A Market for Murder (14 page)

‘Don’t you believe her?’

Karen considered for a minute. ‘I
did
believe her, when you told me what she’d said. I was absolutely on her side.’

‘But now?’

‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘She’s obviously lost without him. If they weren’t lovers, then they were very, very good friends. I don’t see that it matters much whether or not they went to bed together.’

‘It does though,’ Drew assured her earnestly. ‘It matters a lot.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t think I need to explain that to you, do I?’ She met his gaze. ‘I see what you mean,’ she said.

Later, he had a very similar exchange with Maggs, when she described Sally’s behaviour in the cool room. ‘It makes them rather noble, keeping it all platonic,’ she said. ‘Don’t you think?’

‘It’s nice not to have to disapprove,’ he agreed. ‘To credit her with a clear conscience. If you commit adultery, you cross a line and can never entirely claim the moral high ground.’

Maggs gave him a penetrating glance. ‘Drew – are you talking about you and Genevieve Slater?’

He flushed, and shook his head, wishing he could tell her to mind her own business. ‘No, not really. At least, perhaps I am a bit. I’m eternally relieved that we never …’

Maggs held up her hands. ‘Sorry. Out of order,’ she said. ‘You should be saying all this to Karen, not me.’

‘Precisely,’ he said.

Den and Maggs also discussed Peter Grafton later that day, along very much the same lines. ‘We don’t have much idea of what he was really
like,’
Den complained. ‘And now I’ve got myself into this weird business with Mary Thomas, it all feels like a diversion from the main issue.’

‘Weird is right,’ she said. ‘You’re being as bad as Drew, getting sucked into some woman’s personal campaign. I thought you’d have had more sense.’

‘She seems to know who killed Grafton,’ he mused. ‘Something about this bloke her husband used to work with. And a son who’s deeply into environmental activism. But she wouldn’t say anything more. I came away thinking the whole conversation had just been a sort of game to her. She was playing with me.’

‘You said she had work for you,’ Maggs prompted.

‘Something and nothing,’ he dismissed. ‘I wouldn’t touch it. I don’t think she ever really thought I would. She’s a very odd woman.’ He shook himself like a dog. ‘I felt as if I’d been dragged into something rather yucky.’

‘But she must have been trying to tell you something,’ Maggs said. ‘She was making some kind of connection.’

‘So why not just tell me straight?’

‘Scared, probably. After all, she was taken in for questioning at the weekend. She wouldn’t dare tell you anything that would incriminate her, after that.’

Den nodded grudgingly. ‘That could be it,’ he agreed. ‘But the fact remains she didn’t say anything useful.’

Maggs became brisk. ‘Let’s summarise,’ she said. ‘Suspects, alibis. Means, motives, opportunity. Isn’t that the professional way to tackle it?’

He sighed.

‘What’s the matter?’ She glared at him. ‘Am I boring you?’

He reached for her, wrapping his long arms round her. ‘Don’t be stupid. I’m as involved as you are. But it’s all muddled up with last weekend, and my job, and
where-do-we-go-from-here
. I can’t concentrate on any one thing,
because there are so many others waiting for my attention. Do you understand?’

‘Perfectly,’ she cooed, snuggling into his chest. ‘You don’t have to get in a state about it, you know. You can forget the whole thing. It’s not your job any more. I think you keep forgetting that.’

‘But …’ he sighed again. ‘I actually quite want to do my bit for justice. It’s not OK to fire crossbow bolts through a chap’s throat in broad daylight. I’d feel bad if I just dropped it.’

‘Course you would. So let’s get it sorted, and then we can think about some of those other things. Right?’

‘Right.’

‘Means, motive and opportunity. I love that list. It covers everything, doesn’t it.’

‘Yes and no,’ he said cautiously. ‘You hardly ever work out all three. It’s just a rule of thumb, you know, not a formula for instant success.’ He tried to suppress the tremor of recognition at the line Maggs was taking. His previous serious girlfriend, Lilah Beardon, had helped him with one or two murder investigations, and she, like Maggs, had dwelt obsessively on
means, motive
and
opportunity
. It seemed to appeal to women, for some reason.

‘Well, the main person without an alibi is the wife,’ said Maggs. ‘She’s got motive and
opportunity. And I suppose anybody can get hold of a crossbow if they want to.’

‘Sally Dabb’s husband has motive, too,’ he joined in. ‘Assuming Grafton and Sally really were having an affair.’

‘Whether they were or not, if people
thought
they were, that’s enough to make their spouses want to commit murder.’

‘And then there’s the food politics stuff. That’s where we need Karen. I still don’t really understand what these people get so aereated about.’

‘Well, all I know is Drew says that Karen says there’s a big to-do about GM crops amongst the farmers’ market people. And they both think that’s at the bottom of this whole business.’

‘Mary Thomas seemed to be saying something like that, as well.’

He frowned. ‘She’s really one of the chief suspects. Is she trying to divert me, do you think?’

‘Does she think you’re actually investigating the murder? I mean, does she know you used to be in the police, and that you’ve been seeing Danny lately?’

‘I have no idea what she knows, what she thinks or what she wants. The woman’s a complete mystery to me.’

Maggs sighed impatiently. ‘Even though she talked to you about her intimate personal history
for half an hour or more? You still don’t know what she feels?’

‘I didn’t say feels. She said plenty about feelings. She resents her stepchildren – who are probably knocking forty by now; regrets sending her twins to boarding school; and insists it wasn’t her that Karen saw at the supermarket.’

Maggs’s head went up. ‘What? What about the supermarket?’

‘She says it wasn’t her. Karen knows she’s denying it. She was there when Mary was arrested, remember? They dragged her off amidst loud protestations that she’d never been near SuperFare. But Karen is absolutely certain she spoke to Mary Thomas only seconds before the bomb went off. It’s the word of one against the other, and they’re both unmovable.’

‘Right,’ said Maggs thoughtfully. ‘Um … Den … do you think Karen’s
definitely
the one we should believe? I mean, it’s dreadful of me to say it, but she
was
there at both incidents. She does know all these organic people really well by now. That Geraldine Beech woman is a bosom buddy. She might have got pulled into something a bit nasty, to do with wrecking GM crops or something.’

Den shook his head. ‘You think we’re all getting into bad company, don’t you,’ he accused. ‘Me with Mary, Drew with any woman that comes along,
Karen with the stallholders. We can’t all be weak and gullible, can we? All except you, of course.’

‘No need to be nasty,’ she reproached. ‘That’s just the way it looks to me. And I am usually right, you know,’ she added. ‘You haven’t really seen me in action up to now. Nothing much has happened since we got together.’ She wriggled her shoulders in mock modesty. ‘You still don’t know all my hidden talents, you see.’

‘Aha!’ he pounced. ‘I get it. You’re
bored
. Nothing much has happened, eh? Just falling in love with the most handsome man in England, and having the best sex life there could possibly be. So now we’ve not only got to move to some
god-forsaken
farm, but you have to personally solve the murder of Peter Grafton all on your own. Just so you can feel as if something’s happening.’

She didn’t like his tone any more than she liked the words. A dark scowl turned her face into a mask of resentment. ‘God-forsaken farm?’ she echoed. ‘Is that what you think?’

He pulled her to him again, sinking them in a tangled heap onto the cushions of their sofa. ‘Come on, kiddo. We’d never manage a farm. It’s a non-starter. Neither of us knows the first thing about animals or ploughing or digging out ditches. And we haven’t the remotest chance of raising the cash for a place the size you’re talking about. It’s just way out of our league. Besides,
you couldn’t manage that as well as working with Drew, and I don’t think you ought to even think of abandoning him. It’s your
vocation.
You’re brilliant at it.’

‘Well, you were probably a brilliant policeman. It doesn’t mean we have to stay doing the same thing forever.’

‘Maggs, it won’t be forever. Give it another three years, say. I know the money’s not much good, but I thought we didn’t mind that. We’ve got all we need.’

She picked at a fraying buttonhole on her cuff. ‘It’s years since I started working with Drew. I started just after Stephanie was born. It feels like forever, and then some. And look at my clothes. I could spend
hundreds
of pounds on new stuff. I haven’t got any proper
shoes.’

‘But you’d have even less if we went with your farm idea.’

‘Well, then I wouldn’t
need
proper shoes, would I?’

‘Drew should provide them for you. He should pay for them out of the business.’

Maggs merely sighed.

‘Why do I feel this really isn’t about Drew or your job at all?’ he worried. ‘What is it you’re trying to tell me? Is it me? Are you fed up with
us?’

She looked at him. ‘It has got a bit samey,’ she confessed. Then she pulled his head down
to her chest, clutching at his hair fiercely. ‘No, I didn’t mean that. Don’t panic, lover. I’m not saying anything scary. Us is fine. I
like
us better than anything. Honestly.’

He pulled away from her, almost losing his balance in the awkward tangle they’d become and tipping them both onto the floor. ‘You would tell me?’ he demanded. ‘Wouldn’t you?’

‘Stop it,’ she said. ‘That isn’t what I’m talking about at all. Don’t be so paranoid.’

‘Who can blame me?’ he pouted. ‘With my record with women. It’s been a disaster up to now.’

‘Sounds fairly normal to me. One serious relationship and a few casuals. Nothing to worry about, that I can see.’

‘Maggs, can we get married?’ The words were out before either of them had seen them coming. ‘Do you think that would help, I mean?’

‘Like – it would give me something to do, choosing the bridesmaids? Don’t be stupid.’ She punched him quite hard on the chest. ‘What a bloody daft thing to come up with.’

He heaved himself upright, floundering horizontally for a moment, with her weight still mainly on him. ‘Sorry,’ he said.

‘Oh, God, how did this happen? What would be the point of getting married? What difference would it make? It would just cost money, and nothing would change.’

‘They say quite a lot changes, actually.
Old-fashioned
things have to be acknowledged, like commitment and families and sharing.’

‘All much too old-fashioned for me,’ she said lightly. Then, with a pretence at a wail, ‘All I said was it would be nice to live on a farm.’

He didn’t laugh, and she knew something had been damaged. He left the room, head hunched forward, a hand to the place where she’d punched him. She wished quite badly that she hadn’t hit him. Somehow it gave him the moral high ground.

Karen was wearying somewhat of routine, too. Wednesday meant she and Della had their own children. It
always
meant that. There was a certain tedium to the predictability of it. Last week, she’d made that abortive visit to Mary Thomas and virtually had the door slammed in her face. This week she’d try again to do something different and interesting. The end of May was approaching; summer was in full swing and it was her duty to make the most of every day that was fine.

‘What can I do with them today?’ she wondered to Drew at breakfast. ‘Something different.’

‘Whatever you like, so long as it doesn’t cost money,’ he said unhelpfully.

‘I could try and find out some more about Peter Grafton. This contract he’s supposed to have had with the supermarket, for example.’

‘How are you going to do that? With two small children in tow?’

‘I don’t know. I could go and see Julie, I suppose.’

‘She’s got the funeral tomorrow. She’ll be busy.’

‘I could help.’

‘With Steph and Timmy? I doubt it.’

‘Well, I’m not staying here all day. I want to get out somewhere.’

‘You should find someone to go with you,’ he advised. ‘Another woman, I mean.’

‘I could try Hilary, I suppose,’ she said doubtfully.

‘Isn’t there anybody your own age? Apart from Della?’

‘Sally Dabb, that’s all. But I can’t just phone her out of the blue and suggest we go out somewhere. I don’t know her well enough.’

‘You’re saying you haven’t got enough friends,’ he accused.

‘Maybe. It’s the same as it’s always been, though. I don’t really do friends, do I?’

‘Well,’ he said, getting up and wiping toast crumbs from his chin, ‘I’m afraid I’ve got loads to do. It’s going to be really busy today. We’ll probably get another removal, just when we’d find it almost impossible to cope.’

‘You’d cope,’ she said coolly.

In the end, Karen decided to go and see Hilary Henderson, although not without prior warning. ‘Can I bring the kids round to play with your animals?’ was the way she put it.

‘You can try,’ came the ready response. ‘I’m not sure what the animals will make of it; they’re not used to children.’

‘Didn’t yours used to play with them?’

‘There are two answers to that,’ laughed Hilary. ‘First, none of the same creatures are here now. It’s been ages since I had anyone under twelve. And second, they hardly ever went outside, apart from Justin. Typical of their generation, they just played with Game Boys and watched telly all day.’

Karen enjoyed a moment’s complacency.
Her
offspring actually liked being outdoors.

‘So, it wouldn’t be too much of a nuisance?’

‘Not a bit. I can probably find you something useful to do. We never have enough pairs of hands around here.’

It took less than ten minutes to drive from North Staverton to the Hendersons’ farm, despite having to drive onto the main road for a mile, and then off it again at the next turning. “Falderstoke” was proclaimed on the gateside nameplate, which was rusting and crooked, but somehow proud for all that. Hilary’s husband’s ancestors had lived there for centuries, by all accounts, in the white cob longhouse. Hilary’s eldest son had arranged for a sliver from one of the huge oak beams in the roof to be carbon dated, with the barely credible result that the tree had been felled in the year 1212, give or take a decade.

All this Karen had gleaned in her brief chats with Hilary at the farmers’ markets. It had sounded romantic and important, and quite worrying as to what the future might hold. Farmers everywhere were being forced to abandon their way of life, selling just such houses and letting their offspring take their chances in the real world of suburban estates and jobs with computer software. The thought of the Hendersons having to sell up was awful.

Karen had been here twice before, both times to Food Chain meetings. All she had seen of the house was a low-ceilinged kitchen and a large sitting room. She hoped today to get a better chance to explore.

The drive was bordered by large old trees – sycamore, beech, oak and ash which had clearly been there for ages. It was dignified and ancient, but not in the least intimidating. This was no stately home, or country mansion. The house, when it came into view, huddled in a shallow dip, with an untidy yard surrounding it.

‘Why are we coming here?’ asked Stephanie, gazing out of each car window in turn.

‘It’s a farm,’ Karen told her. ‘You can see the animals.’

‘Will there be ponies? And rabbits?’ the child asked.

‘And croccy-diles!’ added Timmy with complete certainty.

‘Why?’ Stephanie persisted.

‘For a change. Because it’ll broaden your horizons,’ Karen snapped, opening the car door and getting out. Stephanie was mercifully silent, although steaming with resentment at her mother’s unfair tactic in using language the child couldn’t understand or argue with. Karen felt a stab of remorse. She had promised herself she would never do what she had just done. Not
that she worried that Stephanie’s feelings had been unduly bruised. As always, the child would inevitably win in the end.

There was no sign of Hilary or anybody else. Karen thought it unlikely that her friend would be in the house, unless she was making jam or dyeing wool in the kitchen. Whatever the weather, Hilary preferred to be outside.

‘Hello!’ came a loud voice from somewhere above them. ‘Come and see my lambs.’

Karen located the speaker on a high bank where the ground rose steeply at one end of the house. Her head was just visible over a stone wall, which had been built aeons ago to prevent the higher ground from sliding across the track and into the house. A small field with tufty grass lay beyond the wall. Karen looked for a way up the bank.

‘You can get round that way.’ Hilary indicated a track that zigzagged upwards to a gate. Karen began to feel she was having an adventure before she’d even got out of the farmyard. Timmy would have to use his hands to scramble up the path, it was so steep.

‘At least it’s not muddy,’ Hilary grinned, meeting them at the gate. She was carrying a good-sized lamb, which struggled resentfully in her arms. ‘This is Toby,’ Hilary said. ‘He’s the mandatory orphan lamb, which we vow not to
rear every year. Sheer sentiment, every time.’

The animal was almost too strong for her, but she gripped it tightly, and leant down to allow the children to pet it. Timmy eyed it with dislike. ‘Croccy-dile,’ he said irritably.

Stephanie politely fingered the bouclé curls of the lamb’s coat, and then gently pulled one ear. ‘Hello, lamb,’ she said.

‘Has it been a good year for them?’ Karen asked, looking round. There were three ewes in the field, each with a good-sized lamb.

‘Oh, these are just the after-thoughts, born at the end of April. Yes, it’s been all right, on the whole. Much as usual.’ She spoke carelessly, as if it was of very little interest. ‘Can I let him go now?’ she asked Stephanie. Then, looking at Timmy, she added, ‘He might turn into a crocodile if we say the right magic word.’

Karen laughed, doubtful that her little boy had understood the suggestion. By the way he gazed steadfastly at the lamb, it seemed that perhaps he had.

‘Mizzlepop!’ said Stephanie, obligingly, using the magic word that Drew had taught her. Nothing happened to the lamb, but a gunshot rang out almost immediately. Karen, to her eternal embarrassment, grabbed a child in each hand and flung all three of them to the ground, uttering wordless squawks of consternation.

‘For heaven’s sake,’ Hilary chastised her. ‘It’s only Justin shooting pigeons or squirrels or something.’ She hoisted Karen back to her feet without ceremony. ‘Though I must admit it sounded rather close.’

The silence following the shot deepened, until Hilary said, ‘Karen, is your little girl all right?’

Karen had been brushing at herself, struggling with a sense of embarrassment, unaware of her children. She jerked around, looking for Stephanie.

The child was standing rigidly, her eyes very wide, her mouth open. Karen’s heart stopped. ‘Stephanie!’ she shrieked, grabbing wildly at the child. The small shoulders under her hands were unresponsive. Karen shook her. ‘Steph! Come on, sweetheart,’ she said in a calmer voice. ‘It’s nothing to worry about.’

Timmy was once more occupied with the lamb, apparently unconcerned by the crisis going on beside him. He was walking slowly sideways, chuckling as the lamb eagerly followed him.

‘She’s just shocked,’ Hilary said. ‘She’ll be OK in a minute.’

‘She’s had too many shocks lately,’ Karen muttered. ‘That’s what it is.’

‘Did he die?’ Stephanie whispered, her eyes fixed straight ahead, as if afraid to look around her. ‘Did I make him die?’

‘What, darling? What do you mean?’ The child shook her head dumbly.

‘She thinks she made the gun go off with her magic word,’ Hilary realised. ‘She’s talking about the lamb.’

‘The lamb’s perfectly all right,’ Karen said, with a relieved laugh. ‘Look, Timmy’s playing with it.’

‘Not
the lamb,’
Stephanie hissed. ‘The
man
. Like when the window broke. The man – did he die?’ She stared urgently at her mother, vitality returning, only to bring a rush of distress.

Karen knelt down, and cuddled her daughter to her. ‘I don’t understand, sweetheart. What are you talking about?’

Stephanie just shook her head again and thrust her thumb in her mouth. Karen reproached herself for her stupid panic reaction to the gunshot. That, she was sure, had frightened the child. It seemed crucial to understand what Stephanie was thinking.

‘When the window broke?’ she repeated. ‘You mean when we went to the supermarket?’

‘There was a man. He fell over, when I was looking at him. That lady, she was looking at him as well, and then, she made the window break and the man fell over. And then Della fell over. And then
you
fell over – and there’s a man. He’s dead. I heard you say he was, to Della.’

Hilary cleared her throat and caught Karen’s eye. ‘Let’s go and have some drink and biscuits,’ she said. ‘This is all getting a bit complicated.’ She rubbed a friendly hand over Stephanie’s head. ‘Guns
are
scary things. I’m going to shout at Justin and tell him he shouldn’t shoot things near the house.’

Karen released Stephanie reluctantly, still completely bewildered as to what was going on in the infant mind. Some strange confusion between the supermarket bomb, Della’s faint and the incident just now. In vain, she tried to remember exactly where Stephanie had been, and what she’d been looking at, when the bomb had gone off. And who was ‘the lady’ she’d seen? Presumably it must be Mary Thomas. And if so, Karen realised, there was a second witness to Mary’s presence at the scene. It wasn’t simply Karen’s word against Mary’s. And at the same time, she realised she couldn’t possibly enlist her little girl as backup. It wouldn’t be fair, and what she said wouldn’t be reliable.

‘Come on then,’ she said. ‘Everything’s all right now.’

The morning passed quickly, with Karen feeling more like a tourist than a visiting friend. Timmy wore himself out exploring and almost fell asleep on his feet. Karen put him in the car, under a shady tree, with the door left open, and
sat with Stephanie on a grassy bank close by, making daisy chains. Hilary brought out a bowl of semi-solid beeswax, which she was kneading into small tablets. ‘It’s wonderful furniture polish,’ she said. ‘I don’t bother with all the fancy moulds and stuff; it works just as well like this. I’ll give you some to take home.’

‘I’m not much of a one for polishing,’ Karen laughed.

‘Never mind. You might get the urge one day. Just smear it on and then give it a good rub with a cloth, and you’ll be amazed. It makes things smell nice, as well.’

Karen smiled ruefully. She didn’t think she’d ever seen the effect of beeswax polish. Her mother hadn’t been into housework, either.

It was a relaxed day, after the initial shock. Hilary’s son Justin had shown up some time later, and been told off by his mother.

‘Sorry,’ he’d shrugged. ‘It was a bloody great crow. I couldn’t resist taking a pot at it. Missed it, though. I’m a rotten shot.’

He was nineteen, strongly built and tanned – the sort of boy, Karen thought, that you’d expect to see on a farm, but somehow seldom did. He seemed to be a figure from a bygone age.

‘What sort of gun have you got?’ she asked, merely to make conversation. He no longer had the weapon with him.

‘It’s a Brocock,’ he said, clearly with no expectation that she’d be much enlightened.

‘Oh? Is that a shotgun?’

‘No, just an airgun. Pretty harmless. You don’t need a licence for them.’

‘But they can kill a crow, can they?’

‘Well, just about.’

‘It didn’t
sound
like an airgun,’ Karen said thoughtfully. ‘It was much louder than that, surely?’

Justin turned away, as if he hadn’t heard her. ‘They’re coming in for lunch in a minute, Mum,’ he threw over his shoulder at Hilary.

‘As if I didn’t know,’ she sighed. ‘Every day, I have to feed five grown workers, strictly at one o’clock. Would you believe it? It’s like feudal times.’

‘Five?’ Karen queried.

‘Husband, brother-in-law, son, tractor driver and a casual chap who comes on Wednesdays.’

‘Not counting yourself, then?’

‘Too busy to eat,’ Hilary laughed. ‘Though I suppose I pick so much through the day that I end up eating more than they do. I’m certainly not
thin
, am I?’

‘Not fat, either,’ said Karen. ‘But … the farm can support you all, can it? I thought things were at crisis point these days. How do you manage?’

Hilary shrugged. ‘Hand to mouth. We don’t buy much, don’t pay proper wages.’

Karen looked at the venerable farmhouse with a feeling of foreboding. On the face of it, it was indestructible, the surrounding land faithfully producing lush grass and whatever crops were profitable this year, but she knew it was much less secure than that. The economics of agriculture were on the brink of collapse. Despair prevailed and families like the Hendersons were hanging on by a thread.

And yet Hilary seemed genuinely contented with her life. She was busy, cheerful, sociable, unworried by events swirling around her, and the probable future her children could expect.

Lunch presented Karen with a difficulty that Hilary did not appear to have noticed. ‘Er – should we go now?’ she faltered. ‘If you’ve got to feed the family.’

‘Oh, no. Don’t be daft. I’ve got a special picnic prepared for us. We’ll have it out here, once I’ve sorted the hordes. There’s a shepherd’s pie in the Aga for them, and I’ll do some frozen peas to go with it. It’ll only take a few minutes, then I’ll be with you.’

The effortless organisation made Karen feel weak. ‘Shall I come and help?’ she said.

‘Of course not. Stay here and keep an eye on
these little ones. I’ll bring it all out soon. Will Timmy wake up, do you think?’

‘He’ll probably be quite hungry soon. That usually gets him moving.’

They ate on the grass, like day trippers in a bygone age. Hilary provided cold sausages,
hard-boiled
eggs, mixed salad and home-baked bread rolls. They drank apple juice, and finished with yoghurt that was clearly homemade. It came in white china pots and had lumps of banana in it.

Stephanie ate slowly and minimally. Timmy had to be woken up and was groggily half-asleep throughout the meal. Karen found herself eating to excess, in an effort to make up for the children’s poor efforts. Hilary ate even more than Karen, despite seeming somewhat distracted.

Karen found herself wondering just what she was doing there. It felt like an invasion, notwithstanding Hilary’s relaxed hospitality. The children had evidently had enough, and were, in their own ways, also wondering about the visit.

‘I’d better be going soon,’ Karen said. ‘It’s been really lovely. Thanks. The kids really need to see some proper farms now and then. It’s not always easy to organise.’

‘No,’ agreed Hilary absently.