The Windermere Witness (29 page)

Wet had become an intrinsic element to the whole experience. Rain ran down her neck, muddy water seeped through her shoes, her hands were slippery and cold. It had the effect of blurring everything, including her thoughts.

The foursome trotted along to the house and let themselves in without fuss. Simmy took a moment to admire the big square hallway, with fabulous Arts and Crafts tiles and impressive staircase. A house fit for John Ruskin, she thought irrelevantly.

Voices came from a room on the left, and the dominant policeman knocked gently before pushing the door open. Simmy was close behind him, and glimpsed a man lying full length on the floor with something white and red pushed into his face. ‘What’s happening?’ she asked, her voice rather shrill. ‘Who’s that?’ She was still afraid for Ben, she realised. If Ben was hurt, it would obviously be all her fault.

Before she knew it, Pablo had leapt forward and was holding her back. His hands were on her upper arms, in a gentle grip that felt pleasantly protective. ‘It’s all over,’ he said. ‘Everything’s in the open now.’

Bridget pushed through the doorway, scanning the room. ‘What do you mean?’ she shouted. ‘You don’t know. None of you can know.’ She flourished a black object in Pablo’s face. ‘We have to read this, before we know anything.’

Peter and Ben had been standing together near the window, like corralled sheep. They looked drained, but oddly relaxed, like enemies who have finally made peace after a long battle.

Moxon had been squatting beside Glenn, who turned out to be the body on the floor. Across from the detective was a woman in police uniform, who was applying the
white towel to a bleeding nose. Now Moxon looked at Simmy with a very complicated expression.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I promised I’d be in Troutbeck, didn’t I?’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ he said, and switched his gaze to Bridget, and raised an eyebrow. ‘What’s that, then?’ he asked.

‘Markie’s old laptop. He left it behind when they moved. It was in the attic in Simmy’s house. All his emails will still be on it. He used to mail us all, all the time, before he got his Smartphone. It’s
evidence
,’ she finished sternly.

‘Of what?’ Moxon asked, his voice low and controlled.

‘Glenn’s … wickedness. We all ignored it, you see. He was our
friend
. But he has a cruel streak, too. He makes people do things they don’t want to. Markie told me about it, in a lot of messages he sent to me and Felix. Felix most of all.’ She looked around. ‘Where
is
Felix, anyway?’

‘He’s gone,’ said Pablo. ‘The London Hospital called. They’ve got some results for him. It sounded quite encouraging.’

‘Glenn made Peter think Felix’s accident was all his fault. He made it sound like that in the papers. Felix can explain it. He kept trying to put it straight. He’s Peter’s
cousin
. He didn’t want things spoilt between them.’

Simmy gently shook herself free of Pablo and stepped sideways around the room until she reached Ben. ‘Are you all right?’ she muttered.

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘It was me, you know, who solved it. I remembered about the squirrel.’ Then he frowned. ‘Except I guess that laptop would have done it, anyway, without
me.’ His frown deepened. ‘But I’m not sure it will really count as evidence. Old emails – what good will they be?’

Peter Harrison-West rubbed a hand down one cheek. ‘He didn’t use my granddad’s gun, you know,’ he said blearily. ‘He couldn’t have done. It lost its firing pin ten years ago. He’ll have used the Mauser, which
his
grandfather brought back from the war. And I know exactly where he will have hidden it.’

Moxon looked up, not catching the whole remark. ‘Did you say Mauser?’

Peter nodded.

‘And you know where it is?’

Another nod.

‘Then we’re clear and free,’ said the detective with a sigh of satisfaction.

Simmy was not unduly surprised to get a phone call from Eleanor Baxter at eight that evening. ‘Could you possibly come over?’ she asked.

‘What – now?’

‘If that’s all right.’

‘No. Sorry,’ said Simmy firmly. ‘I’ve got too much work to do. Perhaps in a day or two I might manage it.’

‘I wanted to thank you. I have no idea how you did it, but I feel sure you were the crucial element in the whole miserable business.’

‘No, I wasn’t, I assure you. If it was anyone, it was Ben.’

‘That boy I saw with Bridget in the rain. So he’s the hero of the hour, is he? Perhaps we’ll be able to think of a way to reward him, then.’

Simmy was too shocked and exhausted to take the suggestion further. ‘Just tell me one thing,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘How could you let your daughter marry a man so much older than herself? How could you possibly think it was all right?’

‘How do you think I could have stopped her?’ The voice was ragged with sudden pain. ‘Anything I could have said to her would have had the opposite result to that intended. There has never been a more stubborn girl than Bridget. She got what was coming to her, if you ask me. Besides,’ she added, more softly, ‘I think it’s all going to be all right, in the end. Now they both know they can trust each other, what’s to stop them making a go of it?’

Simmy had no reply to that. There were still too many questions, and too many stark betrayals for any seeds of optimism to take root.

Melanie was furious when she heard the story on Saturday morning. ‘You left me out,’ she accused, almost tearfully. ‘I missed the whole thing.’

‘I know,’ Simmy sympathised. ‘But there wasn’t anything I could do.’

‘So, it’s all settled, is it? Just like that?’

Simmy hesitated. The speed at which it had all happened had left her with a sense of anticlimax. The main thing she remembered was Pablo’s hands on her arms. ‘I assume so,’ she nodded. ‘If they can find the gun.’

‘I thought the gun was in your attic?’

‘There’s another one. The one in my attic doesn’t work. They just kept it for sentimental reasons. Something about Glenn’s grandfather being best mates with Peter’s, and them both bringing rifles back with them after the war. It
makes it all much worse, knowing the families have been such friends for generations. And then Glenn turns psycho on them.’

Melanie made a wise face. ‘They all pretended he was normal, then. Wouldn’t even consider that he might have killed the Baxter men.’

‘Something like that. He convinced them all it was Peter who did it – even Peter himself, very nearly.’

‘And
Ben
was there? That’s the bit I can’t get over. Why did
he
get all the fun?’

Simmy gave her a look and Mel changed tack. ‘What does your mother say about it all?’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen her. I did speak to Eleanor Baxter briefly, that’s all.’

‘But
Ben
,’ Melanie said again. ‘And
Wilf
. He phoned me last night, you know. I told him to get lost. Joe would have a fit if he knew.’ But Simmy could see a wisp of indecision in her assistant’s eye.

‘Ben was the trump card, in the end,’ said Simmy. ‘The ace witness. The best of the bunch. That boy will go far.’

As if conjured from thin air, the boy himself came into the shop at that moment. He spread his arms wide in a dramatic self-introduction. ‘Ta-da!’ he crowed. ‘Here I am as promised. Are you busy?’

Simmy laughed. ‘Not as busy as I thought I’d be. Why?’

‘Don’t you remember? We’re going to collect sticks and leaves and seed pods for our model.’

‘No, Ben, we’re not. It’s much too early for that. For dry leaves we need to wait at least until the end of November.’

‘Aww,’ he whined, childishly.

To cheer him up, Simmy told him what Eleanor had said
about him. ‘You were the hero of the hour, according to her.’

He preened, and fingered the fading bruise on his cheek.

‘Well, if this ever happens again, I want to be included,’ said Melanie.

‘Not a chance,’ Simmy told her, with great emphasis. ‘We’re none of us ever going to witness a murder again.’

Most of the places mentioned in this story are real – the hotels and monuments and some shops. The private houses, however, are products of my imagination. I have taken liberties with the buildings of Troutbeck in particular.

I am grateful to Michael Jecks and Tony Geraghty for information concerning guns.

R
EBECCA
T
OPE
lives on a smallholding in Herefordshire, with a full complement of livestock, but manages to travel the world and enjoy civilisation from time to time as well. Most of her varied experiences and activities find their way into her books, sooner or later.

www.rebeccatope.com

T
HE
L
AKE
D
ISTRICT
M
YSTERIES

The Windermere Witness

T
HE
C
OTSWOLD
M
YSTERIES

A Cotswold Killing

A Cotswold Ordeal

Death in the Cotswolds

A Cotswold Mystery

Blood in the Cotswolds

Slaughter in the Cotswolds

Fear in the Cotswolds

A Grave in the Cotswolds

Deception in the Cotswolds

Malice in the Cotswolds

Shadows in the Cotswolds

T
HE
W
EST
C
OUNTRY
M
YSTERIES

A Dirty Death

Dark Undertakings

Death of a Friend

Grave Concerns

A Death to Record

The Sting of Death

A Market for Murder