Bury in Haste (12 page)

‘Then let’s get out there,’ Stubbs ordered. ‘The car that brought you from town can take us, it’s waiting outside.’

‘Right. Only we’ll have to stop at the village shop on the way, there’s something I need.’

‘This is no time for you to be buying your groceries, constable.’ Stubbs said, climbing into the car.

‘It’s not for me, sir, it’s for Humphrey. Unless you happen to have a bar of chocolate handy?’

On the short journey, detouring via the shop, Deepbriar told Inspector Stubbs about Bert Bunyard and the phoney plaster cast, and about the night-time raids at Quinn’s farm.

‘This is all very interesting constable, but I don’t see any connection between this and our missing man,’ Stubbs said. ‘And right now all I want to do is locate this Bronc. Unless the tramp got on the wrong side of Bunyard. Maybe he found out what he’d been up to. It’s a bit strange, the son trying to stop us searching the farm.’

‘I can’t see Bert getting violent, not beyond swinging the odd punch when he’s had a few,’ Deepbriar replied. ‘I doubt if Humphrey stopping your men from searching the farm is relevant to our case, it’s more likely that Bert is in hiding, and he’s told the lad to be on his guard.’ He shook his head thoughtfully. ‘Bert’s gone too far this time, it’s not a case of giving him a caution. I reckon the magistrate’s likely to put him behind bars for a while.’

‘It’s your patch,’ Stubbs said, ‘None of my business as long as you’re right and it doesn’t involve our missing person. You’re sure you’ve got enough evidence to prove he’s behind the arson and so on? Pretending to have a broken leg isn’t a crime.’

‘Maybe not, but I’ll nail him,’ Deepbriar replied. ‘Because if I don’t I’ll have a full scale war on my hands, once Ferdy Quinn finds out what’s been going on.’

Humphrey Bunyard stood in the gateway at Hurdles Farm, his feet spread wide and a fixed expression on his lumpy features. When Deepbriar climbed out of the car the young man’s face brightened for a moment, then returned to its former look of stubborn incomprehension.

‘Hello, Humph,’ Deepbriar said, strolling up to him. ‘Can I have a word with your Dad?’

‘He said not to let anyone in,’ the young man said, shifting his feet uneasily.

‘Yes, but he didn’t mean old friends like me. Where is he? Inside?’

The large head moved slowly from side to side. ‘Gone.’

‘Gone? There’s no market today, Humph. Are you sure he’s not indoors? Maybe he told you to say he wasn’t home.’

‘Gone,’ the answer came again.

‘When did he go then? This morning was it?’

Humphrey’s face creased with the effort of working this out. ‘No.’

‘Was he here yesterday?’ Deepbriar was getting an uncomfortable feeling in his belly.

‘No.’

‘Tell you what, Humphrey,’ Deepbriar said, taking a large bar of Whole Nut from his pocket, ‘why don’t we go indoors and talk about it. We can have a cup of tea, that’ll go down well with a bit of this chocolate, won’t it.’

Humphrey’s eyes widened at the sight of the purple wrapper. ‘He said nobody was allowed in.’

‘Yes, but he meant villains, people who might want to steal things. You and me are pals, and these people with me are my friends. Look, they’re policemen, just like me. There’s a man missing, Humph, we’re worried about him. He’s maybe lost somewhere. Think about how that feels, Humph, you wouldn’t like to be lost, would you? You’d hate being all alone in a place you didn’t know.’

There was a short silence then the simpleton reached out to take the chocolate. ‘He won’t be very happy, will he,’ he said, leading the way to the house.

‘No,’ Deepbriar agreed, giving Inspector Stubbs a quick nod as he followed. ‘So while we have our tea we’ll let our friends look for him, shall we?’

The inside of the house looked no worse for Bert’s absence, in fact Deepbriar thought it had improved a little, though it took him a while to work out that this was because there were no dirty cups or plates lying about. It seemed Humphrey had been doing some washing up.

‘So, when did your Dad go?’ Deepbriar asked, once Humphrey had eaten his first mouthful of chocolate. Getting nothing but a puzzled look in response he tried again. ‘You say your Dad wasn’t here yesterday. Are you sure?’

Humphrey nodded.

‘How about the day before yesterday. Was he here then?’

Humphrey’s face took on its habitual vacant expression and Deepbriar sighed. Then he remembered something.

‘Was your Dad here on Saturday? He brings you a packet of crisps doesn’t he, when he goes to the Speckled Goose. Do you remember that?’

‘Yes,’ Humphrey said decidedly. ‘There was …’ he paused then held up two fingers. ‘Two lots of salt,’ he said, grinning. ‘I got a free one. In blue paper. I remember.’

‘He brought you some crisps and the packet had some extra salt inside,’ Deepbriar nodded. ‘And when he came back, did he go to bed for the night?’

The big head shook slowly. ‘No.’

‘He didn’t go to bed. So he went off somewhere instead. Did he go to Ferdy Quinn’s? Was he going to steal another pig?’

Humphrey looked blank. ‘I like pigs,’ he said, ‘But Dad won’t let me have one.’

Deepbriar sighed. It was going to be a long day.

‘So, all we know is, this Bunyard came back from the pub on Saturday night, then nothing.’ Stubbs frowned. The fog had lifted a little and he could see about a hundred yards across the fields, where a couple of uniformed men were inspecting a ditch. ‘I hope it’s only a coincidence that he’s gone missing exactly three weeks after the old tramp disappeared.’

‘I doubt if there’s any connection, sir. Unlike Bronc, Bert went under his own steam,’ Deepbriar said. ‘As far as I can make out he packed a spare pair of socks and a bit of food, then walked out. I’d guess he got scared and decided to skip until the heat died down. Not that I was on to him, not then, something else must have put the wind up him. He’ll be hiding out somewhere. Bert Bunyard’s a wily old bird though, he might not be too easy to find.’

‘And this Humphrey, you’re sure he’s not going to turn violent? It’ll take us another hour to finish the search, I never saw such a rabbit warren.’

‘He won’t cause you any trouble. He’s a bit simple, but he’s not a bad lad. As a matter of fact it looks like he’s got more nouse than I thought, he’s cooking for himself, and he’s even cleaning the place up.’

‘Doesn’t show,’ Stubbs said sceptically.

‘It was worse when Bert was home,’ Deepbriar assured him.

‘If you say so. Well, we’ll finish the search, but I don’t think we’re likely to find any sign of this missing man ever having been here. A man who was bleeding to death couldn’t have walked this far, and I can’t see anyone carrying a body dripping with gore for nearly a mile.’

‘Nothing’s turned up near The Lodge?’

‘Not a darned thing. And if we don’t find a body, or at least a bit more evidence, we can’t take the case any further,’ Stubbs said gloomily. ‘Not to mention we still don’t even have a proper name for our victim. We’ll go on asking questions of course, but it’s not looking too hopeful.’

A distant rattle became a hum and a clatter, and a bicycle turned in at the gateway, skidding as it hit the mud. Constable Giddens, his fresh young face flushed with the cold and the exercise, came to a halt beside them and leapt off the machine. ‘Sir! We’ve found something.’ He paused to take a breath, then plunged on. ‘It was the bothy, sir, the garden shed at The Lodge. I thought about how all that rain would have washed away any evidence, but when I scouted around I found there’s this big overhang at the back, where the roof sticks out at least a foot, and with the prevailing wind coming from the west, it keeps the ground pretty dry there. And I realised the stuff lying around, leaves and twigs and so on, well, it looked as if it had been disturbed. I had a bit of a poke about, and I found a huge great stain. Something red and sticky seeped down into the ground behind that shed. I bet that’s where it happened, sir, you can see it’s blood, even now.’

‘O
h, Inspector, isn’t it just dreadful!’ Bella Emerson’s eyes were bright with excitement, and she twisted a tiny lace-trimmed handkerchief between her fingers as if recreating her performance as the tragic Cio Cio San. ‘All that blood! It quite makes me shudder to think of the poor man.’

Deepbriar wondered cynically at the process that had transformed Bronc from a dirty old tramp into an object of pity, and decided that for the likes of Mrs Emerson it had a lot to do with his being dead. Not to mention that a murder being committed in her garden would give her a certain standing among the village gossips.

‘When I saw it I felt quite faint,’ she went on, ‘in fact I’m still feeling a little strange. Imagine, a murderer, here!’ Her eyes rolled as she swayed ominously towards the constable, but he stepped aside without apparently noticing her, as if in a hurry to follow the inspector. Mrs Emerson recovered her balance, and with a glare at the constable’s back she fell into step behind the three men as if fainting had never been further from her mind.

Inspector Stubbs paused briefly. ‘I don’t know that we’re dealing with a grave, Mrs Emerson. Constable Giddens, why didn’t you tell Mrs Emerson to keep away from the garden shed?’

‘I did advise her it wasn’t a suitable sight for a lady, inspector,’ Giddens protested.

‘I’m not thinking about her sensibilities, man,’ he gave the woman an unconvincing smile. ‘Mrs Emerson is not a child. What I’m concerned with is the evidence. We’ve precious little, and now you’ve found some we don’t want half of Minecliff tramping about on it!’

‘Sorry, sir.’ Giddens was downcast, but he brightened as they approached the bothy. ‘I did put a couple of tools across, before Mrs Emerson came to see what I was doing, so I doubt if she’s actually done any damage.’

‘Hmm. All right constable, I think you’d better escort the lady back to the house. If she’s of a nervous disposition we don’t want to expose her to any more shocks. We’ll be in to have a word with you shortly, Mrs Emerson,’ he added, turning to her, ‘and we’ll need to talk to your gardener again. I take it he’s here somewhere?’

‘He’s in the conservatory,’ she said. ‘Since your men wouldn’t allow him to get on with his usual work, I had to find him something to do in there. It’s almost time for his lunch, and I think he was going into the village. I’ll warn him to wait until he’s seen you, shall I?’

‘Yes, thank you. You can tell him we shan’t keep him long. Come on, Deepbriar.’ Stubbs led the way to the bothy, glancing back over his shoulder. ‘That woman gives me the pip,’ he said. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t say that. I gather she’s a friend of yours.’

‘Not mine, sir,’ Deepbriar hastened to assure him. ‘My wife’s. I can’t say I’ve exactly taken to her.’

‘Not the type to have committed bloody murder though,’ Stubbs mused, sighing regretfully. ‘Women are capable of killing, constable, but in my experience they prefer to keep it clean. Poison, perhaps, or maybe a blunt instrument, in the heat of the moment, but not knives, and I’d say that’s what the evidence points to in this case.’

‘What about a gun?’ Deepbriar suggested, as he peered over the Inspector’s shoulder into the space behind the bothy. Giddens had protected his find with a rake and a broom propped across some upturned flower pots. ‘A man could bleed to death from a gunshot wound.’ A heap of leaves and twigs had been swept to one side to expose the bare ground beneath; the young constable was right, the projecting roof had kept the surface dry, and the dark moist area, almost three feet across, certainly looked like a blood stain.

‘That’s true, I’ll keep it in mind, though we’ve found no cartridge, and there weren’t any powder burns on the coats. Still, I think I’d better get this area searched again. If this was missed, maybe there’s something else we haven’t found.’

‘If we’re looking for a sharp instrument, there’s a lot of tools inside,’ Deepbriar suggested. ‘And Simon keeps a good edge on them.’

Stubbs grimaced. ‘Sergeant Jakes and the fingerprint chappy were supposed to have checked those, the first day we were here, but I suppose it won’t hurt to take another look.’

At first sight the task was daunting, but many of the tools obviously hadn’t been moved for several months. In half an hour they were down to three possible weapons; a pruning knife, a scythe, and a spade. All of them had been cleaned recently, and were extremely sharp. ‘Doesn’t bear thinking about,’ Deepbriar mused, inspecting the spade without touching it, and with an uncomfortable image in his head of old Bronc’s scrawny neck beneath its many layers of clothing. ‘This would be lethal, slashed across a man’s throat.’

‘Everything was checked for fingerprints, you can pick it up,’ Stubbs said, lifting the knife gingerly between finger and thumb, ‘I’ll send these to County headquarters. I’ve heard they can find traces of blood, left in dents or scratches in the metal or in the joint with the handle, even when a weapon’s been cleaned.’

‘Yes sir, I’ve heard that. Pretty clever these scientific types,’ Deepbriar agreed, stopping short of admitting that his knowledge came from one of Dick Bland’s recent adventures.

‘Go and fetch Giddens,’ Stubbs said. ‘We’ll give him a treat, seeing as he found that bloodstain; these young lads love to get behind the wheel of a car, he’ll enjoy a trip to the big city. And we’ll send them a sample of that earth, too, just to make sure we’re not getting excited over a spilt can of paint!’

Mrs Emerson was inclined to be a little sulky when they returned to the house, but when Stubbs sat her down and informed her that they needed to take a formal statement, with Deepbriar ordered to take down her every word, she recovered her good humour. ‘Oh, my,’ she said archly. ‘I do hope I’m not a suspect, inspector.’

‘Not at the moment, madam,’ Stubbs replied, straight faced. ‘But we do need to clarify a few things.’ He started by asking her about the events of the weekend before Bronc’s disappearance, and had some difficulty persuading her not to give a repeat performance of her leading role on the Saturday evening.

‘We know the man only arrived in Minecliff after most of the villagers were gathered in the hall to see
Madame Butterfly
,’ the inspector told her, holding up a hand to interrupt her in full flow, ‘so let’s start when you returned home, shall we?’

Deepbriar’s fingers were cramped by the time they reached the details of what happened on Monday evening; nothing of any interest had come to light, despite a minute by minute account of Mrs Emerson’s life. Of one thing she was certain; she would have heard a gunshot if a weapon had been fired in her garden.

‘I can hear the guns clearly when the Colonel has people shooting on his land,’ she said, ‘and since I mentioned the noise to him he makes sure they don’t come too close, but I still find it quite deafening. And I am a very light sleeper, the least sound awakens me. It’s a price one pays for having an artistic temperament. In spring I’m always awake at dawn, the birds make such a noise. At this time of year I’m quite grateful for the longer nights, although occasionally an owl disturbs me, screeching the way they do.’

‘Just one more thing then,’ Stubbs said. ‘Are there any firearms in the house, Mrs Emerson? Perhaps your husband had a shotgun to keep the rabbits down? Or some people brought weapons home from the War, as a keepsake.’

She shuddered. ‘On no, nothing like that. I wouldn’t allow anything so dangerous under my roof. And my poor dear Edgar was in the pay corps, as far as I know he was never given a gun.’

‘How about the tools in the garden shed? Do you ever use any of them?’

She looked shocked, as if he had said something indecent. ‘Oh no. I have a little fork and trowel, and some scissors for cut flowers, that sort of thing. I keep those in the conservatory. The bothy is entirely Witherby’s responsibility.’

It was as they were leaving that Mrs Emerson suddenly remembered that she had something to tell Constable Deepbriar. ‘I’m so sorry, Thorny, all this excitement, it quite drove the other matter from my mind,’ she said. ‘That kind Mr Harvey gave up his bridge evening to help me check through the property store at the village hall on Friday. Do you know, it’s the strangest thing, but only one item was missing, and I can’t imagine why anyone would want to steal it.’

‘Let me guess,’ Deepbriar said. ‘It was a plaster cast.’

‘Why yes!’ She clasped her hands together as if in amazement, though there was a touch of disappointed resentment in her eyes. ‘How clever of you!’

‘And,’ Deepbriar added, not without a touch of asperity in his voice, ‘I suspect you told a few other people about it. Maybe on Saturday?’

‘I believe I may have mentioned it, yes.’ She sighed and fluttered her eyelids at him. ‘Was that naughty of me? I went into church to see how the flower ladies were getting on, and then I had to call at the shop. Everyone in the village is so very friendly, don’t you think, all these rustic types, they are so rural and homely, and always ready to stop for a chat.’

Which cleared up the mystery of Bert Bunyard’s abrupt exit, Deepbriar thought glumly, as he extricated himself from the woman’s clutches and followed Stubbs to the conservatory.

Simon Witherby was muttering to himself as he scattered DDT over some begonias. He gave the two police officers a baleful look as they came in, closing the door behind them.

‘I’m almost out of baccy,’ he grumbled, when Stubbs invited him to sit down so they could talk, ‘I was going to the shop. She’ll be closed for lunch by the time I get there.’

‘Have one of mine,’ the inspector offered, holding out a pack of Players. ‘If you don’t mind smoking ready-made.’

‘They’ll do,’ Witherby said. ‘But I don’t know what you’re after now. I told that young copper everything. Took it all down in writing he did.’

‘Yes, I know. And we’re grateful for your help, but there are just a few more things I need to ask you. That spot behind the shed. You didn’t notice that there was something strange about it?’

‘I’ve not been round there in months, not since I slashed the nettles down, back in summer. Would have got round to raking off the leaves in a week or two, other than that I’ve no call to go rooting about in corners, there’s more than enough to be done in a garden this size, specially when I’m only here Mondays and Fridays.’

‘And you haven’t dropped anything out there, no paint or oil or anything?’

Witherby looked at him scornfully. ‘You trying to tell me what that young chap found isn’t blood? I was on the Somme. I’ve seen a pint or two spilt in my time, and the smell’s enough to tell you, even if it has been there a fair old time. And before you ask, no, I didn’t notice that neither, not till your bobby started digging around in it.’

‘Fair enough. We’ll be taking away some of your tools. They’ll be returned as soon as we’ve finished with them.’

‘And how am I supposed to do my job without my blooming tools?’ Witherby demanded.

‘We’re only taking three items, and you seem to have plenty more hanging up in the shed, quite an arsenal in fact. Lots of good sharp blades.’

‘You really think old Bronc was killed with something out of my shed?’ The gardener seemed to shrink visibly at the thought.

‘It’s a long shot, Simon,’ Deepbriar consoled him, ‘but we have to check.’

‘Well, I don’t think we need to keep you any longer,’ Stubbs said, getting to his feet, ‘unless you’ve got anything you’d like to ask, constable?’

‘There is one thing, sir,’ Deepbriar said, pleasantly surprised by the inspector’s invitation. ‘Do you remember what Bronc was wearing when you met him that Saturday morning?’

‘Aye.’ Witherby gathered himself together, his face resuming its usual rather jaundiced expression. ‘He had on that silly hat, the one I found by the compost heap. And the mac, that was in the bonfire. The same one he were wearing last year, and the year before that too I reckon. I already told you that, Thorny.’

‘I know. You didn’t happen to notice if the coat was torn, did you?’

‘It was a bit tattered,’ Witherby said. ‘But I don’t know as it were any worse than usual. What’s that to do with owt?’

‘I see what you’re getting at, Deepbriar,’ Inspector Stubbs’s eyes narrowed. ‘The older coat was badly torn when it was found. You think that happened when he was attacked.’

‘No, I think it happened when a car knocked him into the ditch on the way to Minecliff,’ Deepbriar said, ‘though what that’s got to do with him disappearing I honestly don’t know. Where do you think Bronc might have gone on the Monday, Simon? He wouldn’t be tramping the roads just for the fun of it, not at this time of year.’

The gardener shook his head. ‘I don’t know, and that’s a fact. I thought he’d moved on to Goldings, but George swears he never went there.’

‘George?’ Stubbs asked.

‘Hopgood,’ Deepbriar said. ‘He’s foreman at Goldings. I checked with him myself, and spoke to a couple of his men. Bronc hasn’t been seen there since the spring.’

Stubbs gave Witherby two more cigarettes before they left, and the old gardener stuck them behind his ear with a nod of thanks. The inspector led the way to the police car that was waiting to carry him back to Falbrough.

‘Unless there was some jiggery pokery with the hat and the parcel, Bronc was out and about on Monday, which means somebody must have seen him,’ Stubbs said. ‘I don’t see much point widening our search for the moment, we’ve covered the whole of the village.’

‘Hold on, I think I’ve been missing something here,’ Deepbriar said, stopping in his tracks. ‘Bronc was in the pub!’

‘What? When?’

‘Monday lunch-time. I’m sorry inspector, Harry Bartle told me, but it had slipped my mind. He came visiting when I was in hospital, and my head wasn’t too clear at the time. He said Bronc had been in the porch at the Speckled Goose, and there’d been a man in there talking to him. A stranger.’

‘Yes, I knew there was somebody in there, I heard them talking.’ Don Bartle was thinking hard, his brows furrowed with the effort. ‘But I didn’t see who it was with Bronc. And it’s no use asking Phyllis, she was in Belston visiting her cousin.’

‘Harry didn’t see him either,’ Deepbriar said. It was frustrating. He’d found three people who swore old Bronc was talking to somebody in the pub that Monday lunch-time, but the most he could discover about the stranger was that he wore a pale coat and dark hat, that he wasn’t very short, nor very tall, and that when he left the pub he had hurried out of the village on foot, in the direction of Gadwell, a village some four miles away.