I pushed harder. ‘Can I take it, then, that there’s no likelihood of an arrest at the moment?’
His knowing look, his hostile silence were a confirmation: he had come to arrest Will on suspicion. Everything had pointed to it: the press hanging around the gate, the two police cars, his anger at being thwarted.
I turned up my hands in appeal. ‘So, what shall I tell the family?’
Ramsey indicated Barbara Smith. ‘DC Smith will be available to the family for liaison and support virtually on a round-the-clock basis for as long as necessary. At the same time she will be able to keep them informed of developments.’
‘I’ll let them know.’
‘DC Smith will be happy to wait until they return.’
I had no doubt she would. ‘They won’t be back for some time.’
‘She can wait outside in the car.’
‘With the press at the gate? Is that wise?’ I remarked innocently. ‘They might get the wrong idea.’
Ramsey’s gaze did not falter.
I said with great puzzlement, ‘Strange, them coming back today. Strange that they should turn up just now. Almost as if they knew…’
He studiously ignored the innuendo. ‘So, when do you suppose Mr Dearden will be available?’
‘I can bring Mr Dearden to the station later today.’
We understood each other perfectly then: I was going to bring Will in without fuss and Ramsey was to be denied his dramatic publicity coup.
‘Could you give me a time?’
‘Not at present.’
Ramsey arranged his face into a poor imitation of appreciation. ‘As soon as you can, then. I’d be grateful for as much notice as possible.’
Will did not answer his phone, and when I tried again a couple of minutes later the mobile was out of range or switched off.
I left the house with my briefcase and a stack of documents, as though for an appointment. DC Smith had settled into her unmarked car near the gate, prepared for a long day. A last photographer loaded his gear into a four-wheel drive before sweeping off across the hard. I drove away quietly, taking the east lane, eyes on the rear-view mirror, watching not for Ramsey’s people, who were accustomed to waiting games, but for the press, for whom a snatched photograph of a frowning suspect was worth a hundred words. Reaching the main road, I went in the opposite direction to Upper Farm, towards Burnham Market, and did not turn off until I was sure the road behind was empty. The little side lane wound between tall hedgerows, no one could follow unseen, but I still pulled into a gateway after half a mile and listened for other furtive engines. Starting off again, I drove much faster with a sense of being pursued by other more urgent problems, like time.
Completing a long southerly loop, I approached the barns of Upper Farm from the same direction as before, and almost missed the entrance again. Coming onto the apron, I saw no sign of the Range Rover. Casting about in slight panic, I parked hastily and sounded a short rhythm on the horn.
The hail came from some way off, blanketed by buildings, and it wasn’t until I rounded the corner of the large barn that I spotted Will by the stables, unloading bales from the Range Rover.
As I crossed the paddock towards him, he called out: ‘That was quick.’
‘Ramsey didn’t stay long.’
Working with energy. Will lifted a straw bale and chucked it into a loosebox. ‘So, what was the panic?’
‘The press. They were hanging around, looking for a story.’
He shot me a narrow stare, scenting evasions.
‘The police were going to ask you to go to Norwich with them. I didn’t want you photographed in the back of a police car.’
‘Like a suspect, you mean?’
I didn’t deny it, and in that moment his face stiffened, he seemed to understand what was coming.
I announced, ‘The police have decided to treat Grace’s death as murder,’ I gave him a moment to absorb this before delivering the rest of the bad news. ‘And I can’t be absolutely certain, but I think they’re going to arrest you, as a formality.’
‘A formality?’
‘So that they can question you under caution, so that anything you might say is admissible as evidence. It’s a way of covering themselves. It doesn’t necessarily mean they have any hard evidence against you, it doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re going to charge you with anything, or keep you in custody.’
A succession of expressions passed across his face, shadows of alarm and dread and grim acceptance.
I said, ‘I’ve told Ramsey we’ll come and see him in Norwich later today.’
Will threw the last bale into a loosebox and shut the door.
Somewhere close by an animal snorted softly, there was the rustle of bedding, and a handsome bay pushed his white-flashed nose over the half-door of the adjacent box.
‘Yours?’ I asked.
‘Grace’s. Her hunter.’
‘I didn’t know she hunted.’
‘She didn’t,’ he said rapidly. ‘She and the horse couldn’t agree on how to take the fences. I was going to sell him last year, but Grace started to get enthusiastic again. Her enthusiasm generally peaked around the time of the hunt balls.’ He screwed up his face in an expression of self-disgust. ‘I’m sounding bitter,’ he stated solemnly. ‘I’m sounding mean-spirited. And she doesn’t deserve that. Whatever else she was, she wasn’t…bad. ‘ He struck his palm softly against the door as if to confirm this in his own mind.
‘So…’ He gave a desolate, explosive laugh. ‘They’re going to arrest me. Presumably they don’t arrest people for nothing.’
‘It could be the smallest scrap of circumstantial evidence.’
He shook his head firmly, suspecting otherwise. Slamming the tailgate shut, he leant back against the vehicle with a force that made it rock, and crossed his arms fiercely. ‘You took on a bad bet with me, Ali.’ His eyes gleamed with some fiery emotion I couldn’t read.
‘No one’s a bad bet to me.’
‘No?’ he cried. ‘Well, you could just change your mind, you could just regret taking me on!’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘They’re going to say I lied, Ali. They’re going to say I lied about all sorts of things.’
‘But they’re always going to—’
He thrust out a staying hand, he raced on, ‘No, no, they’re going to be right, you see. I mean, about some of it. The thing is, I have lied to them, Ali. Oh, not about everything—I mean, I didn’t kill Grace. Minor point!’ He gave the strange bleak laugh again, his voice rose another notch. ‘Small unimportant detail! But they’re not going to be too concerned about that, are they? One lie’s much like another, really, if you think about it…’ He grimaced briefly. ‘No, I’ve lied, and they know it. And I won’t be able to deny it.’
‘You have the right to deny anything,’ I interrupted more harshly than I’d intended. ‘Or to stay silent. Don’t even think of admitting anything yet! We need to go through it firsts step by step. For heaven’s sake, promise me you won’t even think of saying anything yet!’
Chastened by my outburst, he yielded a little, he gave the suggestion of a nod.
‘Rights’ I said more coolly. ‘Tell me how they might challenge your story. Tell me what you think they might know.’
‘What I know they know.’
I conceded briskly, ‘Okay.’
What I know they know is that Grace heard what I was planning to do and rushed out to try and stop me.’ He explained heavily, ‘She’d found out that I was going to flood the Gun, she went to find me and stop me.’
‘But you weren’t going to flood the Gun.’
‘Ah….’ He made a contrite face, and a chill tightened around my heart.
‘What are you saying?’ I asked incredulously. ‘That you wanted to flood the Gun?’
‘Yes.’
‘But…why?’
He attempted a flippant gesture, a sharp jerk of one shoulder. ‘To cover it with salt! To ruin it!�
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‘To ruin it,’ I echoed helplessly. Then, trying to make sense of this: ‘Because you didn’t want…’ The thought clarified: ‘Because of Edward? You didn’t want Edward to have the Gun?’
‘Something like that.’ He spoke crisply in a tone intended to deter further comment.
I took a long breath. ‘So…have I got this right? You were aiming to flood the marsh…Grace found out…Grace came and tried to stop you?’
‘Grace got it wrong. She thought I was already there, opening the sluices, and when she didn’t find me she went off again. Disappeared.’
‘Hang on, hang on…’ He had left out far too much, and I turned him back. ‘How did she know you were intending to flood the marsh?’
A silence like a shadow. He looked away. ‘A phone call.’
‘The call from Maggie, you mean?’
‘No, from me.’
I waited for him to explain.
‘When I called from the car, I told her what I was going to do.’
‘You spoke to her from the car? You didn’t get the answerphone?’
‘I spoke to her. I told her what I was planning. She went ballistic, of course. She didn’t stop to listen, she didn’t realize I was still in the car. She shot over to Reed Cottage.’
‘But…according to Maggie the marsh was already flooding! Long before you got there!’
‘Ah.’ The penitent look again. ‘The truth is
…’ He hesitated, looking doubtful as to the benefits of truth. ‘Maggie was just trying to help. She thought it would keep things simpler if she said it was already flooding. An accident. The broken sluice. We…well, we sort of decided on it. Agreed that it was the best story.’
I wondered if the situation could get any worse, if there were any more disastrous revelations to come.
‘So…’ I searched desperately for firm ground. ‘You told Grace that you were intending to flood the marsh…Grace thought you were doing it then and there. She rushed out.’ I halted, I said almost to myself, ‘Do we know that Grace rushed out?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Will dropped his head. ‘You see…’ He delivered the words with dark emphasis: ‘Grace was not alone. She had company at Marsh House. That was what Jilly came to tell me about earlier. You were here, weren’t you? You saw her?’
I nodded briefly.
‘Well, she came to tell me that Edward was there with Grace at Marsh House, that he’d dropped by to see her about the festival, to have tea. Knowing I wouldn’t be there, of course. Knowing better than to risk seeing me.’ He shivered with brief tension before hurrying on, as if to get the whole miserable story out in the open as quickly as possible. ‘It seems that Edward was there when Grace took my call. She told him that I’d gone totally mad or words to that effect, said that I was hell-bent on destroying the marsh, that I’d opened the gates—some sort of stuff like that. And then she rushed out of the house and jumped into her car. Oh, and…’ He waved a careless hand. ‘According to Edward, he then had a fit of conscience. Thought he’d better make sure Grace was all right.’ He commented in a scornful undertone: ‘More worried about the Gun, if you ask me. More worried about seeing his precious investment flooded! Anyway,’ he went on scathingly, ‘according to him he drove over and heard a row. Thought he’d better keep out of it and retreated. Well, that’s what Edward has gone and told the police. Something like that. He went yesterday, according to Jilly. Doubtless that’s why they’ve leapt into action.’ He flourished a hand to mark the end of the tale, and frowned into the distance.
My first reaction was amazement, my second—far more intense—was disbelief. ‘This is mad, Will. It doesn’t make sense! Why didn’t Edward come forward before? Why’s he waited all this time? No—it’s crackers!’
‘It was Jilly…’ Stepping away from the Range Rover, he straightened up and thrust his hands in his pockets. ‘Jilly talked him out of it.’
‘But…why?’
He said, with soft irony, ‘The goodness of her heart?’
Another connection that took me by surprise.
‘Jilly…?’ But he offered no further information and I was left with a jumble of conflicting information. Desperate for understanding, I reached back to the beginning of the puzzle, to the first mystery, and asked again, ‘The marsh…You really intended to spoil it?’
A definite hesitation. ‘It seemed a good idea at the time.’
‘But you weren’t serious about it?’
‘Oh, yes—totally serious.’
I tried to picture him flooding the marshy but I couldn’t see it, couldn’t imagine his mood at the time. ‘But…the Gun would be worthless if it was ruined.’
The hesitation again, another frown. ‘Yes.’
‘So what were you hoping to achieve?’
‘I wasn’t thinking too straight that night. I was angry at hailing to sell it. I just…went mad.’
Again, something about this image bothered me, I couldn’t make it come to life. ‘Okay…Just take me through what happened when you finally arrived at Reed Cottage.’
‘What? Oh, then I opened the sluices.’
‘Both of them?’
A pause. ‘Yes.’ He spoke very deliberately, aware of the implications. ‘Both gates.’
‘Then?’
He made a gesture, suggesting it should have been obvious. ‘I left the marsh to flood.’
‘How long for?’
‘Oh, I don’t know…an hour or so.’
‘And what about Grace? Where was she?’
‘No idea. She’d come to look for me, then disappeared again, driven off. I never saw her on the marsh. I had no idea she’d even been there.’ A sound escaped him, an abrupt gasp, half laughs half desperation. ‘Not that anyone’s going to believe that, are they?’ He glanced at me, smiling grimly. ‘Eh?’
Needing to hear the worst, I asked, ‘What about this row that Edward heard? The raised voices?’
‘It was Grace yelling at Maggie. Not having me to shout at, she shouted at Maggie instead.’
‘So just to be sure I have this absolutely clear—you didn’t see Grace at any time that afternoon or evening?’
‘No.’
I took a long breath, I got my bearings again. ‘So…what happened after you opened the gates? Where did you go? What did you do?’
He took his time, he had to think about it, and a part of me stood back and saw him as Ramsey would see him, with a critical eye, and it seemed to me that this kind of uncertainty would count heavily against him, that he would need to get his story much straighter in his mind before facing the police.
‘I walked,’ he said at last. ‘I walked for miles. I was angry, you see. Furious. With myself, with life, with the money problem, with having to sell the Gun. You name it. I walked out to the dunes and along the sea bank, around the other side of the Gun and back along the bottom path.’
‘Where did you go then?’
‘Reed Cottage.’
‘What time did you get there?’
‘Oh…’ His brows sank deep over his eyes, he brushed the question aside. ‘Not sure.’
‘You must have some idea.’
He sighed, ‘Eight?’
‘And you didn’t see Grace?’
‘No.’
‘You didn’t see her car?’
‘No.’
I had already asked it, but I had to ask again, ‘And there was no row between you?’
‘No.’
‘And what about the sluices? When did you close them?’
‘Shortly after I got back. When I realized how stupid the whole thing was.’ He shook his head in disgust, and kept shaking it. ‘When I realized I was cutting off my nose to spite my face. Ruining perfectly good land. Destroying any chance of selling it! Loathing the thought of selling it at all!’ He lifted his handsome face to the sky. ‘Stupid. Mad.’
‘And then?’
‘Then?’ He frowned as if the answer were self-evident. ‘Then I had to wait for the tide so I could
begin to drain it away.’
‘You stayed at Maggie’s?’
‘Yes, yes,’ he said dully. ‘Drank too much wine, fell asleep on the sofa. Felt so bad, Ali. It was all such a bloody mess! Money…crisis after crisis…marriage…Everything looming, I just wanted to bury my head in the sand—or a gas oven. There were times that night when I wasn’t sure which was the most attractive.’ He flashed me a rapid humourless smile, denying his words, but not so strongly that I didn’t appreciate what he had gone through that night.
I looked out over the fields, towards a lone copse of beeches standing sentry duty on a distant hill, and the landscape seemed very bleak and very cold.
‘So I’m Ramsey,’ I said at last. ‘I’m listening to all this, and so far I have the following…you phoned Grace from the car to tell her that you were intending to flood the Gun Marsh, you arrived at the Gun at six twenty or six thirty, you went out to the sluices, you opened them. In the meantime, Grace had turned up, found you weren’t there, had a row with Maggie and disappeared again. You never saw her. The moment Grace was discovered to be missing, you and Maggie concocted a story whereby the marsh flooded of its own accord and no one saw Grace at all, not even her car…’ I turned to him, I threw up my hands, I said in utter despair, ‘This is nonsense. Will! Complete nonsense!’
‘Why? I wish it were.’
‘Well, you certainly mustn’t admit to any of it.’
‘Oh, but I have to.’
‘But there is no reason to.’
‘I’d rather get it out of the way.’
I paced off, I did a small circuit while I attempted to control my exasperation. Facing him again, I said very deliberately, ‘This story will do you the most terrible damage, Will. This story’—I spelt out each word—‘will get you charged!,
‘But they know about the call, they know I was planning to open the sluices. Edward’s told them.’
‘Listen.’ I put my face close to his, I fixed him with my sternest gaze. ‘This story is madness. This story is going to put you in the wrong place at the wrong time, without an alibi, with a motive. This story,’ I repeated urgently, ‘will get you charged.’
His expression hardened, his jaw worked furiously.
‘My advice,’ I said, ‘in fact, more than my advice—my firmest possible recommendation is to stick to what you said before, to add nothing to your original statement, to change not a word. If the police suggest you opened the sluices deliberately, simply point out that it wasn’t in your interests to do so, quite the reverse in fact—it could only ruin the land just when you were about to sell it, just when you wanted the highest possible value for it. If they say Grace was coming over to stop you opening the sluices, simply point out that you weren’t there, you were still in your car miles away and we have the mobile phone records to prove it. Offer no further comment. Offer no explanation for Edward’s statement. Look puzzled—whatever you like.’ Sensing his growing resistance, trying to preempt it, I argued, ‘There’s no come-back on not knowing, Will! There’s no danger in saying nothing. The danger’s in telling them things they don’t need to know, things which will give them entirely the wrong idea!’ I pleaded, ‘Believe me! Trust me! Just stick with what you’ve said. Or rather, don’t alter it. That’s what I mean—just don’t alter it. Don’t say anything about getting it wrong. And certainly don’t say anything about lying, about cooking up stories with Maggie.’ I came to a halt, I gave a deep sigh, I lifted both arms. ‘I beg you.’
A Dark Devotion Page 32
