Dark Ritual (6 page)

Nine

They sat down on the chairs in the interview room, Martin reluctantly. Jessica Robbins looked around nervously and waited for his first question. “He can lip read, Sergeant if you speak clearly.”

Peale nodded. “Thank you for coming in, Mr. Robbins, Mrs. Robbins. I hope I won’t have to keep you long. We are trying to place your friend, Sandra Peterson’s last movements on Sunday night. It is most important.”

Martin nodded slowly and rubbed the knees of his jeans nervously and waited.

“Has Sandra Peterson visited you at all inside your aviary?” Peale asked slowly.?” Martin Robbins nodded. Studying Peale intently, Robbins watched his lips. “Good. We know that she got in close contact with your birds, recently. So when did you last see her, Mr. Robbins?”

He signed his answer quickly to his aunt, who signed back while Peale waited.

“Friday, yes, it would be.” Jessica Robbins intervened. “Sandra came to see us, and asked to see the birds two days before that, Sergeant. She wanted a budgie for a birthday present for her flat mate. And Martin picked one out for her. It was only six weeks old. She wanted to take it back with her next week.”

“And when exactly was this, Mrs. Robbins? We need to be quite sure of this.”

“Friday evening, sergeant.”

“
Friday
. You are sure about this?”

She nodded. “Martin told me she was coming to see his birds. Martin had picked out this young blue budgie for Sandra. A lovely little boy.” She smiled. “It’s hard to make out the cocks from the hen birds at first.”

A ripple of laughter went round the incident room at this. She continued. “But this one has a clear blue wattle on its beak. The hens have brown wattles, you see,” she said glancing at the interested faces around them. “That’s the skin crowning the beak.”

“Wattles — Mrs. Roberts.” Peale wondered where this was going. But decided to let her carry on. He needed her help with Martin.

“Yes. This young cock would win prizes for good breeding. Martin was sure she would like it. Oh, dear... Sorry.” She fumbled for her handkerchief in her purse and brought it out to dab her eyes. Martin took her hand and squeezed it tight and waited for Peale to speak again.

“We know that Sandra was in close contact with birds, before she was killed Mr. Robbins. Are you sure that she wasn’t with you in your aviary later than this, on Sunday night?”

Martin signed quickly now. He was obviously disturbed by the way the questions were going. A badly bruised left eye served to emphasize the dark shadows which were settled under his eyes, Peale noted.

“He said he didn’t see Sandra last night,” Jessica intervened again quickly. “He tried. He says he went up to the camp on Kilernee Hill to see her. It was late. Sandra wasn’t there and he saw Macey instead.”

Robbins was definitely disturbed now. Agitated. He was trying to sign and Gerry Coombe signalled with her eyes at Peale. She had picked up that lie was worried by Robbins. The questions were bringing home to Martin the severe reality of Sandra’s recent death. He was badly distressed.

Peale wished now that Fowler would walk in through the door and take care of the situation.

“You saw Macey, Mr. Robbins?” Robbins signed again and looked even more distressed. “So did you have words with him? A fight perhaps?”

“He wants you to know how worried he was about her, Sergeant. Martin suffers badly from his nerves. He’s worried about his mother too. She’s in a Home, not well at all and needs special nursing.”

She threw a quick look at her nephew he had been lip-reading intently and was signing now. His movements rapidly became more agitated. He stood up suddenly pushing back his chair noisily and leant over Peale.

Close to his face, he mouthed, “Macey — Macey.” And then sat down again much to Peale’s immediate relief.

“Martin!
What
is
it?
Tell us. You’ve got to tell the police everything you know, dear.”

He signed again quickly, Peale groaned and waited while Jessica signed back and Martin signed again and then slumped down in the chair. Holding his head in his hands. He was sobbing loudly now.

“What did he say, Mrs. Robbins?”

“He says you must speak to Jason Macey. Right away, Sergeant Peale. Martin believes that Macey quarrelled with Sandra last night and hurt her. Martin says he’s sure of it. He fought with Macey. That’s how Martin got the bruised face and black eye.”

Robbins lifted his damp face and Peale studied him carefully. Macey had certainly given him a real shiner.

Jessica Robbins said, “Macey, Martin says, had scratches on his shoulder, he had a torn sleeve and it showed. But Martin swears that he never saw Sandra after midday yesterday. He tried to find her but she was always somewhere else. Macey told him that she was going to see someone. That’s why they had quarrelled, he said. And it’s probably true. Macey was very jealous and possessive.”

Martin signed again quickly. Alarmed Jessica spoke out quickly, “Sergeant Peale. He says Macey carries a knife!”

“Macey, has a knife! Are you certain about this, sir?”

Martin signed again quickly. Peale watched the rapid hand movements and as he waited, barely controlling his patience. Martin pointed down to his right ankle. “It’s a dagger. He says Macey wears it strapped to his ankle,” Jessica Robbins said quickly. “You must arrest him!” Martin was nodding. “Now, Sergeant!”

Peale shook his head and shrugged. “Sorry. No can do, Mrs. Robbins. Not just on hearsay. But we shall bring him in and question him again. Thank you, Mr. Robbins for giving us this information. Is there anything else he can tell us about Sandra that might help us? Anything at all, Mrs. Robbins?” he said quietly. “Did Sandra tell Martin that she was pregnant? And had an abortion?”

This last remark produced a flurried signing between aunt and nephew. Martin was agitated and shook his head.

“I don’t think my nephew knew about that, sergeant,” she said. “She didn’t tell him. But then, it wasn’t any business of his, what she did in her private life.”

It was obvious by his devastated face that Martin Robbins had not known anything about the termination. He slumped back down onto the wooden chair, its legs scraping noisily on the wooden floor, his arms firmly folded across his chest, while his aunt attempted to speak for him. Then he made a wide gesture with his hands and refused to answer any more questions. Peale wasn’t certain whether Fowler would have handled it like this. But it was too late now. He thought he’s asked all the right questions, but he hadn’t got the result he’d wanted. Instead he felt sorry for the poor bloke now.

Jessie Robbins was speaking. “I’m sorry, Sergeant Peale. Martin is so upset. He said that is enough. He can’t say anything more. He was so fond of Sandra. Her death has shocked him out of his senses. He believes that Macey is the man you want.”

But he would, wouldn’t he? Peale felt that there he hadn’t got it all. There was something else Martin Robbins was keeping back.

She shook her head and patted her distraught nephew’s shaking shoulders. He was sobbing again now. Peale felt uncomfortable and looked round for help from Gerry Coombe.

“He’s not been making much sense at all today,” Martin’s aunt said. “But he’s telling you the truth. I’ve never known Martin to tell a lie. Not ever even when he was a little boy. After he came back from the camp, he drank the whisky. It made him ill. He was so upset. And so worried about Sandra. Never went to bed at all. He doesn’t drink as a rule.”

Martin lifted his tearful face and signed the statement that had been written for him. Jessica Robbins said, “He says he’s sorry, Sergeant. It’s been a long terrible day for him. He feels that he has behaved badly. If there is anything else you need to know...”

Peale studied the tear-stained, haggard face of the young man in front of him and felt genuine sympathy for him.

“He told me he remembered little afterwards till he woke up when I came in this morning, and then you arrived with the other officer. You saw what a state he was in then. He wasn’t fit to question. But he had to tell you about Macey.”

“There are still some questions for him to answer, Mrs. Robbins. Sandra Peterson had some bird feathers in her bag and attached to her hair. We don’t know where they came from bar your aviary. Can you or Mr. Robbins explain that? We have had reason to believe that she came into close contact with the birds in your aviary recently before her death. But you said that Friday was the only day she visited the aviary. Could she have come over again while you were away, Mrs. Robbins? Ask your nephew please. It is best not to hide anything from us.”

Jessica Robbins signed this quickly to Martin Robbins, who shook his head slowly. It was plain to see that he said, “No.”

“He says he is telling the truth. But she could have visited the aviary to see the budgie again while he was working on Bell’s farm. That’s the only explanation he can offer. Sandra knew where he kept the key to open the aviary door.”

Martin looked worried. Peale felt once again that he was missing something vital here. But it didn’t look as if he was going to get anything else from this young man. He was shut up tight like a safe door. Peale hoped Fowler would take what Martin had said seriously. If not he’d ask him to come in again.

“Thank you, Mrs. Robbins, Mr. Robbins. We may have to ask for your help again, Mr. Robbins.”

After he saw them out of the door Gerry patted him on the shoulder. “You did all right, Ian.
Really
. It was pretty tough going. You got the gist of it and you got more from him than we expected. We know now that Macey has a knife,” Gerry Coombe said assuring him with a smile in her blue eyes. “Fowler should be well pleased.”

Ten

Fowler wondered whether he was taking their friendship too much for granted when he stood on Viviane Trent’s doorstep again. Was he taking advantage? She might feel he was but he was sure that she could help him more than anyone else at that moment.

“Hello, I didn’t think I’d see you again quite so soon,” Viviane said, opening up the door to him with a broad grin. “Kitchen or in here?”

“In here, thanks,” Fowler said, sinking down with relief and a deep sigh onto the long settle. The evening sun was still warming up the room pleasantly through the open latticed windows where a large grey tabby cat cleaned its whiskers carefully on the cushioned window seat.

“How’s it going so far or can’t I ask?”

“So-so. I need some feedback from you on something unexpected that’s just been thrown at us.”

He studied her face carefully for her immediate reaction to this. She was smiling. He wondered why he had taken so long to get in touch with her again. He’d chatted to her quite a bit when Steve invited him and Julie over. He’d envied Steve and felt guilty about it afterwards when Steve died so unexpectedly. This had hindered him from calling her again when he’d got divorced. He hadn’t wanted Viviane to suspect that he’d been keen on her from the moment he’d first met her, and now he mustn’t blow it.

“Something unexpected? Wow! So surprise me.” She laughed. “It must be pretty important. You’re not generally at a loss for words. Is it the lead you hoped for?”

“Could be. But it’s corny and crazy. Doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“So — what do you know now, Bob?”

“I think it sounds pretty weird but I’d like your views on it.”

“Tell me all about it in a minute. Coffee or can I get you anything stronger? Anything to eat?”

She wasn’t about to pressure him. She smiled and stood up ready for his order. He obviously needed to think things out.

“Coffee — black will be fine.” He chuckled. “I’m driving back to Gloucester. It’s been a hell of long day.” He shook his head slowly and groaned again. “And it’s not finished yet. Now there’s this new angle to think out. I doubt if I’ll catch much sleep tonight. The chief will want to know how things are going.”

The cat left its post on the window ledge and jumped down onto the arm of her easy chair and fixed Fowler in place with a golden stare. Viviane went into the kitchen and called out, “Got a place to live there, have you? In Gloucester? You’re managing okay?”

“Yes, I have rented a flat — furnished. Two rooms and bathroom. A shade bigger than a bed-sit. Not bad. But only temporary, I hope. You’ve heard that Julie and I were divorced, three years ago now?” He guessed that she knew already. But he wanted to tread carefully and not just assume that she was interested in his affairs because he was in hers.

He heard her answer as she clicked on the kettle. “I did hear some talk, Bob. Sorry. You don’t mind talking about it then?”

“No.” But the gusty sigh that followed this told her that he was still feeling raw about it. “And I’ve been moving about like a Nomad ever since. Not been able to settle down anywhere for a while.”

“I heard you’d asked for a transfer. Settled in all right in Gloucester? Different to the Met I expect.”

“Yes. But I’m getting used to it. By the way I’ve got the custody of Clancy, our Labrador.” He chuckled. “We’re settled down now okay, I think. The old feller and me. I’d like to get a place with a garden like yours,” he said leaning forward to gaze out on the lawns and trees outback through the latticed windows. “I’ll bring him out to see you sometime. He rather took to you as I remember it. The old boy would love to have a run around here. Would you mind?”

“Anytime. As long as he leaves my old girl alone.”

“That would be good. I guessed you knew about us. I would have been glad to have had Steve’s ear. He was the best partner and pal I’ve had and I miss him still.”

Viv caught her breath, shook her head and smiled sadly.

“You must have known that we weren’t having a good run. Usual story. Work got in the way. You were different, you and Steve. You had something good going from the beginning. You had the kids. I wanted them, you see, but she didn’t. She liked her career in banking too much.”

The china clinked out in the kitchen. “I didn’t know that.”

“We didn’t want it known generally.”

Viviane came back in with the coffee.

“So come on, tell me. What gives, Bob? Why are you really here? What do you want to ask me?”

He grinned. “Forgive me for saying it but it does seem like we’ve opened up a can of worms here...”

She sat down. “Is it really that bad?”

“It could be. Thought you were the best one to ask, Viv. We don’t want the media to latch onto it.”

She frowned and nodded. “Okay. I shan’t mention it to another soul. Cross my heart.” He grinned. “At least not till we’ve had a chance to work on it.”

She handed him his mug of coffee and waited for the rest to come out.

“Thanks. You do know a good bit about the history of this place by now. I know you haven’t lived here that long, Viv, but it seems that your great-aunt did. And her family before that? Am I right?”

“Yes.” She viewed him seriously over her mug. “But what on earth has my elderly aunt got to do with this case?”

“A good deal I hope. Did she fill you in about Lower Milton’s past history at all? You said she was a teacher in the school here.”

“Yes, she was. My aunt liked to talk about the local history, often.” She laughed quietly. “And she was a darn good teacher. She was a fount of information for me on local things. That helped me a lot when I first moved in here. So that I knew the families and most of the locals.” She stirred her coffee and tasted it and put in a spoonful of sugar.

“Great. I felt sure you must know more than a bit.”

Her eyes still held on him thoughtfully. “I’ve been careful not to tread on anyone’s toes. Daisy Doughty for instance. She’s like an elderly matriarch round here. Have you made her acquaintance yet? I told you Lower Milton’s in the Domesday Book, didn’t I? There is nothing she doesn’t know about in the village. Or anyone living in it.”

“I’ve yet to make Mrs. Doughty’s acquaintance. Listen, I want to know if it is possible that we’ve got somebody who practices pagan rituals here. Somebody who’s used them to get rid of Sandra.”

“Do you want me to laugh and dismiss it as rubbish, because I can’t do that.”

Her face told him that she meant it. She laughed nervously. “This is a re-run of what Jo Stevenson mentioned this morning and it gave me the heebie-jeebies. You can either use it or forget it.”

Fowler nodded. He’d asked to hear everything that she could give him and then like she said he could either use it or forget it.

“I absorbed quite a bit from what my aunt told me. She made it fascinating and I was a good listener as a child. Her grandfather was a history professor. He came to live here as a young man and married the vicar’s daughter. And Great-aunt Ida simply carried on where he left off I think. She made it her lifetime work when she retired digging into Lower Milton’s past history.”

She paused for a moment thoughtfully. “I have stacks of books and documents that Louis wrote. They cover the family history of most of the local people who were living here then. They’re in the small library she fixed up in here. Her work dealt mainly with the Druids and the Celts; they are all part of it.”

“Interesting.”

“You might find it hard to swallow.”

“Try me.”

She shook her head. “I did rather take it for granted that all these old customs like Corn Dollies, the Man in Green, and pagan beliefs date far back to the ancient burial site on Kilernee Hill. But I chose to ignore it as you do. I’m a bit of a coward, I suppose.”

“I’d hardly think that of you.”

He stirred his coffee slowly and viewed her face in profile. Her blue green eyes, which reminded him of opals, were serious and focused on the garden out there. She pushed back her rich chestnut curls with her hand. She obviously knew something that troubled her. Then she came back to him, grinned wryly, leant over and patted his hand.

“Sorry. Wool gathering.”

He asked her quietly, “Is it something you don’t want to think about?”

She nodded. “Could be.” She laughed nervously. “It’s not devil worship. But it’s something pagan and strange that belongs to the past history of this place. Do you know anything at all about these pagan customs that were carried out here? The Mayday celebrations for instance?”

He grinned back at her. Here he thought he was on familiar ground. “Yeah. May poles, kids dressed up fancy and dancing round them? A pretty girl picked to be Queen of the May.”

“And you bathed your face with morning dew on May the first.” She laughed. “Everyone knows about that.”

“Yeah — most do. But there’s more than just that then?”

She nodded. “There’s more. And not so innocent. May was originally celebrated as Beltane, and the Celts as pagans made the most of it as spring. All the lads and lassies here made whoopee, when they went into the woods and picked the darling buds of May.” She grinned back at him.

“Like the Druids they worshipped trees and fertility,” she continued. “And Kilernee Hill was brought into it quite a bit. The trees were thick up there and that old oak tree that they’re trying now to save is really ancient... I think it was used in their ceremonies.” She leant forward and her eyes held a serious look in them. “And in their Beltane celebrations the Celts chose their May Queen and a May King from the most beautiful young ones and they — sacrificed them.”

“Sacrificed them!”

“Yes, it was all about sexual initiation and fertility. And there have been two similar deaths since in the village during the nineteenth century. Barely a few years apart. Nobody was found responsible and no one was charged.”

“So I heard. Is there more I should know? Go on...”

“You probably wouldn’t know it but the Fox and Goose pub was once called The Green Man. I saw a picture of the old Inn sign. My Aunt showed me an old photograph. It’s really spooky. It gives me the creeps to look at it. It’s so well...
sinister
. It shows a man’s eyes looking out through a mass of green leaves. I can find it for you if you like.

“The sign and name were changed apparently earlier in the nineteenth century. It caused a lot of agro round here according to my great-great uncle. Could be after those deaths...”

This captured his attention immediately. “It’s strange but all true then.”

“Yes, I think so. They believed that the crops harvested for the following year would be good, if the pagan ritual was carried out.”

“Most country folk believe in the old folklore, don’t they?”

She nodded. “They do. Especially here.”

“So there’s more...”

“These were pagan Harvest festivals that they celebrated. Along with Beltane the Mayday ceremony. And like I’ve said, in them someone young and beautiful of either sex, were the chosen ones. Chosen to be sacrificed to bring in a good fruitful crop for the following year. The spilling of their blood into the earth was supposed to encourage the fertility of their crops.”

“Surely no one would carry this out here. Not now. Can you honestly believe that anyone round here would kill Sandra Peterson to achieve this? I’ve heard of organic farming but this...” He shook his head. “This is stretching belief.”

“There is always reason for doubt. The old pagan religions are still believed by some. Like the old belief in witches and warlocks, turn over a loose stone around here and you don’t know what you might disturb buried under it.”

His reaction to this was a puzzled frown and a shake of his head followed by loud laughter which startled the cat off its comfortable perch on the window sill. “You can’t believe that this is for real?”

She cut him short quickly. “Not till this morning. If I had thought at all about the human sacrifice being practiced before this I’d have dismissed it just as folklore, you know.”

“So — what do you think now?”

She looked thoughtful. “I don’t know. Tourists buy the Corn Dollies sold in the local shops. They’re good sellers to those that come especially to see the crop circles. Daisy Doughty makes them. Look there’s one over there by my hearth. An old one from my great-aunt’s time. I’ve never wanted to go into their history before.” She chewed at her lip thoughtfully. “Perhaps I should have done.”

“Perhaps you should. So Corn Dollies! Explain more please.”

“Corn Dollies, they’re made up from Corn or Rye stems that are twisted and woven into intricate shapes. You’d see some on show in most of the houses around here There’s quite a skill in making them, you know.” She laughed.

He whistled. “Just what are we uncovering here? Something nasty in the woodshed?”

“Heaven alone knows. You say that Sandra was knocked out, stabbed to death and nearly burnt to a crisp. This seems to carry out what has been practiced here long before our time.” She shrugged. “Or maybe was it someone simply using it to get rid of her? Someone who knew about the ancient pagan history.”

“What do you think we would discover if we delved into those other crimes? What have we accidentally stumbled on here? Like you mentioned just now, witches perhaps?”