Simon Beckett - The Chemistry of Death

In other words, no. 'Why didn't you tell me? You said you'd call if anything happened!'

'It was late. I was going to let you know this morning.'

'What, you thought you'd be disturbing me?'

'Look, I know you're worried, but this is a police investigation-'

'I know. I've been involved in it, remember?'

'When I can tell you anything I will. But right now we're questioning a suspect, and that's all I can say.'

I fought back the urge to shout at him. He wasn't the type to respond to threats. 'The radio said it was a local man,' I said, fighting for calm. 'That means before long everyone in the village will know who it is, whether you like it or not. I'm going to find out eventually. It just means I'll spend the next couple of hours trying to guess what's true and what isn't.' All at once I felt I hadn't the energy to argue. 'Please. I need to know.'

He hesitated. I said nothing, giving him chance to convince himself. I heard him sigh. 'Hang on.'

The phone was muffled. I guessed he was moving out of earshot of whoever else was with him. When he came back on his voice was hushed.

'This is strictly confidential, all right?' I didn't bother answering. 'It's Ben Anders.'

I'd been prepared for it to be a name I recognized. But not that one.

'Dr Hunter? You there?' Mackenzie asked.

'Ben Anders?' I repeated, stunned.

'His car was seen near Jenny Hammond's in the early hours of the morning before she went missing.'

'And that's all?'

'No, that's not all,' he snapped. 'We found equipment for making traps in the back of it. Wire, wire cutters. Wood for stakes.'

'He's a nature reserve warden, he probably uses them at work.'

'So why was his car outside Jenny Hammond's house?'

I was still struggling to take this in. But my mind was starting to work now. 'Who saw it there?'

'I can't tell you that.'

'You had a tip-off, didn't you? An anonymous tip-off.'

'What makes you say that?' His voice had become suspicious.

'Because I know who made it,' I said, with sudden conviction. 'Carl Brenner. You remember I told you Ben thought he was poaching? They had a fight a few nights ago. Brenner lost.'

'That doesn't mean anything,' Mackenzie said, stubbornly.

'It means you should ask Brenner what he knows about this. I can't believe Ben's got anything to do with it.'

'Why not? Because he's a friend of yours?' Mackenzie was angry now.

'No, because I think he's been set up.'

'Oh, and you don't think that might have occurred to us? And before you ask, Brenner happens to have a solid alibi, which is more than your friend Anders has. Did you know he's an ex-boyfriend of Sally Palmer?'

The news wiped away anything I might have said.

'They had a relationship a few years ago,' Mackenzie continued. 'Just before you moved to the village, as a matter of fact.'

'I didn't know,' I said, dazed.

'Perhaps he forgot to mention it. And I bet he also forgot to mention he was arrested for sexually assaulting a woman fifteen years ago, didn't he?'

For the second time I was lost for words.

'We were already looking at him even before we got the tip-off. Amazingly enough, we're not complete idiots,' Mackenzie went on, remorselessly. 'Now, if you don't mind, I've got a busy morning.'

There was a click as he broke the connection. I hung up myself. I didn't know what to think. Ordinarily I would have sworn Ben was innocent. I was still convinced the anonymous tip-off had come from Brenner. The man was small-minded enough to want to settle the score with Ben any way he could, regardless of the consequences.

Still, what Mackenzie had said had shaken me. I'd no idea that Ben used to have a relationship with Sally, far less that he'd a history of assault. True, there was no reason why he should have told me, and probably every reason for him not to under the circumstances. Now, though, I couldn't help but question how well I knew him. The world is full of people who've insisted the person they know can't be a killer. For the first time I wondered if I was one of them.

But far more worrying was the possibility that the police were wasting precious time on the wrong man. All at once my mind was made up. I grabbed my car keys and ran out of the house. If Brenner had lied to incriminate Ben, he had to be made aware of the cost to Jenny of what he was doing. I needed to know one way or the other, and if necessary convince him to tell the truth. If not…

If not I didn't want to think about what would happen.

The sun was already hot as I drove through the village. There seemed more police and press than ever before. The journalists, photographers and sound engineers huddled around in disgruntled groups, frustrated in their attempts to interview the closed-mouthed locals. I couldn't bear to think they were here because of Jenny. As I passed the church I saw Scarsdale in the graveyard. On impulse I pulled over and got out. He was talking to Tom Mason, wagging a bony finger as he delivered his instructions to the gardener. When he saw me approaching he broke off, his face folding into planes of displeasure.

'Dr Hunter,' he said, coldly, by way of greeting.

'I need a favour,' I told him, bluntly.

He couldn't quite conceal a glimmer of satisfaction. 'A favour? Quite a novelty, your needing to ask me for anything.'

I let him have his moment. There was more at stake here than pride, his or mine. He made a show of looking at his watch.

'Whatever it is, it'll have to wait. I'm expecting a phone call. I'm due on air for a radio interview shortly.'

Any other time I might have been irritated by his tone of self-importance, but now I barely noticed. 'This is important.'

'Then you won't mind waiting, will you?' He cocked his head as the sound of a phone ringing came from an open door at the side of the church. 'You'll have to excuse me.'

I wanted to grab him by his dusty lapels and shake him. I was even tempted to walk away myself. But Scarsdale's presence might help if I was going to appeal to whatever passed for Brenner's better nature. After the previous night when I'd almost knocked him down, I doubted he'd listen to me if I went alone. So I said nothing and waited as Scarsdale hurried inside.

The sound of garden clippers gradually penetrated my preoccupation. I looked over to where Tom Mason was carefully trimming the grass around a flowerbed and doing his best to pretend he hadn't heard the exchange. Belatedly, it occurred to me that I hadn't even acknowledged him.

'Morning, Tom,' I said, trying to sound normal. I looked around for his grandfather. 'Where's George?'

'Still in bed.'

I hadn't even known he was ill. It was yet another sign of how I'd let the practice slip. 'His back again?'

He nodded. 'Few more days and he'll be fine, though.'

I felt a stab of guilt. Old George and his grandson were Henry's patients, but home visits were my responsibility. And the old gardener was such a fixture in Manham I should have noticed he wasn't around. How many other people had I let down lately? And was still letting down, because Henry would be taking this morning's surgery without me yet again.

But fear for Jenny overrode anything else. The need to do something – anything – started to bubble over as the pompous drone of Scarsdale's voice drifted through the open doorway. I felt light-headed with impatience. The sunlight in the churchyard seemed too bright, the air sweetly nauseous with scents. Something was tugging at my subconscious, but whatever it was vanished as I heard Scarsdale hang up. A moment later he emerged from the church office, looking self-righteously pleased with himself.

'Now, Dr Hunter. You were asking for a favour.'

'I'm going to see Carl Brenner. I want you to come with me.'

'Indeed? And why should I do that?'