by Eric Brown
‘Where will Bill sleep?’ Maria asked.
‘Would you mind awfully if he slept on the bed with me?’ the girl said, wincing.
‘I don’t see why not,’ Maria said. ‘His snores won’t keep us awake, will they?’
‘His won’t,’ Nancy said, ‘but mine might. Goodnight, and thanks awfully for everything.’
Later, they sat before the fire and discussed the events of the day. Donald sipped his drink and told her all about his afternoon interviewing Deirdre Creighton and Spencer Robertshaw.
‘Two things were very … curious,’ he said. ‘One – I found it hard to credit that Deirdre would so willingly take back a man she knew to be a serial philanderer, whom she threw out twenty years ago.’
‘Mmm. Some women never learn,’ she said. ‘And the second?’
‘The second is that the professor’s brother is addicted to opium, or laudanum or heroin – I’m not very up on the difference, to be honest.’
‘Addicted? But that’s terrible.’
Donald nodded. ‘A case of “Doctor, heal thyself”, or some such. There was a distinct chemical smell in the surgery when I entered, and later I noticed specks of blood on the sleeve of his shirt. He was taking the stuff intravenously.’
She tapped his chest. ‘The question is, my darling, whether either Deirdre’s taking back her ex-husband or Doctor Robertshaw’s addiction might have any bearings on the professor’s murder?’
‘I don’t know,’ Donald said, ‘but I do know I’d love another drink. Would you be an angel and pour me one?’
She obliged, and they sat before the glowing coals and nursed their drinks as midnight approached.
EIGHTEEN
After breakfast the following morning, Langham phoned Dr Robertshaw before the surgery opened for the day. Nancy was still in bed, though her dog had wandered downstairs to be let out; now Bill lay before the embers of the fire. Maria sat beside him, absent-mindedly stroking his head.
Morning sunlight slanted through the living-room window as Langham listened to the dial tone.
‘Doctor Robertshaw speaking.’
‘Doctor, this is Donald Langham. We spoke yesterday.’
‘Of course, yes. What can I do for you?’
Langham told him about the missing pills and went on, ‘Randall is aware of the situation, and he said he’d contact you, but I thought it wise to phone myself. I wonder if you could tell me whether both sets of pills, the sleeping tablets and painkillers, were almost finished?’
The doctor hesitated. ‘To the best of my knowledge, without referring to my notes, they were. I was due to visit Xandra tomorrow.’
‘Isn’t it a little odd that the pills seem to have run out at the same time?’
‘Not especially, if she was taking more painkillers than usual,’ Robertshaw said. ‘I’ll make out a new prescription. However, I have surgery all day and I won’t be free until after six. I could drive down with the prescription then.’
Langham thanked him and rang off.
Nancy wandered into the living room, yawning, and sat on the arm of the sofa, bleary-eyed.
‘Breakfast?’ Maria asked.
‘A slice of toast and a cup of tea would be lovely,’ the girl said. ‘Then I’ll take Bill for a long walk.’
At the sound of the last word, the dog jumped up in eagerness, wagging his tail.
‘I said after breakfast, boy. I wonder if Bill could have a slice of toast, too? I forgot to bring his food. I’ll pop into the manor later and pick it up.’
Maria led Nancy and Bill into the kitchen, and Langham was about to sort through some papers in his study when a knock sounded at the front door.
‘I’ll get it,’ he called out.
Harriet Wellbourne stood on the doorstep, looking even smaller than usual. She appeared stunned. ‘Harriet?’
‘I didn’t know who to come to,’ she said. ‘Roy is working in the bottom field.’
‘Harriet, what’s happened? Come in.’
He took her arm, walked her into the living room and installed her on the sofa.
‘The police came this morning at eight,’ she said in a voice so soft it was almost inaudible. ‘They wanted to see Richard. He was in the byre, and I had to fetch him. It was a fellow called Montgomery – a nasty, officious little man. He had two constables with him, and Montgomery said they were arresting Richard on suspicion of murdering Professor Robertshaw. Then he said that thing they say on all the police programmes on the wireless … you know – “Anything you say will be taken down and may be used in evidence”. Oh, Mr Langham, it was awful. Richard was speechless. He just looked at me and shook his head before they led him away. Look,’ she went on, holding out a hand, ‘I’m still shaking. I don’t know what to do.’
Maria appeared in the doorway, and behind her Nancy stood open-mouthed, clutching a slice of toast.
Langham took Harriet’s trembling hand; it was as cold as ice.
Maria sat beside the woman on the sofa and slipped an arm around her shoulders.
‘I’ll get you a cup of tea,’ Nancy said, and disappeared back into the kitchen.
Langham said, ‘Did Montgomery say anything else?’
Harriet shook her head. ‘I really can’t recall. It’s all such a blur. I think I’m in shock. Montgomery just asked Richard to confirm his name, and then they led him away. Mr Langham, Richard did go to see the professor on the night he was shot – he was angry about the disputed land. But I saw him when he got back. He was fuming – the professor wouldn’t see reason – but Richard wouldn’t do anything like … like that. He’s a peaceful man, Mr Langham. I’ve been married to him for more than thirty years and I’ve never even heard him raise his voice.’
Nancy returned with a cup of tea, and Harriet took it with a wan smile of thanks.
‘I’ll drive up to Bury and assess the situation,’ Langham said. ‘I’ll try to see Richard and assure him we’re doing our best to sort things out. Do you know if he has a lawyer?’
Harriet shook her head. ‘I really don’t know; Richard deals with all that kind of thing.’
‘Try not to worry. I know Montgomery, and he does tend to be impulsive.’
‘I should tell Roy,’ Harriet said. ‘He’ll be wondering where we are.’
‘You’re going nowhere,’ Maria said. ‘I’ll make the fire and keep you supplied with tea. You can stay here until Donald gets back, and I won’t hear another word on the matter.’
‘I’ll go and tell Roy,’ Nancy said.
‘Would you, dear?’ Harriet said. ‘That’s ever so kind.’
Nancy jumped up. ‘Come on, boy. Walkies!’
Bill leapt to his feet and followed the girl into the kitchen, his tail going like a lash.
Langham assured Harriet once again that he’d do everything he could for Richard, and moved into the hall. Maria came with him.
‘I’m sure Richard can’t have …’ she began in lowered tones.
Langham pulled on his coat. ‘I’ll know a bit more when I’ve spoken to Montgomery,’ he said. ‘As I’ll be in town, I’ll drop in on Robertshaw when he’s between patients and pick up Xandra’s prescription.’
He kissed her on the cheek and hurried out to the car.
On the drive north over lanes and roads whitened with a fresh sprinkling of snow, he considered the possibility that Richard Wellbourne might have murdered the professor. For Montgomery to have made the arrest and read Wellbourne his rights, he obviously had what he regarded as incriminating evidence: more, Langham thought, than just the circumstantial facts that Wellbourne had visited the professor that night and had been in dispute with him over the field.
He parked outside the police station and found Detective Inspector Montgomery in his office, feet lodged on his desk. A steaming mug of tea and a doorstep of a bacon sandwich sat before him on his blotter. The inspector was looking pleased with himself.
Langham drew up a chair and Montgomery brushed his straggling moustache with t
humb and forefinger preparatory to taking a great bite of sandwich.
‘Thought I might see you today, Langham,’ he said around a mouthful. ‘Come to see how I did it?’
‘What have you got on him?’
‘The works. You name it. Open-and-shut case. Motive, opportunity, hard evidence. All we’re lacking is the confession, but it’ll come. Stands to reason. Chap’s as guilty as sin.’
‘He maintains his innocence?’
‘Yes. But then they all do, don’t they? And in my experience, the ones who maintain it with the greatest vehemence are always the guilty ones.’
‘You said hard evidence?’
‘That’s right,’ Montgomery said, looking like a poker player who was about to lay down a royal flush. ‘Not only were his boot prints in the mud surrounding the standing stone, but his dabs were all over the shooter.’
Langham sat back, deflated, and thought of poor Harriet back at the cottage. How the blazes was he going to break that news to her?
‘Has Richard seen a lawyer?’
Montgomery nodded, chewing on a mouthful of sandwich. ‘Old Bryant sat in on the interview.’
‘What next?’
‘I’m letting him stew. I want his confession, then I can charge him. I can keep him another few hours. After lunch I’ll go in again with Detective Sergeant Bruce, who’s enough to frighten the living daylights out of Al Capone. Mark my words, Wellbourne will be blabbing by mid-afternoon.’
‘I’d like to see him.’
Montgomery regarded Langham with his egg-shaped head tilted to one side. ‘I don’t see why not – and you can do me a favour while you’re in there. Tell him he isn’t necessarily for the drop. He can save himself.’
‘Go on.’
‘All he has to do is admit that he pulled the trigger – but that there was a struggle. The way I see it, they were arguing and then it got heated. The professor pulled the shooter and in the ensuing struggle Wellbourne snatched it from him and it went off – and the professor just happened to buy it. That way, we’re all happy. I get my conviction and Wellbourne saves his neck.’
‘You don’t think it was premeditated?’
Montgomery shook his head. ‘It was the professor’s revolver. Maybe the prof threatened Wellbourne with it. There must have been a struggle, as I see it. Heat-of-the-moment thing. So, Langham, go in there and make him see reason, for God’s sake.’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he said.
Montgomery led him from the office, along a green-tiled corridor as ugly as a public urinal, and through a heavy metal door to the cells. A duty sergeant unlocked a navy-blue painted door; Langham slipped inside and the door thudded shut behind him.
Richard Wellbourne looked up, registering his surprise at seeing Langham. The big man’s face had lost its natural colour and looked grey, his eyes haunted. Langham sat next to him on the bunk.
‘Harriet?’ Wellbourne said.
‘She’s at Yew Tree Cottage with Maria. Try not to worry about her.’
The farmer was still in his overalls and exuded the heady farmyard aroma of fresh manure and old hay.
‘This is a nightmare, Donald. I don’t know where to turn.’
‘I want to hear about it in your own words. Take your time and tell me exactly what happened that evening when you went up to the manor.’
Wellbourne leaned forward, his elbows lodged on his knees and his head hanging. ‘I needed to see Robertshaw. I’d been into town that afternoon and seen my solicitor. It wasn’t good news. All the deeds they had were dated after 1800 and didn’t include the West Field. Legally, I didn’t have a leg to stand on.’
‘Why did you decide to go and see Robertshaw?’
‘I wanted to see if he’d be reasonable. I had planned to increase the herd by another fifty head and erect a byre on the field. It’s not great pasture land, but I reckoned I could improve it over time. It’d help make the farm that bit more profitable.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He was adamant. As far as he was concerned, and as far as the law of the land went, the field belonged to him. The last thing he wanted was a byre and a herd of cows on his land, he said. He planned to dig more trenches in his damned search for the missing standing stones, and no mud-grubber – that’s what he called me – was going to stop him.’
‘You were outside at this time?’
‘I saw him in his study to begin with, but he was on his way out, so I followed him.’
‘To the standing stone?’
‘That’s right – which is how the police found my footprints.’
Langham watched the farmer as he said, ‘And what about the professor’s revolver? According to Montgomery, your fingerprints were all over the weapon.’
Wellbourne turned his leonine head and his grey eyes regarded Langham. ‘Of course they were,’ he said evenly, ‘and that’s easily explained. A couple of weeks ago, he invited me in for a drink one afternoon. I’d been working in a field near the manor and we got talking. Edwin asked if I’d care for a whisky, and I took him up on the offer. Christ!’ he said bitterly, ‘if only I’d known …’
‘Go on.’
The farmer shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘We got talking about the war. He asked me where I’d served, and I told him about the gun emplacements I’d commanded in Dover. He said he’d regretted being too old for what he called “useful work”. He served in the Home Guard in Oxford and showed me his old First World War service revolver, a Webley. Of course, I took it, had a look. Then he put it back in the bureau and there it lay, covered with my prints, until the other night.’ Wellbourne fell silent, staring at his big hands clenched between his knees.
Langham said, ‘And you told Montgomery this?’
The farmer nodded.
‘What did he say?’
Wellbourne pursed his lips in bitter recollection. ‘The little blighter laughed, Donald. He laughed in my face and said “likely story”. But it’s the truth, as God’s my witness. It’s the truth.’
Langham let the silence stretch, then said, ‘Montgomery wants you to confess. He sees it as an open-and-shut case, and says if you confess to shooting the professor accidentally in the heat of the moment, during a struggle, you’ll save yourself.’
‘But I didn’t kill him, for God’s sake!’
‘I know,’ Langham said. ‘I believe you. I was telling you what Montgomery wants, and I advise you to stick to your guns. Don’t tell the inspector I told you this – but don’t make a confession, despite what he and his hard man Bruce might have to say.’
‘Right, yes. Thank you, Donald.’
‘Meanwhile, I’ll be working on the case, trying to get to the bottom of what happened.’
‘You don’t know how much I appreciate that.’ Wellbourne looked around the tiny cell. ‘In here, all alone … I feel so helpless.’ He smiled. ‘Will you tell Harriet that I’m bearing up?’
‘I’ll do that.’
He shook hands with the farmer, tapped on the cell door and waited until the duty sergeant let him out.
‘Well?’ Montgomery asked when Langham returned to his office.
‘He’s sticking to his story,’ Langham said, ‘and as far as I’m concerned, he’s telling the truth.’
‘What, that tale about handling the revolver one Sunday afternoon over drinks? Come on, Langham! Cock and bull story! Wellbourne did it, or I’ll eat my hat.’
Langham leaned against the wall. ‘I find it hard to believe that the professor carried the revolver around with him night and day, leading to a tussle during which Wellbourne accidentally shot him. And I find it even harder to believe that Wellbourne, that evening, took the gun from the professor’s bureau and used it with malice aforethought.’
‘And his footprints around the base of the stone?’
Langham shrugged. ‘Wellbourne admits they went out to the stone and talked about the disputed land.’
Montgomery shook his head. ‘In my book, Langham, it all
points to Wellbourne being the guilty party.’
Langham pushed himself from the wall and moved to the door. ‘I intend to speak to a few more people concerning the case,’ he said. ‘I’ll be in touch.’
He left the station and drove across town to Dr Robertshaw’s surgery.
NINETEEN
He parked in the street outside the Willows and peered through the falling snow at the surgery, its white stuccoed facade bright against the grey winter sky. Oddly, the bay window of the consulting room was darkened, the curtains drawn. To the left of the front door, the window of the waiting room was similarly dark. Yet according to Dr Robertshaw, he had a busy surgery all day.
Langham ducked from the car, adjusted his hat and hurried up the path to the entrance. He tried the door but found it locked. Stepping off the path, he peered through the waiting-room window; through a chink in the blinds he made out empty chairs in the shadowy room. He moved to the surgery window but could see nothing due to the thick damask curtains.
He stepped back and peered at the upper-storey windows. They too were darkened.
The surgery was closed – so why had the doctor lied to him?
He walked down the gravelled drive to the extensive lawn at the rear. The back door was locked, and no lights showed behind the windows on the ground floor. However, a light was on in an upper window. He considered calling out but thought better of disturbing the neighbours. He looked around, returned to the drive and came back with a handful of gravel which he lobbed at the lighted window. It rattled against the pane – surely loud enough to attract anyone in the room – and he stepped back as it fell to earth.
If Dr Robertshaw was thus alerted, he elected not to show himself.
Langham decided to find a phone box and ring the surgery, though he was pretty sure his call would go unanswered.
He was walking back down the drive when a familiar sports car turned and braked suddenly on the snow-covered gravel before him.
Randall Robertshaw climbed out. ‘What the deuce are you doing here, Langham?’
‘I suspect the same as you, Randall. I rang your uncle earlier today about your mother’s prescription. I thought you might not be up to the trip, considering the condition you were in last night.’
