A Simple Country Killing

by Blythe Baker

  Sam’s look told me to hurry up.

  “And on my way, I was passing by the cemetery, the gate on High Street, when I heard someone crying out for help. For a few moments, I considered coming straight here for help, but I wasn’t even sure I had heard it in the first place. So I went in to see if maybe it was nothing more than some children playing among the graves…or if it was someone who was hurt, perhaps nothing more than a person who had fallen or something easy like that,” I said.

  Sam scrawled down a shortened version of what I’d said. “Very well. What happened then?”

  I shifted in the hard, metal chair. My heart rate was quickening, and I dreaded retelling the story again. I wanted to leave nothing out, however, in case it helped to prove that I was not, in fact, the person who killed Mr. James.

  “I walked into the cemetery, calling out for whoever was looking for help. I wandered along the fence, not seeing or hearing anything, and then when I came to one of the elm trees just a few meters from the fence, I saw Mr. James lying there against the trunk.”

  Sam looked up at me, but I couldn’t read his thoughts. I hardly ever could. “Go on,” he said.

  I felt the gaze of the two officers behind me on the back of my head, and knew there must have been people on the other side of the one way mirror.

  “I bent down, seeing he was still alive, though barely…” I said. It was as if a hand was gripping my heart, and squeezing it. “I told him to stay awake, and that if he held on for just a few more moments, I could go and get some help…”

  “Did he say anything to you?” Sam asked.

  I nodded. “He did. He tried to tell me who his killer was. He mentioned something about how ‘he’ hated him, and how ‘he’ had been so angry that he couldn’t let Mr. James – ”

  “He?” Sam asked. “That does seem rather convenient for you…”

  My eyes narrowed. “He was coughing and losing blood. I’m amazed he was able to get that much out.”

  Sam sighed, writing down more notes. “You said his wounds were severe?”

  “Yes,” I said. “There was a large cut in his stomach, just below his ribs. I think whoever did it must have punctured one of his lungs. The blood was all over my front from when he would cough, and the blood would spray everywhere…”

  Sam made note. “Did you see a weapon anywhere?”

  I shook my head. “No,” I said. “No weapon. The constables who went into the churchyard, they’ll find my sweater there. I used it to try and stop the bleeding.”

  Sam muttered something underneath his breath, writing something else down. “And then what?” he asked. “How did Mr. Hodgins and Mr. Trent find you?”

  “I ran to the fence, yelling for help,” I said. “The vicar was near death, hardly able to keep his focus on me any longer. I couldn’t just watch him die there…So when I saw people in the street, I called them over. Mr. Hodgins and Mr. Trent met me where Mr. James was lying, but by the time I got back to his body, he was dead.”

  Sam nodded his head, but didn’t say anything, so I continued.

  “They immediately thought that I’d been the one to do it, given the…well, the blood on me,” I said, looking down at the now pinkish towel that I still held in my hands. “Mr. Hodgins said that his profession had taught him a thing or two about blood spray, and he accused me of being the one to harm Mr. James in the first place…something about how it had spattered on my blouse. But that wasn’t what happened. There is blood on Mr. James’ lips, and I’m certain there would have been spray on the ground, as well.”

  Sam held up a hand, and gave me brief look of warning.

  Keep calm, I told myself. It won’t do any good to get worked up and start throwing accusations around.

  Sam finished his notes. “Is there anything else you would like to add?” he asked. “Did you see anyone suspicious around the body? Was there anyone else in the cemetery with you?”

  I shook my head. “Not that I saw, no,” I said. “It was late for anyone to be in the cemetery, after all.”

  Sam nodded. “Very well…” he said, rising to his feet. “I was going to keep you overnight for further questioning, but you have been cooperative. I am going to dismiss you under the understanding that you are not allowed to leave Brookminster for any reason during the length of this investigation. Am I clear?”

  I stared up into his face, almost dumbfounded. He was going to let me go?

  “But Inspector, she’s the only suspect,” said one of the officers behind me.

  “There’s no evidence that she’s the one who committed the crime,” Sam said. “And her prior record shows that she is a law abiding citizen.”

  The officer behind me clicked his tongue in disagreement.

  Soon after, Sam unhooked me from the table, and walked with me from the room.

  I looked up at him, wanting to speak, but he shook his head, indicating I should wait.

  He didn’t unhook the handcuffs until we were standing just outside the police station.

  Night had fallen in earnest, and there wasn’t another soul out on the street.

  I rubbed my raw wrists gratefully, seeing streaks of blood still sticking to my skin that I hadn’t been able to reach with the towel. “Thank you…” I said.

  Sam sighed. “Helen, I don’t know how you got yourself mixed up in this, but I would have thought, by now, that you would have wanted to stay as far away from anything like this as possible.”

  “Of course that’s what I want,” I said. “Do you think I went looking for trouble tonight in that churchyard?”

  “No,” Sam said. “But trouble certainly likes to look for you, doesn’t it?”

  I stared at the ground, biting the inside of my lip. “You don’t think I did it?”

  “Of course I don’t,” Sam said. “I know you wouldn’t do something like that. But that doesn’t mean the evidence isn’t all pointing directly to you right now. The good thing is that I’ve built up a reputation at this station for being thorough in my investigations, and that I have an eye for whether or not people are telling the truth. There might be some who will question why I let you walk free tonight, but don’t let them bother you, all right?”

  “What am I supposed to do now, then?” I asked, staring off into the distance, up the street. “Until you find who the real killer is, everyone in the village is going to suspect me.”

  “I thought that answer would be obvious,” Sam said. “You lie low and wait for the police to get to the bottom of this. Having said that, something tells me you’re not going to take this advice, are you?”

  “It isn’t in me to wait for rescue from others,” I said. “Anyway, this case is the most personal yet, isn’t it?”

  “Whatever you do, I hope you’ll be careful this time around,” he said. “But don’t worry, Helen. In the end, we’ll clear your name, and salvage your reputation. You have my word.”

  I believed him, but that didn’t make the knots in my chest loosen at all. “I’m sorry I put you in this situation tonight,” I said. “I never meant to.”

  “You don’t need to apologize for anything,” he said. He looked over his shoulder at the station, and let out a long sigh. “I should get back to the paperwork. And I’m sure the other officers have brought the body in by now. When we have the results from the autopsy, I’ll be sure to let you know. Perhaps it will help give you some answers.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  Sam shook his head. “Poor Mr. James…of all the people…”

  “I know,” I said, and for the first time, I allowed myself a chance to grieve for the man. “I can’t imagine why anyone would want to kill him.”

  “People can be evil,” Sam said. “Haven’t you learned anything from all the cases these last few months?”

  “I know,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like that answer.”

  “No one does,” Sam said. “But just because we don’t like the truth doesn’t mean it isn’t just that. The t
ruth.”

  4

  I had no idea what to do next.

  I realized the news of what had occurred that night would spread quickly, far more quickly than any good news ever could, in the way that could only happen in a small village. It would likely go before me, instantly changing any sort of reputation that I’d established for myself. My business would likely be ruined, and I realized that most people would shun me until my name had been cleared without question.

  There would only be a few people who might be able to help me…

  And so I would go to them and ask for the help I so desperately needed.

  Irene answered the door when I knocked. Night had fallen, and the darkness filled the sky above us, the stars peeking out from behind the clouds as they lazily danced across the velvety sky.

  “Helen,” she said, smiling and looking simultaneously surprised as she pulled the door open. “I’m surprised to see you so late. Is everything all right?”

  “No,” I said, pushing past her inside the house in the narrow gap she’d left between herself and the door. “No, it’s not all right.”

  When I stepped fully into the light, I heard her gasp behind me. “Helen, what on earth happened – ”

  “I promise that I will explain everything to you,” I said. “But may I please use your shower? And perhaps borrow a change of clothes?”

  “Of – of course,” Irene said, eyeing the bloody spatters on my clothing and face. “Right this way.”

  We walked up to her stairs, soon after making our way up to the flat above the teahouse.

  Nathanial was sitting at the table, reading the paper. The radio sounded into the room from its place beside the fireplace, Michael sitting before it enraptured as James Barrows’ familiar voice told his weekly story of mystery and intrigue, a favorite for many young children in Brookminster.

  On seeing me, Nathaniel got to his feet and said, “What on earth – ”

  “Shh,” Irene urged, pressing her finger to her lips. She glanced obviously over to their son, who hadn’t noticed our entry into the room. She shook her head and urged me toward the door to the washroom.

  “Here you are,” she said, turning the shower on, filling the room quickly with hot, wet air. “And of course, you’ll need a towel.” Opening the linen closet, she procured a pair of fluffy, white towels, setting them down on the side of the sink. “You’ll find soap in there, I hope it’s the sort that you like.”

  If only she knew how much I despised the very skin I was in right at that moment; preference for soap was the furthest thing from my mind. “Thank you,” I said. “I do appreciate it.”

  Irene searched my face, and for a moment, I was certain she was going to start asking questions while we had the sound of the running water to mask our voices. She did not, however, and instead turned her back, pulling the door open. “If you need anything, just ask, all right? I’ll bring you some clean clothes to change into.”

  “Thank you,” was all I could think to say.

  She departed, shutting the door and trapping the heat and steam inside with me.

  I peeled the clothes from my body, the dried blood making me gag as it stuck to the hem of my blouse, to the edges of my sleeves, and to the side of the neckline. I managed to discard all my things and tossed them into the bathroom sink. I didn’t waste any time turning on the tap, drenching them all the way through. I picked up the bar of soap and began to attack the fabric with it.

  Coppery water filled the sink and raced down the drain.

  I knew it would take some time to get the blood out, if I would even be able to, in the end.

  I climbed into the shower a few moments later, the heat striking me like an iron. I winced as it scorched my skin, turning the flesh on my arms and chest pink, but soon relished the water’s ability to wash the blood from my hands and face.

  I scrubbed at my hair three different times until I was certain any residue of the blood might be gone. I took to my skin with the soap bar with such force that it left my skin raw and tender, though without a trace of blood to be found. I nearly ripped off my fingernails attempting to coax the dark, tarry substance out from beneath, though it was reluctant.

  Irene came in a while later, insisting that everything was all right and that she’d found something for me to wear. She didn’t linger long, either, and I soon heard the soft click of the door as she closed it behind her.

  I stood there in the shower for a long time, focusing on the way the water felt running through the ends of my hair, down my neck, and watching as it splashed against the bottom of the shower. It mesmerized me, very nearly wiped the terrible events of the night from my mind.

  Soon, though, far too soon, the water began to run cold. Either that, or my skin simply had grown used to it. Nevertheless, I realized I couldn’t very well stay in there forever, and instead chose to step out and towel off.

  I tugged on the sweater Irene had lent me, something too long in the sleeves and long in the waist, in a pleasant powder blue. I matched it with a comfortable pair of trousers that were a bit loose around my waist, but with my belt –

  I looked around for my own clothing, and couldn’t find it.

  I checked inside the closet, wondering if in my uncomfortable stupor I’d somehow decided that shoving my sopping wet clothes inside was a good idea. I found nothing.

  I checked behind the doorway, wondering if my things had slipped out of the sink somehow. I couldn’t find them there, either.

  Panic flooded my veins, turning my face bright red. What did this mean? How could I have lost my clothing like that?

  I decided it was best to finish drying myself off and getting dressed, and then ask Irene if she’d seen them in the sink when she came in to leave me the new, clean clothes.

  I wrung as much of the water from my dark hair as I could, doing everything I could to avoid eye contact with myself in the small corner of the mirror that the fog had cleared away from. I knew I’d washed the blood away, and had worked the soap into such a lather that it left my skin raw and tender, but I still felt its ghost on my arms, on my face, on my neck…

  And Mr. James’ face…I couldn’t wipe it from my mind. The pain in his eyes, the strain in his voice…

  The hardest thing to realize was that I knew I would never hear that voice again.

  Thoroughly sober minded, I opened the door to the bathroom, and padded barefoot out into the kitchen.

  Irene and Nathanial were both standing in the kitchen. Irene was pouring tea into some fresh cups, while Nathanial stood against the cabinets, his arms crossed.

  Irene glanced over at me as I entered. “Just keep your voice down,” she said in a low tone. “We just put Michael to bed.”

  I nodded, wrapping my arms around myself. “Thank you for the clothes,” I said. “Did you happen to see where my – ”

  “Already taken care of, dear,” Irene said. “Washing them as we speak.”

  My face turned scarlet. “Irene, you don’t have to do that. They’re filthy, and with all the blood – ”

  “Whose blood is it?” Nathanial asked, her eyes narrow. “I can see that you seem to be all right.”

  I glanced back and forth between the two of them. “It…it was Mr. James,” I said. “I arrived home early this morning from the train back from London, and ended up sleeping most of the day. When I woke, I was starving, and was on my way down to the inn for a meal…”

  “You know you could have stopped here,” Irene said, her brow falling. “We would have been happy to feed you.”

  I felt guilt and affection toward her simultaneously. “Perhaps it would have saved me from the night I had tonight…” I said.

  “Here, dear, have some tea and sit down,” Irene said, pulling back one of the chairs at the kitchen table. “Why don’t you tell us what happened?”

  I took the seat she offered, sinking rather heavily down into the chair. “As I said, I was on the way to the inn, when I heard someone calling for help…” />
  I told them everything just as it happened, the same way I told Sam Graves. I left nothing out, even though I knew that telling them everything I’d been feeling and had experienced wouldn’t necessarily change anyone’s mind about my involvement in the matter. It helped to see the sorrow on Irene and Nathanial’s faces as I spoke, and gave me more peace of mind than I’d been able to give myself.

  “Mr. James…” Irene said as I wrapped up my story. She leaned back in her chair, her hand clasped over her heart. “How tragic…”

  “Yes,” Nathanial said, hunched forward on his elbows, his fingers knotted together, partially obscuring his face. “What surprises me most is how quickly Mr. Hodgins jumped to thinking you were the one to do it.”

  “That’s what surprised me as well,” Irene said. “Helen, you poor thing…what a terrible night you have had to endure. Not only trying to help Mr. James, but then facing accusations from those people? By the police?...” She shook her head. “Well, knowing how the people of Brookminster operate, I am certain news of what occurred earlier has already spread. There are likely few in the village who don’t already know what happened.”

  “That’s what I thought as well,” I said, rubbing the sides of my face. “I think it would be best for me to keep the store closed for the next few days while Inspector Graves investigates, hopefully finding the culprit – ”

  “You’ll stay with us,” Irene said, her brow furrowing.

  “What?” Nathanial and I both said at the same time.

  She nodded firmly. “You’ll stay with us. Do you have any idea what people might do to you if you were home alone? Harassment would be a weak word to describe it. Not only will people treat you like a criminal until the real one is found, but some might go so far as to damage your property, your home…” She looked over at her husband. “You know that I am right, Nathanial. People will be ruthless, even if she is found to be innocent.”

  He sighed. “They certainly will be. And from the sounds of it, some in the village are already suspicious of you, Helen. The best way to keep you safe is likely to pretend that you aren’t home. Perhaps we could start a rumor that you went out of town to visit family.”