Death at Burwell Farm Page 6

  ‘Only that there’s been a spate of thefts of garden machinery in this area and we’re trying to establish some sort of pattern, that’s all.’

  ‘Can’t believe they’ve got anything to do with it. Chap who runs it is ex-army, thoroughly decent sort. Well, good hunting. I take it it’s all right to get the door repaired now? That young fellah-me-lad in uniform who came first thing said to leave it till you’d had a look at it.’

  ‘Oh yes, that’s quite OK.’ Giving the usual assurances about keeping him informed, Sukey left.

  It was only half-past two; having checked in and been told that there were no more jobs for her that afternoon she decided to pay Lawnmowers Unlimited a quick visit before returning to the station, partly out of curiosity and partly because she had decided some time ago that her own lawnmower had had its day. She found it without difficulty, the end unit in a small row of shops comprising a hairdresser, a bakery and a general store. She parked the van on one of the spaces marked out on the forecourt and went to have a closer look. Beside the entrance, a placard announced a special discount on any power-operated machine, coupled with ‘generous’ part-exchange terms. She studied the display in the window, which was crammed with an assortment of small mowers and other sundry items of garden machinery. A glance through the open door offered a glimpse of some larger pieces of equipment arranged in a neat row, all shiny and new and bearing the names of well-known manufacturers.

  At the far end was a counter and behind it a run of metal shelving stacked with spare parts. Above the sound of pop music from a hidden transistor radio, some energetic hammering in the background suggested that the rear of the premises was being used as a workshop. A middle-aged man in dark blue overalls was serving a customer. Above his head was a notice reading ‘Any Item Not in Stock Obtained to Order’, and a further notice propped at the side of the counter offered repairs and servicing at competitive prices.

  Sukey waited until the man was free and then said, ‘Good afternoon. I’m thinking of buying a new mower and I haven’t any idea what’s available – can you give me details of some models and prices? Nothing too elaborate, I’ve only got a small garden…’

  He was only too ready to offer advice and within minutes she had received a bewildering collection of brochures and price lists. ‘I’ll have to talk this over with my husband,’ she said. ‘By the way, I live in Brockworth – do you deliver that far afield?’

  ‘There might be a small charge if it’s outside our area.’ The man glanced over his shoulder. ‘Brockworth OK for free delivery, Darrell?’ The hammering ceased and a cropped head appeared round the end of the row of shelving, glanced briefly in Sukey’s direction, nodded and said, ‘No problem,’ before disappearing again.

  ‘Has Darrell been working for you long?’ Sukey asked casually as she gathered up the brochures and prepared to leave. ‘About six months. First-class mechanic, he is – does all the deliveries as well, knows the area like the back of his hand. I don’t know what I’d do without him. That’s what I tell him, anyway – keeps him in a good mood,’ he added with a wink.

  Back at the station, Sukey stopped to have a word with the desk sergeant before going up to the SOCOs’ room. ‘D’you remember a lad called Darrell something who was caught nicking bicycles a while back? I was here when he was brought in – he was kicking up a fuss, claiming police harassment, demanding to see his brief.’

  The sergeant grinned. ‘They all do that. What makes this one special?’

  ‘He was called…’ Sukey trawled her memory, ‘… Mullin? Marling? No, Millings.’

  ‘The name does ring a bell,’ the sergeant admitted. He scratched his head with his pen. ‘Yes, I remember now,’ he said after a moment’s reflection. ‘Scruffy little bugger, hair almost down to his knees. What about him?’

  ‘I think I saw him this afternoon working for an outfit supplying lawnmowers in Tewkesbury. He’s had a David Beckham haircut, but I’m almost sure it was the same bloke.’

  ‘Nice to think he’s decided to earn an honest living for a change.’

  ‘Except that I’ve a notion he might be doing a little moonlighting. Thanks, Sarge.’

  Sukey went upstairs to the SOCOs’ room to write her reports and pack up her samples for examination. ‘I’ve an idea who might be behind the mower thefts,’ she informed Sergeant Barnes. ‘A young villain called Darrell Millings. It’s only guesswork at the moment, but if his fingerprints match these, we might get lucky. I’ve put in a note for a special check.’

  ‘Quite the little sleuth, aren’t we?’ George remarked with mock sarcasm.

  ‘We keep our eyes open,’ she retorted. ‘Well, that’s my lot for today. See you tomorrow.’

  On her way out she tapped on the door of DI Jim Castle’s office, which was just along the corridor. He was on the phone, but he beckoned her in and she waited until he had finished. ‘Something to report?’ he said.

  ‘I’m not sure. Do you happen to know what car Adrian Masters’s aunt drove?’

  ‘I think he said it was a Metro.’

  ‘A red one?’

  ‘I don’t know about the colour. Why do you ask?’

  ‘It’s just that my first job this morning was at a house called Burwell Farm. Only it isn’t a farm now, it’s the headquarters of the RYCE Foundation.’ She could tell from the way his eyebrows lifted and his mouth pursed that he was interested in hearing more.

  ‘I got chatting to the gardener.’ She recounted the conversation. ‘It occurred to me that the woman he saw driving off in a red Metro might have been Vera. He said she seemed “put out”, was the way he described it. If it was her, maybe she’d had some kind of argument or disagreement with someone that upset her and brought on the heart attack.’

  ‘I suppose it’s possible,’ Jim agreed in a tone that suggested he considered it unlikely.

  ‘Do you think I should mention it to Adrian?’

  ‘I wouldn’t advise it. He strikes me as the sort who shoots from the hip, and knowing how he feels about the place, he’s quite capable of charging round there and throwing accusations around. He could end up in all sorts of trouble.’

  ‘You’re probably right.’

  ‘What was your impression of the RYCE place, by the way?’

  ‘There’s a very peaceful, benign sort of atmosphere about it, although of course I didn’t see inside the house or meet the proprietors. A girl called Serena who seems to run the office was very pleasant and helpful. Their publications were a bit weird –’ Sukey reeled off some of the titles – ‘but nothing struck me as sinister.’

  ‘If I were you, I’d just let it drop.’

  ‘Serena gave me a brochure. I’m thinking of becoming an “initiate”,’ she said with a provocative twitch of the lips.

  ‘You’ll do nothing of the kind.’

  She sensed that he wasn’t joking; a perverse desire to goad him further prompted her to retort, ‘Why not? I thought releasing my cosmic energy might add a whole new dimension to my personal life.’ She left the room without giving him a chance to reply.

  When she reached home she found Fergus in the kitchen surrounded by textbooks. ‘Just doing a spot of work on my French assignment,’ he explained.

  ‘I’m glad you’re taking it seriously.’ She went to the sink to fill the kettle for tea. ‘Have you seen Anita today?’

  ‘I phoned just after you left and I went over and spent the morning with her.’

  ‘How are things there?’

  ‘They’re all pretty cut up over Vera, of course. Cath’s tearing her hair out because Adrian keeps on about RYCE – he reckons it’s all their fault that she had the heart attack.’ Unconsciously confirming Jim Castle’s prediction, Fergus added, ‘Anita says he’s been threatening to go round and “sort them out”, as he puts it.’

  ‘How does he figure out it’s their fault?’

  ‘Cath says it’s a gut reaction. He’s been so dead set against the place from the start that he’s ready to blame
them for everything. He’s even predicting that it’ll turn out she’s changed her will in their favour.’

  ‘That would look bad,’ Sukey admitted. ‘Still, Cath’s right – he should keep well away from the place unless he’s got something concrete to go on.’ She made the tea, poured out two mugs and fetched milk from the refrigerator. ‘Now, if you wouldn’t mind making a bit of room on the table…’

  ‘Sure.’ Fergus pushed his books and papers to one side and pulled out a chair for her. ‘How was your day, Mum?’

  It had been her intention to tell him about the visit to the RYCE headquarters, without referring to the conversation with Jarvis, but in the light of Jim’s comments and knowing he would almost certainly mention it to Anita, who would then pass it on to her parents, she decided to say nothing. Instead, she gave him a humorous version of her encounter with Major Hyde, her subsequent visit to Lawnmowers Unlimited and her hopes of solving the case of the missing garden machinery.

  ‘Another brilliant success for super sleuth Sukey Reynolds!’ he exclaimed, raising his mug in salute. ‘You are clever, Mum!’

  ‘Aw, shucks, it was nothing.’

  ‘What’s for supper?’

  ‘Lamb chops.’

  ‘Is Jim coming?’

  ‘Not this evening – he’s on late turn.’

  ‘He will be free at the weekend, won’t he?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Why do you ask?’

  ‘It’s just that Dad wants me to spend it with him and I don’t want to leave you on your own.’

  ‘That’s sweet of you.’ As always, she was touched by his mature consideration for her. ‘Is there something special happening?’

  ‘I think he wants me to meet his new girlfriend.’

  Sukey looked up from her tea in surprise. ‘How long has this been going on?’ It had taken Fergus’s father, her ex-husband Paul, a long time to recover from the shock of his second wife’s horrific murder.

  ‘He’s known her quite a while – she works at his office – but I think he’s been scared of getting involved.’

  ‘That’s understandable. You go ahead and make your arrangements – I’ll be all right.’

  The telephone rang and Fergus leapt to his feet. ‘That might be Anita – I’ll get it.’ He said, ‘Hullo,’ listened for a few moments and then said, ‘Yes, she’s here. Hold on, please.’ He covered the mouthpiece with his hand she passed the receiver to his mother. ‘It’s a Mrs Drew. She sounds in a bit of a state.’

  ‘Sukey, is… that… you?’ Jennifer was hyperventilating, her words coming in jerky, disjointed phrases. ‘Something’s happened… I need… to talk to someone. Please… can you come?’

  ‘What is it? Has there been another break-in, or—’

  ‘No, it isn’t that. I’ve discovered… I think I may have found out…’ There was a pause during which Jennifer seemed to be fighting for breath.

  ‘Do please try and calm down,’ Sukey urged. ‘Take some deep breaths,’ she added as the sounds of distress continued.

  It was several moments before Jennifer spoke again. Then she said in a barely audible whisper, ‘I think I know now why Ollie killed himself.’

  Eight

  It was well after nine o’clock when Sukey turned through the gates of Marsdean Manor. Jennifer Drew must have been looking out for her; the car had barely come to a stop when the front door was flung open and she came stumbling towards it, wrenched open the driver’s door and clutched at Sukey as if in terror that she would change her mind and drive away again. ‘Thank God you’re here! I thought you’d never come!’ she gasped. Her body was shaking uncontrollably and her teeth chattered as if with cold, but her hands were hot and her eyes fiery red in her deathly white face.

  ‘I came as quickly as I could.’ Sukey got out of the car, took her by the arm and guided her back into the house. ‘Did you take my advice and have a bite to eat?’

  ‘I had a glass of milk – I couldn’t face anything solid.’ At least, she was no longer hyperventilating. The moment the door closed behind them she said, ‘You had someone with you – a man answered the phone. Who was he? What have you told him?’

  ‘That was my teenage son, Fergus. All I told him was that you’re still very upset after your husband’s death and you’re alone in the house and in need of a bit of company.’

  ‘Did you mention RYCE?’

  ‘No, why should I?’ Sukey asked in surprise.

  ‘I wondered if perhaps you’d guessed.’

  ‘Guessed what?’

  ‘I’ll explain in a minute.’

  Although her breathing was more normal she was still trembling and there was a feverish glitter in her eyes. Sensing that she needed to calm down before she was in any state to tell her story coherently, and deliberately making her voice brisk and matter-of-fact, Sukey said, ‘Would you like me to make you some coffee?’ Jennifer nodded. ‘Then let’s go in the kitchen. You can show me where everything is.’

  The need to do something practical and the comforting presence of another human being seemed to have the desired effect. By the time the coffee was made and poured out, Jennifer had stopped trembling. ‘Shall we drink it in here?’ Sukey asked.

  Jennifer shook her head and put the cups on a tray. ‘No, we’ll go into Oliver’s study. That’s where I found it.’

  ‘Found what?’

  ‘I’ll show you in a minute.’

  It was not long after sunset; the curtains in the study were still open and a pale, almost full moon hovering above the horizon lent a theatrical quality to what remained of the daylight, as if an invisible hand was manipulating it for dramatic effect. Sukey felt a trickle of gooseflesh which vanished as Jennifer switched on the lamps and closed the curtains, destroying the illusion.

  From a pile of letters laid out on the desk and secured by a heavy glass paperweight, Sukey surmised that Jennifer had been going through her late husband’s correspondence. ‘All this has arrived since Ollie went missing,’ she explained. ‘I decided to open it, just to see if there was anything that could give a clue… and this is what I found.’ She put down her cup of coffee and picked up the single sheet of paper that was lying on top of the heap. ‘It’s his bank statement,’ she said. ‘Just look at that.’

  She had started to tremble again; the hand that held the paper was shaking so violently that Sukey had to take hold of her wrist to steady it. ‘What is it you want me to see?’ she asked.

  ‘That figure there… one thousand pounds withdrawn in cash a couple of weeks ago.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Don’t you understand?’ Jennifer’s voice, still hoarse with weeping, now betrayed signs of mounting hysteria. ‘That’s about the time when things started to go wrong again… they were blackmailing him… it was their fault he died… they killed him!’ She covered her eyes and broke into a storm of crying that, despite Sukey’s desperate attempts to calm her, continued uncontrollably for several minutes until, as if a switch had been thrown, it abruptly ceased. Jennifer dried her eyes, sniffed and reached for her cup of coffee. She took a sip, pulled a face and said, ‘It’s cold. Yours must be as well. I’ll go and warm it up in the microwave.’

  She put both cups back on the tray and swept out of the room with what seemed to Sukey a disproportionate show of urgency. Through the open door came a series of beeps; then she was back, handing Sukey her cup of reheated coffee with an artificially bright ‘Sorry about that.’ They faced one another in the chairs they had been sitting in on Monday when Jennifer confided her anxiety over her husband’s absence. Apart from the apology, she had not uttered a word since remarking on the cold. coffee and Sukey felt increasingly uneasy at her sudden change of mood. The sense of unreality she had experienced when entering the study began to return; the tension initiated by Jennifer’s extraordinary outburst, followed by the unnatural period of calm, was beginning to mount. She felt like an actor caught in the nightmare of being on stage with no idea of the part she was expected to play.<
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  It seemed an age before Jennifer spoke. Then she said, ‘You do see, don’t you, that they killed him?’ The feverish glitter had returned to her eyes. ‘Oh, I know what you’re going to say,’ she rushed on before Sukey had a chance to respond. ‘He was the one who put the pipe on the exhaust… he put it in the car… he shut the windows and switched on the engine to die all alone in those poisonous fumes…’ Her voice shook, but this time it did not break. ‘He did all that because they were blackmailing him, so it was their fault he did it. They killed him!’ she repeated.

  ‘Jennifer, I don’t understand,’ said Sukey. ‘Who do you think was blackmailing your husband?’ But even as she put the question, she had the feeling that she knew the answer.

  ‘The people at RYCE, of course. Who else?’

  ‘Do you have any proof?’

  ‘I don’t need any proof. Why else would Oliver have drawn out a thousand pounds in cash, if it wasn’t to pay off a blackmailer?’

  ‘I don’t know, but there could be a perfectly reasonable explanation.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Sukey repeated helplessly. ‘Perhaps he was negotiating some business deal he hadn’t told you about, or maybe he just liked to have a lot of cash in the house in case he needed it.’

  ‘He talked everything over with me, and he’s never drawn out that amount of cash before. I know, I’ve checked through his bank statements for the past six months. That was hush money paid to those creatures at RYCE. If only I hadn’t sent him there!’

  ‘I thought you said things had been so much better since he started going there.’

  ‘Things were better, and then they got worse again. Why were they demanding all that money? They must have done something to him.’

  ‘What makes you so certain the money was intended for RYCE? In any case, to blackmail someone you have to have a hold over them, know some guilty secret—’

  As if Sukey had not spoken, Jennifer repeated, ‘They must have done something to him.’

  ‘What sort of something?’

  ‘That’s what I intend to find out.’