The Drowning Ground

by James Marrison

  ‘Oh, no,’ Lang said quickly. ‘I didn’t see anything like that. There was nothing like that at all. I would have known,’ Lang said.

  ‘All right,’ I said. ‘And nothing. Nothing like that happening at home?’

  ‘Oh, no, definitely not,’ Lang said. ‘And Frank was absolutely devastated when she left.’

  35

  Graves sat gazing at the chubby, sullen-looking man standing beneath the scaffolding. Brad Hooper had been described to him by the owner of the building company in less than glowing terms on the telephone. He had a puffy face and beady eyes. There was a sly watchfulness to him. A drinker’s face, Graves thought. Hooper hawked and spat loudly into the bushes. He must have let himself go since his affair with Sarah Hurst, Graves thought, because Sarah Hurst had been a looker. Hooper was out of shape and seemed incredibly bored. Graves stepped out of the car and stared across the tree-lined road. Apart from the sounds of the workmen the street was very quiet. Hooper wiped his hands on his shirt and looked at Graves as he crossed the road. He did not seem nervous or afraid.

  ‘I suppose you’ve been expecting me,’ Graves said.

  Hooper stared at him boldly. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I heard someone was looking for me.’

  ‘Anywhere we can talk?’

  ‘We can talk right here if you like,’ Hooper said, motioning to the low wall that surrounded the property. ‘If you go any further in, you’ll have to wear a silly hat just like this one and we ain’t got any spare.’

  Hooper paused and stared upwards at the wooden walkways at the top. ‘It’s about Frank Hurst, isn’t it?’ he said.

  ‘So you know what happened?’

  ‘I heard.’ Hooper shrugged. ‘Stabbed, I think. Someone said he’d been stabbed.’

  ‘Actually, someone drove a pitchfork into his throat,’ Graves said. ‘While he was working in one of his fields. Where were you Monday afternoon?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Monday afternoon,’ Graves said. ‘Where were you?’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘From 4.00 until late.’

  ‘I was here. We all finished up here at around 5.00 and then I went home. One of the boys dropped me off.’

  ‘And after that?’

  ‘I stayed at home.’

  ‘You married, Brad?’ Graves asked.

  He grinned. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m not married.’

  ‘Shacked up with anyone?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So after 6.00 you’ve got no one who can say where you were. Is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘I think I might have gone to the pub. What day did you say it was again?’

  ‘Monday.’

  ‘I can’t remember. Though I probably went to the pub.’

  ‘When’s the last time you saw him?’ Graves said.

  ‘Frank Hurst?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Years ago,’ Hooper said. ‘I hadn’t seen him in years.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In a pub.’

  ‘What pub?’

  ‘The Horse and Jockey.’

  ‘That’s where Hurst assaulted you, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You never pressed charges.’

  ‘He had a good reason.’

  ‘So no hard feelings then,’ Graves said a little sarcastically. ‘The locals still remember it even now. They say they had to carry you off in an ambulance. Blood everywhere. Your blood, Brad. Not Frank Hurst’s.’

  Hooper smiled ruefully. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a pouch of tobacco and papers and started to roll a cigarette. ‘Assault,’ Hooper said thoughtfully. ‘You’re right. That’s exactly what it was. I suppose I should have pressed charges. You think I could have got some money out of him for it?’

  ‘Probably. Or put him in jail for a while. So what happened?’

  ‘He beat the shit out of me,’ Hooper said with remarkable good nature. ‘No one knew what it was all about to begin with.’

  ‘He found you in there drinking?’

  ‘I didn’t know he knew who I was. There was just this big bloody awful silence. The place was packed, and all of a sudden there he is. Big guy. Well, not big. But tough. He walked straight up to me. I thought it was something about the job we’d done over at his house to begin with. Then bam. There was no warning,’ Hooper said in an offhand way. ‘Wham, right in the face. Broke my fucking nose straight off the bat. And the next thing I knew I was tits up on the floor. He let me get up, and I thought he were going to call it quits. But then the bastard had another pop at me, and the next thing I knew I was flat on my arse again. They had to drag him off me in the end. Someone had called the coppers by then. Lot of fucking good they were.’

  ‘Sounds like he gave you a good pasting,’ Graves said happily.

  ‘Doctors in A & E said I nearly lost an eye. I was fucking bleeding everywhere. Hurst never gave me a chance.’

  ‘Seems to me he gave you lots of chances,’ Graves said.

  ‘It was like something out of a fucking film,’ Hooper said as if he hadn’t heard him. ‘Told me I had to leave. He said that if he ever saw me again he’d kill me.’

  ‘And what did you think about that?’ Graves said.

  ‘I believed him,’ Hooper said, looking straight at Graves.

  ‘But did you see him after that?’ Graves asked. ‘You never ran into him again?’

  Hooper nodded. ‘Once was enough, thanks very much.’

  ‘And his wife. You stayed well clear of her too?’

  Hooper was silent for a moment.

  ‘You never saw her again?’ Graves said.

  Hooper shifted a little on his feet. He seemed undecided about something, and he glanced back towards the building site as if he were suddenly eager to get back to work.

  ‘If there’s something you’re not telling me, now’s the time to give it up,’ Graves said. ‘Frank Hurst’s dead and his daughter too. She’s been buried down there beneath his house for years maybe. And you’ve got motive for both of them and maybe no alibi.’

  ‘His daughter?’ Hooper said quickly. ‘But she was just a kid. What the hell would I have against a little kid like that? And I told you I never saw Frank Hurst again. Not after that time in the pub.’

  ‘Who told?’ Graves said, ignoring him. ‘Who told Frank Hurst that you were having an affair with his wife?’

  Hooper shrugged and pouted sulkily. ‘One of the locals I suppose.’

  ‘So you weren’t all that discreet,’ Graves said. ‘You sure you didn’t tell any of your mates about the affair? Boast about it.’

  ‘No. Why would I? I’d have got sacked if the foreman found out I was having it off with one of the client’s wives, and I’m not like those other blokes. I don’t go round showing off about things like that. And anyway, it was just a few times. Bit of fun, that’s all it was. We both knew that.’

  ‘She was the one who tipped him off,’ Graves said. ‘It was his daughter, Rebecca. Don’t tell me you never knew that.’

  ‘No,’ Hooper murmured. ‘I thought it must have been one of the locals. Someone with a grudge.’

  ‘But who? Who would have it in for a nice fella like you? Another angry husband? I reckon you knew,’ Graves said, moving in much closer. ‘You knew it was her all along. Or maybe you found out later. She was the only one who could have known, because you were both so discreet. You blamed her for the beating. Her old man gave you a hiding in a room full of people. And,’ he added, ‘they were all your mates. And maybe you’d done it before, Hooper. Maybe you’d made somebody vanish before. Maybe your taste extends to little kids.’

  Graves paused. Hooper looked terrified.

  ‘So I think that you waited and one day,’ Graves said, ‘you decided to pay her a visit when you knew her dad would be out. Maybe you’d had a bit to drink. Things might have got out of hand. You knew the house because you’d worked there, and when it was all over you buried her.’

  Hooper wa
s shaking his head. He had paled.

  ‘And then much later maybe you heard that Hurst was up on that field, working all alone,’ Graves said. ‘And I think you decided it was time to get even with him too. Maybe you saw the pitchfork and decided to use it.’

  ‘No,’ Hooper said, his voice rising. ‘That’s not true. I never had anything to do with his daughter, and I was afraid of Hurst. I told you I never wanted to go anywhere near him after what he did to me.’

  ‘But he was an old man,’ Graves pointed out. ‘Maybe you thought it was time to give him a pasting just like the one he gave you.’

  Hooper shook his head, more vigorously this time. He dragged on his cigarette quite savagely, and then threw it at his feet, pushed past Graves and started to walk towards the house. ‘Look, it all happened years ago. I couldn’t care less about what happened to Hurst. And I was here all day anyway. Ask any of the boys. And how the hell would I know if Hurst was out there on his field? And her … Didn’t even know she was dead until now. Jesus Christ. Do I look like the kind of person who could do something like that – and to a kid too?’

  Graves shrugged. ‘But there is something, Brad,’ he said, walking after him. ‘There’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?’

  Hooper stopped and turned around. For a moment, he looked utterly dejected. Then he seemed to rally. He plunged his hands deeper into his pockets and stared down at the floor. He kicked at a cigarette butt with his muddy boots. Then he looked up.

  ‘I’m going to ask you one more time,’ Graves said. ‘Did you ever see her again? Did you ever see Sarah after Hurst gave you that beating?’

  His hands fell to his sides. There was a sense of cold and sudden anger. ‘Yes,’ he said finally and with a great deal of reluctance. ‘Yes, all right, I saw Sarah again.’

  ‘How many times?’

  ‘Once,’ Hooper said quickly. ‘Just the once and I didn’t say a single word to her.’

  ‘When?’

  Hooper spoke fast, as if trying to get it over and done with. ‘I saw her on that day. The day she had her accident by the pool.’

  ‘The day she died?’ Graves said.

  Hooper closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. A look of real worry came over his face. ‘I thought it might have been her,’ he said. ‘I thought it might have been Sarah who had told Hurst about us. That perhaps she’d felt all guilty about it and spilled the beans. Got me into trouble. And I wanted to know why. It was the housekeeper’s afternoon off, so I just went round the back. And there she was. By the swimming pool.

  ‘She was lying by the side of the water. Sunbathing as usual. Vain cow. She never saw me. She could have been asleep for all I know. And then, when I was halfway across the lawn, I bottled it. Went back the way I came.’

  ‘But why? What stopped you?’ Graves said.

  ‘Because someone else was there,’ Hooper said angrily. ‘She was there. I saw her up in her room.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The girl.’

  ‘Rebecca?’

  ‘Christ, I don’t know. I never knew her name. His daughter. I thought she was supposed to be at school.’

  ‘But she was,’ Graves said surprised. ‘It was a school day.’

  ‘Well, she was there,’ Hooper said firmly. ‘She must have been skiving or ill. She didn’t see me, but I got a glimpse of her up in her room. I thought she might tell her old man if she saw me hanging about. So I chickened out. Slipped back out over the lawn. Next thing I knew someone was telling me that Sarah was dead. That she’d slipped and drowned in her swimming pool.’

  Graves took a deep breath. ‘And you didn’t think to tell us?’ he said with as much patience as he could manage, which right then wasn’t much. ‘You didn’t think it might have been a good idea to tell the police that you’d been there the day she died.’

  ‘It was an accident,’ Hooper said, his shoulders hunched. ‘That’s what everyone said. What was the point of me getting involved? She just fell in and smacked her head.’

  Graves pushed himself off the wall and stood so he was facing Hooper. Hooper looked petulant and defiant now that it was over.

  ‘And are you sure she was there? Hurst’s daughter. She was there in the house when you walked round the back? You saw her? That’s what you’re telling me?’

  Hooper coughed. His yellow builder’s helmet was resting on top of the wall. Someone, perhaps for a joke or out of boredom, had sawed a very thin line through the top of it. ‘Yes,’ Hooper said, reaching for his hat. ‘She was there. Up in her room.’

  36

  I told Graves to meet me at Hurst’s house straightaway. It would take him a while to get there from Woodstock, so on the way I decided to have another quick talk with Frank’s brother over in Shipston.

  Simon Hurst was in his late fifties, big, tough and physically very strong, like his brother, and the cream-coloured chair in which he was sitting looked like it might break under his weight. He had his granddaughter staying with him for the Christmas holidays. The girl was around nine or ten, and she stared at me insolently from the back of a wicker chair. With a certain regal air, she had walked into the living room a few moments ago and since then had calmly, and as if it were a matter of course, ignored her grandfather’s entreaties to go back to the kitchen to her grandmother. Hurst looked at the girl a little helplessly, then gave up, let out a low sigh, pulled himself out of the chair and called out for his wife through the open doorway. She seemed to appear instantly and led the girl away without a word.

  ‘I know one of my men came to see you earlier and you’ve gone through this all before,’ I said, ‘but –’

  ‘But here you are,’ Hurst said. ‘That officer said you needed my DNA for something. But what? He refused to say. I don’t understand any of it. And what on earth is a dead girl doing underneath Frank’s house? The papers are saying they found a body under there and there could be another one.’ Hurst looked utterly miserable. ‘And, God, if it is one of them down there…’ Hurst lapsed into silence.

  ‘Look, we don’t know who it is,’ I said. ‘Not yet. We’re trying to find out and we’re still in the dark about most of it. And you know what the papers are like. I just want to go through everything with you again to make sure I’ve got everything right. Tell me, how did you hear about what had happened to your brother?’

  ‘All right.’ Hurst sighed. ‘I heard about it from Susan. My wife. She said there was something on the radio about the police being over in Quinton. Something about them finding a body out there. I was out most of the day: I have a foreman to run the farm but I needed to talk to him and check up on things,’ Hurst said.

  ‘Let me get something straight: you inherited part of the farm?’

  ‘Frank got the lion’s share, including the house, but some of the land went to me. Frank sold up years ago. But I kept my part as it was – as a working farm,’ he said proudly.

  ‘So you went to check up on things at the farm – and then what?’

  ‘Then I had to go off into town and buy a Christmas tree.’

  ‘So what did you do when you got back? When you heard about the body?’

  ‘I phoned up Frank to see if he knew anything about it. I was curious more than anything else. But he didn’t answer the phone, which was unusual for him – because he hardly ever went out if he could help it. He was a bit funny like that.’ Hurst took a sip of his tea. ‘So I waited. I didn’t think any more about it. Not to begin with anyway. I had my supper – watched the television for a while. There was nothing on as usual. But then I suppose it started to really, well … prey on my mind a bit. So I phoned again, and when there still wasn’t any answer I became worried, I suppose. So I kept on ringing him. It wasn’t like Frank at all to be out – especially at that time of night.

  ‘Susan told me I was getting in a state and making a fuss over nothing as usual. But I couldn’t stop thinking about him and the radio wasn’t much help either. Actually, it just made everything
worse. They started talking about suspicious circumstances. And we all know what that means,’ Hurst said darkly. ‘So I tried Frank one more time – let the phone ring and ring, and when there was no answer I told myself I was being a silly bugger and took myself off to bed. Tried to get some sleep after that.’

  ‘But you couldn’t sleep?’

  ‘No. It was no use at all. I just couldn’t stop thinking about it. I lay there half the night thinking – what if it is him? It’s not exactly a big place, Lower Quinton. So I made up my mind, got changed, got in the car and drove straight on out there.’

  ‘And that’s when you saw the smoke? Smoke coming from his house?’

  ‘Yes. It was coming from round the back. There was one of your lot out front in his car. I knew then … well … thought it could be Frank they’d been talking about all day on the radio.’

  Hurst raised his eyes. ‘I knocked on the car window, because the silly sod was fast asleep, and then I went straight round the side of the house. And it was on fire.’ Hurst paused, stunned, as if reliving the shock. ‘I thought I could somehow put it out – I ran in there without thinking – and got as far as that stairway. That’s when the whole thing just seemed to come apart and fall on top of me. Your man had to pull me out.’

  ‘And Frank inherited the house because he was the elder son?’

  Hurst nodded slowly. ‘The house has been in our family for generations. Nothing left of it now, so they tell me. I haven’t been able to bring myself to go out there again.’

  ‘And there was no other car? It was just the police car when you arrived?’

  ‘Just me and sleeping beauty,’ Hurst said bitterly.

  ‘But what about his daughter?’ I said. ‘Rebecca. She still hasn’t come forward, Mr Hurst, and we know Frank was looking for her. You said that she would write to him from time to time when we talked before, but where is she? Have you seen her?’