The Judgement of Strangers (34 page)

Toby panned the torch beam to and fro. No one was there. Nothing moved apart from the dying flames and the rain, which was growing steadily heavier. Trapped in the beam, the raindrops looked like needles showering from the sky.

‘Phew,’ he said. ‘You can feel the heat from here.’

‘Lucky the wind wasn’t in the other direction. The other trees would have gone, too.’

The beam of the torch raced across the grass to the base of the tree. ‘What’s that?’

Picked out in the torchlight was a black oblong with a red glow along the top. Something else lay half concealed on the ground immediately behind it – something red, I thought, though it was hard to be sure because the colour might simply be a reflection of the flames.

Toby stopped a few yards away from the tree; the heat made it uncomfortable to go nearer. He played the beam on the ground.

‘It’s a sort of box. And that might be a petrol can behind it.’

‘So the fire was started deliberately?’

‘Probably CHBs.’

‘What?’

Toby turned his head towards me and the reflections of the flames danced like snakes among his ginger curls. ‘Council house brats.’ He threw back his head and laughed.

The words shocked me – not merely because of their grotesque snobbery, but because Toby had assumed I would share his amusement. Was that how I appeared to him?

He turned back to the fire. ‘It’ll burn itself out in an hour or so, and I don’t think it’s going to do any damage to anything else. But it’s a bit close to the garden for comfort.’

‘We’d better report it to the police.’

‘If this were my land, the first thing I’d do is rebuild the fences.’

I was only half listening to him. I edged across the grass towards the tree. The heat was unpleasant but not unbearable. Beside the box, the petrol can lay on its side, its cap off.

‘Do you think Mrs Potter might sell the field to me eventually? It would round off the garden rather nicely.’

I picked up a long twig, one end charred from the fire. I used it to touch the blackened side of the box. The two came together with a faint
clunk
, which suggested that the box was made of metal.

Dear God – not CHBs. Much closer to home.

‘David – what are you doing? Mind out – that branch is going to come down.’

I ignored him. Shielding my face with my free arm against the heat, I took another two paces closer to the box. This must have been where the fire had started. I poked one end of the stick inside. A rectangular shape emerged from the debris, scattering ashes and sparks.

‘David –?’

The object slithered down the stick and settled on the base of the box again, sending up another puff of ash. I retreated quickly to Toby.

‘What is it? What did you find?’

In the space of a few seconds, the possibilities chased through my mind. I could say I did not know what it was. I could let someone else make the connection. I could say nothing to Toby but go and find Vanessa. Or I could say nothing to Toby or Vanessa, but instead phone the police. Or I could go back to the Vicarage and see if there was any damage there. Most of all, I wished that it was not I who had to deal with this.

‘I’m pretty sure that’s the tin box that contained the Youlgreave papers. It was in our house. If I’m right, someone must have broken in and stolen it. James left a can of petrol in the garage this afternoon, and I think they must have stolen that as well.’

Toby whistled. ‘Vanessa – what’s she going to say?’

‘It depends if the papers were still in the box.’

‘No point if they weren’t. Anyway,
something
was inside. What a mess.’

He was right. Less than half an hour earlier, Joanna and I had been in bed together, and everything had seemed so simple. Not easy, but simple. Now, standing beside a burning tree with rain falling steadily on my head and shoulders, I felt as though nothing would ever be simple and straightforward again.

‘We’d better phone the police.’

‘Come this way.’ Toby pointed the torch beam across the field to another part of the fence between it and the garden. ‘We can go through the stables. Less chance of meeting people, and we’ll get less wet.’

He took me through the darkened stables and into a yard in the shadow of the back of the house. Soon we were in the kitchen where I had last seen Joanna. He led me along the corridor to the office by the front door. The room was empty. On the table was a wooden box, with its lid open. I saw books inside, neatly stacked. Toby shut the door behind us and put the torch on the table.

‘You’d better phone. They’ll take more notice of you.’

He found me the number of the police station. When I got through, I talked to a desk sergeant who was reluctant to believe that anything was seriously amiss. We argued to and fro for several minutes.

‘Look,’ the man said at last. ‘It’s Saturday night and we’re already overstretched. From what you’ve told me, it sounds like a bit of fun that got out of hand. But there’s no real damage done, is there? Still, I’ll make sure someone’s round first thing in the morning.’

‘Isn’t burglary and the destruction of property serious any longer?’

‘Of course they are, sir.’ The policeman’s good humour seemed unruffled. ‘I tell you what: why don’t you go home and see if there’s any evidence of a break-in? Maybe it wasn’t your box, after all. No harm in checking. If you have had a break-in, of course, you give us a ring. I’ll make a note of your call.’

That was the end of my attempt to fetch the police. Toby, who had been leaning against the door smoking a cigarette, straightened up and smiled at me.

‘The boys in blue not being too helpful?’

‘You probably gathered what they said.’

‘I’ll drive you down to the Vicarage if you want.’

‘I’d better have a word with Vanessa first. Break the news.’ I hesitated. ‘Perhaps we shouldn’t mention the box to anyone else until we’ve told her.’

We left the office and walked along the corridor towards the sitting room. Little had changed in our absence. The Potter women were still beside the head of the family, as he snored quietly in the armchair. James and Mary, supported by a dedicated band of helpers, were working their way methodically through the remaining contents of the bar. Rosemary had returned and was surrounded by three youths who were vying for her attention by the fireplace. Joanna wasn’t there; nor were Vanessa and Audrey.

‘Seen Vanessa?’ Toby asked.

‘Thought she went out with you and David,’ James said. ‘Did you catch our arsonist?’

‘No sign of anyone. Just a burning tree.’

‘Sounds like your province, David. Isn’t there something in the Bible about a burning bush and the angel of the Lord?’

‘Exodus. Chapter three.’

I went to the nearest French window, with Toby behind me. The rain was no longer a shower but a downpour. Reflected light from the sitting room sparkled in the puddles on the terrace.

‘Maybe she’s sheltering by the pool,’ Toby suggested. ‘Shall I fetch an umbrella? There’s one in the Jag.’

‘One of the boys will get it,’ James said. ‘Brian! Toby’s got a job for you.’

Brian slipped through the crowd. For once Michael was not with him. I felt a stirring of unease. If he was still outside, he would be soaked.

Toby gave Brian the car key. ‘The car’s just outside the front door, under the canopy. There’s a brolly on the back seat.’

The boy ran off, glad to have a job to do, wanting to show off his speed and efficiency. Too late, I wished I had asked him where Michael was.

‘Vanessa?’ I called. ‘Vanessa?’

I waited for an answer. Beside me, Toby was silent. I stared across the lawn, a pale-grey smudge in the darkness.

Suddenly Brian was in the doorway of the sitting room. ‘There are two men outside,’ he gasped. ‘They’ve broken into your car.’

There was a moment’s silence.

Then Toby said, ‘
Shit!
’ and ran past Brian, pushing him out of the way. Brian and I followed, with at least a dozen others trailing behind us. Rosemary was just behind me.

‘Are you all right?’ I asked in a low voice.

She did not answer. The current of people carried us side by side down the corridor into the hall. The front door was standing open. Rain gusted into the house, and a pool of water covered the tiles near the door. Framed in the doorway were two men in sodden raincoats, their bare heads wet with rain. Behind them was Toby’s car under the shelter of the canopy. The driver’s door was hanging open, and the panel shielding the door and window mechanisms had been removed.

‘Mr Clifford?’ said the taller of the two, a man with a broad face and eyes that slanted down at the outer corners. ‘Mr Toby Clifford?’

‘Yes,’ Toby said. ‘Who are you?’

‘Police.’ For an instant the man held out what might have been a warrant card. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Field, and this is Detective Constable Ingram. We’d like to ask you some questions, sir.’

‘What are you doing with my car? Have you broken into it?’

‘It was unlocked. We –’

‘You’re lying. It was locked.’

‘Perhaps in the circumstances it would be better if you accompanied us to the station, sir. We wouldn’t want to upset your guests, would we?’

Toby didn’t answer. He was staring at the other man, who was holding what looked like a small brown parcel.

‘I should tell you that you’re not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so,’ Field was saying, ‘but what you say may be put into writing and given in evidence.’

Someone behind me gasped.

Toby swung round, turning his back on the police officers. His face was so pale it was almost green. His eyes searched the little crowd of his guests.

‘You,’ he said, pointing at Rosemary. ‘You tight-arsed, screwed-up little bitch, you frigid little fucked-up cow.’

He lunged at her. Automatically I stepped in front of Rosemary and he cannoned against me. Then the two policemen grabbed his arms from behind.

‘Party’s over,’ Field said.

But it was not over. Toby was handcuffed and led to the car. While Field radioed for assistance, Ingram began to take our names and addresses. He began with me. When he realized I was a clergyman, his eyebrows rose, making me feel like a naughty child caught out.

‘What about Miss Clifford?’ he asked me. ‘Where’s she?’

‘I don’t know.’

He moved on to James, who was looking almost sober again. I glanced round the crowded hall. Almost everyone was there, apart from the Potters, Joanna, Audrey, Vanessa and Michael.

And Rosemary, too, I suddenly realized: she had been there a moment ago, but now she had slipped away.

There was a light under the office door. Perhaps Vanessa had returned to pore over Francis Youlgreave’s books, oblivious of the commotion. I opened the door. No one was there. The books and the torch were still on the table. So was the telephone.

‘Officer?’ I called to Ingram. ‘Do you mind if I try phoning the Vicarage to see if my family’s gone back home?’

Ingram nodded, and went back to Mary Vintner, who was still nursing a large gin.

I dialled the Vicarage number. The phone rang on and on.

‘I bet they’re all down at the pool,’ James said at my shoulder. ‘Probably sheltering in that little hut. I expect Joanna’s there as well.’

‘We’d better go and see. If the police let us.’

Ingram raised no objection, so James and I walked back to the sitting room; James brought the torch. We went out on the terrace.

‘Vanessa?’ I shouted. ‘Audrey? Michael?’

‘Joanna!’ yelled James a few inches away from my left ear.

There was no reply. Just the steady rustle of the rain.

‘Damn it,’ James said. ‘We’ll have to go down there and get soaked.’

Then someone began to scream.

It was a high, gasping sound in two parts, with the stress on the first. It sounded completely inhuman, like the cry of a seabird. But the screams made a word, repeated over and over again.