by Ford, P. F.
‘Don’t be bloody stupid,’ said Rippon, in exasperation. ‘What would be the point? You don’t kill the goose that lays the golden egg, do you?’
‘But what if you came down here to reason with him and it got out of hand?’ asked Slater.
A small smile began to form on Rippon’s face.
‘You’re really clutching at straws here, aren’t you?’ he said, his smile turning into a grin. ‘Have you got any real suspects?’
‘Apart from you?’ asked Norman. ‘Sorry, we can’t discuss an ongoing inquiry with the press.’
‘That means you haven’t,’ said Rippon. ‘But you needn’t think you’re going to fit me up-’
‘No one’s trying to fit you up, Geoff,’ interrupted Norman. ‘Is it okay if I call you Geoff?’
‘I suppose so,’ said Rippon, grudgingly.
‘We need your help. We believe Mr Winter found out something about someone, and that person has silenced him. It makes sense to us that this is the big story he wanted to tell you. So anything you can tell us could lead us to that person.’
‘Believe it or not,’ said Rippon, much calmer now, ‘I would like to help. I only met Mr Winter once, and he was a lovely old guy. But I think the world dealt him a pretty crappy hand, you know? He wanted to right some wrongs while he still could.’
‘So what did he tell you?’ asked Norman.
‘Well, that was it really. He gave me that much, and then he said he wanted to check me out to make sure I was the right person to do what he wanted. All he would tell me was that it concerned someone who was a household name with a very dark side that he kept hidden from the public.’
‘And you accepted that?’ asked Norman. ‘You didn’t push him for more?’
‘I understood his need to check me out. He was an old man who didn’t know who he could trust. Like I said, I liked him and I figured it was going to be worth my while to win that trust.’
‘But surely you would have been well pissed off if he’d come back later and said no?’ said Slater.
‘Sure,’ agreed Rippon. ‘But people often change their minds about telling a story. It happens all the time – it’s not something I’d murder for. I also get offered stories that turn out to be a crock of shite – someone holding a grudge against someone else, and hoping to create a scandal. It happens. That’s life. It’s all part of my job, but it’s not worth killing someone. You must get the same sort of thing in your job. It’s bloody annoying, but you don’t murder people for it, do you?’
‘So where did you think Mr Winter fitted in? Did you think he was for real?’ asked Norman.
‘Yeah, I did,’ said Rippon. ‘That’s why I was willing to give him time to check me out.’
‘Did he tell you he’d been threatened?’ asked Slater.
‘He didn’t say as much,’ said Rippon. ‘But I spoke to him a couple of days before he died. He asked me if I could come down and get the job done as soon as I could. The problem was I was working up north. I was going to come down as soon as I finished up there.’
‘How did he react when you told him that?’ asked Norman.
‘He was disappointed. He said he hoped that wouldn’t be too late, but he wouldn’t elaborate on that. I thought maybe he was ill, you know? Maybe he had cancer or something like that. That’s why I found the kid. I asked him to keep an eye on the old boy’s house and let me know if anything happened. I was thinking if he had cancer or something and he was on his last legs he might get rushed off to hospital. It never occurred to me he was going to get bumped off.’
‘But, if he’s dead, why are you down here?’ asked Norman.
‘You’re supposed to be the detectives,’ said Rippon, patiently. ‘It’s not rocket science, is it? If he was murdered, it adds weight to the idea there’s a big story to be uncovered, and it makes that story even bigger. That’s why I was at the funeral. When we were talking, he mentioned his sister. I got the feeling the story concerns her in some way. I was hoping she might be there and I could ask her what it was all about. But there was no sister at the funeral. Anyway, now I’m here I thought I might take a look around. Maybe I’ll find something.’
Norman thought it unlikely a successful journalist like Rippon had done no research. He must know about the orphanage and how Winter’s sister had disappeared years ago. It was no matter – he could play that game too.
‘So what have you got for me?’ asked Rippon.
Norman was about to answer, but Slater got there first.
‘Like my colleague said earlier, we can’t discuss an ongoing investigation. And as for Mr Winter’s story – well, you started weeks before us, and it sounds as if you’re way ahead of us.’
Rippon didn’t look convinced, but Slater looked him hard in the eye.
‘So that’s it?’ said Rippon, sounding disgusted. ‘You’re going to give me nothing!’
‘Right now, we have nothing we can give you,’ answered Slater. ‘But even if we had, I don’t think it would be a fair exchange at this point, do you?’
‘You thought he was holding back, too, huh?’ asked Norman as they climbed into their car.
‘Definitely,’ agreed Slater. ‘I don’t think he knows enough to write his story yet, or he wouldn’t be here now, but he certainly knows more than he’s letting on. There’s no way he’d waste his time down here unless he thought he was on to something.’
‘You think he knows where the orphanage is?’
‘Yeah, he must know that much.’
‘Then we’d better make a start by visiting that house this afternoon. Maybe that can help us figure it all out before he does,’ said Norman. ‘Otherwise there’s a good chance the whole world’s gonna know before us.’
Chapter 15
Hatton House was just a few minutes from the centre of Tinton, yet Slater had been completely unaware of its existence. As a fairly new resident of Tinton, Norman obviously hadn’t a clue, but he was surprised that Slater had never heard of the place. It had turned into something of a mystery trip for both of them. With Norman driving, and Slater navigating, they almost missed the narrow lane that led away from the bypass in the general direction of Hatton House.
Once they were on the lane, though, it soon became clear why they had never seen the house before – it was in the middle of nowhere. The lane was so narrow there wasn’t room for two cars to pass, but Norman observed it was unlikely to be a problem, as it looked as if no one ever came along this lane anyway.
They finally found the driveway that led up to the house. In its heyday, the drive would have been lined with privet hedges on either side, but it was obviously years since anyone had tended to them and they were in a sorry state. In some places they had grown so tall, they had collapsed onto the drive, making it necessary to zigzag around them. Eventually they reached a pair of large, rusting iron gates bound together with a huge padlock and chain.
‘Looks like we’re on foot from here,’ said Norman. ‘Good job you suggested outdoor gear for this trip.’
‘I had a feeling it wasn’t going to be in perfect condition,’ said Slater. ‘I think we would have been overdressed in suits, don’t you?’
They were both kitted out in walking boots, jeans and waterproof jackets, and carried small rucksacks with a few bits and pieces they thought might come in useful.
There was a smaller side gate, which appeared to be unlocked. It creaked alarmingly, but then swung reluctantly open as Slater pushed against it. There was no sign of a house up ahead, and Norman began to wonder if perhaps it had fallen down over the years, but then he realised the drive was going uphill. Soon they spotted a roof as it began to level out, and then the house came into view as they came over the top of the hill.
It was a large, sprawling old house and the roof sagged alarmingly, but somehow it seemed to be intact.
‘The oldest part’s Georgian,’ observed Norman. ‘And that extension on the west side is probably Victorian.’
‘You know this stuff?�
�� asked Slater, sounding surprised.
‘I used to be a member of the National Trust,’ replied Norman. ‘I’ve been to loads of places like this. You see enough of them, you sort of pick it up.’
‘You’re full of surprises, you know that?’ Slater said, grinning and shaking his head as if in wonder.
‘Well, I wouldn’t want to bore you,’ Norman said, smiling back. ‘Have you noticed it’s not quite so overgrown here as you might have expected?’
‘Maybe he paid someone to clear it back some time.’
‘Yeah, maybe.’ Norman wasn’t convinced.
They made their way to the front door which was slightly ajar. Norman gave it a gentle push and stuck his head inside. A large pile of dead leaves had accumulated inside, no doubt blown in by the wind. There was an air of decay about the place and it smelt of damp.
‘We need to be a bit careful,’ warned Norman. ‘This place is not far from falling down, so watch where you put your feet and what you hold on to.’
They poked around downstairs for ten minutes or so, but it was a frustrating exercise as someone had boarded up every window, and their torches didn’t help much in the gloom.
‘We need to get outside and take down those bloody boards so we can see what we’re doing in here,’ grumbled Slater.
‘Let’s take a look upstairs first.’ Norman led Slater back across the hall to the staircase.
‘Don’t trust the middle of the steps,’ he told Slater, with a grin. ‘Keep to the edges, and let me go first – if they can take my weight you’ll be just fine.’
‘That’s true enough,’ agreed Slater, with a grin of his own. ‘But you be careful. I’m not sure I could carry you out of here on my own.’
‘Yeah, right! Thanks for that,’ said Norman. ‘Okay, let’s get on here and see what happens.’
Gingerly, keeping well over to the left, he started up the stairs. There were a few creaks and groans of protest from the old staircase as he ascended, but it seemed solid enough and he heard Slater begin to follow. Norman reached the floor above and made his way over to the nearest window. Slater was still only halfway up.
‘Wow!’ said Norman. ‘Now that is a big surprise.’
‘What?’ called Slater. ‘What’s a surprise?’
‘Look at this,’ said Norman, pointing out of the window.
Slater joined him at the window
‘Well. I didn’t expect to see that, and look, smoke!’ he said, pointing towards a small clump of trees at the bottom of the garden where a small thread of what looked like smoke spiralled lazily towards the sky.
‘Let’s check that out,’ said Norman, leading the way back to the staircase. ‘We can come back here later.’
They made their way carefully back down the stairs, out through the front door, and onto the drive, where a path curled around the back of the house. Negotiating the side path was difficult as it was overgrown with brambles and more collapsed privet hedging, but they made use of a stack of disused boards to create a makeshift path across the vegetation to the side gate. To Norman’s relief, the gate opened easily.
Going through the gate was like stepping from a wilderness into another world. Beyond the gate, a weed-free, gravel path led them down the side of the house, past a freshly clipped hedge. Reaching the end of the path at the back of the house, a large, well-kept lawn was revealed, dotted with carefully tended flower beds and shrubs, which ran down to a clump of trees forming a small wood at the far end. A wall ran a good way down one side with a gap halfway down.
They stopped to take it all in. Neither could claim to have much interest in gardening, but they could both see that someone went to a lot of trouble to keep these gardens at the back of the house in pristine condition. But, who? And, why?
‘I bet that’s a walled garden, behind there,’ said Norman, pointing at the wall. ‘I’m betting there’s gonna be vegetables growing in there, and greenhouses and stuff.’
‘You’re kidding me,’ said Slater. ‘Out here in the middle of a wilderness?’
‘Like I said before, I’ve seen these places. Whoever the gardener is, they know what they’re doing.’
Slater’s mouth had dropped open. He was clearly having a great deal of trouble getting his head around what he was seeing. Norman didn’t blame him – it was so unexpected after the unruly mess at the front, and inside the house. But then something caught his eye and he nudged Slater, nodding towards the small wood. Another tenuous wisp of smoke hovered above the trees before dissolving into the slight breeze.
‘Maybe our gardener’s having a bonfire,’ he suggested. ‘Let’s go take a look.’
A path ran alongside the wall down to the bottom of the garden. Just as Norman had thought, when they looked through the gap in the wall they saw a fully enclosed vegetable garden, complete with greenhouses, a potting shed, and two compost heaps. Being February, the garden wasn’t in full production, but Norman had seen enough of these things to know it was prepared ready for the coming growing season.
‘Someone spends one hell of a lot of time working in this garden,’ he said, admiringly.
‘I don’t know anything about gardening,’ admitted Slater. ‘But I’m guessing you could feed a family with a vegetable patch this size.’
‘Oh, easily. Back in the day it would have supplied the entire household with fruit and veg,’ explained Norman.
‘Come on,’ said Slater. ‘I want to know what’s going on here.’
He led the way on down the path towards the trees. A neatly manicured beech hedge, about six feet tall, separated the lawn from the trees, making it almost impossible to make out exactly what was beyond. Norman could just about see a patch of mixed woodland that stretched across the garden and beyond. He estimated it probably stretched for about a quarter of a mile from side to side, but how far it stretched back was anyone’s guess. In the corner where the wall met the hedge, a small children’s play area had been fenced off. The ancient toys were mostly falling to bits apart from a small roundabout, a slide and a swing which were all obviously well-used and well-loved. As they followed the path around the play area, Norman couldn’t help but wonder whose kids were using it.
There was a gap in the hedge at the end of the path and they stepped through. If it had been summer and the trees had all been in full leaf, they would have been lucky to have seen much of anything, but at least half the trees were leafless at this time of year. A well-trodden path wound its way through the trees towards a dense clump of conifers. As they approached, there was a clatter from behind the trees and a figure could be made out heading away through the trees. Norman watched as Slater took off in pursuit. Wasn’t that…?
As Slater charged beyond the conifers, he could see his quarry about thirty yards ahead. It was definitely a man. A tall, thin man, with black greasy hair. Rippon, he thought. How did he get here?
The man seemed to be following another path, but Slater had made the decision to cut through the trees to try to head him off. As branches slapped at him and brambles tore at his legs, he knew almost straight away he’d made the wrong choice, but if he turned back now he’d never catch his man.
Rippon, bizarrely, seemed to be pretty fit. Slater was surprised, given how unhealthy he had looked when they had met him previously. He saw Rippon look back at him, a confident smile on his lips. Slater glared at him, and at the very moment he took his eyes from where he was going, his foot caught a thick bramble and he crashed to the ground, the fall knocking all the breath from his lungs with a hearty ‘whoof’. He lay, face down, his hands throbbing from the impact. He climbed slowly to his knees just in time to see Rippon disappear from sight beyond the trees.
‘Bugger!’ He sighed, panting heavily. ‘Bugger, bugger, bugger.’
‘I take it you didn’t catch him,’ asked Norman, when Slater eventually returned, his whole body aching.
Slater gave him a dirty look.
‘Please don’t tell me you did catch him and he gave you a good h
iding,’ said Norman.
‘No I didn’t bloody catch him,’ snapped Slater. ‘And, no, he didn’t give me a good hiding. “We” might have caught him if “we” had both been chasing.’ Slater knew he sounded sulky but was too annoyed to care at the moment.
‘Seriously?’ asked Norman. ‘The guy was like a damned greyhound. Anyway, you know I don’t do running.’
He watched Slater puffing and panting and slowly looked him up and down.
‘Did you fall over?’ he asked eventually.
‘Actually,’ said Slater, his patience wearing thin, ‘I thought maybe it’s time I followed your lead. I’ve merely adjusted my style to match yours.’
‘Oh, really?’ said Norman. ‘I don’t think you’ve ever seen me in torn jeans, and as for that green slime-’
‘Enough,’ snapped Slater. ‘I fell flat on my face, alright? But I’m okay, thanks for asking.’
Norman looked away, but Slater could tell from the way his shoulders were heaving that he was laughing.
‘Arsehole,’ he muttered. ‘We’ll catch up with Rippon later. I found out how he managed to get here without a car anyway. The canal’s over the other side of those woods. The old towpath looks as if it leads all the way into town. It’s pretty overgrown, but there’s a definite, well-used path along it, too.’
‘Come and see what I found behind these trees,’ said Norman, pointing to the clump of conifers which turned out not to be a clump of trees after all. It was an artfully planted hedge, which hid a small log cabin.
‘This is bizarre,’ said Slater. ‘It’s like a gingerbread house in a fairy tale.’
‘It’s pretty neat, isn’t it?’ said Norman. ‘There’s even a little wood-burning stove inside. That’s where the smoke was coming from. There’s no-one home, but someone definitely lives here.’
‘So who’s living out here in secret?’
‘Well, my guess is it ain’t Snow White and the seven dwarves,’ Norman said, smiling. ‘But whoever it is coulda been here for years, and who would have known?’