The implications of that disturbed her even more than the state of Dan's business but she could not dismiss it.
In contrast to Dan, Greg was working overtime. He was head mechanic in the workshop attached to a big filling-station on the Kingston Road.
'You wouldn't believe it,' he told them on the Sunday afternoon as they all sunbathed on the Bayneses' lawn. (In the near-communal life that had evolved between them,, Greg and Rosemary had the bigger lawn, and Dan and Moira the bigger vegetable garden, both families making use of both.) 'All of a sudden everyone wants to be road-worthy. You know how it is – not many people really get their periodic maintenance done when the ten thousand comes up, or whatever. Now they're bringing 'em in ahead of time. They're queuing up for decokes and God knows what, even old bangers with holes in their coachwork, as long as the mechanics are sound. We can't get new tyres fast enough – or light bulbs, everyone wants a spare set. Petrol cans, too. And on the forecourt they've sold more road maps in a week than they usually do all year.'
'Road maps of where, as a matter of interest?' Dan asked.
"Yes, I'd wondered that, too – I checked up. East Anglia, the Pennines, central Wales, the Highlands – all the least populated areas, the ones people usually buy only to go on holiday. The town ones too, of course – lots of people just buy complete sets and be done with it. But the country ones are the hot cakes.'
'That figures,' Rosemary said. 'I was in Debenhams yesterday and you couldn't get near the camping department. I doubt if they've got a tent or a camp cooker left in the place.'
'I'm glad we have,' Moira said suddenly.
Her remarked seemed to hang challengingly in the air, but for now, at least, nobody commented on it.
Dan was determined to attend the Bell Beacon inquest, so Moira left Diana with Sally and accompanied him. She felt no particular urge to be there, herself; her sense of outrage had been all-consuming at the time, while Dan had been absorbed in necessary action. As the days had passed, she had tended to put the irrevocable behind her while he had mulled over his memories, weighing and classifying them, assembling a case in his mind with a growing sense of indignation. This was typical of each of them as Moira well knew. But she also knew that such complementary attitudes were part of the strength of their partnership and she made no attempt to upset the balance by persuading him to forget before he was ready – any more than he would have belittled her on-the-spot reaction.
The coroner's court was packed and although Dan and Moira arrived in good time they only just got in. The proceedings were long and unpleasant. For the first hour, Dan and Moira learned nothing which they had not seen themselves or already gleaned from the newspapers. The dead motor-cyclist was Terence Watt, twenty-nine, of Raynes Park, newsagent; a surprising age and background for a leather-clad trouble-seeker, perhaps, but otherwise unremarkable. The seven-year-old boy, Bobby Thornley, was the child of a couple from Woking, who were with their solicitor in court, looking pale and ill. John Hassell was beside them with his own solicitor; his expressionless face had only softened once, as he caught Dan and Moira's eyes when they came in. Andrea Sutton, it appeared, only had relatives in Johannesburg, whom a third solicitor nominally represented, though he was in constant whispered discussion with a handsome man of about sixty who turned out to be Ben Stoddart, Vice-President of Andrea Sutton's Anti-Pagan Crusade.
There were no surprises to begin with, as a string of witnesses gave their various versions of the disturbance and a pathologist reported the causes of death. The latter amounted to massive haemorrhage in Joy's case, burning to death in Watt's and multiple injuries due to being run over in Andrea Sutton's and the boy's. Andrea Sutton had in fact been run over twice, and then hit by a falling machine; her rib-cage had been badly crushed.
The coroner impressed Moira; a shrewd man, quiet-spoken, but authoritative in spite of the deceptively casual way in which he put questions – as when he asked the senior police witness: 'Superintendent, why have none of the motorcylists been brought before me?'
'I regret to report, sir, that we have been unable to trace them. Apart from the deceased Watt, there were eleven of them, as witnesses have told the court. Nine of them rode away after the disturbance, my officers were told when they reached the scene; and we do not even have descriptions of them since they all apparently wore crash helmets and visors.'
'I see. But two others were admitted to hospital, were they not?'
'Yes, sir. They were in adjacent beds in Slough General Hospital until approximately eleven o'clock the following morning, one being treated for burns on his hands, the other awaiting the results of an X-ray for a suspected fracture of the right humerus. They were the only patients in a four-bed ward and while they were unattended for about half an hour they seem to have dressed themselves and disappeared.'
'Disappeared?'
‘Yes, sir. The Ward Sister is in court if you wish to question her.'
'But this is extraordinary, Superintendent. I may hear the Sister in due course but this is surely also a police matter. These two men were known to have taken an active part in a disturbance in which three people had already died. Why was there no police guard on them?'
The superintendent looked embarrassed. 'There appears to have been a breakdown of communication between the St John Ambulance, whose detachment transported them to hospital, and the police. The ambulance officer told the hospital casualty department that he had reported to us, via his own headquarters, but there is no record of the report having been received. We were unaware of the two men's admission till they had already discharged themselves – and it transpired that they had given false names and addresses on admission.'
' "Discharged themselves" strikes me as somewhat of a euphemism, in the circumstances… And what about their machines? Presumably they had registration numbers?'
'One or two witnesses did note down the registration numbers, sir, and their reports tallied. But all twelve -including the burnt-out machine which is in our possession – proved to be carrying false number-plates. And the engine number of the one we do have had been filed off, too deep for radiography.'
'What about the two abandoned by the riders who were taken to hospital?'
'They were removed by persons unknown immediately after the disturbance, sir. It was an estimated half-hour between the riot ending and the first police car reaching the scene, I regret to say. Our switchboards were swamped with earth tremor reports and our cars were busy – but all the same, we could have been called to Bell Beacon earlier if the St John Ambulance radio had been working. The ambulance officer will tell you that he suspects it had been sabotaged.'
'Superintendent, your quite remarkable evidence does not seem to me to point to an act of spontaneous hooliganism. It points to a carefully organized plot.'
'One cannot escape that conclusion, sir, I agree.'
'And I may not be able to escape the conclusion that this inquest should be adjourned to allow for further police inquiries… However, we shall at least continue until all the evidence which is so far available has been heard, before I decide whether an adjournment is advisable.'
'As the court pleases.'
'The court would also be pleased to know why no police were in attendance at this Festival. I understand that until this occasion, it has been the invariable practice for a suitable number of officers to be present.'
'My instructions were that since there had been no trouble at such events for many years, police presence was an unnecessary waste of manpower and should be discontinued – by our county force, at least.'
'And this was the first application of the new policy?'
'In Buckingham, yes, sir. I understand that other forces have continued the old practice.'
'An astonishingly unfortunate coincidence,' the coroner said quietly.
The superintendent reddened. 'I can only follow my instructions, sir.'
'Instructions from whom, in this case?'
The superintendent hes
itated, then answered: 'From my Chief Constable, sir.'
'I see… And were those instructions in accordance with your own judgement, as an experienced officer?'
‘With respect, sir, I ask to be excused from answering that question.'
The coroner nodded several times, slowly, and the superintendent's face grew even redder.
The ambulance officer was next. He stuck firmly to his story that the ambulance radio had been sabotaged but he had no way of proving it. He also insisted that he had telephoned his HQ from the hospital, reporting the two casualties and requesting that his report be passed on to the police.
When the next witness was called, Moira hissed to Dan: 'Good God! Him!' 'What about him?' 'Mike Wharton. Renegade.'
'Black?'
'He hasn't got the guts. Just a rat.' 'Don't recognize him.' 'Shush. Tell you later.'
Andrea Sutton's solicitor was on his feet. 'I must apologize, sir, for asking the court to hear this witness, Mr Michael Wharton, virtually without notice. Mr Wharton came to me about twenty minutes before the court convened, with such an extraordinary story that had there been more time I would have accompanied him straight to the police, because it has a direct bearing on the murder of Miss Sutton.'
'Do not anticipate the verdict of this court, Mr James.'
'I was about to add, sir – "if murder it was, as Mr Wharton alleges".'
'I see. And Mr Wharton is a stranger, who came to you completely out of the blue?'
'I had not met him before, sir, personally, but I knew of him. He is a well-known and respected figure in the witchcraft movement…'
('Like hell!' Moira muttered.)
'… who has contributed many articles to the movement's periodicals. Recognizing him and knowing his standing within his own field, I knew his story could not be lightly dismissed. I saw no alternative, in view of the time factor, but to bring him before you, sir.'
The coroner studied the witness. 'Mr Wharton – before I hear what you have to say, I would like to ask one thing. If you have vital evidence on the death of Miss Sutton, why did you not go straight to the police with it? Why have you waited till now?'
Wharton peered back at him through tinted glasses, under carefully groomed black hair. 'I was afraid, sir. These people…"
'Which people?'
'The black element in the Craft, sir.'
' "Black" in this context of witchcraft and magic meaning malignant?'
'Yes, sir. And ruthless. I was afraid of what they might do if I told what I saw. I am still afraid, but… I felt, this morning, that if I didn't speak now it would be too late.'
'You are safe here,' the coroner told him, 'and if you do have cause to be afraid once you leave this court, the police will arrange for your protection. The court takes a very serious view of the intimidation of witnesses. I shall be better able to form a conclusion about that when I have heard your evidence.'
('Which'll be a load of lies,' Moira whispered.)
('Let's hear him, at least,' Dan whispered back, judicious as always.)
To begin with, Wharton's evidence differed little from everyone else's, or from Moira and Dan's memory. He said that he had been in a Circle in the direct path of the Crusade demonstrators, who had reached it just about the time when the dancers had converged on them and tried to stop them. He himself had offered no violence; he had merely attempted to argue with the leading demonstrators, who had included Miss Sutton, but they had gone on chanting and would have pushed him aside. But at that moment he had been caught between attackers and defenders near the Cauldron.
'I fell over, sir – most of us did, the demonstrators and the others, all mixed up together in a heap of people. Some were fighting, some trying to tear up the banner, and some – like me – just trying to break free. One is pretty vulnerable with no clothes on… But I was trapped under two or three people. Miss Sutton was about three metres away from me – she was on the ground, too, pinned down by the crowd. One man was hitting at her face, and she was protecting it with her hands… Then the earth tremor came and more people fell on top of me – I thought my back would break and I could hardly breathe. Then Miss Sutton managed to get to her feet and yelled out about the wrath of God smiting the witches. She was dragged down again, and then the fighting started again – only harder, as though the tremor had rattled people. I was still trapped. Then I saw two people – a man and a woman -pushing their way through the crowd towards Miss Sutton. They went down on their hands and knees as they reached her. They were skyclad – naked, that is – and he was carrying an athame and she a copper bowl. An athame is a witch's ritual black-handled knife, sir.'
The coroner nodded. 'Did you recognize these two people?'
'No, sir. Their backs were to me and they both had long hair falling forward, the way they were moving. His was black and hers light brown. I never saw his face and I only got a glimpse of hers in profile – round, with a big mouth and small nose. I'd say they were both about thirty. He was thin, a little tall as far as I could judge. She was on the plump side but small-breasted.' He paused.
'Go on, Mr Wharton.'
'By then, sir, Miss Sutton was still pinned down by the crowd, but no one was paying attention to her, if.you understand me. The man and woman wriggled between a lot of legs till they reached her, and then… It was horrible, sir. He pulled up her sweater and stabbed her in the ribs with his athame. I think I screamed – but there was so much noise and screaming no one would have heard. She must have died almost at once, there was so much blood. And the woman was catching as much of it as she could in the copper bowl… Then someone fell in front of me and I couldn't see them any more. The crowd moved and I managed to get up. The man and woman had gone. I looked around, I think I must have called out something, but no one listened – then I saw them running towards the Great Altar. She was holding the bowl up high as though she were carrying an offering, and he was running beside her holding his athame up like a salute. Four other people had joined them – two men and two women, like an escort… I never saw them reach the Altar; I was knocked over again. The Altar had been smashed up by then and the statue. I suppose they intended to pour the blood over it, as a sacrifice to avenge the sacrilege…'
'Do not suppose, Mr Wharton. Confine yourself to what you saw and heard.'
'Yes, sir. Actually I didn't see any more of them, because it was then that the motor-cyclists arrived and the crowd scattered. I managed to get outside the ring of cycles before it closed. I saw one of them run over Miss Sutton's body… I knew there was nothing I could do so I found my clothes and escaped down the hill to my car.'
'Being too afraid to inform the police,' the coroner said.
'Yes, sir, I was. I'm not proud of it but I've seen what these people can do.'
The coroner looked at him inscrutably for a moment, and then asked: 'The man's athame, Mr Wharton. Would you please describe it?'
'An ordinary sheath-knife, sir. About a twelve- or fifteen-centimetre blade. You know, sharp along one edge and thick along the other.'
Appalled and furious, Moira was gripping Dan's arm, unable even to whisper. She saw that one or two reporters were hurrying out of the press box. She was so angry that she hardly heard the coroner's questions, clarifying points in Wharton's story. Her attention was dragged back by a sudden cry of 'It's true!'from a woman who had jumped to her feet from the witnesses' seats.
The coroner restored order, and then asked: 'Miss Chalmers, isn't it?'
The woman, a frightened-looking creature with mousey hair, nodded as though she had lost her voice.
'Do I understand that you wish to add to, or amend, the evidence you gave earlier?'
Now the words came in a flood. 'Yes, sir, I do. I was afraid, like him. He's right about what they can do… But I saw those two stab Miss Sutton and her collecting the blood. Just like he said. It was awful…'
'Can you describe them?'
'No more than he did, sir. It was all that hair… Then I saw them running,
and I did follow them, not too close, they still had their backs to me. And he's right, they did pour the blood on the ground, in front of where the Altar had been smashed up. I'm afraid I just turned and ran…'
('Oh, God,' Moira breathed. 'Dan, this stinks. But it'll stick! People'll believe it!1)
('I hope you're wrong, love.')
The coroner, at least, was not credulous. After he had questioned Miss Chalmers, he recalled the pathologist.
'Doctor, when you examined the body of Miss Sutton, did you find any evidence of a knife wound?'
'No, sir, I did not.'
'You gave evidence that the rib-cage was badly crushed. Is it possible that this damage could have concealed the fact that she had been stabbed, by such a weapon as Mr Wharton has described, deeply enough to cause the kind of bleeding he described?'
'No, sir. The wound would still have been detectable to a careful examination.'
'Which you carried out in this case?'
'Of course, sir. When a cadaver has suffered multiple injuries, one always bears in mind that those injuries may conceal an earlier and significant injury. One is therefore particularly careful to search for such evidence.'
'Thank you, Doctor.'
Andrea Sutton's solicitor rose immediately. 'Doctor -in addition to being run over twice, Miss Sutton's body had also been hit by a falling motor-cycle, had it not?'
'That is so, yes.'
'And would not that machine have sharp projections?'
'Yes. There were several lacerations from such projections, but mostly on the legs and pelvis, across which the machine fell. There was one such wound in the chest, which would appear to have been inflicted by the clutch lever on the left handlebar. It had peneratred to about six centimetres.'
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