The Crow Trap (25 page)

“There must be some gossip. Do they know who the girl is?”

“Don’t be silly,” Anne interrupted. “That’s why he’s here, isn’t it, Jem? To find out those juicy details. He’s worse than an old woman at gossip. Who suggested it?

Ethel Siddon from the post office?” But even as she spoke she thought that for once gossip wasn’t uppermost in his mind.

“No!” He was indignant again. He said in a quiet tone, almost pleading, “I’ve come to take you back to the Priory where I can look after you. You can’t stay here with a madman on the loose.”

“You cannot be serious. You, look after me? Whoever put that nonsense in your head? You can’t have dreamt it up for yourself.”

“For tonight at least,” he said. “We need to talk about it.”

“No.” Because then she thought the murder was just an excuse to get her home. If he wanted to talk, it would be about his own problems, some scrape he’d got into. Jeremy would need a serious incentive to play the part of protective male. To spite him she went on wickedly, “Why don’t you tell the truth, Jem? You’re frightened of being in the Priory on your own.”

There was a flash of panic. The schoolboy summoned to the head teacher study. She thought, What are you scared of? She almost fell for it and agreed to go, then the old irritation returned. She’d agreed to be his wife, for Christ’s sake. Not his nanny. That had never been the deal.

“Won’t you come back with me?” “No,” she said lightly, ‘ course I won’t. I’ve still got work to do.

But you run off to London if. you scared. I won’t mind.”

“I can’t do that. I’d worry about you all the time. It wouldn’t be any fun at all.” But he brightened at the prospect. She’d given him an escape route.

“Did you know Grace Fulwell?” Joe Ashworth asked.

“No.”

“You never met socially?”

“No.” Now he seemed impatient, eager to leave.

“Were you at home yesterday?”

“All day. I work mostly from home.” But what do you do? Anne thought. Your schemes and your plans. What do they add up to?

“Miss. Fulwell was surveying the burn at the bottom of your garden. A slim young woman in waterproofs and walking boots. Did you see her?”

“Of course not. I’m not like my wife, Sergeant. I don’t enjoy energetic exercise for its own sake. I don’t go onto the hill.”

“Could you see the burn from the house?”

“Not at this time of the year when the trees are in leaf.”

“From the garden?”

“Possibly. But the garden is Anne’s domain. I never stray out there.

Except perhaps on a hot sunny evening with a glass of Chardonnay before dinner.”

Chapter Thirty-One.

Edie wasn’t so easily fobbed off as Jeremy. Rachael ran through the rain to Black Law to phone her, prompted by Jeremy’s talk of inaccurate gossip. She didn’t want Edie to hear in the local news that a female conservationist had been strangled on Black Law Moor.

When Rachael told her what had happened Edie didn’t immediately suggest that her daughter should move home. Her style was more subtle than that.

“Of course you’ll take your own decision,” she said.

“Of course.” The sarcasm had become a habit.

“But I was going to suggest that you come home for a few days anyway.”

“Oh? Why?”

“I’ve tracked down Alicia Davison. The head teacher Bella worked for in Corbin. If you were staying here for a while we could go to see her.” She paused. Rachael would not respond and Edie went on, “If you wanted me to come too that is. You might prefer to see her on your own.”

“I can’t come home. Not yet. Anne’s determined to stay and I can hardly leave her on her own. Besides, there’s the report. It’s not finished.”

“You could finish it here.”

“No. I’ll have to stay.”

The police must have been in touch with Neville Furness, because they had taken over the ground floor of the farmhouse. Rachael was using the phone in Bella’s bedroom. Suddenly from downstairs came the sound of smashing crockery, then explosive laughter and good-natured jeers.

Vera Stanhope shouted for silence. Rachael had never known so much noise in Bella’s house, but thought Bella might have liked it. She would have made sandwiches for them all, dried out their clothes.

“Edie?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you come out here? Anne and I have decided to work as a pair on the last of the surveys. It would be useful to have someone to check us back in. To be an extra back-up. And we could still go out to see Miss. Davison.”

“I could cook,” Edie said. “Clean. That sort of thing.”

“No need to go overboard.” As far as Rachael could remember there had always been a cleaning lady to muck out at Riverside Terrace despite Edie’s socialist principles. It was hard to picture her in rubber gloves.

“It’s late night shopping at Tesco’s. I’ll stop on my way over.”

“I’ll come out to the road to meet you. You’ll never find it on your own at night.”

“Mm.” She hardly listened to the directions, too preoccupied with her shopping list. Preoccupied too, Rachael thought, with planning a therapeutic strategy to get her daughter through the trauma of another bereavement.

On the way back to Baikie’s Rachael saw that Peter Kemp was there. Even in the gloom she recognized the flash new Land Rover parked by the tractor shed.

Him too, she thought. Someone else to persuade us to pack our bags and run away. I suppose it wouldn’t do his reputation as an employer much good if he lost any more staff.

He had made himself quite at home. He perched on the arm of the chair where Anne was sitting, his long legs stretched towards the fire. He could have owned the place. A bottle of whisky, which he must have brought with him, stood on the mantelpiece and he had a glass in his hand. When he saw Rachael, he stood up and made to take her into his arms, but she moved awkwardly out of the way.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“I was summoned.”

“What do you mean?”

“An inspector called … ” He paused, expecting recognition of the reference. When Rachael frowned impatiently, he continued. “Inspector Stanhope. A strange woman. Do you think she’s quite sane?”

“She asked you to come here at this time of night?”

“Not exactly. Look, you might have told me what had happened to Grace … ” And that was the nearest to any expression of sympathy they got from him. ‘… The inspector wants to see all her employment records. I explained we were a small informal organization and Grace was employed on contract but she insisted. I’ve dug out everything I’ve got.” He took an envelope file from his briefcase and fanned out three or four photocopied sheets. Rachael recognized the application form for post of temporary survey worker, a reference from the Otter Trust in Scotland, simple salary details a bank account number and home address.

“Couldn’t you have dropped them at the police station at Kimmerston?”

“I suppose I could … ” he smiled at her like an adult humouring a truculent child, and poured her a whisky ‘… but she said she was here and it was urgent. Besides, I wanted to see how you two were getting on.”

“They’ve not let us onto the hill to get on with any work so there’s nothing new to report.”

“I didn’t mean that.” Then he realized she was joking. “Of course not. I mean, how are you?” “Shocked,” she said. “What did you expect?”

“What are your plans?”

“To complete the report.”

“Is that wise?” Anne had before he could complete the question. “We’re not being scared off, if that’s what you think. We’re not running away to give the developer an open field.”

“Is that what you think is going on here?” It was Vera Stanhope, standing in the doorway in the shadow. She must have let herself in through the kitchen. For a large woman she moved very quietly. Rachael supposed she’d had practice stalking animals when she’d been taken into the countryside by her naturalist father. It sounded as if she’d been bullied into standing very still and listening.

“Well,” Vera demanded. “Do you think Grace Fulwell was killed as a corporate act of intimidation to frighten you away before you find anything of significance? Something which might persuade the Department of Environment inspector to stop the development?” “No,” Rachael said. “If there’d been anything special here we’d have found it already.” She looked at Anne for confirmation. “Don’t you think so?”

“Probably.”

“But there is a chance that you’ve missed something.” Vera walked further into the room and stood with her legs apart, looking round at them. For a moment Peter stared at her. Rachael saw a second of horror and, watching, thought: he’s only used to women who take some trouble with their appearance. Even I did that for him. Then the professional charm took over and he stretched out his hand and introduced himself, offered her whisky, which she accepted with a huge Cheshire cat grin. When she repeated her question it was to him, as if she had acknowledged him as the expert.

“Well, Mr. Kemp, do you think these girls have missed something?”

“I suppose there’s always that chance but I doubt it. You won’t find better field workers anywhere than Anne and Rachael.”

And Grace? She was good too?”

“She came highly recommended as you’ll see from the reference in the file.”

“The file, yes. It was very good of you to bring it.” She looked up from her glass. “Were you out this way any time yesterday, Mr. Kemp?

Checking your survey perhaps? Making sure your workers weren’t slacking?”

The sudden question surprised him. “No, I spent all day in the office.

Meetings, as my secretary will tell you.”

“Then we won’t need to take up any more of your time, Mr. Kemp. Thank you for coming over.”

He seemed uncertain how to handle this summary dismissal.

“You might as well leave the whisky,” Vera went on. “No doubt the lasses will be able to use it.”

As she walked him towards the outside door he muttered something which Rachael couldn’t make out. They heard the roar of the diesel engine as he drove up the track.

Vera refilled their glasses and made herself comfortable. Rachael expected some comment about Peter but none came.

“Of course you must make up your own minds what you do next,” Vera said, repeating almost exactly Edie’s words and meaning, as Edie had done but I’d much prefer it if you do what I want you to.

“We’re not leaving,” Rachael said. She wondered how many more times it would have to be said.

“I’m not suggesting that you should.” Vera bared her teeth in a grin.

“I’m not in any position to limit your access to the hill, except where my men are working, or to restrict your movements in any way.”

“But … “

“But my superiors are concerned about your safety. What would the bosses know? They spend their time in centrally heated offices, the sort of man who wouldn’t venture onto the Town Moor without a compass and a stick of mint cake. They can’t understand what you’re doing here anyway. All they think is two girlies on their own in the wilderness with a lunatic on the loose. You appreciate my difficulty.” She grinned and continued. “I’ve been told to get you to clear off. You’re in the way, an unnecessary distraction. And if any thing … ” she paused ‘… untoward was to happen to either of you the press would have a field day.”

She drained her glass and stared pensively into the fire for a moment then went on briskly. “So let’s take it as read, shall we? I’ve told you to piss off and you’ve refused, so now it’s your responsibility if you get into bother. You can’t sue the Chief Constable.”

“Why are you so keen for us to stay?” Rachael asked. She could read forceful middle-aged women and knew that was exactly what Vera wanted.

“I can’t see there’s any danger,” Vera said briskly. “There’ll be men crawling around the hill for weeks. You’ll be safer here than in the middle of town. Why jeopardize weeks of research when it’s not necessary?” “No,” Rachael said. “There must be another reason.”

Vera shot her a look. “You forget I’ve come to these hills since I was a kid. I don’t want a quarry here any more than you do.”

For a moment Rachael was convinced, then it came to her that Vera Stanhope was ambitious, in the same way that Peter Kemp was ambitious.

She was desperate for the investigation to succeed.

“There’s more to it than that.”

“Let’s just say that I don’t feel it would be beneficial to my investigation if your project was abandoned.” At first Rachael thought Vera was implying that she and Anne were suspects, that she was worried they would escape if they left the hill.

Then she saw there was another explanation. “You think the murderer might come back when he sees we’ve not abandoned the project. You want to use us as decoys.” Like the crow, she thought, in the trap.

Vera appeared profoundly hurt and shocked by the suggestion.

“I couldn’t do that,” she said. “The Chief Constable would never countenance it.”

But she bared her large brown teeth in another grin.

Chapter Thirty-Two.