Stephen Booth - Dying to Sin

Sutton’s words faded away into a tired squeak, and his head began to nod. Within moments, he was asleep in his chair.

Cooper shook his head in defeat. Raymond Sutton was like a man who’d been parachuted in from another century. He might have learned to accept cars and television, but he still clung to his set of Victorian beliefs as if they were a life raft. Even his voice seemed to have rusted over from neglect.

Only Mr Brindley was at home today, not the rest of the family. There must be a second car if his wife was out, because the Range Rover still stood, gleaming, on the drive.

‘Well, we’d been talking about it between ourselves the night before, turning it over in our minds,’ said Brindley when Fry asked him about his information on Elder. ‘And when we saw the temporary police office in the village, we felt obliged to call in, as good citizens. I hope it was the right thing to do.’

‘Certainly. That’s what it was sited there for, sir. I’m glad you felt able to come forward. Not many people in Rakedale have.’

‘Well, I’m not surprised. I suppose the village people are rather clannish, aren’t they? They want to stand by their own. But we’re already outsiders, you see, so it doesn’t matter what we do or say. It will hardly make any difference to our relations with our neighbours, will it?’

‘I wouldn’t be too sure, you know,’ said Fry, thinking of the incident of the crows in the bedroom. That had been in this very house, hadn’t it? She couldn’t know whether Jo Brindley had told her husband about it, so she didn’t mention it.

‘What do you mean, Sergeant?’

‘It might be advisable to check your security measures. Just in case word gets out and somebody takes exception.’

He looked concerned. ‘Oh, I suppose you’re right. They’ve never really been aggressive to us before. Rude, yes. We’ve had some unpleasant comments made to us in the pub from time to time, when we’ve called in. But outright aggression, no. I wonder if we did the right thing, after all.’

‘Yes, of course you did. If you’d kept information like that to yourself, you’d be as bad as they are, wouldn’t you?’

‘Ah. And I wouldn’t want that, would I? A good point, Sergeant, well made.’

‘Could you just explain to me what your connection is with Mr Jack Elder? I know you’ve been through it before, but — ’

‘No, that’s all right.’ Brindley steepled his hands. ‘It must have been a few years ago that I first came across him. I can’t be sure how long exactly. It was one of those occasions that we’d been into the pub, Jo and I.’

‘This would be the Dog Inn?’

‘In Rakedale, yes. We do call in from time to time, to try and show our faces. We’ve done our best to mix in, Sergeant, really we have. But the locals always seem very hostile. They whisper among themselves — and, even worse, some of them make quite outrageous comments out loud. Elder was one of those. He always seemed to be in the same corner of the pub whenever we went in, and we came to dread seeing him there. That’s why we stopped calling. Personally, I hated to stop, because it looked like cowardice. But Jo would get upset, so I went along with her.’

‘And then there was an encounter with Mr Elder away from the pub, I understand?’

‘Yes. Well, I used to see him many times away from the pub. But there was one specific occasion I recalled for the officers in Rakedale. Elder actually came here, to the house, once. Fortunately, no one else was home at the time, except for me. I often work from home, you see. That day, I couldn’t believe it when I saw Jack Elder park his lorry in my gateway and come up to the house. I was ready for an unpleasant scene, I can tell you.’

‘And what happened?’

‘Well, I answered the door, and he stood there, grinning at me through that awful beard. At first, I couldn’t understand what he wanted. But eventually it became clear that he was trying to sell me cheap fuel. He kept pointing at my car and saying, “Look, mate, it’s diesel, in’t it?”, or something like that. He got very aggressive after a while, and started making comments about Jo. Obviously, I shut the door and he went away again. I’m ashamed to say I was a bit shaken by the incident.’

‘But you didn’t report it?’

‘No. Well, it would only cause more trouble in the village. I’m thinking about the welfare of Jo and the children.’

‘So what made you change your mind now?’

‘The murders,’ said Brindley. ‘That’s what they are, aren’t they? The two bodies at Pity Wood Farm? If Jack Elder is connected in any way to those, I couldn’t possibly keep quiet any longer.’

‘But what makes you think he might be connected?’

Brindley leaned forward. ‘I said I’d seen him many times away from the pub. Perhaps I didn’t make it clear that the place I used to see him most often was coming and going from Pity Wood Farm with his lorry.’

Fry made a note in her notebook, listening to the quietness in the house.

‘Is your wife not at home, sir?’

‘No,’ said Brindley, relaxing again. ‘She’s at extra rehearsals in Edendale today. Some panic over a few changes to the dance routines for the chorus.’

‘A Christmas production of some kind?’ asked Fry, recalling that theatres came into the Brindleys’ lifestyle, along with restaurants and shopping.

‘Yes. I can tell you where she’s rehearsing, if you want to speak to her. I must warn you, she might be a bit distracted, though. She really gets into character, you know.’

Brindley laughed, showing a perfect set of teeth. Fry smiled politely, but she didn’t get the joke. Well, not until later.

While Fry was on the way back to Edendale, Murfin rang her mobile with a message. He sounded muffled, as though he’d started eating mince pies early. Fry fully expected to find the office carpet scattered with crumbs next time she went in.

‘Diane, there was a call for Ben Cooper,’ he said. ‘But he isn’t here, so I thought you ought to know about it.’

‘What, Gavin?’

‘The Garda Siochana have traced Martin Rourke.’

‘The Garda? So he’s back in Ireland then, just as Farnham thought he might be.’

‘Yes, he’s back on his home patch in Dublin. Running a souvenir business, apparently. Seems he’s given up manual labour and gone into the tourist industry.’

‘It’s where the money tends to be these days,’ said Fry. ‘It’s true here, and I’m sure it’s true in Ireland.’

As he was leaving The Oaks, Cooper found a small, elderly lady standing in the doorway of the dining room, supporting herself on a walking stick. She smiled at him as he passed.

‘Had a nice visit?’

‘Yes. Thank you.’

‘You came to see Raymond.’

‘That’s right.’

Cooper was about to move away when he heard a voice in the back of his mind saying: ‘Talk to the old lady.’ And he stopped, and smiled.

‘I’m Mrs Greatorex,’ she said. ‘Annie Greatorex.’

‘Hello, Mrs Greatorex. Nice to meet you.’

‘He’s gone a bit ga-ga, hasn’t he? Raymond?’

‘Well …’

‘It’s no surprise. His brother went the same way. Well, not the same way — a bit different, I suppose. The result is the same. The place we all end up.’

She winked at Cooper and edged a bit closer, scraping the rubber end of her stick on the carpet. When she was near enough, she touched his sleeve. He noticed a faintly mischievous gleam in her eye, behind the harmless smile.

Diane Fry would have told him that he had work to do back at the office, and not to waste his time with batty old women just because he felt sorry for them. But there was something more than that about Mrs Greatorex. The glitter in her eye suggested that she wasn’t really batty at all. And old ladies … well, old ladies knew things that other people didn’t.