The Troutbeck Testimony

by Rebecca Tope

  ‘And what car did you see in Troutbeck on Monday?’ Ben went on.

  ‘Stop it!’ Simmy ordered. ‘You sound like a prosecution lawyer, with your daft questions. So it’s the same sort of car as we saw. There must be hundreds of them. Why is it so interesting?’

  The boy’s hands were curled into fists, which he shook at her in exasperation. ‘It’s very likely to be the same car. There aren’t hundreds of them at all. There might be five in a radius of twenty miles, at most. What was the registration number of the one you saw?’

  ‘I can’t remember. There was 09 in it, I think.’

  ‘Well, I’m going out for a look. If it’s the same one, don’t you think it might have something to do with your dad’s disappearance?’

  ‘They wouldn’t leave it there, standing out like a beacon,’ said Melanie. ‘It’ll be booked any minute now, and that’ll get it logged in the system.’

  Ben went out and across the street to where the rear number plate was visible. He came back at a trot. ‘VJ09CKB,’ he reported with a smug grin.

  ‘So what?’ Simmy asked again, less confidently. It had struck her, in the past few seconds, that a phone call from her mother was due, if not overdue. The fact of her silence was suddenly ominous. It meant, at the very least, that her father had not shown up. ‘I need to get back to Beck View,’ she decided. ‘I want to know what the police said to my mother.’

  ‘Hang on,’ Ben said. ‘One thing at a time. Someone’s bound to come back to the car soon. They wouldn’t leave it there for very long, would they?’

  ‘That’s what I said,’ Melanie reminded him.

  ‘I know that man.’ Simmy was watching a figure walking towards the car. ‘But the car isn’t his.’

  ‘In which case, he’s stealing it, look.’

  The man had flicked something in his hand and the car had blinked its orange sidelights at him. It was the bearded character Simmy had already seen three times. ‘Borrowing, more like. He knows – knew – Travis … whatever-his-name-is. He’s the one who stopped to talk to me on Tuesday evening, when I was in my garden. Did I tell you about that?’ She shook her head, completely unable to remember what she had said to who and when.

  ‘Looks like a gypsy to me,’ said Melanie.

  ‘They all look like gypsies,’ said Simmy impatiently. ‘What are we going to do, then? He’ll be gone in a minute.’

  The man was already in the car, glancing in his mirror and starting the engine.

  ‘Nothing we can do,’ said Ben. ‘Except make a proper note of the number.’

  ‘Hang on! He’s getting out again,’ said Melanie.

  As they watched, the man caught sight of them, and gave them a hostile stare. Then his gaze rose upwards to something above their heads. The yapping dog started up again, and Simmy instantly understood, at last, where it was coming from. ‘There are people in the rooms upstairs!’ she gasped. ‘Right over our heads.’

  ‘What?’ The others both looked at her as if she’d gone mad. ‘How can there be?’ asked Ben. ‘How would they get in?’

  ‘Ask him,’ said Melanie, as the man with the beard pushed the shop door open.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘It’s you,’ said the man. ‘The woman from Troutbeck.’

  ‘This is my shop,’ said Simmy, feeling a powerful urge to explain even the most irrelevant detail.

  ‘You’ve got somebody upstairs that I’ve been looking for.’

  ‘Who? How did they get in?’

  ‘Better come and see.’ And he marched through to the back room, after a cursory glance around the shop for a non-existent staircase. The back door was locked, but the key sat conveniently in its hole, ready to be turned. Simmy, Ben and Melanie followed like ducklings as he pushed out into the tiny backyard and up the metal fire escape that was the only access to the upper rooms. Again, he shouldered open a door, and was quickly inside the first room. With his three followers behind him, the room was overflowing with people. And dogs.

  ‘Dad!’ Simmy threw herself at her father, where he sat on an upturned wooden crate, with Bertie between his knees. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘He’s all right,’ came a woman’s voice. ‘We’re just making sure he’s not going to get us into any trouble.’

  The room was dark, the window small and dirty. Simmy had a moment to wonder how the bearded man ever managed to see through it and recognise anybody. ‘Corinne,’ she said. ‘I thought you were in Lincoln.’

  ‘She changed her mind,’ came a second smaller voice.

  ‘Christ, Bonnie. What are you doing here?’ snapped Melanie.

  ‘You are in trouble now, though,’ said Ben in a calm and reasonable tone. ‘We’ve caught you.’

  ‘Dad? Are you all right?’

  ‘I am,’ he said with the sort of careful diction that suggested drunkenness. ‘I am absolutely all right. This lady is Corinne, as you appear to know already. She has been explaining to me that my testimony to the police is based on a profound misunderstanding. I think your friend might be able to clarify things, if you ask him.’ He winked at the man with the beard, as if they were well-established mates.

  ‘Vic. My name’s Vic,’ said the man. ‘You and your dad have been causing me and my pals quite a bit of bother.’

  ‘But why are you here?’ Simmy was directing her question at Bonnie, as the most inexplicable person present.

  The girl gave a disarming little smile. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I know you told me not to use these rooms. But it’s so handy, you see. And we haven’t done any harm.’

  ‘No harm?’ Simmy almost screamed. ‘Abducting my father and making all sorts of threats—’

  ‘They didn’t, Sim,’ Russell protested. ‘They just phoned me and said they wanted to have a talk, and it would be best for you if I did. I brought Bertie for protection, you see. And then he kept yapping at this fellow.’ He pointed at Spike, who was quivering excitedly at Bonnie’s feet. ‘Apparently, he’s not too good with other dogs.’

  ‘They phoned you? Who did? When?’

  ‘Me,’ said Corinne. ‘When I saw your mum going off to the funeral, I took the opportunity. Vic’s been on at me to have a go, so I called him as well. But he’s taken bloody ages to get here.’ She gave the man a savage look.

  ‘I couldn’t find it,’ he protested. ‘You never said how I was meant to get round the back. I didn’t even know for sure which shop it was. I’ve been walking up and down for half an hour or more, parked on double yellows all that time. I just caught a flash of Bonnie’s hair through the window, as I was driving off.’

  ‘How …? I mean, what part of Mr Straw’s testimony bothers you?’ demanded Ben, clearly anxious to pin down the salient points.

  ‘They saw me carrying a bag, at the bottom of the fell, and thought it’d got a dead dog in it. Set the cops chasing after me for one of these bloody dognappers, since the bother last year. They knew right off who I was and I’ve had them badgering ever since.’

  ‘But what use would it be now to get them to change the story? The damage is done. You only had to show the cops what was really in the bag and you’d be clear.’

  Vic gave the boy a long frustrated look. ‘Not when there’s been murder done, not half a mile away. Not with my record. They’ll be taking me in any time now, all on the strength of them seeing me with a bag.’

  ‘Record?’ echoed Simmy, feeling only slightly inclined to sympathise with him.

  ‘Bit of car theft, years ago now,’ he shrugged.

  Simmy addressed her father. ‘Did you pick him out from police pictures, or something? What did you tell them?’

  Russell nodded. ‘I gave a good description, plus the fact that his trousers were covered in mud. They showed me a picture and there he was, large as life.’

  ‘When, Dad? When did all this happen?’

  ‘On Tuesday. I went to talk to them, remember?’

  ‘When did they question you?’ Simmy asked Vic.

  ‘Wednesday, i
f you must know. What difference does it make?’

  ‘After you talked to me, then. What were you doing in Troutbeck on Tuesday?’

  ‘I’m working at the caravan park. I’m there all the time.’

  ‘I’ve never seen you,’ she said crossly.

  Ben took over, obviously struggling to maintain any kind of logical thread. ‘So were you trying to make Mr Straw change the story, or what? And what did you have in that bag?’

  ‘Why does it matter to you?’

  ‘Just tell him,’ said Simmy, even more angry. ‘We know they found that dead terrier up on the fells, so it obviously wasn’t what we thought.’ She looked around at each face in turn. ‘And what does it have to do with Corinne and Bonnie?’

  ‘And did you steal the Renault?’ Melanie chipped in.

  Vic put his hands over his ears, his face screwed up in a parody of someone being deafened. ‘Too many questions,’ he protested. He looked at Melanie. ‘I’m just looking after the car,’ he said. ‘Trav left it on the side of the road. Must have been just before he was killed. The key was in it, and I just thought it would complicate things if I left it where it was.’

  Simmy’s heart thumped at this confession. Here, after all, was the murderer, she concluded. ‘Nobody would do that unless they wanted to hide something,’ she accused. ‘I bet it was covered in blood or something.’

  ‘Where’s it been since Tuesday?’ asked Ben.

  The man threw a glance at Corinne, as if seeking rescue. ‘Help!’ he begged her. ‘They’re all crazy.’

  ‘Vic hasn’t done anything,’ she said obligingly. ‘Leave him alone. He sold that car to Travis a year ago, and he’s borrowed it back a few times. That’s all.’

  ‘No, no.’ Ben closed his eyes. ‘It’s more than that.’ He faced Vic. ‘Did you know Travis was dead, and that you were likely to be implicated? That’s why you moved the car?’

  ‘That would mean you know who killed him,’ said Simmy. ‘If it wasn’t you.’

  ‘Help!’ said Vic again. When nobody spoke, he went on, ‘I had no idea he’d been killed. The truth of it is, he was giving me a lift. We were going down to Barrow together. He’d got a bit of gardening to do, so I said I’d walk down and catch him when he finished. So that’s what I did. Saw the car, and got in to wait for him. Waited half an hour, or more, and then started to worry. By that time, there was a bit of action at Town End, and a cop car turned up. It seemed like a good idea to move the Renault. There’s a bit of an issue over the tax, as it happens. I didn’t want the cops to start checking it on their computers, did I? So I thought I’d just tuck it behind one of the caravans where I work, for a couple of days. Then, when I heard the news, I asked Vivian if she wanted it back, and she said I could keep it. She’s got her own motor – and it’s not as if they were married or anything. She doesn’t automatically get all his stuff. I only offered cos it seemed the decent thing to do.’

  ‘And you never reported any of this to the police?’ asked Simmy incredulously.

  ‘Couldn’t see the point. I hadn’t anything to tell them that could help catch the killer.’

  ‘People like you steer clear of the police if they can, don’t they?’ said Ben. ‘Was it just the untaxed car, or had you got something else to hide?’

  Vic’s head dropped wearily. ‘The fact is, I was doing something I shouldn’t, right? There’s a lot of rabbits on those fells and I’d got a few snares set for them.’ He sighed. ‘Managed to nab a couple, and take them home with me.’

  ‘And accidentally killed a Jack Russell as well,’ accused Melanie. ‘Isn’t that right?’

  Corinne made a soft cry. ‘He won’t do it again,’ she said. ‘It was a horrible accident.’

  ‘It’s illegal to set snares,’ said Ben. ‘For obvious reasons.’

  ‘But you don’t kidnap dogs and sell them to rich unscrupulous people?’ said Simmy. ‘Or whatever it is they do.’

  ‘I do not,’ said Vic intensely. ‘I love dogs. Ask Corinne. Those dognappers are bastards. Nobody with an ounce of decency will have anything to do with them.’

  Corinne leant forward earnestly. ‘Right!’ she confirmed.

  ‘So Travis McNaughton wasn’t stealing dogs?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Course he wasn’t. He wasn’t doing anything dodgy. Clean as a whistle, was Trav. Ask anybody.’

  ‘So why was he in that yard, being chased by a killer with a knife?’ Ben’s stark and unemotional summary made everybody in the room wince.

  ‘You tell me,’ said Vic, with obvious sadness. ‘I’ve been asking myself the same thing all week. Nobody had a reason to kill him, I know that for a certainty.’

  ‘And you know Corinne?’ Simmy still needed an explanation of how Bonnie and her guardian had found themselves in such a situation.

  ‘Everybody knows Corinne,’ he grinned.

  ‘You should get your dad home,’ interrupted Melanie softly. ‘I’m not sure he’s okay.’

  Simmy’s heart lurched and she rushed to Russell’s side. ‘Dad? It’s time we went to find Mum and tell her everything’s all right. She’s been worried about you. And Bertie’s going to want his supper soon.’ Hearing herself speaking so soothingly, as if to a toddler, only terrified her further. Her father was slumped, staring at the floor. The transformation had been gradual over the past ten minutes or so, Simmy realised, only apparent in the final stages. She looked around for help, and was filled with mixed emotions as Bonnie responded most quickly. Suspicion, because there was still no explanation for her presence; gratitude, because any pair of hands was welcome; and regret, because she was not going to be of very much use.

  ‘Here. Let me.’ Vic spoke with resignation, as the only person present likely to manage to lower the elderly man down the awkward staircase. ‘Corinne – you can lend a hand, can’t you? You brought the poor old guy up here, after all.’

  They all proceeded down, step by step, Spike leading the way, showing off his agility. Bertie remained at the top, whimpering, until Melanie scooped him up and carried him. Simmy followed her father, her whole body tight with fear that he was having heart failure or a stroke or some other life-threatening event. ‘Can you drive him?’ she was asking Vic. ‘Your car’s closest.’

  ‘Unless it’s been clamped by now,’ said Ben dourly.

  But there was no need for the car, because waiting inside the shop, looking as if he’d been there for some time, was Detective Inspector Moxon and a younger man who was very probably a detective constable.

  Chapter Twenty

  Nobody showed any deference in the presence of the police. To his credit, Moxon gave no sign of expecting any. He rallied magnificently at the sight of Simmy’s obvious distress over her father. ‘He needs to get to a hospital,’ he snapped. ‘Keith – you can take him, okay? That’ll be the quickest.’

  At these words, Russell’s head lifted, and his eyes focused. ‘Hospital?’ he gasped. ‘No, no. I don’t need that.’

  Moxon and Keith both paused. ‘Sir, you’re ill,’ said the inspector.

  ‘I’ll be all right. It’s nothing much. I just came over faint for a minute. I should go home. My wife must be worrying.’

  ‘That’s for sure,’ nodded Moxon. ‘I’ve been talking to her for the past hour, trying to assure her that you’ll be all right. If we let you come to harm now, she’s never going to forgive me.’

  ‘I must phone her,’ said Simmy. ‘And tell her we’ve found him. I should have done it twenty minutes ago. Except I didn’t have my phone,’ she added limply. Rallying, she went on, ‘And she’s going to tell us to take him home, rather than hospital. He hasn’t gone blue or anything, look. And it’s not a stroke, if he can talk, is it?’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with me,’ said Russell. ‘At least, nothing a hospital can fix. You might call it an existential crisis, I suppose.’

  Simmy met Moxon’s eyes, and held them for a few seconds. She read decency, amusement, weariness and melancholy in them. ‘I don’t suppose
you’re the only one,’ she said, partly to her father and partly to the detective.

  ‘Don’t forget Bertie,’ said Russell, as he was ushered through the shop by Keith and Melanie. Moxon followed with Vic and Corinne, which left Bonnie and Ben somehow lingering at the rear. Simmy looked back at them for a moment, and smiled. Something nice appeared to be happening amongst all the confusion.

  Bonnie’s lovely avenue of flowers was unequal to the passage of so many people, all heading for the front door and the street beyond. Simmy realised with a rush of regret that it was not going to work. However gorgeous it might be, it was a hazard. The shop was too small, the proportions all wrong.

  Outside they made a large group on the pavement. Vic uttered a wordless groan when he spotted a large sticker on his windscreen. ‘Oops!’ said Melanie. ‘I thought that might happen.’ She addressed the detective, speaking with determination. ‘That’s the car belonging to Travis McNaughton. I think you’ve been looking for it.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Moxon, gazing at the vehicle. ‘So it is.’ Simmy could see him making an effort to appear nonchalant. ‘Keith, you take Mr Straw and his dog down to Lake Road. Mrs Brown can go too, of course.’

  Simmy hesitated. ‘Actually, I think I ought to stay here. They won’t need me, if Dad’s really not going to hospital.’

  Moxon gave a small shrug, and went on with his orders. ‘The rest of you have some explaining to do. This is still a murder investigation, remember. I’m hoping’ – he looked from Corinne to Melanie and then Vic – ‘one or all of you might throw some light on it for me.’

  ‘Not me,’ objected Melanie. ‘It’s nothing to do with me. I shouldn’t even be here.’

  The man gave her a reproachful look. ‘The fact is, you are here, and with your comprehensive knowledge of Windermere society, I’m in no doubt you’ll have something to contribute. You’ve already drawn my attention to that car.’

  ‘There are a lot of men,’ said Simmy slowly. ‘I mean – who are they all? Corinne seems to know some of them. There was another one in here this morning. Bonnie called him a stalker. Murray – that’s his name. Looks like a bit of a gypsy.’