Sting in the Tail (Three Oaks Book 6)

by Gerald Hammond

  ‘I’ll mind,’ Angus retorted.

  Beth looked round. Isobel was a few yards away, saying farewell to Juniper and her new owner. Beth grabbed her by the elbow. ‘Isobel, will you go home and take over from Mrs Todd?’

  ‘Of course I will,’ Isobel said.

  ‘And feed the dogs?’

  ‘If that’s what it takes.’

  ‘And Sam,’ Beth said, suddenly remembering.

  ‘All right,’ Isobel said patiently. ‘Hannah can help me. Is it all right if she looks after Sam?’

  ‘Perfectly,’ Beth said. ‘Stay to dinner.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘There’s a casserole already in the pressure cooker. The vegetables—’

  ‘One snag,’ I said, ‘is that we all came over in the Land Rover.’

  ‘Transport home will be provided,’ said the Detective Sergeant.

  ‘Not with that pompous ass—?’

  ‘I will drive you home myself,’ the Detective Sergeant said quickly, ‘if you’ll only come, now, pretty please.’

  ‘In one minute,’ I said. ‘If I’m not driving again today, I don’t see why I shouldn’t have a proper snort of my own liquor for once. Pour me a decent dram, Henry. Of the good stuff, mind!’

  *

  The scene at Nearn House had changed again. There were no cars in the road now and the trees around the bridge had been cut back to allow for the passage of the caravan which was now parked in the walled garden.

  The Detective Chief Inspector, however, had organized an office for himself in a small sitting room, leaving the other ranks to get by in the stark and crowded caravan into which the Sergeant took me first to sign the fair copy of my earlier statement. The sitting room, in contrast, was comfortable, well furnished and decorated in somewhat florid style, although I felt that the comparison with a Turkish brothel had been rather harsh. But I would have considered some of the quite innocuous pictures and ornaments to be pretty rather than beautiful so that it might have been a woman’s room rather than a man’s. I noticed that the shorthand writer had been dispensed with, but the tape recorder and video camera had been installed.

  DCI McStraun looked at Beth in some surprise as the Sergeant ushered us in and indicated chairs, but then he seemed to recall that she had shown herself to be capable of discussing the details of sudden death without emotion or bias and he greeted her by name.

  ‘You’re welcome to be present, Mrs Cunningham,’ he told her, ‘but this is an interview with your husband and any other voices will confuse the taped record. Any points you want to make can wait until after the formal interview. Is that all right?’

  Beth said that she quite understood.

  ‘Very well.’ In a flat voice, the Detective Chief Inspector told the two recording machines the date and time and listed those present, mentioning Beth ‘as an observer only’.

  ‘Mr Cunningham,’ he said – I was pleased to note that he had remembered my dislike of being addressed as Captain – ‘in the statement you gave yesterday you told us of the enquiries you had made in connection with the docking of the tail of a spaniel, one . . .’ he looked down at his notes – unnecessarily, I was sure. ‘One Clarence. The visit that you paid to this house, the home of the murdered man, was made in pursuance of those enquiries?’

  ‘Correct,’ I said.

  ‘Had you any reason to believe that the injury to the spaniel had occurred here?’

  ‘None at all,’ I said. ‘I already had several possible culprits in mind, but I was trying to visit places and meet people in the hope of stumbling across the true facts. I took Clarence with me, hoping that he might show some reaction to a place or a person. I also wanted to meet the butcher’s van-driver and look at his van, because one of the most likely theories seemed to be that Clarence had tried to steal meat from the van and had had the sliding door slammed on his tail.’

  ‘I see.’ The Detective Chief Inspector held out his hand and DS Waller put a photograph into it. ‘Would this be – er – what you were looking for?’

  He gave me the photograph. It was sharp and in colour. The gruesome, muddy and bedraggled object portrayed had once been part of the proud tail of a liver and white spaniel. Beth leaned over and I tilted the photograph so that she could see it. ‘Where did this turn up?’ I asked.

  ‘Please answer my question.’

  In general I am a firm supporter of the police, but when, as is often the case, they assume powers that they do not really have, it does them good to be brought down to earth. ‘When you have answered mine,’ I said. ‘I have a legitimate interest in the matter and I can’t see that telling me where you found it would in any way hamper your enquiries.’

  He came down off his lofty perch. ‘Why do you want to know? What good would it do you?’

  ‘Tell me and I’ll explain.’

  He pursed his mouth in momentary irritation. ‘Oh, very well,’ he said. ‘As part of the routine search of the area, any recently dug patches in the garden were investigated. This was dug up in the vegetable garden behind the house.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I have Clarence at my kennels at the moment. His owner had to go abroad. That horrid remnant looks remarkably like the missing piece of his tail, but it would be difficult for me to be sure. I had hoped that the place where it was found might tie into my own enquiries to provide some confirmation, but no such luck. I suggest that you collect a sample of his coat. Your forensic scientists should have no difficulty in being quite positive whether or not they match.’

  ‘We’ll do that,’ he said. ‘The owner would be Mr Charles Hopewell?’

  ‘Who lives two doors from yourself. Yes.’

  ‘What sort of person is Mr Hopewell?’

  ‘You must have met him often,’ I pointed out. ‘You probably know him far better than I do.’

  The Detective Chief Inspector again looked irritated, perhaps with good reason. Sometimes I can hear my own voice being provocative without being able to help myself. ‘I am asking for your opinion,’ he said, ‘not my own.’

  ‘Very well. Presumably you know his physical appearance. I would put him down as a mild man, polite and very well intentioned. Law abiding. Outgoing and friendly. A widower, perhaps rather lonely. Devoted to his daughter.’

  ‘And to his dog?’

  Beth was directing a warning look at me, but although I already felt a great unease I had no alternative but to tell the truth. ‘He’s well aware of Clarence’s faults but, yes, I think you could call him a devoted owner.’

  ‘If he should happen to find out who had cut off his dog’s tail, what do you think would be his reaction?’

  ‘He would kick up hell,’ I said. ‘He would run to the authorities—’

  ‘Even if those authorities had made it clear that they suspected either him or his daughter of doing the deed?’

  ‘Even so. Or he might have it out with the individual and the authorities. I don’t think that he lacks moral courage. But he would stop short of violence, let alone killing.’

  ‘He shoots and fishes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And that isn’t killing?’

  ‘It isn’t killing a person,’ I said. ‘It’s quite within the law and perfectly ethical, a leftover of man’s traditional pursuit of meat. Not the same thing by a mile.’

  Mr McStraun looked at me for several seconds but did not pursue the point. ‘Sometimes, a row can get out of hand,’ he said. ‘You yourself, you must have a favourite dog. If you found out that a man had deliberately injured your dog and if the authorities offered you no recourse, what would you do?’

  I hesitated before I answered. There had been one or two instances in which I had sailed rather close to the wind. ‘I might tackle him,’ I said. ‘I would have to go carefully because of my health, but I might go so far as to lay hands on him in anger. But I wouldn’t kill him. Nor would Charlie Hopewell.’

  ‘But,’ said the Detective Chief Inspector, ‘you used to be a professiona
l soldier. You have been trained in unarmed combat. You could be reasonably sure of handing out a beating without killing your opponent. Tell me, why did Mr Hopewell go abroad so suddenly?’

  I felt the prickling of the skin which had always warned me of danger, but this was not an occasion for diving into cover. ‘His son was holidaying in the French Alps and phoned to say that he’d broken his leg, skiing. He had Mr Hopewell’s car with him and the daughter-in-law doesn’t drive. If he wanted the use of his own car, Charlie had no alternative but to fly out in order to drive them back.’

  ‘Would the insurance not have covered the return of the car?’

  ‘I believe there was something wrong with the insurance. So Charlie said.’

  ‘Did you, or anybody that you know, witness this phone call?’

  ‘I certainly didn’t,’ I said. ‘Why would I? But I believe in it.’

  ‘You may be right. But, to further my enquiries, Mr Hopewell will certainly have some questions to answer when, or if, he returns to this country.’

  Beth, looking like a schoolgirl in class, raised her hand. The Detective Chief Inspector actually smiled. ‘Yes, Mrs Cunningham?’

  ‘I didn’t mention this to my husband, but Charlie phoned last night after John had gone to bed. Just to ask after Clarence and to say that they were on the way back.’

  ‘I see,’ said Mr McStraun. ‘Thank you very much.’

  I was not going to leave without hitting back, on Charlie’s behalf. ‘To further my enquiries, Detective Chief Inspector,’ I said, ‘where were you when Clarence’s tail was cut off?’

  The look that he gave me was too cold to be a glare but it came very close. ‘If we ever determine exactly when that happened,’ he said, ‘my sergeant may be able to tell you.’

  *

  DS Waller put us tenderly into the back of the smart police Range Rover in which we had arrived and set off to ferry us home. At first we were all three too deep in thought for conversation.

  ‘Do you really think my chief would be guilty of illicit tail-lopping?’ Sergeant Waller asked suddenly.

  I had only suggested it out of mischief and to strike a blow for Charlie, but I decided to keep the idea alive for a little longer. ‘Give me your own opinion,’ I said.

  To my surprise he seemed to take me seriously. ‘He would hardly bury the offcut at Nearn House,’ he said at last.

  ‘He might,’ Beth said. ‘If he was stuck with the tail of his neighbour’s dog and no easy way to dispose of it, and then he took over the investigation into the murder—’

  ‘I don’t think he’d frame Charlie for murder just to get rid of the tail,’ I said. ‘It’s not reasonable.’

  ‘It’s just as reasonable as suspecting Charlie of murder,’ Beth said. ‘Do you think he did it?’

  ‘Are you asking me?’ I said.

  ‘Actually, I was asking Sergeant Waller.’

  ‘Oh,’ said the Sergeant. He offered no other comment for several miles. ‘I’m not really supposed to discuss the case,’ he said at last.

  ‘With suspects?’ Beth added.

  The Sergeant laughed. ‘With witnesses,’ he amended. ‘But I owe your husband something. I gave the old dog a shampoo when I got home last night,’ he added, in my direction I thought, ‘and he had the least restless night he’s had in months. This morning he wasn’t scratching hardly at all. So . . . you won’t let on that I spilled any beans?’

  We both promised.

  ‘I don’t think it’s gone as far as a real suspicion,’ the Sergeant said. ‘He’s waiting for hard evidence – other than the tail, of course. But the tail could have happened in the van door just as you said, and Mr Ricketts could have told the van-driver, “Least said, soonest mended. There’s no point having a stishie over what was an accident. Just bury it in my back garden and let it remain a mystery.” You follow me?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Beth. I could have pointed out that Clarence had reacted to the place and not to Mr McCulloch, but I was fairly sure that she had only asked her original question to get the Sergeant talking. ‘And Mr Hopewell killed Mr Ricketts in an act of revenge? How would you suppose Mr Hopewell got the idea that Mr Ricketts had docked Clarence’s tail?’

  ‘Somebody – Mr Hopewell or his daughter or some neighbour – could have seen Clarence bolting from that direction. Miss Hopewell was out that morning, because she was seen to return home soaking wet just after the storm began. Mr McStraun will want to interview her.’

  ‘Well, he can’t,’ Beth said, and there was a steely ring to her voice. ‘Mr Hopewell left her in our care, sort of, and while he’s away we’re not allowing anything that he mightn’t want, not if we have to get every lawyer in the country onto it.’

  ‘I’ll tell him,’ the Sergeant promised.

  ‘Be sure that you do,’ Beth said. ‘Have you any ideas about the identity of the mysterious lover?’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ said the Sergeant. ‘You can’t expect—’

  ‘I wouldn’t expect his name,’ Beth said. ‘Yes or no would do. It wouldn’t exactly set the country ablaze.’

  ‘True.’ The Sergeant drove in silence for another minute but I knew that he would speak. Few men can help telling Beth whatever she wants to know. ‘In point of fact,’ he said at last, ‘we’ve interviewed as many neighbours as we could get hold of but we haven’t got anywhere yet. We don’t even have any real evidence of homosexuality although the pathologist’s final report should settle the matter one way or the other. There seem to have been two regular visitors. One man who walked out from the village, on a few occasions and usually after dark; and another who arrived most days, usually from the opposite direction, in a small and rather nondescript van. Nobody could offer us the least vestige of a description.’

  ‘I was led to believe that the small van was delivering supplies,’ I said.

  ‘We’ve traced all his suppliers and none of their vans fits the description or came so often.’

  ‘Perhaps the two of them met there and there was a flare-up of jealousy,’ I suggested.

  ‘We thought of that.’

  ‘And perhaps they didn’t,’ said Beth. ‘There are reasons for mysterious visits other than sexual liaisons, you know.’ (I thought that the Sergeant looked at her sharply.) ‘But assume that John’s right. Perhaps they were one and the same person. I think that you should search the forestry tracks and any old quarries and sandpits. About five miles out, there’s a very minor road that links the two roads that run out of the village going north. I think you should search around the whole triangle.’

  ‘For what?’ the Sergeant asked. His voice had risen in surprise.

  ‘For the van, of course,’ Beth said patiently.

  ‘Well, it’s certainly a thought,’ said the Sergeant. He digested it in silence right across the Tay Bridge and most of the way to Three Oaks.

  ‘How badly burned was the table?’ Beth asked suddenly.

  The Sergeant by now had lost his reserve. ‘Only one end was much burned,’ he said. ‘I suppose that if their face or faces were known locally they couldn’t stay on to keep the fire going, in case somebody came to see whether the smoke or firelight signified an accidental fire. Between damp rubbish on the bonfire and the dampening effect of the blood, it just plain went out.’ He pulled up at our front door. The lights were blazing and I could see Isobel moving around in the kitchen. I began to remember that I was hungry.

  Beth got out and thanked the Sergeant graciously. ‘I think that you should also suggest that they wash the blood off the table-top,’ she said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just a wild thought. You’ll know why if I’m right, and if I’ve guessed wrong I won’t look quite such an ass.’

  We took the Sergeant to the kennel where he could clip some hair from Clarence, who was as usual so delighted to be the focus of attention that he made the task difficult to the point of danger. We watched the Range Rover out of sight and then headed for the house.

 
; ‘Did Charlie really phone last night?’ I asked Beth.

  ‘No, of course not,’ she said. ‘I just didn’t want them to be too cocksure that Charlie had run away. Of course, if he really did do it, I’m going to be a dirty word with the police. But I don’t think that he did.’

  We went inside to face a thousand questions from Henry and Isobel. Hannah was feeding Sam. She smiled her sweet smile but otherwise gave Sam all her attention.

  *

  Three Sundays out of four were days of comparative rest; but it happened that on the next day fell what I had once called my Masterclass. I had outgrown that particular piece of vanity but the name had stuck. To it came a regular nucleus of dog-owners who enjoyed the ambience or the socializing which went along with the dog-work, plus an ever-changing minority learning to cope with a new pup or a new problem. As well as being a useful little earner, it brought us some commissions to retrain the failed attempts of amateurs, and in the fullness of time a surprising number of sales of puppies or trained dogs.

  That morning there was a fuller than usual turn-out, for which naked curiosity was surely to blame. I could hardly complain – the increase would boost our profit from the attendance fees. Early telephone traffic, however, suggested that I, as one of the discoverers of the body, would again be plagued by reporters, who would expect to take up a lot of my time without paying a penny for it and then, instead of repaying favours with a little welcome publicity, would damn the whole practice of shooting with snide remarks, under the impression that they were currying favour with the largely indifferent public.

  As the appointed hour approached, therefore, I reminded the arrivals that there was a danger of their dogs becoming accustomed to obeying commands only on the usual training grounds and ignoring them elsewhere. I loaded my car with dummies, dummy launchers and all the paraphernalia of training, including whistles and other goodies that might be sold along the way, told Beth to send any latecomers to Tentsmuir Forest and to refer reporters to Mr McCulloch, the butcher’s van-driver, whose home address I had had the forethought to obtain while we waited for the police to arrive. I then led my convoy away.

  Five miles of broad beach, deserted at that time of year, was more than enough for our needs. We managed to keep in the lee of the conifers, sheltered from a cutting wind, and a good time seemed to be had by the handlers and dogs alike. Most of them had even made some progress by lunchtime.