A Dirty Death (21 page)

Lilah shook her head as best she could. She felt a tight pain beginning in her temples, as if she was going to have a terrible migraine. ‘Poor Sam,’ she said. ‘Poor man. We had it all wrong, didn’t we – Jonathan and you, especially? And you’d almost convinced me.’

‘Oh, don’t. I tried
not
to think it. I wanted to push it all away … Who knows what Jon really thought? What’s he doing here, anyway?’ 

‘He says he heard the shots – at least, Cappy did and sent him to see what it was.’

‘Huh! He can pull the other one. There are shots all the time around here, with people rabbiting and pigeon-shooting. And crow-scaring things going off.’

‘There was a scream,’ Lilah pointed out, remembering for the first time the other element of déjà vu: there had been gunshots and screams only a day or two ago, in Jonathan’s woods. Almost like a deliberate warning of what was going to happen. She felt like a bewildered mouse, caught between the paws of a malicious and murderous cat.

Miranda took a deep draw of the cigarette and then stubbed it out viciously. She looked out of the window, hearing yet another vehicle arrive. ‘How could anybody shoot Sam?’ she wailed. ‘How could they want to harm a man like that? A good man. Oh, God, it’s not fair. It’s not bloody fair.’ And she sank her head onto her folded arms and wept long and loud.

Roddy was valiantly struggling to milk the cows, ineffectually assisted by Jonathan. Lilah watched as new rolls of official tape were fastened bizarrely around the nettle patch, as well as across the door to Sam’s room. The men who had answered the 999 call remained, searching the yard and the 
buildings, as they had done before. New arrivals comprised a Detective Inspector and a
middle-aged
female sergeant who interviewed Lilah and Miranda formally in the kitchen. But before they could get properly started, a man came in, excitedly brandishing Guy’s gun.

‘Found it, ma’am!’ he triumphed. ‘Lying inside the gate of that first field, towards the woods, it was. Still warm, too.’

The sergeant responded with gratifying enthusiasm, jumping to her feet. ‘Get it checked for prints,’ she said. ‘I assume this is your husband’s gun, Mrs Beardon? The one that was mentioned earlier?’

Miranda shrugged. ‘Looks like it,’ she said. ‘But all guns look the same to me.’

The woman gave her a severe frown. ‘We’re talking about a deliberate murder, madam,’ she said. ‘It seems to me that you’re taking the matter rather lightly.’

Miranda laughed crazily. ‘I can assure you that I’m not doing that,’ she said. ‘Would you like me to tear out some of my hair, just to prove it to you?’

The sergeant shook her head, lost in disapproval. Lilah, watching from the end of the table, couldn’t resist a stirring of admiration for her mother. She herself could barely speak or think, yet here was her mother shrugging at 
guns and dealing out sarcasm to officers of the law. It might be unwise in the circumstances, but it showed enviable spirit.

They had their own fingerprints taken, surprised at the inky mess as each fingertip was rolled laboriously onto the card, before the man departed with the gun. Jonathan also left at that point, with minimal ceremony. The interview struggled on. Times, unusual sounds, routines. When had they last seen Sam alive? How had he seemed? Did anybody have a motive for killing him? Had he kept the gun with him for a reason? Lilah worried about Roddy coping alone outside. He and Jonathan had been interviewed somewhat awkwardly by the Detective Inspector, who was also supervising the detailed examination of Sam’s room and the nettle patch.

At about half past ten, there was a phone call for the Inspector. He listened with an avid expression, snapping ‘Yes? Really!
Yes
!’ at the person on the line. Then he called the family together. ‘We have identified several sets of fingerprints on the gun,’ he said. ‘Yours, Mrs Beardon. And Mr Carter’s. And a very recent set we can’t identify, possibly Mr Beardon’s, although they seem more like a woman’s. Finally, there are those of Mr Amos Grimsdale. Two officers have already gone to his house, to ask him to accompany them to the station.’

Cappy made no attempt to hide her impatience when Jonathan finally got home at nine-thirty that morning, and gave her a detailed account of the new turn of events at Redstone. ‘You could have phoned me,’ she reproached him. ‘You must have known I was dying to hear what had happened. And I was worried.’

Jonathan doubted the last part. ‘Sorry, pet. I got carried away with all the goings-on. You could have phoned
them
if you were desperate for news. I told everyone it was you who’d sent me round there in the first place.’

‘Did they think it was odd, at all?’

‘Think what was odd?’

‘Turning up the way you did, so quickly. So
early
.’ 

He shrugged. ‘Didn’t seem like it. It was light, after all. And I’m a farmer. Plenty of good reasons why I should have been awake.’

She examined his face, wondering whether he was as disingenuous as he sounded. Finding no sign of irony, she laughed at him. ‘And did you have to answer a lot of police questions?’

‘Some. It was all a bit disjointed, with me and Roddy trying to deal with the cows, as well as about a hundred police people. I’m supposed to be going in to make a formal statement later today. They’d just found the gun when I left. They did say I shouldn’t go anywhere until they’d eliminated me from their enquiries.’

‘And aren’t you worried?’ She shivered. ‘I wouldn’t like it, that’s for sure.’

‘This is England, sweetie. The cops are quite benign, really. And not terribly bright, in my experience. I can handle them easily, believe me.’

‘Well, I’ve got some news of my own. As you might expect.’

‘Wait. I’ve got to have coffee, toast and a pee, first. And your birds seem a bit fed up. Isn’t it time they had some breakfast, too?’

With a little cry, part exasperation, part self-reproach, Cappy ran off to her poultry sheds and busied herself with sacks of corn and hungry fowls. Ten minutes later, she was back in her elegant kitchen, arms folded on the highly 
polished oak table, watching her husband eat two thick slices of toast and marmalade. Roxanne rested her long mahogany nose on his forearm, adoring eyes following every move from plate to mouth. He pretended to ignore both wife and dog until he was finished. Then he leant back, and gazed at Cappy. ‘Okay, then. Fire away,’ he said.

She hid her face in her arms for a moment, with a mock shyness at the full force of his attention. ‘I don’t know where to start,’ she giggled. ‘You’ve made me feel silly.’

‘The … what should I call it? …
camp
’s still there, is it?’

‘I would call it that, yes. It’s just like something from my childhood, when we went out in the forest with my father and he showed us how to survive. I still can’t believe it, how clever it is. Tucked right in the bracken, lovely and dry.’

‘And there’s nobody there this morning?’

She shook her head. ‘That’s why I went out so early, to see if I could catch them. After all, it
is
our land. I’ve every right to go where I like.’

‘Nobody says you haven’t. What do you mean?’

She shook herself slightly, irritated or confused. ‘Well, yes. But it’s somebody’s
home
. There’s a stone circle fireplace, blankets, very likely a food store somewhere, though I didn’t see it. I felt like a trespasser.’ 

‘Well, you’ve probably made them desert it, like a bird leaves its nest. If they’re that clever, they’ll know you’ve been snooping about. But I thought you said you’d got news. You haven’t told me anything yet. Come on, angel. I’ve got work to do.’

‘Well, it’s news that there was nobody there. And the fire was cold. I was examining it when I heard the shots. I was really scared for a minute. I thought they were shooting at
me
. Amazing how the sound carries.’

‘Well, I didn’t hear it. Deep asleep, I was. I haven’t got over my rude awakening, yet. You must have really flown down from the woods.’

‘Four-minute mile, I think. How far would you say it is?’

‘Less than half a mile. Still quite a run. Nice to know you’re so fit. They’d only just discovered Sam when I got there, by the looks of it.’

‘Poor Sam. What a thing. What have you told the police?’ This aspect of the story plainly absorbed most of her thoughts.

‘Nothing much more than I’ve said already. Least said the better, if you ask me. That’s an end to any more mischief in the woods, anyway.’

‘Oh?’

‘Of course it is. Security, for a start. The place will be crawling with law-enforcers now. Redstone’ll have to be sold, as well, or rented 
to someone who can run it. Roddy hasn’t much idea – he and I made a real mess of the milking just now. It’s all finished for the Beardons, believe me.’

She shook her head, her face serious. ‘I don’t think so, Jon. I think there’s a way to go yet. It’s all such a mess, with three people killed. If I were you, I’d be just a weeny bit worried about that interview at the police station. They’ll want to know a whole lot of background. Gossip, hunches – the complete story. Now, go and count your beasts, and stop being so annoying.’

‘Annoying! Me? That’s impossible.’ He laughed, but his feelings were ruffled by her words. As he and Roxanne made their regular trip around the bullock field, he wondered what she’d meant.

Before Jonathan got back, Cappy had a visitor. Tim Rickworth drove into the courtyard in his sporty car, and jumped out almost before the engine had died. Cappy saw him from the kitchen and went out to meet him. They stood several feet apart, assessing each other suspiciously, like cowboys preparing to draw.

‘Something’s happened at Redstone,’ he said. ‘Something else. This morning.’

She nodded. ‘That’s right. Sam’s been shot.’

‘
Sam
?’ His voice was shrill with disbelief. 
‘Surely not! What on earth is happening to this place? It’s like 1930s Chicago.’

‘Not quite. But yes, it is terrible. He was such an –
innocent
person.’

‘Was? He’s dead, then?’

Cappy paused for two seconds before nodding. ‘Instantly, by all accounts.’

‘Perhaps he wasn’t quite so innocent, then. I mean, somebody must have thought he deserved to die. This should mean the list of suspects is getting shorter, anyway.’

Cappy pouted her disagreement. ‘I wouldn’t quite say that,’ she demurred.

‘Come on. Think about it. This keeps it strictly local, surely? Something very nasty in Redstone’s woodshed, if you ask me.’

Cappy made no reply. She turned away, moving slowly towards the big trough overflowing with nasturtiums and trailing begonia. Tim watched her flicking at fat stripey caterpillars which had infested the nasturtiums. When they landed on the ground, she crushed them under her sandal.

‘They turn into butterflies, you know,’ he said mildly, fighting not to let his disgust show on his lips.

‘What? What do?’

‘Those caterpillars,’ he nodded.

She stared at what she’d done, and laughed briefly. ‘But they eat my flowers first. I can’t allow that, can I?’ 

Before he could respond to that, Tim was knocked violently from behind, and almost pushed off his feet. For a moment he went rigid, hands held out vertically as if ready for a karate strike. Then he span round in a blur of movement.

‘Roxanne!’ came Jonathan’s voice, still some distance away. ‘Put him down this minute.’

The dog ignored her master. Tim swung round and faced the dusty red creature raised up on hind legs, tongue lolling, unpleasant breath huffing into his face. Tim did not like dogs very much. He pushed it away, roughly, angry at the shock he’d received. Angry, too, at Jonathan’s jokey attitude. The animal should be better controlled: it could hurt someone behaving like this.

‘Come and have some coffee,’ Jonathan invited, clapping Tim matily on the upper arm. ‘Sorry about Roxanne. She can’t believe you don’t love her, you see. Neither can I, to be honest. You must be lacking in soul.’

And what about your wife, stamping on caterpillars?
Tim silently retorted.
Where’s the soul in that?

‘Heard about poor old Sam, then?’ Jonathan continued. ‘Chaos is come again, it would seem. Can’t wait for this whole business to be over and done with. Ghastly for poor Lilah. I’m fond of that girl, you know. Hate to see her in such a mess.’ He was breathing heavily, as if he’d been 
running, although he’d come walking at normal speed into the yard. He looked round for Cappy, but she hadn’t followed them into the house.

‘Well, well,’ he went on thoughtfully. ‘Maybe you can help with a dilemma, now you’re here. Or at least tell me I’m doing the right thing.’

Tim sat at the table, waiting for more.

Quickly, as he made the coffee, Jonathan told his visitor about the mucky clothes and shoe that he and Roxanne had found. He explained that he had done nothing with them, on the assumption that he was protecting Sam. He related the agreement he’d come to with Miranda about it, and how there was little reason to help the police to prosecute Sam for murder, in the circumstances.

‘But now everything’s different. And of course we don’t even know for sure that the things belonged to Sam. Thinking about it this morning, I realised they probably didn’t. We just jumped to that conclusion.’

‘Where’s the stuff now?’

‘In a bucket in the barn. I guess I’ll have to produce it, and give the police all the help I can. They want me to go along for further questioning this afternoon.’

‘Hmmm.’ Tim stared into his coffee, trying to think. ‘They’ll want to know why you kept it back before.’

‘I know. But I’ve got my story straight. More 
or less the truth, actually. How I’d felt a sense of natural justice, if Sam killed Guy, after years of intimidation and bullying.’

‘Is that true?’

‘Partly. I dare say it’s all a lot more complicated than it looks.’

‘They’ll be furious with you. Withholding vital evidence. Obstructing the course of justice. I wouldn’t be in your shoes.’

Jonathan shook his head. ‘It won’t be very nice, I’m sure. But I doubt if they’ll actually bring me to book over it. They’ll be too relieved to get the stuff now. It might make all the difference.’

Cappy drifted into the kitchen then. She’d obviously heard the last few words and looked intently at Jonathan. ‘Are you talking about those clothes?’ she demanded.

He nodded. ‘Why? What’s the problem?’

Cappy leant back against the edge of the sink, the muscles of her neck tight. ‘I told you to
leave
it,’ she hissed. ‘Why can’t you listen to me?’

‘It’s all different now,’ he said mildly. ‘And I don’t think it can have been Sam’s clothes after all. We should have another look. That shoe – it’s a trainer. Can you see Sam wearing trainers?’

‘Of course. Everybody wears trainers. I’ve seen old men in trainers.’

‘Not when they’re going out to milk the cows. Boots, pet. Farming people wear boots. 
Wellingtons. Big rubber things.’ He laughed at her, the smooth English aristocrat tutoring the ignorant foreigner. She gripped the stainless steel with both hands, arching her back like a cat.

‘You’re a complete fool sometimes, you know,’ she said, the words ice cold with rage. Then she pushed herself away from her support and swept out of the room.

Tim cleared his throat. ‘Just like home,’ he said.

Jonathan was pale. ‘I’ve no idea why she’s like that about it,’ he said shakily.

‘Probably just what I said. The police being upset with you. Getting involved in something like this – you never know which way it’ll go. Maybe she thinks they’ll take you in as a suspect.’

Jonathan shook his head. ‘No chance. Whatever they find on that gun, it won’t be
my
fingerprints.’

‘They found the gun then?’ Tim sounded surprised.

Jonathan nodded. ‘Probably got a full list of prints on it by now. We all had to be done, look.’ He held out both hands, smudges of black still evident on all ten digits. ‘It was fun, in a daft sort of way.’

Tim drained the last of his coffee and got to his feet. ‘Well, I can’t stop,’ he said. ‘I’m supposed to be somewhere else.’ 

‘Okay.’ Jonathan didn’t move. ‘Didn’t think you’d want to inspect the evidence. It is a bit niffy, even after all this time.’

‘What is it now? Four weeks since Guy died? Doesn’t seem as much as that. Weird business, the whole thing. And I thought Sarah and I were the biggest excitement the village would ever see.’

‘You’re deadly dull compared to a murder. And don’t get ideas. It might be nice to have a truce for a while, come to that.’

‘Some hopes. I married a harpy. A banshee. And yet …’

‘I know. She’s a darling deep down. Get help, man. It can’t be healthy, going on as you two do.’

‘Anyway. I’m off. See you. Have fun in your interrogation. And if there’s any juicy news, let’s hear it, okay?’

As Tim drove away, Cappy reappeared, and stood beside Jonathan, watching the car disappear. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘He has that effect on me. No wonder Sarah’s so screwed up.’

He turned to her, pulling her to his chest, rubbing his cheek against the top of her head, savouring the glossy black hair. ‘It was me you were cross with, not Tim. Don’t pretend.’

‘Well, I’m all right again now. I just think—’

‘I know. You’re worried that I’m getting in too deeply. You’re probably right, but I can’t see much option at this stage.’ 

She rubbed his back, purring her affection. ‘Never mind, J. It’ll be all right. Now, let me go, will you. I want to have another look at that camp. It’s intriguing me terribly. I can’t bear not knowing who’s been there. Why haven’t we heard anything?’

‘There was some noise, a week or so ago. Remember? Shouting. Laughing. A woman. We were busy at the time.’ He grinned wolfishly, to indicate exactly what they’d been busy doing.

Cappy giggled, and then shook her head. ‘I don’t even remember. Did you say anything at the time?’

‘Possibly not. It was latish evening, and a weekend. I just assumed it was grockles. Anyway, if you’re determined to go back, just be careful. I ought not to let you go at all, in the circumstances. I suppose we can at least be sure there isn’t a gun lying around.’