Masters and Green Series Box Set

by Douglas Clark

  Green said: ‘Who’s the father?’ It was said unconcernedly. A blow with a blunt instrument. Gina started to weep again, noisily. ‘Now what have I said?’ he asked.

  Masters said: ‘I believe—correct me if I’m wrong—that the late vicar was the father. Am I right?’

  Maria nodded. Green swore. ‘The dirty old . . . well, I’m damned. By God I’ve heard of some things, but this takes the biscuit.’

  Masters said: ‘I know that for some time past the vicar has not been returning straight home after Evensong on Sundays, as he used to. Sunday is also one of Maria’s nights off. That seemed significant to me, particularly when I heard that Mrs Binkhorst had told the vicar that Maria had a considerable dowry and other expectations.’

  Gina let out a wail. Her husband said: ‘So you opened your mouth to old Gobby, did you?’ He went on reproachfully: ‘You should have known better, lass. I bet he swallowed it like a donkey taking strawberries.’

  ‘He did,’ Masters said. ‘It’s not very complimentary to your daughter, but I imagine he started paying attention to her from that time on.’

  Maria said: ‘In September.’ It was a quiet, pitiful little reply. Her father reached over and took her hand, clumsily but kindly meant. ‘I’ll never know how you came to let him, lass. But I’m not blaming you.’

  Masters said to him: ‘How long have you known?’

  ‘Her mother guessed a week ago but said nothing to either of us,’ Binkhorst replied.

  ‘Until when?’

  ‘She told me on Sunday night she thought our Maria was pregnant.’

  ‘Did she also tell you who she thought the father was?’

  ‘I didn’t know that until Monday. Gina didn’t, either. It wasn’t until after we’d heard Gobby was dead. Maria fainted when she heard. That’s when we got it out of her.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Course I am. Otherwise I’d probably have got him before the other bloke. And I hope you don’t catch him. He’s done me a good turn, whoever he is. And a lot of others.’

  Masters said: ‘Right. So now there’s no difficulty about explaining what you were so reluctant to tell me last night.’

  ‘There’s no mystery.’

  ‘Not for you, perhaps. But I’ve been put to the trouble of tracing Maria’s movements. What I found out led me to the conclusions I’ve already given you. She left here ostensibly to go to the pictures. She came back to Rooksby in her car shortly after six. Was that to see Parseloe on his way over to the church for Evensong?’

  ‘Yes.’ She whispered it.

  ‘You were a little late, weren’t you? He set out from the vicarage before six.’

  ‘Did he?’ There was genuine surprise in Maria’s voice.

  ‘Had you an arrangement?’

  ‘For a quarter past.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In the lane near the vestry gate.’

  ‘That’s the one that runs between the school and the churchyard?’

  ‘Yes. Nobody uses it after dark in winter.’

  Masters was thinking hard. From what he had learned of him, Parseloe was not the one to miss an appointment which was to his own advantage, without very good reason. This thought opened up many avenues. ‘Forgive me, but a meeting at a quarter past six would leave you very little time together.’

  ‘It was only for making arrangements for later.’

  ‘I see.’

  He didn’t. Not quite. But if Parseloe had dodged the meeting at a quarter past six, it might have been because he wanted to avoid the later one without having to give explanations. In which case, he may have already planned to meet somebody else instead. In the school. This meant that the rendezvous with his murderer could have been prearranged. The thought interested Masters greatly. A meeting Parseloe had not wanted to mention to Maria! The vicar was a devious type—the sort who would duck one meeting to avoid giving reasons for ducking another. Bent as a hairpin. He’d go to any lengths to avoid telling an unpleasant truth face to face. He said to Maria: ‘After missing him before the service you then waited for him at the old pound?’

  ‘I thought he would come there.’

  ‘Because that was where you usually met?’

  ‘Yes. It was quiet. Close to the church. And I could sit in the car off the road.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘You already know it all, don’t you?’ It was a reproach.

  He said: ‘I’m trying to find it all out. When did you move to Church Walk?’

  ‘About nine o’clock.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he hadn’t come to the old pound.’

  ‘But why the vicarage gates? Did you go to the door?’

  ‘No. Oh, no. I waited to meet him coming home. I thought he might have been called out—to see somebody sick or dying. The flu. Lots of people have been really ill.’

  ‘And the vicar was consequently very busy. I understand.’ He turned to Binkhorst. ‘Why did you go out?’

  ‘To look for Maria, of course.’

  ‘Why? She usually went out on Sunday nights.’

  ‘Maybe she did. But she’d never been pregnant before as far as I knew. When her mother told me how she was I put my coat on and went.’

  Masters smiled. ‘To look for the man?’

  Binkhorst growled: ‘What the hell d’you expect? I didn’t know who it was, but I wanted to find out.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘How the hell could I know it was old Gobby? I thought it was . . . somebody else.’

  ‘Jeremy Pratt, for instance?’

  Binkhorst’s face was laughable in its incredulity. Maria said: ‘Oh, Dad.’

  Binkhorst grumbled: ‘You’re a bloody good guesser.’

  ‘Sometimes. So you went haring off towards Spalding? What did you do when you got there?’

  ‘Nothing. Old Pratt’s gates were locked. Iron ones. I couldn’t get in. I waited a bit and then came back. Maria was home by then.’

  Masters got to his feet and knocked out his pipe at the fireplace. He said: ‘Well, that seems to have cleared matters up a little. You see how sensible and easy it is not to try to hide things at a time like this.’

  ‘We didn’t want you to know,’ Gina said. ‘It is the family disgrace. It has nothing to do with your murder. Nothing.’

  Masters said quietly: ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Binkhorst. I thought it had. I still think so.’

  ‘How can it be? We have done nothing to your Gobby.’

  ‘But he has done something to you.’ Gina burst into tears again. ‘And what he did and whom he did it to almost certainly have a bearing on his death.’

  ‘Well, at least you won’t go on thinking it was Dad. You might as well suspect me of killing him.’

  Masters said enigmatically: ‘Quite.’

  She said accusingly: ‘You do think it was me.’

  Green said: ‘You were in Church Walk. You knew him pretty well and he’d done you dirt. What d’you expect?’

  Masters silently cursed Green for his intervention. Nothing he could say now would calm them. Gina was weeping. Maria was staring. Binkhorst was on his feet. Masters said: ‘That’s quite correct. But it’s not as bad as it sounds. Remember we haven’t even gone so far as to search the Goblin for a weapon or anything of that sort. So you see we’re not too suspicious of you. However, there’s a long way to go yet, and you’re not out of the wood. But I think you’ve gone a long way towards clearing yourselves tonight. If I can confirm what you’ve told me, you’ll be all right. And don’t worry about Inspector Green and myself knowing your secrets. We won’t let them out.’

  They left without another word from the Binkhorsts. When they were out of the living-room Green said: ‘You’re not taking their word for it, are you? If you do you’re more easily satisfied than I am.’

  ‘I thought you’d have understood that I already knew the facts. All they did was confirm them for me.’

  ‘It strikes me we’re getting nowhere fast.
I knew we were going to be snowed under with suspects. Now we’ve got so many on the hook you’re beginning to throw them back into the water. That’s not the way I fish.’

  ‘Nor me. I’m putting them back in the water—in a keep net. I can haul them out again to be weighed when the scales come round. Meantime I don’t want to harm them.’

  ‘So on top of everything else you’re an angler, too.’

  Masters said angrily: ‘Oh, for God’s sake, man. We’ve got to take a chance sometimes. You want me to get bogged down and flounder about here until the cows come home. I’m not going to. I’m going to bust this case wide open before the weekend.’

  ‘O.K. I’m happy. Rooksby’s not my idea of a holiday camp. But there’s no need to take it out on me when the going gets tough.’

  ‘Who says it’s tough?’

  Green stared. ‘I suppose you already know the answer.’ It was a sneer. Masters looked at him squarely. ‘I didn’t say that. But I don’t consider it tough. Just mucky. As ditted up as Charlie M’Clure’s waistcoat. Eggfilth.’ Masters went up the stairs. He’d had enough of Green for one day. Was sorry he’d asked him to stay for this late-night session with the Binkhorst family.

  Chapter Six

  By Wednesday morning the wind had gone down. A pale sun gave Rooksby a lick and a promise of better things to come. As Masters breakfasted he wondered what effect it would have upon the communal psyche of the inhabitants. He said to Green: ‘What about the weapon?’

  Green was reading The Sun and crunching cornflakes. ‘Are you asking me? I’ve been harping on it ever since we got here.’

  ‘So you have. But last night you said you’d give it your undivided attention today.’

  ‘If that’s what you want.’

  ‘I do want.’

  ‘With no leads to give?’

  Masters said: ‘With no leads other than those you’ve already got. Take Brant. See what you can do.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘Barrett’s farm. With Hill.’

  ‘For a sack of spuds?’

  ‘Among other things. They’ll ride home in the boot.’

  ‘Not with all the clobber we’ve got, they won’t. There’s hardly room already.’

  Masters got up. ‘I’ve a feeling things will work out just fine. You’ll see.’ He left the dining-room. Green said to the sergeants: ‘He’s worse than ever. Woman crazy, if you ask me. First the girl in the nick. Then there’s this Italian bint—just because she’s infantizing he’s acting like a midwife. And there’s that Cora one—the one that’s only elevenpence ha’penny to the shilling. He’s more concerned with getting her some treatment than he is in finding out who did her old man in.’

  Hill said: ‘It’s not a bad way to be. If you can manage it all at the same time as doing a good job of work. Some of us can’t, of course.’

  ‘If that’s a crack at me, watch it. We’re here to find a murderer, not wet nurse a crowd of Boers. When we start getting paid for welfare work’s the time to start feeling sorry for people.’

  Hill said: ‘I can feel sorry for some people all the time.’ He got up and followed Masters. Green said to Brant: ‘Your oppo’s getting sassy. If you want to do him a favour, warn him.’

  Brant put his napkin on the table. He said: ‘He’s had a tough time lately. You know that as well as anybody. I’m not going to make it tougher. What about this weapon? Where do we start?’

  Green said: ‘You are a considerate man, aren’t you? Would you please give me your considered opinion about the weapon?’

  ‘Haven’t a clue.’

  ‘That’s a lot of bloody help.’

  *

  Hill drove Masters along the flat roads bathed in watery sunshine. The daffodils that had survived the wind stood up bravely in front gardens. The grass sparkled and stood up as if planted in sponge. The water, still high in the drains, had a surface tension that gave Masters the same impression as cheap sun glass lenses. Dirty grey-green, hiding lord-knows-what.

  Hill said: ‘Tough is it, Chief?’

  Masters grinned. ‘As tough as Billy Whitlam’s bulldog. Every case is.’ He remembered denying this to Green the night before, and added: ‘Though I wouldn’t admit that to everybody.’

  Hill could guess who.

  There was a silence for about a minute. Then Hill said: ‘Funny thing. I switched on our radio this morning, just to make sure it was working, and found we’re nearly bang on net with the local cops.’

  Masters said: ‘I shouldn’t have thought so. We’re all supposed to have distinct wavelengths. Probably because The Soke’s so far from the smoke they thought they could safely allot us both the same band.’ He flicked on the radio. There was no traffic on the net. He looked across at Hill. ‘Seems all clear now.’

  Hill said: ‘That’s odd. I distinctly heard a request for an ambulance. Didn’t take much notice as it seemed pretty routine and I was only on just long enough to make sure we were working. Ah, well! A reception freak, I suppose.’

  Masters filled his pipe. Noted that the tin of Warlock Flake was nearly empty and didn’t reply. The niggle at the back of his mind had reasserted itself. He couldn’t clarify it. The sight of Barrett’s farm drove it from his mind altogether. The car stopped on a dry cobbled apron.

  Hill said: ‘That shed’s the office. Or do you want the house?’

  Masters chose the office. A blonde in her early twenties was working at the desk. She said: ‘Can I help you?’

  Masters guessed this was April Barrett. She was wearing a roll neck sweater, slacks and gumboots. But there the resemblance to a landgirl stopped. Her pale gold hair was styled in an expensively simple way. The make-up emphasized its quality by being barely perceptible. The nail polish was not outrageous. The fingers not workworn. The eyes very big and blue—Masters privately dubbed them bedroom eyes—and the mouth generous and well-shaped. He could feel Hill’s interest in her. Altogether an attractive girl. He said: ‘I am Detective Chief Inspector Masters, and this is Sergeant Hill. I would like to speak to Mr Barrett, please, if he’s available.’

  ‘Father’s out somewhere. I’m April Barrett. Is there anything I can do?’

  Masters half sat on the corner of the desk. He said: ‘Miss Barrett? I’ve heard of you.’ He saw the startled look in her eyes. ‘Oh, nothing bad, Just casually. In the course of conversations during my investigation.’

  ‘The vicar?’

  ‘Yes. A miserable business.’

  He thought she looked unhappy. It might be of use to him. ‘And I’ve met your fiancé, Dr Peter Barnfelt.’

  She said sharply: ‘He’s not my fiancé.’

  Masters was at his smoothest. ‘I beg your pardon. I must have been misinformed or picked up the wrong story. But I’m certain I heard your name linked with that of Dr Peter. But there, I’ve heard so much about the inhabitants of Rooksby these last two days I probably can’t tell t’other from which.’

  She looked straight at him. ‘Peter and I used to be very friendly.’

  ‘Not any more? I’m sorry. I’ve probably put my foot in it. Please forgive me.’

  ‘There’s nothing to forgive.’ She sounded miserable. ‘It’s not your fault. It’s . . .’

  ‘Whose?’ Masters spoke quietly. ‘Whose fault? A dark-haired girl’s? A girl who can’t be identified through the side curtains of a Triumph coupé?’

  She was angry now. ‘Mind your own business.’

  ‘This is my business. Let me give you a bit of advice and help.’

  ‘I don’t need help.’

  ‘Maybe you don’t. But probably Peter does.’

  She said bitterly: ‘He can look after himself.’

  ‘That’s just my point. He can’t. He’s been got at.’

  Now she was scornful. ‘Got at? You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Oh, but I do. For instance, I know that you think Peter has recently been keeping company with Maria Binkhorst.’

  She stared in
credulously.

  Masters nodded. ‘Maria’s a pretty girl. With long dark hair. The only one in Rooksby that you thought could possibly be attractive to Peter.’

  ‘You can’t possibly know what I think.’

  ‘I can. You’ve told your father so.’

  ‘So you’ve already spoken to Daddy?’

  ‘No. But I know he hasn’t been to the Goblin for a fortnight. Before that he was a regular. What caused him to stop? I think the reason for his disaffection is a desire to have as little to do as possible with the Binkhorsts. Particularly Maria, of whom he may be quite fond—through long association in the saloon bar.’

  ‘And you say it wasn’t Maria?’

  ‘It wasn’t. Honestly.’

  ‘Who was it then?’

  ‘Somebody you’ll never believe possible. Pamela Parseloe.’

  She gasped in surprise. ‘That cat? With Peter?’

  ‘It surprises you? It shouldn’t. You think she’s such an abominable creature that no decent man would have anything to do with her. But that’s not quite how it goes. She’s got something attractive to men—for a time, at any rate. Remember her reputation for taking other girls’ boyfriends? After a time they get scared of her and back out. She’s too predatory. That’s why she can’t keep one for herself. But she manages to hook them temporarily.’

  ‘That’s what you meant when you said Peter was in need of help?’

  ‘Your help. To get out of her clutches.’

  ‘I did think it was Maria. It never entered my head it could possibly be . . . that woman.’

  ‘Well, now you know.’

  ‘Yes. Thank you. You said Peter needs help . . .’

  ‘He does. Lots of the right sort. You see, he’s made a fool of himself. But you’re not the girl I think you are if you need me to tell you what to do.’

  She blushed. ‘I’ll ring the house and see if Mummy knows where Daddy is.’

  ‘Please don’t bother.’

  ‘You don’t want to see him after all?’

  ‘You can pass the message on. He can go back to the Goblin now with a clear conscience. The only other thing was, I wondered if I could buy a bag of King Edwards’.’

  She laughed. He understood. Pure bathos. He wanted it that way. To remove the tension. She said: ‘I’m sure you can have one. There are a few in the filling shed.’