Death of a Stranger (18 page)

“When they employ detectives they can't dictate their methods.'' It was Ted who said it while Tim winced. “Now, the detective inspector and I would like to have a look at your office.''

“Of course, Inspector.'' Charters offered what Tim had begun to think was his habitual ironic smile, and indicated the open doorway. Tim and his DS followed him through it and stood looking round the tidy, business-like room.

“Your desks are kept locked?'' Ted Mahy asked.

“The roll-top is, my business records are in it. It wasn't tampered with. The knee-hole …'' Charters shrugged again, and Tim felt a stab of excitement as the nonchalant pose struck him as a little too elaborate. “Just family things – photos, Benjamin's school reports and so on. Nothing to lock up there. Feel free to look through everything, Mr Le Page. Well, you will of course, whether I invite you to or not.'' Bernard Charters walked across to the roll-top desk and unlocked it with a key taken from the long central drawer of the knee-hole. Then he turned and looked intently at Tim. “Again, Inspector, neither my wife nor I, nor our son of course, so much as set eyes on the man you found dead in the ditch. I didn't take a vehicle out, anyway, after five o'clock yesterday evening. But of course you'll find the local soil and flora on all our wheels. These lanes are narrow, and you have to pull close into the side when you meet a car coming.''

“I appreciate that, Mr Charters.'' But not the fact that the rain had come at the wrong time. The tyres would be dry and dusty whether or not a member of the family had murdered Simon. “ Now, you talked about an insurance company. You believe the break-in was connected with your recent fire?''

“I'm convinced of it. They've been hedging on my claim because of the valuable pictures that were destroyed with the greenhouse. Since last night I've seen that as playing for time while their undercover agent went to work.'' Another pause. “He must have died disappointed, Mr Le Page. I have nothing to hide.''

“We'll be talking about that, Mr Charters. Now, if you'll excuse me for a moment.'' Doreen was hovering, and he accompanied her back to the kitchen.

“No fingerprints, Tim, but we weren't expecting any. If the break-in was ordered by the insurance company they'd hardly have appointed an amateur.''

“Doreen …'' He had to ask. “
Was
it a break in?''

She was looking at him in surprise. “I suppose not, sir, strictly speaking. Nothing was broken and no lock was forced.''

He was comforted. “ You'd better try the study. After you've collected any clothes you feel could be significant. Don, perhaps you'll get out to the vehicles.''

When he came back into the hall, Bernard Charters had his eyes raised to the staircase as if in appeal. His wife and son were on their way down. The wife had her hand on the boy's shoulder, and both faces were wide eyed and grave.

“Good morning, Mrs Charters, Benjamin.'' Tim still spoke lightly, in a social tone. “ I was just about to ask your husband if he'll be good enough to come with me to the station where we can more easily get down to a helpful chat. I hope you're going to be able to help me, sir,'' he went on, turning to the householder with a false smile. Normally he hated these moments, when he must strike fear into the hearts of people who might be innocent, but this morning he was delighted to be issuing the usual invitation. Bernard Charters might be innocent, but if he wasn't, if he had murdered Simon, there would be nothing too bad for him, and the sooner he started to taste fear …

“… just get a jacket.''

Savagely Tim wrenched his thoughts back to the professional. His sudden personal rage had made him miss Charters' reaction to the invitation. He must never let up on his self-policing.

DS Mahy was speaking.

“One other thing, sir, before we go. Dr Roberts and her colleague will need to take away the clothes you were wearing at the time of the break-in last night, plus any clothes you could have put on if you'd gone outside. You've told us you didn't follow the dead man out into the lane, but I'm afraid that in murder inquiries, as I'm sure you'll appreciate, we can't take anyone's word for granted.''

“Any suspect's word. Yes, of course I appreciate that.''

“Anyone, innocent or guilty, who was close to the scene of the crime,'' DS Mahy amended, and Tim gave him a swift grateful smile “ So if you'll be good enough to indicate …'' He stopped speaking as the boy began to cry, shuddering against his mother's side.

“It's just routine,'' Tim took up, having to force himself to sound soothing. “And covered by the search warrant. Has anything been washed this morning?''

“No! Nor last night, Inspector!'' Charters' suddenly sharp tone was a shock, after his hitherto quiet responses. “As I've told you, and will continue to tell you, I have nothing to hide. You'd better ask your colleague,'' he went on, turning to Doreen. “ Seeing that I'm going to have to undress.''

“I'll send him in,'' Tim said. “And see you outside when you're ready, sir. Wait in the house, will you, Sergeant? I'll be having a look round outside.'' He hesitated. “You've finished in the lane, Dr Roberts?''

Doreen nodded. “All done and dusted, Inspector. Your timing was perfect.''

“Thank you.'' He was acting correctly, but it coincided with his sudden intense desire to retrace his brother's last footsteps. When he had sent Doreen's sidekick inside he went slowly across to the gate in the fence shutting off the forecourt and stood staring up at it. Quite a height, with a foot or so of fence on top. He was fit enough to have vaulted it too, but he wouldn't choose to, and he wondered with another awful pang if Simon had felt the injuries he had sustained in L'Hyvreuse. The key was in the lock on the inside and he turned it and went through, walking close to the leafy boundary along which Simon would have loped. His heart was beating so strongly by the time he reached the gate he was glad of the excuse to pause a moment for a word with the constable on duty.

“A shocking business, sir.''

“It is indeed, Constable.''

“Not like Guernsey, sir.''

“Not a bit like Guernsey, no.''

“Someone from the mainland, of course, sir. Not a Guern.''

“No. Well, carry on.''

“Thank you, sir.''

Tim thought the idiotic exchange had been a slight help. His heartbeat had subsided, and he had gathered his courage for a closer look at the place where his brother had died.

The pathologists had done their work, so he didn't have to tread warily. The grasses growing halfway up the hedge had started to rebound from the crushing and it was mercifully impossible to trace the shape of a human body. He couldn't say whether the staining near the foot of the hedge was mud or blood, but when he had caressed a brown blade of grass he put his fingers on his tongue and thought he could taste that unique salty bitterness.

His eyes stinging with tears he turned away and went back through the gates. He was walking slowly towards the uniforms checking the few cars parked on the forecourt when his mobile rang. It was the leader of the car search team to report that Simon's hire car had been recovered. At first sight it didn't offer anything significant, but it was of course awaiting the attention of Forensics. Absently Tim offered his congratulations, then stood watching the uniforms at work until he saw Ted and Bernard Charters coming through the door in the fence, Charters shrugging into an anorak. Tim thought he looked resigned but he was no fool, innocent or guilty he would have known a chat at the station was the inevitable next step.

After the offer of a cup of tea which he declined, Charters sat expressionless behind the table in the interview room, facing Tim and Ted.

In his usual slow, careful way, Ted activated the tape and intoned time, date and persons present.

“Now, Mr Charters …'' Tim had to force himself to sound detached and relaxed. “ I'd like to begin by showing you a photograph.'' It had been hard to ask his mother for the loan of it, and she had made him promise to return it before the day was out. The laser copy, he noted idly, was larger and sharper than the original, but with less depth. In his pocket, sharing an envelope with the original, was a second laser copy he had made for himself.

After a glance at him, his sergeant had taken the photograph from under his suddenly motionless fingers and turned it round to face Charters. “ D'you recollect ever having seen this man, Mr Charters?'' DS Mahy asked.

Charters had drawn back from the photograph in distaste, prepared, it was clear, for the picture of a corpse. As he looked reluctantly down at it his face cleared, and Tim was unable to see anything in it but relief as Charters studied Simon's bright, smiling face. The face which
he
should have been able to study, for years into the past and into the future.

Charters was shaking his head. He laid the photograph down on the table and swivelled it back to face the policemen. “You're obviously asking me if I've seen him at the Golden Rose, and I suppose I may have done, but I don't remember, with the size of the crowd that's there every day at this time of year. I don't remember any individual, Inspector, Sergeant, unless something out of line happens over a sale, or I catch someone thieving.''

“Or unless he or she has some distinguishing mark?''

“I might notice that at the time, but I'd be unlikely to remember it later.'' Charters paused, then continued speaking as if he had come to a decision. “ I did notice my son yesterday afternoon talking to a young man who was sitting at a table just outside the indoor sales area. I remember vaguely that he was nice-looking and had very fair hair, but I was concentrating on my son, feeling pleased to see him chatting so freely, actually sitting down with the man at his table. He tends to be a solitary boy, self-sufficient, and I was glad …'' The reminiscent pleasure disappeared from the man's face as it abruptly darkened. “ But if it's the chap in this photograph he was on the job, wasn't he, trying to get at me through my boy? But I've nothing to hide, Inspector, as I'll tell you every time you ask me. I didn't set fire to my greenhouse. And I didn't kill the man the insurance company set on me. I had no reason to be afraid of him.''

Tim leaned back in his chair, forcing himself to appear satisfied when all his instincts yearned to have Charters by the lapels. “Thank you, Mr Charters. That all sounds quite clear, and it's always a help when – people'' – Tim's minimal pause was deliberate, and elicited a twitch of Charters' head as if he was shaking off a fly – “volunteer information. Now, when you were standing in the hall, wondering whether or not to give chase, you say you heard a vehicle engine? Heard it start up?''

“Yes!''

“You're sure?''

“Quite sure, Inspector.''

“Would you have heard it if the car had been out in the lane?''

Charters appeared to be genuinely considering, and after a few seconds shook his head. “ I doubt it, the forecourt's pretty wide.''

“So the car must have been on the forecourt?''

“Yes …'' For the second time the high forehead was ridged. “That's what I don't understand. Unless the man was thrown out of the car immediately it turned into the lane someone must have been following him.''

A car somebody else was driving would be a very useful invention for Charters. But if he hadn't invented it he had to be right, the only other possibility was so remote: that one of the cars parked overnight on the Golden Rose forecourt had contained an awakened sleeper who had seen Simon running and either decided to follow him or simply decided it was time to go home. Someone who had perhaps been sleeping it off and had slewed into the hedge without intent … He himself had given his Chief a recent homily on the likelihood of coincidence.

But he couldn't believe in this one.

“So you just went back to bed, Mr Charters.''

“Yes, Inspector.'' Charters' eyes were narrow and deep-set, but Tim could see that they were meeting his. “After checking the downstairs of my house for any loss or further damage, human nature being what it is. As I told you, I found neither.'' The eyes had slid down to the distressed table top, but Charters raised them again as he went on speaking. “You may have noticed some pieces of silver displayed in the sitting-room. And a rather good small combined radio, tape and CD player. All highly portable. The usual type of burglar would surely have taken them.''

“As I take your point, Mr Charters. Thank you.'' But the only thing Tim felt grateful for was that he didn't have to try and find out what type of burglar Simon had been. “I can tell you,'' he said after a moment's hesitation, “ that the dead man was'' – for an anguishing moment the past tense broke through his shield – “a private detective.'' He had just managed to give with one hand because of being about to take away with the other.

When he had indicated that the interview was terminated he told Charters he would want to talk to his wife and son as well, and enjoyed the sharp intake of breath and the flash of fear across the man's irritatingly camouflaged countenance. “I expect we shall want to talk to you again too, sir, when we have the reports on your clothes and the forensic examination of your house. For now, if you'll be good enough to go with my sergeant he'll arrange for you to be fingerprinted. It's just routine, sir, for purposes of elimination.''

“Of course, Inspector.''

Bernard Charters got to his feet without noticeable reaction, and Tim found himself disappointed that his chief suspect for the murder of his brother didn't appear to have needed the regulation reassurance.