Small Town Shock (Some Very English Murders Book 1) (11 page)

“Whose land is all this?”

“That to the left is farmed by Dawson for a massive
agribusiness based the other side of Lincoln. Down to the right … well, that’s
Hart’s land.” Ed’s pace picked up and he shoved his hands into his jacket
pockets. Penny scurried to keep up, choosing to ignore the obvious body
language that he didn’t want to talk any more. Tact? There was a time and a
place for it, and she decided now was not that time.

“Oh yes,” she said innocently. “That poor farmer who died.”

“Poor farmer?” Ed hissed. He didn’t look at her. “
Poor
farmer?
People like that don’t value their place as stewards of the land.
It’s all money, to them. Nothing but profits. Rip up the hedges and grow more
crops. Kill all the wildlife with pesticides and monoculture. Last year, when I
was …” He coughed and stamped hard on the ground. “Before here, I was in a
place where there was a farmer just like him. Destroyed the land, he did.
Fields with no boundaries, crop dusting by aeroplane, hundreds of acres and he
only employed one man because it was so industrialised.”

“Where was that? It sounds awful.”

Ed growled. “Nowhere. There’s the pub up ahead.” He surged in
front of her, trying to shake her off.

Penny thought, how rude! It’s not just me that needs to
learn some politeness. She was determined not to let him get away from her. She
stretched her legs to catch him up, but misjudged the ragged edge of the road
where it met the scrubby grass, and her left ankle turned without warning,
sending her tumbling to the ground with a stifled cry. She crumpled as she
fell, landing on her bottom and her hip, but managed to catch her upper body
with her outstretched arm.

“Ouch! Oh, blazes–”

Ed half-turned his head for a moment, but he kept on going,
not even slowing down. Sheila and another woman were at her side instantly,
leaning over her, and the rest of the group that were coming up behind soon
gathered around. Everyone was asking if she was okay.

“My ankle…” It was red hot with bright pain.

Someone, a random man, pushed forward and knelt down to
probe her leg. “Let’s get you to the pub, and strap you up,” he said. “There’s
no bone sticking out and you probably won’t die. Likely it’s a strain. Come on,
folks.”

She was lifted up by the kindness and strength of strangers
and they carried her aloft to the pub. There was no sign of Ed ahead of them.

“He’ll have gone to organise some ice,” Sheila said
charitably, and to Penny’s surprise, when they got to the pub she saw that
Sheila was proved to be correct.

She became the centre of attention in the cosy village pub,
and she didn’t particularly like it. It was one of those “I’m too English for
my own good” places with a general theme of polished dark wood and horse
brasses. She was installed on a padded bench seat, all deep red velour, and
generally fussed over. Her sandwiches lay uneaten in her small rucksack, and
instead everyone ordered enormous plates of chips with three token lettuce
leaves called “salad” and a lot of different sauces.

One of the ramblers, the man who had probed her ankle when
she’d first fallen, declared he had some medical knowledge and the others
didn’t stop him or correct him, so Penny had to trust it was okay to let him
take her boot off and have a good feel. He declared it thoroughly sprained and
prescribed ice, elevation and rest.

It was clear she wouldn’t be continuing on the walk.

“Just let me call a taxi,” she said but Sheila was already
on the phone to her husband, insisting that he drag himself away from the
television. She ordered him to drive over and collect them both. “He can catch
up with the sport anytime. My new boots are giving me blisters anyway,” she
said to Penny. “You’re a wonderful excuse for me to go home.”

It was probably a lie but the deed was done. Penny had no
choice but to sit in state, or at least sit in
a
state, her leg up on a
stool, while people ferried drinks to her and reminisced about their own
walking injuries. The tales grew more and more gruesome as the extended lunch
hour dragged on. Penny remembered a time in Bolivia when she’d witnessed
someone fracture an ankle. She kept it to herself. Her own ankle pain was
putting her in a slightly bad mood.

Sheila’s husband turned out to be a man as small and round
as she was, and though he glowered at his wife, he smiled warmly to Penny. The
ramblers helped her out to the battered blue Volvo in the car park, and she was
waved off as if she had been their long-lost friend.

“Now then,” Sheila said, patting her knee. They were both
sitting in the back. “Have you got everything you need? Shall we call for some
milk? Aspirin? Vodka? Bread? Gin? I’d recommend gin, personally. Do you want
any…”

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” In truth she was weary, and her ankle
was throbbing, and she simply wanted a hot bath and some painkillers. And maybe
a gin and tonic, later on.

Sheila’s husband helped her from the car to her front door;
they could hear Kali attempting to bite her way through the wood and she winced
in embarrassment. Sheila reminded her of Kevin’s help, and she promised to look
after herself and the dog. The leave-taking was protracted and Penny was
silently screaming for them to go.

Yet when she flopped down on her sofa in relief, painkillers
ready and a gin on the table, a switch flicked on in her head. Now she was
alone, Kali leaning against her, she could properly think about what she’d
learned on the walk – apart from the lesson that she needed to take more care.

She reached out for her mobile phone and called Cath.

* * * *

“No, you’re not disturbing me. The kids are playing
computer games and I’m just looking at some gardening magazines,” Cath said.

“Are you a keen gardener?” Penny thought about her
increasingly muddy back yard, with added holes courtesy of the dog.

“I’m a total dreamer, nothing more. I’ve got kids,
remember. I fantasise about decking. What I’ve got is a wasteland and a broken
football goal. Anyway, what can I do for you?”

“I’ve got news about the case. I’m sure it’s Edwin
Montgomery. He’s the murderer.”

There was a silence. Penny waited, scratching behind Kali’s
ear. The dog leaned harder and began to make a strange snoring noise, but with
her eyes half-open.

Finally, Cath said, “You’re talking about the David Hart
situation, aren’t you? I may have spoken unwisely when you came to the party.
Alcohol … is not to be trusted.”

“No, not at all. I pressed you on it. It was my fault. But I
feel I am involved, somehow. I did find the body, didn’t I?”

“That does
not
make you involved.”

“It was horrible. I’ve never seen a dead body before.
Except that guy in Ruislip who was stuck in a cardboard box but that probably
doesn’t count. I want closure. Or something. Anyway, listen.” She could hear
herself sounding almost rude but she was so keen to get her thoughts out in the
open. “I’ve worked it out. Ed’s a prime suspect. I’ve met him twice now. He was
really angry about landowners like David Hart. I mean, he sounded furious. I
think I upset him a bit. But there’s more. He’s also good with electrical
stuff, you see. It could be him! It
is
him!”

“Oh, Penny. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but
honestly, although he was electrocuted, it can’t have been the fence. It was a
temporary one that ran off some batteries, remember? They’ve been down and
checked and everything. It’s confirmed. The forensics boffins have
categorically stated that the fence is absolutely fine and did not have the
voltage, or the amperage, or the current, or whatever it is, to kill a man.
They said something about the “volts that jolts, the mills that kills”, and
then laughed, and said it wasn’t the fence.”

Penny pouted to herself. “Edwin Montgomery has a major
grudge, though. Even if he didn’t tamper with the fence. You said before that
he
had
been electrocuted. So maybe Ed had some way of doing that…”

“You do know that electricians don’t carry the electricity
around with them, don’t you?”

Ouch. Penny closed her eyes briefly and before she could
reply, Cath continued, saying hastily, “I’m sorry. That was uncalled-for. I’m
just concerned that you’re getting too … involved. You can leave it to the
professionals. To us.”

Penny’s ankle throbbed. Kali made a growling sound but her
face was relaxed and her tail wagged. Maybe it was the painkillers, but Penny
felt a laugh bubbling up inside her at the image of an electrician supplying
his own power out of a toolbox – tadaah! – like a superhero, lightning bolts
springing out when he opened the lid. “No, I did call for it, and you’re right,
and it’s funny. I’m sorry. I have had a bad day. And a good one, in ways. Oh
goodness. I’m getting delirious. Hang on.” She took a deep breath. She hadn’t
had
that
many painkillers. Maybe it was the gin, too. “Right. You can’t
deny that Ed had a motive, though, right?”

Cath tutted but it did sound as if she were smiling. “Maybe
he did. We shouldn’t even be talking about this. So yeah, he did have motive.
And I’m only saying this to get you to stop meddling but we did call him in for
questioning.”

“You arrested him! Why is he still out and about then?”

“No, he was not arrested. He was on the list of suspects so
they called him in to ask some questions, and he came voluntarily. He …” Cath
dropped her voice. “He has a record for industrial sabotage, which sounds very
fancy but it could just be as simply as cutting a hole in a fence.”

“There, you see! Motive and previous form!” Penny sat bolt
upright, startling Kali who slid to the floor with a thump and remained there,
grumbling.

“Yes. And no. Mostly, no. The inspector let him go, and
said he was no longer to be considered as part of the investigation. I was in
the office. Open plan offices are great. Someone queried it and he was told to
shut up and not mention it again.”

“Wow. What does that mean?” It sounded deliciously dodgy to
Penny.

“I don’t know. Probably nothing. The main thing is, Penny,
that Edwin Montgomery is not a suspect in this case. He is innocent.”

“But–”

“I’ve got to go. One of the kids is
alleged
to have
jammed the other kid in a cupboard. I don’t believe it. But I’ve got to go… Sorry.
And look, please, you’re going to get into bother if you focus on this.
We’ll
catch the killer. You don’t need to worry. It looks like a targeted attack, not
some random indiscriminate murder. Upper Glenfield is quite safe.”

“I’m not–”

There was muffled shouting on the other end of the line.
Cath hollered something at her children then returned to the conversation.
“Look after yourself. Maybe we could do coffee some time? Wait – no! Put that
down! Put
him
down. Look, I’ve got to…”

“Yes, yes, of course. Thanks.”

Penny let her mobile drop to the cushion beside her. So,
not only was Ed not a suspect, he was not to be thought about, spoken about or
anything?

There was something
very
strange going on in Upper Glenfield.

Penny groaned. She was lying in her warm bed, and there was
the disconcerting sound of heavy breathing right by her ear, and she knew when
she opened her eyes, she’d stare straight into the brown gaze of an expectant
Rottweiler. The thought was less than comforting.

It was early on Monday morning. Too early, she thought as
she peeped and saw the glowing digits of the alarm clock. But Kali was used to
being walked in the wee small hours. The habit was formed, and Penny knew she’d
get no more rest now that Kali was awake.

She sat up and swung her legs out of bed. She slept in the
smaller of the two bedrooms, because it was at the back of the house and had
open views over grassland down to the river and the fields beyond. The window
was small and she had tended to keep the curtains open, something she would
never have done when living in London. It was nice to see the moon and the
stars, undimmed by the orange light pollution of cities and large towns.

Without thinking, she slammed her feet to the floor. As
soon as her foot hit the carpet, pain flared in her ankle and she knew she had
done something quite bad to her joint the previous day.

Kali was wagging her whole body but when Penny yelped with
pain, trying to stand up, she was immediately at her side, pressing her nose to
Penny’s hand in concern, and licking her lips.

“I don’t think you can carry me, but bless you,” Penny
muttered. She sat back on the bed again and looked at the offending joint. It
was purple and swollen.

“Ugh.” She let loose a swear word, then felt irrationally
embarrassed that the dog had heard her, and apologised, then felt even more
daft that she had just said sorry to an animal that didn’t understand English,
swearing or otherwise.

Coffee and more painkillers. That was what she needed.

By slow degrees, and by hanging on to furniture and walls
and door frames and the bannisters, she managed to inch her way down the stairs
to the kitchen, where she collapsed into a chair and wished she’d got some
super-intelligent support dog that could somehow make breakfast for her.

It was no use. She was going to have to get to the doctor’s
surgery.

* * * *

There was no way she could walk anywhere. She was worried
about simply getting to the bathroom. She didn’t think she could drive, either,
but she had to try, squealing with pain every time she had to depress the
clutch to change gear. She gave up by second gear, and revved the car noisily
down River Street, bunny-hopped over the crossroads, and lurched along the High
Street to where the small surgery lay on the right hand side, just past the
industrial estate.