But Ferrets Can Never Hurt Me

by Nhys Glover

  The cottage was a sweet, two-storey stone affair, typical of the area. The woodwork was all beautifully maintained and painted a discreet dark green. The gardens at the front and sides were perfectly manicured. I knew Mr Andrew’s family had grown up in this house but had moved out when they married. Since his wife had left him last year, my solicitor had lived alone.

  Once Jake had clipped the helmets to the bike and was ready to go, I led the way along the short path to the front door. As I knocked, the door gave way under the pressure. It hadn’t been shut properly. Not that that was such an unusual occurrence around this area. People left their doors unlocked all the time, even though regular police reports in the local paper warned them not to.

  I looked at Jake, whose eyes had narrowed. He stepped ahead of me into the dark interior, not making a sound. Following in his wake, I tried to walk as silently as he did.

  Room by room, we checked for the man I’d come to see. The eerie quiet made my lungs feel like they were constrained by concrete.

  When a ghost suddenly appeared ahead of us, looking very much like my father’s business partner, my heart lurched. I must have made a sound, because Jake looked back over his shoulder at me. I’d stopped in my tracks, my eyes glued to the apparition.

  “What is it?” Jake asked softly.

  “Mr Andrew’s ghost. He must be dead,” I answered, just as softly, never taking my eyes off the somewhat confused looking spirit.

  “The killer may still be in the house,” Jake warned, trying to keep me behind him.

  Mr Andrews shook his head, as if in answer.

  “No, the killer’s gone. I need to talk to Mr Andrews before he moves on... I have to understand what’s going on here.”

  Reluctantly, Jake stepped aside so I could approach the ghost, who was wavering like clothing buffeted by wind on the line. His eyes never left mine, though. Almost like he was using me to anchor himself to this realm.

  “What happened?” I asked him.

  “I don’t know. I... I seem to be back there, in my study. But I’m also here. How is that possible?”

  I didn’t want him to upset him, so I kept my questions simple. “Who was here with you?”

  His transparent brows lowered into a frown. “Mr Watkins’ associate. I never knew his name. An older man. White haired and distinguished looking. I assumed he was one of the partners. I... I just wanted him gone, because I knew you were on your way. He... Oh, my Lord! He killed me! He hit me with a nightstick. One of the collapsible ones.”

  I could tell from his expression he was starting to panic. “Mr Andrews, you have to tell me what was so important. What were you sorry for?”

  He gave himself a little shake, as if forcing himself back from the ledge. “Yes... Yes, of course. I owe you that much. I truly am sorry, Alfreda. Your father would have been disgusted by my actions.”

  “What did you do?” I pressed gently.

  He shook his head. “They approached me as soon as your father passed. They said that if I knew what was good for me I’d find a way to siphon off your father’s assets. His investments. I told them I wasn’t his accountant. But that didn’t seem to matter to them.” He paused for a moment, as if he was remembering just how difficult the challenge had been. “In the end I had all his financial dealings directed my way, as executor. That way I could manage your inheritance properly, I said. Mr Jones was suspicious, of course. It was very irregular. But I threatened to take my business elsewhere and ruin his reputation in town if he didn’t do as he was told.”

  For a moment Andrews looked lost again, and something off to my right began distracting him.

  “Please, finish,” I encouraged, not knowing how much longer I could keep him from moving on.

  “I didn’t take your money, Alfreda. You have to know I didn’t spend it. I... I kept the accounts as they were. I just didn’t tell you how much was in them. Then they came back about a year later, wanting me to pressure you into selling. And they wanted the money in those accounts. They threatened my reputation and my family this time. So, I signed over the money and started trying to get you to sell. The inheritance tax was the perfect excuse.”

  “My father did have money? It could have paid the tax?” I asked, feeling a little sick.

  “Oh, yes. More than enough. He was a canny investor, your father. And he had a large insurance policy on both himself and your mother. He invested the money from her policy. But I never cashed in his.”

  “The money is still in his policy?” Jake clarified.

  For the first time Andrews took notice of the stranger in our midst. He seemed about to ask who he was, but whatever was distracting him was becoming more insistent.

  “Yes. Not enough to pay all that’s owed. But a substantial amount of it. The policy is in my safe. In there. They didn’t know about it...” He waved vaguely in the direction of the room to his left.

  “Why did they do this to you?” I asked, confused.

  He shrugged. “From what he said, they’d heard my call to you. You have to understand, I have been eaten up with guilt for years. It destroyed my marriage and alienated my children. When I heard what they had been doing to you, to pressure you into selling, I just couldn’t take it anymore. You didn’t deserve this. Your father was my best friend, and he trusted me to protect your interests. I let him down. I let you down. I am so sorry...”

  “It’s all right, Mr Andrews. I understand. You gave your life trying to do the right thing in the end. For that I will always be grateful. Now you need to go...”

  He nodded, his eyes returning to whatever he could see. His face softened and became blissful. In the next instant he was gone.

  For a moment more I stood silently processing what I’d heard. Somehow, Jake had my arm and was taking most of my weight. When had that happened?

  “We need to see it. And report it. This is going to get messy. More interviews, interrogations, and fingers pointed at us. At me, because of who I am. You have to be prepared,” Jake coached, turning me to face him so I was forced to look him in the eyes.

  I nodded. I’d seen enough TV crime shows to know how this worked. And I’d experienced a small amount of it when my car went up in flames and my dog was killed.

  “We need to get our story straight,” he went on determinedly.

  That made me frown. What was there to get straight? We didn’t do anything wrong.

  “You’re going to have to say Andrews told you all that over the phone and invited you here to give you your father’s life insurance policy. We’re not going to be able to say who killed him. We can say Andrews said he was worried about Watkins’ associate, but not that he came here with a nightstick. Do you understand?”

  He was pressing a point that didn’t make sense to me. But maybe what I thought was going to be a straightforward interview might turn into something convoluted and confusing, as the police tried to trip me up. Tried to trip us up. Because we were the ones who found the body. We were here within the timeframe the crime took place. And now I knew I had motive. The dead man had swindled me out of my inheritance. Of the three keys always talked about on crime shows: Motive, Means and Opportunity, I had two of them. And if blunt force trauma was the cause of death, then maybe I had means... Or Jake had means, because he’d likely be suspected of doing the actual deed.

  God, we were in so much trouble!

  “What if we just left now, without seeing the body? Let someone else discover it...” I stammered out in growing panic.

  “The neighbours have heard us arrive. My bike is hard to ignore. Some might have looked out their windows and seen us enter the house. We can’t just walk out as if we haven’t seen anything. That looks guilty, especially if you admit to what Andrews told you. Do you understand?”

  The way he was speaking to me, it was like he thought I was stupid. No, not stupid, going into shock. He thought the trauma was sending me into shock, and he had to get through to me.

  I drew my shoulders back, sticking
out those troublesome over-large breasts, and met his gaze. “I see your point. This is something we have to do, just like me catching denizens of the underworld has to be done. Avoidance doesn’t work anymore for me. But I have to be careful how I tell the story, and we have to tell the same story.”

  His eyes lit up with admiration. “You never cease to amaze me; do you know that? Good, now let’s get our story straight before you have to suffer the shock of seeing the body.”

  Because time was of the essence, we hastily went over it all a few more times. Once it was clear in both our minds, we entered the study.

  The blood and brain matter spattered over the desk and wall had bile rising in my throat immediately. I turned, wide-eyed, to Jake. He gestured with his head toward the front door. Racing outside, I threw up all over the carefully tended annuals.

  I thought I was prepared for what I’d see. But no, I was nowhere near prepared. It was awful! The body had been sprawled across the desk, a raw and ugly gash in the left side of its head. I couldn’t think of it as Mr Andrews. That made it even more terrible. It was just a thing. A corpse. Its soul had already fled.

  A neighbour from across the street wandered over, curiosity and concern written all over her face.

  “Are you all right, dear?” the middle-aged woman asked.

  “He’s dead! Oh God, it’s awful. Blood everywhere...” I told her on a wail I didn’t need to fake.

  I felt Jake’s presence behind me. The woman gasped, looking up at the intimidating man accompanying me. I could read her suspicion. She thought Jake did it, and I’d witnessed it happen. She was preparing to run.

  “What’s the address here?” Jake asked me, all business as he spoke into his cell phone.

  The neighbour stammered it out because, for the life of me, I couldn’t remember it. I’d have trouble remembering my own name right now. How was I going to pull off this fabricated story?

  But it wasn’t really fabricated. We didn’t do anything, and if the information came from a dead man rather than a living one, then that was just a nip and tuck to the truth.

  Jake had passed on the address to the triple nine dispatcher, and I assumed he was being told to stay on the scene and not touch anything.

  After listening for a moment, he said, “Will do,” and hung up.

  “The police are on the way. Do you want to sit down on the step...? No, look, there’s garden furniture over there.” He gently led me over to a white, wrought-iron bistro table and two chairs, so I could sit down.

  Watching the neighbour out of the corner of my eye, I could see she was letting her distrust of this dangerous stranger fade. The fact he’d called the police, not to mention his obvious concern for me, had mellowed her.

  “I’ll go make you a nice cuppa while you wait,” she offered. “That’ll make you feel a little better.”

  I wiped at my mouth with a crumpled tissue from my pocket. “Thank you, that would be wonderful. Jake takes his black and I have milk. Neither of us take sugar.”

  She nodded, glancing Jake’s way one more time before hurrying off to do what she could to help. When she was gone, Jake sat down beside me and rubbed my hands. I wasn’t sure if it was an act for the curious sets of eyes that suddenly seemed to be everywhere, or whether he was genuinely trying to calm me. It was probably both.

  “I shouldn’t have let you see that,” Jake muttered.

  “It was necessary. I’ll get over it,” I answered staunchly, although I doubted I’d ever get over seeing that horrific sight.

  The sound of a siren a few minutes later had my heart-rate shooting skyward. Jake tightened his grip on my hands, his message clear: Keep it together!

  And so I did, though my inner scaredy-cat was screaming to be let free so it could take me as far away from this place as possible.

  Chapter Four

  It was no surprise to see DS Moore get out of the unmarked police car. He and his younger partner, DC Smith, gave us a brief nod before going into the house. When Moore came back out several minutes later he looked a good deal more severe.

  “Three times in three days for three different crimes. This a record for me,” he told me.

  His words were flippant, but his tone was anything but. It was almost as if he was blaming me for everything that had been happening.

  “Considering I’ve never even spoken to a policeman before you, except when they came to tell me Daddy died, it’s a record for me as well. One I really have no desire to beat,” I said unsteadily.

  Jake tightened his grip on my hands until he was hurting me. Glancing up at him, the pain probably written in my eyes, I saw him grimace. His grip immediately loosened.

  “The first question. Did either of you touch anything in the house?” he asked, getting out his note-pad.

  We both said no, and I added, “Not even the front doorknob. The door opened as soon as I knocked on it, and then Jake just pushed it open. We immediately knew something was wrong.”

  Smith came out of the house as more police arrived on the scene. He took Jake to the other side of the front yard to get his story, while Moore took Jake’s seat and continued interviewing me.

  “Why were you here on a Sunday evening?” he asked.

  “Mr Andrew rang me.”

  And so it began. Question, answer; question, answer; and still more questions, until not even the cup of tea the kind neighbour provided could help stave off the stress of it all.

  Uniformed police officers began to interview the neighbours, including the tea lady. Other people arrived to do the forensic work, I assumed, and the place became a beehive of activity. All the while, we answered questions.

  Finally, Jake marched back to stand behind me, pressing his fingers into my shoulders. By that time my stomach was growling, and the last light of day had given way to night.

  “She’s told you all she can,” Jake snapped protectively. “I’m taking her home now.”

  Moore nodded his agreement and closed his notepad. “I assume you’re staying in the area, Mr Landers?”

  “I’m still at the hall. I’ll be there for a week or so yet.”

  “Good then, if we have more questions we know where to find you both.”

  With a deep sigh, I climbed to my feet and headed for the motorbike. We took off, leaving the scene of the horrific violence behind us. It felt as if a physical weight was being lifted from my shoulders, the further away we got. The trouble was, I didn’t expect it to be gone for long. The vivid image was indelibly seared into my brain.

  When we finally arrived home, the house was in darkness, looking for all the world like a hulking giant looming over us. Had I known how long we’d be I would have left some lights on. There were no street lights this far up the moors.

  But Jake was prepared. He pulled out his phone and found the torch app. Using it, we found our way to the back door and got inside without drama.

  Once the kitchen was lit up, I saw my pets curled up in the crate and Daphne sitting on the kitchen table, waiting.

  “You were gone a long time,” she complained, her voice holding a note of concern.

  “Andrews is dead. Between the time he rang and the time we arrived, he was killed. It was horrible,” I told her quickly.

  “Sit down and I’ll throw something together for tea,” Jake ordered, going to the fridge and pulling out ingredients for one of his fancy omelettes. I was becoming addicted to his omelettes.

  “Tell me everything,” Daphne ordered, concern increasing.

  I was too tired to go through it all again, so I looked Jake’s way. He nodded, accepting the chore, and quickly filled her in on what really happened, not the version we told the police.

  “That makes so much sense. I didn’t have a lot of time for your father, but I did respect his business acumen. There was no way, even after my sister died, that he would have let his finances get in such a state. This is very good news. Maybe we won’t need the treasure after all.”

  I sighed and began digg
ing into the caramel-coloured creation on my plate. The smell was divine and the combination of tastes and textures exploded on my tongue, as they always did these days. I moaned in appreciation. I didn’t care if it sounded erotic. And for once Daphne didn’t comment.

  “We need to go to bed. I’ll clean up in the morning,” Jake ordered, once I’d finished.

  With no desire to argue, I let him guide me upstairs to the bathroom and then my room. When he came in and began undressing me, I didn’t even lift an eyebrow. Neither did the ever-watchful Daphne.

  “Her nightie’s under the pillow,” Daphne offered helpfully.

  It was at that point that I realised I was in shock. Standing in front of Jake in only my panties should have mortified me. But I couldn’t bring myself to care. My nakedness was nothing compared to what I’d seen today.

  Before Jake slipped the nightie over my head, he paused. His gaze roamed almost guiltily over me.

  “Some women look better without clothes. You’re one of them,” he muttered, before gritting his teeth and dropping the cotton gown over my head.

  “She is rather Rubenesque, isn’t she?” Daphne answered conversationally, as if this was a perfectly normal conversation to have with Jake.

  But I didn’t care. My bed beckoned, and sweet oblivion called my name. As soon as Jake tucked me in, I followed the call.

  Oddly enough, I had no nightmares that night. I was just too exhausted and mentally drained. When I woke the next morning, it was already past nine and the world had somehow righted itself overnight.

  I took a quick shower. That’s when I remembered how Jake had undressed me and put me to bed the night before. Had he said I looked better without clothes? Maybe it was part of my dream. Maybe he’d put me to bed, and my imagination had conjured the statement later.

  I’d spent my life since puberty working hard to hide my body under every kind of shapeless bulky piece of clothing I could find. To have someone like Jake say I looked better without it seemed... surreal. Therefore, it was more than likely I’d imagined it.