Just Not Cricket

by Joyce Cato

  Jenny eyed him grimly. Oh yeah? And she was the flying Dutchman’s auntie.

  Causon grinned at her, rightly interpreting her scepticism. But not for the world would he voluntarily admit that he would value her opinion, let alone concede that a second pair of eyes and ears might pick up on something that he missed. Especially when said eyes and ears belonged to someone as sharp as this startling cook. Besides, his wife had often said that it takes a woman to truly know another woman, and he was wise enough to concede that she might just have something there.

  Jenny sighed. ‘OK, fine,’ she mumbled. She might as well give in gracefully, she supposed. It wasn’t as if she would get any more cooking done by the looks of it. Unless she could persuade him to relent a bit later on? There was still the possibility that that evening’s barbecue could still go ahead.

  She’d have to give it some thought and think how she might be able to persuade him.

  But as for questioning another suspect, she didn’t really have any real objection to going along. Besides, she had to admit, she was rather curious now to hear just what the Rawleys had to say for themselves.

  But, as it turned out, that would have to wait just a little while longer yet.

  Outside, James Cluley paced restlessly along the bottom edge of the field. He could feel the sun beating down on him ferociously, and wished that he’d thought to bring a hat.

  His sharp eyes had already noted that a policeman was guarding the double gates by the car park, and that another man was standing by the open, little single-gated entrance on the opposite side of the field. And he didn’t doubt that if he cut across the pitch and under the horse chestnut trees, the only other official exit, guarded by a pair of iron bars that didn’t meet in the middle, allowing dog-walkers and others to zig-zag between them, would also be guarded.

  Not that he had any intention of trying to leave. That would only get him into more deep water with the police, and that was the last thing he needed right now. You didn’t have to be a genius to realize that Inspector Causon hadn’t believed a word that he’d said.

  For a moment, the old man stopped and wondered what he’d do if he were to be arrested for murder. His poor wife would be beside herself. And he would need a solicitor, even though they could scarcely afford one. And what if the worst came to the worst, and he actually had to go to prison for any length of time? An old man like him … would the other prisoners leave him alone? You heard such horrific stories about life inside. Would he be the target for bullying, maybe even …

  But James’s rapidly frantic thoughts were interrupted when he heard his name being spoken quietly, and sensed someone moving up alongside him.

  He turned his head, looking slightly surprised at the identity of his visitor.

  ‘James, I just need to have a quiet word.’

  James nodded. ‘All right,’ he said equably.

  Somebody else intent on having a quiet word – in fact, two people – were Max and Michelle Wilson.

  Max had found them a quiet spot a couple of hundred yards or so from the car park, near a separate area where the children’s swings and slide were situated. No children played there now, however, having either been called over to their anxious and watchful parent’s side, or because they were too busy gawping at the police as they went about taking down everyone’s name and getting their initial statements.

  Michelle perched uneasily on the seat provided by the bottom bit of the slide, and she winced as the galvanized steel, heated by a day in the sun, threatened to scorch her thighs through the thin material of her dress.

  ‘So just what the hell did you do?’ Max charged straight in, but was nevertheless careful to keep his voice low.

  ‘Funny,’ she snapped right back. ‘That’s just what I was going to ask you!’

  Max shoved his hands moodily into the pockets of his white cricket trousers and glanced nervously around. But there was no one within earshot.

  ‘Look, now’s not the time for this,’ he hissed. ‘Before long, we’re going to have to make our statements to the police, and we need to make sure that we don’t say something we’ll regret. Once it’s official and down on paper, it becomes a legal matter.’

  Michelle gnawed on her lower lip and looked away. Her husband smiled grimly. ‘Yes, exactly. It’ll do neither of us any good if we contradict the other, or give the cops reason to suspect … well, suspect anything.’

  Michelle’s lips twisted with grim irony. ‘You mean suspect that you might have wanted Tris dead, you mean?’ She couldn’t help but goad him.

  ‘Me?’ Max squawked. ‘Not just me, sweetheart. You had a motive just as strong as mine,’ he pointed out savagely.

  ‘I did not!’ Michelle denied vehemently. ‘Why would I want Tris dead? We were in love with each other.’

  Max snorted inelegantly. ‘In a pig’s eye, you were in love. Oh, you might have thought it was true love, sweetheart,’ he sneered, on seeing her shoot him a hurt, venom-tinged look, ‘but you can’t seriously be so naïve as to believe that lover-boy ever thought the same?’ Max laughed harshly. ‘The whole world knew he was just a hound. He’d have shagged anything that offered.’

  ‘Don’t be so coarse!’ his wife said coolly. ‘You’re just jealous. Just because Tris still had his looks, and you’re losing yours. Just because Tris was still young, and you’re staring fifty right in the face! No wonder you hated him.’

  For a moment, Max went quite still. Then he smiled flatly. ‘Be that as it may, it doesn’t alter the fact that Tris was probably bedding at least a couple of other women besides you.’

  This time it was Michelle who went very still.

  For a moment, husband and wife regarded each other in immutable, implacable enmity. Then Max let out a long shuddering sigh.

  ‘Look, this is all going to have to wait for another day. Right now, like I said, we need to get our stories straight before the cops get to us. First things first – it’s vital that we say nothing about the divorce.’

  Michelle laughed shrilly. ‘Well, that was all your idea anyway, wasn’t it, sweetheart,’ she mimicked him savagely. ‘Springing it on me like that, just before you swaggered off to take your turn to bat. What did you imagine that you looked like? Some hero from a J.D. Salinger novel? It was pathetic.’

  Max’s hands clenched into fists.

  ‘What?’ Michelle snapped, seeing his convulsive movement. ‘Did you think you could just thrust a solicitor’s letter in my hand, and that I’d fall apart? Really, Max, it was laughable,’ she mocked, near-hysterically.

  Max slowly unclenched his fist. ‘Just listen to yourself. Do you wonder I want out of this marriage?’

  Michelle flushed. ‘Don’t think that you’re the only one!’

  Max smiled with biting savagery. ‘Well, you were the one who was playing away, and with a joke like Tris Jones, of all people. I thought you’d at least have had better taste than to cuckold me with the likes of him!’

  Michelle’s shoulders suddenly slumped. Her golden head bent a little, and her lips trembled. ‘Oh, he’s dead now. Can’t you just leave him alone, even now? What does any of it matter, anyway?’

  Max looked abruptly away towards the pavilion, wondering what that policeman, Causon, was doing in there. Who was he questioning? What was he thinking? What were people saying?

  He turned back to his weeping wife, and sighed impatiently. He’d have to take it easy on her. The last thing he wanted was for her to bring the attention of the police their way.

  ‘Look, Michelle, you’ve got to pull yourself together and understand the danger we’re in,’ he began more reasonably.

  At this, her head snapped up, her tears instantly drying. ‘Danger?’

  ‘From the police. From public opinion. From scandal. Don’t you see, you stupid woman,’ he hissed, his teeth all but clenched in frustration, ‘somebody killed Tris, and the cops are over there right now, looking for suspects. That’s people like you and me, sweetheart. We were both her
e, right on the spot, and we both had a reason to kill him. And it’s vital that we don’t offer ourselves up on a silver platter. Neither of us can afford to get arrested. I’ll lose my job, and can you just imagine all the shit that goes with that? I could kiss a decent pension goodbye, and I’d never get another position that pays half so well. So we could both say goodbye to the house and the cars and the holidays abroad. And you wouldn’t be able to rely on a nice cushy settlement in any divorce court then, would you? And that’s not the end of it. You can’t doubt that your so-called friends would sell you out to the newspapers in an instant, in order to get their ten minutes of fame and a nice big pay cheque, do you?’

  Michelle opened her mouth angrily, and then, after a moment’s thought, slowly closed it again. As loathe as she was to admit it, her husband was making sense.

  ‘OK, fine,’ she said angrily. ‘So what do you want me to do about it?’

  ‘Just say nothing to anybody about my giving you the divorce papers,’ he said at once. ‘And whatever you do, say nothing about your fling with Tris. And I’ll play it the same way.’

  Michelle smiled grimly. ‘What? You think that others won’t already be whispering in that grubby little inspector’s ear, hinting at things?’ She glanced around the field, at her neighbours and, as Max had called them, their so-called friends, and laughed softly. ‘You know what it’s like in a small village. Everyone knows everyone else’s business. And they can’t wait to spill the beans. If that man – Causon, is it? If he hasn’t already heard about the rumours about Tris and me, I’ll do a streak at the next match at Lords.’

  Max sucked in a sharp breath. She was right, damn it. The grapevine would already be doing its worst to put them right in the thick of it. But he didn’t see that they had any other choice.

  ‘Rumour is one thing. Proving it is another,’ he said. But even to his own ears, he sounded as if he was trying to convince himself, as well as her. ‘If you and I both firmly deny the rumours, how are they going to prove us wrong? We just have to stick to our guns. Right?’ he added aggressively.

  Michelle shrugged sluggishly. ‘If you say so. Oh all right, fine!’ she flared, as he looked set to lambaste her again.

  Max’s eyes narrowed on her angrily. ‘You need to buck your ideas up, my girl. And don’t think for one minute that our dear inspector is above arresting you for the crime,’ he warned her mockingly.

  Again, Michelle’s head shot up. ‘What? Why should he? I never killed Tris,’ she said hotly.

  Max snorted. ‘Says you. But who’s to say that you didn’t?’ His eyes narrowed on her thoughtfully. ‘After I gave you the papers, I went straight out to start batting. I wasn’t watching you, or lover boy. Did you go straight to him to cry on his shoulder, Michelle?’ he asked grimly. ‘Did you expect him to be delighted? He probably wouldn’t have cared and turned you down.’

  Michelle gaped up at him, her usually beautiful face rendered almost plain by her shocked expression.

  ‘No! I never even saw him. Not that that’s what he would have said anyway,’ she insisted. ‘Oh, I looked around for him,’ she reluctantly admitted, ‘but … I couldn’t see him anywhere.’

  Max smiled, feeling smug at catching her out. ‘So you did want to run to him and weep on his shoulder?’

  ‘I told you, I never saw him!’

  ‘Which is just as well for both of our sakes,’ Max sneered. ‘Because if you had sought him and told him, he’d only have told you not to be such a stupid little tart,’ he taunted cruelly. ‘And he’d have laughed in your face if you’d been silly enough to suggest that you and he made it official. Is that what happened?’ Max demanded. ‘Did he tell you to your face not to start getting ideas above your station? As if Tris would ever seriously consider hooking up with you!’ Max laughed. ‘You’re not young enough to suit his criteria for wife material, and what’s more, you don’t have a rich daddy waiting in the wings. Tris always boasted that he’d marry an heiress, did you know that?’

  ‘Lying bastard,’ Michelle said. But whether she was talking to her husband, or talking about Tris, it was hard, at this point, to say.

  ‘Is that what happened, though?’ Max pressed. ‘Did you confront him behind that damned pavilion, and when he laughed in your face, did you bash him over the head with his cricket bat?’

  ‘No!’ Michelle snapped.

  She already knew that Tris had been hit over the head with a cricket bat because, before the first police had arrived on the scene, a number of people had been ghoulish enough to go and take a look. Oh, the old groundsman had stopped anyone from actually going behind the pavilion, but they’d clearly been able to see Tris’s body, and the cricket bat lying beside him. And it didn’t take much of a leap of the imagination to guess that he had probably been whacked over the head with it.

  And the thought of it made Michelle feel sick, even now. That handsome, fine head of his, beaten… . She shuddered. It must have taken someone monstrously angry to be able to do that. Someone really angry … She looked up at her husband grimly.

  ‘Did you do it?’ she asked. ‘Did you kill him? Did he wound that monstrous ego of yours to such an extent, that you struck out?’

  But Max was already shaking his head grimly.

  ‘Oh no, sweetheart. That won’t do. You can’t pin it on me! I was on the field playing cricket, with dozens of witnesses for my alibi. It’s you who’s in real trouble on that front. Oh, I know you said you were in your chair, chatting to what’s-her-name. But no one knows exactly when Tris died after tea, and you could have left your chair for five minutes or so to go to the loo or something, and she might not have remembered it. No.’ Max smiled an unbearably smug smile. ‘When it comes to murder, your alibi has to be air-tight. Mine is. Yours isn’t, I’m afraid.’

  He felt savagely satisfied to see her go pale with fear.

  ‘Yes, just think about that for a moment, will you,’ he said cruelly. ‘And then perhaps you’ll realize that what I’m saying about lying to the police makes sense. We have to stick to our story. There was no affair. We know nothing, saw nothing, said nothing. And I didn’t show you those divorce papers. Where are they, by the way?’

  ‘In my handbag.’

  ‘Then burn them,’ he ordered her peremptorily. ‘Just to be safe. And when we give our statements, just remember. There was nothing going on between you and Tris, and no shred of truth in all these foul and slanderous rumours going about that you were having an affair. Agreed?’

  And slowly, reluctantly, Michelle Wilson nodded.

  Back in the pavilion, Jenny was just reaching for her handbag, when Causon looked up abruptly. They were just about to take a walk into the village to confront the Rawleys, when Graham Lane, who had left them for a time, erupted back into the room.

  ‘Sir!’ he yelled.

  Causon jumped about a foot in the air and clamped a huge mitt to the middle of his chest.

  ‘What? Don’t shout like that!’ he shouted. ‘You nearly gave me a damned heart attack!’

  Lane waved an apologetic hand in the air. ‘Sorry sir. I didn’t meant to …’ He paused, and took a deep calming breath. ‘Sir, we’ve just found another body.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘Another one?’ Causon echoed incredulously. ‘What do you mean, another one? And why wasn’t it found before?’ He’d gone slightly pale, and he was staring at his junior officer in frank horror.

  Graham Lane swallowed hard and shrugged helplessly. ‘We just …’ But before he could carry on, his superior was already steamrollering over him.

  ‘If we had been given the manpower we needed right from the get-go, an immediate search of the area would have been carried out as a matter of course, and we’d have found another victim right away. Damn it!’ The older policeman was going very red in the face by now, and a vein over his temple was throbbing madly.

  It was clear to Jenny that this was a major disaster from the professional’s point of view, and she could only hope that
Inspector Causon wasn’t going to be made a scapegoat should there be an internal police investigation. Not that that was anyone’s number one priority right now.

  ‘Sir, I don’t think that would have mattered. It’s worse than that,’ Lane said, looking, if possible, even more dreadful than his boss. ‘The body wouldn’t have been there for us to find.’

  Causon’s eyes narrowed. Slowly the ruddy colour left his face, leaving him looking rather more grey, than anything else. ‘What are you talking about, Lane?’ he asked hoarsely.

  ‘Sir, I think you’d better just come and see,’ Graham Lane said.

  The younger man looked very bleak now, and Jenny felt a snake of fear slither down her spine. Just what on earth was happening here?

  Naturally, Jenny was right on his heels as Causon turned and stepped smartly out of the pavilion.

  Jenny could understand why the two policemen were so anxious, of course. Finding a second body only now would reflect badly on them – no matter what the circumstances – and on Causon, as the senior investigating officer, most of all. But she could tell that there was something else worrying the sergeant, besides concerns about how this would look on his CV.

  They were headed for the top end of the field, Jenny quickly realized, towards an incline and a stand of majestic horse chestnut trees, which stood in a frothing white and green haze of tall cow parsley.

  As they approached the scene, they could see one of the WPCs was standing there, with a white-faced spectator beside her. He was an older man, with a shock of white hair and big, bushy, white caterpillar eyebrows. His shoulders were hunched, as if he was protecting himself from some unseen enemy, and he was visibly shaking as they power-walked past him. Jenny surmised that he’d probably been the one to find the body, and she was glad that the policewoman was there, taking care of him.