The Village Fate

by William Hadley

  Hubert went into the kitchen and turned on the kettle, Claudilia followed him in and sat at the table, suddenly she was very tired. She stared at a blank page in her notebook for a moment and then began to write. She started from when she’d left the stables, and finished when she handed Pumpkin over to Helen. Claudilia wondered just how much detail to put in. She decided it would be best not to use words like race, or keeping pace with the car, because it might look like she was in some way responsible. In the end she just said she’d gone out for a ride, decided to have a go at a few jumps and didn’t know Tony was there until she heard the crash. She’d seen the tractor coming, but was concentrating on Pumpkin as he didn’t like them much.

  While Claudilia was concentrating on her record of events Hubert made a few more calls. He explained to Marie what had happened, and looking straight at his sister he confirmed that Claudilia was coming over for dinner, and whether she wanted to or not she would be staying the night. He said he’d entertain no argument from the stroppy mare - Claudilia, not his wife - and he’d bring her bound and gagged in the boot of his car if that’s what it took.

  Hubert’s next called was to the police in Warwick, and he explained that Claudilia was still quite shaken by the whole thing, they arranged an appointment for nine thirty the following morning. To start with the police had wanted her to go in that evening. But Hubert had explained that it was already quite late and their solicitor could not be reached because he was on holiday, … that’s sort of true. It was after all just a witness statement, it was not as if she had been involved, had she?

  Hubert looked over his sister’s notes. Once he was satisfied that she hadn’t implicated herself he asked her to scan the page and email it to Matthew, he’d forward it to Georgina. With that done Hubert sent his sister upstairs to pack a clean pair of knickers, grab a tooth brush and whatever else she would need for the night. Brother, sister, and the two dogs climbed back into Hubert’s old Range Rover for the short trip up to the house.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Day Ten. Friday

  Claudilia and Hubert drove to Warwick the next morning. They met Georgina in the car park on Northgate street. The three of them had a brief discussion in Hubert’s car, before walking to the police station and introducing themselves.

  Claudilia didn’t see Josie Robinson as she was ushered through the security door, and along a passage to the interview rooms. Josie had read the overnight reports when she arrived at Stratford that morning. Her eye had been drawn to the mention of Wimplebridge. When she saw the name Claudilia Belcher she was straight on the phone to the station in Warwick. It took just a few moments to get hold of the traffic officer scheduled to take Claudilia’s statement. She told him how she’d come across Claudilia a few times recently, and asked if she could watch from the viewing suite. Sergeant Goodman had no objection.

  When the interview started it was pleasant enough. All present were offered tea or coffee, a young PC was sent to the canteen. The traffic officer introduced himself as Sergeant Martin Goodman, he pushed a button on the wall and a red light came on. Martin said it indicated the proceedings were being recorded, on both audio and video, a copy would be available if Claudilia wanted one. He introduced himself again, this time for the record, he stated the time and date, and invited those present to give their names.

  Sergeant Goodman spread a sheet of A3 paper on the table, it was the police drawing of the crash site. Claudilia pulled out her own drawing and they compared the two. She confirmed the final position of the vehicles involved. They wrote a few notes on the edge of the police drawing, and with Claudilia’s help sergeant Goodman added two dotted lines. These were what she thought had been the routes taken by Tony and the tractor driver, they corresponded with the lines drawn by Andrew Peck the previous evening. Claudilia then added a third line of dots on the field side of the hedge. She also put small rectangles to indicate the approximate position of her home-made jumps.

  “Do you often ride in that area?” asked Sergeant Goodman.

  “Yes, it’s one of my favourite routes,” answered Claudilia.

  “When did you become aware of the car?”

  “I wasn’t aware of it at all, I was having a good time taking Pumpkin over the jumps. The thump of his hooves on the grass and his breathing was quite loud so I didn’t hear the car coming. I guess I first saw him after I heard the crash.”

  “So you weren’t racing him. Man and beast against machine, that sort of thing?”

  “Certainly not. I don’t know if he was trying to race me, but it would have been pretty stupid, what with all those bees in his car.”

  “It’s just that the tractor driver said,” and here the Sergeant looked at his notes. “It seemed as if she was forcing the horse on, as if she was in a race or something.”

  “Not in a race Sergeant, but Pumpkin’s a lazy sod, if you don’t work him into the jumps he’ll shy away, I guess to the uneducated eye that could look a bit like racing.”

  Not racing, wrote the Sergeant.

  “Was that the first time you saw the deceased yesterday.”

  “Tony, no. He was in the village shop and he told me he would be moving some bees later.”

  “Okay, you weren’t racing him but you knew he might have bees in his car.”

  “Of course not, how would I know if he was carrying a hive of bees, he could have already moved them? It was none of my business what he was carrying, and as I said, I didn’t see him until he was in the ditch.”

  “Although you weren’t racing him could he have been racing you?”

  “I don’t know, but the man’s an idiot if he was. Who in their right mind goes tear arseing around a country road with a huge box of bees in their car?”

  “And you had no reason to wish him ill? Were you friends?”

  Claudilia hesitated for a moment, and in the viewing suite Josie thought she caught something, an eye movement, a twist of the face? It was gone in an instant but there had been something, Josie was left wondering just how sorry Claudilia honestly was, and if there was some animosity between her and the dead beekeeper.

  Back in the interview room Claudilia’s solicitor appeared to have woken up. “Sergeant,” said Georgina …Oh good, I wondered when you were going to say something, “my client is here to make a statement, not to be questioned. But your approach suggests she was in some way responsible for the accident.”

  “We are keeping our minds open about the cause. I just want to get Mrs Belcher’s record of events.

  “Miss.” said Claudilia, with a little more force than she’d intended.

  “What?”

  It’s Miss Belcher, or Ms.” … if you want a punch on the nose, “but not Mrs. Never Mrs.”

  “I’m sorry,” said the police officer, wilting under the austere look and authoritarian tone in Claudilia’s voice. In the viewing suite Josie laughed to herself. She recognised that voice, it was the voice of a nineteenth century governess or school teacher. That voice could turn the strongest man into a whimpering six year old. It took him back to a life in short trousers and a shirt that’s buttoned up wrong.

  “If we could get back to the statement please,” said Georgina.

  “Of course,” said Sergeant Goodman. “In your own words please Miss Belcher, could you tell me what you saw and heard yesterday, leading up to, and during the incident. Please speak clearly for the tape, and slowly so I can write it down.”

  An hour later they were finished. Claudilia read through the statement, correcting the worst of the spelling and grammatical errors. When she was satisfied she signed her name at the end, and initialled the bottom of each page.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Josie and Martin Goodman went to the canteen. They got coffee from a machine and sat at an unoccupied table. The traffic sergeant sipped his drink, making a slurping noise which put Josie’s teeth on edge, “What do you think?” asked Martin.

  “I think if you make that repulsive noise again I’m
going to arrest you.”

  “On what charge?” he laughted

  “Something to do with public decency.”

  “Sorry, it’s hot.”

  “I think she was quite shocked by the whole thing. I don’t think she caused the accident but there’s something there, and it’s nagging at the back of my mind,” said Josie.

  “What sort of something?” asked the traffic officer.

  “I’m not sure. There’s been three deaths in the area since this time last week. The builder who had a work related accident; a fisherman left his car at the pub and then drowned; and now a beekeeper is stung to death inside his own vehicle.” Josie took a pull on her coffee, no noise. “None of them were suspicious, but it’s a bit odd don’t you think? And Miss Belcher comes up in all three cases.”

  Sergeant Goodman took a sip of his coffee, just the slightest slurp this time, not enough to get banged up for. “How did she feature in the other two?”

  Josie held up one hand and counted on her fingers. “In the first, she was out riding her horse, and come to think of it the bloody horse is involved more than I like, maybe we should be interviewing him.”

  “I’d refer that to the mounted division if we still had one.”

  “Anyway she was out riding with her niece and stopped near the building site when I was there on Saturday. She’d ridden in the area the day before, but claims not to have seen anything.” Another finger went up. “In the second, on Monday just gone, I was in the village to release the site back to the contractors when I saw her and mentioned the drowned fisherman. She suggested we look in the pub car park and that’s where we found his Mini.” A third finger went up. “Three, she’s riding over some jumps and a hive full of bees right next to her crash into a tractor.”

  “I’d say it’s just coincidence,” said the scourge of the highways and byways. “But in the Warwickshire constabulary we don’t believe in coincidence,” he said quoting from one of the Police and Crime Commissioner’s motivational posters.

  Martin swallowed his coffee with an audible gulp, and then stood up. “Anyway, I’m happy to say that I’m just a simple traffic plod. I leave the complicated stuff like thinking, to my colleagues in CID. They give me cars and motorbikes to play with so I don’t get bored. Now if you’ll excuse me, somewhere out there I think there might be a motorist who feels the need to swear at me. Maybe even for interrupting his phone call. You won’t believe it, but one called me a fascist pig last week; and I hadn’t even got to the bit where I talk down to him in a condescending way. He said I should be out chasing real criminals. I’ve not heard that one in years, insults aren’t what they used to be.”

  “Are all of traffic as cynical as you?” asked Josie.

  “I’d think so yes, sooner or later anyway, but if you find one in the first few months they might have a whiff of humanity left in them. But don’t worry, it’ll get ground out soon enough.”

  Martin gathered up his cap and notebook, said goodbye and walked out of the canteen, tossing his used cup in the bin as he passed. He left the lady from CID with a half drunk cup of almost cold coffee and wondering if there was something she was missing. A connection she couldn’t see, or was that the problem. There was no connection in the first place.

  Josie swallowed the dregs of her coffee, got up and collected her bag from the seat beside her. She had enough live cases on her desk, she didn’t need to go looking in the shadows for more work. She resolved to spend the rest of the day working on crimes which had actually happened, not making up scenarios for ones that probably hadn’t.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Claudilia and Hubert drove back to Wimplebridge in near silence. Not an awkward silence, but he didn’t have much to say and she was drained by her experience in the police station.

  “Are you sure you want to come to the office this morning?” asked Hubert as they crossed the bridge and drove into the village.

  “I don’t see why not, I’ve not been charged with anything and if I go home it will look as if I’m hiding from something.”

  “I didn’t mean that, I just thought the last twenty four hours must have been a bit of a shock, and I know you didn’t sleep well last night. I heard you get up a couple of times. I thought you might like to take it easy today, go down to the river and do some fishing, maybe take Pumpkin out.”

  As they rounded the bend the village green opened up on their left. There was a lorry delivering to the Belcher’s Arms and further along, Claudilia could see the village shop had the door propped open. The morning was beginning to warm up, she hadn’t noticed from inside the car, but when she looked up there was a blue sky and not a cloud to be seen. Further around the road Claudilia could see the church doors open and she wondered who was on the cleaning rota this week. It wasn’t her, she’d done it a fortnight ago. Then her eye was drawn to Bindweed Cottage, and the builders van parked outside.

  “Who’s that?” asked Hubert.

  “I don’t know. I’m not expecting anyone, maybe they’ve gone to the shop.”

  “So why are they unloading stuff from the truck,” asked Hubert pulling up a little way from his sister’s home.

  The two Belchers got out of the car and walked towards the workmen, who were now looking at Claudilia’s wall.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Yes please love. Milk and two sugars in mine, the boy will just have milk.” said one as he turned around. Then he saw the look on Claudilia’s face and he hastily added, “only joking, thank you ‘ma’am. We’ve come to fix the wall.”

  “I didn’t call anyone. Who sent you?”

  “The boss got a call yesterday from Mr Macintosh, We’ve been working at his place. He wanted his best stone masons to come around and sort out this wall.”

  “And are you his best stone masons? Do you even know the difference between a toothed chisel and a chipping hammer?”

  The man bristled with indignation, …or he would have done if he’d known the word. “I did my apprenticeship at the Minster in York, and my mate here, he did his at Warwick Castle, we’re the best in the county.”

  “Well that’s as maybe, but this wall was built over two hundred years ago by someone who worked on the estate. It was a bit wonky and the top’s never been level, so make sure you don’t do too good a job, or it’ll look all wrong.”

  Inside the house Claudilia offered her brother some coffee. Hubert looked at his watch and declined. “It’s almost eleven and I want to get up to the office. Sally will be wondering what happened yesterday, I left in a bit of a rush and we’d better make sure she knows what to say if anyone phones.

  “I’ll see you there in a bit then,” said Claudilia. “I want to check on Pumpkin before I do anything else. He must’ve had a bit of a shock too, all those sirens and flashing lights. I’ll be about an hour.”

  As Hubert drove off Claudilia saw someone clad in blue and green lycra coming along the road towards her. She had to look twice, and then she recognised Angus Macintosh squeezed into cycling clothes and crouched over the handle bars of a mountain bike. He was puffing but aware he had an audience; he was doing his best to look comfortable. …He was failing.

  “For God’s sake Angus what are you doing?” said Claudilia.

  Angus stopped beside her and just about managed to get his feet free of the peddles before he fell over. “It’s Maggie’s idea,” Angus gasped, leaning on his handlebars with sweat dripping off him. “She says I need to do more exercise and get fitter. She won’t let me use her precious gym or sauna but she wants me to lose weight. I’m forced to humiliate myself in this get up,” he pointed at the clothes. “I feel stupid, so don’t even try to be nice about how I look!”

  “For heaven’s sake, how far have you ridden?”

  “She’s set a route for me to ride, she says it has the right mix of hills and flat bits to work on my muscles. I’ve come out of the house and gone left into Monkbridge village. Then along some lanes which took me around the back of Monk
Hill to here. Next I’m supposed to go up that bloody hill, but this time on the bridle path, then down the other side and back to the house via Monkbridge again. I’m not sure I can do it; I’m knackered.”

  “Oh dear God Angus will you stop being so stupid. Get of that thing and come into the house, I’ll put some coffee on and we can have a slice a cake,” she said waving towards the bike. “And Lord knows how you sit on that saddle, it looks like a bloody scalpel.”

  Without an argument Angus got off the bike, and walking as upright as he could in cycling shoes he pushed it through the gate and along the side of the cottage. “Best not leave it out front, just in case Maggie drives past,” he explained.

  In the kitchen Angus took of his shoes …they look like they’d be more suitable for ballet dancing, and settled into a chair.

  “I was going to come over and see you anyway,” said Claudilia.

  “Why?”

  “To thank you for your kindness yesterday and to ask why there are two men rebuilding my wall.”

  “First, there is no need to thank me. And secondly, it looks as if that poor man was working for us in some way when he knocked down your wall. It’s only right that I have it repaired.”

  “Well that’s very good of you,” Said Claudilia.

  Claudilia looked at Angus and wondered what it was that Maggie …Mrs Muck please, didn’t like. He was about the right height, not gaunt but not carrying more weight than you’d expect on a fifty two year old business man. His grey hair was neatly cut …I bet that wasn’t done by flemmy Alison, and most of the time, if not right at that precise moment, he wore clothes of a good quality and fit.