Death of a Stranger (26 page)

“I'll ring Gina,'' Lorna said. “Find out what she wants.'' She looked up at them, her eyes widening in surprise. “I've just remembered, I was going to do that when Beth Smith's boyfriend rang … Leave me now, will you, darlings.''

Tim and Anna went downstairs and carried the chair cushions out to the garden.

“Are you going to work this afternoon?'' Tim asked her, as they tied them on.

“I'm staying with Lorna. I gather you're working.''

“I must. And I want to call on Bernard Charters, I wasn't around when he was released last night. When we withdrew the murder charge he admitted to the theft of the film in Simon's camera, but said he'd immediately destroyed it. I left it at that, but there are one or two things I'd like to know.'' As he caught Anna's eye Tim's gravity dissolved into a reminiscent smile. “Last night was so marvellous, darling, I'm the proverbial giant refreshed. Hey, there!'' Two gorgeously overblown rose bushes were agitating and, as they watched, Whitby emerged on to the ragged edge of the lawn in a shower of petals. Tim turned back to Anna with a grin. “How about an hour with the secateurs and the shears?''

He had no need to visit the Charters again, the Chief would express the regret of the Guernsey police force at Bernard Charters' brief wrongful imprisonment, and he would see him when he was brought to court for withholding vital evidence in a murder case and for robbing a corpse. For the moment Charters was free on police bail, but was due before the magistrates in two days' time. Tim was sure he would escape with a fine, and there would be no charge against him with regard to the fire: that remained a matter between him and his insurance company, with the additional factor of his son's involvement …

The Golden Rose was still closed for business, and Tim drove reluctantly across the empty expanse of the forecourt, round the building beyond the deserted sales area, and drew up outside the private house.

He had not wanted to see Marjorie Charters but she came to the door, looking so weak and haggard he put an instinctive hand out towards her.

She recoiled from it as if on a reflex. “What is it now?'' she asked wearily.

“A private visit. To say how sorry I am about it all. About – about the night you spent alone.''

“The worst night of my life,'' she said matter-of-factly.

“It has to have been. May I see your husband?''

“And ask him if he'd care to tie up a few loose ends?'' The question was cynical, but Marjorie Charters asked it flatly, as if she was merely corroborating the inevitable. He realised that the tension had gone out of her.

“I
would
be grateful personally, if he felt he could, Mrs Charters. Is he in?''

“He's in, Mr Le Page. You'd better come in, too.'' She pulled the door wider, and stood aside.

Bernard Charters was in his study, sitting at the knee-hole desk and staring into space. Tim saw him as they were crossing the hall, but by the time they reached the room he was on his feet and asking Tim to sit down. His wife closed the door on them.

“I'm so very sorry,'' Tim heard himself saying as he took the armchair Charters indicated. “ It must have been very hard for you and your wife, knowing the truth about the fire but feeling unable to reveal it because of your son's involvement.'' He hoped he had summed up the cruelty of their dilemma at the same time as letting Charters know that he understood there had been one.

“It was, Mr Le Page. It still is. We're gutted.'' But for him, too, the tension had gone.

“Benjamin …?''

“They're allowing him home at night. For the time being and subject to my undertaking to keep him under constant surveillance. During the day he's to attend the Princess Elizabeth to be assessed for a report, he's there now. No one would tell me what will happen to him eventually.''

“I expect because they don't know. I doubt they've had to deal with anything like this before. But I'm glad to hear he's sleeping at home.'' Tim shifted in his seat. “ Mr Charters, I can't believe you destroyed the film you took from Simon Shaw without looking at it. Are you prepared to tell me what it was that he had photographed? I'm asking you unofficially, for my own information.'' For his own need to know every least thing still left to be learned about his brother. “If you'd like it put on record as part of your defence against stealing the film, then of course you can add it to your statement. But for now …''

Charters shrugged, got to his feet, and walked over to the window, where he stood with his back to Tim, looking out on the small courtyard garden. “He hit the jackpot,'' he said. “ If I'd been put on trial for his murder I'd never have told you. But it doesn't matter now. He'd photographed the confession my son had made to having started the fire, and how he'd done it. Benjamin didn't tell either his mother or me for several days. We knew something was wrong, but it was easy to put it down to his distress over the loss of the greenhouse and the pictures. He started having nightmares and crying out, he wasn't eating, and then he appeared with a couple of sheets of paper and broke down as he handed them over. I put the confession into that drawer.'' Charters indicated the bottom right-hand drawer of the knee-hole desk. “After the break-in I went straight to it, and although it was still there I felt sure my burglar had obtained his evidence. It was then that I heard the car, and of course I thought it was him driving off. I don't know what made me go out into the lane – I think I just had to do something, I was in such anguish, learning in one dreadful moment that the fraud I had tried to commit to save my son would be exposed, and my son would be lost. I found the man dead in the hedge, and took the film as I said in the statement I made last night. I destroyed it immediately I'd looked at it, and knowing you'd come with a search warrant I mailed Benjamin's confession to myself at the house in Italy I inherited from my brother along with the pictures. I put ‘To await arrival' in Italian on the envelope, so it will no doubt be lying now on the mat inside the front door.''

“Will you go and collect it?''

Charters turned from the window with another shrug, and came back to his chair smiling. “Will I be allowed to?''

“I should say so. If not while your case is pending. What will you do in the long term?''

“Cut my losses. Sell up and go back to England. That's where Benjamin will surely be sent, and Guernsey's too small to reabsorb us, we'll always be the wrong ‘ uns from the mainland.''

“You may be right,'' Tim conceded. “ I'm so very sorry.''

Charters deep-set eyes appeared to be studying him. “ I believe you are,'' he said eventually.

“So sorry,'' Tim went on, wondering if he had known earlier what he was now going to say, “that if you give me your word that you'll keep it to yourself and your wife I'll tell you something which may never be made public. And which I hope you'll feel excuses me if at any time during the investigation I made you afraid that I'd lost my objectivity. Will you give me your word?''

“Of course.''

“Thank you.'' But Tim hesitated a moment before going on. “ I know nothing about your burglar's business life, Mr Charters.'' It hurt him that this was barely a lie. “But he was my younger brother. That information is the one recompense I can give you.''

Charters drew a deep breath, and to his amazement Tim was suddenly aware of his eyes because they were sparkling with tears. “I don't practise
schadenfreude
, Inspector Le Page, and it's no recompense to me to know that your loss is greater than mine; your secret shocks and grieves me. But I do very much appreciate that you've chosen to share it with me. And why.'' Charters got to his feet. “And now, if you will excuse me … I shall be in court as ordered.''

It was in the nature of the man, Tim thought, to take what he was given and not ask for more.

“Of course. And if you decide to alter your statement, or add to it, please let me or my sergeant know.''

Tim held out his hand, and Charters took it in a brief strong grasp. Out in the hall his wife took it more gingerly. She let him out without speaking.

He was glad the afternoon kept him busy with other things. When he got home his mother and Anna were reclining under the tree on another perfect early evening.

“We get Simon back tomorrow,'' he said at once, not sitting down. “ Did you speak to Gina, Mother?''

“Yes. And she's happy about burial here at Foulon. She won't be coming. As soon as the funeral date's fixed, Tim, you must reinstate your third-time-lucky honeymoon.''

“We will.'' He and Anna smiled at one another.

But he didn't want to sit under the tree with them, the way they'd sat the day his mother had arrived in Guernsey and he had so earnestly wished she had come alone. “I'm feeling short of exercise,'' he lied. “So I think I'll take Duffy for a run by the sea. I shan't be long.''

How long he would be recovering from his brother's death Tim didn't know, but as he released the dog on to the springy turf of L'Ancresse and tried to keep pace with him, he knew he was running from his fear that he and his brother's killer might have one thing in common.

First published in 1999 by Severn House

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