No Accident (The Kent Fisher Mysteries Book 1)

by Robert Crouch

  "I'm doing the best I can." I remove the rotted timber and align the replacement piece to check it's a good fit before nailing it in place. The thud of the hammer feels good. "All my spare cash goes into this place."

  "Where's the urgency when you expect me to bail you out, Will? You need to attract investment and generate income."

  I grab the handrail and wiggle it. A sharp tug and it comes away from the supporting posts. "If you stop paying I'll have to sell."

  "I'm telling you to focus." He hands me the replacement handrail and holds it in place. "Stop fighting battles you can't win. Concentrate on what you can achieve."

  The battles he refers to are my opposition to fracking, GM crops, the destruction of habitats, and my ongoing war with wealthy landowners. As the son of a Cabinet Minister, the media love to exaggerate stories about my exploits, hoping to embarrass him.

  I pound the nails into the wood. "You're telling me to put my energy into the sanctuary and stop defending the environment."

  He withdraws a cheque from his pocket. He could transfer money electronically, but he likes to make a show of things. He unfolds it and takes a closer look, whistling with surprise. "This will help you make a difference here."

  The amount will clear debts and pay for repairs to the Land Rover. "You could have posted it," I say.

  He gives me that innocent look he does so well. "Can't a father visit his son from time to time?"

  "On the day I investigate a death at Tombstone Adventure Park?"

  His smile fades. He stares at me while he lights his cigar again, blowing out clouds of dark smoke. "What's more important, Will—this place or the accident investigation?"

  "It's not a question of choice."

  He shakes his head. "You always have a choice. Every morning when you get out of bed and look into the mirror, you have a choice. Make it the right one."

  The cheque’s from an account I don't recognise. "You're not going to release the money unless I drop the investigation, are you?"

  "As I said, you have a choice."

  I tear the cheque in two, hand the pieces to my father and walk away.

  Eleven

  He calls after me. "You're making a big mistake, Will."

  "Me? I'm not the one trying to protect Birchill. Why don't you want me going after him?"

  He says nothing, leaving me to guess, as I've had to on many occasions. Never betray your emotions in public. Remain cool, claim the moral high ground, and act with honour and integrity. These are the rules he lives by. These are the rules that led to the Daily Mail naming him the most anonymous Cabinet Minister ever.

  To me, his rules mean sit on the fence, don't tell anyone what you think. If you're forced to, play the intellectual and claim you cocked up trying to do your best for everyone.

  I don't know why he hates Birchill. I suspect it has something to do with him thieving when he worked in Downland Manor stables. His dodgy property dealings, which made him a rich man, wouldn't have helped either. Yet despite this hatred, my father never publicly condemned the plans to build Tombstone Adventure Park. He told me he had to represent everyone and couldn't take sides on a planning appeal, referred to his department for a decision.

  Many saw his refusal to speak out as support for the development.

  "Why are you protecting Birchill?" I ask, refusing to let him fob me off with silence.

  "I'm protecting you, not him."

  "I don't need protecting. The law protects me."

  He gives me his most intellectual sneer. "Will it protect you from public humiliation when Birchill sets his dogs on you?"

  "What dogs?" I demand, my voice rising.

  He remains calm. "You've harassed his employees. Carry on like that and you'll make him look like the victim."

  "Come on, Dad! If I don't badger them, they won't tell me anything."

  "Collins was self-employed. He has nothing to do with Tombstone, and they're not responsible for his machinery."

  "You're well informed," I say, collecting the old timber from the ground. "Has Birchill complained about me?"

  His impassive expression betrays nothing yet tells me everything. "He already has an injunction against you, Kent. You're making it too easy for him."

  "If you're telling me to back off, I can't do that. I have evidence that proves Tombstone employed Tollingdon Agricultural to service the tractor."

  "Aren't you overlooking the most important point? Syd Collins removed the guard, contributing to his own death."

  "Who told you that? Birchill?"

  "Can you prove Collins didn't remove the guard?"

  Of course I can't, and he knows it. "I'll find a way," I say, ignoring the odds against me. "That's why I need to find out what Collins was like."

  "Maybe you should consult a medium," he says with a smirk. "Though I don't think evidence obtained from a séance is admissible in court."

  He's so funny I want to nominate him for a comedy award. I turn towards the barn, adjust the old timber under my arm, and start walking. "I'll stick to evidence from this world, thank you. Collins doesn't wear ties."

  "So why was he wearing one this morning?"

  I'm starting to wonder if my father planted a listening device on me. It looks like Danni has supplied him with the details of my investigation, but she doesn't know everything.

  I stop and face him. "I checked Collins' place. Not a tie to be found."

  "You were in his house?" He stares at me in disbelief. "Are you mad or just plain stupid?"

  "I'm doing my job."

  "You can't just walk into people's houses, you idiot!" For once, his legendary cool has deserted him. His face grows redder as he becomes more animated. "Are you determined to throw away your career?"

  "We had a quick nose around, that's all. Under health and safety law I can search for the missing guard."

  "Did you find it?"

  I shake my head.

  He pushes back his hair with a sweep of his hand. "You said 'we had a quick nose around.' Who's 'we'?"

  I'm annoyed with myself for that little slip. "Gemma Dean," I reply.

  "You took the Chief Executive's niece into an empty house in the middle of nowhere without a warrant?" His voice rises with each word. "Have you any idea what the newspapers will say?"

  I break into a smile. He's worried my behaviour will reflect badly on him. "Let me guess," I say. "Son of Government Minister has sex romp in dead man's house?"

  He grabs my arm to stop me in my tracks. He's in my face, his breath reeking of cigar. "You've absolutely no idea how much trouble you're in, have you?"

  "I'm doing my job."

  "Wake up and smell the coffee, Will! You won't have a job when Birchill's finished with you. Drop the investigation or you'll lose everything."

  The foul stench of cigar makes me nauseous. "I think Danni might notice if I suddenly drop the case."

  "Hasn't she told you?"

  I tense. "Told me what?"

  "Birchill gave Collins the machinery, the barn and the two houses. Daniella Frost has copies of all the legal documents, signed and properly witnessed by his solicitor. Your case is against Collins, not Birchill."

  I might have known Birchill would pull a stunt like that, but I didn't expect my father to play games with me. He could have mentioned this when he arrived, but he wanted to see if I would take his money and drop the investigation.

  "The documents are fakes," I say.

  He looks at me as if I'm beyond redemption. "And you wonder why you're in so much trouble. You're so prejudiced you have no credibility. You should never have set foot in Tombstone. Be thankful I'm baling you out." He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a second cheque, which he presses into my hand. "Think of the animals you can save."

  "I'm thinking about the animal that's getting away."

  "The case is closed," he says, pointing a warning finger. "If you go anywhere near Tombstone or continue in any way, you'll lose this place."

  "You mean you
'll stop helping me out?"

  "You know what I mean. You can't run this place on what I give you."

  "Then give me a chance. You made enough money from the sale of Downland Manor."

  He's in my face again and breathing fast. "I'm lucky to have a roof over my head, you ungrateful sod! I gave up everything that was dear to me so you could have this place. Have you any idea how much this small strip of land is worth?"

  I nod, refusing to back off.

  "Then you know how much I sacrificed to keep this small piece of Downland in our name. Stop playing the hero and make this sanctuary work, because if you don't, everything I did will be for nothing."

  He strides towards the barn. I look down at the cheque, which allows me to pay some bills. In a month's time, I'll need another. Will that come with conditions too?

  I know I should be grateful, but I can't help feeling he's bought me off. My job is to help people who want to comply with the law and punish those who don't. Without enforcement, there's no justice. Without justice, the cheats and the bullies win. People like Birchill can do what they want with impunity. How can that be fair to all the hardworking people who try to do things right?

  I follow him back to the barn and dump the waste wood and my tool belt. I hate being boxed into a corner almost as much as I hate being wrong. Not that I think I'm wrong about Birchill—I just can't do anything about it.

  My father's watching the dogs in the kennels. They press their noses to the door, hoping for a treat. That's how I feel. Only I have to earn mine by betraying the principles I hold dear. I want to tear the cheque into tiny pieces and show him I can't be bought, but I have to consider Frances and the animals. This isn't their fight. They've done nothing wrong.

  "So, will Danni close the case, or is that my job?" I ask.

  "You're the investigating officer, Will. When you officially close the case, you'll get your money."

  "Don't you trust me?"

  He laughs and walks outside. "Use the money to smarten the place up. You need to encourage more visitors, not frighten them off."

  He freezes as the sound of tyres squealing on the tarmac precedes Gemma's Volvo, which swings into the site, narrowly missing his Jaguar. She swerves past it and slides to a halt in a cloud of dust. She's changed into a pale blue cropped top that reveals her flat, tanned stomach. Her denim shorts, frayed along the hem just about cover her rear, leaving little to the imagination.

  As she approaches, my father straightens his shirt and runs his hands over his hair. "At least you've grown out of dating teenagers, Will."

  "That's my colleague, Gemma Dean."

  He laughs. "Does she make a habit of bringing you supper?"

  She saunters up, two boxes cradled in her arm. He looks her over, grins, and nods at the pizzas. "I'm hot and spicy," he says. "You?"

  "I'm a meat treat," she replies. "But Kent prefers pepperoni, so we're both out of luck."

  "I'm William Kenneth Fisher, MP," he says, looking more clumsy than casual as he pushes his hands into his pockets. "Give my regards to your uncle, Gemma."

  She looks at me, then him. "You're Kent's dad? Cool. You're younger than I expected."

  "You're prettier than I expected."

  "I can see why you have a big majority, Mr Fisher." She turns to me. "I'll put these in the oven before they go cold. That way to the kitchen?"

  I watch her skip up the stairs, wondering why she called around unexpectedly.

  "Ring me tomorrow," my father says, heading towards his Jaguar.

  "The Coroner's Officer expects a report for the inquest. I need to write up my notes and put them on the computer. Then there's the report for my boss, explaining why the investigation is over. The Chief Executive will want to see me. Then the portfolio holder—"

  "My territory," he says, getting in the car. "You inform Miles Birchill."

  "Don't worry," I say under my breath, "I'll tell him."

  I head up to the flat. Gemma's already switched on the oven and found some garlic bread in the freezer. Now she's searching for some oven trays.

  "Do you often walk into people's homes and rummage around?" I ask.

  She grins. "Just following your example. Nice kitchen, by the way. I love the blue units."

  I retrieve my bottle of chilled water from the fridge. "They were part of a showroom display. I got everything for nothing, including the spotlights and trims."

  "And you put it all together?"

  I fitted everything but the vinyl flooring and propane stove. "Most of it," I reply.

  "I'm impressed. So, where do you keep the oven trays?"

  I find them for her. As soon as the pizzas are in the oven, she's heading for the open plan lounge, which runs across the front of the barn. Two Velux windows in the roof and three small casements that overlook the yard provide natural lighting.

  "It's huge," she says, scanning the room. "And so organised. You'll make someone a lovely wife."

  I've zoned the room. The TV area has an ex-display corner unit sofa that was heading for the dump, a hi fi stack that's borderline antique, and enough CDs to open a shop. The office area has bookcases I salvaged from a shop that closed, a small desk and filing cabinet a showroom was throwing away, and the notice board where I post all my reminders. The gym area has a multifunction machine, bar bells, and a treadmill for those winter days when I can't be bothered to run in the cold and wet.

  Gemma wanders around, looking unimpressed. "It's like an operating theatre, Kent. Don't you have any photographs or paintings to liven things up?"

  I point to my DVD collection, which includes box sets of Inspector Morse, Columbo and Miss Marple. I have a Sony PlayStation 2. It's out of date, but I'm not dextrous or patient enough to play modern games. I can't keep track of the information on the busy screens. That's not an issue with Space Invaders.

  "We like it," I say, picking up one of the games consoles. "Frances and I often battle it out for control of the galaxy on cold winter evenings."

  "You never told me you lived with someone."

  I should point out that Frances only visits to eat, play games, watch films, and sleep in the spare room during cold winters.

  "Let's get back to the kitchen. I think the pizzas are ready."

  The aroma of tomato, onion and pepperoni competes with garlic for my attention when I enter the kitchen.

  Moments later, Frances comes in from the stairs. She stops when she spots Gemma. They regard each other, their expressions giving nothing away. I break the uncomfortable silence with introductions.

  "Gemma's brought pizza."

  "I only brought two," Gemma says. "I didn't know you lived here."

  I raise a finger to my lips as Frances looks ready to explain. "You work with Kent," she says. "Me too."

  "Frances runs the sanctuary," I explain.

  "And there's plenty to do," she says, moving towards the door.

  Gemma peers into the oven. "Please join us. There's enough for three. You can tell me how you do your hair like that. It's awesome."

  Frances blushes and moves closer to the door. Normally, she's unconcerned with what others think, but she looks self-conscious. Her fingers fiddle with her braids.

  "I've got something for you," I say, realising why she popped in. "Gemma, we'll just be a moment."

  I beckon Frances into the lounge and close the door. I pull the banker's draft from my pocket and hand it to her. She looks at it and sighs with relief. Then to my surprise throws her arms around my neck and hugs me. She has the earthy smell of dogs and horses about her. Her cheek's hot against mine.

  "Sorry," she says, blushing again as she retreats. "I thought he was going to get rid of me."

  "That's my decision, not his, Frances. I can't manage without you here. This money will keep us solvent for another month or two."

  "He's changed banks," she says, studying the cheque before she hands it back. "I hope it doesn't bounce."

  It can't bounce if I tear it in two, but that's a decisio
n for the morning. "Is that it?" I ask when she doesn't move.

  "Did you tell her I lived here?"

  I shake my head. "She assumed."

  "Are you trying to make her jealous?"

  I'm not sure what I'm trying to do. "Stay for tea," I say. "You'll like Gemma."

  Frances fiddles with her braids again. "She's very pretty, isn't she?"

  "And so are you."

  She shakes her head. "I can't wear clothes like that. You know how clumsy I get in heels, and I'm useless at makeup."

  "Let's just eat. I'm sure Gemma wants to get back to her fiancé."

  Frances looks up. "She's engaged? I didn't notice a ring."

  "There isn't one."

  Gemma's divided the pizza onto three plates. She's standing with her hands on her hips, staring into the fridge. "Do you have anything alcoholic?" she asks, pulling out a bottle of Beck's Blue. "This is neutered."

  I'm about to offer it to Frances when she scoots out of the door. "I really need to check the kennels," she calls over her shoulder.

  "Is she all right?" Gemma asks, replacing the bottle.

  "You intimidate her."

  "How? I haven't done anything."

  Of course not, I think, looking at her shorts and cropped top. "Can you close the fridge before it reaches room temperature?"

  "You must be a laugh a minute to live with," she says, closing the door with a thud. She sits at the table and helps herself to the largest slice of pizza. She tears a chunk off with her teeth, smothering the corners of her mouth with tomato.

  "Frances is stunning," she says, a sneering undercurrent to her voice.

  "Why did you call round?" I ask.

  "I thought we could look at the files from Collins' computer." She devours the rest of the slice with vigour. I don't know how she can eat like a horse and not put on an ounce.

  I'd planned to check the files and emails after I'd written up my notes for today. But, if we look now, I can get rid of her sooner. "Let's do it now," I say, rising. "I'm meeting Mike in the Bells later."

  "Even though you don't drink?"

  "Pubs serve fruit juice and coffee these days."

  I grab two of the plates and beckon her to follow. My computer lives in an alcove in my bedroom. It used to be in the lounge, but I found the TV distracting.