No Place of Safety

by Robert Barnard

  ‘I see. Farming is a sort of – ’ Oddie nearly said hobby, but thought that sounded insulting – ‘sideline with you, sir, isn’t it? You’re actually an industrialist.’

  There was no hesitancy in Sir George’s nod.

  ‘That’s right. In so far as the country has any industry left. Sabre Industries plc. Ben had nothing to do with that. But if you’re implying that I don’t know what I’m doing in the farming line, then you’re wrong. I was brought up in farming countryside in North Yorkshire. I know the business – and it is a business these days – inside out. And you can believe me when I tell you that Ben was a damned good farm and estate manager.’

  ‘I’m sure he was,’ said Oddie placatingly. ‘I was just trying to gauge the amount of responsibility he had. I take it he was basically in charge of the whole farming operation.’

  ‘Yes – the smallish farm that we run ourselves, and then the financial and organizational supervision of the tenant farmers of the rest of the estate. I never had a moment’s worry the whole time he was here: he knew what he was doing, and he was honest.’

  ‘What about his private life?’

  Sir George shot him a glance.

  ‘We’re not running a monastery here. His private life was his own affair.’

  ‘Of course it was. Less so now he’s been stabbed, though. I’m not asking you to make judgements. I just want information.’

  ‘Oh tell him, George,’ said Susan Mallaby impatiently. ‘There was Hattie Jenkins, wife of one of the tenant farmers, Mrs Gregson who runs a hat shop in Otley, and Sally Wormold who has the village shop and post office. There may be more, of course, but those are the ones there were rumours about.’

  ‘Children?’

  Lady Mallaby smiled knowingly.

  ‘Hardly. They were all married women, some of them with older children or grown-up ones, and well able to take care of that kind of thing. Mrs Gregson would have been past the age, I’d guess. No, there was little danger of that.’

  ‘I ask because there had been children in the past.’

  ‘Out of wedlock? Oh dear, I betray my age. Nobody uses that term now, do they? I suppose Ben was just ahead of his time. Wasn’t there something at one time, George, about a letter from the Child Support Agency?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said her husband. ‘Got it in my mail. Get a great big bundle every day here. His address was The Lodge, Belstone Manor. Easy mistake for the postman to make. Anyway, I just opened it without looking.’ His face took on a roguish expression. ‘A bit of a shock, at my age.’

  ‘A bit of a miracle, more like,’ said his wife.

  ‘Anyway, I just sealed it down with Sellotape and put “opened in error” on it and put it in his door on my way out.’

  ‘He never commented on it?’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘And you didn’t see any of the details? The name of the child or its mother?’

  ‘If I did it’s gone now. And it can’t have meant anything to me, so it won’t have been local.’

  ‘No natural curiosity, men,’ commented Lady Mallaby tartly.

  Oddie shot a covert glance at Charlie, who sat forward in his chair.

  ‘This may seem like a change of subject, but it’s not,’ he said, looking at Lady Mallaby. ‘I believe you know a Mrs Ingram.’

  ‘Do I? Doesn’t ring a bell. What’s her Christian name?’

  ‘Alicia.’

  ‘Is she one of the people on the Leeds Piano Competition Committee, George?’

  ‘Haven’t the foggiest, m’dear. “Chopsticks” with two fingers is about my limit.’

  ‘You don’t have to play, George.’ She thought hard. ‘I have a feeling she is. Is she a frightfully condescending type – “I am trying desperately hard to bring myself down to your level” when she talks to you?’

  ‘Er . . . people might react like that to her manner,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Active in Conservative Party circles?’

  ‘Yes, certainly.’

  ‘I’ve got her. Yes, she’s been here. Muscled her way on to the committee without any particular qualifications.’

  ‘When would this have been, when she came here?’

  ‘Oh, a while ago. Let me see: maybe two years. We only met here because the original venue became unavailable at the last minute and I suggested there was room here.’

  ‘I ask because I believe when the meeting broke up, you all came out to the entrance hall, and Sir George and Ben Marchant were talking there.’

  Lady Mallaby shot him a piercing glance.

  ‘Good Lord! You seem to know more about our activities than we remember ourselves. Have you had surveillance cameras out here for the last two years? It’s positively spooky!’

  ‘Actually there’s no mystery about it,’ said Charlie hurriedly. ‘I got the information from Mrs Ingram herself. What I wondered was whether you remember the incident and whether you noticed her reaction to the sight of Ben Marchant.’

  ‘I think I may be of help to you there,’ said Sir George. ‘I remember the occasion because I noticed a woman reacting to him.’ He became slightly roguish again. ‘Tell you the truth, I often did notice Ben’s effect on women. Those women that Susan mentioned, the women around here, if ever they and Ben came in contact you could tell, if you were sharp. And other women who fancied him – well, I’m sure I don’t have to spell it out.’

  ‘Sex quite frequently rears its ugly head in our job, Sir George,’ said Charlie urbanely.

  ‘All the time, I should think. Anyway, I remember the committee coming out into the hall, and I recall this woman – I had no idea who she was, still haven’t – catching sight of Ben, and her jaw dropping just for a moment. Quite dramatic, like a stage play. Then she covered it up – very practised, good at putting on an act, that one. I’m assuming that will have been Mrs Ingram.’

  ‘Did you guess what was the cause of the reaction?’

  Sir George stroked his jaw.

  ‘I suppose I put it down to her being a former lady friend of Ben’s. No evidence, none at all. I suppose it’s just the obvious thing to think in the circumstances.’

  ‘Obvious generally, or obvious because the man was Ben Marchant?’

  ‘Because it was Ben.’

  ‘Were you surprised when Marchant won the lottery?’

  It was Oddie, taking over the questioning from Charlie. Sir George turned to him.

  ‘Surprised? I suppose one is always surprised when someone one knows gets a big win.’

  ‘Would you have said he was the lottery type?’

  Sir George frowned.

  ‘I knew he bought tickets. He often mentioned it, and I remember him being quite jealous when one of the estate workers won twenty-five pounds. And I once saw him coming out of the newsagents down in the village and scratching one of those damned cards. I do think they are beyond the pale, don’t you? Whole thing’s a bit iffy, if you ask me.’

  ‘So he was the type.’

  ‘Optimistic, a bit short-term – yes, I’d say so.’

  ‘Always waiting for something to turn up?’

  Sir George balked a little at that.

  ‘That would be a bit unfair, because Micawber was a hopeless case. Ben was like a lot of people, hoping something would turn up, while going very competently about his daily business.’

  Oddie nodded his acceptance of this analysis.

  ‘So tell me what happened when he got his big win.’

  ‘Let me see . . .’ Sir George looked at his wife. ‘It was you he told first, wasn’t it, dear?’

  ‘Yes. I was driving out to the village one Sunday morning to get the papers – no delivery here – and he waved me down and crowed that he’d got a big win in the lottery draw the night before. I was pleased for him, and I said, “Come up and have a drink before lunch”. Which he did.’

  ‘Did he say how much it was?’

  ‘I’m not sure that you know at once, do you? Anyway, he didn’t say, either then or later, d
id he, George?’

  ‘Not to me. Just used words like “substantial”, “considerable”, and suchlike. I never heard anyone name a sum, not one that they’d actually heard from him.’

  ‘Did you guess a sum?’

  ‘Well, I suppose he bought those two houses – they’d be in the thirty thousand range. So I thought it must be over a hundred thousand, remembering he was feeding these people, and so on. I suspected it would be double that, or a quarter of a million. But this was only guesswork. It could be many millions for all I know, except that Ben never said it was a top prize. But then nobody sensible would tell people if it was that sort of sum they’d won, would they?’

  ‘I suppose not,’ agreed Oddie. ‘When did he announce his plans to set up this refuge?’

  ‘Almost from the first.’ He looked at his wife. ‘I say “almost” because I can’t remember whether he told us when he came up for that Sunday drink. I know he said he’d be chucking in his job here, because that’s when I realized it was a real win, not just glorified small change.’

  ‘I think it was a few days later that he told you,’ said Lady Mallaby. ‘I seem to remember we discussed it over dinner.’

  ‘How did you react to the idea?’

  ‘Me? It wasn’t my business. It was his money and his to do what he wanted with. Nobody can walk through the streets of Leeds or London and not wonder a bit about what has happened to the country. I suppose what we thought was that it was a wonderful idea and very generous, but that the money wouldn’t last for ever. That was pretty much our reaction, wasn’t it, George?’

  ‘So far as I recall, yes. I suppose I was a bit surprised because I’d always thought of Ben as a country person, and kids on the streets are a town problem, if you get my drift.’

  ‘Was Ben a country person by birth?’

  ‘Now that you mention it, I think not. Leeds, I think. So he was going home.’

  ‘When I asked you how you reacted to Ben’s idea, I really meant: did it seem to you to be in character? Did it follow on from anything you knew about him?’

  They looked at each other, rather at a loss.

  ‘I think so,’ said Sir George slowly. ‘There was a high degree of concern for the environment. Hedgerows, anti-battery hens, that sort of thing. A bit schoolchildish, if that doesn’t sound too nasty. Nature and farming have always had their brutal sides. And then he always had a great interest in children. We sometimes have school parties out to the farm – told them a thing or two about what we were doing, then gave them the freedom of the place. Ben always enjoyed that.’

  ‘But you say he never talked about his own children?’

  ‘Never. I’m right, aren’t I, Susan?’

  ‘Oh, absolutely. Apart from the CSA letter, I had no idea. Though now I come to think about it, I did get a notion once – ’

  ‘Yes?’

  She sat for a moment in thought.

  ‘It was just watching Ben once, with one of the farm workers. They have a spastic child, and I saw Ben with it, and he was so . . . so tender, and loving and concerned that I did wonder if he’d had such a child. It was just a guess. It was probably nothing more than Ben being Ben. He was – sorry, is – naturally a concerned person. Always involved with whatever he was doing.’

  ‘It was a good guess, as a matter of fact, Lady Mallaby . . . By the way, where were you both two nights ago – the night Marchant was stabbed?’

  ‘I was here,’ said Sir George. ‘Check with our Filipinos; if you can make them understand. Oh, and one of our tenant farmers, Alf Arden, was here about half past nine.’

  ‘And I was at a Conservative Party do at the Royal in Leeds,’ said Susan Mallaby. ‘Can’t think why – politics has no appeal these days. But there’ll be plenty of people you can check it with.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think I have any more questions.’ Oddie looked at Charlie, who briefly shook his head. ‘If you should think of anything, either of you, any little thing that could be of relevance, please call us at once.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Sir George.

  ‘I take it from your questions,’ said his wife, ‘that you are looking outside the refuge for your attacker?’

  ‘We’re looking both outside and inside,’ said Oddie carefully. ‘It seems the attacker may have left by the front door, but that tells us precisely that and little more. It doesn’t rule out people from the second house, or even people from number twenty-four, because they could have come back in in the confusion. All options are still open. Obviously we have to remember that Marchant has a life outside the refuge, and a past as well as a present.’

  ‘He is a good man,’ said Susan Mallaby stoutly. ‘Past or no past.’

  As they drove out of the gates Oddie said: ‘Ring road, and then quickest way back to Leeds.’ Charlie nodded, and turned left to the village. It was two miles from the Manor, was called Monkton, and it had a village shop that fulfilled the multiple function of newsagents, general store and post office.

  ‘One of Marchant’s ladyfriends runs that, I suppose,’ said Oddie. ‘And here’s the pub. They’ll be discussing Ben Marchant here, I’ll be bound.’

  It was nearly lunchtime, and outside the Black Heifer there was indeed a knot of what looked like locals, drinking in the sun and deep in conversation.

  ‘One thing,’ said Charlie, then stopped for thought.

  ‘Spit it out.’

  ‘You talked about Ben having a past as well as a present. But thinking about the present: so far we haven’t had any suggestion of a lady friend in the Bramsey area, or anywhere else, at the moment.’

  ‘Too busy, maybe.’

  ‘With his past, does it sound likely that he wouldn’t have a woman, however busy he was?’

  ‘Maybe not . . . No, you’re right. Do you think Alan and Katy know and aren’t telling, or just don’t know?’

  ‘Shouldn’t be too hard to find out . . . The lottery story sounded OK as they told it.’

  ‘Yes. Or really you mean as he told it to them. He may have been having them on.’

  ‘Of course. Though it’s difficult to see why.’

  ‘Any number of reasons if he’d come by the money in some illegal or dubious way. Anyway, it’s something that has to be checked. Not something I’ve ever done before, though I don’t suppose they will make any difficulties. Would you like to investigate possible girlfriends while I get on to Camelot? Camelot! What a name! The modern version of the holy grail – a lottery win.’

  Charlie nodded his acceptance. In fact the possible girlfriend was only one of several avenues that he felt minded to explore.

  CHAPTER 16

  The Final Girlfriend

  When they got back to Leeds, Charlie dropped Oddie off at police headquarters, then drove off once again to Portland Terrace. The scene-of-crime people had finished now and had departed with their bagged loot of dust, mud and blood specimens. The place should have been regaining an air of normality, but just one policeman on the door was enough to prevent that. Inside, however, there was only a single representative of the law tucked away in each house, and in number twenty-four Charlie found Derek putting the dining room to rights.

  ‘I don’t know that anyone will fancy eating here tonight,’ he said dubiously. ‘Katy was talking in terms of a fork meal, which is probably sensible. Still, we’ve got to come back in here some time, and nobody’s dead.’

  ‘Nobody’s dead yet.’

  ‘The kids have had a message from the hospital. They can go and see Ben, but he won’t be able to talk to them.’

  ‘Great,’ said Charlie, unenthusiastically. ‘I suppose that means we can go and question him in Morse code.’

  ‘He may be up to writing his answers. Or you could ask him questions that need a yes or no answer, and he could make signs,’ Derek suggested. ‘Do I gather that Ben is a long-lost father, suddenly reappeared out of the blue, for Katy and Alan?’

  ‘Very much so.’

  ‘Bit too like a bloody fairy stor
y for my taste.’

  ‘Are they around?’

  ‘Upstairs in Katy’s room, discussing what they’ll say to him. They’re very excited – over the moon, in fact. Otherwise most people have gone back to take up their begging positions, and to dispute them if anyone’s tried to take them over.’

  Charlie lingered in the doorway.

  ‘Do I detect a note of scorn?’

  ‘For the kids? Not a bit. I used to play my mouth organ – “Tunes You Have Loved” – and sell the Big Issue, and I used to tell myself it wasn’t begging. But it was only a step or two up, wasn’t it? No, if there’s scorn it’s for the politicians. What a way to treat our young people. And even if they’re not sleeping rough but mooching around all day – what a load of trouble they’re storing up for the future.’

  ‘Yeah – and look who’ll be carrying the can and mopping up the trouble,’ said Charlie bitterly.

  He shut the door and went softly up the stairs. Going softly was a good idea if you were a policeman, and if you could manage it. There was a threadbare carpet on the stairs, carefully laid. Ben must be quite a handyman. On the landing WPC Gould was sitting. Charlie nodded to her, but went in the direction of the voices he could hear.

  ‘Obviously we’ll talk to him about Mehjabean,’ Alan was saying in his nearly adult voice, in the bedroom at the end of the corridor. ‘But maybe not too much. And of course we’ll say that things are fine here at the refuge.’

  ‘Well, they are,’ said Katy defensively.

  ‘As fine as they can be with policemen everywhere. And then should we say we’ll stay here for as long as necessary?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Katy, simply and finally.

  ‘Yes. It’s what Ben would want, and it’s what we want too . . . Lucky it coincides, isn’t it?’ The next words came more uncertainly. ‘Do you think we need help?’

  Katy was silent for a moment.

  ‘Well, we might. If we got anyone like Mouse again. Or Mouse himself, trying to come back . . . I wish it was Mouse that did it, Alan.’

  ‘Maybe it was. But even if he was carted off, there’s more like him out there.’