by Joyce Cato
‘Good. The sooner I know what made him tick, the better I’ll like it,’ Jason said, interrupting her thoughts.
Flora nodded. ‘But so far, nobody has said that they saw Dr Trenning anywhere near the flower tent. And we’ve already spoken to over a hundred people.’ She sounded as discouraged as he felt.
Jason’s lips thinned gloomily. ‘I might have bloody well known,’ he muttered. ‘Right. We might as well start. Let’s have Sir Hugh in first – he’ll blow a gasket if we don’t show him preference.’
Flora Glenn smiled conspiratorially, and left to fetch the squire.
Jason looked up as Sir Hugh entered the tent. It was now nearly half past five, and the accumulated heat wasn’t helping anyone’s temper. Because of the privacy Jason required, the tent had no open flaps save the front one, and as he stepped inside Sir Hugh was reminded of his army days training in the Sudan. He ran his handkerchief over the back of his neck and nodded at the blond policeman.
A good chap, this one, Sir Hugh’s instincts told him. Sharp and clever. Good officer material.
‘Sir Hugh,’ Jason said pleasantly. ‘Please, sit down.’ The chairs, of necessity, were of the slatted, wooden folding variety, but sturdy enough. He watched the old man sit down, and didn’t fail to notice the way his eyes strayed briefly to Flora Glenn’s legs as she too took a seat and crossed her legs at the knees.
Jason didn’t blame him – Flora had very nice legs – but it gave him a little insight into Sir Hugh’s personality.
‘Now, Sir Hugh, if I could just have a few personal details,’ he began, and quickly learned his age, address, marital status, telephone number and profession. ‘Right,’ he continued, ‘perhaps you can help me get the flower show set up straight in my mind. You’re the chairman, I believe?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Can you, first of all, run me through the timetable of the fete? What was supposed to happen when and did it all go as scheduled?’
He listened for a good five minutes as Sir Hugh explained the various workings of the Caulcott Green flower show. Flora, he noticed, made few scribbles in her notebook, but then she knew that Jason had asked the question mostly to relax the witness and get him in a voluble mood.
‘Thank you, that’s very clear,’ Jason said smoothly, when he’d finished. ‘Now, could you tell me a little about the judges themselves?’
Once again, Sir Hugh launched into conversation. It was obvious that many of the men and women in the flower show tent that day had been doing the same job for years. It wasn’t until he began to talk about the flower judges, however, that Jason really started to pay attention, and something in particular had him sitting up straight in his chair.
‘I’m sorry to interrupt you, Sir Hugh,’ he said loudly, stopping the ex-soldier in mid-flow. ‘But you’ve just made a mistake. You said that James Davies was judging the dahlias this year.’
Sir Hugh’s face darkened. ‘And so he was, Chief Inspector. So he was. I don’t make mistakes like that.’
Jason slowly leaned forward in his chair. ‘But, Sir Hugh, all the people I’ve talked to so far agree that James Davies was judging the roses. In fact, the … er … murder weapon was planted in a rose.’
He watched as the old soldier’s face crumpled in disbelief. His watery eyes widened. ‘Bloody hell,’ Sir Hugh said succinctly. ‘So he was. I never noticed… .’ He shook his head, as if unable to believe that he’d failed to spot such a breach of the rules. Then his face reddened alarmingly. ‘Well he had no damned right to be judging the roses.’ He began to splutter, such was his anger. ‘That was, that … that …’ Sir Hugh was almost incandescent with rage now, ‘that … bastard, Ross Ferris’s job. The dahlias were the real challenge this year; that’s why it was agreed at committee level that James should judge it. He was always fair, and the entrants were more likely to accept his judgement without getting into a tizz over it,’ Sir Hugh explained, talking so fast now that his words were almost tripping over themselves. ‘Are you telling me that … that … Ferris,’ he spat the word out as if it were a choice swearword, ‘was actually judging the dahlias?’ The last word came out as an outraged squeak.
It would almost have been funny if it weren’t so significant.
Jason cast Flora a quick look, and saw that the sergeant was also sitting on the edge of her seat, and trying not to stare too obviously at the witness.
Jason took a slow, deep breath. ‘Sir Hugh, tell me. Was it widely known that Ross Ferris was going to be judging the roses this year?’ he asked casually.
‘I’d say it was!’ Sir Hugh exploded, and proceeded to tell them, with much bitterness, the saga of the roses, and how poor Millie Fletcher, the proper rose expert, had been steamrollered aside by Ferris. ‘The man was absolutely blatant about it.’ Sir Hugh finally came to the end of his bluster, leaving only white-faced bitter rage in its place. ‘And now you tell me that we could have had Millie after all, because he swapped with James? How the devil did James let him get away with that? I wouldn’t have done,’ he added unnecessarily. ‘Damned if I would. And James knew it was against the rules to swap—’ He broke off, appearing to suddenly remember that James was dead. ‘Yes, well, he was a vicar, I suppose,’ he muttered more forgivingly. ‘He did it to keep the peace, no doubt.’
‘Sir Hugh, could someone in Ferris Labs, for instance, have known in advance who was supposed to be judging which class?’
‘Nothing simpler,’ Sir Hugh stated flatly. ‘The list of judges is always printed in the edition of the village newsletter just prior to the show. And nowadays, it’s even online. Anybody could look it up.’
Jason sighed and rubbed his forehead wearily. ‘So anyone would have known that Ross Ferris was judging the roses this year?’ he clarified miserably.
‘Yes,’ Sir Hugh said flatly. Then he scowled. ‘Except that he didn’t, did he?’
Jason wondered if the ex-soldier could be as oblivious to what this really meant as he seemed to be.
‘Just one more thing, Sir Hugh. Did you yourself go anywhere near the display of roses? Or the display of Peace in particular?’
A strange expression suddenly crossed Sir Hugh’s face. A sort of sickly fascinated expression that made Jason sit up and take notice.
‘Well, as a matter of fact, I did,’ Sir Hugh said reluctantly, looking embarrassed. ‘Everyone knows it’s my favourite of all. I took a good hearty sniff… .’ He paled, then carried on bravely, ‘Just before the judging started.’
Jason stared at him, his mind racing. Had his witness just gone pale because he realized that he’d just admitted to having the perfect opportunity to plant the capsule? Or was it because he suddenly understood that if somebody had planted it sooner, then it would be him lying dead now, and not James Davies? And then another ugly little thought slid slyly into Jason’s mind. If, as Sir Hugh claimed, everyone knew he had a fondness for Peace, could Sir Hugh have been the intended victim all along?
He looked across at Flora, who managed to get Sir Hugh to his feet and out the door with very little fuss. When she returned she looked at Jason with a gleam in her eye.
Jason smiled grimly. ‘All along I’ve had trouble with a harmless vicar as a murder victim, Sergeant,’ he said with quiet satisfaction. ‘But Ross Ferris … now he’s just the sort that would go and get himself murdered.’
Flora nodded. ‘I’ve been getting that impression all afternoon. Nobody at the fete has had a good word to say about the man. So you think Ferris was definitely the intended target all along, sir?’
‘Don’t you?’
Flora nodded. ‘It makes much more sense,’ she agreed.
‘And Dr Gordon Trenning worked for Ross Ferris,’ Jason said. ‘Which is a definite connection. That’s more than we have for Trenning and James Davies. So far we haven’t found one thing that links the scientist and the vicar together. Flora, go and find out what’s taking so long for those reports to come in on Trenning. I want to know if there was any bad blo
od, or even the tiniest hint of trouble between him and his boss. From what we’ve heard of Ross Ferris so far, it’s doubtful that he’s a candidate for an Employer of the Year award.’
Flora nodded. ‘Yes, sir,’ she said, and got to her feet.
Of course, what he needed was more basic background, Jason thought. Someone who could give him a truthful, unbiased opinion of the personalities involved. And he knew just the man to do it.
‘Oh, and Flora, ask Graham Noble to come in next.’
Flora shot him a surprised look. She’d have bet a month’s salary that he’d have asked to see Ferris.
‘Yes, sir,’ she added, a bit less crisply.
Sir Hugh, contrary to what Flora or Jason might have believed, had not missed the implications of the dahlia/rose swap at all. Furthermore, he had a shrewd idea what connotations the chief inspector had put on it.
The moment he left the interview tent, his outraged expression vanished, and he looked around at the slowly thinning crowd with sharp, seeking eyes. He needed to see someone, and urgently. At last, his eyes found the one he sought, and he marched across the field towards the tea tent, and the quietly sitting figure of Daphne Cadge-Hampton.
‘Graham. Sorry to drag you away from Monica. Is she really feeling all right?’ Jason stood up as the vicar of Heyford Bassett came in. Flora, her face a picture of bland blankness, left to hurry along the reports.
‘It’s fine, I know how it is,’ Graham said, taking a seat without being asked. ‘And yes, Monica’s perfectly well, thanks for asking.’ He looked at Jason patiently, his hands folded across his lap.
‘Tell me, Graham, what class was James judging this year?’ Jason asked casually.
‘The dahlias.’ The reply came promptly and without any doubt.
Jason’s eyes flickered, just a bit, and Graham sat forward on his chair as he suddenly caught on. ‘But in the tent, it was the roses …’ he added quietly. ‘Funny, I never gave it a thought at the time.’
Jason nodded. As he’d remembered, there were no flies on Graham Noble. ‘What can you tell me about Ross Ferris?’ he asked crisply.
Graham looked at him, a shade uncomfortably. Jason sighed. ‘Yes, I know. It feels like you’re “sneaking” on friends and neighbours. But two people are dead—’
‘Two?’ Graham echoed sharply.
Jason nodded. So, the grapevine hadn’t yet picked up on the other murder, then? SOCO must be being very discreet.
‘Yes, I’m afraid so,’ Jason said, but didn’t elaborate. ‘I really need to know what’s what.’
Graham sighed. ‘Well, Mr Ferris isn’t very popular with anyone much, but that’s hardly a secret.’
Jason pursed his lips. ‘I find that a little puzzling. Don’t his labs employ a fair few locals? Surely the job market isn’t so great around here that people can turn up their noses at an industry right on their doorstep?’
‘Oh, some people are glad of the jobs, of course,’ Graham said hastily. ‘But the majority don’t work there and never wanted the old mill to be turned into a lab complex in the first place. You know how scared people can get of something they don’t know much about. Even in Heyford I’ve heard rumours that they’re making chemical weapons for the government out here, and that one day everyone will be poisoned in their beds while they sleep. Others are sure that the labs are an ecological disaster just waiting to happen.’
Jason smiled. ‘Like that, is it?’
‘With some reason, Chief Inspector,’ Graham rebuked him mildly. ‘Haven’t you heard what happened to Sir Hugh’s angling business?’
Jason’s eyes sharpened. ‘No. Tell me.’
So Graham did. When he’d finished, Jason slowly nodded. No wonder Sir Hugh hated the man’s guts. And he’d bet that there was even more to it than the loss of his fish stock and the strain of the upcoming court case. If he knew Ferris, and he was beginning to, he’d bet his last pound that the interloper was also trying to oust Sir Hugh from his role as squire. And that would cut deep.
So here was one man at least who’d wanted Ferris dead. But not James Davies. And by his own admission, Sir Hugh hadn’t noticed, or hadn’t known, that the two men had swapped judging roles. And he’d inspected the display of roses himself… .
‘I see. Anything else?’
‘Well, there was that tragedy with Malvin Cook’s son,’ Graham said uneasily.
‘Who?’ Jason was sure he hadn’t heard this name before.
‘Sir Hugh’s gardener. His son was one of the first to get a job at the lab. Apparently they’re a big producer of fertilizers and stuff. A sort of lucrative sideline, you might say. That’s the area where the majority of their unskilled workers come in; loading and transporting lorries and the like. Anyway, Brian, Malvin’s son, was killed in an accident barely a few months after starting work there. A big crate of fertilizer toppled off a forklift truck and killed him.’
Jason stared at Graham intently. ‘What happened?’
‘Oh, it was found that the forklift truck hadn’t been maintained properly. Ross Ferris, from what I can remember from reading about it in the local papers, tried to argue that he’d bought the equipment from another firm, and that they were therefore responsible for seeing to it that the forklifts were OK. But the safety inspection people and the court judges didn’t agree. They found in the Cook family’s favour and awarded Malvin and his wife a huge amount in damages. Well, Brian was their only son and main breadwinner,’ Graham added meaningfully.
Jason nodded in total understanding. But what was all the money in the world compared with losing your only child? ‘And you say this Malvin Cook works for Sir Hugh?’
‘As his gardener, yes. One of those men who has worked for the same family since he was fourteen. Not many of their kind left, nowadays,’ Graham mused sadly.
And there’s another man with a good reason for wanting Ross Ferris dead, Jason thought. He wondered ruefully just how many more he was going to find before the day was out.
It was looking more and more likely that James Davies had died by mistake, in the place of Ross Ferris, and as a direct result of the vicar’s own charitable action in agreeing to swap judging classes. He wondered, a shade metaphysically, what James Davies would have thought about that, had he been given the chance to comment.
‘I see. And what can you tell me about your friend James? Know anybody who might have wanted to hurt him?’
As expected, Graham couldn’t help him there. He heard once again about the loss of the Davies’s son, Tommy, and that it was generally thought that Wendy Davies wasn’t yet over it. He also confirmed John Clarke’s view of the vicar’s character. When he was finished, Jason was more convinced than ever that the potential victim must have been Ross Ferris.
Just then, Flora came back, clutching a folder of papers and looking, even to Graham’s eyes, flushed with excitement. She took a seat next to her superior and carefully kept quiet.
Graham cast a quick questioning look at Jason, who nodded back in response, and guessing himself to be dismissed, the vicar rose to his feet, bade them a brief farewell, and left.
Flora watched the good-looking clergyman go with eyes that were openly curious. ‘A very handsome man that, sir,’ she said, watching Jason Dury closely.
‘Yes, so I’ve been told,’ Jason said mildly. ‘What have you got for me, Sergeant?’ he asked, meeting her gaze levelly.
Flora had enough sense to drop it. ‘News from Ferris Labs, sir. It seems that there was some big trouble between Gordon Trenning and his boss.’
‘Why am I not surprised,’ Jason said dryly. ‘So what was it all about, then?’
‘Some sort of computer chip or gizmo patent that Trenning came up with. Apparently it’s all set to revolutionize the computer world, sir. It would have made Trenning very rich indeed. Maybe even billionaire rich, if his fellow workers are to be believed.’
Jason whistled under his breath. ‘I notice you said it “would have” made him rich?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Flora grinned. ‘Except that Ross Ferris successfully registered the patent under the Ferris Lab name first. Got his lawyers to argue that Trenning made the gizmo on firm time, using the company’s facilities, and whilst under contract to the lab.’
‘Ergo, it belongs to them.’
‘Yes. Dr Trenning was not happy, they tell me,’ she added in massive understatement, unable to stop herself from being facetious.
‘No, I don’t suppose he was,’ Jason said dryly. ‘So he decides to get revenge by making a killer capsule that has his name written all over it. Not very clever, for a very clever man,’ he added thoughtfully.
‘Losing all that money would unhinge anyone, sir,’ Flora pointed out. ‘Perhaps he didn’t care if he got caught, just so long as his enemy was dead.’
‘And killing him in such a clever and outrageous way probably would appeal to a boffin like him,’ Jason agreed slowly.
‘So he planted the capsule …’ Flora put in.
‘Except that we can’t find anyone who can put him anywhere near the tent and the rose display,’ Jason added flatly.
‘And then he promptly killed himself by hitting himself on the back of the head with something and then tossing the weapon away before he died,’ Flora finished ironically. ‘You’re right, it still doesn’t fit, does it?’
Jason sighed. ‘Still no sign of the blunt instrument, I take it?’
‘Not yet, sir. I noticed the uniforms are in the field opposite the tent now. With all those deep ruts and covering stubble, a half a dozen murder weapons could have been tossed over the fence and be lying up out of sight.’
Jason sighed, rubbed his eyes, and brought Flora up to date on what he’d learned so far.
‘So that’s three people that we know of who might have wanted this man Ferris dead,’ Flora mused.
‘Perhaps the question should be who wanted Trenning dead?’ Jason said. ‘He must have had an accomplice. He must have made the capsule, then passed it on to someone else to plant it and thus kill Ferris. He must have had one hell of a shock when he heard that it was the vicar who was dead by mistake. Who knows, perhaps that’s why he was killed himself? He wasn’t going to stand for an innocent man dying, and threatened to confess all. So his accomplice had to kill him to keep him quiet. Which means that his accomplice almost certainly had to be one of the judges. They were the only ones who would have opportunity to plant the capsule at the right time.’
