Dark Ritual (8 page)

Twelve

Viviane woke early and thought about the Petersons, and Rosemary especially. How they would face the day and all that was to come. The last few years might not have seen closeness between her parents and Sandra. But now her loss was irrevocable. Viviane wondered how she would feel if she’d lost her only child. A car accident would have been easier to handle but not the thought that someone wished to do away with her in such a terrible fashion.

Should she try to call on Rosemary? She remembered how friends and neighbours, and Steve’s colleagues had behaved towards her. Kind and well-meaning when he died so unexpectedly and so young at forty-three from the aneurysm he didn’t know he had. Bob Fowler, she remembered, had called to see her personally and had been there for her. Till she moved here.

She wondered now if she could have helped him when his marriage had given up on him. Not so long after she’d lost Steve. He had had a difficult time afterwards adapting to the loss of his working partner and then his wife. Although he must have seen the breakup coming for some time Viviane reckoned, having seen the warning signs when they had dined out together. Julie hated any reference to their work. Shop talk was taboo. They had no children and their lives together decidedly had been rocky. She hoped she could be some help to Bob; if he allowed her to do so, that is.

She rang the Petersons. Got the answer phone. “Alan Peterson speaking. We are unable to answer any calls for the present. Please respect our wishes.”

“Viviane Trent here. I’m so very sorry Alan. I would like to see Rosemary and you Alan when you feel like accepting visitors.”

Her phone rang seconds later. “Viviane, so kind of you. Rosemary is sleeping at the moment. And is under the doctor’s orders to rest. Can you try again? Give us a call in a couple of days?”

“Of course, will do. Thank you Alan.”

She rang Richard on his mobile. It was switched off, more than likely he was in the university library. “Richard you may not know this. Sandra Peterson has been murdered here. She was found stabbed to death in the middle of a crop circle on the Maddocks’ farm yesterday morning.”

It wasn’t long before he rang back. He sounded shaken up by the news. “Sandra didn’t deserve to be killed like that. She could be a good friend but she could be a bad enemy, Mum. Perhaps she upset someone if she was onto something that they wanted to hide.” He chuckled. “She was like a terrier with a rat. She wouldn’t let go once she got stuck in on anything. Try not to get in a tizzy over it. Bob Fowler will catch the blighter. I’ll be with you soon.”

Richard worked in a bar to earn cash help him with his studies. She missed talking her troubles out with Steve. She didn’t want to overstep the line with Bob by seeming too curious.

Thirteen

“So what’s next, Peale? Captain Roland Bell owns the chicken farm, past the Maddocks’ place, doesn’t he?”

Peale nodded. “That’s right, Bob, he does. And he’s a close friend of Howard Tefler, the Lord of the Manor. They say Takes a friendly enough bloke but fancies himself big time.”

“And Gary Brown, he’s the postmaster in the village stores. He’s ex-Army like Bell.”

“Yep. And they served in the same regiment in Munster in Germany. Bell was Brown’s officer apparently. I learnt that much playing opposite they in the cricket team last summer. Brown’s a bloody good bowler. Bell’s the captain. Not too bad either.” He grinned. “They set themselves up in competition with one another. Makes the game more interesting.”

“Not Army buddies then.”

Peale shook his head. “They avoid all possible contact otherwise. Don’t have much to do with one another whatsoever.”

“That’ll be interesting to find out why then, won’t it?”

“Very.” Peale grinned. “Bell’s got an attractive wife. A German girl, Erika. A red head. I think there’s some history there,
mein
Herr
.”

“So we’ll get those two in to have a chat, shall we?”

Peale nodded. “Will do, Bob.”

“And we can’t forget Macey. He has a knife. Was this the one that was used to kill Sandra? I want to know whether he still has it on him. Be prepared for him to ask for his solicitor, Peale.”

“Okay, Bob. Best get him in before Bell or Brown?”

“I think we should. If it is the murder weapon it’s not been found yet. So, let’s have him in again,” Fowler said sorting out his notes carefully for the previous day. “Send Boyle. He’ll do. You can go with him, Coombe.”

“Yes, sir.”

Peale frowned. He’d hoped to work with Gerry Coombe.

“They’re young and capable. We can leave them to deal with that precious lot of young ‘tins up there.”

“Could give ‘em some trouble.”

Boyle was duly dispatched with DC Coombe to fetch in the Leader of the Protesters, Macey again. They had officers still searching for the weapon on the crime scene. Whoever had used it would have gotten rid of it immediately. It could be in the river and unable to be recovered. Macey, if he was the guilty one, most certainly would not have it on him now.

Fourteen

Half an hour later, Macey swaggered in through the hall door. “What’s this all about then? I’ve got plenty on today. We’re trying to stop the authorities from driving us off on the hill. What’s that deaf dummy been saying about me now?”

Fowler said, “You have a knife in your possession. It’s a public offence to carry a weapon, sir.”

“
Had
more like! I knew that would bloody come out. Did Robbins tell you? I can’t help you.” He shrugged and gestured widely with his hands. “Haven’t got it anymore. Sorry,” he sneered. “I lost it.”

“So — where is it, sir?”

“No idea.” Macey shrugged, bent down, lifted his trouser leg and showed the empty leather ankle strap. “I haven’t got it.
See
!”

Fowler nodded and sighed. “Looks like it. So where have you dumped it, Macey?”

Peale leant over him, “What did you do with it after you clashed with Sandra Peterson? Did you use it on her later?”

Macey lifted his hand in a conciliatory gesture. “Whoa, man! She took it. Sandra. The bitch snatched it from me.”

“Don’t believe it.” Fowler leant forward. “You threatened her with it after she struggled with you and scratched you. Right?”

“You’re bloody right, I did. I’d been drinking. She’d been leading me on for days. Played me for a sucker far too long. She laughed in my face and snatched it from me.”

“And you didn’t get it back from her?”

“No, Sergeant, I didn’t. And it’s bloody valuable. Practically an antique. It’s part of our family history. My dad will go ape if he finds out about it,” he said morosely. “He doesn’t know I had it.”

“She must have been quick off the mark,” Fowler said with a grim smile. “To have taken it from you.”

“She took me by surprise. I’ve already told you I’d had more than a few beers.”

“You’d had a skinful?”

He shrugged “Let’s say I wasn’t at my best. She probably did it just to torment me. We got along okay before. Maybe whoever she was meeting later used it on her?” He grinned now. “Maybe she was giving someone else grief too.”

“Maybe. Tell me, Mr. Macey. Was there anyone else there at the time? In the camp, who could have seen what was going on between you? If so, why didn’t they try to stop the alternation going between you?”

“Yeah.” He grinned again. “There were some others around.”

“So — Mr. Macey did anyone actually see Sandra snatch the dagger from you?”

Macey thought for a moment then shook his head. “Naah! It was getting pretty late by then. Most that were still awake were pissed in their tents anyway or falling asleep around the fires.” He shrugged. “And this happened in her tent.”

“And you say she took it away with her.”

He grimaced. “S’pose so. She rushed off on her bike before I could stop her and while I was getting over this, Martin Robbins arrived on his scooter. And gave me hell.”

“And you hit him. Gave him a real shiner.”

“Yeah, I did, Sergeant. He had a bloody screw loose over Sandra.” He grimaced at Peale and shook a forefinger at Fowler. “He’s the one you’ve got to worry about now. He was looking for her. Maybe he found her too.”

“Afterwards, Mr. Macey, you said you couldn’t remember much about what happened next? Is that correct?”

He sighed and gestured vaguely with his hands. “Look — so what? I drank a good bit more, yeah. I can just remember leaving the camp. The storm was threatening then. I think that I had some idea that I might find her and apologize.”

He shook his head and slapped his hands down on his knees and rubbed them hard. “I realized that I shouldn’t have behaved as I did towards her by then. Wanted to know that she was okay, yeah?” His knuckled fists came up to his mouth now.

Peale glanced at Fowler and caught his eyes. His hands were probably sweating. Macey had changed his attitude more than bit since he last clashed with them. The cocky bravado vanished from the sulky face.

“And did you find her again, Mr. Macey?” Peale said.

He shook his head. “No, I didn’t.”

“Where did you go after she slapped you?”

The thick black brows frowned and tightened over the blue eyes. “There was a thunderstorm.” He attempted a sheepish grin. “Got to confess — storms like that scare the fucking shit out of me. Lightning always frightened me as a kid. Does still now.

“I came across an empty barn, ducked into it and woke up there on Maddocks’ farm, early in the morning.” He hesitated, and laughed. “Then I heard noise, vehicles, voices and a lot of activity close by going on the fields close by. I took a look out and saw a police car nearby.” He shuffled his trainers again then looked at Fowler again.

“So what did you do next, Macey? Do a runner?” Peale chipped in smartly.

“Yeah. I didn’t want to get arrested for trespass on top of everything else. I managed to sneak out while Ted Maddock was talking to some of your uniformed officers. Didn’t know what the hell was going on and I made my way back up the hill to the camp in case it had to do with us. Thought you were going to turn us out. And that’s it.”

“And you expect us to believe this load of bollocks?” Peale said leaning over him with a sneer on his thin face.

“Yeah! It’s the truth!”

“You’ve had all this time to think it out. And you’ve got no alibi for the time after Sandra left you, boyo.”

Macey shrugged. “So what! And neither has Martin Robbins.”

It was at that moment when the community policeman Constable Powell came in through the open door with a protesting, tousled haired youngster in tow. He pushed him over towards Fowler.

“He says he found it in a ditch. A knife, sir. This kid took it to the school to show it to his mates. And his teacher found it this morning in his school bag and contacted me as I was passing the school on my bike.”

The red faced boy stood facing his accusers as the object was held up in the plastic bag.

Macey looked interested but said nothing.

“Do you recognize this, Macey? Is it yours?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know. Could be. If it has an inscription in Latin on the hilt, it’s mine.”

Fowler and Peale left Macey, as they escorted the boy into a separate interview room.

“Where did you find it, kid?”

The constable pushed the reluctant boy closer towards Fowler.

“Come on now, speak up, lad. This is Detective Chief Inspector Fowler and Detective Sergeant Peale. Tell them where you found it. And why you didn’t hand it in here like you should have done.”

Peale said, “What’s your name? Come on, lad, speak up?”

The boy gulped. “Michael Harper. I saw it lying in a ditch when I overturned my mountain bike. An’ there was another bike in there. Meant to go back for it afterwards. I wanted to see what was going on in the crop circle field when I saw the police cars and such-like,” he added truculently.

“Why didn’t you hand it over to the police there and then, lad? You must have seen the police officers searching around the field,” Fowler said as the boy’s face flushed crimson.

“Couldn’t,” he muttered. “I was late for school see. And it’s the last week before the summer break. We were going to give a party for our teacher, Miss Chorley, who’s leaving. An’ I just forgot it for a bit.”

Forgot
it
my
foot
. Fowler sighed and studied the boy’s anxious face as he fidgeted on the spot. Fingerprints would be a lost cause. Much too late now. How many times had it been handled since the blood stains on it were fresh? Too bloody many. He winced at this thought.

“Is there anything else, Michael? Anything else at all you want to tell us?”

The boy’s cheeky face reddened afresh, and he looked sheepish. “There’s something else. I heard it ringing out loud. An’ it startled me. That’s what made me overturn my bike into the ditch,” he said bringing out a cell phone from his pocket. He hastened to add, “I haven’t used it.”

Peale took it from him. “Somebody’s been texting on here. You sure you haven’t used it?”

Harper shook his head. “No, sir. It’s rung several times since. Didn’t answer. Didn’t want my mother to know I’d got it. She’d tell me off big time. Mum won’t let me have one.”

“Have you picked up the bike, Powell?”

“Yes, sir. Forensics is looking at it now.”

“You must have seen the blood on the knife. You’re not blind are you, boy?”

“I didn’t know what to do. Not at first. I-I thought p’raps a poacher used it to kill a rabbit.” He tried a half hearted grin. “Did think I’d bring in the mobile though.”

“Good try, lad. You know, don’t you, that you should have handed the knife over straight away? And the phone. No messing.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“They’re both vital clues in a homicide. And if you had any sense at all in that empty noddle of yours you should have known it.” Fowler looked severe than relented. “Okay, Michael Harper you’ll get a caution this time. But let this be the last time that you come up in front of me or PC Powell there.”

“Yes, sir.”

He was duly dismissed and warned not to talk about this to his mates. Which was pretty stupid, Fowler thought afterwards. It must have flashed round like semaphore through the school and the village already by now. But it was a relief that the weapon was found at last and established. Now that left the other murder weapon that was used.

Fowler turned back to Macey. “Mr. Macey, we have finished with you for the moment. You can go.”

He stood up. “When can I have the dirk back? It’s a family heirloom. It belongs in the family.”

Fowler sighed. “You must be joking. You’re lucky not to be charged with carrying an illegal weapon, Mr. Macey. And it will be needed to be produced as evidence in court. We may have to call you in again shortly. Do not leave the area.”

Macey stalked out.

Next to be brought in was Mr Brown.

Brown sat down with folded arms with a look of annoyance to face the police officers. A typical ‘drill pig’ Fowler’s Army experience told him.

“I don’t know why I was called in, Chief Inspector. I have an alibi for Sunday night. My wife will give me that. No problem.”

“So you say, sir. But I would first of all like to ask you how well you knew Sandra Peterson.”

He shrugged. “Not that well. We talked a bit occasionally in the general way of things. She used the post office frequently. She picked up her mail from there and we met sometimes in the Fox and Goose. I had no interest in the girl other than as a customer. I’m a married man, Fowler. I’ve got no time to mess around with a slapper like her.”

Fowler frowned. “You wouldn’t call Sandra a slapper, would you, Mr. Brown? An attractive girl, a flirt perhaps but I don’t think she merits that description, does she?”

“Perhaps not.”

The door opened and Captain Bell strolled in confidently. “Good morning, Chief Inspector Fowler. Captain Roland Bell. I understand you wish to ask me a few questions.”

“Good morning, sir.”

Bell’s eyes met Brown’s who grinned back broadly. Bell frowned and fidgeted with his rust colored paisley silk cravat tucked neatly into his thin neck.

“Right, Mr. Brown. No more questions for the time being. We may have to speak to you again later. Thank you.”

Captain Bell sat down carefully on the wooden chair, and hitched up his elegant fawn pants over his knees, and his eyes as Macey’s had been previously, were drawn quickly to the large board and pictures of Sandra on the wall behind Fowler’s head.

Then his roving attention swung back to Fowler who greeted it with a short smile. “This won’t take long, will it Chief Inspector? I’m afraid that I’m extremely busy at the moment.”

“As we are too,” Fowler’s eyes met Peale’s. “Thank you for attending so promptly, Captain Bell. It makes our job so much easier.”

“That’s what I thought. Felt I had to do my duty, Chief Inspector. Not that I can be of much help. So fire away.” He touched the fair ridge of fluff on his upper lip, which represented a moustache.

Fowler leant over the table top. “So when did you last see Sandra Peterson?”

He cleared his throat carefully, pursed his thin lips. “Ahem. Let me see now. I think it was in the Fox and Goose, Chief Inspector. She was having words with that young idiot Macey. I thought personally that they were an item. Although I think she flirted with anything in trousers. Brown rather fancied his chances with her too.” This warranted a slight hysterical guffaw. “Although I don’t think he registered with her. She was a class above him.”

Fowler frowned. He wanted to wipe the supercilious look off the man’s face. “Did you know that Sandra Peterson was an investigative journalist, sir? And a very competent one apparently, who was following up a news story here?”

Bell raised his bushy eyebrows just a little. “Really? I knew that she was involved with that shiftless lot of protesters on Kilernee Hill. Actually, I had little interest in Sandra Peterson. So I wouldn’t have known much about that.”

“So how was it then that you were seen drinking in her company more than once, sir? According to various statements from witnesses frequenting the Fox and Goose?”