by Faith Martin
Get Janet safe! What are you thinking about, boy?
To his relief, Ronnie had the grace to flush in shame for not thinking of her first, and after shooting his father’s stiff back a final, fearful gaze, began to back away, keeping Janet behind him. Luckily, the open kitchen door wasn’t that far away, and his father was way too thunderstruck at the interruption to sense the movement going on behind him.
‘I said, who the hell are you and what are you doing here?’ Ray roared.
Trudy, her heart in her mouth, saw Duncan flinch, then force a smile onto his handsome face. ‘I’m the man who can help you, Mr Dewberry,’ Duncan began glibly.
Trudy groaned, wanting to throttle him! Of all the times to chance his luck like this. Did he not realise that he couldn’t rely on his charm or his cheek to see him through in a situation like this? Ray Dewberry didn’t care a fig for his fancy words or persuasive ways – he’d just shoot him!
‘He’s nobody important,’ Trudy said lightly, desperately trying to think of a way to ensure that Ray Dewberry didn’t see him as a threat. ‘He’s just a pesky reporter for the local rag.’ She hoped her tone came out as casual and slightly scornful as she’d hoped.
Behind her, Clement gave a sigh of relief as he saw first Janet back into the farmhouse and disappear, and then Ronnie. He was even more pleased when he saw the kitchen door quietly close. Surely the boy would have the sense to lock it? And bar it for good measure? Hopefully Janet was even now running for the telephone to call the police.
‘A reporter!’ Ray said in disgust. ‘That’s just what I need!’ he snorted.
‘But Mr Dewberry, don’t you see, that is just what you need,’ Duncan said, trying to ignore the roiling in his stomach that made him want to throw up, and the slightly light-headed feeling that made him want to sit down.
When he could no longer deny to himself that Ray was about to start killing, the idea had popped into his head like a cork out of a bottle and before he’d had time to think it through, something had compelled him to stand up. He’d then walked the few steps around the wall to enter the courtyard.
Now he just had to pull it off.
‘You said just now that you had no choice, and that it was all Iris Carmody’s fault,’ Duncan swept on nervously, needing to lay out his pitch before the man just went totally off his rocker and started blasting. ‘Isn’t that right? And that nobody would understand the real truth of the matter?’
Ray continued to glare at him in silence.
Duncan swallowed hard, but tried another smile. ‘Well, that’s where I can help you,’ he said, and risked twitching his hand with the notebook in it. ‘You see, I can tell your story for you, Mr Dewberry. You can have your say. You can tell everyone what Iris was like, and how she drove people mad, forcing you to do what you didn’t want to do. You said nobody would understand, but that’s only true if they don’t get the chance to. But you can make them understand how it all was.’
Was Ray beginning to look less, well, murderous, and more thoughtful, or was that just wishful thinking? Encouraged, he took a cautious step forward. ‘Don’t you want people to understand how and why it all happened? How it wasn’t all your fault?’
Duncan risked a quick look at Trudy, a silent appeal for her not to do anything rash, but let him make his play. If he could only talk the man down, they might all get out of this alive. But behind the farmer’s bulky shoulder, he could see the old vulture on the move, silently padding up behind Ray and carefully closing the gap.
Duncan felt his heart begin to pound. If the silly old fool tackled him and the gun went off, it could blow him, Duncan, in half!
‘And don’t you think people deserve to know the truth?’ he said loudly, desperate to think of something, anything, that would keep the man distracted. ‘After all, there are bound to be other girls like Iris out there, right?’ he asked, anxious to appease the farmer, who was, in his opinion, definitely not right in the head. And what could appeal more to a mad-man than the chance to talk about the object of his mania? ‘Other beautiful but rotten girls, all set to destroy other men, unwary men like you, without a single thought. Don’t you think they need to be warned, Mr Dewberry? Surely it’s your duty to do so, and people will even thank you for it.’
Trudy finally caught on to what he was trying to do, and turned to look at the armed man, trying to see if Duncan was succeeding in reaching him. And, she thought, he actually might be.
At least the scowl was gone, and Ray was looking at him more thoughtfully now.
Duncan thought so too, for he swept on encouragingly. ‘Just think of it, Mr Dewberry – everyone would read your story in the paper and all of them would understand then, wouldn’t they? Your neighbours, and strangers alike. You can’t be the only man taken for a ride by someone like Iris, can you? So they’d all know how it must have been, yes? And they wouldn’t judge you for it.’
Ray nodded. ‘Don’t reckon they would,’ he conceded slowly.
Trudy held her breath and began to hope.
Clement, although still stalking the man with the gun, slowed slightly, giving the sweet-talking young man a chance to work his magic.
And Duncan wasn’t about to disoblige him! He wanted the man to put down the shotgun more than anyone, since it was aimed right at his chest. ‘And girls like Iris don’t really fool other women, have you ever noticed that Mr Dewberry?’ he cajoled. ‘I’d bet you any money you like that the women in the village all said that Iris was no good, didn’t they?’ That he knew was true, since he’d interviewed his fair share of them.
Ray again slowly nodded. ‘Aye, they did. None of the womenfolk liked her.’
‘There you are then,’ Duncan said brightly. ‘If you tell your story, all the women who read it will understand. And isn’t that what you really need, now, more than anything? For people to understand how all of this wasn’t really your fault?’ He again waved his notebook in the air. ‘So why don’t we just sit down somewhere quiet, and you can tell me everything, and I’ll write it down, and then everyone will understand. All right?’
Ray sighed. ‘It’s all going to hell in a handcart, ain’t it?’ he conceded sadly.
‘I’m afraid so, Mr Dewberry,’ Clement said quietly, and when the farmer swung his way, Duncan almost felt his knees give way in relief to no longer be looking down the barrels of that shotgun.
Now that he had the elder Dewberry’s attention, Clement held out his hands in a what-can-you-do gesture. ‘With Mr Gillingham on the scene, there’s no way you can win now, is there? Not only are you hopelessly outnumbered, but his newspaper will know where he’s gone. And when he doesn’t turn up … besides, your son and Janet have, by now, already called the police and told them what’s happening.’
At this, Ray started and looked wildly around, only then realising that Ronnie and Janet were, indeed, missing.
For a moment Ray quivered, a bit like a lurcher dog spotting a rabbit, so tense and alert and ready for something to happen that he was actually trembling with the need to act.
And then, just like that, it all seeped out of him. Maybe his son’s desertion was the final straw. His head lowered fractionally and the gun barrels dipped until they were pointed at the ground. Eventually he nodded.
Trudy managed to drag in some much-needed air, unaware until then that she’d actually been holding her breath.
‘So I’ll take the gun then, shall I?’ Clement said calmly, holding out his hand, moving carefully forward. ‘Whilst you and this young man get to work.’ He let his gaze move sardonically over Duncan. For although he would have to acknowledge the debt they owed to him, he was under no illusion. The reporter might have helped save their lives, but he’d done it with one eye on an exclusive interview with a killer – and all the fame and kudos that would net him.
‘Yes, we need to do it quickly,’ Duncan agreed, having no trouble reading the old vulture’s mind – and feeling resentful, as always, at his perspicacity. The old sod had never like
d him! ‘If the police are on their way, we won’t have much time, and I need to get down all of your story.’
Over the killer’s shoulder he shot the coroner a hostile look.
For another moment, Ray Dewberry wrestled with the inevitable. Finally he gave a long, forlorn look around at the place where’d he’d lived all his life – and would never see again – then sighed, and wearily broke the shotgun open and half-heartedly offered it to Clement, who moved on rubbery legs to accept it.
Trudy came to stand beside her friend. She didn’t have any handcuffs on her, so making a formal arrest seemed pointless. Besides, she was sure it would go a long way to appeasing DI Jennings’s wrath if she left it to him to do the honours.
Also, as she watched Duncan scribble in his notebook whilst Ray Dewberry began to unburden his soul, she knew she hadn’t the heart to do anything that would stop him from getting his precious story. When all was said and done, he’d risked his life to get it. And had probably saved her life, and that of at least one of the others, in the bargain. Probably Dr Ryder’s, she mused. For she knew, if it had come down to it, and she thought Ray had been about to open fire, she’d have had to take her chance and rushed him.
And she knew that Dr Clement Ryder wouldn’t have been far behind her.
The wait for the police cars to arrive seemed to Trudy to be both long and short, since she was still feeling prone to that sensation that it was all a dream. She knew she was probably in a little bit of shock, but then, weren’t they all?
Were they really standing around in the sunlit farmyard whilst Janet and Ronnie sheltered in the house, and Duncan interviewed a killer? Was Clement really stood there, standing guard with the shotgun, just in case?
But then they heard the sound of the sirens, and Duncan started frantically getting in some final questions. Ray Dewberry answered them calmly, as if he was talking about the price of wheat.
Chapter 36
It was dark by the time Trudy, DI Jennings and Superintendent Finch had enough time to gather together for a short meeting in the DI’s office. Ray Dewberry had been processed and everyone had given their statements.
Not surprisingly, they were all looking tired and emotionally spent.
Keith Finch alternated between euphoria that his son’s memory was now secure and safe from slander, and a grim, hollow-eyed acceptance that that wouldn’t bring him back from the dead.
DI Jennings, too, swung from sheer relief that he’d solved his murder case, to annoyance that, once again, it was the old vulture and his wayward female WPC that he had to thank for it.
He’d already wasted some of his breath hauling her over the coals for not waiting for him at the Baines’ house and going off on what might have been a wild goose chase without reporting in. The fact that, through sheer luck and incompetence, Trudy, the old vulture and some have-a-go-hero of a reporter had managed to save Janet’s life, and maybe even the Dewberry boy’s, was enough to make him want to chew the wallpaper. So he still had plenty of spleen left that he wanted to vent – and he was determined to do so. When it was safe to.
Needless to say, however, with Superintendent Finch now firmly on Trudy’s side (and with the rest of the top brass happily giving interviews to the press on how clever they’d been in solving not one but two highly-publicised murders) he knew that she wouldn’t be facing any actual disciplinary charges. And her star, as ever, was rising high.
He supposed, grudgingly, that he had to admit that she’d acquitted herself quite well, all in all. It wasn’t every green young copper who could keep their head when faced with a killer holding a shotgun.
‘How is Mrs Baines doing, sir, do you know?’ Trudy asked now, jerking the Inspector’s mind from his inner grumbling.
‘Last I heard, the doctor said she was in a coma,’ he grunted and glanced at the coroner. ‘Bleeding on the brain, or some such thing?’
Clement nodded in understanding. ‘But they’ve relieved the pressure and they’re hoping she’ll recover. However, I think young Janet is in for the long haul. Her mother’s going to need her.’
Trudy sighed. ‘I hope she and Ronnie will get together. After all they’ve been through I think they deserve some happiness.’
Jennings grunted sceptically. In his experience, tragedies like this tended to do no good for anyone involved. For a start, young Ronnie Dewberry was probably going to be a pariah for all his life – at least in Middle Fenton, where he’d always be regarded as the son of a killer. And he couldn’t see Mrs Baines, when she was fit and well again, ever letting her precious daughter marry him. Unless the pair ran off to Gretna Green and then set up a new life somewhere far away from here. And even then – what sort of a start were they going to have? Janet had admitted that she’d thought Ronnie was to blame for Iris’s death, and could the boy really forgive that – even given the extenuating circumstances?
‘Well, I have to get back to my family,’ Keith Finch said, and held out his hand to Clement. ‘Thank you, Dr Ryder, for all that you did,’ he said, swallowing hard, his voice gruff.
‘I wasn’t on my own,’ Clement pointed out, making Jennings fairly grit his teeth.
‘No indeed. Constable Loveday.’ Keith turned to her and shook her hand too, totally against protocol. ‘I’m expecting great things of you,’ he told her.
Trudy felt herself blush.
Jennings waited until his superior officer had left the office, before turning his gimlet eye on Trudy. Great things indeed!
Clement chose that moment to also rise from his chair. ‘Well, I’m off home as well. It’s been one hell of a day, and I need my bed.’
He looked as if he did too, Trudy thought with some concern. He looked tired and worn out and … well, for the first time since she’d known him, actually … old.
Clement forced himself to stride confidently to the door, but was secretly relieved to discover that his legs held him. There was no doubt about it, today had been a serious strain on him, and he could no longer fool himself that his illness wasn’t beginning to make itself felt.
But, he was sure, after a good night’s sleep and a solid breakfast he’d be right as rain tomorrow. He wouldn’t let himself be anything else. He was not ready for the scrap heap just yet.
All he had to do now, Clement thought wryly, was get home without driving into a ditch or something.
With the departure of the old vulture, Jennings was able to finally relax, and with a slow, satisfied smile, turned his attention to the young woman who seemed determined to make herself the bane of his life.
‘Right then Constable …’ he began ominously.
Trudy sat up a little straighter in her chair. ‘Sir,’ she said flatly. At least some things, she thought – almost gratefully – could be relied on never to change.
If you loved seeing Trudy crack the case, then don't miss the next gripping Ryder and Loveday novel, A Fatal Night, available for pre-order now!
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