“On the scarecrow.”
“I mean, where did your daughters find it?”
Mooney flapped his hand in a southerly direction. “About thirty yards off.”
“Show me.”
The afternoon was the hottest of the year so far. Thousands of bees were foraging in the rape flowers. Mooney didn’t mind disturbing them, but the inspector was twitchy. He wasn’t used to walking chest-high through fields. He kept close to the farmer, using his elbows to fend off the tall plants springing upright again.
Only a short distance ahead, the bluebottles were busy as well.
Mooney stopped.
“Well, how about this?” He was stooping over something.
The inspector almost tumbled over Mooney’s back. “What is it? What have you found?”
Mooney held it up. “My kids’ ball. They’ll be pleased you came.”
“Let’s get on.”
“Do you smell anything, Inspector?”
In a few hours the police transformed this part of Middle Field. A large part of the crop was ruined, crushed under the feet of detectives, scene-of-crime officers, a police surgeon, a pathologist, and police photographers. Mooney was depressed by all the damage.
“You think the coat might have belonged to the owner of the cottages across the lane, is that right?” the inspector asked.
“I wouldn’t know.”
“It’s what you told me earlier.”
“That was my wife’s idea. She says it’s a posh coat. No one from round here wears a posh coat. Except him.”
“Who is he?”
Mooney had to think about that. He’d put the name out of his mind. “White, as I recall. Jeremy White, from London. He bought the tied cottages from the developer who knocked them into one. He’s doing them up, making a palace out of it, open plan, with marble floors and a spiral staircase.”
“Doing them up himself?”
“He’s a townie. What would he know about building work? No, he’s given the job to Armstrong, the Devizes firm. Comes here each weekend to check on the work.”
“Any family?”
“I wouldn’t know about that.” He looked away, across the field, to the new slate roof on the tied cottages. “I’ve seen a lady with him.”
“A lady? What’s she like?”
Mooney sighed, forced to think. “Dark-haired.”
“Age?”
“Younger than him.”
“The sale was in his name alone?”
“That’s right.”
“If you don’t mind, Mr. Mooney, I’d like you to take another look at the corpse and see if you recognise anyone.”
From the glimpse he’d had already, Mooney didn’t much relish another look. “If I don’t mind? Have I got a choice?”
Some of the crop had been left around the body like a screen. The police had used one access path so as not to destroy evidence. Mooney pressed his fingers to his nose and stepped up. He peered at the bloated features. Ten days in hot weather makes a difference. “Difficult,” he said. “The hair looks about right.”
“For Jeremy White?”
“That reddish colour. Dyed, isn’t it? I always thought the townie dyed his hair. He weren’t so young as he wanted people to think he were.”
“The clothes?”
Mooney looked at the pinstripe suit dusted faintly yellow from the crop. There were bullet holes in the jacket. “That’s the kind of thing he wore, certainly.”
The inspector nodded. “From the contents of his wallet, we’re pretty sure this is Jeremy White. Do you recall hearing any shots last time he was here?”
“There are shots all the time, ’specially at weekends. Rabbits. Pigeons. We wouldn’t take note of that.”
“When did you see him last?”
“Two weekends ago. Passed him in the lane on the Sunday afternoon.”
“Anyone with him?”
“That dark-haired young lady I spoke of.”
The inspector produced the wallet found on the body and took out a photo of a dark-haired woman in a blue blouse holding up a drink. “Is this her?”
Mooney examined it for some time. He eyed the inspector with suspicion, as if he was being tricked. “That wasn’t the lady I saw.”
There was an interval when the buzzing of insects seemed to increase and the heat grew.
“Are you certain?”
“Positive.”
“Take another look.”
“Her with the townie was definitely younger.”
The inspector’s eyebrows lifted. “How much younger?”
“A good ten years, I’d say.”
“Did they come by car?”
“There was always a sports car parked in front of the cottages when he came, one of them BMW jobs with the open top.”
“Just the one vehicle? The lady didn’t drive down in her own?”
“If she did, I’ve never seen it. When can I have my field back?”
“When I tell you. There’s more searching to be done.”
“More damage, you mean.”
Mooney met Bernie Priddle with his dog the same evening, coming along the footpath beside the hedgerow. Bernie had lived in one of the tied cottages until Mooney decided to sell it. He was in his fifties, small, thin-faced, always ready with a barbed remark.
“You’ll lose the whole of your crop by the look of it,” he said, and he sounded happier than he had for months.
“I thought you’d turn up,” Mooney said. “Makes you feel better to see someone else’s misfortune, does it?”
“I walk the path around the field every evening. It’s part of the dog’s routine. You should know that by now. I was saying you’ll lose your crop.”
“Don’t I know it! Even if they don’t trample every stalk of it, they’ll stop me from harvesting.”
“People are saying it’s the townie who was shot.”
“That’s my understanding.”
“Good riddance, too.”
“You want to guard what you say, Bernie Priddle. They’re looking for someone to nail for this.”
“Me? I wouldn’t put myself in trouble for some pipsqueak yuppie. It’s you I wouldn’t mind doing a stretch for, Mooney. I could throttle you anytime for putting me out of my home.”
“What are you moaning about? You got a council house out of it, didn’t you? Hot water and an inside toilet. Where’s your dog?”
Priddle looked down. His Jack Russell had moved on, and he didn’t know where. He whistled.
Over by the body, all the heads turned.
“It’s all right,” Mooney shouted to the policemen. “He was calling his dog, that’s all.”
The inspector came over and spoke to Priddle. “And who are you exactly?”
Bernie explained about his regular evening walk around the field.
“Have you ever seen Mr. White, the owner of the tied cottages?”
“On occasion,” Bernie said. “What do you want to know?”
“Ever seen anyone with him?”
“Last time — the Sunday before last — there was the young lady, her with the long black hair and short skirt. She’s a good looker, that one. He was showing her the building work. Had his arm around her. I raised my cap to them, didn’t speak. Later, when I was round the far side, I saw them heading into the field.”
“Into the field? Where?”
“Over yonder. He had a coat on his arm. Next time I looked, they weren’t in view.” He grinned. “I drew my own conclusion, like, and walked on. I came right around the field before I saw the other car parked in the lane.”
The inspector’s interest increased. “You saw another car?”
“Nice little Jeep Cherokee, it was, red. Do you want the number?”
“Do you remember it?”
“It was a woman’s name, SUE, followed by a number. I couldn’t tell you which, except it was just the one.”
“A single digit?” The inspector sounded pleased. “SUE, followed by a single digit. That’s really useful, sir. We can check that. And did you see the driver?”