Scaring Crows (19 page)

‘And everything else so far has turned out negative,' she said. ‘There's no sign of Ruthie Summers. The prints on the gun are all smeared but they're family all right and the photographs we've found of Ruthie bear her prints and her brother's only. No one else's.'

But one photograph was still missing. And was it Titus Mothershaw's fingers which rested on the missing girl's shoulder?

‘There's something else I've heard,' Colclough said slowly. ‘I keep hearing talk about Jack Summers. Not right in the head, could fly off the handle. Unpredictable. Is it true?'

‘Jack Summers had an accident as a baby,' Joanna said reluctantly. ‘At post mortem Matthew could see the damage quite clearly. He fell from a pushchair ...'

Unbidden the phrase wandered into her mind. Did he fall or was he pushed? Had Ruthie's sweet angel face concealed a devious and malicious character?

‘... Jack Summers
was
strange and unpredictable. That's true. He needed direction but he worked hard enough on the farm.'

‘Was he violent?'

‘No recorded assaults on other
people
,' Joanna said cautiously, ‘but he kicked a neighbouring farmer's dog so hard the animal had to be put down. And he set fire to things.'

Even as she spoke she felt disloyal. Jack Summers was not under investigation. He had been murdered. He was a victim. So why did she keep picturing the Tree Man's face when the light caught it from the left to show a determined viciousness?

‘Forensics found a rug which had been drenched in accelerants and lit,' she said reluctantly.

‘And was that the rug Aaron Summers' body was found lying across?'

Colclough did this, pretended to be ignorant of the facts. And then when you felt you had to spell out everything ... everything... he would trot out some seemingly insignificant detail that proved he knew the case. Knew it back to front, forwards and backwards. He could trip the unwary up.

‘Yes, sir.'

‘And what about this artist fellow?'

‘Sir?'

‘The sculptor who lived in that derelict windmill sort of place in the wood. What sort of contact did he have with the family?'

‘Not much ...'

‘I suppose he was friendly with the farmer's daughter too.'

‘He
knew
her.' she said. ‘He's admitted to nothing more.'

Mentally she was still cursing Colclough's thirst for detailed knowledge so early on in the case. And it proved to her how little she knew about
anybody
.

They both glanced across at the board. The photos of Ruthie had been blown up. Her face stared out at them dumbly. Mothershaw's hand was clearly visible, resting on her shoulder. Colclough's eyes seemed to stick on the hand.

He knew.

‘I'd be very suspicious of this sculptor fellow, Piercy. Artists, crimes of passion. Strangers in their midst. You know what havoc townies can cause in these rural communities.'

She almost laughed. ‘I can't see him pulling the trigger, sir.'

Colclough's eyes bored holes into her. ‘Like him, do you, Piercy?'

She shifted uncomfortably. ‘I don't think he's guilty although I agree with you that he probably is not unconnected.'

‘What the hell do you mean, not unconnected?'

‘I don't know, sir. I simply feel that his presence could have been the catalyst for subsequent events.'

But she did know. She had put her finger on the throbbing pulse of the case. Colclough was right. Strangers could cause havoc in isolated rural communities, like this.

Colclough was still studying her. ‘And relationships within the family?'

‘Good – by all accounts. Brother and sister were devoted.'

‘And father and daughter?'

‘I've heard no one say anything to the contrary. They seem to have been a close-knit family. There has been no suggestion that there was anything
within
the family that led to the shootings.'

‘So what did?'

Joanna had no answer.

Quite abruptly Colclough looked bored, hot, ready to leave.

‘Check the whole thing out, Piercy. That's my advice. Check everything. And don't trust people.'

She thanked him for the advice.

‘Oh – and all leave is cancelled until further notice.'

‘Yes, sir.'

Mentally her heart gave a little skip. She had the perfect excuse for seeing nothing of Miss Eloise. The child could have her father all to herself until the case was solved or scaled down. But the nasty, nagging little voice refused to remain silent. ‘You won't be able to avoid Eloise when you and Matthew are living together. She will be there when you wake up in the morning, when you return home from work at night. She will be there if you have to visit the bathroom in the middle of the night. And if she can't sleep one night Matthew will leave your bed and go to his daughter.'

It was a future she was reluctant to face.

8.30 a.m.

She watched Mike's car turn around in the yard before approaching him and sticking her head in through the window. ‘Congratulations,' she said. ‘You've just managed to miss Colclough.'

He climbed out and locked the door. ‘And what did he think?'

‘Not very impressed so far. I think he thinks we're being a bit slow.'

Never at his best first thing in the morning Mike grunted.

Inside the Incident Room the telephone was ringing. Joanna picked it up. ‘Are we ready to tackle Shackleton?' she asked. ‘Because he wants to make a statement.'

Mike's eyes gleamed. ‘Where is he?'

‘At the station.'

‘Tell them to give us twenty minutes to get down there,' he said, ‘and a long, blank tape.'

They found Shackleton in the waiting room. He stood up nervously as they entered. He had lost weight since they had last seen him. And he looked as though he hadn't slept much either.

‘Have you found out anything yet?'

Joanna felt some sympathy for the man. He had known the family well. She had not. Hers was not an emotional involvement in the case but a professional one. She had often considered the painful role for relatives and friends in murder cases. And judging by the raw grief in Dave Shackleton's face he was still suffering.

They led him into an interview room and switched on the tape.

He began talking straight away. ‘Have you not found Ruthie?'

She studied his open, sunburnt face and answered evasively. ‘Nothing definite. But our investigations have turned up various relevant facts.' It was time to play rough. ‘Facts we're certain will have a bearing on the case. For instance, Mr Shackleton, why didn't you tell us you were having a relationship with Ruthie?'

He flushed a deep, embarrassed red. ‘I weren't,' he said. ‘I mean – I was fond of her. Really fond of her. I'm not denying that. I did like her a lot. But she weren't interested in me.'

‘Not ever?'

Shackleton looked even more uncomfortable.

Joanna picked up the thread. ‘So she
was
interested in you – until someone else came along.'

‘No, no,' he protested. ‘It weren't like that. There was no one else.' There was a short pause while he thought. ‘I'm sure. I'm sure. It were Jack.'

Korpanski pounced on his words like a cat on a mouse. ‘Are you suggesting she was having an incestuous relationship with her own brother?'

‘N-No ...' Shackleton stammered. ‘It-it-I-I didn't mean that.'

‘So what did you mean?'

He turned to Joanna gratefully. ‘Having to watch him all the time. He was getting worse, you see. More violent. More difficult for Ruthie to manage. She weren't free.'

‘To marry you? Are you suggesting that Jack Summers was a bar to you marrying his sister?' The cobra in Mike's voice would have paralysed a harder, tougher man than Shackleton.

‘No – No.'

‘You would have liked to have married Ruthie, wouldn't you, Shackleton? Nice farm, Hardacre. Worth a bit. And she was a pretty girl.'

‘I had no designs.'

‘So was it
your
baby she was carrying?'

Shackleton looked astounded. ‘Ruthie...? Ruthie ...? A baby?' He dropped his face into his hands. ‘I never knew,' he said, hugging his arms. ‘I never knew. I – loved Ruthie. We all did. She was light as thistledown, graceful as a flower. You don't understand, you police. She was lovely, beautiful. Good. And gentle. If you had seen her tending those animals you would know.'

Again that image, a girl, herding cows, singing ... singing. Shooting ... Shooting?

‘And she had the most terrible conscience about Jack. Knew it was her fault he was like he was. Blamed herself. Never stopped blaming herself.'

And Shackleton
still
didn't realize it. He had had the perfect motive for wanting to wipe Jack Summers off the face of the earth and thus free Rapunzel from her castle.

The two police officers exchanged glances.

‘You'd better tell us everything, Shackleton,' Joanna said. ‘Everything you know.'

And the questions became even more direct.

‘When did you last see Ruth Summers?'

Shackleton licked dry lips. ‘I don't know. About a month.'

Mike towered over him. ‘Think.'

‘Middle of June.'

‘Didn't you think it strange that the girl had vanished?'

Again Shackleton's eyes held that haunted, hunted look. ‘Yes,' he said finally. ‘I did. I thought it was very peculiar. Because Ruthie was always there.'

‘Did you ask her father and brother what had happened to her?'

Shackleton nodded and Joanna had to ask him to speak into the tape recorder, which elicited a soft ‘yes'.

‘And what did they say?'

‘Silly things. They'd say she was out the back when I knew she weren't. Or they'd say she'd gone shopping when the Landrover was parked up. They were lying.'

Joanna gave Mike another swift glance. So Aaron and Jack had tried to cover up Ruthie's absence. Why? And where had she been? Missing for weeks
before
the murders.

There had to be a connection.

They pressed Shackleton for more.

‘I been visiting that farm for fifteen years,' Shackleton said. ‘And there
was
something unusual going on. But I didn't know what. How could I? They didn't confide in me. They shut me out.'

‘Did you ever attend the local cattle market?'

‘Sometimes. Occasionally. If my round was finished early I'd go along, out of interest, see what the animals was fetching.'

Mike bent over him. ‘It must have been quite a pipe dream for you,' he said, ‘thinking that one day, if you played your cards right, you might even own your own farm, buy and sell your own animals.'

Shackleton shifted uncomfortably on the hard chair.

‘When did you last go to market?'

‘Middle of June.'

‘Do you mean June 10th or June 17th?'

‘I can't be sure. One or the other.'

‘And did you see Ruthie then?'

Shackleton thought for a moment. ‘No,' he said. ‘No. She weren't there.'

‘And the week before that?'

Shackleton smiled. The memory must have been conjured up. ‘I remember now,' he said. ‘I saw her June 10th. Because she were teasing me about it being my birthday a couple of days later. Said she'd keep me some eggs.'

Joanna nibbled her thumbnail. Those bloody eggs again.

‘And the following week?'

Again Shackleton needed to think about it. ‘No,' he said. ‘She weren't there.'

‘Thank you. Now tell me about Martin Pinkers and the missing cows.'

Shackleton flushed. ‘We had no proof,' he said. ‘I can't point the finger when I don't know.'

‘But Aaron Summers thought Pinkers had taken the bull. He went there.'

Shackleton ran his fingers through his springy dark hair. ‘And that was a disaster,' he said.

‘Why?' Mike was playing the innocent.

Shackleton looked from one to the other uneasily.

Joanna smiled. ‘Because Pinkers threatened them with a gun, didn't he?'

Shackleton looked relieved. ‘Yes,' he said.

‘And then a few months later both Aaron and Jack are found shot.'

Shackleton said nothing.

‘Do you think Pinkers carried out his threat?'

Dave Shackleton looked confused. ‘I did wonder,' he began. ‘But I
went
there, didn't I? I went there to tell him about the shootings and to use his phone. I
can't
have thought he did it, can I? Or I wouldn't have gone.' He was looking to Joanna for reassurance. But she couldn't give it to him. Instead she let the silence grow. Sometimes silence elicited more facts than questions. Silence was uncomfortable. People would speak to break it.

So she let the silence hover for a couple of minutes while both she and Mike stared at Shackleton. Then suddenly she put her arms on the desk and leant forward. ‘Now tell me about Tuesday morning,' she said quietly.

Shackleton swallowed. ‘I was doing my round,' he said slowly, ‘as I do every morning. I collect the milk from four farms. Hardacre was the third. I always leave Fallowfield until last.' He grimaced. ‘Pinkers can be awful late with the milking. I often have to wait for him to finish.'

‘Tell us about the four farms.'

‘Firstly I call at Wheatsheaf,' Shackleton said. ‘That's farther out on the Buxton road. Then secondly I go to the Rowans' place.'

Joanna interrupted. ‘Did you see Mr Rowan that morning?'

‘Not him.' Shackleton gave a shrug. ‘He has all sorts of people to do his work for him. Doesn't like getting his hands dirty. Or his poncie shirts.'

‘Bit of a ladies' man?' Mike put in.