‘No.’
‘She contacted me,’ Upminster said. ‘Nothing serious, more of an insinuation.’
‘You gave her money?’
‘Some, but it was more of a donation. She said she was struggling to pay a bill, and would I help. Nothing more than that.’
‘You’re protecting a devious woman. Why?’
‘There’s no more to say.’
Tremayne could see everyone going around in a circle, being obtuse as usual. He needed to raise the ire of those in the room. He looked over at Clare. She knew what to do.
‘Desdemona, why did you kill Bert Blatchford?’ Clare said.
‘How dare you accuse my wife,’ Hamish Foster said.
‘We have a photo of Desdemona holding Bert Blatchford’s hand. They are both young, in their teens.’
‘I thought the contents of the box were about Margaret,’ Desdemona said quietly.
‘We’ve addressed that. Were you romantically involved with Bert Blatchford?’
‘My father was a tyrant. He would have beaten me if he had known, but yes.’
‘Does your husband know?’
‘Yes, but it was a long time ago, before I married Hamish.’
‘So why did you kill him?’
‘He was going to tell everyone. He wanted money, a lot of it, more than we could spare. I couldn’t deal with the shame.’
Tremayne realised that, as so often happens, the need to confess comes at the most unexpected moment.
‘We’ve always had you as a weak and timid woman.’
‘I am, but Hamish doesn’t deserve to be embarrassed by my past.’
‘It’s not a reason to kill someone.’
‘If you had known my father and what he beat into me, it was. I saw Bert there with his pigs, and I tried to reason with him, but he wouldn’t budge. Either I paid, or he said that he’d make me out to be the local tart. I couldn’t allow that.’
‘The knife?’
‘I had it in my hand. I was going to threaten him with it. It was an accident, I swear it, but he turned his back on me, called me some offensive words, and then the knife was there in his back, and he was on the ground with the pigs.’
‘We found no proof that you had been there.’
‘I was careful to conceal the evidence, and I took my time to check. Sheila wasn’t there, so it was Bert and me.’
‘And how did you feel afterwards?’
‘I felt nothing, only relief.’
‘My wife doesn’t realise what she’s saying,’ Hamish Foster said.
‘It doesn’t matter now,’ Desdemona said. ‘The truth is important.’
‘Hamish Foster, you killed Sheila Blatchford,’ Tremayne said.
‘I tried to reason with Sheila who had figured out that it was Desdemona. She was as heartless as Gloria. Sheila wanted money, more than Bert, for her silence. I couldn’t let it continue.’
Another confession, as unexpected as the first one. Both Tremayne and Clare were pleased that their time in Compton had concluded; sorry that yet again decent people had committed terrible crimes for which they would have to pay.
‘The chainsaw?’
‘I knew where Woodcock kept it, and I knew how to get into his barn. Two days after I had confronted Sheila, I found her in the barn. I strangled her, but anger at what I’d done, and then revulsion, made me decide to hide the evidence.’
‘Why take a chainsaw if you hadn’t intended to use it?’
‘I had, and then I changed my mind, but when I saw her looking at me with her eyes wide open as I killed her, I knew I had to complete what I had originally set out to do. I changed my clothes and placed them outside the back of the barn. I then went back and did what I had to.’
‘We never understood how you cleaned yourself up afterwards.’
‘There’s a small stream not far away. I washed there and put on the clothes that I had left outside of the barn. It rained heavily that night, so I suppose any sign of my walking across to the stream was washed away.’
‘Weren’t you revolted by what you had done?’
‘I had saved Desdemona from embarrassment. I felt numb, but nothing more.’
Tremayne stood outside the pub. The Fosters had been charged and were on their way to the cells at the police station. Eustace Upminster was getting cosy with Linda Wilson. The Woodcocks were back with their children at their farm.
‘Superintendent Moulton will be after your retirement now,’ Clare said as Tremayne lit up a cigarette.
‘Death holds no fear, retirement does,’ Tremayne said as he took his first puff.
The End
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A flawed heist of forty gold bars from a security van late at night. One of the perpetrators is killed by his brother as they argue over what they have stolen.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Phillip Strang was born in England in the late forties. He was an avid reader of science fiction in his teenage years: Isaac Asimov, Frank Herbert, the masters of the genre. Still an avid reader, the author now mainly reads thrillers.
In his early twenties, the author, with a degree in electronics engineering and a desire to see the world, left England for Sydney, Australia. Now, forty years later, he still resides in Australia, although many intervening years were spent in a myriad of countries, some calm and safe, others no more than war zones.
Author’s Website: http://www.phillipstrang.com
Email; [email protected]
The DI Tremayne Thriller Box Set Page 136
