Jude was referring to the self-contained extension that Simeon and Michaela had added to the vicarage years earlier, to create an extra space for visitors. He went on, ‘It’s got its own little bathroom and kitchen. He was just one guy, with the whole rest of the house to himself. I wouldn’t have been in his way. I was even happy to knock something off the rent, in return for letting me stay there. It seemed to me like a reasonable enough idea. How was I to know that Duggan wasn’t a reasonable kind of person?’
Ben asked, ‘You hadn’t met him before?’
‘Never laid eyes on the guy. Spencer and Grady, the letting agency, took care of all that stuff, vetting clients and so on. As a matter of fact, the house was let to a Ms E something, can’t remember her surname, on Duggan’s behalf. I think he might have been working for her, but I don’t know much about it.’
‘Okay,’ Ben said, eager to recap the details. ‘So what happened, you came home, knocked on the door, introduced yourself as the homeowner and put this proposal to him?’
‘Not quite,’ Jude said. ‘What happened is that when I turned up at the house, nobody was around. I knocked a few times, called a few times, and there was no answer. Then I walked around the back and saw that the French window to the garden was open. So I went inside.’
‘Just like that, uninvited?’
Jude shrugged. ‘Look, I’d just come from the airport. I suppose I wasn’t thinking straight. I was knackered and jetlagged and feeling kind of low. It felt so good to be home, after all the shitty things that’ve happened in the last while, what with me and Rae splitting up. I still really miss her.’
Ben didn’t share that sentiment, but said nothing.
‘Duggan was obviously somewhere around,’ Jude went on. ‘I could smell fresh coffee and the radio was on. I was expecting him to appear at any minute, had it all worked out what I was going to say to him. After a couple of minutes of hanging around waiting for the guy to show up, I suddenly realised I was starving. You can’t eat that slop they serve on aeroplanes and I’d not had a bite all day. So I did what anyone would do. I went into the kitchen to make myself a sandwich.’
‘I’m not sure that anyone would have done that,’ Ben said. ‘It wasn’t your house.’
‘Hey, hang me. What’s a bit of bread and cheese? I found a chunk of cheddar, a jar of pickled gherkins in the fridge and a sliced white loaf in the bread bin. Laid everything out, grabbed a knife from the block and was just about to start dicing up the pickles when this angry-looking dude appears in the doorway.’
‘Hold on,’ Ben said. ‘The knife. Are we talking about the same one—?’
Jude nodded. ‘Yeah. The one he was killed with.’
Ben understood now how Jude’s fingerprints could have got on the knife, by perfectly innocent means. In which case, his worst crime was simply being a silly damn fool who’d wandered into someone else’s home to make a sandwich.
‘That was the first time I saw Duggan,’ Jude said. ‘Right nasty-looking piece of work the guy was, too. And not too pleased to see me, either. Like the three bears coming home to find Goldilocks eating their porridge.’
‘Under the circumstances—’ Ben began.
‘Yeah, well, wasn’t like I was robbing the place,’ Jude protested. ‘The stupid sod started on at me before I could get a word in: “Who the eff are you? What the effing hell are you doing in my effing house?” Like that. Really stroppy. So, you know me, always trying to be Mr Nice Guy. I’m doing my best to smile and look pleasant, and I apologised and told him who I was, how I’d just returned from abroad and needed a place to stay. As sweetly as possible, I asked him if he wouldn’t mind letting me have the annexe, in return for knocking a hundred quid a month off the rent for the remainder of his lease. If he’d agreed, I’d have called the agency right away.’
‘But I’d imagine he wasn’t in agreement.’
‘Not exactly, no. Started going on at me about the terms of the contract, and how it still had a couple of months to run, and how until then this was his place and I was an effing intruder and he’d call the effing police if I didn’t clear off right away.’
‘Maybe you should have,’ Ben said.
‘I thought I could make the guy see sense. “Come on,” I said to him. “Be reasonable.” He stared at me like I’m a moron, replied “Even if you are who you say you are, why the hell should I let you stay here?” To which I answered, “Because I’ve got nowhere else to go”. And that was when he came out with the thing that pissed me off. I’d been pretty cool until then.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He said, “That’s not my effing problem, is it? Haven’t you got any friends you can stay with? What about your parents? Can’t they give you a bed? Or maybe they find you as annoying as I do.”’
Ben thought, Ouch.
‘I just lost my rag,’ Jude said, shaking his head ruefully. ‘He shouldn’t have brought Mum and Da— I mean, Simeon – into it like that.’
‘And so you threatened him,’ Ben said. ‘You told him if he didn’t keep his mouth shut, you were going to kill him.’
‘Yeah, I admit I did kind of shoot off a bit. I didn’t mean it, of course. I was wound up, that’s all. It’s still a raw nerve.’
‘At which point, the Heneghan sisters turned up, collecting for their cat charity, just in time to hear you making the threat against Duggan.’
‘Those two old harpies,’ Jude replied with a grunt of sour disapproval. ‘They’ve never liked me, since I was a little kid. Used to whinge to Mum whenever I cycled along the pavement past their house. One time they even accused me of trying to run over some mangy cat of theirs. Total lie. I never came near the horrible thing.’
‘But it would appear that their witness statement was accurate, all the same.’
‘They heard what they heard, but they didn’t understand what was going on,’ Jude replied irritably. ‘That’s what matters, isn’t it?’
Ben’s neck and shoulders felt as tense as steel cables and he wished he could light up a Gauloise. There were so many things he wanted to say, but held back because there seemed little point in rubbing salt in Jude’s wounds. What was done, was done. At the same time, he was furious at his son’s pig-headedness. Duggan might have been an unpleasant character but it was hard not to agree with some of what he’d said. Why couldn’t Jude have gone to stay with a friend instead? Or rented a place of his own? Or come to stay at Le Val, where he was always welcome? He wasn’t entirely penniless and could do as he pleased. If he’d needed money, Ben would gladly have sent him some. And why, why had he allowed Duggan to get under his skin like that?
‘Next, you ran to get your car from the garage, and you took off. Correct?’ Ben already knew the bare facts, but he wanted to hear the rest from Jude’s own lips.
Jude nodded. ‘I didn’t really know where I was going. Ended up at this shithole hotel in Marcham. I hung around there for a few hours, went to get some fish and chips, but they tasted like shit, too. Or maybe it was just me. I was feeling really bad about the whole thing, thinking I’d acted like a real prick and shouldn’t have reacted to Duggan the way I did. It wasn’t his fault. So I got in the car and drove back to Little Denton, to apologise to the guy for my stupid behaviour.’ He gave a shudder. ‘Too late. There he was, the poor bastard, lying in a pool of blood. I can still see it, every time I close my eyes. Can’t sleep. Can’t think about anything else. How could anyone believe I’d do a thing like that?’
‘Why didn’t you tell the police the reason you went back there?’
‘Because it’s private and personal. They’d start asking all kinds of questions about our family and I didn’t want to have to answer them. And also because I was in shock. I wasn’t thinking straight. I could hardly speak. It was like some horrible dream that I couldn’t wake up from. It still feels that way.’
‘Did you tell them the reason why your prints were on the knife?’
‘No, because who would believe it anyway? E
specially not that officious bastard who muscled into the interview room while they were questioning me, and started yelling his head off at me. You could tell all he wanted was to get me to confess to it, so he could lock me away and claim all the glory.’
‘Who was he?’
‘A senior officer. I don’t remember his name. Short, reedy. Black comb-over. Hitler moustache.’
‘Forbes?’
Jude nodded. ‘That’s him. Nasty pompous little shit. Even if I’d wanted to tell them the whole truth, I wasn’t going to talk to him. Nothing would make him change his mind that I’m guilty.’
‘Sooner or later you’re going to have to start helping yourself,’ Ben told him. ‘You’re an innocent man. They’ll come around to understanding that, but not if you go on acting the way you did today in court.’
‘Pretty daft,’ Jude admitted. ‘Seem to be making a habit of that, don’t I?’
‘You’re not on your own, Jude. I’m not going away until this thing is sorted out.’
They talked a while longer. Jude was growing tired and emotional, and Ben tried to cheer him up by changing the subject to fill him in on life at Le Val. ‘When this is over, you should come and spend time there with us.’ He smiled. ‘Scruffy misses you.’
But Jude couldn’t be consoled. ‘When this is over,’ he muttered glumly, ‘I’ll either be a fugitive on the run, or I’ll be dead. I can’t survive in prison, Dad.’
Ben was about to reply when a guard came up to say their time was over. They managed a brief goodbye, and then Jude was led away with his head hanging low. Ben was escorted from the visitors’ centre, retrieved his things and returned to the car. As he drove away, Jude’s last words to him were still ringing in his ears.
‘No,’ he promised himself. ‘That’s not how this will end.’
Chapter 11
The more Ben mulled over the facts, the crazier the situation appeared and the more questions stacked up in his mind. Whoever had killed Carter Duggan was a slick and brutal operator who’d managed to commit the murder completely unseen. And must have had a reason for doing it, which was a question nobody seemed to be interested in answering because, as far as they were concerned, they had their man.
Who actually was Carter Duggan? Why was he living in Jude’s house? Who was the woman, this ‘Ms E something’, who had apparently rented the property on his behalf, and for whom Jude thought Duggan worked? Worked in what capacity?
As he drove aimlessly around the Oxfordshire countryside Ben briefly considered calling the letting agency, to try to find out the woman’s name. But he knew the attempt would be futile, as they inevitably wouldn’t divulge the information. Short of breaking into their offices and ransacking their files, he was locked out of the loop. But he knew someone who might be prevailed upon to fill in the missing details for him.
Ben pulled over, found Tom McAllister’s business card and punched the number into his mobile. When the cop picked up the call, sounding harassed and irritable, Ben said, ‘What’s for dinner tonight?’
‘What the frig do you think I’m running, Cairns’s Lodging House?’
‘Cairns’s what?’
‘Just something my mother used to say. Roll up anytime after seven. I’m doing a new recipe. Be nice to try it out on someone.’
‘Sounds ominous. Should I bring anything to drink, seeing as I invited myself?’
‘Just bring yourself. I’ve got enough booze here to knock out half the British Army.’
By the time Ben arrived at McAllister’s place just after seven, the brightness of the day had turned to a sultry and overcast evening and the darkening clouds offered a hint of thunder. He was greeted enthusiastically by Radar and wandered inside the cottage where he found McAllister burning up the kitchen like a one-man catering corps. The cop was in the process of laying out two fat, juicy-looking chicken supremes on a thick chopping board, while something was sizzling in a heavy copper skillet on the range.
Ben said, ‘Let me know if I need to call the fire brigade.’
‘Piss off,’ McAllister snapped back at him without turning around. ‘Everything’s under control.’ He waved an arm in the direction of the fridge. ‘Grab yourself a beer, and one for me, will you?’
Ben cracked two bottles open and leaned against the kitchen counter, out of McAllister’s way. The beer was cold and crisp, and almost instantly he felt some of the tension oozing out of his muscles. ‘Good day at the office?’
‘No, I had a shit day at the office. Like I always do. Drawer on the left. Make yourself useful there and chuck me the rolling pin.’
The rolling pin was more like a police truncheon. With a gusto that bordered on violence McAllister set about battering the chicken breasts as though they were about to escape. Ben watched as the cop flattened them out thinly, then laid slices of mozzarella cheese, Parma ham and a stem of fresh asparagus on each. Delicately and expertly, he rolled them up and tied them with thin string into parcels. Meanwhile a pan of olive oil and melted butter was heating to smoking hot temperature. McAllister flung the chicken parcels into the pan, and soon the aroma was filling the kitchen. With a lot of rattling and scraping he fried the chicken until the outside was browning nicely, then turned it down to simmer with garlic and white wine while putting the finishing touches to the sautéed potatoes that were in the copper skillet: a generous knob of butter, fresh-chopped rosemary and more garlic, crushed and diced to a pulp.
As McAllister worked his magic, Ben gazed around the kitchen and his eye settled on a cork notice board that hung on a wall between two cupboards. A collection of wine labels and old photos were pinned to it, and out of curiosity he stepped over to examine them. There were several pictures of Radar growing up, from a cute six-week-old black and tan ball of fur to a gangly-legged adolescent. Beside them were some prints of the watermill in various earlier stages of renovation, one of them showing McAllister posing with a long-haired, white-bearded fellow whom Ben took to be his helper, Sparrowhawk. Half-hidden behind a snowy scene of the cottage in winter was an expired Thames Valley Police warrant card showing a somewhat more youthful McAllister, with the rank of Detective Sergeant.
‘Nice mugshot,’ Ben commented.
‘Hmm? Oh, that,’ McAllister replied absently as he tasted his sauce with a wooden spoon, smacked his lips and grabbed a salt grinder to add some more seasoning. ‘You’re really supposed to dispose of them when they’re expired. But someone told me I looked like Liam Neeson in that photo, so I sort of hung onto it as a keepsake.’
‘Liam Neeson? You reckon?’ Ben had to squint to see the resemblance.
‘We’re ready,’ McAllister declared with a flourish. ‘While I plate this up, would you grab the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc from the freezer?’
‘Gladly.’
They ate indoors, at a small round table by a window. McAllister fixed Ben with an expectant look as he took his first bite of the chicken parcels. ‘Well, what do you think?’
‘I think you need to get that restaurant opened soon.’
‘Bung me half a million and I’ll be in business a month from now.’
They ate in silence for a few minutes, because the food was almost too tasty to talk over. The white wine, chilled to perfection and incredibly smooth, started disappearing too quickly. Ben hadn’t forgotten his reason for wanting to come here this evening, but he was careful not to come straight out asking for the name of the mysterious ‘Ms E something’. Planning to work around to it, he said, ‘I saw Jude today.’
‘Hm. How was he?’
‘Not good.’
‘As you’d expect.’
‘He told me something he hasn’t told the police.’
‘I’m all ears.’
Ben told McAllister about the real reason for Jude’s fingerprints being on the knife. McAllister chewed pensively as he listened. ‘Well, I know what Forbsie would say about that. He’d say Jude could easily have thought that one up in retrospect and has no proof to back it up.’
‘Forbes has made his mind up, then,’ Ben said.
‘Oh, they’ve got their man, no question about it. And Forbsie doesn’t much like asking questions, once he’s got the answer he wants.’
‘But you do,’ Ben said. He sensed a certain scepticism in McAllister’s manner that hadn’t been in evidence yesterday. Maybe the cop had been doing his own mulling over of the situation.
McAllister gave a dry smile. ‘Aye, well, maybe that’s why Forbsie and I don’t get along so well. I usually just stay away from the guy. But I can’t always. Today was one of those days.’
Ben got the feeling McAllister was leading to something. ‘Why, what happened today?’
McAllister sloshed more of the white wine into their glasses. The first bottle was nearly gone. ‘Did you know that Duggan wasn’t the official tenant of the vicarage?’
A bulb lit up in Ben’s brain. It seemed as though McAllister was about to fill in the missing information he was interested in, without even being asked. Maybe the cop had the gift of clairvoyance. Or maybe there was a trail here, and they were both sniffing their way along it. He put down his fork, looking intently across the table at the cop. ‘I know that the person paying the rent was a Ms E something. Jude told me he couldn’t remember her surname.’
‘Ms Emily Bowman. Fifty-eight years old, divorced, parents deceased, no kids, lives alone in one of those great big fancy houses up in Boars Hill. And she can well afford it. She’s the founder and CEO of a successful company called “The Culture Collection”. Started out as a cottage industry making Victorian-style curtain designs twenty years ago and now has a string of stores across the country and a thriving home decor mail order business that does a million pounds of orders a month.’
‘Jude said that he thought Duggan was working for her in some capacity. Was he a company employee?’
McAllister shook his head. ‘No, she hired him privately.’
‘To do what?’
‘I told you yesterday that I was looking into Duggan’s background. Turns out that when he quit the Ontario Provincial Police in 2012, he went solo as a private investigator. Actually made quite a name for himself, and his services were in demand both in Canada and elsewhere. He flew over here six weeks ago to take up residence in Little Denton.’
The Pandemic Plot Page 7