‘The camera doesn’t operate on some motion sensor thing?’
‘It does but that particular sensor often has a mind of its own. We can fast forward and reduce the watching time. What are you looking for?’
‘A man or men coming into the frame on the footpath behind the lake.’
‘Hardly ever happens there – it’s a private lake.’
‘Hardly ever? That suggests that sometimes it does.’
‘There’s one guy who crops up from time to time, swimming naked. And once …’ He tailed off.
‘Once …?’ Gilchrist said.
‘I think Ms Grace forgot about the camera and she swam into shot.’ He saw their looks. ‘You couldn’t see anything! And even if you could it was private.’
Gilchrist gave him a severe look. ‘No keeping it for yourself for those cold lonely nights or putting it out there for good, dirty money?’
‘Excuse me! If she had feathers and a beak I might be interested but from the little I could see of her, swimming breaststroke, she had neither of those attributes. And, therefore, as far as I’m concerned, no attributes.’
‘You were doing fine until the last sentence but now you’re worrying me,’ Gilchrist said. Fitzgerald’s eyes widened. He started to stutter a protest. ‘Just joking,’ Gilchrist said. ‘OK, can we do a speed-through backwards, starting Monday morning?’
The footage was mostly water with the occasional duck or flotilla of ducks getting in and out from the island. Then Gilchrist spotted something behind the island.
‘Can you pause it there for a moment,’ she said quickly. There was somebody on the towpath. ‘And move it forward slowly.’ She looked at the time code. Early Sunday evening. ‘Go on.’ She was trying to remember what colour trousers Rabbitt had been wearing since all she could really make out now was a pair of red trousers. She was sure he hadn’t been wearing those.
‘Those trousers are the colour that, for some reason, ex-officers in the armed forces favour,’ Gilchrist said. ‘Or maybe ex-public schoolboys. Usually matched – or rather mismatched – with a chequered sports jacket and a brightly coloured shirt.’ She’d sometimes wondered why that garish colour was their trouser of choice. Perhaps because their uniforms were so drab these days compared to a hundred and fifty years ago? She had no idea.
She watched this pair of legs walk along the path she and Bellamy had followed, disappearing and reappearing between bushes. The camera had a narrow range so it only covered about twenty yards. It was also pitched low, which is why she could only see the legs.
‘OK, red legs is gone so speed it up again, please.’
Seconds later on the speed up another pair of legs appeared.
‘Slow again,’ Gilchrist said.
‘That’s Rabbitt,’ Heap said.
‘You’re sure?’ Gilchrist said.
‘As sure as dammit,’ Heap said. ‘I recognize the trousers.’
‘OK then. So he’s about to meet red legs. But we can’t be accurate about timings can we, if this camera stops and starts?’
‘You’re wrong,’ Fitzgerald said. ‘We can do the maths on how much time has passed between active filming from the digital clock set in it. So it’s just a couple of minutes.’
‘OK. Let’s keep it moving.’
Fitzgerald was watching it as closely as they were. He stopped the video and said: ‘Look at that.’
Gilchrist and Heap looked and could only see blank lake. Then Gilchrist pointed to bottom left. ‘The ripples?’ Gilchrist said. Fitzgerald nodded. ‘Red Legs is putting the body in the water,’ Heap murmured.
‘Body?’ Fitzgerald said. ‘What body? I thought we were looking at ducks.’
‘Did you really think the police would be interested in investigating ducks, lovely as they are?’ Gilchrist said, not taking her eyes off the screen as she watched the ripples widen then slowly dissipate. She looked at the time – about ten minutes later – and saw Heap note it down. ‘We’re investigating a murder, Mr Fitzgerald, and this footage is extremely helpful.’
Fitzgerald frowned. ‘Well, would it help if you had earlier footage of other people coming and going along that path and in the pond? I mean we cut it out of what we use and what we send Ms Grace but it’s still there in the raw footage.’
‘Is there much traffic?’ Gilchrist said.
Fitzgerald shrugged. ‘As I said, not so much but from time to time.’
‘You’ve got no audio, I suppose?’
‘As I said.’
‘Well, perhaps you’d better give us the raw footage for the previous month to see what we can come up with?’
‘You wouldn’t like me to look through it for you? I’m pretty proficient at sifting through this stuff.’
‘You have time to do that?’
‘Waterfowl and water creatures are my interest – my partner would say my obsession – but it’s nice to refresh the palate with something different for a change. I’ll get on it straight away and can send you what I’ve got tomorrow.’
‘That would be great,’ Gilchrist said, shaking Fitzgerald’s hand. ‘Anything at all that strikes you as not water creature related.’
Heap nodded to him. Outside Heap muttered something.
‘What?’ Gilchrist said. ‘Enunciate for goodness sake. You know I’m stupidly tall for a woman so I can’t hear you if you’re talking into your chest.’
‘Ma’am,’ Heap said loudly. ‘I said you were spot on about red and maroon trousers. Military, past or present. Officer class.’
‘I suppose you’re going to tell me why these men do that?’
Heap shook his head. ‘That would come under the heading of social mores and my computer brain doesn’t have an algorithm for that. Just the facts, ma’am.’
‘That sounds like a quote but I don’t want to hear where it’s from. I repeat – I don’t want to hear where from.’
‘Ten four, ma’am.’
‘You’re doing a film reference there, I know you are, but I’m not going to be drawn.’
‘Quite right, ma’am. Let’s track down Red Legs.’
‘Yes, we might have caught a break here. We don’t have any other CCTV footage to go on – the local constables have checked and none of the houses down that way have cameras. Anything from Sylvia Wade about the car?’
‘Negative, ma’am.’
‘Well, let’s get the train back for Grace’s party. I must admit, I’d prefer just to go to bed but, who knows, Red Legs might be there. And it’s good to refresh the palate.’
‘Ten four.’
FIVE
Bob Watts was sorry but he had other commitments that evening – attendance at a city council meeting for his regular monthly briefing on police performance and activities. Gilchrist and Heap went to the party together, Heap carrying a couple of bottles of red wine. Gilchrist had slept on the train from Oxford to Reading – with very little drooling, Heap assured her – so was feeling a little livelier.
‘I’ve never been to a wealthy person’s party before,’ Heap said as they drove along Beard’s Lane. ‘But obviously bringing a bottle still applies.’
‘I don’t think she’s wealthy,’ Gilchrist said. ‘I think she’s skint. Relatively speaking. Big house like that and she doesn’t have any staff except Francis, who can’t even bring a cup of coffee when asked. And who seems to have disappeared, incidentally.’
‘But she must have made a fortune,’ Heap said.
‘And spent a fortune, probably. I bet she’s mortgaged to the hilt.’
At the door they were let in by a tall, tanned man with an Antipodean accent. ‘Mark Harrison, ostrich farmer,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘And you’re new to these parts, I surmise.’
‘Sarah and Bellamy and we’re not really from these parts at all.’
He led them to the kitchen and gestured to the booze. ‘Nimue is down the other end of the house somewhere having her ear bent by various winemakers. Help yourself to whatever you want before they come and
bore you about what you’re drinking. The sparkling and the white are both damned good.’
While Heap was pouring drinks, Harrison said: ‘Are you actors too?’
Gilchrist shook her head. ‘Your accent – are you Australian?’
‘New Zealand. And I’ve heard every joke that exists about a Kiwi raising ostriches.’
‘They’re related though, right?’ Heap said. ‘Kiwis and ostriches.’
‘Darwin predicted ratites – that’s the overall term for flightless birds – were related and they obviously are connected but actually ostriches, kiwis, emus, rheas, cassowaries and the like all developed absolutely separately across the world. But they share the fact that they have flat breastbones, which means they lack the keel that anchors the strong pectoral muscles birds need for flight. And their tiny wings can’t possibly lift their heavy bodies off the ground. Hence flightless.’
‘Do yours wonder where they are?’ Gilchrist said.
Harrison smiled. ‘They are perfectly well suited to this climate. Just give them grass to graze and they are happy. They only require small amounts of land although they do need shelter from wind and rain and a dry sleeping area. They also need six-feet-high fencing to keep them in because the buggers can really jump.’
‘So do they do much more than put their heads in the sand and lay eggs?’ Gilchrist said.
‘That’s a fallacy – the head in sand thing. They lay their heads down on the ground to keep an eye on something that might be threatening them. And they can run like billy-o. A stampeding ostrich can run at up to forty-five miles an hour.’
‘But why keep them in this very English countryside?’ Heap said.
‘You forget that the first English colonists of New Zealand and Australia imported creatures that weren’t indigenous. Foxes for fox hunting among the nobs? English birds, even.’
‘Fair enough,’ Heap said. ‘But why farm them at all?’
‘Very productive bird the ostrich,’ Harrison said. ‘I’ve got African Blacks – the most commonly domesticated though some try with the Red Neck and the Blue Neck. Ostriches are good breeders. An ostrich will probably live as long as we do and the female is fertile for thirty years.
‘That’s a lot of eggs in a lifetime. If you have a breeding trio – a male and two females – as I have, you’re going to get around thirty to fifty eggs a year. Each female produces that number but only about half hatch so then I sell the other half. The ones that do hatch reach slaughter weight – that’s ninety-five to one hundred and ten kilograms – in a year to fourteen months. From each slaughtered ostrich you end up with about a quarter that weight in deboned meat.
‘Despite their size they’re classified as poultry, believe it or not, and under poultry regulations I’m allowed to slaughter on the farm if I only sell locally – which I do. I sell the meat and eggs at local farmers markets and through a couple of organic outlets. But I also have them processed in a specialist slaughter facility down the road to sell elsewhere. The leather and feathers I sell to craftspeople in Lewes and Brighton to turn into all kinds of things.’
‘And this is your full-time business?’ Heap said.
‘Nah – it’s a hobby. A pretty time-consuming hobby, mind. I work from home in my proper job, which is what makes it possible.’ He looked from one to the other of them. ‘Now lovely as it has been to bang on about my favourite subject, you didn’t actually tell me what you two do.’
‘We’re in the police force,’ Heap said. ‘And we need to speak to you formally at some point.’
‘That sounds ominous.’
‘Not really. We met Ms Grace because you may have heard that your neighbour, Major Rabbitt, has been murdered. His body was recovered at her lake two days ago.’
Harrison snorted.
‘That’s an odd reaction,’ Gilchrist said.
Harrison held up his hand, palm towards Gilchrist. ‘I regret any person’s death, of course I do. I was snorting at the major thing.’
‘Explain,’ Heap said.
‘He was no more a major than I can lay ostrich eggs.’
‘How do you know he wasn’t a major?’ Heap said.
‘Because he was never in the regular army. He was in the Territorials back in the day when it was still called the Territorials – so back in the days when it was just fun and you weren’t going to find yourself getting blown up in Afghanistan or Iraq by an IWD. And the highest rank you could make back then was second lieutenant.’
‘How do you know this?’ Heap said.
‘I checked. It’s pretty easy to do.’
‘Why would you do that?’ Gilchrist said.
‘Because I don’t like bullshitters – excuse my language. And I could see straight away that this guy was just a wealthy bag of wind. And one who liked to make trouble for his neighbours.’
‘He made trouble for you?’ Heap said.
‘You bet. It was only a letter of support from Nimue that got me permission to start the ostrich farm. Rabbitt never forgave either of us.’
‘So you’re not disappointed to see him dead?’ Gilchrist said.
‘I wouldn’t go that far – and I certainly wouldn’t go as far as knocking him off, if that’s what your next question is going to be related to.’
‘Kind of related,’ Gilchrist said. ‘When did you last see him?’
‘The day before his body was found, actually. In the pub at lunchtime slobbering over some woman in the back corner.’
‘Which pub?’ Gilchrist said.
‘The Jolly Sportsman, over near the old church. My liver has been complaining that it’s worryingly close to my place.’
‘What woman?’ Heap said.
‘No idea. I looked by mistake and didn’t make the same mistake twice.’
‘When was that?’ Heap said.
‘Lunchtime, as I said. I don’t know the exact o’clock.’
‘Is he blahing on again about creating a dinosaur from ostrich DNA?’ a burly red-faced man said loudly, putting his arm around Harrison’s shoulders. ‘How’re you doing, you bleeding drongo?’
‘I keep telling you, Reg, that’s an Australian term. We Kiwis are much more refined.’ He turned to Gilchrist and Heap. ‘This here is Reg Dwight, llama farmer for the late Major Rabbitt.’
Reg, clearly drunk, grinned a red-lipped, red-toothed grin. Drunk on red wine, then. But he didn’t bother to reply. ‘You’re those coppers who’ve been sniffing about, aren’t you? I’ve seen you yesterday. Major Rabbitt kicking the bucket? Couldn’t happen to a finer man.’
‘You knew him well?’
‘Well, I work for him – I don’t know if that’s the same thing. Worked for him, I mean. My current employment status is now uncertain, which is why I thought I’d get pissed.’
‘You don’t need an excuse to get pissed, Reg,’ Mark said.
‘True enough. Where’s Nimue? She’s wary of me – thinks I’m a hypocrite for saying rude things about the major behind his back while hobnobbing with him at his parties and his interminable slide shows. But I work for him, for God’s sake, and I only go to his dos so I can piss in the punch, metaphorically speaking.’
‘Not always just metaphorically, from what I’ve heard,’ Harrison said.
‘That was only the once. Anyway, keep your friends close and your enemies closer, I say.’
‘Was Richard Rabbitt an enemy?’ Heap said.
Dwight peered blearily down at him. ‘Where’s your truncheon and whistle?’
‘Was he an enemy?’ Heap repeated.
‘Not particularly to me but he was a tricky bastard. He tried to make life difficult for everyone round here in his attempt to be lord of the manor. Let’s leave it at that, shall we, as this is meant to be a party not a police interview?’
‘Fair enough,’ Gilchrist said. ‘So why llamas? What’s wrong with sheep and cattle with maybe a few goats thrown in?’
‘Llamas are great for mowing.’
‘So are sheep.’
&nbs
p; ‘True but these are also excellent guards because they make a racket and can be threatening when they see someone they don’t know. Llamas mark their territories with their dung. If a fox comes into their field the llama will scare him away by walking up and staring him out. They can use their back legs, and will spit, but that’s a last resort.’
‘Geese are excellent guards too – and they can break your leg or bite you. Llamas just spit?’
‘They hardly ever spit at people. They’re a herd animal with a pecking order – if any of them try to change that order they’ll spit at that one. But they’re usually gentle. In the mornings they sit down either in a circle or a line. And if they’re in a line it will be in a size order. They like this climate – they are used to extremes of temperature in Peru. We have alpacas in our herd – smaller with silkier coats. They hum.’
‘You mean they smell?’
‘No, they literally hum when they’re feeling good. They cluck too.’
‘So get hens.’
‘You wouldn’t catch a hen happily carrying a third of its own body weight. They can pull a cart or trap with the right training. They’re pretty cheap to buy – £500 for a male. The drawback is they don’t breed very quickly. Ostriches, you know where you are – you can make a business plan based on how many eggs you’ll have this year and how many the next, right, Mark?’
‘Damned right.’
‘Llamas only have one baby a year and it might not be every year. As a commercial proposition they are definitely long term but as pets they’re great. Major Rabbitt occasionally did llama-trekking up on the Downs.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘I never kid about llamas. Llamas are very sure-footed and because they have small feet with a leathery pad, they don’t cut up the paths like heavier animals.’ He raised his glass and took a swig. ‘Anyway: the major is dead; long live the major. Not. Who next, I wonder?’
‘You mean who is going to be killed next?’ Heap said. ‘Why should there be someone else?’
‘You think things happen in isolation round here? This is a rural community.’
‘That’s a bit of a stretch, isn’t it?’ Heap said.
‘I don’t see why. Everyone is interlinked here, whether they like it or not.’
The Lady of the Lake Page 8