Just Not Cricket

by Joyce Cato

  She only hoped that the inspector had also noted the signs of a man coming to the end of his tether, and went easy on him. Well, as easy as Inspector Laurence Causon ever got, that is. But the gaze that the Lady of the Manor focussed on Causon looked distinctly unfriendly, making Jenny relax a little. If the inspector thought that he could bully Sir Robert, she had no doubts that his wife would very soon come to his rescue.

  Causon, for his part, smiled his favourite crocodile smile at her, then looked firmly down at her husband. ‘Sir Robert,’ he began formally.

  ‘Have you found out who killed my son yet?’ The older man instantly put him on the defensive.

  ‘The investigation has barely begun yet, sir,’ Causon pointed out reasonably.

  ‘What’s going on at the top of the field, under the trees?’ Robert Jones demanded next, once again wrong-footing the policeman. But whether he was doing it deliberately, in an attempt to deflect the questioning and emphasis away from himself, or whether he was just showing his usual take-charge attitude to life, it was hard to say.

  ‘Perhaps, sir, if you wouldn’t mind, I could ask a few questions,’ Causon put in, not quite as politely now.

  Jenny noticed that Erica’s hand squeezed her husband’s shoulder, no doubt in a gentle warning not to be so aggressive, and heard the older man sigh a little.

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course. Sorry,’ he muttered.

  Causon smiled. ‘That’s all right, sir. If I haven’t said so before, I’m very sorry for your loss and I know that this is a very distressing time for you. I’ll try to be brief. Now, if you could just cast your mind back to the last time that you saw Tristan. We understand that your talk with him wasn’t very … well, shall we say, we’ve been informed that it didn’t look like a friendly exchange, sir. Would you say that’s fair?’

  Causon, trying to be tactful, was quite a sight, and Jenny had to hide a smile as she busied herself fine-chopping some dill.

  Erica Jones made that sort of ‘tcha’ noise between her lips that indicated general disgust, and shook her head.

  ‘Bloody vultures. Nothing better to do than gossip,’ she muttered. ‘This village – it’s like living in a goldfish bowl.’

  Sir Robert, for his part, had gone quite pale at this untimely reminder of his last moments with his only son, and he swallowed hard. ‘No. No, you’re quite right, Inspector,’ he confirmed gruffly. ‘Tris and I … yes, we had words, I’m afraid. And I’m going to have to live with the fact that the last things I said to Tris, I said in anger.’

  There was a brief, sad, awkward moment of silence. Causon shifted restlessly.

  ‘They wouldn’t have been about young Mark Rawley, would they, sir?’ he finally asked.

  Sir Robert jerked a little on the chair, looking for a moment in wide-eyed surprise at the inspector, as if suspecting him of a hitherto unexpected talent for clairvoyance. Then, abruptly, common sense took over, because he slowly nodded. ‘Oh yes. I see. You’ve been talking to Mrs Rawley,’ he said.

  As an example of quick and intelligent thinking under extreme circumstances, it was quite some feat, and Jenny realized that it was a timely reminder, as if she needed one, that Sir Robert Jones was a very clever man indeed. And one who was used to acting decisively in fraught times. After all, steering your firm and other people’s fortunes through the economic roller-coaster of the last few years had to take nerves of steel, right?

  ‘Yes, sir. She told me that she’d tackled you earlier on about your son’s handling of James Cluley’s investments, and demanded that you do something about it,’ the inspector confirmed blandly.

  ‘Yes. Yes, so she did.’ He nodded wearily. ‘And I did talk to Tris about it, for all the notice he took of me,’ Sir Robert said a shade bitterly. But his eyes, both Jenny and the inspector noted, were now moving restlessly from face to face and finally lighting on the large, rather attractive cook, who was now pounding spices with a pestle and mortar. He looked surprised for a moment, as if the rather domestic and comforting scene struck him as being incongruously out of place. Which, of course, it undoubtedly was.

  ‘Er, yes, that’s what we were arguing about,’ Sir Robert said, a bit too thankfully.

  The answer obviously struck both his wife and Causon as evasive, for Causon’s eyes instantly narrowed on his suspect in suspicion, and Erica Jones tensed, her hand unconsciously digging into Robert’s shoulder bone.

  ‘I take it that your son wasn’t very happy about your criticisms of his handling of James Cluley’s money.’ Causon was sure that the man was holding something back, and began testing the waters cautiously.

  ‘No. He said that it had been just one of those things. Sometimes even the best and most experienced financial advisers can’t always predict the markets, you know. He felt bad about it, of course, especially since the grandson, Mark, was a friend of Tris’s but …’ Sir Robert shrugged. ‘Stockbrokers always get the blame when things go wrong.’

  ‘So there was no question of incompetence on Tris’s part, then?’ Causon said, watching the older man closely. Because he had the feeling that if Tristan Jones had been guilty of anything that might have brought real trouble to his father’s company, Sir Robert wouldn’t have hesitated to cast his son adrift – flesh and blood, or no flesh and blood. You didn’t get to be as big a shark as Sir Robert, and not learn to keep on swimming – no matter what.

  But would that include killing your only son? Somehow it didn’t seem likely. Unless there was more to this argument than he was hearing about so far.

  ‘There was no question of Tris being careless,’ Sir Robert denied with some heat. ‘My son had a very good success rate for the majority of his clients,’ he added. But again there was something evasive about the words that struck Causon as distinctly interesting.

  ‘So if our Fraud Squad were to examine your son’s dealings, they’d find nothing noteworthy?’ he pressed.

  Sir Robert leaned abruptly forward on his chair. He looked instantly ready to do battle. ‘What? Now just a minute—’

  But it was Erica Jones’s voice that cut clearly across that of her outraged husband.

  ‘I rather think you’re over-reaching yourself now, Inspector,’ Erica said icily. ‘My husband’s firm has one of the best reputations in the financial sector. And you’d better be very careful about starting, or being responsible for, any rumours to the contrary. Otherwise I think you’ll find that our legal team will have something to say about it. And that won’t please your Chief Constable.’

  Inspector Causon grinned another crocodile smile. ‘I’ll bear that in mind. Your Ladyship.’

  Erica smiled glacially. ‘Do that, Inspector,’ she warned him.

  ‘So, Sir Robert,’ Causon turned back to the stockbroker with a brief smile. ‘You’re saying that that was the only thing that caused harsh words between you and your son. There was nothing else worrying you about your son’s behaviour perhaps?’

  Sir Robert’s eyes darted about the kitchen for a moment, but the inspector’s quiet bulk seemed to attract him like a magnet, and he found himself, much against his will, having to meet the other man’s gaze.

  ‘Well, there were one or two other matters that had been brought to my attention by the senior partners just lately,’ he finally admitted.

  Erica made another ‘tcha’ sound, but everyone ignored her.

  ‘Tris has had great luck in the past with some of his more speculative investments, and that had led to us acquiring some really top-notch portfolios. But just lately …’ he trailed off as Erica’s hand once more squeezed his shoulder tightly in warning.

  ‘You really don’t have to go into details with this man, darling,’ she advised him quietly. ‘After all, he’s only interested in … what happened here. He’s not an accountant or a financial expert. And since there were none of your clients here, and no one from the firm – well, apart from Lorcan – then whatever little mishaps Tris might have had at work couldn’t possibly have had any bearing on who killed hi
m, or why.’

  ‘Yes, that’s true,’ Sir Robert said, with evident relief. ‘Thank you, darling. I know I can always trust you to keep a clear head.’

  Causon bit back a weary sigh.

  ‘The inspector is just being over-thorough,’ Erica finished, shooting daggers at the inspector, and daring him to disagree.

  But in point of fact, her words had given him just the opening he needed, and for once (and very unusually) he found himself feeling almost grateful for the catty redhead’s interruption. It wasn’t something he’d ever have thought could happen, and certainly wild horses wouldn’t have dragged the admission from him, if anyone had been foolish enough to challenge him on it.

  ‘Talking of Lorcan Greeves,’ Causon said smoothly instead, ‘were you aware of any particular friction between himself and your son?’

  ‘If you’re talking about that so-called fiancée of his,’ Erica put in, once more speaking before her husband could be made to do so, ‘yes, we know all about it. Tris and she had a little fling, resulting in Lorcan discovering the truth about her. That was just typical of Tris – it didn’t mean a thing to him, naturally. But no doubt it was painful for Lorcan to learn the truth about her in that way.’

  Sir Robert’s eyes closed momentarily, and when he opened them again, they looked both sad and embarrassed. ‘I’m afraid that my son could be rather …’ Sir Robert broke off, obviously struggling to find the right words. ‘I’m afraid he rather lacked discernment and compassion sometimes, when it came to affairs of the heart. Let’s just say that Tris … well, that my son liked women, Inspector, and they liked him back,’ he said simply.

  ‘Yes, Sir Robert,’ Causon said mildly. ‘Did James Cluley approach you at any time this afternoon?’ he asked next, abruptly changing the subject, as was his wont. Jenny, who’d observed this phenomenon before, was able to take it very much in her stride, but she could see that it had disconcerted both of the Joneses. ‘And did you have any reason to, shall we say, take issue with him about anything?’

  Sir Robert looked bewildered. ‘James? No. He wouldn’t let me go behind the pavilion to see Tris, and I thought that that was going too far. The man had no authority to do that!’ he admitted angrily. But then his shoulders slumped. ‘But I think on the whole he was just trying to save me from … well … from seeing my boy like that… . But apart from that, I don’t think I’ve ever had much to do with the man.’

  ‘When was the last time you saw Mr Cluley?’ Causon asked.

  ‘When? I don’t know… . He was guarding the way to the back of the pavilion until your policemen arrived. And I think I saw him go into the pavilion some time later, I presume to give you a statement.’ Sir Robert shrugged helplessly.

  ‘Did you see him leave again?’ Causon asked abruptly, watching the older man closely.

  But Sir Robert merely frowned, then slowly shook his head. ‘No. I don’t think so. I was talking to Max Wilson, I think. No, come to think of it, I haven’t seen James around for some time. Why? Have you let him leave? Or have you arrested him?’ Sir Robert leaned forward eagerly on his seat. ‘Did he kill my son? Is that how he knew where to find him? Is that what all these questions are about?’

  ‘No, sir, we haven’t arrested Mr Cluley,’ Causon said gravely, and watched the older man slump miserably back in his chair. He gave a small sigh. ‘All right, sir, I think that’s all for the present,’ he added quietly.

  ‘When can we go home, Inspector?’ Erica asked, as her husband got, with some difficulty, to his feet. ‘As you can see, my husband is exhausted and really should be in bed. He’s had a profound shock. I can understand why you haven’t let any of the others leave yet, but surely you can let us go now?’ she wheedled.

  Causon smiled yet another crocodile smile at her. ‘I’ll see what I can do, Lady Jones,’ he said. ‘But just for the moment, if you can bear it a little longer, sir…?’

  ‘Yes, of course, whatever you need.’ It was Erica’s husband who spoke, waving his hands in a weary and defeated gesture, and together the two of them left the kitchen.

  ‘Well, that seems to be that, sir,’ Graham Lane said once they were safely out of earshot. ‘I can’t see why Sir Robert would kill his own son. And Marie and Mark Rawley wouldn’t kill their own father and granddad. The Wilsons might have had a motive for killing Tristan, but not James Cluley, unless he saw them do it and was trying his hand at blackmail, but Max Wilson couldn’t have killed Tris because he was batting at the time with more than two dozen witnesses. So it has to be Lorcan, doesn’t it? He wanted Tristan dead, and he wouldn’t have any reason not to kill James Cluley, if the old man tried to blackmail him.’

  Causon sighed. ‘Yes. Yes, I suppose so. It has to be him, doesn’t it? All right, Lane, apply for a warrant for his arrest, charging him with both murders.’

  But from her position by the sink, where she was just rinsing out some dishes, Jenny Starling said quietly, ‘You know, Inspector, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’

  There was something quiet but certain in her voice that instantly made Graham Lane feel a shiver run up his spine.

  ‘Oh? Why not?’ Causon turned in his chair to eye her warily.

  ‘Because I don’t think he did it,’ Jenny said simply.

  Causon’s lips twitched. ‘I rather think that my superiors will want me to come up with a better answer than that, Miss Starling. Even coming from such an august body as yourself, I doubt they’d simply take your word for it.’

  Sarky sod, Jenny thought fondly. She was really getting to like this bluff, unusual policeman.

  ‘OK, so you don’t think Greeves is our man,’ Causon continued, prepared to play along. ‘I don’t suppose you have someone in mind that you like better?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Jenny Starling said simply. ‘I think I know just who killed Tristan, and why. And why it was that James Cluley also had to die.’

  Both policemen stared at her for a moment, and then Causon got slowly to his feet. He’d heard about this phenomenon before from other police officers who’d had the luck (either good or bad, depending on your point of view) of working with this renowned cook. And they’d all reported how there came a moment in the case, when Jenny Starling seemed to just pull the answer out of thin air.

  Now he had the distinct impression that it was his turn to have a front-row view of this particular magic trick, and he was both looking forward to it, and resenting it in equal measure.

  ‘And just who do you think the killer is?’ he asked ominously.

  Jenny looked at him, sighed, and said flatly, ‘I think Erica Jones did it.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  For a moment, the big policeman looked at her blankly, and then slowly began to smile.

  Then he frowned. Perhaps it was because what she’d just said had pleased him so enormously (since nothing would give him more pleasure than to snap the handcuffs on the snooty Lady of the Manor) that he felt suddenly obliged to pull himself up and be a little less receptive to the idea.

  ‘Oh?’ he said, glancing across at his sergeant, who was staring at Jenny Starling like a cobra that had just spotted a particularly sleek and multi-striped mongoose in the shrubbery. ‘OK. I’ll bite.’ He grinned savagely. ‘And for a start, there’s something I’m just dying to know. Namely – just how in the hell do you think Erica Jones managed to kill her stepson without ever leaving this building? Because unless my memory is playing tricks with me, didn’t you yourself tell me that she never left this pavilion once Tristan had finished having his tea and was seen alive and well and blithely walking back out onto the field, munching on one of your world famous scones? A fact that was backed up by Caroline whats-her-face and that Ettie woman?’

  Jenny sighed. ‘Oh that. Yes, right. That was what originally stumped me, too,’ she admitted readily enough. ‘On the face of it, it does seem to be a bit of a poser, doesn’t it?’

  Out of the corner of her eye, she could have sworn that she saw Graham Lane put a hand over his mout
h in order to hide a big grin. But when she looked at him suspiciously, the sergeant was nonchalantly leaning against the wooden wall and making a show of examining his fingernails.

  His boss, however, was merely watching her expectantly. Then he said heavily, ‘It does rather have its drawbacks, yes.’

  Jenny lifted an eyebrow at him, but had to conclude that she couldn’t really blame him for looking and sounding so sceptical. And, in fact, the more she thought about how she’d come to her conclusions, the more she thought that simply explaining it in words might not be the best way to go.

  ‘Actually, it might be better if I just showed you something first,’ she said slowly. ‘Then I can tell you what I think must have happened, and show you how it could have worked, all at the same time.’ She paused in the action of drying her hands on a small towel, and cocked her head slightly to one side. ‘Mind you, I could have it all wrong,’ she added, in order to be strictly fair. But she didn’t really think that she had. ‘I mean, just because a thing could have been done, a certain way, it doesn’t automatically follow that it was done that way. If you see what I mean.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Inspector Causon lied calmly, through gritted teeth.

  ‘And it doesn’t necessarily mean that Erica Jones was the only one who could have done it,’ Jenny added, neatly folding the towel away.

  ‘If you say so, Miss Starling.’

  Jenny glanced across at the affably smiling inspector, and Graham Lane, who was now looking studiously down at his shoes. And if his shoulders seemed to be trembling just a little in unexpressed laughter, she supposed she couldn’t blame him, either.

  But sometimes she really just couldn’t resist playing Stan Laurel to Inspector Causon’s Oliver Hardy.

  ‘OK then, so long as we’ve got that all clear.’ And so saying, she rose and led the way into the tiny hall and then to the entrance of the storeroom next door. There she stopped abruptly in the doorway.