“That’s weird.” I zoomed in on a section of dense undergrowth where I caught a glimpse of red-on-black. Yes, I was right. It was part of one of Valentine’s signs. I could read the lettering—HS3 CROSSING FROM HERE.
“Valentine must have left one of those behind,” I said. “Why would he put all the other placards in the car and leave just one in the undergrowth?”
“Placards? What are you talking about?”
“Remember I told you that Ogwell Car Hire said they’d found a stack of broken placards in his SUV?”
The tractor clattered to a stop, leaving an eerie silence.
Someone shouted, “Hold up! We got him!”
Mum grabbed my arm. “They’ve got him!”
My heart began to pound as Detective Constable Clive Banks walked into the frame followed by a German shepherd.
“Who is that?” said Mum.
“Clive. Fluffy has found something.”
“Give me those.” Mum snatched the binoculars from me and readjusted the focus. “Don’t you think he looks like Captain Pugwash with that black beard?”
The tractor started up again and Eric, riding his Massey Ferguson, rumbled into view. I didn’t need binoculars to see that a rope was attached to the axle on one end and, on the other, a heavy black object.
It was slowly being dragged across the grass.
“Oh God, Katherine. Is that…?”
Eric cut the engine and jumped down. He walked over to what was almost certainly a body coated in slime. Shawn, also dressed in oilskins and hip boots, strolled over to join them.
“I feel sick,” I whispered. “Let’s go home. Please.” The whole thing was far more horrible than I could have possibly imagined.
Mum lowered her binoculars. “I wonder who it is,” she said. “Valentine or Benedict?”
“Or neither.” I mustered a weak smile. “Let’s pray that it’s an old Roundhead soldier.”
We drove back along the track in silence. At the bottom of the hill, we came across Clive putting Fluffy back into the dog van.
Mum stopped and opened the window. “You’ve found a body, haven’t you?”
“No comment,” said Clive.
“We saw you,” said Mum. “And we think we know who it is.”
“We already know who it is,” Clive said. “He had his wallet and driver’s license on him.”
“That counts out the Roundhead,” I said.
“Just answer a yes or a no,” said Mum. “Is it Benedict Scroope?”
Clive seemed startled. “I’m afraid I am not at liberty to say until we have informed the victim’s family.”
“Is it Valentine Prince-Avery?”
“No comment.”
“At least tell us if he was wearing shoes,” said Mum.
“Shoes?” Clive frowned. “Why?”
“If he wasn’t wearing shoes then it’ll be Benedict Scroope,” said Mum firmly.
Clive’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Well. Lavinia—”
“Her ladyship is involved?” Clive looked shocked. “How do you know?”
“We don’t,” I said. “We don’t know anything, do we, Mum?”
“I’m sure you’ll have time to share your theories with Detective Inspector Cropper. I believe he has quite a number of questions for you, Ms. Stanford.”
“For me?” I exclaimed. “Why?”
“Wait—you said victim,” said Mum. “Do you think something seems suspicious?”
Clive secured the rear van door. “We’ll know more once the ME has arrived.”
“The medical examiner!” Mum exclaimed. “Please tell us, Clive. We won’t repeat a word of it. We won’t tell Shawn.”
Clive didn’t answer. He got into the driver’s seat, slammed the door, and drove away.
“What’s going on?” Patty crept out of the bushes. For once, the usual sneer on her face was replaced by acute anxiety. “What’s happened? What are the police doing here?”
“They’ve found a body,” said Mum coldly.
Patty turned white. “What do you mean? A body? Where?”
“In Coffin Mire.” Mum thought for a moment. “Your cottage has a good view. Perhaps you saw something last night?”
“No.” Patty shook her head vehemently. “Why? Why would I see anything?”
“Did you hear anything?” said Mum. “Any cries for help?”
“No. Nothing. Nothing at all.” Patty shook her head again and began to back away.
“As a matter of fact, we want to have a little chat with you,” said Mum. “Don’t we, Katherine?”
“Mum!” I said. “Maybe today is not a good day, after all.”
“I don’t know anything,” said Patty. “I didn’t see anything. My mother is lying dead in the morgue. Why are you doing this? What is wrong with you people? Haven’t you got any respect?” And with that, she turned on her heel and plunged back into the undergrowth. I was mortified.
“She’s got my money, I’m sure of it,” said Mum. “And I bet she saw something. Voices carry on the night air.”
“I think we should tell Shawn,” I said. “Let the police handle it.”
“Handle my money? Over my dead body,” said Mum. “If anyone’s going to get involved, it will be Alfred.”
“But I thought you didn’t want Alfred to find out?”
Mum gave an unattractive grunt of annoyance. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“God. You’re so predictable,” I muttered.
As we pulled into the Carriage House courtyard Mum gave a cry of surprise. Rupert’s black Range Rover was parked on the forecourt.
“What on earth is Rupert doing here?” she exclaimed.
“You see,” I said. “He hasn’t run off with another woman.”
“You don’t think—” She gasped. “He’s guilty. He did it.”
We found Rupert and Lavinia waiting for us in the kitchen. Rupert was standing with his back to the Rayburn. He looked furious. Lavinia sat hunched on a kitchen chair, head bowed. She didn’t even look up when we walked in.
“Your lordship, Lavinia … I mean m’lady,” Mum said nervously. “Can I offer you something—a cup of tea or coffee?”
“No, thank you. We won’t stay long,” said Rupert curtly. “I just wanted to inform you that there is no extended railway line being proposed in this area.”
Lavinia uttered a whimper and raised her head just enough for us to see her cheeks wet with tears. “I’m so sorry.”
“What on earth is going on?” I said.
“There’s no Operation Bullet,” said Rupert.
Mum’s face fell. “So we were right.”
“That’s terrible!” I exclaimed as the full implications of this ambitious scam began to sink in. “How did you find out?”
“I’ve been in London this week talking to English Heritage and the Battlefields Trust,” said Rupert. “Lavinia? Perhaps you would like to tell them?”
Lavinia looked wretched. “Apparently the line would never be permitted to come so far south.”
“What Lavinia is saying is that the surrounding fields are of vast historical importance—especially the underground tunnel that runs under Cromwell Meadows,” Rupert went on. “What’s more, there is evidence of a Roman fort at the end of Hopton’s Crest that has been slated for excavation for next summer.”
Mum just opened her mouth and shut it again.
“I do not know how much money either of you gave this blackguard Scroope but I will find out. Lavinia will apologize to everyone in the village and repay them—that is, if we can’t get the money back. The bounder has disappeared.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Lavinia again.
“I left a message on Shawn’s mobile. We obviously want to keep this under wraps—can’t afford a scandal.” Rupert regarded Lavinia with utter disgust. “I told Lavinia not to meddle in matters she did not understand. I assume it was you, Iris, who persuaded her otherwise?”
I saw Lavi
nia shoot Mum a look of pure agony.
“I’ll tell you why we did it,” Mum said defiantly. “When we heard about Operation Bullet, we—I—knew that you weren’t too bothered about saving Honeychurch from demolition.”
“I see.” Rupert’s voice was icy cold.
“We did this for the dowager countess,” said Mum. “We didn’t want her to spend her remaining years worrying about what would happen to her beloved home.”
“My mother has known all along about the proposed railway line,” said Rupert.
“Lady Edith knew?” said Mum faintly.
I-told-you-so.
“It was my mother who suggested I go to London in the first place,” said Rupert. “So you see, if you had both done what I specifically asked you to do—not meddle—we wouldn’t be facing such an embarrassing situation!”
“I’m frightfully sorry,” said Lavinia for the umpteenth time.
“You can’t blame Lavinia, m’lord,” said Mum.
“I’m not. I’m blaming you.”
Mum gasped. “Well! If you had thought to tell us what you were up to … if you had thought to talk to your wife—”
“What I am struggling to understand is how you were both so easily fooled? Did you not think to check out Scroope’s credentials?”
“Benedict was very convincing.” I spoke for the first time. “He was incredibly well-informed with all sorts of statistics and claims to successes in other parts of the country. He’s an environmentalist and his suggestions made sense. We all believed him.”
“Then you’re all idiots!” Rupert exclaimed.
“What about Eric?” said Mum. “He was the ringleader.”
“Mum, he was just as taken in as we were,” I said. “There is even a website, Rupert. It all looked so professional.”
“And what about those placards that said HS3 CROSSING FROM HERE?” Mum put in. “They were stuck in the field. We’re not that stupid! Why wouldn’t we believe they weren’t the real thing?”
If I’d needed confirmation that Benedict and Valentine were in cahoots, this was it. The two men must have been operating a scam from the very beginning. They must have been playing good cop/bad cop with Valentine frightening everyone with tales of rolling stock depots and homes that would not be entitled to any compensation, and Benedict offering the perfect solution—for a fee. The pair had been counting on the desperation of people who couldn’t face losing their homes. It was a despicable thing to do.
David had been right all along. Valentine was a fraud.
“Did you ever stop to think and wonder where Scroope got all his information?” Rupert raged on.
Lavinia’s eyes filled with tears again. “We trusted him.”
“What on earth made Scroope want to come here in the first place?” Rupert regarded the three of us keenly. “Why us? Why here?”
I caught Lavinia’s look of terror. “I have no idea, Rupert.”
“I have no idea, either,” said Mum smoothly.
“Nor me,” I agreed.
Rupert’s eyes narrowed. I could tell he didn’t believe us. “I will get to the bottom of this. No one, absolutely no one makes a fool out of my wife. And when I get my hands on this cad, he’ll be sorry he was ever born.”
Lavinia began to weep again. Rupert withdrew a monogrammed linen handkerchief from his jacket pocket and gave it to her. “For heaven’s sake, Lav,” he said roughly and patted her shoulder. “Pull yourself together. Stop all this nonsense. It’s not the end of the world.”
I suspected that this was the closest Rupert would ever get to a public display of affection.
Shawn and Roxy burst into the kitchen. Despite having changed back into regular clothes the smell of bog drifted in with them.
Shawn nodded a greeting to Rupert and Lavinia. “I thought I recognized your car.”
“Good. You got my message?” said Rupert.
“Yes. We contacted Scotland Yard immediately.”
“We need to catch this bounder, Scroope,” Rupert exclaimed. “Blasted man has humiliated my wife and ripped off the entire village.”
“We’ve already alerted airports, railway stations, and ports,” said Shawn.
“Unless it’s his body in Coffin Mire,” said Mum.
“What the hell is she talking about?” Rupert said.
“Oh God,” Lavinia groaned.
“No. It is not Benedict Scroope,” said Shawn. “I’m sorry to say that the name of the deceased is Valentine Prince-Avery.”
“I thought so,” I whispered.
“I’m sorry,” said Shawn gently. “I know you were close.”
I started to protest but Rupert jumped in shouting, “Who the hell is Valentine Prince-Avery?”
“The chap from the protest meeting on Monday night,” said Roxy grimly. “I know we shouldn’t speak ill of the dead but in this case, the bastard deserved it.”
“What a horrible way to die,” Mum gasped. “Oh! How awful. Alfred had a vision! Remember when he touched the walking cane and said he was drowning?’
I did remember. It was terrifying.
“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” Rupert demanded.
“I’ll tell you what’s going on,” said Roxy. “Valentine Prince-Avery was murdered.”
Chapter Twenty-six
“Murdered?” Rupert exclaimed. “Are you sure?”
“As far as we can tell, Mr. Prince-Avery was struck over the head,” said Shawn.
“Whoever did it, put his body in the mire and probably thought he’d sink straight to the bottom,” said Roxy. “Of course, we’ll have forensics out—eventually. As usual, they’re backed up.”
“I’m feeling rather faint,” said Lavinia. “Must go and lie down.”
“Do we need to be here?” Rupert said. “Neither of us knows of this Prince-Avery fellow.”
“In light of these new revelations about this so-called scam,” said Shawn firmly, “I’d prefer you to stay, m’lord.”
“Surely you don’t think any of us had something to do with it?” said Rupert.
“Are you positive they were running a scam?” Lavinia sounded desperate. “It seems a frightful amount of trouble to go to for such a paltry sum of money.”
“Paltry?” said Roxy. “I coughed up two hundred quid!”
“That’s just the tip of the iceberg, m’lady,” said Shawn. “It’s not about the money. It’s the fact that scam artists like this get access to personal information that can lead to all kinds of mischief—identity theft being just one.”
“Scotland Yard is already looking into whether they have done this in other parts of the country,” Roxy chimed in, adding a deferential, “m’lady.”
“Let’s hope they have,” said Rupert. “Then you won’t seem like gullible idiots.”
“When Doreen finds out, she’ll be devastated,” Roxy went on. “Everyone will be. It’s just not right! How could this have happened?”
“I’m so sorry,” Lavinia whispered. “So sorry.”
“The existence of a website hints at a much bigger organization involving identity theft,” said Shawn. “We shall be involving Interpol.”
“Valentine and Benedict were in Africa at some point together,” I said.
“I told you. Never trust a man with a small head and an orange tan,” said Mum.
“Third-world countries are renowned for harvesting e-mail addresses that they sell to nefarious organizations,” said Shawn. “Rest assured, we know what we’re doing.”
I had to admit that I was impressed. I had always taken Shawn for a country bumpkin type with his tousled hair and almost Lieutenant Columbo–like demeanor.
“Yes, Ms. Stanford,” Shawn said, looking directly at me. “It would seem that even Little Dipperton has fallen foul to cyber-warfare.”
“But we don’t even have the Internet at the Hall,” Lavinia protested. “Edith refuses to even entertain the thought.”
“And I agree with her,” said Mum. “It causes no
thing but trouble.”
“People get killed for four reasons,” said Shawn. “They have something that belongs to the killer, they heard something they shouldn’t have, they know something, or they said something.”
“Don’t we want to ask who stands to gain from Valentine’s death?” I said.
“Kat’s right,” said Mum. “Maybe Benedict Scroope wanted all the spoils for himself and did Valentine in.”
“There were plenty of people in the pub on Monday night who would have liked to have done Prince-Avery in,” said Roxy. “But my guess is that Scroope holds the key.”
“The shoes hold the key,” said Mum.
“Shoes?” said Rupert.
“We retrieved the other one. They are a pair.” Shawn took a deep breath. “I’m afraid I have to ask you about these, m’lord.” He nodded to Roxy who produced a plastic carrier bag from nowhere. Gravely, she set it down on the table.
Mum whispered into my ear. “Shawn’s show-and-tell again.”
“Do these shoes look familiar to you, m’lord?” said Shawn.
Rupert pulled a face. “Good heavens, man, of course not. Why?”
“They were in the field,” said Roxy. “One shoe was down a badger sett—”
“Mr. Chips found it,” Mum declared.
“The other shoe was close to where the victim’s body was found, lying on top of the actual mire itself,” said Roxy. “The killer obviously left it behind.”
“What size shoe do you take, m’lord?” Shawn asked.
Rupert flushed an angry red. “That’s none of your business!”
“It’s just a simple question,” said Roxy.
“And I don’t have to answer it.”
“Would you like to have a solicitor present?” said Roxy with a tinge of sarcasm.
“Good God, woman, of course not!”
I stole a look at Mum. Her mouth was wide open as she looked from one to the other in amazement.
“Please answer the question,” said Shawn.
“My word should be good enough. Besides, I have not been here. I took Harry back to school on Monday evening and I went on to London where I stayed at my club. The moment I discovered the truth about the campaign, I drove straight down. I have several people who can confirm my whereabouts.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake. Just tell them or I will.” Lavinia paused dramatically then said, “Rupert takes a size five.”
Deadly Desires at Honeychurch Hall Page 23
