The Troutbeck Testimony (6 page)

‘Ben,’ she returned. ‘First one’s on Monday.’

‘You know each other,’ Simmy realised, with a sense of being slow-witted. ‘Of course. Are you in the same class?’

Two identically patronising looks greeted this question. ‘They call them tutor groups now,’ Ben told her. ‘And no, we’re not. Never have been. But everybody knows Bonnie Lawson.’

‘They don’t!’ the girl protested. ‘Not like they know Ben Harkness, anyway.’

‘We’re both famous,’ he shrugged. Then he looked from one to the other. ‘You’re not
working
here, are you?’

‘That’s the idea, yes. I’m training, at the moment. Melanie thought it would work out. She brought me yesterday.’

Ben had grown an inch since the start of the year, and was likely to add another by Christmas. He was knobbly
and scrawny and often awkward. His complicated mixture of confidence bordering on arrogance at some times, and acute sensitivity to criticism at others had endeared him to Simmy from the start. Impressive brain power and highly focused ambition singled him out from his peers, and yet he never seemed lonely. He was unquestionably a geek, but the existence of a large family of siblings and well-disposed teachers all seemed to have kept him reasonably normal.

‘Training, eh!’ The dash of patronage for a girl his own age was not lost on Simmy, who made a noise of protest. ‘What?’ Ben challenged her.

‘She
is
training. Don’t be so …’

‘What?’ said Ben again. ‘I wasn’t being anything.’

Again there was a feeling that the two youngsters had an understanding between them that excluded Simmy. Bonnie hadn’t blushed or giggled or tried to efface herself in Ben’s presence. There appeared to be a natural ease between them which was both surprising and enviable. As Simmy remembered it, her own school years had involved considerable awkwardness between the sexes.

‘Anyway, I’m busy,’ she said crossly.

‘That’s good, isn’t it?’ said the boy with a grin.

She sighed, and then remembered something. ‘Hey, while you’re here, I’ve got a question for you. What’s the poem that has the line about the “bee-loud glade”? Is it Thomas Hardy?’

‘Yeats,’ he said carelessly. ‘
The Lake Isle of Innisfree
. “And I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made; Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honeybee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade.”’ He rattled off the lines
with little feeling. ‘I learnt that when I was fifteen,’ he added. ‘Nice to know it’s still in here, good as new.’

‘Wow!’ gasped Bonnie in wonderment. ‘That’s awesome.’

‘I thought it was either Hardy or Yeats,’ said Simmy, defensively.

‘So what does it have to do with anything?’ Ben asked.

‘Nothing, really. Just that it came to me yesterday, and I thought you’d probably know. As you did. Thanks.’

‘Um …’ Ben was taking out his phone, which was also a dozen other useful things. ‘There’s a bit of news, I see. A man in Troutbeck? Come to an untimely end?’ His hesitancy was uncharacteristic, but Simmy understood it only too well. ‘Did you know about it?’ the boy concluded.

‘Yes, but I’m not thinking about it today. I’ve got far too much else to concentrate on. It’s nothing to do with me.’ The words echoed in her head, taunting her with their mendacity. ‘At least …’ She could see there was no immediate prospect of getting down to her funeral wreaths until Ben was satisfied.

He was onto her like a snake. ‘At least –’ he prompted. ‘Do you know who he is? I mean
was
. Anything else you can tell me?’

‘Stop it!’ she shouted. ‘Don’t be so damned gleeful about it. A man died in a farmyard yesterday afternoon. That’s all I know. That’s all I
want
to know.’

He stared at her, searching for the truth. ‘How do you even know that much? I bet you haven’t seen any news today. What time did you get into the shop this morning?’

‘Half past eight. I did an early delivery in Staveley. The woman wasn’t even dressed.’

‘Did you have the car radio on?’

‘No. Stop it, Ben. I haven’t got time to be interrogated by you. I’ve already had Ninian bothering me, before I even opened up.’

‘Surely
he
wasn’t talking about the dead man?’

‘No, actually. I don’t know what he was talking about. Nothing important. I told him about Bonnie.’

Ben looked at her. ‘Do you know Ninian Tripp, on Brant Fell?’

Bonnie nodded as if the answer were obvious, and Simmy felt a familiar sense of being at a disadvantage amongst all these people who had known each other for ever.

‘Well, he’s her boyfriend,’ said Ben. ‘He makes these pots. He’s okay.’

Bonnie looked from one to the other. ‘There’ve been murders before, haven’t there? You were hurt,’ she addressed Simmy. ‘It must have been horrible. Now Ben wants to talk about something that happened yesterday, but you don’t. Right? And you know it, don’t you?’ she turned to the boy. ‘You know she wants to stay out of it. Why don’t you just respect that and leave her alone?’

If defending was going to be done, Simmy would never have dreamt that it would be Bonnie Lawson standing up for Simmy Brown against Ben Harkness. She laughed. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Maybe he’ll listen to you.’

‘I knew she’d try and stay clear of it, yeah,’ Ben muttered. ‘But I’m set for a career in forensic archaeology and if I can get some hands-on experience now, it’ll be good. It all started last year in Bowness. Simmy was there. And the Ambleside thing at Christmas – I was really helpful to the police that time.’ He was gaining in volume and assertiveness. ‘I’m not just tormenting her for the hell of it.
If this is another murder, I should try and get some inside information about it. See?’

‘Not really,’ said Bonnie. ‘But I s’pose it’ll come clear before long.’

Simmy felt a stab of conscience at concealing so much from Ben. He was so focused and determined in his choice of career that any impediment seemed more than unkind. ‘Moxon came to see me last night,’ she said tiredly. ‘He was really sorry, but my father and I could probably be of help to them. Dad heard some men talking on Monday, outside the pub in Troutbeck. And we took the number of a car and described the men in it. It turns out the car belongs to the dead man, so I suppose I saw him, just a day before he died.’ She shuddered. ‘I hate it, Ben. I absolutely can’t cope with another load of trouble.’

Ben eyed her uneasily, and took a large bite of a sandwich from his lunch box. ‘Doesn’t sound as if you’ve much to worry about,’ he suggested. ‘Probably there’ll be other locals who can help as much as you.’

‘Is it anything to do with the dead dog you found, do you think?’ asked Bonnie. ‘I keep worrying about that. I wonder if its people ever found it.’ The faint air of reproach hinted that the girl thought Simmy and her father should have done more than they did to put things right. She also looked rather agitated, Simmy realised.

‘Dead dog?’ said Ben. ‘Where?’

‘Halfway up Wansfell Pike,’ said Simmy. ‘I can’t imagine it’s got anything to do with anything. But probably Dad said something about it to Moxon. We saw a man later on carrying something we thought might be that dog. In a black bin liner sort of thing.’ A new surge of irritation
against her father gripped her. Any involvement with this case was definitely going to be all his fault. ‘And then that same man—’

Ben cut her short. ‘Your dad spoke to Moxon?’ While still treading carefully, he was clearly not going to remain silent.

‘He did. I still can’t quite believe it, but my mother thinks it’s all pointing to a change of character, probably due to what’s happened over the past months. He’s got a lot more anxious and thinks I need protecting. Although that doesn’t really explain why he’s suddenly turned into such a good citizen. There was never the slightest suggestion that anybody was planning to hurt me. He just heard two men talking and thought it sounded as if they might be planning to rob somebody. That’s the whole thing. Nothing the least bit sinister.’

‘Unless he didn’t tell you the whole story,’ said Ben. ‘What about this man with a bag? He sounds a bit dodgy.’

‘I saw him again last night,’ Simmy picked up where she’d been interrupted, and briefly told them what had happened.

‘What’s his name? Where does he live? Didn’t you ask him what he had in the bag?’ Ben fired the questions at her with rising incredulity, as she shook her head after each one. ‘Simmy! What’s the matter with you? How could you not even find out his name?’

‘I just wanted him to go. He made me feel … I hate to use the stupid word, but he really did make me feel uncomfortable. As if he knew he could do anything he liked to me, and I’d never be able to stop him.’

‘I know what you mean,’ said Bonnie, with feeling. ‘So, what did this man look like?’

‘Quite tall, with a beard. Probably about my age or a bit younger. Dark eyes.’

‘And your father saw him too – on Monday?’ Ben asked. ‘Is that right?’

Simmy nodded. ‘He fell over and got muddy. But I have no idea whether my father mentioned him to the police. I suppose he must have done.’

‘And the beardy man knew the chap who’s been killed? Told you his name?’

‘Yes. He said it was all round the village because the woman who found the body knew him and made a big noise about it. It sounded as if she was hysterical, poor thing. Covered in blood.’

Ben’s eyes narrowed. ‘Really? How come?’

‘I don’t know, Ben. She probably tried to do first aid on him or something. The man said his throat was damaged.’ She couldn’t bring herself to repeat the actual words. Her own throat went tight at the image they conjured.

‘Hmm.’ Ben’s eyes were shining in an unwholesome excitement at this latest crime. ‘Doesn’t sound as if there’s much doubt it was murder, then.’

‘My father’s really going to wish he kept quiet.’

‘Right,’ said Bonnie. ‘Especially when he realises he’s landed you in the middle of it. If he was trying to protect you, he’s made a poor job of it, hasn’t he?’

‘That’s a horrid thing to say,’ Simmy protested. ‘He must have thought he was doing the right thing.’

Bonnie raised her hands in surrender. ‘Sorry. But facts are facts,’ she added obscurely. ‘I mean, there have been dognappings around here. You must have seen the notices everywhere. So if somebody’s been killed close to where
you saw a dead dog, and where other dogs have been stolen, that’s probably what this is all about. And what you and your father saw will confirm that, in the minds of the police.’ She closed her lips, as if feeling she might have said too much.

‘I don’t see it,’ Simmy insisted. ‘Why would dognappers kill a dog, for a start? Don’t they want a ransom or something? Then they give the animal back, and things carry on as before.’ The whole idea continued to strike her as unimportant, even mildly comic. Nobody answered and she went on, ‘As far as I’m concerned, I just want to get on with my work.’ As if to emphasise the point, a pair of young women came chattering into the shop, pausing to look around at the flowers and associated goods for sale, as everybody did. Simmy went to greet them, relief rendering her idiotically effusive.

Ben went away again for an afternoon of revision, and Simmy settled down to a careful review of all the wreaths and sprays yet to be created for Friday’s funeral. Bonnie successfully sold a bunch of white roses and another of dried grasses. She had no difficulty with the till and began to experiment with the computer, drawing Simmy’s attention to a new order just in.

The issue of food had already been flagged where Bonnie was concerned. Ben had munched through his packed lunch in front of the others, not offering them anything. Neither Simmy nor Bonnie had eaten. ‘I usually go out for a roll or something,’ she told Bonnie now. ‘What can I get you?’

‘It’s okay. I’ve got a pack of nuts and raisins in my pocket. That’ll keep me going.’

‘Are you sure? It doesn’t sound much.’ Simmy regarded herself as a light eater, but even she wanted bread and cheese, at the very least.

‘You can get me a banana or something, if you like,’ Bonnie conceded.

Simmy laughed. ‘Where do you suggest I do that in Windermere?’

The girl grinned ruefully. ‘Sorry – I suppose you’d have to go out to the supermarket for that. Corinne does all the shopping. Don’t worry about it.’

There wasn’t time to enquire about Corinne – who was presumably the aunt who Bonnie lived with – and the domestic arrangements in Heathwaite, but it did occur to Simmy that if she allowed Bonnie to move into the rooms over the shop, the girl would most probably starve as a result.

At half past one, while she was working in the back room, she heard the shop doorbell ping. A minute later, Bonnie came in and said, ‘Lady wants to see you.’

Brushing herself down, Simmy went to see who it was, with her mother as the first on her list of guesses.

‘Sorry to interrupt,’ said Valerie Rossiter, ‘but I wanted to ask you something.’

It was Barbara Hodge’s friend/companion/cousin and perhaps lover. She was wearing tinted glasses and a dark-blue bandanna thing around her head. She was pale and spoke thickly. ‘No problem,’ said Simmy, feeling a profound sympathy for the obvious grief. ‘What is it?’

‘I wondered whether you could somehow incorporate this in the flowers? I know it’s silly, but Barb would have liked it.’ She produced something wrapped in white tissue
paper from her bag and gave it to Simmy. When unwrapped, it turned out to be a small porcelain flower, somewhere between a tulip and a harebell. It was blue, and barely half an inch across, with a slender stem. It was almost as fragile as a real flower, and appeared to be a fragment of something larger.

‘I don’t know …’ she began. ‘It’s so delicate. And what’s going to happen to it afterwards?’

‘That doesn’t matter. It’s not valuable at all. We had this Meissen ornament, you see, and Barb broke it by accident, a year or two ago. We kept all the pieces, thinking we might get it mended, but now … it doesn’t matter any more. I just wanted to have it as part of the funeral, somehow. I can’t explain, but it would mean a lot. It’s like a sort of message, you see.’ She grimaced helplessly. ‘Just tuck it in among the other flowers, okay? It doesn’t matter if nobody sees it.’