Peter Lovesey - Rough Cider

“We put the gun in the hallstand where old Lockwood kept his shotguns.” He gave a sly grin. “That.45 was like a bottle of Coke-nonreturnable.”

“So anyone could have taken it from there on the day of the murder?”

Harry passed no comment.

Alice moved on. “Let’s come to the cider pressing. While it was going on, you and Duke drove out to the farm several times, didn’t you?”

“Sure.”

“You watched Mr. Lockwood put mutton in the casks?”

“Yup.”

“And you heard Bernard mention that he’d spotted Cliff Morton’s bicycle in a ditch on the farm?”

Harry’s response was more assertive this time. He wagged a fat finger in the air. “That’s another thing. Duke hardly met the guy he’s supposed to have shot. The first time we came to pick apples-this is back in September-there was some kind of incident. I believe Morton was caught trying it on with Barbara. He was given the bum’s rush. We didn’t see him again.”

At this point in the exchange I interrupted. Harry was so wide of the mark that I couldn’t prevent myself. I said, “Whether Duke knew the man is immaterial. The motive wasn’t jealousy. He killed him because of the savage attack he made on Barbara.”

I was rewarded with a cold stare from Alice. “Will you let me continue?” she asked in a tone that left no doubt that she would. She returned to Harry. “On that afternoon you drove out to the farm with Duke to invite the girls to a party.”

“Thanksgiving Day,” Harry confirmed. “And before you ask, I was the organizer. I had it down as my benefit night. You may not believe this after what you saw just now, but Sal was hot for me in those days. I knew I was ready to score. All I had to do was set it up, keep the Shoesmith family sweet. So I talked Duke into being Barbara’s escort again. I really had to sell it to him, I can tell you. Finally, the songwriting swung it my way. He was composing these songs in the Somerset dialect, using the words he’d heard. They were three-quarters written, but he was stuck for a few more lines.”

“Which you told him Barbara could provide?”

“You got it.”

“You’re quite certain that there was nothing between them?”

“Duke and Barbara? Zilch.”

“On both sides? I mean, how about Barbara? Did she have romantic ideas about Duke?”

“I doubt it. If you ask me, she was doing Sally a favor.”

Alice said thoughtfully, “Maybe I should ask Sally.”

“Sure. Why not?” Harry was all for the spotlight moving to someone else.

“Let’s finish this. I believe you called for Sally on the way to the farm.”

“Correct.”

“And?”

Resignedly, he wound himself up again. “The party was a surprise. She’d never heard of Thanksgiving, but she was over the moon when I invited her. I told her we’d pick up Barbara on the way. She put on some face and a pretty dress and we were on the road inside the hour.”

“And when you got to Gifford Farm?”

Harry took off his glasses and wiped them, remembering. “There was a holiday atmosphere, not for Thanksgiving but for the cider pressing. They were on the last load of apples, and the machine was going like a steam hammer. Old man Lockwood had treated everyone to extra cider and given the farmhands an early finish. Mrs. Lockwood was offering hot scones and cream, but we wanted to ask Barbara to the party first, so she could get ready.”

“You told the Lockwoods about the party?”

“No need. We had Sally with us in a pink chiffon dress.”

“She must have been cold.”

“Sitting on my lap? You’re kidding. To answer your question, we told them about the party and they raised no objection, so Duke and I went off to find Barbara. She should be milking, they told us. She wasn’t. She hadn’t been. The cows were still waiting with their udders straining. We went back to see if anyone had a better idea. No dice.” Harry stopped and jerked his head in my direction. “He can tell you the rest.”

Alice wasn’t letting him off. “I’ve had his account,” she told Harry in a firm, no-nonsense voice. “I came here for yours.”

“The works?”

“All of it. Everything.”

“You’re going to be disappointed,” he warned her.

“Try me,” said Alice.

Hearing all this, I was veering between anger and admiration. She’d handled Harry brilliantly, keeping control without seeming to antagonize him. Her grasp of the disjointed and highly subjective story I’d unfolded the previous evening was rock-sure. What’s more, she’d sorted it into its proper sequence. She’d match any computer in processing information. Believe me, I was smarting from the rebukes she’d dealt me, and peeved that she didn’t challenge some of Harry’s wrongheaded assertions, yet I’m forced to admit that she got more from him than I would have done.

And for all his denials, some of the most interesting details came at the end.

“I was just a bystander,” he insisted. “I heard about the rape from Sally, and she got it from Mrs. Lockwood.”

“Aren’t we jumping forward here?” said Alice. “You left us with the cows not milked and no sign of Barbara.”

Harry put back his glasses and blinked in a puzzled way. “But you know what happened. The boy found Cliff Morton in the act of raping Barbara and ran out to tell the first person he saw, who was Duke.”

“No,” said Alice serenely. “i’m not asking that. I want to know what you were doing.”

Silence.

He shifted in his chair. “Well, I, em… I joined in the search.”

“Where did you search?”

“The cowsheds. Took me some time. All those stalls.”

“And, of course, you found nothing. Did you hear anything?”

Harry considered the question. “The cider mill was still grinding.”

“So you heard that. Anything else?”

“No.”

“You searched the cowshed, and then?”

“Back to the house.”

“You crossed the yard, then?”

“Sure.”

“See anyone?”

“Barbara, with her mother. They were ahead of me, moving towards the kitchen door. Great, I thought, we found her. All we need now is Duke, so he can invite her to the party. I was about to go find him when I sensed something wrong. I took another look at the two women. I just had a back view of them, and they were almost through the door by this time. Mrs. Lockwood had her hands on Barbara’s shoulders… like this. Barbara’s hair was loose, and her head was right back and shaking, like she was hysterical.”

“Screaming?”

Harry shrugged. “The damn machine was still going. Far as I could tell, Mrs. Lockwood was holding her upright. They went inside.?m standing there scratching my head when out comes Sally.”

“From the kitchen?”

“Yeah. She runs over to me and tells me Barbara was attacked. I ask her who did it and she doesn’t know. She’s pretty upset herself, and she asks me to take her home. I ask her where Duke is. She shakes her head and tries to pull me towards the jeep. She says leave him. Just take me home. I’m telling her I can’t do that when Duke comes around the side of the cider house and says let’s go. He gets in the jeep and starts up.”

“How was he looking?” asked Alice.

“Kind of solemn. Tight-lipped.”

“His appearance. Blood on his clothes? Any sign of violence?”

“Not that I saw.”

“He was in uniform, I expect?”

“Sure.”

“Blouse and pants? The buttons all fixed as usual?”

“I guess I’d have noticed if not.”

“And how was his behavior?”

“A little erratic,” Harry admitted. “That’s how it seemed at the time. I asked if he knew what happened to Barbara. He said, as if he knew all about it, there’s nothing we can do. I said for Christ’s sake, Duke, there’s plenty we can do. For a start, we can find the creep who attacked her. Duke said leave it. He told me to get in the jeep. He spoke with a kind of authority. Sally was already aboard, yelling at me to get in for God’s sake. So I did.”