by Gwen Moffat
‘Really.’ It was sarcastic—and out of character.
Miss Pink shrugged. ‘You’re both of you pretty transparent—’
‘Go on!’
‘So if he’s done something criminal, you’ll give the game away pretty soon.’
‘You don’t think he did it.’ It was a statement.
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Because you called it a game.’
‘Hm. Not quite so transparent. Have you got a moment to spare?’
‘My God! More than that. Come and sit where it’s cool. Lloyd can wait a bit longer for me. He’s got nothing to worry about.’
They sat in the shade of a sycamore.
‘We don’t know a bloody thing about any of it,’ Seale said viciously, then laughed. ‘I could be amused if it was just me, but that idiot—’ her voice softened, ‘—he’s hostile to the police. They’re badgering him. I’m moving in to give him moral support. I’m not leaving this valley until he’s in the clear.’
‘About last night—’
‘If Evans came up to spy on us, we didn’t hear him. Why should he come unless he’s just a Peeping Tom? I wouldn’t put that beyond him.’
‘He wanted the spade from the cottage, or so he said. He must have picked up something about forensics and thought he might find traces on it which could tie it to the hole the black dog was buried in.’
Seale was incredulous. ‘The police had a good look at that spade. I see. So they think Lloyd went for Evans because Evans thought he shot the dog. He didn’t.’
‘Didn’t shoot the dog?’
Seale looked away. ‘I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. But he didn’t see Evans last night so he couldn’t have done the man any harm. I was with him all the time. We were out in the Reserve until late, looking for the marten, then we came back, had a brew and went to bed. About eleven.’
‘You saw no one in the woods? No one at all? You heard nothing?’
‘We didn’t see a soul. And it was very quiet; we could hear the rabbits thumping. So you see, Lloyd’s in the clear—for Evans anyway. I’m his alibi.’ At the word her voice faltered and her eyes widened.
‘That’s fine,’ Miss Pink said comfortably. ‘If you were with him all the time, you know he didn’t see Evans, so it’s immaterial how close your relationship is; the police may suspect a false alibi because of that closeness, but you know the truth. He didn’t leave you at all?’
‘He was never away for longer than it takes to pee. Of course—’
‘Time to strike a man down, but no time to dispose of the body.’
Seale shook her head in disbelief. ‘He can’t be dead. Who’d need to kill that ignorant, arrogant oaf—oh! Perhaps they would.’
‘And Judson. Do you know anything about that?’
‘What about him?’
‘Why, he’s disappeared too.’
‘Oh, yes. The secretary of the Trust came up to see Lloyd and said he had an appointment to see Judson this morning. He’s probably had a coronary and is in hospital somewhere. At least we don’t have the dogs to worry about now—so long as he doesn’t buy more when he comes back. The Trust man said to go easy on the aggro. Then he asked who I was. Poor Lloyd. He’s been put through the hoops today. You see why he needs—someone. Hello, reinforcements.’
Two cars were passing up the lane.
‘Damn them,’ Seale said cheerfully, ‘I’ll have to get back. Are you going to be around? Look in some time. Sorry I was rude; I didn’t know which side you were on.’
Miss Pink walked back to Parc the way she’d come. A dark mini-bus raced up the lane followed by Seale’s van. When she reached the house there were men in the kitchen and the drawing room. She walked through the cobbled stable yard and round to the front entrance. Their rucksacks stood in the porch. There was no sign of Ted. She left a note on his pack, saying she had gone back to the hotel. As she walked down the lane another car passed, full of uniformed men.
She reached the Bridge, rang the bell and when a waitress came, asked for a pot of tea to be brought to her room. She drank it by the open window, then she bathed, put on a dark linen jacket and skirt and went downstairs. It was six o’clock and the river room was empty. She was crossing to the open doors when Waring entered the bar from the kitchen.
‘You should have rung, ma’am.’
‘No hurry, Mr Waring. I was going to sit on the terrace.’
‘I think I’ll come out myself for a breath of air. Can I bring you a sherry?’
She stepped outside, intrigued.
‘A lovely evening!’ He placed two sherries on the little iron table and indicated a chair. ‘You don’t mind? You wouldn’t prefer to be alone?’ He gave an irritating giggle.
‘Not at all.’
‘Excellent.’
He sat, half-turned towards the combe, the sun full on his face. He took a pair of dark glasses from his pocket and adjusted them. ‘We’re consumed by curiosity,’ he said. ‘What’s happening up there? I don’t know how many police cars have passed.’
‘Evans is missing.’
‘Evans!’ The glasses were turned on her, his mouth hung open.
‘The handyman who works for Mr Judson.’
‘But he was here last night! In the bar.’
‘He’s been missing since about ten. Ten o’clock last evening.’
‘Why?’
‘Why? I have no idea.’
‘No, of course you wouldn’t have. You mean all those police are looking for Evans? He’s missing—where? Oh, stupid question—but—they think he’s up there? In the combe?’
‘His car is still outside his cottage.’
‘How strange.’
‘Why did you think the police were here, Mr Waring?’
‘No idea.’ It was brusque but he recovered quickly. ‘No idea is not quite correct. I wondered if there might be some connection with Judson.’
‘That remains to be seen.’
‘What?’
‘If there’s no connection it seems a curious coincidence: a man and his employee, both missing.’
‘I see what you mean.’ He threw a glance at the door to the river room. ‘What do the police think?’
‘I don’t know.’ She sipped her sherry. ‘They’re searching the Reserve.’
‘It couldn’t have any connection with that Alsatian, could it? The one that was shot?’
‘Last night,’ Miss Pink said, ‘Evans was suggesting that there could be a connection between the dog and Mr Judson’s stolen car.’
There was a pause. ‘So he did. I thought that was just showing off. Evans is an exhibitionist.’
‘A foolish man.’
‘Exactly. How is poor Ellen taking it?’
‘She’s very excitable.’
‘She’s all of that.’
She made no response to that. He had finished his drink but he made no move to go.
‘How is Mrs Waring today?’
‘She’s fine, fine.’
‘She was unwell last night.’
‘She’d had a rough weekend in Chester. The Blossoms was full of tourists.’
‘It’s to be expected at this time of year.’
‘Yes.’
They looked at the bridge and the river, and the empty shimmering road. Miss Pink waited, knowing he was tense as a spring.
‘Let me get you another drink,’ he said suddenly, standing up, taking his glass.
‘Not at the moment, thank you.’
‘I hear people. I have to go.…’
He left her. She had heard no people. She wondered what he had wanted to say, what he had wanted to hear.
Ted came trudging down the lane and turned over the bridge, waving when he saw her on the terrace. He came up through the garden entrance and across the sloping lawns. Lowering his pack with a sigh of relief he eyed her sherry.
‘I could do with an iced lager. It’s sweltering in that lane.’
‘I’ll get it for you. No, you si
t down; you’ve been walking.’
There was no one behind the bar and the room was empty. She opened a bottle of lager and found a glass.
‘Well?’ she asked when he’d taken the first deep draught.
‘Hah, that was good! They’ve found nothing yet. What did the girl have to say?’
‘She alibis Lloyd. They never saw Evans last night.’
‘That’s what they told the police. Did you believe her?’
‘Yes.’
‘The police don’t. Two violent, wild young people, Pryce thinks.’
‘Pryce is up there?’
‘Jovial as ever, the old fox. Fox? My God, he’s obese. He knows his job though. That sergeant’s with him too: Williams. A good team. They look like Laurel and Hardy.’
‘I wouldn’t call Seale and Lloyd violent. Passionate, not violent.’
‘Explain the difference to Pryce. What’s shooting a dog?’
‘If he did, it was a vicious animal and a threat to his Reserve—and to people, of course. Shooting a killer dog is a world away from shooting a man.’
‘And if the man’s threatening you?’
‘No.’ She was firm. ‘Evans would never confront anyone.’ Her voice dropped. ‘The dog was a killer, Evans wasn’t.’ Her eyebrows rose. ‘So far as we know. Waring’s been talking to me. He was bowled over when I told him the police were looking for Evans. For my money he thought the presence of the police was connected with Judson.’
‘Ah yes. Judson and Waring.’
She said quietly: ‘He emphasised the fact that Anna was at Chester at the weekend. He’d said so last night. I told you. By the way, what does Pryce have to say about Judson?’
‘He thinks he may have scarpered: cleared off to pastures new. He’s concentrating on Evans at the moment. Why are you scowling?’
‘I’m working on a hypothesis. If Evans didn’t go to Lloyd’s cottage, where might he have gone? Suppose he got cold feet about going to the cottage and went down to Seale’s tent? It was obvious that she was staying with Lloyd. He’d reckon that there’d be no one at the camp site.’
‘Why would he go there?’
She shrugged. ‘Because it appears he didn’t go to the cottage. I’m working on alternatives.’
‘Well,’ Ted was jovial, ‘he’s not at the camp site. You were there.’
‘I didn’t look around. It’s in a clump of trees.’
‘But if the girl was with Lloyd and there was no one at her tent, Evans couldn’t have run into trouble there.’
‘Of course he could! Suppose some hooligans were about: the kind of villains who steal tents. Her van was there too, unattended. The tent on its own would be enough to attract thieves. Evans could have surprised someone in the dark and they could have jumped him, then dragged him into the bushes. Let’s go up there; it won’t take long.’
In a quarter of an hour they were standing beside the pale patch of grass where the tent had been pitched. Working outwards they searched the grove of sycamores, but little work was involved. There were a few stinging nettles and fewer brambles, and the gorse on the bank of the stream. There was no sign of tracks and no sign of Evans.
‘Well, it was an idea,’ Miss Pink said, starting along the stream bank. ‘Let’s go home by the water; it’s more pleasant than that melting tar in the lane.’
‘Judson should clear his meadows. Look at those thistles!’
‘Shocking. There’s an old cooker down here too.’
‘I can’t see a cooker.’
‘You can’t unless you’re close to the edge of the bank. There’s a shelf above the water. Probably someone meant to tip it in the stream and it stuck on the shelf. It’s just here. No, it isn’t; I must be in the wrong place.’ She looked along the shelf. ‘I’m right; look, you can see where it was resting.’
‘That’s a deep pool.’ He walked forward. ‘This bank’s undercut. Well, there’s your cook—’ He stiffened.
‘Why, so it is, but what—it’s—’
Ted said heavily: ‘It’s a person. Or was.’
Shock faded gradually as they stood in silence and stared at this curious aspect of a body, not floating, but apparently suspended, anchored—by its head, the legs uppermost, extended a little with the current.
‘Evans?’ Miss Pink ventured at last.
‘It’s got climbing boots on, and we only have two men missing. Judson doesn’t climb. I suppose it must be Evans—but what the hell’s holding him down?’
Chapter 9
She sat alone on the bank of the stream, her mind blank. Ted had gone back to the Bridge to telephone the police. The near side of the pool was out of sight below the undercut shelf. She had emptied her mind deliberately because there were too many things crowding in on it: conflicting factors, and yet there were some factors which she suspected were connected, but to speculate on the nature of those connections when one was in shock was futile, so she sat and stared at the water, aware only of minor irritations. The midges were biting. She did not hear an engine, did not notice that a vehicle had stopped in the lane.
‘Are you all right, Miss Pink?’ came a cool voice from behind her.
She turned. Seale and Joss Lloyd were staring at her curiously. The girl looked concerned.
‘Is something wrong?’ she pressed.
‘We’ve found a body.’
‘You have? You mean the police have?’ This was from Lloyd. He was scowling. ‘Where is this body?’
She gestured. ‘In the pool.’
They looked at each other. ‘Miss Pink,’ Seale said gently, ‘are you feeling all right? It’s terribly hot and the midges are out. We’re going down for a drink. Come with us.’ The tone was wheedling.
Miss Pink pulled herself together and stood up. She gave them a bleak smile.
‘I’m suffering from shock,’ she admitted. ‘I haven’t got sunstroke. It’s probably Evans in the pool. Don’t go too near the edge; it’s liable to give way.’
Lloyd was unconvinced by her change of tone but the girl’s eyes had sharpened. Without a word she dropped down the bank and walked to the edge of the shelf where she stood for a moment, looking down, then she turned.
‘Come here, Lloyd.’
As he joined her she put her hand on his arm. He stood rigidly, then they turned to each other and after a while they looked at Miss Pink like children demanding an explanation. She was pleased about that; she would have been worried had they been blasé. She patted the ground and they scrambled up the bank, breathing hard.
‘Jesus!’ Lloyd gasped. ‘Oh, Jesus!’
Seale said nothing.
‘Why did you come here?’ Miss Pink asked.
‘We were on our way to the pub,’ he said dully.
‘But why did you come here?’
‘Because you were sitting on the bank,’ Seale said. ‘You should be eating your dinner now. I thought you looked queer—all alone, and staring. And you didn’t glance up when we were passing. You must have heard our engine.’
‘I heard nothing.’
‘So we stopped to see if you were all right.’ Seale shifted on the grass to peer into Miss Pink’s face. ‘You thought we came to the pool deliberately,’ she said. ‘If we’d had anything to do with this—’ she gestured to the stream, ‘—we wouldn’t have come down while you were sitting here.’
Lloyd gaped at her. ‘She thought that?’
Seale said to Miss Pink: ‘We’re in a spot of bother, aren’t we?’
Lloyd exploded. ‘We don’t even know if it is Evans, let alone how he got there! For God’s sake, what’s he doing upside-down? Why’s he not floating? His legs must be six feet under. Why doesn’t he come up?’
‘I imagine he’s trapped by the cooker,’ Miss Pink said.
There was a long silence. At last he asked, tentative now: ‘Is it possible he could have committed suicide?’
‘Evans?’ Miss Pink looked astonished. ‘Suicide?’
‘Whatever happened,’ Seale said, �
��Lloyd had nothing to do with it. He’s been with me all the time. It’s either both of us or neither of us, so he’s all right.’
Miss Pink said: ‘The superintendent in charge of the case is called Pryce. Watch your step, both of you; he looks like an amiable pig. Don’t be deceived. He’s intelligent.’
‘We’ve met him,’ Lloyd said. ‘He is a pig.’
‘We need a drink,’ Seale told him.
‘Too late.’ Miss Pink got to her feet. ‘They’ve arrived. Try to keep your temper, Lloyd.’
Four men were advancing across the meadow. In shirtsleeves, bare-headed, carrying nothing, they might have been holidaymakers, but people on holiday loiter, they stare about; these had the air of predators on the move: quiet, steady, implacable.
‘They know,’ Seale murmured, and Miss Pink recalled that she’d had no time to tell them Ted Roberts had been with her when the body was discovered, that he’d gone to inform the police.
As they approached, two of the quartet hung back: Cross and Bowen. Pryce came on, accompanied by his sergeant, Williams. Pryce was heavier than when she’d last seen him—five years ago, was it?—but his rubbery face, shining with exertion, was affable as ever, his voice as fruity. He held out his hand.
‘Well, well. Miss Pink! This is a pleasure. In at the kill, eh? Always in at the kill. You remember Williams of course—’
It might have been a chance encounter in the street except for Williams’s morose smile, so appropriate in the presence of death, but then he always looked like a sad spaniel.
‘—And you’ve met Mr Cross and Bowen,’ Pryce was saying. He turned to Seale and Lloyd and the joviality was gone. ‘I suggested I might want to see you again this evening,’ he said meaningly.
‘We were going for a drink,’ Lloyd said.
The small eyes in the fleshy face studied them.
‘Well,’ Pryce said, watching Lloyd now, ‘so what have we here, eh?’
They stared at him, then looked to Miss Pink for help, Lloyd bewildered, Seale puzzled and wary. Pryce didn’t take his eyes off Lloyd.
‘In the pool,’ the young man said weakly. ‘A body.’
As though they’d been waiting for this, Pryce and Williams scrambled clumsily down the bank. The other detectives remained where they’d halted, as if they’d been placed there to prevent escape. Seale turned her back and watched the others at the edge of the shelf. Pryce came back.
