by Joyce Cato
‘I’m Lady Jones, Robert’s wife,’ Erica continued crisply, as the inspector carefully released her hand, having made sure that he hadn’t gripped it too hard. His wife was always complaining that he had a crushing grip, and warning him to be careful. ‘I’m Tris’s stepmother. Can you tell us, please, exactly what’s happening? Nobody will tell us anything. It’s very distressing, and I’m sure, totally unnecessary. We are Tris’s parents, after all.’
Causon looked her very slowly up and down before allowing one rather shaggy, mousy-coloured eyebrow to rise. ‘There’s very little, as of yet, that we can tell you, Lady Jones,’ he said repressively. ‘As you can see, I’ve only just arrived. Now, I have a few questions for you, if you feel up to it, of course.’
Or even if you don’t, he might just as well have added out loud, for all the trouble that he took to be tactful about it. Clearly, he didn’t like having his interviews hijacked, and anyone who thought that they could get the upper hand of him, especially via the very specious route of being in a higher social class, very quickly learned differently.
Erica’s patrician face flushed slightly at the non-too-subtle reprimand, and she took a deep breath. Uncouth lout, she might just as well have said out loud in return. And for a moment, the police inspector and the Lady of the Manor eyed each other in perfect understanding. Not to mention, mutual antipathy.
‘When was the last time you saw your son, Sir Robert?’ the inspector asked, turning pointedly to the boy’s father, who had been staring rather vacantly down at his feet, and had clearly missed the little by-play between his wife and the investigating officer.
Inside the pavilion, everyone pretended not to be watching or listening. Outside, people pretended the same.
‘What?’ Sir Robert said blankly, and then clearly made an effort to pay attention. ‘I’m sorry. Er … let me think. I’m sorry, but I’m not quite sure. Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It, er … yes, it was during tea, I think. Yes, we were having some of that wonderful gateau. And Tris came in late. The boy was always late,’ Sir Robert said, his voice catching for a moment. Then he recovered, and made a concerted effort to bring himself back under control. He cleared his throat. ‘Tea was nearly over, so he started stuffing himself with cake. I went outside, to get a good spot for when play resumed. I don’t think I noticed him again after that,’ he lied smoothly.
No way was he going to admit to this bluff and implacable man that his last words to his son had been so acrimonious and lacking in affection. The businessman blinked rapidly, as he suddenly realized that that last meeting would be his enduring memory of the last time he saw his son alive.
He swallowed hard. Would it really have hurt him to be a little less hard on his son? If only he could take it all back and start again.
‘I see, sir,’ Causon said, and again not without sympathy. ‘And you, Lady Jones?’ He turned with some reluctance to the boy’s stepmother.
‘Me?’ Erica said. ‘Oh. I’m not sure. Oh wait, yes I am. It was in here.’ She waved a hand vaguely around at the interior of the pavilion. ‘Max was heading out to bat. Everyone else was already outside. Tris was eating something – a scone, I think. I saw him chatting to the cook, briefly, at some point.’ She dismissed this with another vague wave. ‘Anyway. Then he left, passing me by as I sat here, where Robert’s sitting now.’
Behind her, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, Jenny Starling had a brief but vivid flash back to that moment. Tristan, blowing his stepmother that mocking kiss. But the fact that Erica didn’t mention that little episode didn’t surprise her in the least. Inspector Causon didn’t seem to be the kind of man to inspire such confidences, even if it hadn’t been for the fact that it had clearly been a case of loathing at first sight for the both of them.
‘I stayed in here after that – I don’t do well in the sun, you see,’ Erica carried on, indicating her fair skin with a shrug. ‘I burn very quickly and easily. In fact, I never left this building, I don’t think. And the next thing I heard about Tris was when Max came in to say that he’d been found … behind the pavilion.’
Her hand clenched compulsively on her husband’s shoulder as she recited this last bit, but Sir Robert didn’t seem to notice.
Jenny shifted a little uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Was it just her, or had Erica Jones been just a little too keen to stress the fact that she’d never left the pavilion? Not that she had, as far as Jenny could remember. But it did seem a little off that she was so keen to give herself an alibi.
Then the cook had to concede, in all fairness, that she was hardly in any position to judge Erica for that, for hadn’t she done just the same, when she’d checked the French doors were still locked, thus ensuring that her own alibi was safe?
We’re all human after all, Jenny Starling thought sadly. And our first thought, ignoble thought it might be, was nearly always to look out for our own precious skin.
Besides which, no doubt the Lady of the Manor felt that she needed to be especially careful, since she had clearly rubbed the senior investigating officer up the wrong way, right from the start. Yes, Jenny thought with a wry smile, perhaps it was only natural that Erica was feeling just a little bit overly defensive.
And besides all of that, Erica was clearly no empty-headed bimbo, and she must have seen at once that she, along with everyone else who’d known Tris well, had to be a prime suspect for his murder. And given that Causon clearly didn’t like her, it stood to reason that she felt the need to get herself out of the frame as quickly as possible.
‘I see,’ Causon said, still eyeing Erica with a flat, gimlet stare. ‘And is there anyone here who can corroborate this?’ he asked, turning to glance at the handful of inhabitants inside the pavilion.
‘Oh yes, Inspector,’ Caroline Majors spoke up at once, if a little diffidently. She gave her name, and nodded towards her friend, ‘And this is Ettie.’ The two women drew together, as if seeking an alliance against the unknown quantity that was DI Causon. ‘Erica was sitting right there, where her husband is now, all afternoon. Wasn’t she, Ettie?’
Ettie agreed that she was. ‘And it’s true, she never did step outside the building. We would have noticed. Wouldn’t we, Caroline?’
Causon sighed, but gave no indication what credence he gave the two women’s statements, although Jenny couldn’t see why he should doubt either of them. Instead he turned back once more to Sir Robert.
‘And you, Sir Robert? Were you talking to anyone outside after tea, someone who can confirm your statement?’
‘Of course I was,’ Sir Robert said, after the merest hesitation. ‘I had the vicar on one side of me, and that local historian chap on the other. He could bore for England. I didn’t leave my chair until Max was caught LBW and nobody knew where Tris had gone. Anyone can tell you that,’ he added rather impatiently.
Causon nodded to Graham Lane without speaking, but his message was clear. The sergeant scribbled a reminder in his notebook to track down these two luminaries and check out Sir Robert’s alibi, but almost everyone in earshot was thinking the same thing. Why would he lie about something that could so easily be checked?
So, Jenny thought fatalistically. That was two suspects down, and how many more were yet to go?
And the next person of interest to be cleared, it very quickly transpired, was the captain of Much Rousham’s cricket team himself.
‘And who was it who opened the batting after tea, please?’ Inspector Causon raised his voice to cut across the general hubbub, and putting the question equally to all those around him.
There was a general hum and a slight swaying of movement as people began to look around and whisper amongst themselves, as they came to a consensus. The policeman’s eyes swept around quickly to take in everyone in the changing room of the pavilion, before quickly pivoting to turn around and look behind him when a voice, somewhat reluctantly, hailed him from outside.
Max Wilson, standing on the edge of the cricket pitch b
oundary, began to make his way forward.
Jenny, when she’d realized that the policeman’s eyes were sweeping over her without any apparent recognition, found herself wilting with relief, and letting out a long, anxious sigh. In her experience, police officers tended to look askance at members of the public who made it a habit of helping them uncover murderers. Not that she’d ever willingly set out to do anything of the kind, of course. It just seemed to happen that way, whether she liked it or not.
But she was well aware that trying to explain that to the DI would not exactly endear her to him, and she was not anxious to make herself known now. Perhaps, with a bit of luck this time, she could just remain a face in the crowd, a witness, and nothing more. If she kept her head down, and restricted her statement strictly to what she herself had seen and witnessed, surely that was possible?
Or were her hopes just so much pie in the sky?
Her somewhat sombre thoughts were interrupted when a male voice responded to DI Causon’s raised voice.
‘I did. I was the first to bat.’
The man who stepped forward in response to the inspector’s interested look, instantly made Graham Lane’s hackles rise. He was simply too good-looking, too smooth, and probably – unless he missed his disgruntled guess – too well-heeled, for his liking. Men such as this tended to get on the sergeant’s wick as a matter of principle. They tended to cruise through life as if someone had given them a free pass, Lane had always felt.
But nothing of his thoughts showed on his face as Max Wilson came back up the steps and confidently thrust out his hand to Causon. The inspector, after a moment’s hesitation, shook it politely. This time he made no effort to hold back on the natural strength of his grip, and Graham Lane hid a gratified grin as he saw the matinee-idol cricketer hide a slight wince as his fingers got mangled.
‘I’m Max Wilson, Inspector. I’m also the captain of the home side.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Causon, who couldn’t have cared less about what position he played, smiled briefly. ‘Tell me, was it pre-arranged that you should bat first?’ he asked, instantly getting down to the point. ‘Did everyone know the order of play?’
‘Oh yes,’ Max said easily. Then frowned slightly. ‘Well, to be strictly accurate, no. What I mean is, that’s the way we usually do it, and we never discussed changing the form. So I imagine everyone was expecting it to be business as usual, if you see what I mean? I open and Tris, who is our best hitter, takes over from me. That way, when he’s run out, we’ve got a much better idea of how much work we still have to do, if any, to win the match, and thus we can decide on our batting strategy from there. We usually put in a couple of our weaker batsmen, and then leave our third-best hitter for last.’
Causon stopped himself just in time from saying something rude about cricket and kept his mind firmly on the job.
‘So everyone would have a good, rough idea of when to expect Mr Jones to be on the pitch? And Mr Jones himself would know that he could be called on to bat at any time after you, and thus wouldn’t be likely to take himself off somewhere and be unavailable?’ he pressed.
Jenny nodded to herself, instantly understanding the DI’s need for clarification, and exactly what he was sorting out in his mind. If the crime had been premeditated, then the killer would’ve had to have some idea of the best time to tackle Tris.
And if it wasn’t premeditated then … Jenny frowned. Well, then, somebody had been very lucky. Or unlucky. Depending on your point of view.
Max managed a weak smile and shrugged. ‘Well, personally speaking, I’d hope that he wouldn’t have expected to be called in to play particularly quickly, Inspector,’ he said ruefully. ‘With all due modesty, I’m usually good for fifty runs or so.’
Graham Lane had to hide another quick smirk. Old man Causon had certainly hit his witness in the old ego there, he thought with some satisfaction. Even if he hadn’t meant to.
‘Yes, of course, sir,’ the inspector said flatly. ‘Let’s stick to the facts, shall we? You yourself came in and had tea with all the rest, I take it?’
‘Oh yes, rather,’ Max said. ‘Because it’s our centenary you see, and the committee pushed the boat out and brought in this fabulous caterer. The food was out of this world. In fact, I’m sure I probably ate more than I should have,’ he said, again with a rueful smile that no doubt many would have considered charming.
Jenny, who was torn between preening under the praise, and hoping that the inspector didn’t demand then and there to be introduced to this wonder-cook, ducked back a little further into the recess of her kitchen. She still wasn’t too sure of the reception she’d get when the inspector realized just who she was. If he did, that is. Maybe, for once, her fame (at least in constabulary circles) wouldn’t have gone before her?
Not that she needed to worry for the moment. Causon was obviously a one-thing-at-a-time sort of man, for he didn’t let himself be distracted by this culinary side issue.
‘I’m sure the food was delicious, sir,’ he said dismissively. ‘So, did you see Mr Jones inside the pavilion whilst you were eating?’
‘Did I?’ Max said, cocking his head slightly to one side as he made a show of casting his mind back, causing Sergeant Lane to shuffle impatiently at the theatrics. ‘No, I don’t think I did, you know, now I come to think about it. Like Sir Robert said, I think Tris was late in. I was just telling everyone that it was time to get a move on and to eat up, when he came in through the door. At that point, I went out and made sure that the state of the pitch was all right, and checked the bales and what not. Then, when I judged that everyone was ready, the umpire called play, and I started batting.’
‘And you didn’t see Mr Jones come out of the pavilion?’
‘I was batting, Inspector,’ Max repeated cordially, but with a tight smile. ‘The only thing I was watching was the ball.’
Causon grunted. And with the man in full view of every-one, he had the whole cricket field as his alibi. Unless …
‘So when you were run out—’
‘I was caught LBW, I’m ashamed to say,’ Max put in, with the inevitable rueful grin.
‘… You left the field,’ Causon ignored the interruption as if it had never occurred, ‘and then what? When you realized that Tristan Jones wasn’t ready to take over, did you all split up and search for him?’
In which case, Causon thought with a slight quiver of excitement, whoever had found him first, might also have been the one to kill him.
‘Oh no. I mean, there wasn’t much of a search needed,’ Max explained. ‘Someone offered to check the toilets, but he wasn’t there, and you could see just by looking around that he wasn’t amongst the spectators. Then the groundsman offered to check behind the pavilion, as that was the only other place where he could possibly be hiding, I suppose, and well, that was that.’
Max finished with a graphic shrug.
Causon nodded, but his mind was racing. Hiding? Now that was a curious way of putting it, he thought. Why exactly would their victim have been hiding? It was something he’d have to bring up with Wilson later, at a formal interview. ‘And you were out here,’ he indicated the area in front of the pavilion, ‘that whole time?’
‘Yes, speaking to Sir Robert mostly,’ Max confirmed.
‘I see,’ Causon said heavily.
And scratch three, Jenny added silently to herself, no doubt echoing the policeman’s own mental tally. Because whilst Max might have the best motive of anyone for killing the man who was so clearly having an affair with his wife, he also had by far the best alibi of all.
Jenny sighed. Things were beginning to look distinctly tricky.
‘And you talked to no one else during this time?’ Causon asked Max, proceeding to cross every T and dot every I with his usual pedantic thoroughness.
Graham Lane, who sometimes found his superior’s methods frustrating and slow, had to admit that they were usually certainly effective, and tried to stay patient.
‘Only to my wife,
Inspector,’ the captain of the cricket team said easily. And, to Jenny’s alert ears at least, without any apparent sign of strain or subterfuge. ‘When I realized we’d be held up by Tris, I went to chat with her.’
Jenny looked at Max Wilson thoughtfully. The man was a good actor, she had to give him that. And remember that. If she hadn’t already seen and heard for herself just how things really were between the married couple, she’d never have been able to guess it from Max’s demeanour. But she had a shrewd idea that DI Causon would soon uncover all that for himself. He looked the thoroughly competent sort.
And thinking of the married couple, Jenny mused, her interest perking up, just what had the other woman in the eternal triangle been doing all that time?
And as if reading her mind, Causon asked briskly, ‘And your wife was where, sir?’
Max smiled and turned to look off to his left. ‘I’ll go and get her, shall I?’ he offered, and before either of the two policemen could object – even had they wanted to – Max moved abruptly away, and came back a moment or so later with an attractive blonde woman, who looked, at that moment, both sick and pale.
Jenny, who rather thought that Max was deliberately punishing her by making her the focus of police attention so soon, thinned her lips in disapproval, and wondered, if Max knew about their affair (and she’d bet her last custard slice that he did) then he was obviously feeling vindictive about it. And if he could take it out on his wife with acts of petty revenge such as this, then what might he have done to Tris?
