by Andrew Garve
Sunk in his thoughts, Mellanby scarcely noticed their passage through Gloucester – but once they were out on the Cinderford road he began to sit up and take an interest. They had been through the Forest two years ago with the children – Alison had been a mere toddler, then – and he’d loved it. They’d finished up in the Wye Valley, he remembered – a wonderful day … Carefree …! He started to look around for familiar landmarks. Actually, this eastern part of the Forest wasn’t very attractive – there had been a lot of coal-mining going on, as well as forestry, and though many of the old slag heaps were clothed now with grass and bracken, they hardly improved the landscape. Cinderford itself was like its name – a drab little mining village. But farther on, the road became very picturesque, with giant oaks and beeches lining the route, and intriguing vistas down the plantation drives, and pigs and sheep wandering at will over the highway … Here, the Forest was just as Mellanby remembered it – and just as lovely … It was probably looking its best today, he reflected, with its stands of green conifers bright after the rain, and the leaves of the deciduous trees showing their first tints of autumn. A heavenly place … It could be so good, he thought, simply to be alive … Perhaps it would be again one day!
They reached Coleford soon after twelve and quickly found the minor road that led to Symond’s Yat. Now tension had returned to the car, for they were very near their destination. It wasn’t necessary to ask the way to the site – almost at once they caught the gay sounds of people on holiday, and a moment later Mellanby spotted the notice – NATIONAL FOREST PARK CAMPING GROUND. Sally turned the car in through the wide oak gates and continued along an asphalted drive. The site was a pleasant, smooth-mown field with a fine view, sloping gently down to thick woods. On the left there was a sign marking the warden’s bungalow. High on the hill there was some kind of pavilion. The field made a colourful picture, with its caravans, tents and cars of every description and hue. Children and dogs were darting about, radios were playing, women were preparing lunch, men were carrying water from the stand-pipes and emptying rubbish into the dustbins. Everyone seemed very busy and very cheerful … Sally drove slowly round the oval track, while Mellanby looked about him for the Sherstons’ van. A great many of the caravans were cream-coloured – but the Chrysler, at least, should be conspicuous … They drove round twice. By then, Mellanby had examined every van and car – and he knew they’d had their journey for nothing. The Sherstons weren’t there.
Sally looked very crestfallen. ‘I suppose he changed his mind and didn’t come after all … What a wretched anticlimax!’
‘Perhaps he came, and left again,’ Mellanby said. ‘Let’s go and ask at the bungalow.’ They parked the car and walked up to the house.
The warden was friendly, and as helpful as was possible. The caravan had been there, he said – he remembered the Chrysler, and he had a record of the number. It had been parked below the pavilion, next door to the blue-and-white van they could see – but it had stayed only the one night. He had no idea where it had gone.
Mellanby thanked him, and they turned dejectedly away. They were back at the beginning again now – there seemed nothing to be done but telephone the motoring people and tell them the hunt was still on … Then Sally suggested they should have a word with the owner of the blue-and-white van, in case he knew anything, and they walked over to it. A bald, plump man in a pair of very tight shorts was playing Jokari with an equally plump youth on the grass outside the door. From the caravan came an appetizing smell and the sound of frying.
Mellanby waited till the ball had come to rest, and then addressed the man. ‘I’m sorry to bother you,’ he said, ‘but we’re looking for some friends of ours – a man and a woman with a cream caravan and a black Chrysler car. We understand they were here last night …’
‘That’s right’ the man said, ‘they were our neighbours. Very nice people … They left this morning.’
Mellanby nodded. ‘They didn’t happen to say where they were thinking of going next, did they?’
‘As a matter of fact they did,’ the man said. ‘This site was a bit too lively for them – they said they were going to some place on the other side of Monmouth … Not a camp, I gathered – just a quiet spot someone had recommended to them …’
‘Did they mention the name of the place?’
‘I believe they did, but I’m dashed if I remember it now … Something “Wood,” wasn’t it Dennis?’ The youth looked vague. ‘A Welsh-sounding name … Just a minute, let me get my map …’
The man disappeared into the caravan. Mellanby and Sally eyed each other anxiously. In a moment he was out again with an ordnance survey map of the district which he opened out on the grass. For a few seconds he studied it Then his finger pounced. ‘That’s the place – Trefant Park Wood … I knew it sounded Welsh.’
Mellanby bent over the map. A few miles to the west of Monmouth, and seven or eight from where they were, a large area of green was shown. Trefant Park seemed to be the name of the whole area. He looked at Sally. ‘Well, I suppose we’d better go there …’
‘I’m sorry I can’t be more definite,’ the man said. ‘It’ll be a bit like looking for a needle in a haystack, I’m afraid … Still you might find him.’
‘We’ll have a try, anyway,’ Mellanby said. ‘We’re much obliged to you …’ Sally smiled at the man, and with fresh hope they walked back to the car.
Chapter Thirty-Five
It was nearly one o’clock when they dropped steeply down into the little town of Monmouth. Mellanby managed to buy the inch-to-the-mile map of the district before the shops shut, and over lunch at a pleasant inn called the Crown they studied the terrain. The total area of Trefant Park Wood was nine or ten square miles. The ground was undulating, with a highest point of about four hundred feet. Not all of it was wooded – white patches on the map indicated open spaces in the interior. The place was completely girdled by a minor road, which seemed to be the obvious starting point for the search. From the road, at least a dozen tracks went off into the woods. The whole place appeared to be very sparsely inhabited. They were going to need, Mellanby thought, a lot of luck.
They quickly finished lunch, and by half past two they had reached Trefant Park and started their first circuit of the road. The wood turned out to be mainly an unfenced area, very like a continuation of the Forest of Dean but without plantations. While Sally drove, Mellanby inspected each entrance to it, peering through the openings in the trees for any sign of the van. The ground was so wet everywhere that it seemed unlikely Sherston would have risked getting bogged down off the beaten paths. That should help.
It took them an hour to make the circuit. Repeatedly they stopped, to inspect promising but half-concealed sites beside the road, or to seek information at the scattered cottages. By mid-afternoon they had still found no trace of the van. Then they began the more arduous part of the search – the combing of the interior. One by one, they explored the silent tracks that ran deep into the wood. Sometimes they were saved trouble by the absence of tyre marks in a soft surface. Sometimes they had to continue through a maze of drives for miles. Several times they got lost. It was a relief when, from time to time, they came upon patches of more open moorland country. Where the ground was undulating, it was possible to scan wide sweeps through the glasses, and save much time. There were places, though, that needed a closer look – a quick sortie on foot to inspect likely-looking spots, half-hidden by gorse or scrub, or cut off by the contours. It was at one of these, in the late afternoon when they had almost given up hope, that they found what they were looking for.
They had turned off the road along a firm, stony track that almost at once emerged from woodland into an open expanse of heather-dotted turf. According to the map, the track wound its way down to a shallow valley a quarter of a mile ahead, with a stream and more trees beyond. The valley wasn’t immediately visible, because of a hump in the ground. Once over the hump, a beautifully secluded and picturesque spot was revealed �
�� and there, beside the stream, were the cream caravan and the Chrysler.
Sally stopped the car. She looked as though she couldn’t quite believe it. Mellanby, with a grunt of satisfaction, examined the caravan through his glasses.
‘Can you see them?’ Sally asked.
‘Not a sign – but if the car’s there, they must be.’
She reached for a cigarette, and lit it. ‘How do you feel, darling?’
‘Pretty keyed up …!’
‘So do I … I wish they hadn’t stopped in quite such an isolated place.’
‘Why …? You’re not expecting Sherston to get violent, are you?’
‘I shouldn’t think so – though if he did kill Roscoe …’
‘If …! I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about, Sally. We’ll feel our way, and go easy on accusations to start with … If you do get a chance, take Eve off on her own and find out what she remembers. We’ll decide the next step when we’ve compared notes … All right?’
‘All right darling.’
‘Then let’s go!’
Chapter Thirty-Six
As Sally braked beside the Chrysler, the caravan door opened and Eve Sherston looked inquiringly out. For a moment she just stared at them, her expression as blank and unwelcoming as though they’d been complete strangers. Then she smiled. It was the familiar, fascinating smile – but this time you could almost hear it click on.
‘Well, of all things …!’ she exclaimed. She turned and called into the caravan. ‘George, it’s the Mellanbys!’
Sherston appeared in the doorway beside her. He, too, looked pretty blank. ‘Why, hallo, you two … this is a surprise …!’ His tone grew heartier. ‘Nice to see you again – do come along in … Funny thing, we were saying only last night it was about time we rang you … How did you manage to find us?’
‘It wasn’t too difficult,’ Mellanby said. ‘We got the motoring people to help – and you left quite a good trail … How are you both?’
‘We’re fine, thanks – been enjoying a good rest haven’t we, Eve? Needed it, too, after that business in Bath … Well, what about a drink to celebrate?’ He reached tentatively for a bottle from the table. There was whisky and sherry, Mellanby saw, and four clean glasses set out on a tray.
‘We’re expecting some friends along later,’ Sherston explained. ‘Nice young couple we met in Gloucester the other day – but they won’t be here yet … Will you have something, Sally?’
‘No thank you,’ Sally said. ‘It’s a bit early for me.’
‘And for me,’ Mellanby said.
‘Sure? Oh, well …’ Sherston looked hard at Mellanby, seeming suddenly to notice the seriousness of his manner. ‘Nothing wrong, is there?’
‘As a matter of fact,’ Mellanby said, ‘there is. Things have been going wrong ever since you left. That’s why we’re here.’
‘Oh, lord! – bad news, eh …? In that case, I think perhaps I’ll have a drink, if you don’t mind …’ Sherston poured himself a sizeable whisky, and drained it neat. After a moment he gave a wry grin. ‘Right – now I’m fortified … What’s the trouble, John?’
Sally looked at Eve. She was leaning forward with her arms on the table, listening intently. There was clearly no hope of detaching her at present.
Mellanby said slowly, ‘Well – the first thing that happened was a letter from a man whom Roscoe had defrauded of seven thousand pounds.’
Sherston’s jaw dropped. ‘No …!’
‘We were pretty shaken ourselves,’ Mellanby said.
‘I’m not surprised … Do you mean the letter was to you?’
‘No, it was to Roscoe. From a man named Faulkner. There’d been some correspondence between them and he knew the address.’
‘What did the letter say?’
‘It said Faulkner was going to put the police on to Roscoe. I knew we couldn’t risk any inquiries. So I went to see Faulkner and paid him the seven thousand pounds to keep him quiet. I said I was doing it out of gratitude to Roscoe.’
‘Good God! – that was pretty drastic … Wasn’t there any other way?’
‘I couldn’t think of one.’
‘Well …!’ Sherston looked utterly taken aback. ‘Why on earth didn’t you get in touch with me right away?’
Mellanby shrugged. ‘I had to move quickly – it was a question of hours.’
‘I see … Well, I’ll pay my share, of course, if you don’t mind waiting a bit. I must say it seems a hell of a lot of money to throw away – but I can see your problem …’
‘That wasn’t the worst problem,’ Mellanby said grimly. ‘We learned a few days ago that the council are going to widen Blackett’s Lane. They’re bound to break up the verges – and if Roscoe’s body is still there when they do, they’ll find it.’
There was a moment of absolute silence. Sherston sat very still. Eve’s lovely complexion had turned blotchy.
Sally said, ‘Eve, wouldn’t you like to come out for a bit while they talk about it? It’s so horrible …’
Eve shook her head. ‘I want to hear … When are they going to start, John?’
‘Almost any day now.’
‘God, what a piece of lousy luck!’ Sherston said. ‘Who’d ever have thought of a thing like that …? A narrow bloody lane that leads nowhere …!’ He broke off, his face dark. ‘Well, we’ll have to get to work again, that’s all – move the body to a new place …’
‘Sally and I have already been at work,’ Mellanby said quietly.
‘What?’ There was a sharper note in Sherston’s voice now – sharper and more apprehensive than the situation seemed to warrant, unless he had some secret sense of guilt about the body in the grave.
‘Sally and I have already moved the suitcase,’ Mellanby said. ‘We’d no idea it would be so easy to find you – we thought we’d better go ahead on our own … It was quite a job – we spent the greater part of a night out there …’
Sherston had quickly recovered his poise. ‘Hell, I really am sorry about this, John – you and Sally have been carrying the whole thing on your shoulders … Anyway, I’ll take care of the body – you needn’t worry about it any more … I can easily manage it on my own.’
Mellanby felt almost sure now. With a glance at Sally, he moved in to the assault. ‘You certainly dig much faster than I do,’ he said.
There was a moment of silence. Then Sherston said, ‘I should – I’m a good bit stronger …’
‘Even so, I’ve been wondering how you managed to dig Roscoe’s grave in less than an hour and a half.’
‘I just kept sweating at it, old chap.’
Mellanby shook his head. ‘I don’t think that was it … In fact, I know you couldn’t have done it in the time.’
Sherston ran his tongue over his dry lips. ‘What the hell are you suggesting?’
‘I’m not suggesting anything – yet. I’m merely asking you for an explanation.’
‘There’s nothing to explain. You’re wrong – that’s all.’
‘I’m quite sure I’m not wrong. It’s something I happen to know about.’
Sherston shot a glance at Eve, avoiding Mellanby’s eye. He said nothing.
‘Of course,’ Mellanby went on, ‘One explanation could be that Roscoe was in a much worse state than I thought. Perhaps you knew he was going to die, and dug the grave in readiness?’
‘Good God, you don’t imagine …?’
‘No – on the whole I don’t think I do. There could be another explanation. Perhaps you killed him because you hated him.’
‘You must be out of your mind …!’
‘Well,’ Mellanby said, ‘it’s something we shall have no difficulty in checking up on when we move the body. When we move it, Sherston – you and I. If by any chance you did kill him, there’ll almost certainly be marks.’
Very slowly, the look of outraged anger faded from Sherston’s face, giving place to deep anxiety. From Eve in the corner came a breathless ‘Oh, God …!’ as she covered her face
with her hands.
The silence was broken by the clink of glass. Sherston was reaching for the whisky bottle, pouring himself another tot. ‘Well, John,’ he said, ‘you’ve got me against the ropes, so it looks as though I’ll have to tell you the truth.’
Mellanby waited. He hated the role of inquisitor.
‘I’ve been afraid this might happen, ever since the night … I thought you’d probably realize there hadn’t been time for the digging … You’re quite right, of course. I did kill him.’
There was a little gasp of horror from Sally. Eve, wild-eyed, looked up. ‘He didn’t mean to, Sally I knew he didn’t …’
‘No,’ Sherston said, ‘I didn’t mean to. It’s true I hated him – more than anyone I’ve ever met – but I’d never have done that … You’ve got to believe me, John.’
‘What happened?’
Sherston took a long breath. ‘It was just after midnight Eve had taken her tablets and was asleep on the bed over there – dead to the world. I was sitting out here, and Roscoe was on the bed in the end room – only half-conscious, I thought. Then, suddenly, there was a noise, and I looked up, and he was coming out, crazy-eyed and lurching a bit, with his hands raised in front of him … I could see he was going to attack me. I’d put the spanner down somewhere and I couldn’t find it. There was only one thing to do – I got up and went for him with my fists …’
He broke off. His face was shining with sweat and he mopped it a little. ‘Honestly, all I meant to do was stop him.’
‘Go on,’ Mellanby said.
‘Well, he caught hold of me, and we struggled. He wasn’t as strong as he had been, but he was still strong. I managed to get him back into the end room and we fell on his bunk together. He was like a wild animal – I knew he’d kill me if he got the chance … I was fighting for my life, John. When I suddenly felt my hands at his throat I gave him all I had … The next thing I knew, he’d sagged back, and I saw that he was dead. And that’s the whole truth. I killed him – but I swear to God I never intended him to die. I was simply defending myself.’
