A Well Kept Secret (40 page)

His personal favourite was “Autumn Leaves.” It showed the interior of a wood, with the foliage resplendent in a full range of autumn tints. Some of the leaves were captured by the artist in the act of falling, and could be seen eddying in a light breeze that was sweeping them up against the bole of a spreading oak tree. For his money, the painter of “Autumn Leaves” had really captured the spirit of what he was trying to portray.
 
He was still gazing into the depths of the picture as June returned into the room.

“How do I look?” she asked, as he turned round to look at her.

“In a word: wonderful!” he exclaimed immediately. “Who needs dinner when I can feast my eyes on such a delectable sight!”

“That is the corniest chat-up line I’ve ever heard in my life,” she snorted, yet he could see that she was pleased none-the-less.

Privately, he was really more than impressed. She had changed into a full light summer skirt with a thin white blouse that did nothing to hide the small but firm curves of her body. She had done her hair in a way that no longer betrayed an aggressive defiance of the world, and there was just the hint of cosmetics on her face. She wore matching white sandals, and the ensemble was completed by a small white shoulder bag that hung easily from one shoulder.

He had suspected that she was attractive almost from the first time he had seen her, and now that she was smiling and radiant instead of scowling he suddenly realised that she was truly beautiful. Not just in the physical sense, but in personality as well. He could well understand any man falling for her charms, and that in turn brought unbidden to his mind the fact that she was married. Not only married, but married to a sickening pervert whose brutality towards her beggared belief. He felt the hackles rising on the back of his neck as he thought of the man, and just what he would like to do to him if he ever had the chance.

“We’d better get back to the house,” she said. “I expect the girls will be back at any time now, and they will wonder where we’ve got to!”

They left the flat, and the girls returned as expected a few minutes later. June supervised the domestic side of things whilst Martin fetched the car and a short while later they were heading off to Wellworthy. As they drove down, Martin arranged with June for her to take the girls on a shopping expedition, and to meet him at the ‘Rose and Crown’ at one o’clock, by which time he felt he would have finished his various calls in search of additional information.

He parked his car in the same place as before, and as soon as it was safe the girls exited the car and made a beeline for the nearest music shop.

“I promised I would treat them to the latest CD they want,” June explained as they sped off down the road, “don’t worry, I won’t let them go over the top.”

“Just so long as I don’t have to listen to it!” he groaned. “In keeping with common sense, let them have what they want, particularly in the way of clothes, and use the charge accounts.”

“Don’t worry,” she repeated smiling. “In spite of appearances, everything is under control!”

As she exited the car, Martin cautioned June to call him on her mobile phone if she even caught sight of her husband. Although he didn’t think it likely that the man would attempt anything aggressive in broad daylight on the street, remembering how she had been mown down by car with the intent to kill or seriously maim her once before meant that he didn’t want her to take any chances.

Having watched her walk down the road to the music shop, he decided that his first port of call would be a second visit to his late uncle’s solicitors. He didn’t really anticipate gleaning much additional information from Mr Dobson but there was always the chance that he might let some small item drop that would help to resolve matters. On entering the musty smelling premises he was greeted once again by Miss Grayson who informed him that Mr Dobson was with a client and would be free in a few minutes if he would care to wait. Martin agreed, and settled down with a well-thumbed edition of ‘Country Life’ magazine of doubtful vintage after he had first ascertained that Jim Perkins was out, and not expected back until later in the morning. He had just reached a particularly uninteresting article about the decline of dairy farming when the receptionist announced that Mr Dobson was free.

The Solicitor greeted him in a friendly fashion and enquired if he would like tea, which he politely declined, declaring that it was not his intention of taking any more of Mr Dobson’s valuable time than was absolutely necessary.

“Then what may I do for you,” the solicitor enquired.

“I’m still trying to sort out a few things at Springwater House,” Martin explained, “and being in Wellworthy this morning I thought I would look in to see if you could spare me just a few moments. I am particularly interested learning more about an old acquaintance of my uncle’s, a police Sergeant called Burton, and I wondered if you could tell me anything about him?”

“Sergeant Burton?” Mr Dobson muttered half to himself, “Ah, yes, I do recall the name. That was a long time ago, must be at least a quarter of a century. May I ask why you are making enquiries about him?”

“I saw my late uncle’s former housekeeper yesterday, Mrs Jefferson, and she mentioned him. What she related made me rather curious, and if possible, I would like to speak with him just to verify a few matters.”

“Ah, I see. Yes, I remember Mrs Jefferson, how is she?”

“Not too good, I’m afraid.”

“I am very sorry to hear it.”

The solicitor scratched his head thoughtfully for a few moments.

“Sergeant Burton,” he mused. “Ah yes, I seem to recall your uncle mentioning him. He was an officer in the local force at that time as I recollect. Yes, it comes back to me now; he was the man who discovered the bodies in the car after that dreadful murder that occurred in Wellworthy a good many years ago. A terrible business that was; quite a ‘to-do’ I can tell you; papers were full of little else for weeks afterwards. I don’t suppose you heard much about it, being a stranger to these parts; it was quite a local sensation at the time.”

“I have heard the crime mentioned,” Martin admitted. “I know little about it.”

“As far as I can recall, Sergeant Burton was on duty that day, and he came across this car with two men in it. He thought at first that it was a road accident, only when he checked he discovered that they had both been shot to death. It must have been a terrible thing to come upon, particularly in such a quiet, law-abiding place as Wellworthy. It’s the sort of thing you might get in a busy city, but nothing like that has ever happened here before, and never since, I’m thankful to say. As far as I know, they never caught the killer or killers either; dreadful business, absolutely dreadful.”

“And Sergeant Burton?”

“Ah, yes. Well, as I understand it, he was never the same man again after that. Being a rural police officer he had never come up against anything even remotely like it before and it shattered his nerve by all accounts. He was placed on sick leave and as far as I recall he retired from the force not long afterwards. Very sad end to what I understand was a promising career.”

“Does he still live locally?”

“I really don’t know,” Mr Dobson said, spreading his hands expressively. “I did hear that he had moved right away from the area almost as soon as he retired. Whether that is true or not, or where he went to I wouldn’t know. Like I said, it was all such a long time ago now.”

“You say that my uncle mentioned him to you; can you recall what he said?”

“My dear Mr Isherwood, as I have said, it was all a very long time ago now!”

“Of course, most unreasonable of me,” Martin agreed. “I just wondered if you could remember if my uncle spoke of him as a friend, a chance acquaintance, or perhaps even been concerned by him in any way?”

Mr Dobson appraised him with a mild questioning look in his eyes. “As near as I can recall,” he said slowly, “the doctor referred to him as an old school friend who had recently looked him up. Somebody had told me that they had seen a police officer visiting Springwater House, and I initiated that explanation when I next saw your late uncle by asking if everything was all right, mentioning the report of a police visit. That was the answer I received. To the best of my recollection Sergeant Burton was never referred to again.”

“I see.”

“May I enquire what it was that Mrs Jefferson said that has made you so curious?”

Martin had been half expecting the question, and had already decided that until he was a bit more certain about things himself he wouldn’t reveal all that the old housekeeper had confided in him.

“She seemed to think that Sergeant Burton wasn’t quite the friend he claimed to be. Nothing concrete, only I think it was clear she didn’t like him much.”

“I see, well, I shouldn’t place too much credence upon an elderly domestic’s views if I were you. I seem to recall that Mrs Jefferson took a dislike to a good many people.”

“I’m sure you are right, I was just curious.”

It was obvious that there was nothing more to be gained by pressing the enquiry, and Martin decided to let the matter drop there. He really hadn’t learnt very much, yet the little he had gleaned more or less corroborated what he had already been told. He wound the conversation up, thanking the solicitor for his time, and promising to advise him when his decision concerning the future of the property had been made.

Out in the sunshine once again he debated whether to visit Dr Rawlinson, or to attempt to locate the car dealer mentioned by June. Glancing at his watch, he felt pretty certain that the surgery would be pretty busy at that hour, so he decided to locate Barn Lane to see if Mr Castleman was still there in business, and if he could throw any light on matters. He strolled up the high street and presently spotted the turning he was seeking, and as he rounded the corner, at the bottom of the lane, where it curved slowly round to the right, he saw what looked like a car-breakers yard with a sign hanging out side proclaiming it to be the home of ‘Castleman’s Quality Cars’!

Strolling down the lane towards the rather seedy looking establishment he found it easy to believe what he had heard about the place. Just inside the shabby chain-link fencing there were a couple of elderly vehicles that looked as if they had been well ‘tarted-up’ with big ‘for sale’ banners in their windscreens, and beyond them, round the side of the solitary brick building that obviously did duty as a sales office he could see a wide selection of rusting car bodies that spoke of the yard’s principle business, breaking vehicles for spares. He decided that the ‘breaking’ side of the business might be the best line of approach.

As he neared the entrance he observed a heavily built man of about his own age or perhaps a few years older, dressed in a filthy boiler suit, and busily polishing away at an old Vauxhall Cavalier. The man looked up as he approached, thrust the rag he was using half into a torn pocket and advanced to meet him. There was a sort of plastic smile on his stubbly face that obviously indicated that he looked on Martin as a potential customer.

“Good morning, sir,” he greeted him. “Beautiful weather we are having. How can I help you?”

Martin almost visibly winced at the man’s forced heartiness. Without a doubt he saw Martin as yet another potential mug to be easily fooled into buying some overpriced wreck that had been cleverly bodged sufficiently to fool anyone not particularly well versed in such matters. He decided that it might suit his purpose to play the gullible potential client.

“Are you Mr Castleman?” he enquired.

“I am indeed.”

“Oh, good, I was recommended to come and see you in person; a friend of mine to whom you sold a car a few years back said that if I was in this part of the world I should certainly look you up. He assured me that if anybody can help me then you were the man!”

“Castleman’s Quality Cars always trade on their good name,” the man said without a trace of guilt or modesty, “Satisfaction Guaranteed, that’s our motto! Now, take this Cavalier; only a few ever made of this particular version you know, and we were very lucky to get hold of it. In spite of its age it has only done about twenty three thousand miles all told, and the engine is as good as new. It was owned by an elderly man who hardly ever took it above forty, so this has to be an absolute snip.”