Full Fury (13 page)

I
didn’t have one kind thought about Carter Finn in the ten minutes it took me to get into bed and asleep.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I got about five hours’ sleep, then went across the way for breakfast and to split a fiver from my reserve. On the way back I phoned Freer.

‘
How’d it go?’

‘
A wash-out,’ he said. ‘He’s a fast mover, this Finn. It’d gone.’

‘
The intervening walls were knocked down, were they?’

‘
Yes. It was a good guess.’

‘
How’d he explain it?’

‘
Said that by using the end doors they could get six cars in, where they’d only got four before.’

‘
He’s clever, ain’t he?’ I said enquiringly.

‘
He’s clever. But there’s one thing—they had to dump it. We picked it up with only four crates missing.’

‘
Not quite a complete loss, then?’

He
conceded the point. ‘But I’m not sure you’ll be popular round there.’

I
told him I already wasn’t.

‘
So I’d keep away, if I were you.’

‘
He owes me a drink.’

‘
How come?’

‘
He’s got four crates out of it.’

Freer
thought that was amusing. I don’t know why. He said goodbye and see me again sometime.

Ring
Elsa? No—call in on the way. Much better. Then she’d actually see me on my knees. I could tell her I was on a job I could drop any second; was just aching to drop any second.

I
went back up and got things ready. I dug out the snazzy bit of suiting I’d had built for the wedding, a bit of flare on the slacks, deep vents to the jacket. Hardly me, but Elsa had helped me choose it. I laid it ready with the shirt I was glad I was going to be behind, polished the shoes with some difficulty, put out socks and tie and underwear. All ready, you understand, in case there was going to be one of those rushed jobs at the end. My case was all packed and weighed and the label stuck on. I was free to go out and do some work.

I
’d had time to do some thinking about my left hand, apart from the pain I mean. He’d put a pad of plaster in the palm, to stop me bending the fingers, and with a penknife I gouged out a hollow that I hoped would fit the gear-change lever. I went down and tried it, and it worked. The impression was of operating things by remote control, but I missed only one change all the way into Shropshire.

I
planned to drop into Elsa’s first, then my nerve failed and I drove straight on to Crowshaw’s. As it turned out it was just as well, otherwise I’d have missed the blackeye.

This
time Drover was in the yard. He was now in his sixties, looking somewhat grizzled and stockier, but with the same bright twinkle in his eye. I made myself known, and the old devil actually remembered me.

‘
You drove for Mr Crowshaw,’ he said.

Sharp,
he was. Those eyes missed nothing.

‘
Mr Crowshaw’s down in the village,’ he told me.

And
he’d obviously taken the Land Rover. ‘That thing out of order, then?’ I asked. I meant the Jag.

He
laughed. ‘It runs. But the body’s about falling off. Mr Crowshaw’s always hitting gateposts.’

We
talked about the weather, and laughed about those terrible searches in the mud.

‘
Did you get many sightseers?’ I asked. ‘After the trial.’

‘
We did that. But Mr Crowshaw said keep ‘em off. Every last one of them.’

‘
Which was after he’d bought it?’

‘
He told me that before.’

I
could see the Land Rover buzzing up the drive. ‘And you were already taking orders from him?’

‘
He said he was buying the place.’

Crowshaw
drove into the yard. He missed the gatepost. When he got down I could see he was still wearing the same clothes. He nodded to Drover and said I might as well come in. With some reluctance. I followed him.

‘
You’re soon back,’ he said.

‘
Things develop.’

‘
I can’t say I’m really surprised to see you.’

The
dogs nuzzled their way in from what I knew was the kitchen and he absently ran his hand around their ears. ‘Sit down. If you’re not in a hurry.’

‘
No hurry.’ I sat down. The setter brought his ears to me. ‘Why did you expect me?’

He
shrugged. Something had happened to him. There was a firmer line to his shoulders and his eyes were more level, if that was possible. ‘You’ll have spotted a few points, and you’ve had time to think them over.’

‘
Nothing that would help the widow, though,’ I said. ‘The widow?’ He gave a small smile. ‘Are we still talking about Myra Gaines?’

‘
Mrs Gaines—it’s Finn now—wasn’t my client.’

‘
Of course not.’ He turned away from me and surveyed his domain through the long, low window. ‘Young Hutchinson.’

‘
He was here?’

‘
As you very well know.’

‘
But you didn’t mention it,’ I probed.

‘
Why should I? You wanted the background to the case, and I gave it you. But Paul Hutchinson’s got nothing to do with that case.’

‘
Had,’ I corrected. ‘In the past. He’s dead.’

I
hadn’t planned it as a shock remark, so I wasn’t disappointed. He merely inclined his head. ‘That young chap?’

‘
An accident.’

‘
Ah… yes.’ He shook it off.

‘
But his father—’

‘
But you say it helped,’ he cut in. ‘What I told you.’

Paul
must have come to see Crowshaw about his father, yet Crowshaw chose to ignore it.

‘
It was very helpful. I’d been wondering how Myra Gaines could have found herself marrying somebody like Carter Finn.’

‘
That
Finn?’ Crowshaw was startled. He’d have known Finn well enough.

‘
That one. But now I understand it. You gave me a very clear picture of her. Demanded attention. She still does. She needed a man who would look at her and see her, and be prepared to be demonstrative about it. Finn does that. She’s moving in surroundings where she can act the part to her heart’s content, and there’s always Finn there to surround her with a warning screen. And he’s the type to enforce it. She loves it. You can see her basking in it.’

‘
Yes, she would,’ he said. He was eyeing me consideringly, wondering how I’d been put off so easily.

‘
There was an incident recently,’ I told him. ‘Somebody gave her a present. Nothing personal about it, but she had to flaunt it under Finn’s nose, and he blew up. I reckon he hasn’t seen the last of that brooch.’

‘
Well… I’m glad I helped.’

‘
Yes,’ I said. ‘It’s a pity you’re not doing so now.’

‘
You’re not really allowing me to say much.’

‘
Then I’ll sit back.’ I sat back. ‘And you can tell me all about young Hutchinson.’

He
at last took the seat opposite me. ‘Paul Hutchinson came to see me. He wanted to discuss his father.’

‘
It was all he could do. Who else could he go to? Did he show you his father’s letter?’

‘
He did.’ Crowshaw knotted his hands together. ‘I had to listen to the full story. It was most distressing.’

‘
It would be,’ I sympathised. ‘I take it you explained why you had him dismissed.’

‘
I didn’t have him dismissed,’ he said sharply. ‘I merely put in a report.’

‘
Which wasn’t very helpful to Hutchinson senior?’

‘
I could only tell the truth.’

‘
That he’d missed the gun? I’d have expected that to attract a reprimand, at the most.’

He
sighed at my ignorance. ‘It was not part of my duties to deicide what was to be done with him. Besides, there were other things. He wasn’t exactly a man we could be proud of.’ He hesitated. ‘Other considerations, too.’

I
’d been wondering when we’d come to the other considerations. ‘Which I wouldn’t know?’ I waited. Nothing happened. ‘And which you’re not prepared to discuss?’

‘
I was merely trying to decide how best to put it. You’ll recall that there was a considerable amount of publicity…’

‘
Damn it all, he never stood a chance—’

‘
But you’re wrong. Behind the scenes, I can tell you now, there was a great deal of agitation from the Home Secretary. As you say, the psychological impact of that second gun being found in such a blaze of publicity was very adverse to Gaines’s chance of acquittal. It was almost impossible to swear-in an unbiased jury. It came to the point where the Home Secretary nearly recommended a pardon, simply because he felt that the trial might not have been fair.’

‘
But he didn’t.’

‘
Simply because Gaines was so obviously guilty. His guilt was never in doubt, only the evidence. But you can imagine that there were a number of very warm communications from the Home Office.’ He gave a sour smile. ‘And all this, you understand, because that gun was missed on the first search.’

I
could imagine the rumblings of fury in the high corridors. Somebody had to pay. ‘But surely you read that suicide letter. He did his best.’

‘
Not good enough.’

‘
Oh, come on. This was a letter he was writing to his son, just before he died. The one thing he wanted to get across was that he’d searched that blasted cow byre, and searched it well.’

Crowshaw
moved his hand impatiently and looked beyond my right ear. ‘He’d got an obsession.’

‘
It followed him all his life. This thing.’

I
jumped to my feet. ‘If you can’t argue, come outside a minute.’

‘
We can talk in here,’ he said stubbornly.

‘
Come outside. I want to show you something.’

He
got to his feet reluctantly. ‘I don’t see the point.’

‘
You will.’

I
got him out into the yard and over to the cow byre. Drover and the pick-up were gone. We stood where the sliding doors were still four feet open, where Andy Paterson’s life had ended.

‘
Look in there,’ I said. ‘Go on, have a good look.’

‘
I’m not sure I like your tone.’

‘
Never mind my tone. Just look how dark it is. D’you think it was less dark the day Hutchinson searched it?’

‘
One’s eyes get used to it.’

‘
All right. Have your eyes got used to it enough to see the straw on the floor? There was straw then. Fresh straw—hay—whatever it was. Much like now. Agreed?’

I
was determined to get an admission out of him. Just one. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I suppose it would have been.’

‘
And in his letter Hutchinson said he found three empty shell cases. Was that true?’

‘
True enough.’

‘
Brass shell cases,’ I said angrily. ‘Darned near the colour of straw. Yet in that light, in straw and mud and manure, he found three shell cases for you. And you say he didn’t search it well! You’ve got the utter nerve to stand there and say he didn’t do a good job.’

He
looked into the murky vastness of its interior. His voice was low. ‘And yet he missed the gun.’

‘
The second search dug it out of here,’ I agreed. ‘But that doesn’t mean it was here for Hutchinson to miss, the first time.’

‘
You don’t know what you’re saying.’

‘
Then why didn’t you trace it back?’ I demanded.

‘
There seemed no point—’

‘
No point! Of course there was a bloody point. You didn’t trace it because you already knew damn well where it’d come from, that’s why. Hutchinson didn’t miss it, because it wasn’t there to be missed. And it wasn’t there, because you put it there yourself after the first search.’

He
gave one bark of impatience, whirled on his heel, and marched back into the house, with me following slowly behind. I paused in the entrance to his living-room, one hand on the door frame, and watched him. He was filling a pipe with short, angry jabs of his forefinger.