Marsh looked at the page again and shook her head. Pure theatre. “The blood spatter puts you — or perhaps your wife — at the scene of the crime, either as a perpetrator or a witness.”
Elleth’s solicitor turned towards him as if by magnetism, and then faced Marsh. “I must insist that I talk to my client immediately.”
Marsh adjusted her blue-rimmed glasses. “I thought you might.”
Fifteen minutes seemed more like an hour by the time Elleth returned. Meanwhile, Wild had found time for a piss and a phone call, both urgent. He’d requested that uniformed officers went to the Labyrinth café for Caitlin, and if she wasn’t there to pick her up at her home address. And he wanted her phone as well.
* * *
Elleth came back into the interview room first, straight-backed, hands clasped together like one of the clergy. He had a far-off look in his eye, which Wild fancied was fixed on the time he’d be spending in prison if the ‘Good Lord’ didn’t claim him first. The solicitor had the air of a troubled man. This, Wild attributed to whatever discussion had passed between him and his client. Having someone cough to a burglary or handling stolen goods — that was bread and butter to a firm of local solicitors. Murder was of another order entirely.
DI Marsh waited for Elleth and his brief to be seated and then set her glasses down. “Mr Elleth, you have now had the opportunity to consult your solicitor. Are you happy to continue with this interview?”
Elleth’s face suggested that ‘happy’ would be a bit of a stretch. Hands still pressed together, he gave a single, affirmative nod.
“Thank you.” She glanced at the solicitor and waited for the inevitable.
The brief moistened his lips and cued up his speech. “My client, Mr Gordon Elleth, has asked me to read out a statement . . .”
The way he held it, Wild could see the back of the page and make out that some words had been crossed out. He wondered what never made the cut.
“Mr Elleth admits to being in the field when Alexander Porter died as a result of a tragic accident. He is prepared to discuss this in more detail and cooperate fully on the clear understanding that his wife, Elizabeth Elleth, was not involved in any way.”
Marsh’s face relaxed. “Duly noted. Right, I’m listening.”
It all sounded to Wild like a tragedy waiting to happen. Three men in a pub argue over money lent and money promised — because two of them know they are already stuck on the wrong side of the equation. Determined to discover who the new beneficiary is, Gordon Elleth brings along his cross as moral authority. Edwin Causly, however, takes the less traditional route and opts for a shotgun.
As Wild listened, his mind painted pictures and none of them were pretty. Somehow Elleth and Causly coerce Alexander Porter into one of the fields they are no longer going to receive and insist he swears the truth on the cross. The way Elleth tells it, Porter is drunk and belligerent, and pushes the cross away with a few choice words. Causly is outraged at his blasphemy and threatens Porter with his shotgun, since the wrath of God has failed to do the trick. Things escalate and Causly’s gun goes off unexpectedly. Except, the thought that goes through Wild’s mind, the one he will share with Marsh and Olsen later, is that Causly loading the gun beforehand smacks of premeditation.
Wild started to wonder how Edwin Causly would react when he heard that Gordon Elleth — Uncle Gordon — had ratted him out. Edwin didn’t seem the forgiving kind. Oh to be a fly on the wall for that conversation. It wasn’t the end, of course. Contrary to popular belief, a confession — or in this case an admission — wasn’t the tumultuous end of a case, only a staging post. One old man’s word against another’s wouldn’t be enough, even with the current forensic evidence. A jury would want a cogent narrative of how and why Alexander Porter came to die in one of his own fields. Now the job got harder because every get-out clause and alternative explanation had to be staunched.
As Elleth was being led to his cell, a call came down that Caitlin Spenser had been brought into the custody suite. Wild had barely put one foot in front of the other before Marsh touched his shoulder.
“Under the circumstances, I think it best you make yourself scarce for this one.”
Chapter 41
As soon as Wild was beyond Marsh’s line of sight he dashed upstairs and across to another staircase. Maturity, he decided as he clattered down the steps, holding the handrail for balance, was greatly overrated. He paused at the bottom to try and stop his legs shaking and then casually passed along the corridor and into the custody suite from the other side. His timing was perfect. Caitlin glanced over as the door swung in and locked eyes with him. He couldn’t be certain but she might have mouthed the word sorry. It’s what he told himself as he turned and let the door go behind him.
Surplus to requirements for one interview and unwilling to gatecrash another, he returned to his desk, called the technician and put in his order.
“Hi, it’s Craig Wild. Before you put Caitlin Spenser’s phone on the kiosk machine can you run a couple of checks first? Great. Do a historical web browser search for the day Alexander Porter died, and the day afterwards. Yeah, also check Google maps and Google directions. Call me back soon as.”
Just a hunch, an idea that had begun to fester since Caitlin’s family connection came to light. Someone had to have moved Porter’s car, post-mortem, and gone looking for his shotgun. Edwin Causly wasn’t exactly light on his feet so either someone else picked him up from Porter’s house after he’d taken the car back, or they dropped off Porter’s car and then did some interior redesign. And who better to trust than family?
He hoped he was wrong because otherwise he’d look like an even bigger idiot for not finding the Causly connection sooner. He was staring at a whiteboard in the briefing room when his mobile trilled into life.
“Really? No, she’s busy. I’ll come down.”
Aaron Kravers looked like he’d been overpowered by a gentlemen’s outfitters and forced to wear their stock. A cravat poked out from the neckline of a purple polo shirt, clashing somewhat with his tweed trousers. Kravers leapt up as soon as he laid eyes on Wild.
“Ah, Detective Wild. I was with Ms Spenser when she was arrested. I got here as fast as I could to offer my full support as a family member. Perhaps you can let her and her father know.”
Wild didn’t respond as he was momentarily dazzled by the ceiling light flickering off Kravers’s gold watch.
“Can we talk somewhere, Detective?”
Wild found the smallest space possible, a former storage room that had never quite dried out. Even the chairs looked like rejects from a furniture sale. This would do nicely.
Kravers said what was on his mind. “I want to pay for the best legal team money can buy — and believe me, I have a lot of it.”
Wild had heard that money was no arbiter of taste and looking at Aaron Kravers he believed it.
Kravers managed to swagger in his chair. “Just tell me what I need to do here.”
Wild stuck to the tried and tested approach of ‘small words, big font’ and carefully walked Kravers through the process. Kravers already seemed acquainted with the facts of Edwin Causly’s detention. That suggested Old Man Causly had rung his daughter from the police station — another mystery for another day, if it was worth the time.
Discussion over, Wild assured Kravers he’d pass on the message to Causly’s brief. Then he escorted the visitor back to the waiting area and buzzed himself back into wonderland. He wanted to stretch his legs so why not pop up to the technical room on his way?
“Ah, DS Wild. I was going to ring you.” She pointed to the mobile phone being electronically strip-searched for data.
Wild felt his hackles rising. “I thought I told you . . .”
“Excuse me, I know my job. We did your checks first but I wanted to get the main data extraction set up and running, especially with the phone’s owner in custody.”
He swallowed his pride. “Soz. What did you find?”
�
��Well, as you suggested, there was a location search on the night Mr Porter died.”
Wild recited Porter’s home address.
“Spot on. Searched for at,” she checked her notes, “10.30 p.m.”
Wild closed his eyes, imagining Causly ringing his daughter in a panic — or not — and asking her to come and take care of Porter’s car. Or maybe she was already up at Causly’s farmhouse, waiting. His eyes flashed open at the thought.
“Edwin Causly was lucky to get a call through on his mobile from the field.” Luckier than Alexander Porter, anyway. “Makes perfect sense to search Porter’s house for the shooter while you’re there with the car. Saves risking a second visit.”
She blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“Take no notice, I’m on a roll.”
One more call, he decided. Eloise Palmer sounded a lot less breezy than before.
“Bad time, Eloise?”
“I owe you an apology. We’re a bit short staffed and I hadn’t got round to one of your black crosses. I’ve started the analysis but it will be a while before I can confirm . . .”
He felt his extremities tingling. “I’ll settle for a preliminary finding for the time being.”
“There’s definitely polish of some kind on the second cross — from Edwin Causly’s home.”
“Brilliant, Text me when you have a chemical match or whatever you call it.”
* * *
Wild knocked firmly on the door of Interview Room One. He heard Sergeant Galloway’s garrulous tones as he got up and opened it.
“DS Wild has entered the room.”
Wild introduced himself formally for the recording. In the absence of a spare chair he found a wall to lean against, still within Causly’s scowling range.
“What’s he doing here?”
“Come to tell you that Caitlin’s been arrested.”
Causly started hyperventilating, which drew a temporary close to the proceedings. He pushed his solicitor’s hand away. “I just need some water, is all.”
Wild offered to sit with them while Ben Galloway fetched the water. Sergeant Galloway followed him out. He looked glad of the break. As he turned by the open door, Wild held up two fingers — one for each minute.
Wild took a seat and drubbed his fingers on the table. “Aaron Kravers is downstairs.”
“Excuse me, you can’t talk to my client about the investigation.”
“I’m not. I am just informing your client that Aaron Kravers said he will get Mr Causly the best legal team money can buy. He’s gonna need it.” He stopped tapping the table. “Do you think God forgives everything, Mr Causly?”
Causly rose to the bait like a hungry pike. “We can all be instruments of the Lord, Sergeant Wild. Even the likes of you. In the Book of Job there is a line . . .” Causly straightened in his chair. “He striketh them as wicked men in the open sight of others.”
Wild bit at the skin around one of his fingernails. “I’m more of a thou shalt not kill man, myself.”
Ben Galloway passed him on the way out, paper cup in hand like a grail maiden. Wild buttonholed Sergeant Galloway in the corridor and told him his theory about Caitlin’s involvement. “Just something to consider.” He decided not to question Sergeant Galloway’s initial interviewing of Edwin Causly, while he was in London. No good would come of it now and they were, after all, on the same side. A text came in from Eloise Palmer at the lab and he checked it before letting the good sergeant read it for himself: Chemical composition at Dr Walsh’s fatal injury matches polish on Edwin Causly’s cross. Report to follow.
Wild went off to his desk to do some paperwork. The way he saw it, after Caitlin Spenser, there was a fifty-fifty chance of it being the last report he’d write from Mayberry police station.
PCSO Wishaw was the bearer of the good and somewhat surprising news that Causly had confessed to accidentally shooting Alexander Porter, taking his car home and then burgling the house in search of a shotgun. Causly also accepted responsibility for the accidental death of Dr James Walsh, who he insisted died as a result of an altercation over the contents of a missing diary.
If Wild were a gambling man, he would have put even money on manslaughter for both accidents. He wondered how Kravers would react when he realised that the distant relative he was loyally supporting was responsible for the death of the one person who might possibly have known where Melvin Kravers was buried — always assuming Dr Jacob Walsh had confessed to his son, the late Dr James Walsh. And then there was Jeb Walsh, whose appetite for easy money had indirectly cost his grandfather his life. Wild finished the final sheet and leaned back from the screen. Families, eh? Who’d ’ave ’em?
Epilogue
DI Marsh held two twenty pound notes in the air as Wild squeezed past her chair. “As you’re heading to the bar, whatever everyone wants.”
He wasn’t, but he knew his place. While he was waiting for the order, from possibly the world’s most indifferent barman, Ben Galloway arrived late to the party.
“Alright, Skip?” A smile flickered across his face, as if he knew what an annoying bastard he could be.
Wild had given up on the whole ‘use my name’ thing. “Yeah, fine thanks. Can you give me a hand with the drinks?”
“I suppose you’ve heard,” Ben sounded strangely adult, “about me putting in my transfer request? I think it’s for the best, all things considered.”
Wild changed the subject. “We never did find out who made the anonymous call about Alexander Porter. It would have been difficult to see from the lane . . . unless you were up at the ruins. Not you personally . . .” His face suggested otherwise.
Ben waved at the barman to add another beer to the order. “Maybe we’ll never know, Skip. It’s like that spate of car vandalism not long after you joined us. Some mysteries are never solved, eh?”
They carried the trays back to a resounding cheer and shared out the spoils. Marsh looked especially pleased when Wild handed back the change.
As she sipped her whisky her eyes closed momentarily, like an old religious painting. “Good stuff. Well, it looks like Aaron Kravers will be around for a while. He has a legal team coming over from London, which has not gone down well with the local solicitors. And the way I understand it, he is applying for permission to search Fortune’s Field.”
Marnie Olsen said what Wild was thinking. “How does that work if the land can’t be disturbed as part of the bequest? I mean, the only evidence that Melvin Kravers is buried there is a diary from the forties.”
Marsh took another sip. “They’ll bring in ground penetrating radar, apparently. Like the archaeology programmes off the telly.”
Sergeant Galloway gulped his bitter. “Come on then, Craig. Marnie tells me you’re a dab hand at darts. We can always use a good player on the team, ’specially with Ben moving on to greener pastures. Let’s see what you’re made of.”
Olsen raised her glass to send him on his way. Wild realised he still had a set of darts with him. Maybe it was a sign.
THE END
ALSO BY DEREK THOMPSON
THOMAS BLADEN SERIES
Book 1: STANDPOINT
Book 2: LINE OF SIGHT
Book 3: CAUSE & EFFECT
Book 4: SHADOW STATE
Book 5: FLASHPOINT
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