Anthony Horowitz - Raven_s Gate

He pulled himself to his feet and walked into the centre of the road with his arms raised. The police car slowed down and stopped. Two officers got out and walked over to him.

“You all right?” the first one asked. He was middle-aged and plump, with a high forehead and thinning black hair.

“Shouldn’t you be at school?” the other asked. He was the younger of the two, thin and boyish with cropped brown hair.

“There’s been a murder,” Matt said.

“What? What are you talking about?”

“A man called Tom Burgess. He’s a farmer. He lives at Glendale Farm. I’ve just come from there.” The sentences came out short and staccato. Matt was finding it hard to stitch the words together.

The two policemen looked doubtful.

“You saw him?” the senior man asked.

Matt nodded. “He was in the bedroom.”

“What were you doing there?”

“I was meant to meet him.”

“What’s your name?”

Matt felt the impatience rising inside him. What was wrong with these men? He had just found a dead body. What did it matter what his name was? He forced himself to calm down. “I’m Matt,” he said. “I’m staying with Jayne Deverill at Hive Hall. I met Tom Burgess. He asked me to visit him. I was there just now. And he’s dead.”

The older policeman looked more suspicious than ever, but his partner shrugged. “We just passed Glendale Farm,” he said. “Maybe we should take a look.”

The other man thought for a moment, then nodded. “All right.” He turned to Matt. “You’d better come with us.”

“I don’t want to go back there!” Matt exclaimed.

“You can wait in the car. You’ll be all right.”

Reluctantly Matt climbed into the back seat and allowed the two officers to take him back the way he had come. He gritted his teeth as they turned into the driveway. The car slowed down, the wheels biting into the gravel.

“It seems quiet enough,” the older policeman said. He turned round to face Matt. “Where did you say you saw him?”

“Upstairs. In the bedroom.”

“There’s someone here,” the younger one said.

Matt looked out of the window. The policeman was right. A woman had appeared to one side of the house. She was tall and thin with limp grey hair hanging to her shoulders, and he recognized her. She was one of the women he had met in Lesser Malling. She had been pushing a pram. What was her name? Creasey. Or Creevy. Now she was in Tom Burgess’s garden, hanging out a basket of washing. Matt couldn’t understand what was happening. She had been inside the house, so surely she had seen the state of the rooms. Hadn’t she been upstairs?

The policemen got out of the car. Feeling increasingly uneasy, Matt followed them. The woman saw them coming and stopped what she was doing.

“Good morning,” she said. “How can I help you?”

“My name is Sergeant Rivers,” replied the older man. “This is Police Constable Reed. Who are you?”

“I’m Joanna Creevy. I help Tom Burgess with his housework. What’s wrong?” She seemed to notice Matt for the first time. “Matthew? What are you doing here?” She scowled. “You haven’t got yourself into trouble, have you?”

Matt ignored her.

“This is a little difficult,” the sergeant began. “The fact is that we just met this young lad on the road.”

“You left your bicycle here, Matthew,” the woman said. “I thought you must have been visiting.”

“Matthew claims that Mr Burgess might have been involved in some sort of accident,” the sergeant went on.

“It wasn’t an accident,” Matt interrupted. “He’s been killed. Cut to pieces. I saw him…”

The woman stared at Matt, then broke into laughter. “That’s impossible,” she said. “I saw Tom ten minutes ago. You just missed him. He’s gone to see to the sheep in the far paddock.”

The policemen turned to Matt.

“She’s lying,” Matt said. “He didn’t go anywhere ten minutes ago. I was here just now and he was dead.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say,” Miss Creevy muttered. “Tom is fine. And here I am, hanging out his socks!”

“Go and look in the bedroom,” Matt said.

“Yes. You do that.” The woman nodded – and that was when Matt began to worry. She seemed confident – one step ahead of him.

Sergeant Rivers nodded slowly. “We’d better sort this out,” he said.

They went into the house and Matt saw at once. Although it was still untidy, Miss Creevy – or someone – had cleared away most of the evidence. The books and papers had been straightened. The shutters were folded back. And the knife had been taken out of the kitchen cupboard… but the gash it had left was still there. They continued upstairs.

“You’ll have to forgive the mess,” Miss Creevy said. “Tom has been redecorating and I haven’t had a chance to start work yet.”

They reached the landing. The door of the bedroom was closed, just as Matt had left it. He didn’t want to go in. He didn’t think he could bear to look at the body a second time. But he couldn’t back out now.

Sergeant Rivers opened the door.

There was a man working in the room, wearing a pair of white overalls that were flecked with green paint. Everything was different. The sheets and blankets had been removed from the floor and the bed was propped up on its side against the wall. The curtains had been hung up and although one of the windows was still broken, there was no sign of any broken glass. The scattered clothes had disappeared. So had the body of Tom Burgess. The man saw the two policemen and stopped work.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning, sir.” The sergeant took a quick look around. “May I ask who you are?”

“Ken,” the man replied. “Ken Rampton.” He was in his twenties, scrawny with a sly, crumpled face and curly fair hair. He smiled and Matt saw that one of his front teeth had been chipped diagonally in half. “Can I help you?”

“How long have you been here?”

“All morning. I got here about half eight.”

“Do you work for Tom Burgess too?”

“I’m helping him out with the decorating.”

“Have you seen him today?”

“I saw him about a quarter of an hour ago. He looked in to see how I was getting on, then he left… Something to do with his sheep.”

“That’s what I just told you,” Miss Creevy said.

Matt felt the blood rush to his cheeks. “He’s lying,” he insisted. “They both are. I know what I saw.” Suddenly he remembered. “Tom Burgess left a message,” he said.

He swung round and pushed the door shut to reveal the wall behind it. But the wall, which had been off-white before, was now green. And the words that the farmer had painted had gone.

“Be careful,” Ken Rampton warned. “Wet paint…”

Sergeant Rivers came to a decision. “We won’t waste any more of your time, sir,” he said. He grabbed hold of Matt, his hand tightening on his shoulder. “As for you, I think we should have a word outside.”

Miss Creevy followed them back downstairs and out into the yard. Matt wondered if the policemen were going to arrest him. In fact, he suddenly realized, that was exactly what he hoped would happen. If they arrested him, maybe he would be taken back to London. Maybe this sort of behaviour would mean that he could kiss the LEAF Project goodbye. But before anyone could say anything, Miss Creevy stepped forward. “I wonder if I could have a private word with you, officer?”

They spoke for about two minutes. The sergeant glanced his way a couple of times and nodded, while Miss Creevy shrugged and spread her hands. Finally he walked back over to them.

“You ought to know that wasting police time is a very serious business,” he said.