Death of a Friend (2 page)

Two or three others in the crowd contributed anecdotes about Nina, but nothing came close to Hugh’s despairing outburst. Inexorably, attention was dissipated. Yet again Alexis scanned the crowd for sight of Charlie, with no luck. Instead, her eye was caught by a young woman with a very short haircut, who waved at her hesitantly.

‘Isn’t that your friend Lilah?’ she asked Martha. ‘What
has
she done to her hair?’

Martha took a while to follow the precise direction of her sister’s nod. Lilah was standing between two older women; an air of
self-possession
formed an invisible bubble around her. ‘I’d better go and speak to her,’ she said.

‘Remember when we were last at a funeral?’ said Lilah, as Martha came within speaking distance.

‘Your dad,’ nodded Martha. ‘Let’s hope there won’t be any more for a long time.’

‘Poor Nina. It’s so hard to believe. Den told me about it, of course, as soon as it happened.’

Martha’s eyebrows asked the question; Lilah went pink. ‘We’re engaged now, actually. He’s just got into the CID. He was at the hunt on Thursday – he saw the whole thing. It’s true, you couldn’t blame the horse. It only nudged her.’

‘Head-butted, the way I heard it.’

‘She was standing so close to it. Silly, really.’

‘Very silly,’ Martha agreed. Tall and thin, orange hair tied back from her face, the eccentric long skirt hanging crookedly from narrow hips, she looked like a prettier version of Virginia Woolf. ‘But it shouldn’t have killed her, all the same.’

‘Some people’s skulls are thin. What did the Coroner’s Officer tell you?’

Martha shrugged. ‘Nothing much. A freak accident. The knock drove her nose upwards and inwards and caused a massive haemorrhage at the front of the brain which cut off all her vital processes. She lost consciousness within a few seconds.’

‘Well you’re giving her a lovely send-off. All this …’ she swung her head in an arc to take in the marquee. ‘Amazing.’

Martha leant forward and whispered, ‘We have no idea what we’re doing, to be honest. We let the boys decide most of it, but we all knew we couldn’t use the village church and the impossible Father Edmund. Nor some ghastly cremation. It was a process of elimination, really.’

‘I thought Charlie Grattan must have been behind it. That’s what people are saying. Except he doesn’t seem to be here?’

‘No. Alexis is a bit bothered about that. We’re beginning to wonder if he’s all right. He was so
devastated by what happened, he probably can’t face going through all this.’

Lilah nodded doubtfully and Martha caught the implication. She pulled a rueful face. ‘It sounds awfully feeble, doesn’t it? But you don’t know him. He’s hopelessly thin-skinned. I bet he’ll turn up as soon as we’ve got the burial over with.’

‘Alexis seems to want you,’ Lilah observed. Martha turned to see her sister beckoning and obediently returned to the waiting coffin. A subtle change in the atmosphere told her that there was no deferring the final stage of the proceedings. After a short exchange with her sister, Martha came forward and held up her hands, appealing for silence once more.

‘Thank you, everybody,’ she called. ‘You’ve been wonderful and we’re sorry if all this seems rather disorganised. Now I think we must move on. Nina died as she lived, impetuous and impossible to ignore. And I know none of us can quite forget the element of farce attached to her death. Although her cause might have been noble, the way she died was almost ludicrous. There must be a thousand perfectly ordinary ways to die – trust Nina to find a new one. Now, when you’re ready, we’ll carry her out to the grave and …’
Bury her
, she wanted to say. But the words were too stark and she let them hang unspoken.

Afterwards the sisters and their nephews and Richmond gathered in the kitchen. Alexis tried to phone Charlie, but was told by his aunt that she hadn’t seen him for two or three days. ‘I thought he was with you,’ she said, with a touch of alarm.

‘We haven’t seen him since Sunday,’ said Alexis. ‘Don’t worry, he’s sure to turn up soon.’ She put the phone down and frowned at Martha. ‘Where the hell
is
he?’ she said.

‘He’ll turn up,’ said Richmond, echoing Alexis’s own words. ‘You must be used to him doing this sort of thing by now.’

‘Well, I’m not,’ she retorted. ‘If he couldn’t be here for me, then he should have thought of the boys.’

‘We’re not
his
boys,’ said Hugh. Everyone understood the unspoken thought. Hugh and Clement were the sons of Nevil, not Charlie, close friends though the two men might be. And Nevil had missed the funeral, too.

Alexis looked at each face in turn. Richmond flinched under her gaze and heaved himself to his feet. ‘Can’t sit around here,’ he said. ‘Things to do. I ought to see how much damage all those cars have done to the lower field.’

After his departure the conversation returned to Charlie. ‘I thought … well, maybe he can’t cope with what we’re doing,’ Martha suggested. ‘I was talking to Lilah and that seemed a possible
explanation. Or could be he disapproved?’

‘He’d have said something,’ Alexis asserted. ‘And he’s a Quaker, not a Jehovah’s Witness. Quakers approve of more or less anything, apart from violence.’ She put a hand to her middle, wincing and rubbing slightly. ‘I’m beginning to be really worried about him. My stomach’s gone fluttery. He might have gone off by himself somewhere, all upset. He might be feeling guilty. He was ever so fond of Nina, after all. Just because they argued most of the time doesn’t mean he didn’t like her.’

‘For heaven’s sake!’ Martha slapped the table and repeated the reassurance she’d convinced herself was true. ‘There’s nothing to worry about. Charlie’s the least of our problems.’

Alexis took a deep breath and worked her head in a circle, easing the tension in her neck. ‘It’s so weird,’ she said. ‘Who’s going to massage my neck now Nina isn’t here to do it?’ Both the boys swallowed visibly. The family had made a pact to speak about their mother as naturally as they could, but it was proving much more difficult than they’d expected. Every time her name was mentioned, they all experienced a flash of renewed knowledge of her death, along with the pain and loss, anger and embarrassment that still accompanied it.

‘Lilah’s engaged to that detective, did you
know?’ Martha continued, desperate to change the subject. ‘The one who tried to revive Nina.’

‘What’ll happen when she marries him?’ asked Alexis, doing her best to play along. ‘Will he turn farmer, or will she leave Redstone for her mother to run?’

‘God knows.’ Martha was sunk into apathetic exhaustion. When the phone rang, she reached a slow arm to where it lay behind her on the draining board. As soon as she realised who was speaking, she came back to life.’

‘Nev!’ she shouted. ‘Where the hell
are
you? … Trust you … No, it never is, is it? … What? … When? … No, we won’t meet you, get yourself down here on a train and then take the bus. Your sons need you here … Oh, okay.’ She waggled the receiver under Hugh’s nose. ‘Talk to your father. He’s stuck in Singapore until tomorrow.’

Hugh took the phone cautiously. ‘Nev?’ he said. ‘What’s happening?’ He listened for a while, unsmiling. ‘We’re all right,’ he said at last. ‘Clem’s here as well.’

Clem moved to take the phone, but Hugh held onto it. After a few seconds he said, ‘Bye then,’ and pressed the Off button before handing it back to Martha. ‘His money ran out,’ he said to his brother with a shrug.

‘It wasn’t his fault,’ said Martha, trying to be
placatory. ‘There was a volcano in New Zealand and the flights are all in chaos.’

‘Small volcano, nobody hurt,’ said Alexis. ‘So small it wasn’t on the news. That’s his story and he’s sticking to it.’

‘
I
wanted to talk to him,’ Clem said reproachfully. ‘He never talks to me.’

Before anyone could speak, the back door crashed open and Richmond stood framed against the late afternoon sky, his eyes bulging grotesquely, chest heaving with exertion.

‘It’s Charlie!’ he gasped. ‘I’ve found Charlie.’

Detective Constable Den Cooper was waiting for Lilah at the police station. She was meeting him after work, having gone home from the funeral to change and see that everything was running smoothly on the farm, before driving into town. As soon as he saw her, Den stood up and drew her to him in a warm embrace, resting his chin on the top of her head.

‘How was it?’ he asked.

‘Peculiar. The grave was so shallow! I don’t know how Martha and Alexis can go on living there, with their sister rotting at the end of the garden. I’d have nightmares if it was me.’

‘They are peculiar people,’ he mumbled. ‘And what a way to die!’

‘I didn’t think it was as bizarre as people are making out. A horse is a big thing. If you try to headbutt one, you can expect to get hurt.’

‘I wonder whether it had a headache afterwards? I suppose it’s lucky to be alive. Some people would have shot it there and then.’

‘Gerald made sure everyone knew there was no chance of that happening. He loves that horse.’

Den sighed. ‘Just like you love your cows?’

She cuffed him. ‘Don’t start that again. Although, I prefer them to horses. Give me a cow any day. But we’re not talking about me. Nobody blames that horse. It would be terrible to blame it for something it couldn’t help. You know that as well as anybody. You saw the whole thing.’

‘I did.’ He was drawn into yet another retelling of the story. Each time, he recalled another detail, reliving the extraordinary events of the hunt protest. ‘She was waving her
Ban the Hunt
placard, trying to stop the riders going through the gateway. She stood right in front of Gerald, yelling and shouting. He was clearly annoyed, but he never raised his crop or anything. The horse just lowered its head, probably to get a better look at her, and she did the same. It was very funny. Two or three people laughed at her. Then the animal jerked its head up again and the bony edge of its nose caught her full in the face, with a hard knock. The worst you’d expect
was a nosebleed, but she dropped to the ground instantly, out cold. I was the first to reach her. It was obvious she wouldn’t make it, even though I tried some mouth-to-mouth.’

‘She must have had a very fragile skull.’

‘Stupid way to die. It was practically the last hunt of the season as well. The whole protest was a waste of time. I blame that Charlie fellow as much as anyone. Rushing round like a lunatic, he was, getting everybody worked up.’

‘That’s what people were saying at the funeral. Charlie wasn’t there, by the way, which we all thought rather odd. Not only was he Nina’s co-protester, he’s going out with her sister.’

‘Funny beggar,’ Den commented. ‘Those poor kids, too. What’ll they do now?’

Lilah shrugged. ‘They’re quite able to fend for themselves. I used to babysit them when they were little, you know. I was only about fourteen and we played hide and seek all over that enormous house. It was wonderful.’

‘Well, come on, then. I’m cooking. You don’t have to get anything, do you?’

She shook her head. ‘It all seems to be under control. Amos is really good with the cows. Better than Daddy or Sam ever were. They seem to read his mind. I can’t help feeling we’re exploiting him, but he won’t have it.’

‘You saved him from a miserable old age. He
can’t believe his luck, having your mum at such close quarters and plenty to do all day.’

‘Well it’s working like magic.’ Amos and Isaac Grimsdale had lived on the land adjacent to the Beardons’ farm, but the sudden death of his brother had been the final blow to Amos’s independence. Moving in with Lilah and her family had been the obvious solution to a number of connected problems.

Den clambered into the passenger seat of Lilah’s car, folding his long legs into the small space. But before she could start the engine, a young uniformed policeman came running after them.

‘Den!’ he called. ‘Hang on. There’s just been a call. Someone’s found a body in a ditch. The Chief thinks you ought to go with the others.’

‘What the hell for? I’ve done my shift for today.’ Den frowned up at the man; Lilah sighed and let go of the ignition key.

‘It’s Charlie Grattan, they think. The hunt protester. He’s had his head bashed in; been there a day or two. Your patch, mate. You’d better be in at the start.’

Lilah leant across Den, her expression bemused. ‘Found in a ditch with his head bashed in? Where, exactly?’

‘High Copse Farm. Belongs to the same family as that woman who died trying to stop the hunt.’

Lilah stared at him, disbelieving. ‘But I’ve only just come from there.’ She looked at Den, wide-eyed. ‘They’ve been looking for him all day.’

Den began to move, unclipping his seatbelt. ‘Don’t wait for me,’ he said. ‘I might be some time.’

Den had been transferred to plain clothes a few months earlier, after the CID training course, which he had enjoyed enormously, much to his own surprise. He had not expected involvement in violent death to be a major element of his work when he first applied to join the police force, but he had quickly discovered that the public perception of Devon as a sleepy rural idyll was an illusion. When a person died on a farm or in a remote hamlet, they often did it messily, long before an ambulance could navigate itself down the maze of narrow lanes. And by no means all of those deaths could be attributed to natural causes. It soon became obvious to Den that the apparently peaceful routines of agricultural life were beset with lethal equipment, convenient murder weapons and ominously tangled relationships.

Charlie Grattan’s body was found curled tight as a hedgehog, hands covering the head as if to ward off the savage blows that killed him. His knuckles were split; blood from them and the dreadful head wounds had combined
to form a repellently crusty cap and mask.

‘I couldn’t even recognise him at first,’ said Richmond faintly. ‘He was just a mass of blood, with grass and flies and stuff sticking to him. Never seen anything like it.’

Martha and Alexis sat on either side of him, slight beside his bulk. The two boys had been sent to bed with difficulty. The news of Charlie’s death had produced the same numb effect in them as it had in the adults.

Richmond had told the police how he had been walking across the lower field after Nina’s funeral, when he noticed a smell familiar from his younger days on a sheep farm. ‘That ditch is fairly deep,’ he explained, ‘so I thought an animal of some kind had got itself stuck and died there. Been there since Sunday, do you think? That’s when we last saw him.’

Den was non-committal. There had been a team working along the ditch and across the field it bordered, in the hour or two of daylight remaining, and now they were packing up, preparing to take away their findings for analysis. A WPC had been despatched to break the news to Charlie’s immediate family. Eventually his body would be delivered to the mortuary for post-mortem examination. Richmond provided an identification of Charlie Grattan not just from his clothes, but the colour of his hair and those
few features still discernible. According to the preliminary findings of the police doctor, he had indeed been dead for over twenty-four hours.

Den had returned to High Copse Farmhouse in the early evening, under instructions to make a start on an inquiry into a death which showed every sign of being unlawful. Slowly the threads of the incident would be teased out like the unravelling of a tangled piece of Fair-Isle knitting. Too new at the job to distinguish any kind of pattern at this early stage, he was nonetheless acquiring a degree of confidence in his questioning.

‘Could you tell me a bit about Charlie?’ he asked. ‘What his connection with your family was; where he worked; anything you think would be useful.’ A computer search had already revealed certain facts about the deceased: a man already well known as an animal rights activist, with prosecutions for disturbance and trespass as well as a reputation for unruly behaviour. Den had personal experience of this, having witnessed Charlie’s antics at the protest which had led to the death of Nina Nesbitt.

Martha spoke tonelessly. ‘He wasn’t in work. He was giving all his time to the protests. The hunt season finishes in another week or two and Charlie was going to get a summer job before the new campaign next winter. He spent a lot of
time here …’ She glanced at Alexis and raised her eyebrows, but Alexis made no response apart from an almost invisible shrug. Martha heaved a weary sigh, which made Den wonder how she would find the strength to carry on. He wondered also how anyone could be cruel enough to kill Charlie in the week the Cattermoles were burying their sister.

‘Charlie was Alexis’s boyfriend,’ Martha said. ‘They’d been together for about six months.’

‘Longer than that,’ said Richmond, who’d said almost nothing thus far. ‘Must go back to July last year.’

‘He was a Quaker,’ said Alexis. ‘You should know that. It was important to him.’

Den noted the ready use of the past tense, while searching his memory for any information about Quakers. It came up blank.

‘Was he a member of the local Quaker … group? Church? What do they call it?’

‘Meeting,’ supplied Alexis. ‘They use a lot of archaic terms. There’s a Meeting in Chillhampton. It’s very small. Eight or nine people. Very close-knit, like a family, really.’

‘Do Quakers approve of animal rights activism?’ Den asked.

Alexis smiled sourly. ‘Some do. Some followed Charlie as if he was a new Messiah. Others thought he was bringing the Meeting into disrepute. It might give you an idea of how
it was if I say that Charlie tried to understand everybody and ended up offending them all. He told Nina she was simplistic and naïve. He called Gerald Fairfield a monster to his face. You’ll soon hear from them all, I’m sure.’

I’m sure I will
, thought Den without enthusiasm. A murdered Quaker was beginning to sound like a very complicated crime to investigate. The Detective Inspector was going to want full explanations that he felt seriously inadequate to deliver. ‘I won’t keep you much longer,’ he said. ‘Just the basics. You last saw Mr Grattan on Sunday, is that right?’

‘Yes,’ confirmed Martha. ‘He was here at the weekend. We had to prepare Nina’s coffin and just … get through the days, I suppose. Trying to keep the boys going and get hold of their father. Charlie seemed to wander off at some point. We can’t remember exactly when.’

‘But he lived at Chillhampton? That’s what – four miles from here?’

‘A bit less across the fields. He could walk it in forty minutes – and frequently did. He gave up his car last year.’

‘Oh? Was that ideology or necessity?’

‘A bit of each. He didn’t have any money coming in and there’s usually a vehicle here to use in an emergency. But he didn’t like cars much anyway.’

‘He lived with his parents?’

‘Officially, yes. But they’re not his parents, you know. I mean, Bill is his father, but Hannah is his aunt. Everybody makes the same mistake.’

Den made no move to record this information. He wasn’t likely to forget it, and the G5 had already been completed, with the salient points surrounding the death itself all filled in neatly. Until the post-mortem was performed, there was little more to be done.

‘Somebody will come back and take statements,’ he told them. ‘After they’ve done the post-mortem. Meanwhile …’ He looked at Alexis. ‘I’m sorry you’ve had so much trouble.’

His words sounded hopelessly inadequate, but Alexis nodded vaguely and attempted a smile. She had run her hands distractedly through her hair so many times it stuck out in tangled chunks, making her distress a tangible thing. She gave Martha a desolate look. ‘I’ll have to go and see Hannah and Bill,’ she said.

The room felt cold; the stark fluorescent light exaggerated their pale faces and shadowed eyes. Den wanted to leave on a positive note. ‘Lilah said to give you her condolences,’ he offered, deliberately invoking his fiancée’s name, hoping to build a closer tie, to remind them he was just a local lad who already knew where the family fitted into the scheme of things.

‘Lilah was at the funeral,’ Martha remembered. ‘That was nice of her. Did she think we were very odd, burying Nina in the garden?’

Den shook his head. ‘She thinks it’s your business. Losing your sister like that was …’

‘It’s all right,’ Alexis interrupted. ‘You can say it was tragic. This is beginning to feel like something out of
Hamlet
or
Macbeth
, anyway.’ She shook her head and closed her eyes. ‘Nobody ever tells you how much it
hurts
,’ she moaned.

Den shifted in the chair, his bony knees sticking out awkwardly, as they always did. A mark like a smear of dirt on the side of his long face was the slowly fading legacy of a violent blow sustained in the course of his duty nearly a year before. He put his fingers to it gently, thinking for a moment about Nina Nesbitt and the casual knock her head had received. By rights, he should be dead and Nina none the worse for her experience.

Martha stroked her sister’s arm and made hushing noises. She took up the idea. ‘For once, tragedy is probably the right word to use. After all, she did bring it on herself. It was even quite a noble cause in a small way.’

Den began to grasp the essential connections at the centre of the inquiry. Trained not to jump to conclusions, he had gone too far in the other direction.
Gather as many facts as you can,
was the first rule, and he believed he was doing quite
well there. Facts alone, however, were not going to produce a conclusion.

He pushed back the chair and stood up. ‘We want to know exactly who’s been here since you last saw Charlie. Every single visitor.’

Alexis gave a mocking laugh. ‘Including the hundred-odd who were here today at the funeral?’

Den did not react to the provocation; he knew it was not meant personally. ‘Fortunately no,’ he said. ‘It’s already clear that Mr Grattan died before the funeral took place. But it does include relatives and close friends.’

‘We can tell you that now,’ said Martha. ‘Since we last saw Charlie, the only people to visit have been Nina’s mother-in-law, Hermione Nesbitt, and a couple of reps for Richmond. They all came on Monday. Hermione wanted to see Nina, but she didn’t come to the funeral. She hurt her arm on Monday doing something with a horse, and says she’s in a lot of pain.’