The Troutbeck Testimony

by Rebecca Tope

  ‘There’s Bonnie,’ said the boy suddenly. ‘She’s with Valerie. I wonder where the dog got to.’

  ‘What?’ Simmy and Angie both tried to follow the direction of his gaze. ‘Where?’

  Instantly, Simmy saw a group of women, moving slowly through the crowd, which parted for them like magic. Valerie was in the middle, much larger than her acolytes. Bonnie was walking sideways, talking, dodging people who were in her path, her hand on Valerie Rossiter’s forearm. She was like a small tug directing a slow, clumsy container ship. Two older women were flanking Valerie, something anxious and uncertain in their manner suggesting they had found themselves in a role they never expected. Simmy didn’t know either of them, but her mother did.

  ‘Anita,’ she called. ‘Are you all right? Can we do anything?’

  A faded-looking woman in a wide-brimmed hat scanned the faces of the scattering crowd for whoever had spoken. ‘Here,’ said Angie, stepping forward. ‘It’s me. Remember me? Beck View, two doors away from you.’

  ‘Oh – Mrs Straw, yes.’ Relief was visible in the drop of her shoulders and jaw. ‘We were just trying to help … there didn’t seem to be anybody else. This is Susan. She’s my sister-in-law.’ The other woman looked equally bemused and embarrassed. They were attracting stares on all sides. ‘And this is …’ Anita indicated Bonnie.

  ‘We know Bonnie,’ said Simmy.

  Her voice seemed to awaken something in Valerie, who gave her a direct look. ‘The florist,’ she said, with a little nod. ‘Honestly, this is all so humiliating. I feel a complete fool for causing such chaos. At a funeral, for heaven’s sake. I’m never going to live it down.’

  Her tone was breathless and her skin was mottled. She looked as if she would fall again if left unsupported. Simmy’s mind was wrestling with a swirl of impressions. Where were the people who should be helping Valerie? Who were they? Was it possible she had nobody close, now that Barbara was dead? And what was Bonnie doing? And, after all this, did Valerie actually need someone to look after her? On the face of it, she was perfectly capable of getting along by herself.

  ‘What’s meant to happen now?’ she asked. ‘Isn’t there some sort of lunch? Everybody’s waiting to know what they should do. Look at them!’

  Valerie put a hand to her chest, and took a few deep breaths. ‘Yes, everyone’s been asking the same thing. I’ll be better in a minute. It was all so … I’m such a wimp. I just need somebody with a loud voice to tell them all to get back to the plan.’

  ‘A lot of them have gone already,’ said Angie. ‘They must have thought it was cancelled.’

  ‘Didn’t the vicar say anything?’ Simmy asked. In her limited experience, the whole business was generally orchestrated by the officiating clergyman.

  ‘No, but it’s on the service sheets. It tells them where to go afterwards.’

  ‘They’re like sheep,’ said Bonnie scathingly. ‘Any little change to what they expect, and they just stand about waiting for instructions. Honestly, it’s ridiculous.’

  ‘Too right,’ said Ben, with matching contempt. ‘I could try and mobilise them, if you like.’

  ‘No, no. Let me,’ said Angie with a sweep of her arm. ‘They’ll be standing around here till midnight, otherwise.’ She raised the same arm above her head, and waved it. ‘Everybody!’ she bellowed, at impressive volume. ‘Will you all please go to the Elleray for lunch!’ She flourished her uplifted arm in the direction of the pub. ‘Please move along!’

  Simmy sidled away, acutely embarrassed. Her mother’s voice carried amazingly, impossible to ignore. People actually began to move in the designated direction, murmuring amongst themselves and casting admiring eyes at Angie.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Valerie. ‘I suppose I should be leading the way. God, I hate this.’

  Simmy could see Ben bursting to ask questions, and hoped he would restrain himself. Bonnie was ahead of him. ‘You’ll be fine,’ she told the woman. ‘It’ll soon be over.’

  The incongruity of a slight young girl consoling a large middle-aged woman silenced even Ben. Anita and Susan fell away, still manifesting an impression of people drawn into something against their will and feeling very awkward about it. Valerie took another deep breath and began walking determinedly down the street unescorted. She looked lonely, defiant and fragile. Simmy waited a moment and then asked, ‘Hasn’t she got any friends?’

  Angie was the only one left within earshot. ‘Seems not. She was so bound up with Barbara that nobody else ever seems to have got near her.’

  ‘You’d think Barbara’s friends would have rallied round her, then.’

  ‘She wouldn’t let them. Said it was all down to her to make sure Barbara’s wishes were carried out. I heard them talking earlier on, in the pew in front of me. I heard quite a lot of things, actually,’ she added thoughtfully.

  Simmy looked around for Bonnie, and saw her walking with Ben, at the rear of the procession of mourners. ‘Are you two going to the pub?’ she called after them.

  Bonnie turned round. ‘Why not?’ she said, with a little wave. Ben avoided Simmy’s eye and kept walking.

  ‘Where’s Spike?’ Simmy called after them.

  ‘Tied to the church railings,’ Bonnie shouted back. ‘I’m getting him now.’

  ‘I have to get home,’ said Angie. ‘I meant to be there by now.’

  Simmy glanced at her watch. It was only twenty past one. It had felt far more than twenty minutes since she’d closed the shop and set out for the church. If they were quick, she could check on her father and get back to work not long after two.

  ‘Come on, then,’ she said.

  They walked briskly southwards, and reached Beck View in under ten minutes. Angie seemed reluctant to talk, and Simmy was content to spend the time trying to order her thoughts. A strong vein of pity for Valerie Rossiter was running through her, along with an exasperation directed at Ben and Bonnie. They had each been lacking in appropriate feeling, treating the interrupted funeral as more of a joke or puzzle than the gut-wringing disaster that it truly was. Barbara Hodge had become lost in the drama – her name scarcely mentioned in Simmy’s hearing. Valerie had looked dreadful. At least Bonnie had shown sympathy and concern, she admitted. It was Ben and his melodramatic remarks about Macbeth that had most annoyed her. He could be such a thoughtless show-off sometimes.

  Would Valerie make another speech over the lunch, she wondered? It would, after all, be her last chance to eulogise her dead friend.

  Angie had to ring the bell of her own front door, because Russell had bolted it from the inside, and she had no way to open it.

  Nobody came.

  ‘Damn it,’ snarled Simmy’s mother. ‘What’s he playing at?’

  ‘Can we go round the back?’

  ‘He’ll have locked that as well, but I think I’ve got a key to it somewhere. He might even have left one under the flowerpot, as usual.’ She rummaged in her bag. ‘Honestly, this is getting beyond a joke.’

  She located the key in her bag and managed to gain entry through the scullery behind the kitchen.

  A search of the house quickly revealed that Russell Straw was not at home.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘But where can he have gone?’ Simmy asked, yet again. ‘What about the police station?’

  ‘How did he lock the door?’ asked Angie slowly. ‘It was bolted from the inside.’

  ‘The back wasn’t. He went out through there, surely?’

  ‘Hmm. Could be – but he never does that. And where’s Bertie?’ The women blinked at each other at having failed to notice until now the animal’s absence. ‘Why would he take the dog with him?’

  Simmy had nothing to suggest. Her mind was empty, like the rooms in the house. A week earlier, she’d have felt no anxiety whatever at a sudden whimsical disappearance on the part of her father. Since then, he had manifested alarming changes in personality and capacity, which gave rise to images of a shambling old man with his dog, wandering through Rayrigg Woods uns
ure of his whereabouts. But she swept such fears aside as being impossibly exaggerated, and at least ten years premature. ‘I don’t know,’ she said.

  ‘We’ll have to call the police. That’s the only thing I can think of.’

  ‘Are we sure he hasn’t left a note?’

  They went into the kitchen and stared around, then did the same in the living room and the main bedroom. ‘What about the guest rooms?’ said Simmy. ‘Have you any people in this week?’

  ‘It’s May. Of course we have. We’re full. He was changing duvet covers. I could have a look to see if he finished them.’ Before Simmy could speak, Angie had run upstairs, and was back again in two minutes. ‘He’s only done one, and that looks as if he just dropped it on the floor. He must have come down for some reason, and never gone back to finish the job.’

  ‘What time did you go out?’

  ‘About twenty to twelve. I wanted to get a seat in the church. As it was I almost didn’t manage it.’

  ‘I phoned not long after that. He didn’t answer. Does that mean he left a few minutes after you?’

  ‘I told you – I thought he’d do best to ignore it. I said to him – just leave it if it rings.’

  ‘I’m not sure he would, though, when it came to it.’

  ‘Well, at least we can assume he hasn’t been kidnapped,’ said Angie with a little laugh.

  ‘Can we? What makes you so sure?’

  ‘Who in the world would snatch a demented old fart like him – and his dog? That’s a ludicrous idea.’

  ‘He’s not demented, Mum. He’s just upset by that threatening letter. Where did you put it, anyway? The police still haven’t seen it – is that right?’

  ‘I told you – I phoned them. I did mean to take it down to show them, but the guests took ages over breakfast, and after that I was rushing to do the rooms, and then it was the funeral. Russ had it in his pocket, last I noticed. He was much better this morning, actually. Up until about eleven, at least. He seemed to slump a bit after that.’

  ‘Then what happened?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I left him in here’ – they were back in the kitchen – ‘with the local paper, once he’d convinced me he had no intention of coming with me to the church. I grabbed myself a mug of coffee and he was just staring into space. I tried talking to him, but it was hopeless.’

  Simmy could all too well imagine her mother’s impatience, and selfish need to stick to her own timetable. Angie could be very single-minded at times. ‘He must have gone to the police, then. That’s the only explanation.’

  ‘Except it’s taking rather a long time, don’t you think? Two hours or so, probably.’

  Simmy looked again at her watch. It was five to two. ‘We’ll have to phone them and ask if they’ve seen him.’

  ‘What about the shop? You shouldn’t miss any more customers. It’s Friday – that’s usually busy, isn’t it?’

  Simmy rubbed her brow. ‘And I’ve got a whole lot of wedding flowers to do for tomorrow,’ she said distractedly.

  ‘I’ll go down to the police and let you know what I find. It doesn’t take both of us.’

  ‘I can’t just go back to work as if nothing had happened. The shop can wait.’

  ‘Didn’t you say Melanie’s coming in? Has she got a key?’

  ‘Are you trying to get rid of me?’ Her attempt at a light note fell very flat. ‘I’m sorry, Mum, but I can’t think of anything but Dad.’

  ‘He’ll be perfectly all right. You’re as bad as him, worrying about nothing.’

  ‘That letter wasn’t nothing. The murder wasn’t nothing, either. There are seriously bad people out there and we’ve fallen foul of them, Dad and me. I can’t understand why you’re not worried.’

  ‘Lack of imagination, probably. I simply can’t visualise him and his dog being bundled into a van and kept hostage for totally incomprehensible reasons. It wouldn’t make the least bit of sense.’

  ‘But these things happen,’ Simmy almost shouted. ‘I know for a certain fact that they do. Look at all that business in Coniston, only a few months ago.’

  Angie moaned gently. ‘You’re not helping. Just leave me to find him. Please. I do understand how you feel, but I promise you he’ll be all right. Have faith, woman. This is your very sensible father we’re talking about.’

  Simmy moaned in turn. ‘There must be a clue here somewhere. The door – he bolted it from the inside, went out at the back and locked that after himself. So he can’t have been dragged away. He took the dog, so the house was unprotected. What does that tell us?’

  ‘That there’s not very much to worry about,’ said Angie brightly. ‘When you put it like that, it’s obviously something perfectly straightforward.’

  ‘No, Mum. It could easily mean he’s gone back to Troutbeck, trying to find the people who wrote the letter. He thinks they’re evil, remember?’

  ‘Was the car there?’ Angie said, suddenly running to the front room window and peering out. ‘I never even noticed.’

  The car was generally parked in the short driveway, off the street. But it was also often left further away, so as to provide space for the B&B guests. It was a complicated dance that they performed every day, according to who was due to arrive and what promises had been given. Some guests insisted on the closest possible access for their vehicle, expecting to drive to within inches of the front door.

  ‘Can’t see it,’ said Angie. ‘And the gate’s closed.’ The gate separated the driveway from the street, and entailed further complications. Russell’s job was to open it for visitors, and close it when everything was settled for the night. During the day, it was almost always open.

  ‘It’s all so unnervingly neat,’ Simmy complained. ‘It feels as if he’s been planning this – as if he’s left home.’ Her heart swelled and thumped at the idea of her father as a missing person, never to be seen again.

  ‘Don’t say that,’ begged Angie.

  ‘Could somebody have phoned him? Told him to meet them somewhere?’

  ‘Like who?’

  ‘I have no idea. Where’s the mobile? Is there any chance he’s got it with him? We could just call him, if so, and settle it all in a moment.’

  Angie gave her a withering look. ‘He never takes it with him. Last time I used it, the battery was almost dead. I very much doubt whether either of us has bothered to charge it since then. The thing’s a complete waste of time. And who would know its number, anyway?’

  Simmy grabbed the house phone and keyed in 1471. You were called today at eleven forty-one. The caller withheld their number. She held the handset tightly, forcing herself to think lucidly.

  ‘Eleven forty-one,’ she repeated. ‘Number withheld. That must have been only a minute or two after you left. It’s not the call I made, because I didn’t withhold the number. Someone might have been watching the house, waiting for you to go. Then they called him and persuaded him to go off with them.’

  ‘In our car?’

  ‘Apparently.’

  ‘No – I think the car might be out in the street. I can’t remember where we left it last night.’ Angie frowned. ‘Let me think. There was a family with a toddler. Yes – they parked in the drive. They had a huge amount of luggage to unload. So ours might easily be out there somewhere. Let’s go and look.’

  Simmy closed her eyes against the wave of dread that was building inside her. ‘We’ve got to find him, Mum. This isn’t funny.’

  Angie was wrestling with the stiff bolt on the front door, and then found it was locked as well, and the key removed. ‘We’d all be dead if there was a fire, the way he hides the key. It’s completely idiotic. Where the hell is it?’

  ‘Doesn’t he usually hang it on that hook?’ Simmy pointed to a small board on the wall, supplied with three metal hooks, all empty.

  Her mother was fruitlessly pulling at the door and continuing her rant. ‘God! I hate this obsession with locking everything. It gives me claustrophobia. We’re never going to get out.’ Her voic
e was rising in the first sign of dawning panic since they’d got into the house.

  ‘We’ll go out through the back,’ said Simmy calmly. ‘He might have got the key in his pocket, for all we know. And we probably should make sure he hasn’t got the mobile. He might have charged it and taken it, after all.’

  ‘Nothing would surprise me,’ said Angie through gritted teeth.

  But the mobile was in its place on top of the microwave oven, and the car was quickly spotted, thirty yards away from the house. Neither discovery was remotely reassuring.

  ‘We have to go to the police,’ Simmy insisted. ‘It’s only five minutes’ walk.’

  ‘Let me go by myself. It’ll be quicker if there’s just one of us trying to explain. You need to get back to the shop. I suppose you’ve got it all locked up, the same as the house.’

  ‘The shop can wait.’

  But it couldn’t, really. Not only would she lose customers, but Ben and possibly Bonnie and even Melanie might all be expecting her to update them on recent events. She had left her phone and wallet in the back room. She was hungry, thirsty and scared. The prospect of being surrounded by the youngsters, who might make tactless remarks and be painfully excited, but would also be interested and eager to help, gave her mixed feelings. There would be a welcome warmth to them – even Bonnie had a knack of offering a gentle inoffensive reassurance, in her own way.

  Her mother had no real need of her. All Simmy was doing was adding to the stress by showing how worried she was. If Moxon was available, he would make sure everything possible was done, and then he would very probably contact Simmy with an update.

  ‘We’re such a useless family when it comes to phones,’ she burst out. ‘Normal people would be texting and calling every couple of minutes, so everybody knew exactly what was going on. We’ve got to pull ourselves together, after this. We need a mobile each, and an agreement to keep in touch.’