‘That’s enough. Wiggins is claiming it was an accident, but if he had been hit on the head before falling in the water, then he’s lying. The question is why.’
Chapter 26
Clare imagined that if the air had been calm and there was not the noise of vehicles in the distance, a low hum would have been heard in the air as the people in Compton indulged in what they enjoyed most – gossiping. In the vicinity of Wiggins’ car, a group of people had gathered. Crime scene tape had been placed around the area, and those gawping, taking pictures with their smartphones and talking to each other and friends on the phone were not of primary interest to Clare. She spoke to two of them, and then passed on further questioning as well as obtaining names, addresses and phone numbers to the uniforms.
Opposite the pub, where Wiggins had pulled himself ashore, another two crime scene investigators were at work. Apart from the branch, and the prints of riding boots, no more evidence had been discovered.
Tremayne phoned. ‘Get over to Margaret Wilmot. She’s been in the pub, met Wiggins.’
Clare updated her senior with what had been found. ‘It’s not looking good for her,’ she said.
‘Wiggins is holding to his story, and Baxter’s up to his neck in it.’
Clare drove through the village and took a right-hand turn up a winding road. At the end of it, the Wilmot manor house, the lady in question waiting at the door.
Clare looked down to notice that the woman was barefooted. ‘Do you have a pair of riding boots?’
‘Several. Why are you interested?’
‘You were at the pub. You saw Cuthbert Wiggins.’
‘I did.’
‘Did you notice the wound on his head?’
‘Damn silly thing to do, falling in the river like that. It’s a wonder he’s not dead.’
‘That was the intention. Can I see your boots?’ Clare insisted.
‘If you must, but why? I go riding from time to time. I had a horse until a few years ago, but now I go to a riding stable not far from here. You can check if it’s important.’
‘Someone attempted to kill Mr Wiggins. Regardless of what he says, it wasn’t an accident.’
‘So why would he lie?’
‘That’s why I’m here. You seem to know everything that happens in this village.’
‘I don’t go around murdering people, and I certainly don’t waste my time speculating, as apparently you do.’
‘That’s my job. But you do speculate, don’t you? You speculate as to what would happen if you could separate the Woodcocks. What is it with Gwen? Something sinister, bedfellows, one of your ancestors planting their seed into Gwen’s family? And why the dislike of Barry? I’ll grant you that he’s not the smartest man, but he’s honest and hardworking and a good family man.’
‘You’d not understand. Gwen has been my friend for as long as I can remember. She could have made something of herself, and then she goes and gets pregnant to that man.’
‘And what’s wrong with him?’
‘I told you once. I saw Barry Woodcock and James Baxter, and my husband was that way inclined, although not with Barry, too young for him.’
‘There’s a word for that, a phobia. Let’s get back to Cuthbert Wiggins. Inspector Tremayne’s with him now, and once he starts on someone that person will break eventually. I’ve got you down for the person who hit him, but why so close to home? You are meant to be a smart woman, so it must have been something important that he knew or maybe he had. Maybe it’s the woman’s missing will. If he’s found it, then what interest is it to you?’
‘I’m not a murderer.’
‘You’re the one with the riding gear. I don’t think anyone else has the time or the money.’
‘Gladys Upminster used to ride.’
‘She’s in prison.’
‘You don’t like me very much, do you?’
‘My personal feelings are not important, only your guilt or innocence.’
‘Come into the house,’ Margaret said. ‘I’ve got something to show you.’
Clare entered, noticing a crack in the wall in the main hall that hadn’t been there on her previous visit. To the right of the main entrance, a large wooden door. Margaret Wilmot pushed it open and beckoned for Clare to follow.
Inside, a bibliophile’s heaven. There were books stacked in shelving up to the ceiling. Clare estimated the height of the room to be at least sixteen to seventeen feet. ‘There must be close to forty thousand books in here,’ she said.
‘It’s nearer to sixty thousand. The Wilmots were always great believers in education and the arts.’
‘And you?’
‘I do what I can, but times have changed. The wealth disparity of the past no longer exists, and libraries such as this cost a fortune to maintain.’
‘You sound as though you regret the demise of feudalism.’
‘It is what allowed places such as this library, this house, to exist, and now Barry Woodcock is the future. Gwen used to love coming in here and reading. I saw a possibility in her, a chance to rise above the crowd, to become a woman of substance.’
‘That was her choice,’ Clare said. ‘She chose Barry, and from what I can see, she’s happy.’
‘Happiness is not the right of a person. It is more important to achieve, to strive, to better one’s self.’
‘We’re digressing,’ Clare said. ‘The fact remains that you are the only person in this village who is a possibility for the attempted murder of Cuthbert Wiggins. Will you allow a search of your house?’
‘I’ve nothing to hide.’
‘That wasn’t the question. Will you allow a search of your house?’
‘I will not. This is a gross insult.’
‘Very well. I phoned on the way up here to a colleague at Bemerton Road Police Station. A request for a search warrant is with the magistrate now, and I expect it to be granted within the next few hours. You can either come up to the pub or I’ll stay here while we wait.’
‘My Member of Parliament will hear of this. He’s a personal friend.’
Clare remembered what Tremayne always said when they mentioned their influential friends: guilty.
***
‘Now look here, Wiggins,’ Tremayne said, revived after a cigarette outside the pub and a hot drink supplied by Baxter. ‘You’re in the village for a reason, and that’s three times we know of in total. What’s the real reason this time? You couldn’t go and see Stephanie Underwood as she’s dead. You couldn’t come and visit Gloria’s grave because she isn’t buried yet. Whatever it is, it’s serious, and neither you nor I, not anyone else in this village, is going anywhere until you tell me the truth.’
‘My wife’s worried. I should phone her,’ Wiggins said.
‘You have already. Phone her if you want, but there’s no more to say other than you’ll have a comfy cell tonight unless I get some answers.’
‘The bank’s not waiting until the trial. As far as they are concerned, I’m guilty.’
‘There must be a severance package.’
‘Enough to live on, and my wife is not demanding. We’ll survive, but I’m still young. I can’t retire, not now, and no one else in the banking industry will give me a job, even if I’m vindicated.’
‘Life’s not fair, you must have heard that adage.’
‘I’m entitled to be treated with more respect. After all that I did for the bank.’
‘Play your violin if you want, but if you’re after sympathy, you’ll not get it from me. You’re here in Compton for a reason, not just a sightseeing trip, and if it’s not legal, you’re in trouble. And we have proof that you didn’t fall into the water, someone hit you with a branch. It’s attempted murder, but you’re here protecting whoever, and the only two we know of are Margaret Wilmot and Rupert Baxter, and I wouldn’t trust either.’
‘I don’t know what you mean. I slipped, that’s all.’
‘I told you once before,’ Tremayne said, ‘you’re a lousy liar. Not
only are you sitting there trying to pretend that nothing’s wrong, but you’re still shivering, the wound on your head looks as though it could do with some more treatment, and you’re averting your eyes. Each time you lie, you look away. I’ve counted five times now, and in my book, you’re guilty of a crime, but I’m not sure which one. Maybe you killed Gloria.’
‘I didn’t. I swear it.’
‘Wiggins, your continual denials are not helping you at all. It could be that you visited Gloria in her cottage, tried to talk some sense into her and asked her for money. Your wife must hate living next door to those neighbours of yours, and Gloria is down here with your money. Maybe you thought that you could appeal to her better nature, assumed that she had mellowed with time.’
‘You’ve got it all wrong. The woman would never mellow, I knew that. She was as cold as ice back then, and she still is.’
‘Is? The woman’s dead. Level with me, when did you last see Gloria Wiggins?’
‘That day she took my money. I’ve told you this before.’
Tremayne was confused. In front of him was a man who had nearly died at the hands of another, yet he continued to deny the fact, or to admit to any wrongdoing. He left him in the company of a uniform and went back to Rupert Baxter, who Tremayne could see was up to his neck in it.
‘That’s the truth,’ Baxter said. He pushed a pint of beer over the counter to Tremayne, who declined. He did not intend to be deflected by an act of generosity from a man who was a crucial witness and a probable murderer.
‘What truth? You go and rescue Wiggins from the other side of the river. The man’s been in the water. He’s got a gash on the back of his head, and you just pick him up and bring him to the pub. Weren’t you curious?’
‘Of course, but the man’s condition was more important, and I did phone you as soon as I could.’
‘What’s Margaret Wilmot’s involvement in all this? We’re going to check her house, and if we find proof that she tried to kill Wiggins, then you’re an accomplice.’
‘I’ve killed no one, and I’ll not allow you or anyone else, not even Margaret, to implicate me.’
‘But you know who killed the others, don’t you?’
Baxter stood back from Tremayne. He said nothing.
‘Come on, Baxter, out with it. What do you know?’
‘I’ve been giving some thought to it.’
‘Baxter, you’re a man who doesn’t miss much, and this story that Wiggins is giving me is just nonsense. Either you or Margaret hit him, and as to why he’s protecting you both, I don’t know. But I intend to find out, and if I don’t, I’ll have you and your girlfriend down at Bemerton Road, and it won’t be as cosy as here.’
‘Inspector, you’re threatening me. I could make a complaint of harassment. There must be a complaints department at your police station.’
‘I’ll give you their phone number if you want, but first, what is it with Wiggins? The man must know that someone tried to kill him, but he’s keeping quiet. You’re a smart man, by your own admission, and Margaret Wilmot’s nobody’s fool. This romance of yours, it is above board, or is it all a subterfuge?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What I said. You’re not a matched pair, and maybe nothing is going on, just you two getting together to hatch a plan.’
‘There’s nothing. Margaret’s a tough woman, but she’ll use the legal process to achieve her aims, and I’m not a criminal. You can check, you’ll find nothing against me.’
***
Clare was equally frustrated at the manor house. Not only would Margaret Wilmot not let her into the house, but she was also determined to evict Clare from her premises, the grounds included. If she weren’t nearby, Clare knew that the woman would have a chance to destroy the evidence and to come up with an excuse. Outside, on the road, Clare could see the Woodcocks, the old Land Rover now fixed as it had transported Barry and Gwen to the scene.
Clare phoned for back up, the patrol car that was in the village driving the short distance up to the house. Another patrol car was on its way from Salisbury, as were two more uniforms. The scene was being set for a showdown, Clare thought, as in an old cowboy movie, where the forces of right were lined up against the forces of wrong. Clare was not sure who was the wrong at the present time, but instinct, the sixth sense that a police officer hopes to gain with time and experience, was kicking in.
‘You’re hindering a murder investigation,’ Clare said to Margaret Wilmot. ‘A search warrant is on its way, and if we find anything, it’ll go against you.’
‘I’ve nothing to hide. I resent being treated in this manner.’
‘We’ll be checking the other houses in the village, not only yours. And our crime scene investigators have a clearer idea of who hit Cuthbert Wiggins. What’s the truth? What did you say down at the pub to make the man go silent? What’s this great secret that you’re hiding?’
Chapter 27
Tremayne continued to wrestle with the recalcitrant survivor of a murder attempt and a smart man masquerading as a jovial publican; neither man excited the straightforward and honest police inspector. Tremayne was sure that Margaret Wilmot, Rupert Baxter, and now Cuthbert Wiggins were in league with each other. Not one of them could be trusted, not by Tremayne and Clare, nor by each other. And what was it that Wiggins wanted? According to him, it was the last will and testament, but with the man being so difficult, Tremayne wasn’t so sure that Gloria, painted as the villain, hadn’t been maligned.
‘Baxter, Sergeant Yarwood’s up at the Wilmot house. She’s not leaving until she’s had the place searched, and now the Woodcocks are sniffing around. If somebody doesn’t start giving some honest answers to my questions, then I’ll arrest the whole damn irritating lot of you and throw you all in the cells at the police station.’
‘You’ll be open to accusations of wrongful arrest.’
‘What happens to me doesn’t matter. My career’s in rundown mode, and if I don’t solve these murders, it’ll be the end for me. And I don’t care how smart you are, you’re guilty of one crime, probably more. And you and Wiggins are in collusion, as is Margaret Wilmot.’
‘Tremayne, you’re a bastard, you know that?’
‘I do, but when I see people lying through their teeth, I get angry, and when I’m angry, I become unpredictable.’
‘We’ve done nothing wrong,’ Baxter said. ‘Wiggins shouldn’t have been in the village, and someone had it in for him.’
‘Who? The man was meant to be an enigma, a fiction of Gloria Wiggins’ imagination. Are you saying that some people knew that he wasn’t, and the man had a secret so important that his death was warranted?’
‘I don’t know the full story. In fact, I don’t know any of it. Gloria and this working in a bank, we didn’t know about. For whatever reason, she always made it out to be something more.’
‘What if it was?’ Tremayne said.
‘Wiggins would know.’
‘And he’s in the next room. Why was he parked just up the road?’
Wiggins came out from the other room. ‘I heard you speaking about me,’ he said.
‘Tremayne is certain that you and Gloria did more than work in a bank,’ Baxter said. The police inspector knew that what he had said to Baxter regarding disciplinaries and wrongful arrests wasn’t altogether truthful. He didn’t want his career to end with a black mark, the ignominy of a police officer who had stayed for one more murder investigation than he should have and had failed to solve it.
‘It was a bank, nothing more. Gloria was a bank teller back then, and I was heading into management. For some reason, she wasn’t interested in a career, and now we know why, don’t we?’
‘Do we?’ Tremayne said.
‘I was the bank, not that I was worth a fortune, but it was enough for her. I don’t know how she succeeded in this village without cheating others.’
‘Maybe she did,’ Tremayne said. ‘Baxter, you’d better level with me. Yarwood’s got the war
rant now, and I’ve got Margaret Wilmot down for the person who hit Wiggins over the head. It’s either you for murder or her.’
‘Wiggins didn’t die.’
‘A technicality. And what about the others? You’ve got the build to handle a chainsaw, but that would have taken someone sick in the head to carve up Sheila Blatchford. Are you that person? Genius-level intellect coupled with a sadistic madness. Is that why you chose to hide yourself down here in Compton? Is there something up in Oxford? Unsolved murders, bodies in shallow graves?’
‘You’ve got it all wrong,’ Baxter said. Tremayne noticed that the man was standing back, not so sure of himself.
***
Eustace Upminster arrived in Compton. He was in the company of Linda Wilson who was driving her Audi. One of the uniforms who had been at the Upminsters on the day he had been knifed recognised him. The uniform phoned Clare who called Tremayne.
Twenty minutes after they had entered the village, the two of them were in the pub. Tremayne had realised that he was getting nowhere fast with Wiggins and Baxter. He needed to give them time to dwell on the parlous situation both of them were in.
‘Upminster, what brings you to Compton, and why have you come with Linda Wilson?’ Tremayne said.
‘I needed to visit the farm. I’ve been to see Gladys and to forgive her.’
‘Yet you’re here with another woman.’
‘I’m a friend, and Eustace can’t drive,’ Linda Wilson said.
‘Don’t try to make something out of it,’ Upminster said. ‘Linda’s been honest with you when you questioned her before. There are no skeletons to rattle, and Gladys knew about Linda and me.’
‘It’s still a motive for attempted murder, and what about the others? What do you have to say? I’ve got Baxter pretending to be a saint, and Cuthbert Wiggins lying through his teeth. What’s the truth? Why are you here in Compton? You can barely walk, and Miss Wilson’s hanging on to you to stop you falling over. It seems more than a friendship to me.’
The DI Tremayne Thriller Box Set Page 134
