should sit it out then, if the killer is going to be there.”

  Ruth scoffed. “I’m sure I can handle myself,” she said. “Frank actually saw pictures. I shouldn’t even say anything about it. But he said it must have been blunt force, whoever did it was in a hurry. One bash and done.”

  “He saw?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Paul doesn’t have many other people around to answer his questions.”

  “But he’s not one of those doctors that looks at bodies and does autopsies.”

  “A pathologist?”

  I waved a hand at her. Whatever the word was, it wasn’t going to stick in my brain now.

  “Frank!” she called. “Frank! Come in here!”

  First, was Charlie, drawn by the loud sound, and he was followed in by Frank.

  “Do you want me to escort Eve out?” he chuckled. “I told her you were reading.”

  “Oh, hush,” I laughed back.

  Ruth rolled her eyes. “I was just telling Eve about what Paul showed you.”

  He griped. “I told you already, I can’t discuss that.”

  “Am I not family, Frank?” Well, I wasn’t, but that wasn’t entirely what was up for discussion in this moment. “We’re not the gossips you need to worry about.”

  He sighed in defeat, shuffling his feet closer. “He didn’t drown, that’s for sure,” he said, offering the information in small drabs. “He had a small dent to the back of his head. It wasn’t an automatic death, but—”

  “But whoever did it, they must have thought it was,” I said.

  “But,” Frank continued. “It most likely caused a haemorrhage, and that’s possibly how he died.”

  “Has someone performed an autopsy?” I asked, my teeth clenching as the reporter inside me didn’t have a single scrap of paper to scribble notes on.

  “No,” he said. “But if they want it done, they’ll need to get it done soon, because we just heard they’re burying him on Wednesday.”

  “I heard,” I said. “Harriet came over. She’s in bits.”

  “Ruth mentioned that Harriet thought it was suicide,” he said. “From the pictures alone, I can tell you, it wasn’t suicide. Nobody can inflict that kind of damage upon themselves.”

  “Do you have—” I began.

  He laughed. “You wouldn’t want to see them, even if I did have them.”

  “Oh, Eve,” Ruth shuddered. “You already saw enough.”

  “I know, I know.” I held my hand out for Charlie to push his head against. “And I even took Harriet to the place where the body was found.”

  Now both their eyes were on me. I said in very certain terms that I’d be taking a different walking route in future, and the day after, I was back at the very same spot.

  I pressed a hand to my sternum. I hadn’t wanted to vomit in a while, but processing all the information now, it brought it all up—up over the wood flooring.

  THIRTEEN

  After cleaning my mess, I left Ruth and Frank in peace. Armed with a bottle of water to sip from, I walked home, slowly. My stomach rarely reacted with vomit, it was often steel, but everything had inevitably caught me. From the chocolates I’d been eating to standing witness to a dead body; the only way was coming up through my mouth now.

  I slapped my knee, pulling Charlie’s attention. He was getting ahead of himself, bounding down the road back home. He sprinted back in my direction.

  “I hope someone finds out who did this,” I said to Charlie.

  He stayed by my side, following my gait, faster and slower, as I moved, so did he.

  I wanted to know what he thought, but he was a dog. I knew they had thoughts, but I doubt they had the concept of what a dead body was and the repercussion it had on people in the real world.

  “Should give you another bath,” I grumbled. He’d sniffed at it, got himself covered. “Oh, Charlie.” Squatting to his side, I tussled my free hand around the fur of his neck. “You probably don’t even know what you found. Do you?”

  Charlie pounced at my face, licking at my mouth.

  Not ideal. I wonder if he could smell the sick on me. I’d taken a mint, and I’d been drinking water. Dog’s sniffers were more powerful than a
human’s nose, I’m sure he smelt everything, even death.

  I stood. “Right, let’s get back home,” I said. “I need to shower and write some potential article notes.” Reeling off my plans, I knew I had to take Harriet the goodie bag she’d been given, but I couldn’t be bothered; it was a lot of stress to be around her. I couldn’t complain, could I? Her husband was murdered, and I was stressed.

  Reaching the house, my eyes squinted at the letterbox. A piece of white paper stuck out like a tongue.

  At first, I didn’t touch it, only unlocking the door and letting Charlie run on ahead. The paper was on a piece of cream card stock. I pulled the note, slow. I turned it.

  ‘Thank you.’

  A small note from Samuel and his son.

  A smile pushed at my cheeks. They didn’t need to thank me for anything, I was spotlighting them, and they’d definitely paid more than their fair share for it.

  Entering the house, I slammed the door shut and locked it in place. My eyes caught another note, lying on the ground. A scrap of white paper, as if torn from a notepad.

  Red ink bled across the page.

  ‘IT WAS HIM’.

  My throat clenched. My shaking fingers let go of the letter, dropping it to the ground like a feather in the air.

  Charlie’s sharp yapping caught my ear, pulling me to turn. I was face-to-face with the front door. I bolted it and turned, pressing my back against the door.

  “Charlie?” I called out.

  He ran through the entire house, yapping and jumping around. Reaching me, he jumped, placing both paws on my legs.

  “It’s not playtime,” I told him.

  Slowly, I made my way around the house, there were no signs of forced entry, nor where there any signs anyone else had been here. But someone had been here, someone had left a letter at the front door. Perhaps they’d knocked first, perhaps they only left a note because I wasn’t home.

  My gut grumbled. Hungry? Yes, but I couldn’t think about eating at a time like this.

  I hurried upstairs to my home office, I placed the hand-written note on my desk. Slow and deep breaths as my eyes opened and shut, focusing on calm thoughts.

  “He?” I said aloud. “Who is he?”