Murder in the Afternoon (24 page)

‘Well, yes, they would …’

‘With two stalwart and time-tested policemen walking six to ten yards behind them. He was sorry that had been stopped. He was sorry that women were finally given powers of arrest. He thought it a mistake that there was now a woman in CID.’

‘Is there really?’

‘Yes. One. Among three thousand men. I met her. She’s very plucky and has a lot of commonsense. But I don’t know how she puts up with it. Marcus and I got on really well except when it came to any matter of consequence whatever, and then we disagreed.’

‘But opposites attract, look at me and your father.’

‘Not this opposite. It’s too late for me to change my spots. And now he’s up here to look into something that I’ve learned a little about, and talked to Dad about, I’m sure that … oh never mind.’

‘Have a scone.’

I took a scone. Scones can be a bit claggy. I don’t really like them, but it had never before occurred to me to refuse, any more than one would stay seated in church when everyone else stands or kneels.

‘I don’t like scones.’

Mother poured more tea. ‘Calm down, dear. Nothing is so important that you should become upset about it. I’m reading a book by Helena Blavatsky. I can hardly follow it but it does give some extraordinary perspectives. There are so many other philosophies. Would you like to hear what I make of it so far?’

‘Not just now.’

‘So the crux of it is this,’ she said. ‘You want to stay on this case and your father and Marcus have squeezed you out.’

She surprised me with how quickly she picked up on what I had not said.

‘Yes.’

‘Well, in my humble opinion – and of course I know nothing – I think it would be very foolish of the murder squad and the West Riding Constabulary and …’

‘Special Branch …’

‘… and Special Branch to exclude you. And after all, this Mary Jane is your sister, Kate. Visiting relatives isn’t yet against the law, is it?’

‘No it’s not.’

My mother’s revolutionary stance towards the British establishment did not entirely surprise me. I believe I get my directness from her, and my deviousness from Dad.

‘Thank you, Mother. That’s just what I wanted to hear. And Mother, if a letter is delivered here for a P L Wright, Esquire, would you please open it, and let me know straightaway?’

Before I had time to explain, the telephone rang.

‘Oh leave it, Kate. It’ll be Martha Graham. The woman is bridge mad. I told her I’m not playing today.’

‘I best answer. If she hears me, she’ll know that you’re otherwise engaged.’ I picked up the telephone. ‘Hood residence.’

‘Hello, Kate.’ It was Marcus. ‘I’m in Great Applewick. We’ve found something. I wonder whether you’d like to come out here?’

Would I like to come? Try and keep me away. ‘Possibly,’ I said. Better not seem too keen.

‘Do you need me to send a car?’

If they had found something, that something could only be a body. Ethan Armstrong’s body.

On arriving in Great Applewick, I could not have answered a single question about the journey from Wakefield; landmarks, traffic policemen, other motors, bikes, or my own state of mind. Only driving along Nether Edge, passing first one cottage and then another, negotiating the bend in the road, did I blink into awareness like a subject roused from a trance. The sense of dread settled somewhere around my jaw and sent waves of anxiety through my body, tautening every nerve.

As soon as Mary Jane’s cottage came into view, I noticed the constable posted at the door. I parked in what was by now my usual place, by the dry-stone wall opposite Mary Jane’s cottage. The constable watched me climb from the motor. He waited until I stood beside him.

‘You can’t go in there, madam.’

‘I need to speak to Mrs Armstrong.’

He shook his head. ‘No one is to pass the threshold.’

I looked beyond him through the window. A woman I did not recognise was seated at the table, her back to me.

‘Chief Inspector Charles asked me to call, constable.’

‘You can’t go in,’ he repeated.

‘Where is Chief Inspector Charles?’

‘At the quarry. You won’t be able to go in there neither.’

‘Who is that in the cottage? And where is Mrs Armstrong?’

‘That’s Mrs Sharp sitting with the lady.’ He peered in the window, as if to make certain of his facts. ‘She’s the local police sergeant’s wife.’

Mary Jane was not with her.

‘Where are you going?’ shouted the constable as I disappeared round the back of the cottage.

‘To the lavatory.’

‘You can’t …’

I heard no more as I rushed to the privy and slammed the door shut behind me. It was spotlessly whitewashed and the seat scrubbed clean. Neat string-threaded squares of the
Daily Herald
hung on a nail. I wondered whether Marcus Charles would have that fact reported to him by Sergeant or Mrs Sharp. The Armstrongs wipe their bottoms on a radical newspaper.

When I came out, Mary Jane was at the window.

‘What’s going on?’ I mouthed.

She raised the window and leaned out. ‘Oh it’s all right. They want me to stay indoors so as not to be upset that they’re searching.’ She pulled a face and lowered her voice. ‘Mrs Sharp has kindly come to sit with me. I can’t very well turn her away can I? That inspector was very nice. I came to lie down. I have such a headache, Kate. I can’t be making polite conversation.’

You poor idiot. You’re virtually under arrest, and probably will be by the time day is out
. ‘Where are Harriet and Austin?’

‘Staying at school until the upset at the quarry is over.’

‘What about their grandma?’

Mary Jane pulled an exasperated face. ‘You should hear her snore! We had words and she’s gone home. I’ve promised the kids can visit her on Sunday.’

‘You lie down and rest then,’ I said. ‘I’ll see what’s going on.’

She disappeared from the window. I ladled water from the well bucket, took a drink, and washed my hands.

The constable must have heard our voices. He appeared, face clouded with suspicion.

Slowly, I walked back to my motor.

At the entrance to the quarry, a length of red tape stretched between two portable posts. I popped around to the other side as a uniformed man hurried across to stop me. I got my piece in first. ‘Would you please tell Chief Inspector Charles that Mrs Shackleton is here.’

He would have liked to order me back to the other side of the tape but satisfied himself with an officious, ‘Wait here please, madam.’

An eerie silence lay over the quarry. The mason’s hut was cordoned off – a little late in my view. I strained my eyes to try and make out whether the remnants of the sundial still lay in a heap but could not see because of the contour of the ground.

Beyond the foreman’s hut, the constable approached two men who had their backs to me. I recognized Marcus’s easy stance and his broad shoulders. He turned and acknowledged me, raising his hand in greeting. When he moved towards me, I noticed that the other man held a bloodhound on a leash.

Marcus drew close, his eyes searching out mine, trying to speak without words. Was it sympathy he conveyed?

He held out his hand and took mine, holding it with a
terrible gentleness. ‘Kate. Thank you for coming. I should have sent a car for you. Are you all right?’

‘Marcus, what’s going on?’

As if it wasn’t obvious, as if I didn’t know.

‘I’ll explain.’ He took my arm, to lead me towards the foreman’s hut.

‘You’ll be warmer inside. I’ll have someone take you to the station for a cup of tea.’

‘No, Marcus. I want to see. I want to see what you’re doing.’

He hesitated. ‘We’re just getting started. It took longer than expected because I had to wait for Mr McSnout to be brought. His minder had taken him for a walk on the moors and it was a while before we could get them here.’

‘Mr Mac who?’

‘McSnout’s the number one bloodhound, and McManus his handler.’

I followed his glance. The man Marcus had stood with a moment ago was showing something to the hound. It was Ethan’s cap, the one Harriet had found under the bench in the mason’s hut, and that she had tried to encourage the sheepdog to sniff and pick up the trail. Harriet had the right idea when she harnessed Billy into service, but the wrong dog, covering the wrong terrain.

The bloodhound wagged its tail. Head close to the ground, the dog moved at a speedy pace towards the mason’s hut, the handler following, holding the hound on a long leash.

Two figures emerged from the foreman’s hut to watch.

Marcus glanced at them. ‘We’ve sent the quarry workers home, all but the foreman and his son.’

‘Josiah Turnbull and Raymond.’

‘You’ve met them?’ He did not sound surprised.

‘On Monday.’ Now was not the moment to speak of the bad blood between Turnbull and Ethan Armstrong, or to say that Raymond would take over Ethan’s house and his job. Perhaps Marcus had already found this out. ‘They’re not exactly disinterested,’ was all I said.

We were watching the dog. It reached the mason’s hut.

‘Yes,’ Marcus said, misinterpreting my comment about the Turnbulls’ interest. ‘The older chap’s deeply cut up by the situation. He and Ethan were sparring partners in politics, but respected each other. We may need his help if Mr McSnout finds something of interest.’

Someone, he meant, not something. Ethan Armstrong’s body, he meant.

Turnbull appeared far more subdued than when I had seen him last. He pretended not to notice me, and gazed across the quarry. Raymond stood beside his father. He gave one of those understated Yorkshire greetings – more than a flicker of the eyes if you are close enough to catch it, but less than a full nod. I acknowledged.

The dog did not, as I had expected, move to the lagoon but led its handler further into the quarry, round a bend, out of view.

No one spoke, not Marcus or me, or the Turnbulls, or the constable on sentry duty, or Sergeant Sharp who had appeared from somewhere and stood a few respectful yards from Marcus.

The air hung still. A light fleecy cloud sped by, as if it wanted to be well away from this melancholy scene. The silence crackled.

After what seemed an age, the dog handler reappeared. He raised his arms above his head and moved them three times, forming an x. Marcus reached for my hand, gave the smallest squeeze. He waved to the police photographer
who emerged from the open door of the foreman’s hut. Mr Turnbull cleared his throat and spat in an arc. The photographer took one last long drag on a cigarette, discarded the tab end and ground it with his heel.

My chest heaved. Not enough air reached my lungs. I stood very still, my mouth open for breath like a just-caught fish.

Marcus signalled to the Turnbulls, and to the photographer. Mr Turnbull strode past me, Raymond coming after with a wheelbarrow. In the wheelbarrow were picks and shovels.

Raymond turned to me. ‘It might not be him.’ He tilted the barrow. Pick and shovel slammed against each other. ‘We’ll lift the rocks gentle like, the tools are just in case.’

After speaking to the dog handler, Marcus walked back to me.

‘What is it?’

‘There’s a fall of rocks up at the far end. I’ve said not to begin moving anything until I’m there. We’ll have a photograph first.’

‘I want to see.’

‘No, Kate. This isn’t for your eyes.’

‘If Mary Jane hadn’t come to me, no one would be looking for Ethan Armstrong.’ Without meaning to, I turned and glanced at Sergeant Sharp, who hovered sheepishly, waiting for instructions. ‘Marcus, why did you send for me if I’m not to be part of this?’

‘Because, Kate, I have reason to believe Mary Jane has some awkward questions to answer, and I want you to be with her when I put them to her. You know her better than I do. You’ll know whether she is being truthful. And I want you to know that I’m treating her fairly and justly.’

He was looking not at me but at the dust on his shoes.
You want me to know you are treating her fairly and justly because if I think you do not I shall hold it against you forever. Well yes, you are right about that
.

‘If I’m here for Mary Jane’s sake, then let me be witness to what McSnout has found. Ethan Armstrong was my brother-in-law. Mary Jane will want the truth. And please don’t feel you need to protect me. I was in France during the war, you know that. There can be nothing in this quarry worse than the sights I saw there. The horror lies in imagining, and waiting.’

He nodded. ‘Very well.’

He called to the sergeant. ‘Sharp, would you see that we have a stretcher ready, and bring the doctor along as soon as he arrives?’

The sergeant saluted and went towards the quarry entrance.

I fell into step with Marcus as he walked the dusty track that led past the crushing shed and on to the far end of the quarry where the dog handler and McSnout stood. The hound’s ears trailed the ground as it sniffed at the rocks.