Dovetail

by Bernard Pearson

  This disturbed the muck at the bottom of the hole, not to mention Lucy. She backed away from the stench and asked him what the hell he thought he was doing.

  ‘If you watched more television, lass, you’d know that plastic sheeting preserves bodies. This way there will be fuck all left of the little bugger after nature takes its course!’

  Sid started tipping clean earth into the pit and soon the stench lessened, for which they were both grateful. The place still smelled of drains but nothing like as bad as when the digger had disturbed the turds of ages past.

  By the time Sid finished, the morning had grown soft and bright. Lucy looked around carefully. All that was left of the old cesspit was raw earth piled slightly higher than the meadow around it. The trees bordering the field had shed their leaves and were skeletal now, just as the body buried in that biologically rich environment would be before long. Sid came back from parking the digger and stood by her side.

  ‘Do you want to say anything?’ he asked.

  Lucy thought for a bit, then said, ‘Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, and shit to shit.’

  Then she turned, walked to the van, and got into the driver’s seat. Sid opened the field gate and closed it again after she had driven through. They rode back to Bill’s through weak sunshine, parked the van, and scraped the mud off their boots. Lucy was suddenly very hungry and promised Sid she would make a vast mountain of bacon sandwiches as soon as she had looked in on Bill.

  He was still fast asleep. His breathing was shallow and there was blood on the pillow. Lucy went back downstairs feeling slightly less hungry, but kept her promise to Sid.

  After breakfast they tackled cleaning up the yard in and around the passage. When Lucy moved her car, she could see specks of gore in amongst the broken concrete, but not as much as she thought there would be. She hosed down the stone wall again and this time dislodged a load of moss and dirt, which ran down onto the floor. Then Sid had her use the hose to drive rubbish from the rest of the farmyard into the passage, which was soon awash with old leaves, twigs, and a few previously hidden deposits from Clive. It wouldn’t stand a forensic examination, but it would do to be going on with.

  At noon Bill was about the same. When Lucy put more wood in the stove, she realized she was using the new stuff Hugh had brought them. So Bill had been right about that, she thought. There had been just about enough logs on the woodpile to see him out. Straightening up, she made an effort to shrug off her sadness. Her eyes caught sight of the envelope Bill had given her to put on the mantelpiece the previous night, and for the first time she noticed the note Bill had left before he set out for Skates’s. She took them both over to the table where Sid was sitting drinking yet another mug of tea and sat down next to him. Then she opened the note and together they read the following words:

  My friends,

  If you are reading this, I am probably dead. If I am, well, I was dying anyway and my only regret would be if I didn’t finish Skates first, but I hope I did.

  There is something like £6,000 left from the advance I was given and that is in the old cash box. Lucy, you know the one.

  Split it 50/50. My plan has always been to share the cash with you both. You have earned it, you deserve it.

  Lucy, I love you.

  Sid, you old reprobate, well, you know. Bill

  Lucy picked up the envelope Bill had brought home. It was thick and heavy. Opening it revealed a wad of cash that totalled £10,000. Without saying a word, Lucy went upstairs to check on Bill again.

  She came down looking more worried than ever.

  ‘He’s really bad now, Sid,’ she said. ‘I’m going to phone the doctor.’

  ‘If you do that, Lucy, they’ll take him into hospital and he’ll die there. He’d hate that, you know it.’

  Lucy had to agree, but she insisted on phoning Gloria to let her and Philip know how sick Bill had become. Before she could say much, however, she heard faltering steps on the stairs, the door from the hall opened, and there stood Bill. He made his way past her to the kitchen table and sat down in his chair.

  ‘If that’s Gloria,’ he said hoarsely, ‘tell her I’d be grateful for a ride to the hospice tomorrow. Oh, and I’ll want some photos of the family. Tomorrow afternoon, after Jack’s got home from school.’

  Lucy passed all that on, then, after hanging up, asked Bill if he would like a drink or anything to eat, reminding him as tactfully as she could that he hadn’t had anything in nearly 24 hours. He scowled and said maybe a few biscuits, and tea, please. Then he looked at Sid and the pile of money on the table in front of him, with the note he had written lying open on top of it.

  Sid saw him looking and smiled at him. ‘Silly bugger. What do you suppose I would do with that sort of money? You know me, mate. Most of it would go on wild women and booze!’

  ‘Right,’ said Bill, smiling, ‘and you’d just waste the rest.’

  Lucy came back to the table with some slices of buttered bread and a mug of tomato soup, a piece of cheese, and Bill’s tea. The smell of this simple meal must have whetted Bill’s appetite because he tucked in and asked them what they had been doing. As he slowly ate, they told him all about the hole, the burying, and the clean-up afterwards.

  Then he told them in more detail what he had done the night before. They had heard the basic facts, but after his long rest and the nourishing food, Bill was now able to fill in the gaps.

  ‘So you’re sure that other bugger was the bloke we found in the field?’ asked Sid.

  Bill said he was sure, which had made it easier to pull the trigger. What he didn’t say was that the man’s hate-filled eyes were burned into his memory more than anything else from that night.

  Well, the fire perhaps, he thought, but those unblinking eyes were the stuff of nightmares.

  Then he picked up the note he had written. ‘Same thing goes,’ he said, ‘No matter how much it comes to, you share it.’

  Lucy moved towards Bill and put her arms around him. ‘Three ways, Bill. That’s what it ought to be, three ways.’

  Sid nodded in agreement.

  ‘Look,’ said Bill, ‘I’ve got no use for money where I’m going, and my son will get everything else. There’s enough money in the bank for sorting me out. And,’ he added, ‘there’s those bloody chairs. God knows how much they’ll fetch if ever they’re sold.’

  ‘Shit,’ cried Sid, ‘I haven’t got them out of your van yet!’ And he got up, took Bill’s keys off the hook, and rushed out into the yard. Bill laughed, coughed a bit, then reached for Lucy’s hand.

  ‘You’re going to need the cash for that holiday we spoke of.’

  ‘For running away, you mean,’ said Lucy.

  ‘You can’t be here for while, lass, you know that.’

  He saw her eyes fill with tears and squeezed her hand. ‘The police might just think of me having done work for Skates. They wouldn’t be able to find a motive, but if you’re here you’ll be questioned, and if I could connect you with Skates, they surely can.’ Lucy looked at him, tears running down her cheeks now.

  ‘I wanted to be here with you until the end,’ she said.

  ‘And I want to be man enough to watch you drive away,’ said Bill softy. ‘To drive away so you can return again if you wish. No farewells from a damned hospital bed, but from my home, which was your home, our home.’

  He stopped, caught her glance and held it. His eyes were tired but as determined in this as they had been in everything else.

  ‘We say our goodbyes from here, Lucy.’

  By the time Sid came back in, she had dried her eyes, but he could tell she had been crying and also noted the anguish on his old friend’s face.

  ‘The chairs are fine,’ he said with as much jollity as he could manage. ‘I put them in the back of the workshop along with the original two and covered the lot with some of those army blankets. Then I locked up and here I am!’

  Silent nods were all he got from Bill and Lucy.

  ‘Say, how would
you like some fish and chips for dinner tonight? I can go get them from the F&C van in the Bell Inn car park. Just a thought,’ he added brightly.

  Gratefully, they said they would like that very much.

  After Sid left, Lucy took Clive for a walk. She used the passage as she had done hundreds of times before, but stopped at the entrance to marvel at how little she actually felt about having killed Warren. He was a rapist, a murderer, and a dangerous psychopath; the world was better off without him, plain and simple.

  But she had thought she would feel changed in some way when he and Skates were gone. As though the part of her life they had belonged to would lift from her soul like mist evaporating in the sunshine. But the memories were still there, and so were the scars. She knew now they always would be, but the feelings they conjured up had changed. There was still shame, but it didn’t completely overwhelm her anymore. She wished she had been strong enough to leave Skates, but she hadn’t been. And there were reasons for that, and, oh well, what the hell, worse things happen at sea, she thought.

  As she mused, Clive hoovered the ground with his nose, intrigued by strange scents, tail going nineteen to the dozen. Suddenly he stopped near the place where Warren had been killed, cocked his leg, and pissed on the wall. Lucy laughed out loud. Clive had provided the perfect epitaph for that vile, deranged man. In the meadow all was quiet and damp in the late autumn air.

  The sky was dirty white like an old handkerchief, and the washed-out afternoon sun was low on the horizon. Trees and hedges were her only companions. She would miss all this and the people she had grown to love here. One special person would be no more, but this landscape would still be here, and in her heart nothing could ever separate the one from the other.

  Back in the kitchen, Bill was doing a lot of thinking, too. After so many months of worry and planning, it was hard for him to believe everything was over. Yes, there were still some ends to tie up, but he had a day, and a day was all it would take. Then he could let go. He had lived long enough and, right at the end of his life, had killed to protect his own. Not for money, not for power, but to protect his family and repay blood for blood. He was not a religious man, but he thought that if there did turn out to be a God, then he could answer for those actions. Others, well, he’d have to see about those when the time came. Right now, this afternoon, he was in his own kitchen in his own house and would soon be having one of his favourite meals with some of his best friends. And that was enough.

  Lucy returned from her walk and turned the radio to the local news to hear if anything was being broadcast about the fire at Skates’s house. They’d missed the morning news and the midday, but at six o’clock there was a brief mention that the police were still investigating the fire at a mansion in Long Sutton in which the bodies of two people had been found. No more than that. Bill didn’t get a daily paper, and the local rag only came out on Wednesdays. He supposed he should stop and buy one on the way to the hospice tomorrow.

  Lucy felt restless and, since she had no dinner to prepare, went to see Miss Templeton. She had a lot to thank her for and wanted to make sure her long night in the chair had caused no lasting harm. The old lady was glad to see her, and they sat in the kitchen drinking tea from fine china cups as always. After assuring Lucy that she was experiencing no ill effects from the previous night’s adventure, Miss Templeton asked, ‘And how are you feeling today, my dear?’

  She knew from personal experience that traumatic events could leave deep mental scars. But not with Lucy, it seemed.

  ‘I feel fine,’ she said, and Miss Templeton believed her, up to a point. She may indeed be feeling fine about killing Warren, but there was nevertheless a shadow of trouble upon her and it was not hard to imagine what was casting it.

  Miss Templeton took a shoebox from the sideboard and placed in front of Lucy. ‘Open it,’ she said, and watched Lucy as she did so. Inside were several jewellery cases, two small square boxes, a bundle of papers, and a large manila envelope.

  ‘Go on, open them up,’ encouraged Miss Templeton.

  Lucy did do. In one of the jewellery cases was a string of pearls, and in the others were beautiful jewelled necklaces. Lucy thought they must be worth a king’s ransom. In the small square boxes were medals. One was the Croix de Guerre, its simple bronze contrasting with the rich red satin of the box’s lining, and the other was the Military Cross. The silver cross and its ribbon of white and purple had Miss Templeton’s full name engraved on the back. There was a citation as well, which Lucy took out to read, but Miss Templeton tut-tutted and told her to save it for later.

  The big manila envelope contained the deed to Keepers Cottage and a document written on thick, stiff paper bearing the name of a solicitor in Salisbury. The latter stated that, acting under the instruction of Miss Elenore Templeton of Keepers Cottage, Top Lane, Flyton, Somerset…

  Lucy looked up. ‘It’s your will,’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ replied the old lady calmly, ‘and I would like you to read it now.’

  Lucy did so, feeling as if she must be dreaming, because there in black and white was the fact that all Miss Templeton owned was being left to one Lucy Marshall.

  She was stunned and shaken, far more than she had been by any of last night’s or this morning’s activities. But before she could say anything, Miss Templeton took both her hands in her own dry, withered ones.

  ‘Now let me explain,’ she said. ‘I am old, tired, and have no family or friends left living. If I don’t leave what I have to someone, the government will get it, and that, my dear, would be a terrible waste.’

  ‘But why me?’

  ‘Because I like you,’ said Miss Templeton, releasing Lucy’s hands and reaching for her tea. ‘Because you have integrity, honesty, and courage. And because I think you will make good use of this gift. It will give you freedom and, should you wish it, a home of your own.’

  ‘But I’m going away,’ said Lucy, near to tears both at the generosity and kindness of this lovely old woman and the fact that she would be leaving here, for how long she didn’t know.

  ‘Of course you are. You have to, for a time, but not forever. You belong here now. You are part of this land and its people, my dear. You killed to protect them.’

  Lucy was dumbstruck. She had a vision of Sid lying wounded at Warren’s feet and remembered the way she had felt. Yes, she had killed to protect him, and to prevent Warren from killing Bill. And she really did regard this tiny spot in the Somerset landscape as home.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, leaning over and kissing the old woman on the cheek.

  Miss Templeton patted her hand. ‘Once you have a base, let me know where you are. And take the address of my solicitors and keep in touch with them. As far as they are concerned, you are my adopted heir, and indeed, my girl, that’s exactly what you are. I’m a lucky woman to have found one who suits me so well.’ Then she smiled and added, ‘Now take that dreadful dog of yours and go. You have goodbyes to arrange.’

  She took the manila envelope out of the shoebox and handed the box to Lucy. ‘You may as well take these with you, and if we don’t meet again, think of me when you wear the pearls. They were a gift from a very special man.’

  There were tears in Lucy’s eyes as she walked down the lane to Bill’s house. What she had done to deserve such generosity and kindness from everyone she had met in this place she didn’t know, but she had never before in all her life felt so cherished.

  When Sid had driven off to get the fish and chips, he had taken the opportunity, as Bill had known he would, to have a pint in the pub and a natter with some of his drinking acquaintances. Apparently, the word on the street was that the fire in the big house was deliberate and one of the bodies found in it belonged to that bloke Skates what came from London and had all those funny friends going in and out all the time. Nobody knew who the other poor sod was, but there were some right dodgy bastards working for Skates. Sid had let his informants rattle on and stood by and listened as others joined
in. That nasty bloke who had the motorbike was missing and the Old Bill were looking for him something rotten. There was no mention of antiques, nor Bill Sawyer, nor anything at all to connect him with Skates.

  ‘And long may it be so,’ thought Sid as he drove back to the farm with a well-wrapped-up parcel of fish and chips.

  It started out as a solemn meal because they all knew it was the last one they would share together, but solemnity didn’t stand a chance once Sid got to telling tales about Bill, and Bill retorted with stories of his own about Sid. Anything to put tomorrow where it should be: in the future, not round this table, not right now.

  As Bill said, ‘It’s our last supper, my dears. Get out the port and sod the indigestion!’

  Once the debris of the meal was cleared away, Bill put the money from the chairs on the table in an untidy pile next to the decanter. He counted it out and insisted that Lucy and Sid have £5000 each for all their work on the chairs. Then he divided the remaining £6000 into two piles.

  He turned to Sid and said, ‘Philip and Gloria won’t be able to move in here for weeks and I don’t want this place getting done over, so I’m employing you as a house-sitter.’ And with that he put £3000 on the top of Sid’s pile. Sid squirmed a bit, but didn’t argue.

  Then he turned to Lucy and said, ‘That car of yours is registered in my name, so take this’ – placing the remaining £3000 on her pile – ‘and buy a better one. I suggest you get Dylan to register and insure it, with you as a named driver. If the police are taking Skates’s life apart, they’ll find out he’s been married and they might try to find you just out of curiosity. Best if you don’t give them any help, and car registrations are easy to check.’

  Lucy had made arrangements to stay with Dylan for a day or two after she left Bill’s. She handed a bit of paper with the address on it to Sid, who put it into his wallet. ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he said. ‘Make sure you phone me to tell me you’re all right now and again.’

  Lucy smiled at him. ‘Don’t worry, I will.’