Caroline Graham - The Killings at Badger's Drift

‘Yes. I often do these days,’ he smiled at Barnaby. ‘She was certainly here when I woke.’ As he was speaking two black and gold vans - ‘Lazenby et cie’ - crunched over the gravel and through the main gate.

‘It’s the caterers,’ cried Katherine. ‘I’d better go—’

‘Actually, Miss Lacey, I did want a further word ...’

‘Oh.’ She looked at her fiancé uncertainly.

‘Don’t worry - I’ll go.’ Henry Trace pushed himself away, making for the wooden ramp by the terrace steps. Katherine followed him slowly, Barnaby by her side, Troy bringing up a salivatory rear.

‘I wonder,’ said Barnaby, ‘if you remember the day Mrs Trace died?’

‘Bella? Of course I do.’ She looked at him curiously. ‘It’s not the kind of thing one forgets in a hurry. It was terrible.’

‘I understand that you were not a member of the party?’

‘No. I stayed here, preparing the tea. Usually Phyllis helped but on that day she went out with the shoot.’

‘That was unusual, was it?’

‘Very.’

‘So the first you knew about the tragedy ... ?’

‘Was when Michael came racing in, grabbed the phone and shouted down it for an ambulance.’

‘I see. Would you say ...’ - he hesitated, picking the words over carefully in his mind - ‘that Mr and Mrs Trace were happy?’

‘Well ... yes ... they always seemed so to me. Although of course outsiders never really know, do they? They were both very kind to Michael and myself. And Henry was absolutely distraught when she died.’

Barnaby turned and looked back over the line of poplars and wooded ground beyond. ‘Was it over there the accident happened?’

Katherine followed his gaze. ‘Oh no ... in the beechwoods that lie behind Holly Cottage.’

‘I see. Well, thank you again.’

They had reached the terraced steps by now and walked up them together. As they crossed the yard Benjy made a sound from the doorstep and staggered to his feet. Katherine turned away from the sight.

‘Oh, why won’t he eat!’ she burst out passionately to the two men. ‘I bought him everything - lovely meat, biscuits. He’s got his own basket and blanket and dish - everything he had over there ...’

‘They pine, I’m afraid,’ said Barnaby.

‘But you’d think they’d want to stay alive, however sad they are.’

‘He’s a pretty old dog, miss,’ said Troy sympathetically. ‘I think he’s just tired. He’s had enough.’

‘Are you through with Katherine, Chief Inspector? I really need her over here.’

‘Well - that’s that,’ sighed Barnaby a few moments later as they drove away. ‘I suppose it was too much to hope that Katherine Lacey and the Lessiter girl would have been wandering up and down Church Lane at the same time last Friday night.’

‘But ... you do believe her, sir?’ asked Troy, still a little dazed by the rainbow lustre of the Lacey smile. ‘About the letter?’

‘Oh yes. I’ll get it followed up of course but I’ve no doubt that she posted it when and where she says. If she’s innocent there’d be no point in making up such a story. And if she’s guilty she’d make doubly sure anything we could check on was genuine.’

‘ Guilty .’ Troy unwisely took his eyes off the road to give Barnaby an incredulous glance and missed the opening to the Lessiters’ drive.

‘You really must give up this physiognomy, Troy. It can only hinder your career. She’s got more to lose than any of them.’

‘But the dog, sir. The dog didn’t bark.’

‘Yes, the dog’s a problem, I admit.’

Or perhaps the dog wasn’t a problem, he thought as Troy reversed and drove up to the Lessiters’ front door. Perhaps the dog meant he could score a line through Katherine Lacey once and for all. One down, six to go. Or seven if he kept a really open mind and included the seemingly impossible Henry Trace. What about if he had fallen hopelessly in love with Katherine when his wife was still alive and had hired someone to lurk in the undergrowth and pop Bella off? Barnaby dragged his attention back to the present and reminded himself yet again that he had no reason to suppose that Mrs Trace’s death was anything but an accident. And that he was in fact now engaged in investigating something quite different.

The doctor’s surgery still had fifteen minutes to run, which suited the chief inspector very well. Judy Lessiter opened the main door, looking even less attractive than she had the previous day. She had a frowsty air, like that of a small animal emerging after a long period of hibernation.

‘Yes.’

‘We’d like a word with your father—’

‘Surgery round the side.’ She started to close the door. Barnaby moved forward. ‘And with you also, please.’

She stared at him sullenly for a moment then shrugged and led them into the kitchen. She turned to face them, leaning against the sink.

‘Miss Lessiter, you told me earlier that you were in the library during the afternoon of the seventeenth.’

‘No I didn’t.’

‘I’m sorry but I checked your statement before coming here.’

‘I said I was at work. I don’t stand behind a counter stamping books. Part of my job is to visit schools, technical colleges ... liaise with administrators, check if there are any projects that may mean ordering special books. On Friday afternoon I was at Gessler Tye primary school.’

‘I must say I feel that you have deliberately attempted to mislead us in this matter.’

‘That’s your problem,’ she said rudely.

‘So if you would go through your movements again?’

‘I take sandwiches for lunch. I ate them then—’

‘This is in the library at Pinner?’

‘Yes. Made some coffee. Drove to the school, arriving about two, and stayed till they finished around three forty-five. ’

‘And you then returned to the library?’

‘No. It hardly seemed worth it. I drove straight here ... stopping off at the village shop for some cigarettes.’

Jammy, thought Sergeant Troy, always convinced that everyone but himself, jobwise, was getting away with murder.

‘Your father will vouch for your time of arrival?’

‘My father?’ She looked puzzled, then wary.

‘He was here all afternoon, I understand.’

There was a pause while she looked from Barnaby to Sergeant Troy and back again. ‘Is it a trick?’

‘What?’

‘I mean ... are you trying to catch me out?’

‘I don’t understand you, Miss Lessiter. Your father has stated that he was at home all afternoon. I’m merely asking if he can corroborate your time of arrival.’

‘Well ... I went straight upstairs ... so ... I wouldn’t have seen him.’

‘I see. And the evening?’

‘Oh I’ve nothing to change there. I just went for a walk, as I’ve already said.’

‘Down the lane, past the fields for about half a mile, then back?’

‘That’s right.’

‘And you didn’t stop anywhere or call on anyone?’ He added quickly before she could speak, ‘Please think very carefully before you answer.’

She stared at him. He looked serious, encouraging and, somehow, faintly knowledgeable. He could see she was wondering about the close re-questioning. ‘Well ... I’m not sure I remember ... exactly ...’ She swallowed and chewed her bottom lip.

‘I know how difficult it must be to change a story, but if you need to now’s the time to do it. I must remind you that withholding information that may assist a police inquiry is a very serious matter.’

‘Oh but I’m not! Nothing that would help, that is ...’

‘I think you should let me be the judge of that.’

‘Yes.’ She took a deep breath. She stopped leaning on the sink and stood upright looking taut and fearful, like someone preparing for a high dive. ‘I have ... that is I’m friendly with Michael Lacey. At Holly Cottage. I hadn’t heard from him for a few days and ... well, he said he wanted to paint me so I thought I’d ... drop in ... you know, to see when he wanted to start.’ Barnaby listened sympathetically. In trying to sound casual she had simply underlined her desperation. ‘So I walked up to the house but when I got there ... I could see through the window that he was working—’