‘All right, Tarzan,’ demanded Nash. ‘Down you come.’
But rather than drop to the ground the fugitive swung higher, his huge arms drawing him up a single, increasingly slender stem. The inevitable happened and the branch began to bend under his weight until he was able to crash to the ground, several feet away.
‘There he goes!’
Following the sounds of flight, Yardley hurtled after him. A better runner than the muscle-bound Adamist he eventually caught up, launching himself into a flying tackle and being kicked for his pains. ‘John, over here! I’ve got him. Hurry!’
Nash arrived to find his colleague panting heavily and holding up, in the manner of a gentlemen’s outfitter, Preece-Wilkerson’s furry garment. Of the erstwhile contents there was no sign.
‘I don’t know about you,’ he said, ‘but I’m inclined to give it up. It’s like wrestling a gorilla, and even if we catch him there’s still her to find.’
‘Back to the car, then. Whoever captures him can have the pleasure of booking him for indecent exposure. Which way?’
They gazed about them.
‘Not sure to be honest. We came from over there, I think, then . . . dammit, I don’t remember.’
‘Where was the sun, when we started?’
‘Haven’t a clue.’
‘A poor boy-scout you’d make.’
‘You don’t need the sun, just a bump of direction. It’s this way, I’m sure of it.’
‘No it’s not; the path’s to our left. And I recognise that broken bit.’
‘There’s umpteen broken bits.’
When at last they emerged onto the road the Crossley had gone.
‘They’ve got our coats!’
‘And the petrol can.’
‘And my wallet.’
‘How much in it?’
‘Three pounds! And my papers. And a photo of Clare. It was my favourite.’
*
‘Gotcha!’ Exclaimed Felix as they drove. ‘I know who it is now. As for the big fellow, I doubt he was involved. She just needed someone who could drive.’
‘We’ll get the beggar for taking and driving away anyway. Should I put my foot down?’
‘Yes, you better had. Listen. We’ve been assuming – or I have – that Joe was chucked off the cliff in the small hours of the night, but it could have been at any time before he was found, including after dawn. It would have been broad daylight from about five o’clock, which is hours before people started getting about. In fact, the later it happened, the more chance of his surviving until he was discovered on the beach. It’s my belief he walked through Home Wood of his own volition, in daylight, and with someone he trusted.’
‘But why?’ said Rattigan. ‘And whom did he trust in Eden? No-one, except Alice.’
Sister Gertrude was sitting alone at the kitchen table. She didn’t seem surprised to see him. ‘You’ve caught me out,’ she said, lifting her earthenware mug. ‘Proper coffee. Can I interest you in some?’
‘No I don’t think so, thanks,’ said Felix. ‘By all means finish yours.’
‘Do you want my side of it?’
‘If you would be so kind.’
She paused in thought for a moment before beginning. ‘They were such confounded prigs, you know, God’s elect! I despised and hated them from the start, and I hated this tumbledown place he’d brought me to. I didn’t really know him very well. You didn’t in those days. He was good-looking and charming and considered a “catch” among our set and that had to do. He was also a very religious man, some might say a saintly man, and he truly believed he could recreate God’s garden here. I was swept along in the excitement of it, we all were, but I quickly discovered he was no use to me.’ She glanced at Felix to see if he took her meaning. ‘I’d have left him, I think, but then there was George. He made no bones about what he wanted and I all but hurled myself into his arms. Mary and Sophie are his. So was James.’
‘Do they know?’
‘Yes. He’s been a good father to them, by his lights, but I could never have married him. It wouldn’t have done.’
‘And Mary?’
She nodded. ‘Mary took after him — a robust, earthy child. Is she safe?’
‘She’ll be all right. She might have sore feet for a while.’
Sister Gertrude smiled ruefully. ‘The free love, if you want to call it that, has only ever been theoretical but she embraced it wholeheartedly, as some do. The result, you’ll have guessed, was Alice.’
‘Harry Dutton being the father?’
‘Yes. A loathsome man but attractive to some. She went with him willingly, I think, but I can never forgive him my little Sophie.’ She gazed at him without hope. ‘Is there nothing can be done?’
Felix put a gentle hand on her shoulder. ‘I’m truly sorry, Sister Gertrude.’
‘Caroline,’ said Felix, ‘would you be so kind as to cut along to Colonel Galbraith’s house and get them to telephone to Sergeant Diffey? Tell him I want him or his constable here.’ He called after her. ‘And Caroline . . . tell that boyfriend of yours he’s a free man.’ It was best, he thought, that she was out of the way for a while.
Rattigan appeared. He was holding something in his last remaining handkerchief. ‘I’ve found the hut. It’s down a path behind the weaving room. And I found this.’
‘The ring case! Where was it?’
‘Under the bed.’
George Bugler’s home, it transpired, was a sturdily constructed log cabin of a good size. Possibly it dated from his gamekeeping days. It was fitted out with comfortable hand-me-down furniture rather than the rough-hewn stuff favoured by the brethren. Its single room was clean and well looked after, and there were curtains at the windows. A cast-iron stove provided winter heating and well-filled bookshelves lined the walls. Lying open on the table was a battered suitcase containing a homespun shirt and some oddments of underwear.
Rattigan demonstrated where he’d found the ring case. It wouldn’t have been obvious unless one knelt and peered under the bed.
‘We’d best have a photo of that,’ said Felix.
Acting on instinct they made their way through Home Wood to the clifftop. A row of forked sticks had been set up near the footpath and a half dozen dead rabbits now dangled from them. George was working at the far end of the warren. He must have been watching for them, for now he skipped nimbly down the fissured slope of the cliff and stood with his back to the precipice. He was brandishing a knife.
‘That’s close enough,’ he said. ‘You can talk to me from there.’
‘Why didn’t you leave when you could?’ said Felix.
‘I contemplated it,’ said George, ‘but where would I go?’
‘Tell me about Harry Dutton.’
He glanced briefly behind him at the sparkling sea, the breeze snatching at his long hair and beard. ‘I found them in the wood,’ he said. ‘She’d gone there to hide from him. I dragged him off her and told her to run for it, but when I let go his ankles the bastard turned on me. He had a knife of sorts, what we call an Eden knife — just a bit of flint stuck in a handle but it was more than I had. He went for me like a madman and I realised I was fighting for my life. I think he knew if I told Gertie it’d be the end of him. He got me on the ground with his hands around my neck. I wasn’t a young man even then but I managed to get my feet under him and shoved him off. It ended with him face downwards and me holding the knife. Once I started stabbing him I knew I had to finish it but the darned thing was too thick and awkward and wouldn’t penetrate his ribs. Eventually, though, he went quiet. I fetched a spade and buried him where he lay. Later I went to his room and took away his spare clothes so it would look as though he’d cleared out. I buried those as well. The police didn’t bother ter search for him. Folk were always coming and going from Eden in those days.
‘I foun
d Sophie hysterical and I told her I’d seen him off and he wouldn’t bother her again. I couldn’t tell her I’d killed him – you can’t trust a dreamy fourteen-year-old – though many’s the time I’ve wanted to because she’s never stopped being frightened of him since.
‘I knew the body was on the move of course. I contemplated re-burying it but considered it too risky. Anyway I figured I’d be gone as well before it went over the edge. You don’t think you’re going to live to be seventy-eight. When you dug him up – I dunno how the hell you found out – I thought I might as well show her he was dead. Her life’s been ruined anyway and it just might work. I knew as soon as I saw him you’d get me eventually.’
‘And Joe?’ asked Felix.
Rabbit George nodded. ‘Yes, I killed him too. I really liked that lad. It wasn’t his fault he had an evil bastard for a father but what can you do? We couldn’t have him marrying his half-sister and you wouldn’t have kept those two apart any other way. I figured it was for the best. He won’t know he’s dead and she’ll get over it eventually. I’d have done it earlier but when I looked for him he’d gone. Then I found him trussed up in the back of his van. I took him to my hut, patched him up and let him sleep a bit. He was all for getting back to Alice so I had to act quick. I reckoned that once they were away in that van of his we’d never have seen them again.
‘The problem was getting him to the clifftop. Then he told me he’d lost the case that Alice’s ring came in. From where I was standing I could see it lying just under the bed, so I shied it further under with me foot and suggested we go and look for it. He said not to bother but I pointed out it was still only just gone six and the house would be asleep and suggested we search the path through the woods. He’d been blindfolded when he was beaten up and had no idea where it had happened so we was able to go right through to the beginning of the clifftop and down the slope a bit before we gave up. I took him to see my rabbit traps and he was interested in those. Then I wandered down to the cliff edge and he followed me. I stabbed him once in the back and over he went.’
He smiled and shrugged. ‘And that’s about all there is to it. Tell Gertie and the girls I love them. And see someone gets those rabbits. Pity to waste ’em.’
Alarmed they stepped forward, but drawing the knife firmly across his throat he toppled backwards into the void.
Chapter Thirteen
After Joe Dutton’s funeral they drove over to the flower farm.
Mrs Baker pulled Alice down into a tearful embrace. ‘I’m so glad you’ve come, my dear, he’d be so pleased. Come and have some tea.’
They walked out onto the field. It was a bright, clear day after overnight rain, the air redolent of moist earth and roses.
‘So these are the famous glasshouses,’ said Caroline. ‘Oh look, there are sort of wheels in concrete blocks. Can you push them along?’
‘You can,’ said Alice proudly. ‘He told me all about it. The wheels stay put and it’s the greenhouses that have the rails. You can move them over another crop so you don’t have them standing empty. It’s very clever.’
‘Did you manage to find a picker?’ asked Felix. ‘It looks as though you did.’
‘Yes, I did,’ said Mrs Baker, turning to Alice. ‘It’s Laurie from the farm up the road. He’s been cutting them and taking them to the wholesaler for you. I said for him to keep the money for his trouble but he wouldn’t hear of it, just the petrol, and Mr Ashbrook at the market paid in cash to save doing the invoices, so there’s three pounds waiting for you in the house.’
‘I don’t know what to say,’ said Alice, dabbing at her eyes. ‘Everyone’s been so kind. Is this the caravan?’
‘Yes, it is. What do you think?’
But she was already mounting the steps and throwing open the doors. ‘It’s beautiful!’ she said. ‘It’s just as he described it.’
‘Do you think you might be interested, then?’ asked Caroline.
‘Goodness! Give the girl a chance,’ said Lizzie Burt. ‘She can always sleep on it.’
‘Or you could stay for a few days and see how you like it,’ suggested Mrs Baker, who seemed loath to let her go.
‘He wants me to, I know he does,’ said Alice, ‘but it might be a bit lonely, working here on my own.’
‘You wouldn’t be on your own,’ said Caroline, ‘you’d have me.’
Alice turned to her in surprise. ‘Would you? Oh Caroline, that would be wonderful. But what about Ray?’
‘He’s off to Oxford shortly anyway. I’ll expect him to present himself in his wellington boots in the vacations.’
*
‘It was pretty clear from the start that Raymond wasn’t the murderer,’ said Felix, ‘though he didn’t much help by fibbing about his adventure in Home Wood. Where is he by the way?’
‘Colonel Galbraith smiled and inclined his head towards the study’s French door, through which Raymond and Caroline could just be seen chatting to the gardener. ‘Where he always is,’ he said. ‘What do you think of her?’
‘I think that young lady is the best thing to come out of this business,’ said Felix. ‘She’s loyal, sensible, clever and pretty. He should hang onto her.’
‘I quite agree; though I’m very sorry for Alice.’
‘She has at least found something to live for, and that will have to do for now. She has Caroline to care for her and a good friend in Lizzie Burt. With luck, she’ll never have to return to Eden. I’m quietly encouraged.’
‘Could you give me a brief résumé before I go, Felix,’ said the Chief Constable, who had been stirring impatiently. ‘Time and tide as usual, I’m afraid.’
‘There’s not much to tell, sir,’ said Felix. ‘Two tiny pieces of evidence and a massive stroke of luck about sums it up. I tended to the view, without much conviction, that the murderer was probably Mary Stickland. Or perhaps, acting under her direction, her husband, Brian. There were no identifiable suspects outside of the commune and I’d more or less ruled out the other brethren, troublesome though they’ve been. Not completely, because the really fanatical ones would probably have stopped at nothing if they’d felt sufficiently threatened by Joe and his views. Of the rest of the family, Sophie Truscott seemed unlikely and Gertrude I deemed too well-balanced to go around murdering people. It seemed to me that whoever had done this thing was likely to be a bit unhinged; although I can see now that Bugler’s actions were so coldly rational as to embody a sort of madness of their own.’
‘Right on his own terms, perhaps?’ suggested the Colonel. ‘Like those tribesmen that do away with their grannies.’
‘Perhaps, sir,’ said Felix diplomatically, ‘though they might have found a way to live with it, you know. However, we then, by the purest chance, discovered Harry Dutton’s remains and Mary began to look plausible as a double murderer, first upon discovering Harry raping her sister and then disposing of his tiresome son, using her young lover Preece-Wilkerson to cart him to the clifftop. There could perfectly well have been two murderers at large in Eden of course but I find the human mind tends instinctively to apply Occam’s razor in these cases and look for the simplest solution, which I must admit I did. Something, however, was troubling me, and on the way home from pursuing those two it came to me what it was. Soon after we exhumed Harry and placed his remains on a tarpaulin, George Bugler had turned up. It didn’t sink in at the time, but going back over that peculiar afternoon I suddenly realised we hadn’t told him who it was we’d found. How did he know? I concluded that unless it was common knowledge in the commune, it was likely he’d either killed and buried Harry himself or at least done one or the other. We’d also learned, rather critically as it turned out, that he had a close connection with the reclusive Sophie.
‘I hadn’t really considered Bugler as a suspect in either case, perhaps because of his age, but then I remembered he’d said he made it his business to keep an eye
on the Truscotts and considered Sister Gertrude “a lovely woman.” How close an eye had he kept? We’d found Harry’s remains peppered with stab wounds, which I felt was the hallmark of a frightened or furious female, although we also briefly considered the possibility that it had been Sophie’s enraged father. We knew nothing about the sainted Arthur Truscott, or even if he’d been alive at that time – he wasn’t, as it turned out – but might it have been the equally angry Bugler, acting, so to say, in loco parentis? At the same time it occurred to me that he might actually be Sophie’s father. He was about the right age and the ex-gamekeeper might have been quite an attractive man in his prime. There must surely have been something more than an easy life tying him to the despised brethren for all those years, and he was behaving more like a father than a friend in his concern for Sophie’s welfare. Given the atmosphere of laissez-faire in the commune it didn’t seem out of the question. On the other hand I felt it unlikely that he’d have drawn attention to himself in the way that he did, or that he wouldn’t have executed Harry as efficiently as he did one of his rabbits, both of which inclined me initially to reject that theory.
‘If all this sounds very vague and speculative it’s because it was. I was just kicking ideas around, but it forced me to contemplate the knotty business of human paternity – you’ll remember we’ve been here before, sir – and that’s when it came to me. There’s a certain sort of man that interferes with young girls, and that’s how I’d initially thought of Harry Dutton. But then I realised he might have spread his net more widely. Both his newfound religion and his fanatical wife had licensed him to couple with any member of the opposite sex he took a fancy to, and he’d probably made full use of that. In a community of perhaps rather credulous people, a plausible rogue of a certain type would have been like a fox among chickens. Frisky Mary – who had somewhat given herself away to us by her antics with Preece-Wilkerson – appeared to subscribe to that same philosophy. Was it not possible that although recently married to Brian Stickland she had become the mother of Harry Dutton’s daughter, thus making Joe Dutton Alice’s half-brother? This perfectly explained, to my mind, why she was so eager to steer Alice towards someone else. The animosity of the brethren towards Joe and the possible knowledge of Harry’s assault on her sister had nothing to do with it.’
Death of a Serpent (The Inspector Felix Mysteries Book 8) Page 11
