Death at Coombe Farm

by Phillip Strang

  ‘You had a child?’

  ‘My son, Crispin. He’s a pupil at Bishop Wordsworth’s Grammar School.’

  ‘Where is your son?’

  ‘He’s in hospital, a hit and run near the school.’

  ‘Serious injuries?’

  ‘Broken bones, a concussion, but he’ll survive.’

  Clare went and made the two of them a cup of tea.

  ‘And you believe it was an attempt on his life?’

  ‘I know it was.’

  ‘How? From our knowledge, your whereabouts were unknown.’

  ‘I thought they were.’

  ‘Is there a Mr Goode?’

  ‘For a while, but he’s gone now.’

  ‘Gone?’

  ‘We separated a few years back.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘He’s not important, my son is.’

  ‘Certain facts need clarifying,’ Clare said. ‘Is your son the legitimate child of Gordon Selwood?’

  ‘I’ve a marriage certificate, my parents insisted on that from the Selwoods.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘My parents, dated ideas. They didn’t want their daughter giving birth to a bastard.’

  ‘You were young, yet you kept the baby.’

  ‘The plan was to have it adopted, but once it was born, my parents immediately fell in love with it, and I brought it up with their help.’

  ‘Your parents, where are they now?’

  ‘They are no longer alive.’

  ‘Who else apart from your parents knew you were living in Salisbury?’

  ‘Nobody that I know of. I’ve never had any contact with Gordon since before Crispin was born. The last time was at the marriage in a registry office. The divorce was dealt with by my parents.’

  ‘I need to meet your son,’ Clare said. It was still early; she phoned Tremayne. ‘You’ll need to cancel your dentist’s appointment. There’s been a development,’ she said.

  ‘Another murder?’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Rose Fletcher. She’s here with me at Bemerton Road.’

  ‘Give me thirty minutes.’

  ‘My senior. He’ll be here soon.’

  ‘And what about my son? He doesn’t know who his father is.’

  ‘How old is he?’

  ‘He’s sixteen now.’

  ‘He deserves to know the truth.’

  ‘I’ve told him that I would tell him when the time was right, and Gordon is hardly a good role model. Crispin, he’s a good student, a son to be proud of. I didn’t want him associating with his father until he was older.’

  ‘He’ll need to know. Let me come back to the accident. You believe it was attempted murder, but nobody knew you and your son were in Salisbury.’

  ‘Someone did.’

  ‘Were you close to Gordon?’

  ‘We were childhood friends, adolescent teens. We could hardly avoid each other in Coombe, small as it was. It was just the two of us in that churchyard, a bottle of wine between us. Plenty of dreams for the future. You know how it is when you’re young.’

  Clare did, having gone through the silly and sexually active stage in her teens, only to slow down on meeting Harry Holchester, and now, to have stopped.

  ‘Have you been to Coombe since?’

  ‘Never. I know it’s not far, but I’ve never felt the need, not after that night when I told my parents. I remember my mother’s reaction, my father’s anger towards me. He hit me and hard, and then, he’s storming up to Coombe Farm, me in tow.’

  ‘What about the other sons, do they know?’

  ‘It was only Gordon’s parents in the house that day.’

  Tremayne walked into the office. He introduced himself to Rose Goode and sat down. ‘Mrs Goode, you’re aware of our interest in you?’

  ‘I know that Gordon’s father has died, and a man has been murdered.’

  ‘Did you know Old Ted?’

  ‘Probably by sight, but I can’t remember him.’

  ‘Old Ted would have known the whole story,’ Clare said.

  ‘Yarwood’s right,’ Tremayne said looking at Rose Goode.

  ‘Do you believe that it was attempted murder, my son’s car accident?’

  ‘We think it’s a possibility. The best defence is if you and Crispin are visible, and the connection is made to the family.’

  ‘I never wanted to.’

  ‘That’s as maybe, but the circumstances make this inevitable. Assuming that the farm is inherited by the eldest son, then Crispin can lay claim on it if Gordon dies.’

  ‘Believe me, neither of us wants it.’

  Chapter 9

  Events in Coombe returned to normal within a short period of time. Old Ted’s body was released from Pathology, and he had been buried in the local churchyard alongside his wife. For once, the weather had been pleasant. All of the Selwood family attended, an uneasy truce declared.

  Tremayne and Clare watched from outside, observed the easy banter between Marge and Cathy Selwood, the discussions between the three sons. From up the road and hidden under a hat and sunglasses, Rose Goode.

  The woman had said she had not been to Coombe since that night when she had told her parents she was pregnant, but there she was. Clare was sure she had lied that time at Bemerton Road.

  Clare had met Crispin, initially as a police officer interested in the accident, subsequently as a member of Homicide, when he had understood the implications of what his mother had told him.

  The young man’s protestations that he wasn’t interested in the fact that he was the legitimate son of a wealthy man did not ring true with Clare. Crispin Goode, sixteen, almost the age to learn to drive, ready to take out the local girls, and the best his mother could offer was a ten-year-old car, whereas his father could give him something worthwhile.

  Clare thought the young man to be polite and well brought up, no doubt better than if his father had been involved, but he was still a young man with a young man’s dreams and ambitions. She knew that at some stage he would confront Gordon Selwood. It was another complication of the enquiry into the death of Old Ted. The gun used in the shooting had not been found, and the motive for his death was unclear.

  Tremayne waited outside the churchyard for the mourners to file out. He wanted to sense the mood; whether any were genuinely sad, or whether there was a pretence. Old Ted had been known by everyone in the village, and no one had a word against him, although no one spoke of him in endearing terms.

  Clare took the opportunity to slip away from where she was and to walk up the street to where Rose Goode was hiding. After five minutes she caught up with her. ‘First time here?’ Clare said.

  ‘I read the notices in the paper. I felt the need to come,’ Rose said.

  ‘You’ve been here before, haven’t you?’

  ‘I’ve driven through on a couple of occasions.’

  ‘You denied that in the police station.’

  ‘I can’t help being interested in my past, and when Gordon’s father died, I felt the need to see the place again.’

  ‘And what did you think?’

  ‘Nothing’s changed, except everyone looks older.’

  ‘Did anyone recognise you?’

  ‘A young girl of fifteen then, a woman in her thirties? It’s possible, but I kept a low profile, wore a wig and sunglasses.’

  ‘Did you talk to anyone?’

  ‘I bought a drink in the pub, but no one knew who I was.’

  ‘And Crispin? What about him? Doesn’t he deserve the right to meet his father?’

  ‘Never. The Selwoods paid their blood money. My parents took it.’

  ‘Did the Selwoods pressure your parents to keep the child? It was, after all, a Selwood.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know. I was not involved. I stayed with my parents for three years, and then, one day, I’m on my own, just Crispin and myself.’

  ‘It must have been difficult.’

  ‘It was, but my parents supported me. Believe me, with a ch
ild, you soon grow up. I even managed to get an education, and I’ve supported us ever since.’

  ‘Mr Goode?’

  ‘I’ve told you. We were together for some years, but then we divorced. He wasn’t a bad man, and he did look after Crispin.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘He went to London. The last I heard, he had married again.’

  ‘No regrets?’

  ‘Over him, no.’

  ‘Gordon?’

  ‘Some. He was an attractive young man back then. He doesn’t look so good now.’

  ‘Marge Selwood?’

  ‘A hard woman. She came into the place where I work. I spoke to her, but she didn’t recognise me.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘With her, who can ever be sure. I’m certain she did not. My voice has changed, and I don’t look anything like I did back in the village.’

  Clare was suspicious, although, she realised it would only be natural for the woman to be curious. Hadn’t she, after the death of her fiancé, revisited old haunts, old friends, when she had gone back to live with her parents in Norfolk for a few months. Until, in sheer despair, she had driven back to Salisbury and reported for duty with Detective Inpsector Keith Tremayne, the one rock in a sea of pebbles that offered comfort without consoling, without telling her to get on with her life. He had just kept her busy, and she knew that she was the better for it.

  Tremayne, Clare could see, was down the road talking to Gordon Selwood and his wife. ‘What do you feel when you see him down there?’ Clare asked.

  ‘Who’s the woman?’

  ‘That’s his wife.’

  ‘I thought it was. What’s she like?’

  ‘She’s a pleasant woman. Why do you ask?’ Clare did not want to say too much, knowing that Rose’s presence in the village had elevated her status from the mother of an injured man to a possible murder suspect.

  ‘Just curious. If I’d stayed married to him, then that would be me.’

  ‘Maybe it would, but life is not predictable, is it?’

  ‘If I hadn’t drunk that wine, then I wouldn’t have Crispin.’

  ‘Do you regret that?’

  ‘He’s the one constant in my life. Without him, I’d be nobody.’

  ‘He’ll leave one day.’

  ‘That’s fine, as long as he remembers me. My mother barely said a word to me after that night, and my father, he was always cold.’

  Rose Goode opened the door of her car and left. Down the road, the mourners were moving across to the pub. Clare walked down to join them.

  In the pub, the publican pulling beers, serving up snacks. There was no one from Old Ted’s family, only the Selwoods, and a smattering of villagers.

  ‘No one really knew him,’ the publican said. ‘He was a man who kept his distance, although when his wife died, there must have been close to a hundred in that church. I made plenty of money that day.’

  Over on the far side of the room, Gordon Selwood raised himself up on a chair. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, Old Ted was a part of our community for many years, and a faithful employee and family friend of the Selwoods. He will be sorely missed. I propose a toast to the memory of Old Ted.’

  A rousing cheer of Old Ted’s name, a clinking of glasses, a downing of the drinks. Clare held a glass of wine, Tremayne had a pint of beer. ‘Not a bad send-off,’ he said.

  ‘You saw who I was speaking to?’ Clare said.

  ‘I did.’

  ‘How about the others?’

  ‘Gordon Selwood pretended not to look, but I could see his eyeballs trying to angle in the direction.’

  ‘Do you think he recognised her?’

  ‘Maybe, but who knows. His mother never misses a trick.’

  ‘The son’s accident?’

  ‘It’s too coincidental. Outside of the school, clear road signs everywhere, and then the car doesn’t stop. To me, it’s attempted murder,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘That’s what I reckon, but the mother, she’s not the innocent she makes herself out to be. And she’s devoted to the son. You harm him, you’ve made an enemy for life.’

  ‘Enjoy tonight. Tomorrow, we’re going to turn up the heat.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We’re going to confront Gordon with the possibility that his son has been discovered. We’ll make sure Cathy is there as well. We’ll look for their reactions when they realise that the heir presumptive is waiting in the wings.’

  ***

  Tremayne woke early the next morning. He looked at the clock on his bedside table. It was seven in the morning, and his head throbbed. He pulled himself up from the bed, only to realise he had fallen asleep with his clothes still on. It wasn’t the first time he had done so, but each time he regretted it. He, a serving police officer, and he had got drunk on duty. The phone was ringing; he picked it up.

  ‘There’s been another death,’ Clare said. Tremayne remembered vaguely that she had driven him home, mentioned something about the Goode woman.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Cathy Selwood.’

  ‘Give me twenty minutes. Pick me up at my house.’

  Tremayne went into the bathroom, turned on the shower, dispensing with his clothes on the floor. He looked in the bathroom mirror, did not like what he saw. Under the water, the sobering-up process, and then the realisation that his tooth hurt, the one that he had been going to the dentist for, and not only did it hurt, it also ached, and it was excruciating.

  He sat down on the edge of the bed and took a painkiller. This time he knew a tablet was not going to do the trick. He phoned Clare.

  ‘Yarwood, it’s my tooth. I can’t go with you. You’re on your own on this one.’

  ‘I’ll see you later,’ Clare said.

  Tremayne phoned the dentist, even though it was early. ‘It’s an emergency. I’ve got another murder, and I need to be out there.’

  ‘Ten minutes,’ the dentist’s reply.

  ***

  Clare phoned Jim Hughes, woke him up. He would have his team ready to go within the hour. Out at the scene, the local uniform was securing the area.

  Clare drove out on her own to Coombe, Tremayne having phoned her to say that he needed three fillings, a tooth removed, and to give him two hours.

  ‘Tremayne, you’re an optimist,’ the dentist said when he heard Tremayne on the phone. ‘You’ll not be going anywhere today, except to your bed.’

  ‘Do what you must, but Yarwood needs help, and it’s a murder. I must be there.’

  ‘Very well. I’ll give you an injection.’

  Tremayne looked around him at the dentist’s surgery. He did not like the look of it; he did not like the look of the needle. He said no more, his mouth opened wide for the man to do his job.

  Out at Coombe, Clare drove straight up to the Selwoods’ house. Inside, in the kitchen, a local uniform, and Gordon and Marge Selwood.

  ‘Nicholas and William are coming up,’ Marge said.

  ‘Why Cathy?’ Gordon said. Clare could see that the man was not handling the situation well.

  Outside of the house, Clare asked the uniform for an update.

  ‘According to the husband, his wife goes for a walk every morning before daylight. She had left at six in the morning as usual; he didn’t expect her back for at least an hour.’

  ‘I received a phone call at six forty-five,’ Clare said.

  ‘Mr Selwood, he phoned me; I phoned you. He wouldn’t have gone looking for her, but there was the sound of a gunshot.’

  ‘They’re all sensitive around here after Old Ted had been shot,’ Clare said.

  ‘Mr Selwood leaves the house and follows the route his wife always takes. He found her no more than one hundred and fifty yards from the house. She’d been shot. He knew where I lived, so he ran fast to my place and banged on the door. That’s when I phoned you.’

  ‘You’d not seen the body?’

  ‘Not then, but I have now. Cathy Selwood is dead, a clear shot to the head.’<
br />
  ‘The same as Old Ted?’

  ‘The crime scene investigators can confirm, but I’d say it was. No idea why they would have killed her. She was a popular woman around here.’

  Jim Hughes and his CSIs arrived within forty minutes. Clare stayed with them for another fifteen, before returning to the house. Inside, Gordon and Marge Selwood had been joined by the younger brothers. There was a pot of tea on the table; Clare helped herself to a cup. The Reverend Walston was there. To Clare, he still looked as attractive as he had the previous time they had met, but now, he was consoling the family, offering quotes from the bible.

  Clare found that she did not like him as much on their meeting for the second time. Tremayne phoned. He was recuperating from the dentist’s surgery.

  ‘If you must come here, get someone else to drive,’ Clare said.

  ‘I’ve got a police car organised. They’re picking me up in sixty minutes.’

  ‘That long to get there?’

  ‘The dentist, he’s a tyrant. He’s insisted, and besides, he’s right. I feel awful, but at least the pain’s subsiding.’

  ‘And the drill?’

  ‘I didn’t feel a thing.’

  ‘Paranoia, the domain of an old man.’

  ‘Watch it, Yarwood. I’ve still got some bite left in me.’

  ‘Just testing to see if you’re up to coming back to work.’

  ‘I’ll be there, and don’t muck up the investigation. I’m there for support; you’re running the show today.’

  ‘You’ve taught me well. I’ll not let you down.’

  After her conversation with Tremayne, Clare turned to the Selwood family. She could see William texting on his phone, Nicholas pretending to care. Only two people seemed genuinely upset, although Clare realised that she would have made the third if she wasn’t focussed on the investigation.

  ‘Is it the same person as Old Ted?’ Marge Selwood said. Clare could see that she was sitting close to Gordon, patting his knee.

  ‘We can’t be certain, but all indications are that it is probably the same person. Our crime scene investigators will confirm in due course.’

  ‘Why Cathy?’ Gordon continued to repeat.

  ‘Why Old Ted?’ Clare said. ‘If it’s the same person, then the two of them must have known something of importance. Something that is integral to this family.’