by Rebecca Tope
Corinne gave a loud snort. ‘Come off it! No sense trying to finger poor old Murray as a killer. He’s stoned senseless most of the time.’
At the name Murray, Spike began a low rumbling growl, a much bigger sound than such a small fluffy animal might be expected to make. ‘Hey, boy, that’s enough,’ said Bonnie. ‘He’s not here. Don’t worry.’
‘I wasn’t …’ Simmy began, before realising that it had sounded very much as if she was suggesting Murray was the murderer. ‘I didn’t mean—’ she tried again.
Moxon waved her into silence. ‘This is the way of it,’ he said, rather obscurely. ‘Names get thrown about, wild ideas mostly. But it’s all part of getting the bigger picture.’ He looked again at Melanie. ‘Which is where Miss Todd can often be useful.’
‘I’ve never heard of a bloke called Murray,’ she muttered, unsure as to how she should react. Pride at being deemed useful or resentment at being singled out – the two were visibly in conflict.
‘Were you at Miss Hodge’s funeral?’ Simmy asked Moxon, out of the blue. ‘Did you see what happened?’
He shook his head. ‘Too busy for that,’ he said. ‘The boss went along, as far as I know. Why – what happened, then? Were you there?’
‘I was,’ came the voice of Ben Harkness. ‘It’s got nothing to do with any of this, though.’ He frowned at Simmy accusingly. ‘Completely irrelevant,’ he repeated.
‘Even so,’ Simmy argued. ‘It’s where everybody was at twelve o’clock.’
‘Were you there?’ asked Moxon again.
‘Not the actual service. I went to look for my parents at one, and got swamped by the crowd of confused mourners.’
‘Why confused?’
‘Haven’t you heard?’ Ben was finally diverted. ‘It ended in chaos, because Valerie Rossiter collapsed or fainted or something halfway through her speech.’
‘Eulogy,’ Simmy corrected him. ‘It’s called a eulogy.’
‘Anyway, nobody knew what to do after that, and it all got rushed through, with a hymn and bells and stuff, while she pulled herself together. She was fine after a bit. People were miffed at first. They weren’t getting their money’s worth.’
‘What?’ Simmy snapped. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he shrugged. ‘They felt short-changed, even if it does make good gossip. People always say, don’t they, a funeral’s for the people left behind, not the one who’s died. And that’s obvious, isn’t it? I mean – I can see there’s some satisfaction in thinking about your own funeral and how everyone’s going to say nice things about you, and be terribly sorry you’ve gone. But at the actual time, it can’t really be for the dead person, can it? Because they’re dead,’ he finished with stark simplicity. ‘So when you think about it, it’s just as well in this case. I don’t imagine the Hodge lady would have been very impressed. There was a whole page more stuff to come that never happened.’
‘Was somebody else meant to talk about her, then?’
‘No. But there was something about blessing the dogs. I counted six altogether. That never happened.’
Moxon cleared his throat and rolled his eyes. ‘That woman was obsessed with dogs,’ he said. ‘But I really don’t think this is the moment to be going over all that. Haven’t we got more pressing business?’ He examined the faces of Corinne and Vic with a close inspection.
‘You’re right,’ said Ben, as if he were the senior investigating officer himself. ‘We need to focus on what Vic told us just now. Travis McNaughton had nothing to do with dognapping. This man can tell you all about the car and what he did with it. You can get DNA samples, which will identify the man who was in it on Monday. That’s who you need to go after. He’s the one.’
‘Okay, son.’ Moxon’s restraint was palpable. ‘Let’s take it a step at a time, shall we? And preferably not standing out here in the street.’
‘Where, then?’ said Simmy. ‘There’s no room in the shop for all of you.’
‘I have no intention of conducting interviews in a flower shop. In fact, there’s no need for you to be involved at all. If the rest of you,’ he swept Bonnie, Corinne, Vic, Melanie and Ben with a comprehensive scrutiny, ‘would all make your way to the station, I’d be very happy to talk to you. Although,’ he paused, ‘Mr Harkness, I dare say we can manage without you, at this point. Unless you have an actual testimony for me, I think you can be excused.’
Ben was speechless with indignation. Melanie gave him a little consolatory pat, and Bonnie smiled up at him with a special secret little smile that everybody noticed. Spike moved to him and gave him a nudge, for good measure. ‘I’m right, you know,’ the boy said loudly. ‘You’ll see.’
‘I’m not saying otherwise. Your point about the car is a very good one. I’m calling now to ensure it’s taken right away for examination. Mr …?’ he looked at Vic. ‘Remind me.’
‘Corless,’ said the man, with an unhappy shake of his head. ‘I need those wheels. How’m I meant to get back to Troutbeck? I was only going to be out for an hour or two. They’ll be wondering about me.’
Moxon pressed on. ‘Mr Corless, as I was saying, can explain everything we need to know, I’m sure.’ He blinked a few times, as his thoughts began to fall into place. ‘This is the car that McNaughton was driving on Tuesday? Is that what you’re telling me?’
‘Yes!’ Ben almost shouted. ‘It’s vitally important evidence.’
‘All right, lad. I’m with you. No need to shout. So you’ – again he addressed Vic – ‘you know who the other man was, then? The one in the passenger seat on Monday afternoon?’
‘Obviously I do,’ sighed Vic. ‘It was Zippy Newsome.’ He waited for a reaction. ‘You know Zippy? Blind from birth, sharp as a razor – but not much use with one, when it comes to slaughtering his best mate.’ He glared at Ben. ‘Which puts the kybosh on your clever little theory, doesn’t it, boy?’
Melanie spoke up. ‘Zippy Newsome? I know him. Why hasn’t somebody already figured out that it was him, then?’ She looked from Moxon to Vic. ‘Didn’t you tell them when they questioned you on Wednesday?’
Vic smiled unpleasantly. ‘They never asked me,’ he said. ‘They were just two uniformed plods, not working the murder case. All they were interested in was whether I’d been stealing dogs. Nothing about a car, or anything like that. I reckoned that since it was Monday they were asking about, I didn’t need to fill them in about Tuesday. I’d got the motor back by then, anyhow.’
‘Obstructing the course of justice, illegal parking … what else?’ asked Moxon furiously.
‘Setting snares for unwary rabbits, and catching dogs instead,’ said Ben.
‘Enough!’ roared Moxon. A few passers-by had been loitering a little way along the pavement, intrigued by the intense conversation going on.
‘But if the man was blind, why didn’t the boy, Tim, tell you that?’ she wondered.
‘He wouldn’t have known,’ said Vic. ‘Clever bloke, Zip. That’s why they call him that. He seems pretty normal at first glance. And I doubt the boy got much time with him, anyhow.’
‘But he and Travis were planning to do something furtive on Tuesday,’ Ben continued, oblivious to the angry detective. ‘How was that going to work, if he’s blind?’
‘Don’t know nothing about that,’ snapped Vic. ‘All I know is that Zippy’s no fool. He works in France half the time, doing something with wine. Tasting it and that. He’s sharp, like I said.’
Simmy noted that Bonnie and Corinne had gone back into the shop at some point in the proceedings. She went in after them, thinking that Ben and Moxon were never going to establish a viable relationship. The boy was too young, too clever and much too outspoken. And if she’d followed the logic as she believed she had, then his assumptions were well off the mark. Her own assumptions had turned to dust at the same time. For no good reason, she had been imagining the killer as the other man in the red car on Monday. Quite why that should be, she could not now explain.
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Corinne was on her mobile, while Bonnie leant against the back wall with Spike at her feet. ‘Don’t give me that, Frank,’ Corinne was saying. ‘I never said I’d go for sure. And anyway, it’s not too late. I can try and make it tomorrow. That’s time enough.’
Simmy felt a flash of anger. Who’s Frank? she wanted to know. And what made Corinne think it would be all right to just go off the next day as if nothing had happened? This woman had lured her father away from home and incarcerated him in a dusty attic for reasons that remained impenetrable. ‘Only if the police will let you,’ she said loudly, ignoring the protocol that gave precedence to a phone conversation over one with a person in the flesh.
Corinne made the classic face that indicated what a strain it was to speak to two people at once. ‘Pardon?’ she said. Then, ‘Wait a minute, Frank.’ She looked at Simmy. ‘What did you say?’
‘Aren’t you forgetting that the police are going to want to talk to you?’ New thoughts were arising as she spoke. ‘For all I know, it was you who sent that threatening letter. You wanted to get Vic in the clear. You knew he’d been setting those snares and you didn’t want me or my dad to say any more to incriminate him.’
‘Shut up,’ said Corinne, without rancour. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’ She returned to the phone, rudely turning her back on Simmy.
‘Sorry,’ said Bonnie. ‘She’s never been much good at the social graces.’
‘You’re always saying “sorry”!’ Simmy turned her frustration on the girl. ‘What good does “sorry” do? Everything’s in chaos, and some of it’s your fault. The least you could do is explain what’s going on.’
‘We explained already. There isn’t anything else. Your dad’s okay. And it wasn’t Corinne who sent the letter. Of course it wasn’t. She doesn’t do stuff like that. All she cares about is the dogs. She’d never have let Vic set snares, if she’d known about it. She won’t worry if he’s in trouble over it. Serves him right.’
Corinne’s phone call was concluded, and she faced Simmy again. ‘Did I hear Bonnie setting you straight?’
‘She says you didn’t send the letter.’
‘Too right. First I’ve heard of it was today. What did it say, anyhow?’
‘It threatened to burn my parents’ house down if my father testified to what he saw on Monday in Troutbeck. Very nasty. It had a terrible effect on him.’
‘And he saw Vic with those rabbits in a bag. He’ll have sent the letter, then. I thought there must be something else.’ She sighed. ‘I always forget what a complete fool Vic can be.’
‘So, it wasn’t anything to do with the men in the car. The letter was all about Vic,’ said Simmy slowly.
She was trying to think. It wasn’t easy, with Ben and Moxon and Vic still outside, and her father on his way home, and the shop turning into a sort of meeting place for all these people. Melanie would be wanting to talk to her – she could feel it as a sort of pressure. She gave up. ‘Can you both go, please?’ she said. ‘And take that dog out of my shop.’
Bonnie looked as if she’d been slapped. Corinne put a sheltering arm around her shoulders. ‘No need to be like that,’ she told Simmy.
‘I think there’s every need. You don’t seem to understand what you’ve done. It’s completely outrageous …’ she spluttered in speechless indignation, to be saved by Moxon coming into the shop.
‘If you two ladies would come with me,’ he began without preamble, ‘we can leave Mrs Brown in peace. I think she’s had enough disruption for one afternoon.’
Simmy threw him a grateful look. ‘I was just asking them to go,’ she said.
‘Are you arresting us?’ Corinne blustered.
‘Of course not. You can drop the melodrama. We need to ask you some questions – which must be obvious, even to you.’ He regarded her with an unsettlingly placid gaze, which plainly conveyed his lack of surprise or concern at anything she might say.
‘And me?’ said Bonnie. ‘Again?’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Possibly not you,’ he conceded. ‘For now, anyway.’
They left in a group, to join Vic who was waiting like a patient horse on the pavement. Simmy wondered how Moxon would get them all down to the police station, half a mile away, and visualised a sort of small crocodile walking purposefully along, and attracting interested glances as they went.
Ben and Melanie came in, half a minute later, and suddenly everything felt familiar and normal again. ‘I’ll make us some tea,’ said Simmy.
By a small miracle – or so it felt – a customer came in moments later. Melanie stepped forward and helped with a choice of flowers for the weekend. Ben made himself useful straightening the two lines of pots and pails that comprised Bonnie’s arrangement.
‘Don’t talk,’ Simmy pleaded, when she came back with three mugs of tea. ‘At least, nothing that’s going to hurt my brain.’
‘Fat chance,’ said Melanie cheerfully. ‘He’s bursting with it. Look at him!’
It was true that Ben was in a state of great excitement. His eyes sparkled and he couldn’t keep still. ‘That was so … epic!’ he marvelled. ‘All those people, right in the middle of things. Poor old Moxo didn’t know where to turn.’ He laughed. ‘He’s not the brightest of blokes, is he? I thought he’d never get to grips with it all.’
‘And you did, I suppose,’ said Simmy. ‘Honestly, Ben, you make me feel exhausted just to look at you. Besides, it really isn’t that exciting. Think of my poor father. And bloody Bonnie,’ she added furiously. ‘That girl …’
Both youngsters looked at her in astonishment. ‘What did Bonnie do?’ asked Melanie, at the same time as Ben demanded, ‘What do you mean?’
‘She’s always there. She’s like some supernatural creature, popping up and causing trouble. She was even at the funeral, at Valerie Rossiter’s side. That was weird enough. Then she’s upstairs tormenting my dad. She always looks as if she knows what’s going to happen next.’ She shook her head in confusion. ‘How dare she take them upstairs, like that? I told her I wouldn’t allow it. And nobody seems to see it but me,’ she finished helplessly. ‘Look at you, both of you, all ready to jump to her defence.’
She remembered how, only half an hour before, she’d thought it sweet that Ben and Bonnie were getting along so well together. Now she felt as if the boy was in grave danger. ‘And she’s such an innocent little thing, I know. That’s what people think. That’s what I thought. But now I see it in a different way. I think she’s malicious. And I don’t like that dog, either,’ she finished with a flourish. The bile was pouring out of her, and she felt better for it.
‘Blimey, Sim,’ said Melanie. ‘She’s really rattled your cage, hasn’t she?’
‘Whatever that means,’ snapped Simmy.
‘It’s only that she’s clever,’ said Ben quietly. ‘That’s all it is, you know. Clever people are annoying, for some reason. It’s not her fault.’
‘Like you annoy Moxon,’ nodded Melanie. ‘Let me say now, Ben, that you’re not to marry Bonnie. Two clever people together is a waste. You should spread the genes around a bit, and both marry thickoes. Besides, you’d be sure to annoy each other a million times more than other people.’
Ben flushed a deep red and scowled.
‘Stop it,’ said Simmy, like a mother. She looked at her watch. ‘Nearly four! Why’s business so slow today? Fridays are normally quite busy.’
‘Duh! Think about it,’ said Melanie, with a roll of her good eye. ‘What has everybody in the whole town been doing this afternoon?’
‘Oh, yes. Silly me. The funeral. I might as well shut up shop for the day, then, don’t you think?’
‘Up to you. The after-the-funeral business will have finished by now, so people might decide to do some shopping next. Is there something else you’d rather be doing? Have you got everything sorted for tomorrow’s wedding?’
Simmy hardly knew where to start. She wanted to be with her father, most of all. She also wanted to sit dow
n with DI Nolan Moxon and try to discover just where she and Russell stood regarding their observations in Troutbeck. But he would be much too busy to go along with any such exercise. She also felt a lingering concern for Vic Corless, who might yet prove to be a murderer, but who had kind, sad eyes and a basic good nature, if she was any judge. He wasn’t very bright, and that was working to his disadvantage. It seemed a shame.
‘I feel a bit sorry for that man Vic,’ she said, ducking Melanie’s questions.
‘Whatever for?’
‘I keep remembering how he fell over in the mud, and how he came to talk to me the next day. I thought he was being threatening, but now I wonder if I got it wrong. He might have just wanted to talk about his friend getting killed.’
‘I’m not sure we’ve heard the whole story. What time was it when you talked to him?’
‘Oh, Ben,’ she sighed. ‘Something like seven, I suppose. It was evening, and I was in the garden. Everything was lovely and peaceful. And then he came and told me there’d been a murder, down by Town End. He’s just explained all that to us. There’s nothing more to say about it.’
‘We can’t be sure. Do you know him?’ Ben asked Melanie.
‘I know the name. Never actually met him before. He’s got a brother they call Hank. I did see him a few times when I was about nine. He had a bit of a thing with my mum’s young sister, for a while. Had a kiddie with her – called it Madison, for some reason. He’ll be nine or ten by now. Lives with Vic’s mum most of the time.’
Simmy felt hopelessly beleaguered by the complexities of local relationships. ‘So he’s the father of your cousin. Good God, Mel! Is there anybody round here you’re not related to?’
‘Course there is. And I’m not actually related to Vic, am I? It’s no big deal.’
‘She is pretty much linked to almost everybody, all the same,’ said Ben. ‘Don’t forget Bonnie’s best friends with Chloe. That’s why Mel brought her along as her replacement.’
‘I realise that,’ said Simmy, with a sense of actually understanding very little of the connections and currents existing just below the surface. Windermere was small enough for everybody to know everybody, particularly those families who’d been there for generations. Remove the incomers and the visitors and you were left with a close-knit community with centuries of shared history. ‘It’s the reason I keep trying to give Bonnie the benefit of the doubt. But after today, I’m not managing too well. I never know what she’ll do next.’
