A Willing Victim (40 page)

‘So,’ said Ballard, when Stratton had finished, ‘do you believe Roth, or Miss Kirkland?’

‘I’m not sure I believe either of them. And I’m not inclined to believe what Mary/Ananda told Roth about Billy dying and then discovering she was pregnant, either.’

‘Does seem a bit unlikely. I mean, Mrs Curtin didn’t say anything about Billy being ill when she took him. I suppose it might have come on suddenly, but all the same … Do you think Miss Kirkland was lying about it?’

‘No, I don’t. She was far too specific about it – much more than when she was talking about what Mary/Ananda had said about Lloyd and Aylett, when she claimed she couldn’t hear properly. She said Billy was buried at Hasketon, so I’ve asked Parsons to check up on it.’

‘That reminds me,’ said Ballard, ‘we didn’t speak to Dunning, did we? We could go and do that now – he’s just outside Lincott.’ He squinted at his watch. ‘It’s just gone half past six. Bit early for him to be prowling round the woods, I’d have thought, so we’d probably catch him.’

‘Sure you’re feeling up to it? I mean, if you want to go home, I could—’

‘Not likely,’ said Ballard. ‘Quite apart from anything else, I’ll get a royal bollocking from Pauline when she sees the state of me, and I’d like to put that off as long as possible.’

‘Well,’ said Stratton, as they pulled up in front of a tumbledown cottage, with light shining from its uncurtained windows, ‘someone’s in, at any rate.’

As they walked through the muddy, cratered garden, past the mangled remains of bicycle frames and prams and a single, stunted currant bush, six or seven children, tattered and shameless, piled out of the front door and paused for a second to stare at the pair of them defiantly. Then, as suddenly as if a starting pistol had gone off, they charged, shouting with ferocious energy, towards the looming darkness of the woods.

‘Bloody clear off!’

Stratton, who’d been staring after the children, swung round. A man who he supposed must be Dunning was standing in the doorway. He was small, with the desiccated look of a jockey past his prime, shabby clothes, and fingertips and teeth stained ochre by years of rough tobacco.

‘Sorry, gents. I meant them, not you … Always getting under my feet, they are. What can I do for you?’

‘DI Ballard,’ said Ballard, producing his identification. ‘And this is DI Stratton. We’d like to ask you where you were on the fifth of November, in the afternoon.’

‘Fetching wood for the big bonfire, wasn’t I?’ Dunning sounded defensive. ‘Mr Tynan always lets us help ourselves.’

‘I’m sure he does,’ said Ballard, soothingly. ‘That’s not what we’re here about. We need to ask you if you saw anyone in the wood.’

Dunning thought for a moment, then said, ‘Yes, I did, as it happens. Two of ’em.’

‘Two …?’

‘Women. Smart-looking, they were.’

‘Did you recognise them?’

‘One of ’em, I did. Couldn’t tell you her name, though.’

‘Does she live round here?’

‘Up at the rectory … Or what used to be the rectory.’

‘The Foundation, you mean? Where the vicar used to live?’

‘That’s the one. Funny lot up there now, and she’s one of ’em. Keep ’emselves to ’emselves, but I’ve seen her in the village a fair few times, with the boy who lives there. Very stuck up, she is. Wouldn’t give me the time of day. Not that I tried to talk to her, or the other one – they didn’t know I was there, because I didn’t go close, just saw ’em through the trees.’

‘What does she look like?’ asked Stratton. ‘The one you recognised, I mean.’

‘Smart-looking, I told you. Small, thinnish. Tweeds and a headscarf. That’s what caught my eye. Blue, it was.’

‘What sort of age?’

Dunning’s forehead crinkled up in thought. ‘Fifty or thereabouts, I’d say. Fifty-five, maybe. A good bit older than the other one, at any rate. Sounds like this.’ Screwing up his mouth, Dunning said, ‘How do you do?’ It was a surprisingly good imitation of Miss Kirkland’s flutey voice.

Stratton and Ballard exchanged glances. ‘Know her, do you?’ asked Dunning.

Ignoring this, Stratton asked, ‘You’d be able to identify her, would you?’

Visibly alarmed, Dunning fingered his grubby collar, as if he were imagining it being felt by an official hand, and was starting to say he didn’t know about that when Ballard cut him off. ‘It would be a great help to us, Mr Dunning.’ Staring intently at the poacher, he added, ‘I’ll make sure that PC Parsons remembers it.’

A calculating expression passed across Dunning’s wizened face. ‘I don’t want any trouble, you understand …’

‘We’ll make sure of that, Mr Dunning,’ said Stratton. ‘What about the other one? What did she look like?’

‘Younger, like I said. She had a scarf, too. Flowers or summat. Light-coloured coat, boots. Bit of a looker, from what I could see. It’s her that was killed, isn’t it? I heard about that.’ The thought of reporting it, Stratton thought, clearly hadn’t crossed his mind.

‘Would you be able to recognise her again?’ he asked.

Dunning goggled at him. ‘You mean you want me to—’

‘From a photograph.’

‘Dunno about that. Only saw her from the side, you see, and I never set eyes on her before.’

‘Fair enough. Were either of them carrying anything?’

‘I don’t know about her – couldn’t see – but the other ’un had a bag.’

‘What sort?’

Dunning looked nonplussed. ‘Just an ordinary handbag. What women have.’

Remembering what the pathologist Trickett had said, Stratton thought that, while you certainly couldn’t get a rifle into the average-sized handbag, a pistol was a different matter – if they could just find the bloody thing.

‘What were the women doing when you saw them?’

‘Just walking. Nothing particular.’

‘Talking?’

‘Yes. That is, I heard voices but I never heard what they were saying.’

‘What time was it?’

‘Maybe three o’clock, but I can’t be sure.’ He held up his right wrist to show he wore no watch. ‘Still light, any road.’

‘What was it Miss Kirkland said about knowledge?’ asked Ballard, as they walked back to the car.

‘She said,’ Stratton made a quivering attempt at falsetto, ‘
that ours was knowledge that must be acquired through facts alone.’

‘You’re not half as good as Dunning,’ said Ballard. ‘He had her spot on.’

‘It’s not conclusive though, is it?’ said Stratton. ‘Not enough to hang a case on, at any rate. Assuming that it
was
Mrs Aylett and Miss Kirkland that Dunning saw, because the descriptions certainly fit – all it actually tells us is that Miss Kirkland was the last person to be seen with her.’

‘You could fit a pistol into a handbag,’ said Ballard, who’d obviously been thinking along the same lines as he had. ‘It’s probably at the bottom of the lake by now.’

‘And Mrs Aylett’s bag with it. Assuming she had one, of course.’

‘I was thinking about that. Mrs Curtin said that she’d never have left home without it. She told me they had the same bag – bought them together. She showed me hers. A crocodile thing with a gold clasp – or some sort of metal, anyway.’

‘You know,’ said Stratton thoughtfully, ‘Michael told me that Miss Kirkland took him to see the bonfire on the green. She could have disposed of Mrs Aylett’s bag then.’

‘Bit obvious, a woman wandering about with two handbags then throwing one of them on the fire in front of everybody.’

‘Not necessarily. There’d be a lot of people milling about, chucking on all sorts of rubbish. The clasp wouldn’t burn, would it? Gold would melt, of course, but if it were made of something else, that would still be there. And if there is, we can compare it with Mrs Curtin’s bag.’

‘They’ve probably raked it over pretty thoroughly, but I suppose it might be worth a look. We can do it tomorrow. No point trying to mess about with torches now – if it’s there, it isn’t going anywhere, and we’d be bound to miss it in the dark.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Stratton. ‘What about a drink, then – bit of Dutch courage before you face Pauline? You look as if you could do with one, and I could certainly use a pick-me-up.’

The saloon bar of the George and Dragon was empty but for a couple of farmers arguing about myxomatosis. ‘Put your money away,’ said Stratton, as they waited for the landlord to come through from the kitchen. ‘I’m buying. You’re the hero of the hour, and all that.’

‘I say, thanks most awfully.’ Ballard affected a toff’s bray to hide his embarrassment.

When Denton appeared, Stratton, who’d completely forgotten the events of the morning, found himself on tenterhooks. All it needed was an innuendo about him being out the previous night … He made a point of staring at the man with meaningful intensity as he ordered their pints, but apart from a sly smile and a wink as he handed over the change, Denton gave no sign of what he’d surmised.

‘Well, cheers,’ said Ballard, when they’d settled themselves in a corner by the fire. ‘It’s beginning to look as if we might actually get a result.’

‘Don’t count your chickens,’ said Stratton, fishing his cigarettes out of his pocket and offering the packet to Ballard. ‘We thought that before, didn’t we – about Billy – and look what happened.’

‘That’s true. Roth was happy enough to string us along, wasn’t he? Do you think he’s behind the whole thing?’

‘What, the evil mastermind? No, I don’t. He may be wrong-headed, but he’s not …
malignant
. The Foundation isn’t like … oh, I don’t know … something in one of Tynan’s novels. Worshippers of Satan trying to take over the world. I’m beginning to wonder if – behind all the carry-on – he isn’t as confused as we are. Not that he’d ever admit it, of course.’

‘Perhaps you’re right. Goodness, I’m tired. Tell you the truth, I feel as if an entire rugger team’s been using me as a trampoline.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ said Stratton. ‘Want to call it a night?’

Ballard shook his head. ‘Pauline’ll have a go at me, all right – but, to be honest, that’s not the only reason I’m not keen to get back.’

‘Oh?’

‘It’s the business over the baby. What I told you.’

‘She seemed happy enough to me,’ said Stratton. ‘Not that she’d tell me if she wasn’t, of course,’ he added hastily, ‘but she didn’t seem angry or upset.’

‘She is, though,’ said Ballard. ‘We can’t seem to get away from it. I try to forget about it – the baby, I mean – and a lot of the time I
do
forget about it. Because it doesn’t affect me … you know,
directly
. But sometimes – last night, for example – Pauline behaves as if … Well, if she thinks I might have forgotten about it for a single moment, even when I’m at work, then I must be a monster. And now she’s bringing the Foundation into it—’

‘How do you mean?’ asked Stratton.

‘She’s been going to lectures there. She says they’re “kind” and, what’s more, she can “talk to them”. Apparently I’ve got all the wrong ideas about her. Preconceived ideas, she said. It’s not like her at all – she’s just parroting what she’s heard up there, and it’s all to do with this bloody baby she isn’t having.’ Ballard
finished his drink and said, bleakly, ‘tonight there’ll be more of the same, and if you want the truth, I’m dreading another row.’

Stratton stood up. ‘She won’t miss you just yet. Let me get you another drink.’

‘What, and go home pissed? Because that’s how she’ll see it. Proof that I’m an uncaring bastard and all that.’

‘Just a half, then.’

‘Oh …’ Ballard looked round the pub as if seeking permission from the assorted fixtures and fittings. ‘All right, then. Thanks.’

‘You know,’ said Stratton, who’d had time to think while standing at the bar waiting his turn after some new arrivals, ‘I can see that the divine plan, or whatever you want to call it – that your fate will always be what you deserve – is a lot more attractive, especially to someone in Pauline’s position, than the idea that, however good you are, life is just a series of random incidents with no guarantee of a happy ending.’

Ballard stared down at his glass. ‘It’s a pretty frightening thought, isn’t it? No wonder people look for alternatives. Especially with everything that’s happening at the moment. It doesn’t seem fair, that we went through all that during the war and now our former allies could press a button and wipe us out and there’s fuck all we can do about it.’ He did a bit more staring into his glass, then said, ‘With Pauline, it’s not that I’m not sympathetic, because I am.’ Taking a swig of his drink, he continued, ‘But the way she was talking last night, well … I lost my temper. Not much, but enough. And I said perhaps thinking she
had
to have another baby was a wrong idea, too.’

‘Thing is, though,’ said Stratton, ‘it’s a bit more than that, isn’t it? More than an idea, I mean. Women get so …
set
on it, don’t they? It’s a physical urge. I don’t think it’s something we can really understand.’

‘Well, I’m buggered if I do.’ Ballard looked intently at the bar,
where Denton was pulling a pint for an elderly chap whose hat looked as if it had wilted on his head, and said, ‘I came down this way this morning, about four o’clock. Couldn’t sleep, so I went for a walk. Thought it might help clear my head. Didn’t see your car, though.’

‘Didn’t you?’ Stratton made a conscious effort to keep his voice level. ‘I must have left it around the back.’

Ballard looked him straight in the eye for just long enough for Stratton to realise that he knew this not to be the case, then said, quite neutrally, ‘Yes.’

For a moment, there was the potential for Stratton to return the confidence and tell Ballard about Diana and perhaps even Monica. In a way, he supposed, it was the decent thing – a sort of personal version of buying one’s round – but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, not yet. He could hardly frame it for himself, never mind trying to explain it to anybody else. ‘I remember, now,’ he said, hoping he wasn’t overdoing it. ‘Got a bit of a scare this morning, when I came out and it wasn’t there.’

‘I’ll bet,’ said Ballard. There was no trace of sarcasm in his voice, only agreement, but he was, Stratton thought, disappointed by the lack of trust. He wanted to explain that it wasn’t that at all, but saying this was even less possible than talking about the other things.