Beneath the Soil (11 page)

Suzie hesitated. She had been afraid to tell Nick, though for a different reason than the prudence which had made her fob Tom off. It was true that she hadn't initiated the phone call, but Nick had warned her firmly to stay out of the Caseleys' business, and now she seemed to be getting drawn deeper in.

Unless she did what Frances told her and kept out of it. The idea seemed like a kind of betrayal.

She stepped outside the fruit cage and closed the gate.

‘Look, I know you told me to let the Caseley thing rest. And truly I have. Well, I looked up a few things in the library about what they might be mining in that area. But that was harmless, surely? And then I got this phone call …'

It was hard to convey to someone else the menace she had felt behind Frances Nosworthy's carefully chosen words.

‘I know it isn't much,' she ended lamely. ‘But I just had this feeling she was speaking under duress.'

‘And you haven't reported it to the police this time?'

‘I don't think they'd believe me, do you?'

Nick stared down at her. The sun was on his face, making him wrinkle his eyes. He passed an earth-stained hand over his forehead.

‘No,' he said. ‘Put like that, I don't think they would. Though I'm not sure you shouldn't tell them all the same. Just so it's there in the record in case someone at that end ever feels like taking it seriously.'

She felt a flash of surprise. ‘You mean that
you
believe me? You don't think I'm imagining it?'

He put his sun-warmed hands on her arms.

‘This is a murder case. Someone out there killed Eileen Caseley. It may have been her husband, it may not. I didn't want to believe what you said about that man in the raincoat watching you yesterday. I didn't see how you could be a threat. I didn't
want
to see. But you talk to Philip's solicitor, she gives you her card, and next thing she's warning you off. It wasn't as if you'd told her you were planning any more investigation. And if we did find out anything else, surely it would only help Philip, if he's innocent? Whether there was somebody leaning over her shoulder or not, something strange is going on.'

‘So you think I should report it?'

‘I think
I
should. And if I can convince them I'm worried, chances are they'll want to hear it from you.'

His blue eyes were unsmiling. The grip on her arms was firm. Suzie felt an enormous wave of relief.

‘I didn't think you'd take me seriously.'

The flicker of a smile then. ‘I'm sorry if I didn't respond properly in the middle of the night. I've lived with you long enough to respect your instincts. You've honed your detective skills chasing up all those ancestors of yours, and mine. I wish we could have kept the family out of another crime scene, but like it or not, we seem to have got ourselves involved. Only …' the fingers on her arms pressed harder, ‘don't go haring off and doing anything by yourself. Take that warning seriously.'

‘It's Frances I'm worried about. She may be in real danger.'

But Suzie knew that she was scared for herself as well.

M
illie drifted downstairs in a tee-shirt that barely covered her small bottom. Tufts of her short blonde hair stuck out at unexpected angles. Her sleepy eyes widened as she entered the kitchen.

‘What are you two still doing here at half past nine? I thought I was the one on holiday.'

Suzie and Nick glanced at each other with the almost childish guilt of conspirators. Neither had wanted to tell the children last night how things had moved on, how they seemed to be getting sucked deeper into the darkness surrounding Eileen Caseley's death. They were both dressed in the smart clothes they wore for work: Nick at his architect's practice, Suzie in the office behind the charity shop. But Nick had made the phone call he'd promised. Now they were waiting.

The doorbell rang. Nick was swiftly on his feet. ‘We'll do this in the sitting room,' he said to Suzie.

As he went to answer the door, Suzie turned apologetically to Millie.

‘Sorry, love. We've got another interview with the police. I had a phone call from Philip Caseley's solicitor yesterday. It could be important.'

The milk sloshed out of Millie's cereal bowl. ‘The police! You might have told me! Here's me in just my nightie.'

‘He won't need to see you. It's mainly me he wants to talk to.'

‘Oh yeah? So why isn't Dad going to work either?'

‘Moral support,' Suzie said, getting to her feet. ‘Husbands do that sometimes.'

She headed for the hall, closing the kitchen door behind her.

‘Detective Sergeant Dudbridge.'

The man waiting with Nick in the sitting room was smaller then Suzie expected for a policeman. He had curly brown hair and a little goatee beard. Suzie thought she recognized him as the man who had stood beside DCI Brewer in Moortown churchyard, watching Eileen Caseley's burial from a discreet distance.

But his expression was neutral. There was none of the disapproval she had clearly sensed in his senior officer's attitude.

‘Well, shall we sit down?' he suggested. ‘I gather there's something you want to tell me about the Caseley murder case.'

Suzie lowered herself into an armchair as the sergeant and Nick settled themselves on the sofa opposite.

‘Would you like a cup of coffee?' she offered belatedly. ‘Or tea?'

‘No thanks. Shall we get down to business?'

He got out his notebook, pen ready. He turned to Nick and then to Suzie.

‘So, which one of you wants to start?'

‘I suppose I'd better,' Suzie said. ‘Nick rang you because … well, because I've spoken to DCI Brewer before and she seems to think I'm pushing my nose in where it's not wanted. But yesterday something new happened …'

Once again she told the story of the phone call. It was as difficult as it had been with Nick to describe adequately the changes in Frances's voice. The abrupt halt after she had mentioned Matthew Caseley's name. The formality of her warning Suzie to stay out of it, so at odds with the almost eager listening to Suzie's information in the tea shop. And then that rise in her voice as she asked Suzie,
‘Do you understand?'

‘It was almost as if she was appealing to me. Wanting me to understand something different from what she'd actually said. As though she was in trouble and she thought I could help her.'

‘How?' The detective's eyebrows rose, but his expression gave little away.

‘I don't know!' she said in frustration. ‘I've got a really bad feeling that she's in danger. But I don't know what I can do about it. Except tell you.'

‘And what sort of danger might that be? As I understand it, Frances Nosworthy is the solicitor for Philip Caseley. She is perfectly within her rights to investigate any line of enquiry which could help her client. You had some … shall we say, rather imprecise information about something you thought was going on at Saddlers Wood. Though nothing that would obviously have a bearing on Eileen Caseley's murder.'

‘Unless it had to do with a dispute over mineral rights.' Nick unexpectedly came to Suzie's aid.

‘Hmm. I see.' The detective's tone was unconvinced.

‘So, will you do something about it?' Nick enquired. ‘Is there any way you can help Frances Nosworthy?'

The detective twiddled the pen between his fingers. ‘I can't discuss operational matters.'

Suzie could contain her impatience no longer. ‘So where does that leave us? I'm really scared for her. And I don't know whether you're going to do anything to protect her.'

‘It's not for me to say how your information will be used. I'll report back to my superiors. The decision's up to them. Thank you for reporting this. If you would just give me a few moments, I'll get you to sign a statement.'

When the formalities were complete, DS Dudbridge rose. He held out a hand to Nick.

‘Thank you again. Let us know if there's anything else.'

He shook hands with Suzie and then he was gone.

She ran her fingers through her hair. ‘So, did he believe me? Was he taking it seriously?'

‘He didn't slam the door in our faces, did he? He said he wants to know if there's anything else.'

What? Suzie wondered to herself. What else could happen now that Frances had warned Suzie not to contact her?

The detective's car had barely drawn away from the gate when Tom came breezing in. He was dressed in shorts and singlet and was glowing from a morning run.

He threw a copy of the local paper down on the table.

‘There! Told you! You said the press were all over the shop at the Caseley funeral. They've given a whole page to it. Photographs and all. Recognize anybody?'

The front page directed Suzie to page five. She thumbed through to it, clumsy in her haste.

The full page spread was a mixture of text and pictures. For a horrid moment, Suzie feared she might see herself entering the church. The most arresting image was of Philip Caseley in his black suit, handcuffed to a warder. There was a picture of the son Matthew, his face expressionless, making his way with other mourners to the church door. A photograph of the farmhouse in Saddlers Wood where the murder had taken place. A longer shot of the sober group around Eileen Caseley's grave as the coffin was lowered.

Suzie started. There was a slim figure in a dark skirt and a paler jacket standing just on the nearer side of the wall which separated the old churchyard from the new. She had her back to the camera, but Suzie knew it was herself. And there, not far away, was a tall, broad-shouldered man in a long dark raincoat, standing beside a Celtic cross.

She shuddered and reached her hand forward till her finger hovered over him.

‘That's him. The man who was watching me. I wasn't making it up.'

‘What man? Let me see.' Millie pushed forward between Suzie and Tom. She stared at it, uncomprehending. ‘So? A man in a black coat at a funeral? What's special about that?'

Suzie sighed. ‘It's a long story. I didn't realize we hadn't told you.'

‘No one ever tells me anything!'

Nick laid his hand on Millie's shoulder. ‘It's just your mother thought this guy was rather more interested in her than in the people at the graveside. It spooked her. But we've no idea who he is. There's probably a perfectly reasonable explanation.'

‘Like he fancied her?'

‘It's a possibility.'

Suzie looked up warily. Nick's eyes met hers over Millie's head. He winked at her, but not in a playful way. He was telling her that they didn't want to alarm fifteen-year-old Millie. No need to tell her what had happened with Frances, or why the police had been in the house. She breathed more easily. Nick was no longer discounting that instinct of fear she had felt, whatever he said to Millie.

‘You said you couldn't see his face properly, because of the cross,' Tom said. ‘But you can from this angle.'

‘And where's that hat you said he was wearing?' Nick asked.

‘He'd taken it off for the committal,' Suzie said. ‘He wasn't wearing it when I first saw him. Only afterwards, when we were coming away. And then I couldn't see him properly because he'd pulled the brim down over his face.'

‘You won't see much, anyway.' Millie was still indignant at having been shut out from the story. ‘He's too far away. Just that he's bald. Or nearly.'

It was true. The photographer had been sufficiently respectful not to show a close-up of the mourners at the grave at such a sensitive moment. They were rather like stick figures in a Lowry painting.

‘Tell you what,' said Tom. ‘You could go to the newspaper office and get a blow-up of this photo. He's pretty much in the foreground. You might get a proper look at his face then.'

Nick seized the paper. ‘I'll do it. It's high time I was off into town, anyway.'

‘Hey, you don't have to take the photo with you,' Millie protested. ‘You know which one you want. Just tell them … Besides,' a thought struck her, ‘they might have others of him they didn't publish. Clearer ones. It's worth a try.'

‘I'm not sure the photographer would want to hand them over to me. I'm not the police.' Nick looked at Suzie uncertainly. ‘Should I show the murder team this? Point out it's our best chance yet of identifying the man?'

She made a doubtful face. ‘It's up to you. That detective sergeant seemed more inclined to listen to us than his boss did.'

‘Did they tell you whether they'd noticed this man themselves?' Tom asked.

‘Chief Inspector Brewer wasn't giving anything away. You've met her. You know what she's like.'

‘Point taken. And the DS?'

‘We weren't really talking about that. It was …' Suzie realized belatedly that she hadn't taken the kids into her confidence, ‘about something else entirely. A phone call from Philip's solicitor,' she added lamely.

‘You're holding out on us,' Millie accused her.

‘Look, sort this out among yourselves,' Nick said. ‘I've got to go.'

He breezed out of the house, leaving the newspaper lying on the table.

‘S
o, Mum,' Millie insisted.

Suzie gave her a watered down version of Frances Nosworthy's phone call and the sense of menace she had felt.

‘Probably just my imagination, but I thought she was holding something back.'

Tom picked up the paper and scrutinized the photograph. ‘You think it was this guy, leaning over that solicitor and holding a gun to her head? And you say
I'm
the one who takes off into conspiracy theories?'

‘Give me that photo,' Millie demanded.

She took it over to the window and stared at it thoughtfully. The morning sunshine made a halo of her tousled blonde hair. After a while she said, ‘I know you two are fixated on the idea of some mining company murdering the poor woman to get their filthy hands on some minerals under Saddlers Wood, but what if there's a different reason why this guy's standing on the other side of the wall watching them bury her? OK, he's middle-aged and bald, but she wasn't exactly Naomi Campbell herself. What if he was her secret lover? He could hardly push himself in at the graveside with her family and friends, but he'd want to be there, wouldn't he, to say a last goodbye?'