‘What the hell is he, an all-in wrestler?’
He’d offered me a tiny chink in the severity of his attitude. I didn’t take it, but went on quietly. ‘He’s an accountant. Due to the recent death of his father, he’s now Sir Jeremy Searle.’
He didn’t react to that, but lowered one of the cases on to its side and tried the catches. It wasn’t locked. The lid came up. He stared. ‘What did you call the things?’
‘They’re called masks. I suppose they’re death masks. About 1000 BC. Mexican or something.’
‘Valuable?’ He looked back over his shoulder.
‘I’m told — the one you’ve got in your hand could be worth eight to nine thousand pounds. Give or take. And there’re nineteen altogether.’
He got to his feet and stood staring down at them. ‘And he was going to shut them in there?’ He jerked a thumb at the cottage.
‘So it seems.’ I wasn’t going to commit myself as to any of Jeremy’s intentions or motivations.
‘There’s no security. You got in...’
‘I just leaned against the back door.’
‘Well, then.’ He allowed a pause to develop, then ran his hand through his hair, a coiled, jumbled mass of blond curls. I wondered whether he usually wore a hat; but it probably wouldn’t stay on.
‘They all crazy around here?’ he asked without interest.
‘We’ve been here only a day,’ I said. ‘My wife and myself. Yes, they’re certainly crazy.’ I was trying to encourage him.
His mouth twisted and the haggard cheeks drew aside to permit a distorted smile. ‘We’ll see. We’ll see. Get down there, yourself. You’ll be walking?’
I had no alternative. ‘Yes.’
‘I’ll just have a quick look, and I’ll be down. The Scene of Crimes team’ll take over up here.’
‘I expect they will.’
And when that happened, nobody — and that included Chief Inspector Phillips himself — would be able to enter the cottage until they’d drained it of every scrap of evidence.
‘And don’t imagine,’ he added, turning back, ‘that I’ll give you much time to rehearse their statements.’ He nodded bleakly.
I headed for the path down through the trees.
11
I try to persuade myself that I think better when walking. This is not so, however, because I always find myself involved in what is around me. That morning there was far too much to distract me down the woodland path. I naturally used this route, as a shortcut. Jeremy, no doubt, coming up in the other direction, had been completely absorbed in the simple process of putting one foot in front of the other. But I could afford to cast my eyes around.
The low sun had now cut through a thin mist that had been clinging to the ground, and was sparkling through the wet trees, glinting in the grass where the frost had not quite melted. The surface shimmered as the light breeze moved the branches. They had an uncertainty, a tentative new life, in which they danced in the sun.
I stopped, and looked back up the slope behind me. Long shadows chased around my feet. All about me was a gentle rustle as the trees shook the frost away. I walked on, the shadows chasing me, and as I at last came in sight of the house it seemed that I had arrived at a wrong destination, that I had walked into a different setting.
The grim grey stone house now presented a warm, brown and placid face, bathed by the early sun, even a welcoming face. With the wild, sunken garden ahead of me, and the four stone steps rising beyond it, the effect of placid dignity was superb. If I’d only brought my camera! But one doesn’t expect photographic opportunities to arise during the reading of a will. It was a pity about the non-photogenic motor vehicles on the drive, especially the yellow and black Citroen 2CV.
So Joe had arrived.
I plodded on, my mind now dwelling on a pint of tea and a breakfast consisting hopefully of half a dozen rashers of bacon and two fried eggs. At the four stone steps, I paused. There, pounded through the thin ice layer and into the mud beneath were Jeremy’s footprints, at top and bottom. His trainers, with the cleated soles. If DCI Phillips treasured any idea that the feat could not have been accomplished on foot by Jeremy — and that he’d brought the cases up in a car — there was the proof. Right footprint at the top, left one heavily in the mud at the bottom. I therefore carefully walked round them, plodded on, and as I emerged from the tall hedgerow and in sight of the house I was very nearly thrown on my back by Jake and Sheba, their leads flying behind them.
Amelia, laughing, was running behind them.
‘How do they do it?’ she cried, as she approached. ‘I didn’t see you coming, not till the very last second. But they knew. They were off, and took the leads right out of my hands.’
‘They no doubt heard my stomach rumbling,’ I told her, looking up from my crouch.
She was suddenly very serious. ‘But we’ve got nothing to laugh at,’ she said gloomily. ‘Trouble seems to follow you around.’
I grimaced, took the two leads, and we headed round to the side of the house, hungrily to the kitchen door and the breakfast I’d promised myself.
The kitchen was crowded. Nobody had had any breakfast, and they were all demanding tea, at the very least. This, Gladys was providing, but she insisted that they all should go and clean up a little, and appear tidily in the dining-room like ordinary civilised people, where she would serve breakfast as usual.
Joe declared he had eaten, and required no more than a large mug of tea. He kissed Jennie delicately, slapped her bottom, and said he would see her later. He ushered her out of the door, waited until the rest had left, then stood with his back to the door and his eyes on me.
I said, ‘Why did you send them all away, Joe?’
He winked at me. ‘Wanted to have a quiet word with you.’
‘Then sit yourself down. That all right, Gladys?’ I asked, this being her kitchen.
She nodded, her eyes on Joe, as though measuring him to see if he deserved Jennie. She gave no evidence of her thoughts on this. Mary, I saw, had left with the others.
Joe sat beside me. It appeared that he wished to talk, confidentially.
‘Some difficulty?’ I asked him.
‘I don’t know.’ He cradled the mug in his hands. ‘I’m here,’ he said at last. ‘Jennie phoned me — I’m only ten minutes away. So I ran over in the car. That’s why I’m here.’
‘That’s your Citroen?’
‘Yes. That’s mine.’
‘Not much room in there for half a dozen Dobermanns,’ I commented.
‘It’s held up so far.’ He cocked his head. ‘Might manage something bigger, later on.’
‘You’ll need every penny of Jennie’s money to make that cottage habitable. I hope you realise that.’
‘Don’t fish, Mr Patton, please. I know what I can do and can’t. The cottage will be lived in, and by us.’
‘If she still wants to live there.’
‘Why wouldn’t she?’ He raised his eyebrows.
‘There’s been a violent death in the place,’ I said flatly.
‘I don’t think that’d put her off,’ he said with confidence. ‘If I know my Jennie. And there’ll have been lots of deaths in those two cottages over the years. The odds are that some of ‘em could’ve been violent. That worry you, does it?’
‘Not a bit.’
‘Then what’s getting at you, Mr Patton?’
I shrugged. ‘Your plans. How they might be affected. You know. It’s none of my business, anyway.’
‘You’re too right there.’
‘But you wanted to ask me something,’ I reminded him.
He eyed me cautiously, as though wondering whether to trust me. He put on a casual tone. ‘I was just wondering if that copper who’s come here’ll want to ask me any questions. ‘Cause if so, I’d like to get it over and done with, then I can get back to my dogs.’
‘Now why would he want to ask you anything, Joe? You don’t come into it, surely.’
He put down hi
s empty mug, ran his fingers through his hair, and grimaced at me. ‘Oh yes, I do,’ he said gloomily.
Gladys put a plate of sausage and two eggs in front of me. ‘You too, Joe?’ she asked.
‘Thanks, but I’ve had some breakfast.’
‘Thought you might fancy another.’ She shrugged, pursing her lips.
They all knew each other around there. I felt Amelia leaning against my shoulder. She had no intention of missing one word.
I dug into my breakfast.
‘How do you come into it, Joe?’ I asked, as placidly as I could make it sound. But I didn’t like the sound of it.
‘I was up there, last night. Up by the lodge, you know.’
I turned to stare at him. ‘What time?’
‘Around eleven, I’d guess.’
‘Why?’
‘Came to see if Jennie was around.’
‘Why did you do that?’
‘To kiss her goodnight.’
I watched as Gladys produced another breakfast for Amelia, as it was clear she wasn’t going to miss a word of this. I chewed for a few moments, waved my fork. ‘And you expected her...’
‘We did that, most nights. Or sometimes she’d come to my place, and stay over. We hadn’t set up anything for last night, though, but I drove over just in case she turned up.’
‘But...hold on a sec...why there, of all places? Why not down at the house?’
He shrugged, then jutted his lower lip. ‘Her mother...her Tessa-mother, she objected to us kissing and canoodling, as she put it, under her window.’
‘Then why not go indoors?’
‘She said I smelt of dogs. D’you think I smell of dogs?’ he asked Amelia.
‘How would I know? Richard probably does.’
‘Hmm!’ I said. ‘And did Jennie turn up?’
He stared at the wall opposite to him. ‘No.’
‘So you went away?’
‘Not straight away. Waited a bit.’
I thought about it, then said, ‘Why’re you telling me this?’
‘I saw somebody,’ he said, after a slight hesitation. ‘I saw somebody, and I wondered if I’d gotta tell that policeman.’
I contemplated half a sausage on my fork. ‘You saw somebody...where?’
Joe hesitated again. Then he went on, committed.
‘I’d parked a bit of the way down the drive, sort of out of the way, and walked back. Usually, I’d walk round to the other side of the cottage and wait for Jennie there. But I thought I saw a sort of light, inside the place. Sort of like a torch, only it wasn’t moving. You know. Not like somebody walking about.’
I nodded. He went on, ‘Well, it wasn’t like that. Didn’t move at all. I reckoned it had to be a torch, right enough, but lying on the floor. You know.’
‘You were...where were you at that time?’
‘Gone round to the other side. The front.’
‘You didn’t say that.’
‘That’s what I’d done.’
It occurred to me that Joe, if he told it like this to DCI Phillips, would find himself tied in knots. But Joe was a dog-breeder, not a talker. I nodded.
‘You didn’t make that clear.’
‘Well, I had. Then I saw the light.’
‘You saw it through the window?’
‘I didn’t walk up to it. I was way back, at the top of the pathway, where Jennie would come. If she came. Which she didn’t.’
‘And you saw the light?’
‘I didn’t see it come on, if that’s what you mean. It was on, only I hadn’t realised. The moon, you see. Thought it was kind of a reflection.’
‘I understand.’ I was trying to treat him gently. Phillips wouldn’t waste any patience on him. ‘What happened then?’
For the first time, he hesitated. He stared down at the empty mug on the table. ‘I looked back, down the track, and there was still no sign of Jen — so I kind of strolled up to the window to have a look.’
‘You thought it might be Jennie?’ So he had gone to the window.
‘No. Never occurred to me.’
‘Looking over the place that was going to be hers, perhaps?’
‘No.’ This denial was softer, gentler. He smiled. ‘Would you expect her to? On her own, like? Nah! If that was what she wanted to do...well, ask yourself...she could’ve made a good guess I’d be there. If I wasn’t, she’d have waited for me — outside.’
Amelia shuddered beside me. ‘You wouldn’t have got me up there, not at night.’
‘Especially inside,’ said Joe, a note of triumph in his voice at Amelia’s support.
I hesitated to go on. This was the kind of thing that Phillips would want to hear, and he wouldn’t be happy if he heard that Joe had tried it on me, first. I wasn’t sure I wanted to make him happy.
‘So you went to have a look through the window,’ I suggested.
‘Looked back down the path first,’ he repeated, keeping it strictly in sequence in his mind. ‘No sign of anybody...so I went and had a look.’
‘And?’
He lifted his shoulders and allowed them to slump back. ‘That’s the point. That’s it. After all — I couldn’t see who it was or what was going on. As I’d guessed, that torch was lyin’ on the floor. All I could see was feet. Moving about. That was all. So I reckoned it was nothing to do with me, and I cleared off.’
‘You drove off home?’
‘Well...not straight away.’
‘Oh? What, then?’
He shook his head. ‘Did I say — my car was a bit down the driveway? Yeah. I said that. Well...I got to it, and I was opening the door, and you know the way you sort of turn. Well, that’s what I did, and I saw somebody walking in from the lane. Rollin’ a bit, you know, like he’d just come from the Red Lion in the village. It’d be about the right time for it. An’ I knew who it was. Not much light, but I knew. That louse, Charlie Pinson, that’s who it was. On his way home.’
He stared inwards at the memory.
‘Home?’ I murmured, more to myself than anything. Then I realised. ‘So that’s Corrie Lane!’
‘Yeah. He lives up there.’ He looked startled. ‘Lived.’
I stared at my hands on the table, turned them over and considered them again. Then I asked, ‘Did you get the impression he was heading for a meeting — an appointment he’d made at the cottage?’
‘How would I manage to guess that?’
‘The way he walked in from the lane. Confidently, or paused and thought about it? Hesitated...hell, Joe, you know what I mean.’ He didn’t reply. I tried to be more specific. ‘Did he turn directly in? Up from the village and into the drive without hesitation...’
‘You don’t have to flog it to death.’
‘You didn’t seem—’
‘I was tryin’ to remember. I’m doing my best to get it right, Mr Patton. An’ he wasn’t coming up from the village, he turned in from the other way, from up the lane.’ He turned and stared directly at me. ‘Not from down it, Mr Patton. From up it.’
It was a small reproof for my implication as to his intelligence. I stared at him. ‘All right. Point taken. Go on, Joe.’
He said, ‘As though he’d seen a light in the cottage and decided to have a look-see.’
‘But he wouldn’t be able to see the light, from the end of the drive.’
‘That,’ said Joe tersely, ‘is what I’m tryin’ to say, if you’ll let me get a word in. The lane bends higher up, an’ there’s an old gate. He could’ve seen that living-room window from up there. If he’d come up from the pub and stopped for a quick...stopped to lean on the gate.’
‘It is now,’ I assured him, ‘a very clear picture. Then what?’
‘He pushed through the hedge an’ went round the other side of the cottage — and I heard a door open and close.’
He sat back. It seemed he had finished.
I sighed. ‘Then what did you do?’
‘I started the car and drove off.’
‘They’d ha
ve heard it — inside.’
‘So what if they did? One finished up dead, and the other isn’t going to say anything.’
I was silent, knowing what he wanted me to say, but trying to force him into asking it direct. Amelia nudged me, observing Joe’s embarrassment. I reached over and touched her arm, and she sat back.
‘So I want to know, Mr Patton,’ said Joe at last, ‘if I’ve got to tell this to that police chap who’s running the show.’
I had my answer ready, but I looked up first at Gladys. It would be better, I thought, if she didn’t hear this. She was very quick. ‘I’ll just pop up and see if the mistress wants anything. Help yourselves if you fancy anything else.’ Then she was out of the door, and I heard her pattering along the hallway.
I got up, and went round the other side of the table, so that I could sit facing Joe. I sat, and Amelia got up to see whether there was any more tea in the pot.
‘You’re wondering who you might be implicating?’ I suggested.
‘Not really. I didn’t see enough.’
‘So — what’s the difficulty?’
He looked down at his empty mug, staring at his fingers as he twisted it around. ‘I don’t want to get involved.’
‘Naturally. But you wouldn’t—’
He cut me short. ‘The whole village knows that I’d have killed him myself, and happily.’
‘And why is that?’
His head shot up, his eyes abruptly fixed on mine. ‘Because I hated his guts. That place I’ve got...it’s a bit of a cottage — like the one up by the gate, only on its own and better kept up. I rent it, and a bit of land, from Don Martin. Pinson works...worked for Don, and he wanted it for his second girl, who’s pregnant again. He was on at his boss all the time to chuck me out. It’s a month’s notice, either way. An’ I had a fight with him at the Red Lion.’ He was silent, looking down at his clenched fist.
‘Over that?’
‘No. But it put a bit extra into it.’ He gazed reminiscently at his knuckles, which I now saw were grazed.
I waited, but he was stubbornly silent. ‘Well?’ I demanded.
‘He called Jennie a little bastard.’
I tried to sound casually dismissive. ‘He’d be the one to know.’ I knew, though, that Joe wasn’t going to worry unduly about details like that. It was an outmoded word.
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