The Village Fate

by William Hadley

  “Right, that’s settled,” said Hubert standing up. “We need the chipper back at the farm, and Claudilia, aren’t you doing things for the fete today.

  “Yes. But Angus, how much do you know about your wife’s stall at the fete. If Maggie isn’t here, I mean if she doesn’t get back before the weekend …and if she does she can start her own religion, what are we going to do about her pitch?”

  “That’s another thing the witch Tish and Maggie were working on together. There’s some sort of model made out of foam and stuff in one of the buildings but it’s nowhere near finished. I haven’t been taking too much notice. How big’s the area she’s booked?”

  “Well it’s not too bad because she said she wanted to be on the edge of the green, so she’d have room for some solar panels.”

  Angus groaned.

  “She’s got an area at the far side, next to the river.” Claudilia seemed to be thinking out loud. “We could just leave it as an empty gap I suppose.”

  “Could you use the space for someone else?” said Hubert. “Spread the stalls out a bit, something like that?”

  “No, that wouldn’t work, it’d look a bit empty and we’ve painted lines on the grass now.”

  “Is there anyone who didn’t take a stall that you could give it to, last minute sort of thing?” Asked Angus, not really interested but wanting to be helpful.

  “There is one thing we could put there,” said Claudilia. “We could use it for the shooting range. A few big bales to catch the pellets would keep it safe, and the really bad shots would just wiz across to the far bank.”

  “But we agreed not to have shooting this year,” chipped in Hubert. “You don’t have anyone to run it either, not after what happened last year!”

  “That was just unfortunate, and anyway that Chambers boy’s always been a little sod, he deserved to get shot in the arse!”

  “Well if you need someone to run a shooting range I can do it. I’ve booked the space after all.” Angus said before he realised he was talking out-loud. “A few air rifles and a handful of pellets, what can go wrong?”

  “The magistrate’s son could get shot in the arse again.” laughed Claudilia.

  “Okay that would be bad. But what if I promise not to shoot anyone of influence or their immediate family, how about that?”

  “We can ask the local cadet force to help. They’ll be on car park duty anyway but I’m sure they’d happily bring a couple of guns to play with. We still have the target holders at the farm and we can put some barrier ropes around for health and safety. We’ll hang a couple of keep out signs along the foot path at the back and build a corridor of bales from the shooting point to the targets.” Said Claudilia, laying out the plans it all in her mind. “I guess I’ll have to tell the insurance people, but a couple of air rifles won’t push the premium up much.”

  Everyone stood up, the two men shook hands and Claudilia hugged Angus. The Belchers went back to Hubert’s old Range Rover, stepping over Hamish on the way. He hadn’t moved for the whole time there were in the office, a perfect little statue on guard in his master’s doorway.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Josie was going through her morning routine at Warwick police station. She got a coffee and turned on her computer, then she waited for ages while it warmed up. “How are we supposed to catch twenty-first century criminals with nineteenth century technology,” She’d asked her Inspector. All she had got back was a shrug and something about budget cuts.

  At last the machine came to life and she read through the overnight reports. There had been a domestic in Warwick which ended with a man being knifed by his wife. The victim claimed he’d slipped while preparing an avocado and the shouting the neighbours reported was just the telly a bit loud. It was the fourth time the police had been called to the same address, each time the wife was drunk and had assaulted her husband. Each time he’d claimed some sort of accident. Josie wondered how long it would be until one of these “accidents” was fatal?

  She kept scrolling through reports. A DUI driver had crashed into an unlit skip and a flasher on the night bus had his manhood slashed by an old woman with a fruit knife. He’d be arrested for indecent exposure once the hospital had stitched him up, and he wouldn’t be waving it around on public transport for a while. The old lady had been charged with carrying a weapon and for inflicting grievous bodily harm. Josie remembered a man exposing himself to her when she was a sixth form student in London. It had been degrading and horrible. If it were up to Josie she’d have given the grandmother a medal.

  At the bottom of the page she reached the missing person report for Maggie Macintosh. She would have skipped over it, not her department after all, if it hadn’t been for the address. Macintosh Manor, Wimplebridge, “That bloody village again” Josie said to an empty room. She’d been there yesterday, and at the weekend, and half of last week come to think of it. For a place where nothing happens it was very busy.

  She’d had a conversation in the church yard hadn’t she. Claudilia claimed to have seen Maggie on Saturday, when Josie saw her cycling back past the pub? What was it she’d said? “Maggie had been busy and wouldn’t have wanted to be disturbed.” Josie wondered what that meant, it was an odd choice of words. She had a pretty good idea what had been implied, but if it was to go into the report she’d need to be sure. Josie would hunt down the person assigned the case, if there was a case to be assigned, and pass on her suspicions.

  Josie busied herself with administrative tasks all morning. At two o’clock she checked the lists again, and found the name of the constable who’d been tasked with a follow up visit to Angus at Macintosh Manor. Paul Tipton, a skinny six footer had the gaunt look of the long distance runner; and, to be fair, when he wasn’t patrolling the villages of west Warwickshire, Paul liked nothing more than to lace up his shoes and head for the hills. A graduate of both Warwick and the Open University, Paul had a masters degree in social sciences. He’d joined the force late in life, a recruit at thirty two, he was popular and a dependable officer. She went looking for him and found PC Tipton in a corridor, crowded around a notice board along with half a dozen other constables. She pulled him to one side, not interested in what they were reading.

  “Paul, I’m DS Josie Robinson,” she said by way of introduction. “I saw you’re down to interview Angus Macintosh in Wimplebridge about his wife. Have you been there yet?”

  “No, ma’am, my shift’s just started and I’ll be heading out there now. Is there something wrong?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted, “It’s just that I’ve been to Wimplebridge a few times lately. There was a death at the building site, then a fisherman drowned, and last week a local chap was killed by a car full of bees.”

  “I heard about that ma’am, nasty way to go, I hate bloody bees.”

  “Yes, look cut the “ma’am” would you. It’s Josie, or Sarge if you must, but not ma’am.”

  “Yes ma’am. Sorry ma’am, I mean Josie, Sarge.”

  “Okay. Look, do you mind if I come with you to see Mr Macintosh. I’d like to be sure his wife’s disappearance wasn’t related to any of these deaths.”

  “No problem, I’m just leaving now. I’ve got to sign out a car, then I’m good to go.”

  Josie went back to her office and collected her bag and notebook, she told the desk Sergeant she was going with PC Tipton. The day was looking good, a few fluffy clouds drifted across a bright blue sky and the pool car was almost new. God knows where he’d found it, but for once she was in a patrol car that didn’t have an underlying smell of chips or vomit. Josie watched the scenery go past while PC Tipton gave her a running commentary on the villages, their history, and the characters who inhabited them.

  By the time they reached Wimplebridge Paul had filled her in on the official and unofficial background of the area. From the file she knew that Maggie lived at the Manor and that her husband, Angus, had been something in the City before they moved to the area. She also knew that Maggie had
received two speeding tickets in the last three years and attended one speed awareness course. Paul explained how the energy business turned grass silage into gas for the national grid. They had half a dozen staff but contracted in more when busy. He knew about the new digester, how it would take kitchen waste, and that there was local muttering about the increased traffic through the village. Those concerns were balanced by people who welcomed the extra jobs and Macintosh Energy was considered a good employer. Paul told Josie that the land around Wimplebridge was mostly owned by the Belchers. The family had been there since God was a boy, …or a girl, and generally they were held in high regard. The two pubs never gave the police much trouble, and apart from at the time of the fete, which was the following Saturday, the village was seldom visited by the police.

  Paul said he liked the fete, he always had a go at the “guess the weight of the pig” competition and he’d won a few years ago.

  “What’s the prize” asked Josie. “Not the pig I hope.”

  “Not all of it, just a parcel of cuts after it’s been slaughtered,” replied Paul with a smile.

  Josie felt a bit sick.

  Driving slowly through the village, PC Tipton had to pull onto the verge so a wide tractor and trailer could pass without knocking into his mirrors. The trailer was followed by a horse box, Josie had just enough time to recognise Claudilia behind the wheel before it was passed and heading out of the village. “That bloody woman gets everywhere,” she said to herself as Paul pulled back onto the road and then into the yard of Macintosh Energy.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Angus was sitting in his office, and staring out the window at nothing in particular when he saw the Skoda come in through the gates of Macintosh energy. It stopped for a moment at the fork in the road and then headed right towards the house. He got up, grabbed his jacket from the back of the door and made sure that his phone was in the pocket. Angus and Hamish walked briskly across the grass and through the gate into the garden of the Manor, they circumnavigated the house, and found DS Robinson and PC Paul Tipton at the front door.

  “Hello. Are you looking for me?”

  “Perhaps,” said the officer in uniform. “Are you Angus Macintosh sir?”

  “Yes, you’ll have come to talk about Maggie, come around the back and we can go through the kitchen. I’ve not got a front door key on me.”

  Angus led the officers to the back of the house, past the pool and across the patio until they reached the kitchen door. Hamish dashed past them and cannonballed through the dog flap so he could greet them with yaps and licks as soon as the door opened.

  Angus put the kettle on. “You’d like tea I’m sure,” he said. “Police on television are always drinking tea.”

  Josie looked around the kitchen. Her entire student flat would have fitted inside this one room. The genuine Aga cooking range must have cost as much as she and Peter had spent on their entire kitchen refit the previous year. There seemed to be every possible gadget but no shortage of space. The “island” in the centre really did live up to its name. Behind a set of huge double doors stood an American style fridge. There must have been other appliances tucked away, but Josie couldn’t see where they were.

  Her attention snapped back to the conversation when Paul said, “Ma’am, Mr Macintosh asked if you take sugar?”

  “No, thank you, I was just admiring the kitchen, its fabulous.”

  “Yes, Maggie had it done last year, and I still can’t find where the bin’s hidden.” He laughed. Angus gestured to a round table, big enough to sit four comfortably, just away from the cooking area. “Let’s sit down shall we.” Josie was sure this was just a breakfast area. The dining room would be somewhere else with a polished table and chairs for ten or twelve no doubt.

  “Now Mr Macintosh, you said your wife, Maggie, went missing over the weekend. Can you be more specific about the day and time?” asked PC Tipton.

  “Not really, I was away you see. I left on Friday afternoon and didn’t get back until yesterday morning.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “We flew up to Scotland with some friends, a bit of shooting, a few drinks and a little business and then they dropped us off on their way back to London yesterday morning.”

  “You said “Us”, “We” flew and they dropped “Us” off, who did you go with sir?”

  “Oh yes, it was me and Hamish, I never leave him behind. My pal’s got a little girl who just loves to look after him when we go there shooting. So he flew up with me and was pampered all the time we were there.”

  “Does he like to fly?” asked Josie, wondering what a dog would make of looking down from a couple of thousand feet.

  “He seems to, he sits on my knee and looks out of the window, or he curls up and goes to sleep. As long as he’s with me he’s happy whatever we’re doing.” Without knowing he’d done it, Angus put his hand down and stroked the terrier behind the ear.

  “And when you got home, Mrs Macintosh was gone? Had she left you a note or sent a text message maybe?”

  “No, and her car is still here. I wondered if she had gone off with one of her friends for a few days, maybe a last minute booking at a spa or something.”

  “Would she do that without telling you,” asked Josie who knew Peter would be furious if she went off for a few days and didn’t tell him. There would be the cost to start with, but looking around Josie thought money wasn’t usually a consideration in this house.

  “Maggie can be a bit flighty at times, and if I’ve done something which irritates her she lets me know about it. She likes to disappear to a health farm, either that or she consoles herself with retail therapy.”

  ‘You mean she goes shopping to express her displeasure?” said Josie. “what’s the going rate in shoes for being late for dinner, or walking mud across the kitchen floor? Just so I can explain to my husband why I have a few new pairs in the wardrobe, you understand?”

  “Well I’m not sure about shoes and mud on the floor, but last year I shot a stag at an organised hunting weekend. My friends thought it would be nice to have the head mounted and they presented it to me at a dinner. Maggie came to the dinner, she hardly touched her meal and afterwards she went mental. Apparently, when I wasn’t looking, she’d become a vegan. They don’t approve of hunting and that sort of thing! The next day she ordered that Range Rover, the one parked out the front, and loaded it up with toys.”

  Josie smiled. She didn’t approve of hunting, but to spend over seventy grand just to make her point seemed a little extreme. “I take it you’ve called her friends have you?”

  “Yes, but nobody’s seen her. Tish, the personal trainer, gave me the name of a spa they’d been to once. I thought I remembered her going there for a weekend about three months ago. So I phoned but they told me they haven’t seen Maggie in over a year. I guess Tish got muddled up, or it might have been somewhere else.”

  “Couldn’t you check your bank account to get the name.” asked Josie.

  “No, Maggie took out seven hundred in cash around then. When I’d asked what it was for she told me she’d seen something online, it claimed even the poshest places would give a discount if you turn up and haggle, she wanted to try. I don’t suppose she got much of off the bill and none of the money went back into the bank.”

  “Has she taken her purse with her?” Asked Paul.

  “Yes, purse, phone, cards and passport. All missing.”

  “Why would she take her passport do you think?” This time the question came from Josie.

  “She has a brother in New York, she has been talking about visiting him. They lost their mum two years ago, I think she wants to see how he’s doing.”

  “What’s the brother’s name,” asked Paul.

  “Trevor, Trevor Bowman, that’s her maiden name, Bowman.”

  “Have you talked to him, does he know where she is?” another question from Paul.

  “Yes, but no. Yes I have talked to him, no he claims he doesn’t know where she is,
” Angus said.

  “Why do you put it like that.” Josie asked.

  “We don’t get on, Trevor and me.”

  “Why not.”

  “Because according to him I’m an over privileged and university educated Scott who’s made a shitload of cash in the city. Now I hang around in the countryside claiming grants and taking money from the arts who ought to have it. While he’s a struggling writer-director, who can’t get funding to stage his existential interpretive theatre shows, featuring costumes made of corrugated iron and performed in the fucking dark.”

  “And according to you?” asked DS Robinson.

  “He’s a galloping homosexual who lives with a colonic irrigation freak. We have nothing in common. If he gropes my arse or kisses my cheeks one more time I’m going to punch his little gay lights out.”

  “Okay. Not much room for compromise.” Said PC Paul trying not to laugh.

  “What about money, did she take any with her?” asked Josie.

  “Well, she always has a hundred or so in her purse. But there’s nothing large moved from our joint account.”

  “Does she have her own account?”

  “Yes, we both do and there’s something worrying me about that.”

  “Go on,” said Josie

  “You remember I said her mum died a while ago. Well the house was for sale for a long time, but now it’s been sold and I assumed she would put the money into our joint savings or something. I didn’t take too much notice as we’ve never talked about it. I know everything was shared equally between her and Trevor, but she’s not mentioned if the estate has been finalised.”

  “And has the estate been finalised.” asked Josie. “these things can take a long time you know.”