Scaring Crows (27 page)

Eventually she would have
all
the answers.

‘So then what?'

‘I carried on past the old lady's cottage and across the moors towards Longnor. It's a good walk. A fair few miles. But I go most days.'

‘With Nathan?'

Mike spoke for the first time. ‘Haven't you got a job, Mr Stone?'

Stone's gaze swept over Mike's face with a touch of wry humour. ‘Unemployed,' he said. ‘You want to try it, Sergeant. It gives you time. Time to do everything. Time to enjoy things. Time to do things slowly. Because all you really got to do is keep yourself clean and tidy and fed and sign on once a week. Not bad, eh?'

Mike frowned and said nothing.

It gave Joanna the chance to ask her question. ‘How well did you know Jack's father and sister?'

‘Not that well.'

‘But you didn't like them?'

Stone looked wary. ‘I didn't
say
that.'

Joanna waited.

And Stone answered, eventually.

‘Madam Ruthie,' he said, ‘thought she was a cut above me. Never spoke, disapproved of Jack coming with me on my walks. And I was the only friend he had, outside the family.'

Again some of the claustrophobia of the father, son and daughter reached Joanna. Had their close relationship been to the exclusion of other friends then? And had this feeling of isolation extended to the exclusion of
all
other relationships?

She looked enquiringly at Lewis Stone.

He flushed. ‘I don't like being looked down on, Inspector. I mean who was she? Just a farmer's daughter.'

For the first time Joanna felt a creeping dislike for Lewis Stone and his peculiar brand of snobbery.

‘And Jack's father?'

Stone took in a sharp breath. ‘Used him. The pair of them treated Jack like a work horse. Always lifting bales or cleaning the sheds out, fetching and carrying. He never stopped, did old Jack. Always working. All day. And half the night too. And as for having a few hours off. Put it like this. They didn't like it. Always found some excuse why he couldn't come. Something to do.'

Joanna was silent. So. Had things been slightly different from the rural image she had enjoyed picturing? Had Ruthie, in fact, been a snob? And Aaron a hard taskmaster? Had Jack Summers been more of a slave than a family member? Had his lack of mental agility made him the target of their disdain?

She studied Stone carefully. He seemed jaunty enough, confident and comfortable. But if he was totally innocent why hadn't he come forward as soon as the murders had reached the local radio and newspapers? Why had he held back?

Some cynical instinct led her to ask the next question. ‘Have you ever been in trouble with the law, Mr Stone?'

His attitude altered subtly. ‘I'd have thought you'd have done your homework by now, Inspector.'

‘Save me the trouble.'

His head jerked back. ‘Bound over to keep the peace,' he snarled. ‘Soliciting. I'm gay. In the past I've been short of a boyfriend. All right with you?'

Mike answered for her. ‘Short of a boyfriend, were you? So you took Jack Summers on long walks.'

Stone jabbed his forefinger towards him. ‘Don't you start accusing me ...'

‘But you've already told us,' Joanna said innocently. ‘You and Jack went for long walks together.'

Stone plopped his mouth closed and Joanna made a mental note to ask Matthew one or two relevant questions.

Already her mind was working furiously. What if. ..?

What if Jack had been ‘seduced' by Stone. And what if Aaron had found out, objected. And Stone had blasted the pair of them.

Joanna shook her head before the thoughts were even halfway complete.

Where could Ruthie have fitted into all this? Unless Stone was bisexual.

She eyed Stone dubiously and decided not even to ask him.

Instead she asked him very nicely if he would be prepared to submit to a blood test before warning him about Jack. The law is,' she said, ‘intercourse between consenting adults. You might have a bit of trouble proving consent.'

Stone merely smiled complacently and said, ‘Why don't you get stuffed.'

They clattered back down the steps, accompanied by Nathan's menacing growls. As they reached the bottom he lunged at them, in a frenzy. But the chain was too short and they passed through without harm.

Joanna waited until they were back in the car before speaking her mind. ‘I can't understand his game,' she said. ‘He lies, he doesn't lie. His lies are all perfectly pointless and yet they make sense. I can't think of a single logical reason why he should have murdered the two Summers and yet I can imagine him doing it. And if he's been “taking advantage” of poor old Jack where on earth does Ruthie's death fit in? The whole thing is just so ... annoying.'

Mike grinned at her. ‘I know,' he said. ‘But then that's the fun of the job, isn't it, Jo?'

She shook her head. ‘The real fun of the job is getting an ice cold beer in a pub where the gardens are green and the drinks cold. And I'm buying,' she said.

3 p.m.

There were two messages waiting for her back at the Incident caravan. The first was from the estate agents telling her they needed access to her cottage to measure up ready for printing the details. She shoved it right to the bottom of a sheaf of papers. She could deal with it later.

Not now.

The second was from WPG Dawn Critchlow to say that Matthew had been trying to get in touch with her all day and would she please ring the hospital. She picked up the telephone and dialled his number.

She got her questions about Jack Summers in first and in his customary fashion his answers were guarded. ‘I didn't specifically look for evidence of penetrative sex,' he said slowly. ‘But there was nothing very obvious.' He paused and Joanna visualized him stroking his mouth, frowning, thinking, thinking. ‘The best thing to do, Jo, is for me to wheel him out again and make absolutely sure. If it might have a bearing on the case it's pretty vital.'

‘Thanks.' She too hesitated before asking him her other question.

‘Matthew,' she said tentatively, ‘are you certain about the time of death?'

‘Six-ish,' he said.

‘What if someone said they had been in the vicinity at seven to seven thirty and they'd heard Aaron Summers whistling the cows in?'

Matthew responded swiftly and with certainty. ‘I'd say they were mistaken or lying.'

‘And if there seemed no reason for them to lie?'

‘I'd say that there
was
a reason but that I simply hadn't discovered it.'

It was a categorical answer.

Now it was Joanna's turn to wipe her mouth with her hand, to frown and be silent.

Then Matthew spoke. ‘Jo.'

She waited.

‘I'm sorry.' It was a large slab of humble pie. ‘I was a bit hard on you earlier. I do so want it all to work well. The trouble is if Eloise is unhappy I feel so bloody guilty.'

‘You think she doesn't know that, Matthew. She's manipulating your feelings. She's taking advantage of you.'

‘Please, Jo. Enough.'

She
almost
felt sorry for him. He invited her for dinner. I'll cook,' he urged.

She declined, using the murder investigation as an excuse.

‘Please,' Matthew tried again. ‘Spend a bit of time getting to know Eloise. Talk to her.'

‘Well maybe I would if she stopped trying to alienate me. Look.' She did take pity on him then. ‘I really am up to my ears in this case. I can't keep clocking off for dinners and things. Let me concentrate on the investigation. Then we can relax – together.'

The trouble was that Matthew could read her mind perfectly. ‘But Eloise will have gone home by then.'

And she felt too ashamed to express her true feelings.

At last Matthew put the phone down just as Mike walked in balancing two glasses of iced lemonade. ‘I had an idea.'

She waited.

‘I was thinking about Stone,' he said, settling down into the chair. ‘Maybe we should take a peep into his past record before we write him off.'

‘I wasn't going to write him off,' she said. ‘Anyway. What line are you taking?'

‘
Why
doesn't he work?'

Joanna held her hands out, palms uppermost. ‘I don't know,' she said. ‘Maybe he's got a bad back or something.'

‘Walking all that distance every day? He didn't look like someone with back trouble to me.'

She watched him thoughtfully. ‘OK then,' she said eventually. ‘Let's have a look at the computer.'

It only took a few minutes.

Like his story of Tuesday morning Stone had told them half truths. Selective bits, leaving out the worst, the really unsavoury parts. He had been done more than once for soliciting. Unfortunately he had propositioned an off duty policeman who was straight. But he had a habit of befriending youngsters with emotional problems. There had been a girl with Downs. Aged twenty-four. Mental age six. There had been a boy with brain damage so severe his mental age had been described as being less than three. Physical age thirty. Stone had made a friend of him too. Three years ago he had been noticed loitering outside a ‘Special school' for children with severe learning difficulties and been reported to the police who had cautioned him.

Then for two years, Nothing.

Nothing.

The telephone startled her. Mike grabbed it, handed it straight to her with one word. ‘Levin,' he said.

‘No evidence of penetrative sex,' Matthew said without emotion. ‘So whatever your suspicions I don't think anyone was having sex with Jack.'

She took a deep breath. ‘Thanks,' she said.

She put the receiver down thoughtfully and glanced at Mike. ‘Well,' she said. ‘It looks as though the relationship between Stone and Jack was innocent.'

Mike's answer was a short grunt.

‘So we have yet another blind alley.'

He was leaning over her, his hand resting on her shoulder, his face turned towards the computer screen. But he had dropped his eyes to her dark, unruly hair and every breath he took was filled with a light, lemony fragrance. Not for the first time he reflected how difficult it could be, working with a woman.

She jerked away from him. ‘So, Mike,' she said, ‘what about Ruthie?'

‘Her death could have been coincidence. Besides. I know the police don't exactly figure high in the Mastermind competitions but even Stone must have known there was a sporting chance we'd find out who'd done the shootings. Why say he was there at all? Why persist with the story that he heard Aaron whistling when
we
keep saying he was dead by then?'

‘Maybe the shootings were done in temper, on the spur of the moment and he's insisting Aaron was fetching the cows at seven just to confuse us. Having once told the story he can't change it, can he?'

6 p.m.

Holiday makers had just arrived at the Rowans' farm. A black Volvo piled high with a Labrador and countless children. Suitcases and boxes of food were being unloaded as the police car pulled up.

Arabella Rowan met them, frowning. ‘Saturday is a busy day for us,' she said, obviously irritated. ‘I don't know why you've come back at all. These murders are nothing to do with us. I hardly knew the Summers family. Ruthie simply did the cleaning here.'

Joanna glanced around her, at the wide sweep of the valley, tiny squares of fields bordered by grey dry-stone walls, the fields speckled with cattle. Maybe it was the extending murder investigation but the entire scene seemed a little less perfect today, a little more flawed. A little more deceitful. Nothing was as it seemed. This idyllic holiday destination. She watched the excited children exclaiming at the farm tabby cat and wondered. Would they pack up the Volvo and leave if they knew the true story behind this pretty scene? Or was it her? Had she started to examine the characters of the people in the scene too critically to be distracted by the pretty landscape. Was it she who saw evil at every turn? Evil which did not really exist? Don't be silly, she admonished herself crossly. Of course there is evil. Two people have been murdered.

She turned back to Arabella Rowan and gave the farmer's wife her full attention without prejudice.

This evening Arabella looked hassled and hot. Her lemon shirt was crumpled and there were damp patches beneath the arms. Her face shone with sweat and the imperfections made her appear less in control than previously. It could have been the arrival of another boisterous family. Bikes were being taken off the roof-rack and propped up against Magpie Cottage. There was a lot of noise. The Labrador had noticed the attention being paid to the cat and was barking frantically, trying to distract the children from their new plaything. But the cat was unperturbed, licking its lips and yawning, its tail flicking lazily.

Joanna took in other things about Arabella Rowan, her blonde hair, flattened and untidy, her hands reddened as though by hard scrubbing around the cottages. She must be missing her cleaner and on closer inspection she looked strained, her eyes reddened and puffy.

So what else was wrong?

Was it just that in this tightly knit community three sudden deaths were enough to make all the neighbours reel? Or had Arabella Rowan something to conceal? Was the furtive darting of the eyes concern for her guests or was it guilt? On her behalf or her husband's?

It had been widely reported in both the local and national press that a third body had been found at the farm but the results of the post mortem had not yet been made public. Perhaps the current desire for confidentiality had touched Joanna too. She wasn't anxious for people to know that Ruthie Summers had been pregnant – except the father of the child. To herself she could admit she still had an absurd instinct to protect the girl's reputation.