by Rebecca Tope
‘Should we have called a doctor?’ she asked.
The leading policeman shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘We’ve got someone on the way.’
The other two men muttered to each other, a rapid exchange of jargonised information. Lilah heard ‘inquest’ and ‘a string of murders’. They looked even more serious now, if that was possible.
Then they all began to cast around for clues, or so it appeared to Lilah, looking at the ground; striding first to one corner, then another; peering into the tractor shed and the deserted and dusty winter cowshed. ‘Any sign of a weapon?’ one of them asked. Nobody spoke.
‘It might’ve been Daddy’s gun,’ said Lilah, before she stopped to think. ‘Someone stole it from Sam’s room.’
Everyone stared around the yard again, as if expecting to see a gun propped neatly against one of the walls or gateposts. The man with Sam in the nettles stirred cautiously with his foot, trying to see whether it might be underneath the body.
The thought struck Lilah for the very first time that Sam might have committed suicide. He might have deliberately hidden the gun, planning to use it on himself one depressed morning, when the dawn brought nothing but dogged work and misery and hopelessness. She stared at each sombre face in turn, wondering if she’d been slower than everyone else and whether they’d all taken suicide for granted from the start. Only Miranda held her eye, and Lilah could see the same thought on her mother’s face. ‘Might he have shot himself?’ she said, the question almost a whisper.
‘Of course not!’ scorned Roddy. ‘Who’d shoot himself in the middle of a patch of nettles? Anyway, the gun isn’t here.’
‘Could you show me where the gun usually lives?’ asked the man who’d raised the matter.
Lilah summoned meagre resources of energy to explain. ‘After my father died, Sam said he would take care of it, and he put it in a little gap beside the chest of drawers in his room. It wouldn’t really have shown to anyone who didn’t know it was there. But it went missing. Sam and I noticed it was gone on Friday. We were worried, of course …’ This wasn’t true of Sam, she remembered. He had been strangely unconcerned. For some reason, she withheld this recollection, and seized on familiar excuses. ‘Everyone here has been so busy, and we hadn’t any idea who could have taken it, so we just sort of … forgot about it.’ It sounded flimsy, even to her own ears. She didn’t expect the police to understand that after everything that had happened, the loss of the gun had not seemed very important, even to her.
‘Will you show us his room, please?’
Lilah waved a hand at Roddy. ‘He can do it. I’m … just not up to it. Sorry.’
Roddy shrugged, and began to walk back to the house. The man followed him. They were gone for five minutes, and came back empty-handed.
‘No sign of a gun,’ confirmed the policeman.
‘Lilah told you there wouldn’t be,’ said Miranda sourly. She looked at each policeman in turn, defying them to speak. Her kimono was coming open as she relaxed her hold on it. It seemed to Lilah that everyone noticed this at once.
‘Mum, why don’t you go and get dressed?’ she said, briskly. ‘You must be cold in that.’
Carelessly, Miranda looked down at herself. ‘If I’m offending anyone, I suppose I should – but you’re not so respectably dressed yourself, you know,’ she said to Lilah harshly, and turned to leave. She didn’t react when another car squeezed into the yard and stopped directly behind Jonathan’s, boxing him in. Instead she continued her clumping progress back to the house. Lilah immediately felt naked, exposed; she wondered whether she could get back to the house without making a fool of herself. Her whole body felt battered and sore from the tornado of emotions still raging through it.
‘Now then,’ said the junior policeman, emerging cautiously from the nettles, and pulling a pad and pencil from his pocket, ‘time for some questions. Who was the first to find the – er, gentleman?’
‘Sam. He’s called Sam,’ Roddy said. ‘Sam Carter. Lilah and I found him together. We both heard the shots and the scream.’
‘Is he a relative of yours?’ The man had produced a notebook and pencil.
‘No. He works here,’ said Roddy, who was sounding confident and in control, getting into his stride. Lilah felt a surge of admiration for him.
‘Is it all right if I go and get dressed?’ she asked. The policeman with the notepad nodded. Jonathan was standing a little to one side, looking as if he felt superfluous. Which he is, thought Lilah, with a touch of bitterness.
The police doctor from the newly-arrived car somehow found his way to the spot and winced when he saw the nettles. Then with a deep breath he plunged in to begin his examination. Lilah didn’t look. This was the part she had skipped last time, and her nerve was no stronger now. She hurried to the house, and made for her bedroom. Only after several minutes did she come out, and then it was to stay with her mother in the kitchen.
Miranda had made a pot of tea, and was smoking a rare cigarette. Lilah noticed that she was shaking. ‘They’ll be coming in for more questions in a minute,’ Miranda said. ‘Not that there’s much to tell them. I can’t work out the business of the gun, can you? Did Sam hear someone, and come out, and find someone with it, and then the person – whoever it was – shot him with it? With Guy’s gun? Is that how it was?’ Her words were staccato, sharp; shock and fear were plain on her face.
Lilah shook her head as best she could. She felt a tight pain beginning in her temples, as if she was going to have a terrible migraine. ‘Poor Sam,’ she said. ‘Poor man. We had it all wrong, didn’t we – Jonathan and you, especially? And you’d almost convinced me.’
‘Oh, don’t. I tried not to think it. I wanted to push it all away … Who knows what Jon really thought? What’s he doing here, anyway?’
‘He says he heard the shots – at least, Cappy did and sent him to see what it was.’
‘Huh! He can pull the other one. There are shots all the time around here, with people rabbiting and pigeon-shooting. And crow-scaring things going off.’
‘There was a scream,’ Lilah pointed out, remembering for the first time the other element of déjà vu: there had been gunshots and screams only a day or two ago, in Jonathan’s woods. Almost like a deliberate warning of what was going to happen. She felt like a bewildered mouse, caught between the paws of a malicious and murderous cat.
Miranda took a deep draw of the cigarette and then stubbed it out viciously. She looked out of the window, hearing yet another vehicle arrive. ‘How could anybody shoot Sam?’ she wailed. ‘How could they want to harm a man like that? A good man. Oh, God, it’s not fair. It’s not bloody fair.’ And she sank her head onto her folded arms and wept long and loud.
Roddy was valiantly struggling to milk the cows, ineffectually assisted by Jonathan. Lilah watched as new rolls of official tape were fastened bizarrely around the nettle patch, as well as across the door to Sam’s room. The men who had answered the 999 call remained, searching the yard and the buildings, as they had done before. New arrivals comprised a Detective Inspector and a middle-aged female sergeant who interviewed Lilah and Miranda formally in the kitchen. But before they could get properly started, a man came in, excitedly brandishing Guy’s gun.
‘Found it, ma’am!’ he triumphed. ‘Lying inside the gate of that first field, towards the woods, it was. Still warm, too.’
The sergeant responded with gratifying enthusiasm, jumping to her feet. ‘Get it checked for prints,’ she said. ‘I assume this is your husband’s gun, Mrs Beardon? The one that was mentioned earlier?’
Miranda shrugged. ‘Looks like it,’ she said. ‘But all guns look the same to me.’
The woman gave her a severe frown. ‘We’re talking about a deliberate murder, madam,’ she said. ‘It seems to me that you’re taking the matter rather lightly.’
Miranda laughed crazily. ‘I can assure you that I’m not doing that,’ she said. ‘Would you like me to tear out some of my hair, just
to prove it to you?’
The sergeant shook her head, lost in disapproval. Lilah, watching from the end of the table, couldn’t resist a stirring of admiration for her mother. She herself could barely speak or think, yet here was her mother shrugging at guns and dealing out sarcasm to officers of the law. It might be unwise in the circumstances, but it showed enviable spirit.
They had their own fingerprints taken, surprised at the inky mess as each fingertip was rolled laboriously onto the card, before the man departed with the gun. Jonathan also left at that point, with minimal ceremony. The interview struggled on. Times, unusual sounds, routines. When had they last seen Sam alive? How had he seemed? Did anybody have a motive for killing him? Had he kept the gun with him for a reason? Lilah worried about Roddy coping alone outside. He and Jonathan had been interviewed somewhat awkwardly by the Detective Inspector, who was also supervising the detailed examination of Sam’s room and the nettle patch.
At about half past ten, there was a phone call for the Inspector. He listened with an avid expression, snapping ‘Yes? Really! Yes!’ at the person on the line. Then he called the family together. ‘We have identified several sets of fingerprints on the gun,’ he said. ‘Yours, Mrs Beardon. And Mr Carter’s. And a very recent set we can’t identify, possibly Mr Beardon’s, although they seem more like a woman’s. Finally, there are those of Mr Amos Grimsdale. Two officers have already gone to his house, to ask him to accompany them to the station.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Cappy made no attempt to hide her impatience when Jonathan finally got home at nine-thirty that morning, and gave her a detailed account of the new turn of events at Redstone. ‘You could have phoned me,’ she reproached him. ‘You must have known I was dying to hear what had happened. And I was worried.’
Jonathan doubted the last part. ‘Sorry, pet. I got carried away with all the goings-on. You could have phoned them if you were desperate for news. I told everyone it was you who’d sent me round there in the first place.’
‘Did they think it was odd, at all?’
‘Think what was odd?’
‘Turning up the way you did, so quickly. So early.’
He shrugged. ‘Didn’t seem like it. It was light, after all. And I’m a farmer. Plenty of good reasons why I should have been awake.’
She examined his face, wondering whether he was as disingenuous as he sounded. Finding no sign of irony, she laughed at him. ‘And did you have to answer a lot of police questions?’
‘Some. It was all a bit disjointed, with me and Roddy trying to deal with the cows, as well as about a hundred police people. I’m supposed to be going in to make a formal statement later today. They’d just found the gun when I left. They did say I shouldn’t go anywhere until they’d eliminated me from their enquiries.’
‘And aren’t you worried?’ She shivered. ‘I wouldn’t like it, that’s for sure.’
‘This is England, sweetie. The cops are quite benign, really. And not terribly bright, in my experience. I can handle them easily, believe me.’
‘Well, I’ve got some news of my own. As you might expect.’
‘Wait. I’ve got to have coffee, toast and a pee, first. And your birds seem a bit fed up. Isn’t it time they had some breakfast, too?’
With a little cry, part exasperation, part self-reproach, Cappy ran off to her poultry sheds and busied herself with sacks of corn and hungry fowls. Ten minutes later, she was back in her elegant kitchen, arms folded on the highly polished oak table, watching her husband eat two thick slices of toast and marmalade. Roxanne rested her long mahogany nose on his forearm, adoring eyes following every move from plate to mouth. He pretended to ignore both wife and dog until he was finished. Then he leant back, and gazed at Cappy. ‘Okay, then. Fire away,’ he said.
She hid her face in her arms for a moment, with a mock shyness at the full force of his attention. ‘I don’t know where to start,’ she giggled. ‘You’ve made me feel silly.’
‘The … what should I call it? … camp’s still there, is it?’
‘I would call it that, yes. It’s just like something from my childhood, when we went out in the forest with my father and he showed us how to survive. I still can’t believe it, how clever it is. Tucked right in the bracken, lovely and dry.’
‘And there’s nobody there this morning?’
She shook her head. ‘That’s why I went out so early, to see if I could catch them. After all, it is our land. I’ve every right to go where I like.’
‘Nobody says you haven’t. What do you mean?’
She shook herself slightly, irritated or confused. ‘Well, yes. But it’s somebody’s home. There’s a stone circle fireplace, blankets, very likely a food store somewhere, though I didn’t see it. I felt like a trespasser.’
‘Well, you’ve probably made them desert it, like a bird leaves its nest. If they’re that clever, they’ll know you’ve been snooping about. But I thought you said you’d got news. You haven’t told me anything yet. Come on, angel. I’ve got work to do.’
‘Well, it’s news that there was nobody there. And the fire was cold. I was examining it when I heard the shots. I was really scared for a minute. I thought they were shooting at me. Amazing how the sound carries.’
‘Well, I didn’t hear it. Deep asleep, I was. I haven’t got over my rude awakening, yet. You must have really flown down from the woods.’
‘Four-minute mile, I think. How far would you say it is?’
‘Less than half a mile. Still quite a run. Nice to know you’re so fit. They’d only just discovered Sam when I got there, by the looks of it.’
‘Poor Sam. What a thing. What have you told the police?’ This aspect of the story plainly absorbed most of her thoughts.
‘Nothing much more than I’ve said already. Least said the better, if you ask me. That’s an end to any more mischief in the woods, anyway.’
‘Oh?’
‘Of course it is. Security, for a start. The place will be crawling with law-enforcers now. Redstone’ll have to be sold, as well, or rented to someone who can run it. Roddy hasn’t much idea – he and I made a real mess of the milking just now. It’s all finished for the Beardons, believe me.’
She shook her head, her face serious. ‘I don’t think so, Jon. I think there’s a way to go yet. It’s all such a mess, with three people killed. If I were you, I’d be just a weeny bit worried about that interview at the police station. They’ll want to know a whole lot of background. Gossip, hunches – the complete story. Now, go and count your beasts, and stop being so annoying.’
‘Annoying! Me? That’s impossible.’ He laughed, but his feelings were ruffled by her words. As he and Roxanne made their regular trip around the bullock field, he wondered what she’d meant.
Before Jonathan got back, Cappy had a visitor. Tim Rickworth drove into the courtyard in his sporty car, and jumped out almost before the engine had died. Cappy saw him from the kitchen and went out to meet him. They stood several feet apart, assessing each other suspiciously, like cowboys preparing to draw.
‘Something’s happened at Redstone,’ he said. ‘Something else. This morning.’
She nodded. ‘That’s right. Sam’s been shot.’
‘Sam?’ His voice was shrill with disbelief. ‘Surely not! What on earth is happening to this place? It’s like 1930s Chicago.’
‘Not quite. But yes, it is terrible. He was such an – innocent person.’
‘Was? He’s dead, then?’
Cappy paused for two seconds before nodding. ‘Instantly, by all accounts.’
‘Perhaps he wasn’t quite so innocent, then. I mean, somebody must have thought he deserved to die. This should mean the list of suspects is getting shorter, anyway.’
Cappy pouted her disagreement. ‘I wouldn’t quite say that,’ she demurred.
‘Come on. Think about it. This keeps it strictly local, surely? Something very nasty in Redstone’s woodshed, if you ask me.’
Cappy made no reply.
She turned away, moving slowly towards the big trough overflowing with nasturtiums and trailing begonia. Tim watched her flicking at fat stripey caterpillars which had infested the nasturtiums. When they landed on the ground, she crushed them under her sandal.
‘They turn into butterflies, you know,’ he said mildly, fighting not to let his disgust show on his lips.
‘What? What do?’
‘Those caterpillars,’ he nodded.
She stared at what she’d done, and laughed briefly. ‘But they eat my flowers first. I can’t allow that, can I?’
Before he could respond to that, Tim was knocked violently from behind, and almost pushed off his feet. For a moment he went rigid, hands held out vertically as if ready for a karate strike. Then he span round in a blur of movement.
‘Roxanne!’ came Jonathan’s voice, still some distance away. ‘Put him down this minute.’
The dog ignored her master. Tim swung round and faced the dusty red creature raised up on hind legs, tongue lolling, unpleasant breath huffing into his face. Tim did not like dogs very much. He pushed it away, roughly, angry at the shock he’d received. Angry, too, at Jonathan’s jokey attitude. The animal should be better controlled: it could hurt someone behaving like this.
‘Come and have some coffee,’ Jonathan invited, clapping Tim matily on the upper arm. ‘Sorry about Roxanne. She can’t believe you don’t love her, you see. Neither can I, to be honest. You must be lacking in soul.’
And what about your wife, stamping on caterpillars? Tim silently retorted. Where’s the soul in that?
‘Heard about poor old Sam, then?’ Jonathan continued. ‘Chaos is come again, it would seem. Can’t wait for this whole business to be over and done with. Ghastly for poor Lilah. I’m fond of that girl, you know. Hate to see her in such a mess.’ He was breathing heavily, as if he’d been running, although he’d come walking at normal speed into the yard. He looked round for Cappy, but she hadn’t followed them into the house.
