Death of a Serpent (The Inspector Felix Mysteries Book 8)
Page 10
‘I’d have cut his bloody throat for him,’ growled Nash.
‘You make my point, John.’
‘Gertrude, then?’ said Rattigan.
‘Very possibly. Or perhaps Clarice, which would please you, John. One could also consider Mary. She was five years older than her sister and probably quite capable of it if she took him by surprise. Sophie might have been more likely to confide in her than her parents, and we know Mary’s got a temper on her.’
‘You can’t rule out her father, surely?’ said Yardley. ‘A physically weak but sufficiently angry man, might have attacked him like that, under the right circumstances.’
‘Yes he could,’ admitted Felix. ‘Equally it could have been someone we don’t even know about; especially if the fellow made a habit of it, which that cowardly sort often does. Unfortunately we’ll never know, unless someone tells us, and they’re hardly likely to do that. They probably think he thoroughly deserved it, and who is to disagree? What I think we can assume, though, is that Sophie believed Dutton was still alive, and Bugler, finding that he wasn’t, hastened to prove it to her. Hence Legg’s remark about it possibly being cathartic for her.’
‘It does give us another motive for the murder of Joe, though,’ said Yardley. ‘Would you want your daughter to marry the son of a rapist? A child rapist at that.’
‘That’s a very good point, Paul,’ said Felix, to whom it had immediately occurred. ‘Or your granddaughter, come to that. That’s assuming that one of them knew about it, which they claim not to. Not very rational of course, but I think most people would feel that way, though they mightn’t murder to prevent it. It does rather shift the focus to the Truscotts, doesn’t it? Though I wouldn’t rule out the other brethren yet. For one thing, how did a woman get Joe to the clifftop? None of them could have carried him there, not by themselves anyway. I doubt flabby Brian could manage it, though it mightn’t stop him carrying one end, and Rabbit George can barely carry himself.’
‘Two women might,’ said Rattigan.’
‘But which two? Not Sophie, surely, and Gertrude is seventy years old. If anybody, I’d say Mary and Brian, though I wouldn’t be very confident about it. However, our next job is to break the news to Clarice.’
‘How will you approach it?’
‘Give it to her straight, as my father would say. What choice is there?’
Sister Clarice appeared not to have left her rocking chair since they saw her last; nor had anything changed in the austere little room. Her expressionless face might have been carved from the wood that supplied her furniture. ‘I knew it,’ she said. She examined the salvaged watch and placed it carefully beside her.
‘You knew he’d been done to death?’
‘I knew in my bones he hadn’t left me.’
Felix explained what they believed to have happened. ‘Does that sound likely to you?’
Sister Clarice rocked reflectively. ‘If that is so, he did nothing wrong. It is our way.’
‘The rape of children is your way?’
‘She was of age. We hold all things in common here, even to our bodies. She knew that.’
Felix opened his mouth and closed it again, suddenly bereft of speech.
‘I’d close the place,’ growled Rattigan as they came away.
‘That’s a job for the local force, I think. And there’s no saying it still happens.’
They met Sister Gertrude on the veranda.
‘How is Sophie?’ asked Felix.
Her mother sat down wearily at the great table. ‘She is not in her right mind. I could strangle George.’
‘I gather he thought he was helping. Amateur psychology. Would you care to tell me what happened, twenty years ago?’
‘I’m sure you can work it out, Chief Inspector.’
‘It would be good to have confirmation.’
She sighed. ‘Harry Dutton assaulted Sophie. Not once but several times. She kept it to herself for years. I knew there was something wrong and more or less guessed what it was, but she would never speak of it until recently. It appears that Legg knew about it.’
‘Why do you suppose she wouldn’t tell you?’
‘She was terrified of him. He’d made all manner of threats as to what he would do to her if she split on him. She didn’t know he was dead, of course, and she was frightened he would come back. It has ruined her life.’
‘Did you know he was dead?’
‘None of us did until George told us you’d found him. He’s a good man and sees himself as our guardian angel rather. I just wish he’d left well alone.’
‘Any idea who killed him?’
‘No.’
‘Care to speculate?’
‘No, I would not. And if I knew, I’m not sure I would tell you.’
‘Do you suppose there’s a link, between these two murders? The sins of the fathers and so on?’
‘You are thinking of Exodus? A much misunderstood passage; it simply means that actions have consequences. I really have no idea.’
‘Do you think it likely?’
‘I don’t know. A little facile perhaps?’
Felix didn’t comment. ‘Were the Duttons here from the beginning?’
‘No. They arrived during a period of flux and attempted to impose their extreme views on us. They found fertile ground, unfortunately. Their followers became the Strict Edenists, though none were as strict as they. I detested them, but Arthur, my husband, said we should tolerate them for God’s sake. I have tolerated much for God’s sake.’
Felix contemplated her for a moment. He had the feeling she was quietly tugging at the end of her tether. It would not take much to pull the stake from the ground. Might she have killed Harry or Joe? Or, indeed, both? They were hard to read, that generation. ‘Sister Gertrude, I have to ask you this. Sister Clarice has just suggested to us that some form of free love operates among the brethren. To quote her: “we hold all things in common here, even to our bodies.” Is that the case?’
Sister Gertrude looked shocked. ‘She was using that to excuse the fellow? What an odious creature she is!’
‘But does it?’
She rose to go indoors. ‘Nothing is obligatory here, Chief Inspector; neither is it proscribed.’
‘Delphic, to say the least,’ sighed Felix. ‘However, I’m inclined to give them the benefit of the doubt for now.’
Rattigan didn’t answer but his expression said it all. ‘Returning to the murder of Harry,’ he said. ‘If we’re still assuming it was a woman killed him, and if it wasn’t Gertrude, which I’m inclined to believe it wasn’t, that only leaves Mary, that we know of.’
‘Who then finished the job by disposing of his tiresome son. That would be nice and tidy wouldn’t it? However, I’ll say it again, who carried Joe to the clifftop?’ He looked up and smiled. ‘Hello, you two. Whom have we here?’
Nash and Yardley had appeared, leading a little group of brethren: two Edenites, a thumb-sucking toddler and a grumpy-looking blonde wrapped in a blanket. Yardley introduced them. This is John and Kezia, sir. And this lady is Leah.’
‘Sister Leah wants to tell you something, Chief-Inspector,’ said Kezia.
‘Hello, Sister,’ said Felix. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘He’s run off,’ said the girl disgustedly. ‘Gone with that Mary. We wants ’im back.’
Felix frowned. ‘Mary Stickland, do you mean?’
‘That’s the one. Stuck-up bitch.’
The policemen all looked at one another. ‘When did they leave?’
‘First light this morning. I saw ’er come in for ’im and then they went. They never came back.’
‘Would that be the big, hairy fellow we saw when we visited,’ said Nash. ‘The one doing all the shouting?’
‘Abram, yes.’
‘Thought it might b
e.’
‘I think you’d best begin at the beginning,’ said Felix. ‘Are you saying that Sister Mary has eloped with this gentleman?’
‘Yes she ’as. Gone away with ’im anyway.’
‘Abram is his Eden name,’ interjected Kezia. ‘His real name is Andrew Preece-Wilkerson.’
Felix chuckled. ‘And unless I’m much mistaken, Leah, that’s not your real name either, is it?’
‘No it’s not,’ she admitted. ‘It’s Ethel.’
‘How old are you, Ethel?’
‘Twenty-two.’
Felix observed her dubiously. ‘And Mr Preece-Wilkerson?’
‘Twenty-five, I think.’
‘And what is your relationship with him?’
Ethel looked blank.
‘Are you his wife or girlfriend, for example?’
‘Oh I see. There’s three of us. Unless you counts Mary; then it’s four.’
‘He keeps them all together,’ explained Kezia, cheerfully, ‘in the same hut.’
‘What’s that to you?’ snapped Ethel. ‘We can do what we wants.’
‘Sorry, I thought you wanted my help.’
‘So are you saying there’s a romantic connection between this Abram and Mary Stickland?’ said Felix. ‘Or are they just friends?’
‘Dunno about romantic,’ sniffed the girl, ‘He does ’er when we’re out working. He thinks we don’t know, but we do ’cause she’s so noisy. You can ’ear ’er all over Eden.’
‘I think I’m starting a headache,’ muttered Rattigan.
‘Try not to dwell on it,’ advised Felix. ‘Have you any idea where they might have gone, Ethel?’
‘No, but she said something about a car.’
‘It can’t be Dutton’s van,’ said Yardley, ‘it’s still there. And the brethren don’t run a vehicle, obviously.’
‘So it’s Sister Mary,’ said Rattigan with satisfaction. ‘Explains a lot.’
‘And the big fellow to carry the body,’ said Felix. ‘Well, it fits. We’d best get back to the village.’
Mole’s police station was deserted as usual. Felix often wondered how they justified one.
At the counter, Sergeant Diffey stood up smartly, slipping the novel he’d been reading beneath it. ‘He must have got some clothes from somewhere,’ he said. ‘He won’t get far in a furry kilt. How long have they been gone, sir?’
‘Could be six or seven hours unfortunately.’
‘I wonder who gave them a lift? Maybe they held someone up. That great ape would put the fear of God into anyone. Not much point putting out an alert until we know. They could still be hiding in the village.’
Someone had come in behind them. ‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ said Mr Seaton. ‘How are you getting on with the case? I wonder, could I just report a theft? My car appears to have been stolen.’
Chapter Twelve
There was no vehicular access to much of the steeply-sloping village and the Seatons were obliged to garage their car off the High Street. The wooden doors, not in the best repair, had been forced open. A sharp tug would have done it.
‘Any idea when it might have happened, Mr Seaton?’ asked Diffey. ‘When did you use it last?’
‘Last Saturday. I haven’t been near it since.’
Nash sniffed the air. ‘Smells of petrol in here.’
‘It does a bit when it starts up.’
‘Might have been recently, then. What sort of car?’
‘Crossley Fifteen.’
‘Pre-war eh?’
‘It’s a very reliable motor,’ said Seaton defensively, ‘once it gets going.’
‘How much petrol was there in the tank?’ asked Felix.
‘Not much. I was going to buy some on the way out.’
‘Gallon?’
‘Less, probably.’
‘That wouldn’t get them far,’ said Rattigan.
‘We can’t assume they’ve no money on them,’ cautioned Felix. ‘Has anyone apart from you got a key, Mr Seaton?’
‘Only the wife and brother-in-law. Not that he’s ever used it. We thought he ought to have one in case of emergency.’
‘The emergency seems to have arrived,’ said Rattigan dryly.
‘You think Brian took it? It’s easy to start without one. I’ve done it myself. It could have been anyone. Anyway, he’d have asked.’
‘I think actually your sister-in-law took it,’ said Felix.
‘She can’t drive.’
‘Do you happen know a young gentleman by name of Andrew Preece-Wilkerson?’ asked Yardley.
‘Never heard of him.’
‘Abram?’
‘Nope.’
‘Come on,’ said Felix, ‘we’re wasting time.’
‘There’s a garage at the top of the hill,’ said Sergeant Diffey ‘they might have called there for petrol. I can’t do anything myself; Crumpler’s got the car.’
‘All right we’ll ask.’
‘It ought to be obvious which way they went from here,’ said Felix as they turned in at the garage. ‘Only two choices.’
‘That’s if the bloke noticed,’ said Rattigan, who was at the wheel.
It was a typical one-man affair — a Nissen-hut workshop, a potholed yard with a few cars in it, and three pumps. Careful not to appear in a hurry, Felix got out and ambled inside. He’d long ago learned that this produced the best results. The presumed proprietor, a little man in a filthy blue overall, spent an inordinately long time studying his card.
‘They went right,’ he said finally. ‘Exeter road. I know that ’cause he had to turn around. What was he doing in Jim Seaton’s motor?’
‘That’s what we’d like to know.’
‘The little man beckoned him close. ‘I reckon they’re mad people,’ he confided. ‘She was dressed funny and he was all but naked. Great hairy bloke he was. Didn’t hardly need clothes. Spoke posh though. Both of them did.’
‘They’re from Eden.’
‘Is that what they’re like there? Blimey!’
‘What time did they get here, any idea?’
‘They was waiting when I arrived. Seven-thirty.’
‘How much did they buy?’
‘Half a bloody gallon! I got the impression they’d found a few pennies in the glove compartment.’
‘Much in the tank?’
‘She was practically running on fumes. Jim only buys just enough. He’ll be caught out one of these days.’
‘Interesting. Now tell me, Mr, er . . .’ He glanced at a certificate on the wall . . . Mr Smart. In your professional opinion, how far will that half gallon take them?’
Mr Smart waggled his head. ‘Fast? eight or nine miles. Slow, they might get fifteen.’
‘Thanks very much,’ smiled Felix, ‘you’ve been very helpful. I don’t need any petrol myself, I’ve got a full tank, but perhaps you’ll accept this for your trouble?’ He left him staring at a ten shilling note.
‘Any luck?’ said Rattigan.
‘I’ve a feeling we’ve been had,’ said Felix, passing on the news. ‘Someone wants to get us away from Eden is my guess. Keep your eyes peeled, everyone, and if we don’t see them in fifteen miles we’ll get back.’
Seven miles on they found the old car drawn onto the verge. No attempt had been made to conceal it. Dense woodland came down to the road.
‘Just enough petrol to get them home,’ said Rattigan. ‘I think you’re right.’
‘You could spend all day in there and not find them,’ said Yardley doubtfully.
Felix peered into the sylvan depths. ‘Yes, it was well chosen. Hop out and have a look, you two. Give them half an hour and then bring the Crossley back. The walk’ll do them good. You’d best have my spare can, just in case. Come on Teddy.’
>
The abandoned sergeants watched the Vauxhall pass out of sight. There was no other traffic and it was suddenly very quiet. Before and behind them the forest stretched away into hazy distance, the sun burning down from a cloudless sky. By unspoken agreement they took off their suit jackets, stowing them in the Crossley.
‘Hampstead Heath it ain’t,’ sighed Nash. ‘Where to begin?’
‘Let’s use logic on this,’ said Yardley. ‘They can’t be far off, because what would be the point? If they just want to give us the run-around they could do it a hundred yards away. I suggest we strike in at right-angles to the road. At least it’ll be cooler under the trees.’
‘Which side? Take one each?’
‘I think we should stick together.’
‘All right. This side then.’
Cleft-rail fencing delineated the forest’s boundary, the trees pressing close up to it, but in a few yards they found a gate and a footpath.
‘This must be why they stopped here. By the time they pulled up they were well along the road so we didn’t spot it.’
They advanced with care along the stony path. The woodland seemed to consist entirely of clumps of leafy saplings growing from stumps and visibility was measured in feet.
‘I suppose they’ve harvested the trees and these have grown up.’
‘I think it’s called coppicing. They do it on purpose, for hurdles and so on.’
‘Well it’s a damned nuisance. We’ll never find them in this lot.’
‘We could just wait until they give themselves up. If they don’t we can leave them behind, as instructed.’
‘Be nice to bring ’em back though.’
Yardley suddenly paused. ‘Listen!’ he whispered. ‘Over there,’
Moving as quietly as they could they left the path and crept towards the sound, trying to avoid brushing against the spindly branches.
‘Where?’
‘Above you.’
High in one of the clumps of saplings and barely visible among the leaves, clung Preece-Wilkerson. He was holding himself completely still but a light breeze had sprung up and was stirring his fragile perch.