But what a wait! Ramsay thought. From nine o’clock until eleven when Charlie Elliot saw her. Who could she have been waiting for? Alice Parry? Surely no story could be so important to a reporter on a local paper. What had she discovered?
“How long did you stay in the bus shelter?”
“Ten minutes,” he said. “ No more. It was cold.”
“What did you do then?”
“We went to Dave’s house,” Ian said. “His mam and dad had gone out to the pub.”
“What time did you leave Dave’s house to go home?” Ramsay asked.
“Just after midnight.”
“You must have walked across the green on your way home,” Ramsay said. “Was the woman still in the churchyard?”
“No,” the boy said. “ I looked. She had gone. No-one was there.”
“Did you see anyone else?”
“A couple of old men on their way home from the pub.”
“What about Charlie Elliot?”
“No,” Ian said. “I didn’t see him.”
“Did any cars go past?”
“Not that I remember.”
“You didn’t see a blue Rover that night?”
At the sink the woman put the last wooden spoon on the draining board, wiped her hands on a towel by the range, and turned to face the policeman. He was aware of her immense control.
“I don’t understand where all these questions are leading, Inspector,” she said. “I don’t want Ian mixed up in all this.”
“Oh,” Ramsay said easily, “I’m sure Ian will have heard the rumours in the village. He’ll know what’s been going on. He’ll know that Charlie Elliot was suspected of killing Alice Parry. And now your husband’s found his body in your barn on the hill. In my experience teenagers aren’t easily upset.” He turned back to the boy. “ What were you doing on Monday evening? Did you hear anything unusual?”
But it seemed that Ian had supplied all the useful information he had. On Monday the cold had already started and he had come straight home from school. He had been in his bedroom doing homework for most of the evening. He had not heard anything unusual. He’d been listening to records. Through earphones. His dad always complained if there was noise.
Celia Grey saw Ramsay out of the house with obvious relief. There was tension and unhappiness in the family, he thought, but as always in a serious investigation it was impossible to tell if they were the result of unrelated domestic problems or connected to the case. He paused for a moment in the yard, expecting Robert Grey to come, but the farmer had disappeared. As he walked back towards the Otterbridge Road, two Land Rovers filled with policemen drove past on their way to the hill. Hunter must have organised that, he thought. Hunter will be in his element now. He imagined the crowd of them working together, the banter, the shared drinks at the end of the day in Otterbridge, and felt lonely and left out.
But I was right about Mary Raven, he thought. She was in the churchyard that night and Charlie Elliot saw her. I was right about that. Mary Raven was the link between the village and the Laidlaws. She worked for James and had been haunting the village all that day. He knew she must be involved.
Ramsay walked down the Otterbridge Road, intending to collect his car, but he saw Colin Henshaw in his uniform of waxed jacket and Wellingtons ahead of him and followed him on, past the Castle Hotel towards the sea. A group of women was standing on the pavement, some with pushchairs and children, waiting for the school bus to bring the older children back from Otterbridge. Ramsay became aware that they were excited, angry. There were raised voices. As he walked on down the hill behind Henshaw, he saw the object of their hostility. In the Tower meadow, between the house and the dunes, a surveyor and two assistants were working with a theodolite and a tape. The women saw Henshaw and surrounded him, blocking his path to the field.
“You can’t start building,” one of them said. “Not until the council’s come to a decision about taking an appeal to the high court.”
“I’m not building,” he said.
“What are you doing then?” She was a farmer’s daughter, fearless, unintimidated.
“That’s my business,” he said.
“No,” she said. She was redheaded. “ It’s our business. Village business.”
He pushed past the women and climbed the stile into the field. He stood, calf-deep in mud, separated from the farmer’s daughter by the fence.
“If you don’t like my plans for the village,” he said quietly, “ what are you going to do about it? Murder me to keep your precious village intact? That’s what Charlie Elliot did to Alice Parry after all.”
“You don’t know that,” the woman cried. “ It’s your greed that was responsible for her death!”
“Greed!” he shouted back. “ You’re a fine one to talk about greed. Don’t tell me that you’re worried about scenic beauty. The only thing that bothers you is that a new development would bring your house prices down.”
The redhead saw the school bus coming down the hill and controlled herself.
“I’m not going to descend to your level by having a public slanging match,” she said. “ But you’ll not get away with it. I can promise you that.”
The children spilled out of the bus and the mothers moved away.
Ramsay walked on down the street to the stile.
“Mr. Henshaw!” he called. “ Could I have a word, please?”
The builder turned and scowled, but moved back towards the fence.
“What do you want?” he said. “I’ve had enough disruptions for one day. I’ve got to make a living. Not like those bloody women with their fancy talk.”
“Have you heard that we’ve found Charlie Elliot?” Ramsay asked.
“No,” Henshaw said. “ Does that mean you’re all going to go away and leave us in peace?”
“Not exactly,” Ramsay said. “ He was murdered. He was found by Mr. Grey on the land behind your house.”
Henshaw said nothing.
“It might be considered a suspicious coincidence,” Ramsay said. “The two people in the village who opposed your plans most vehemently are dead. I suppose that’s convenient for you.”
“Look,” Henshaw said. “I’m a powerful man. I can get my own way without resorting to violence.”
“But that wasn’t the case in the past, was it?” Ramsay said. “I’ve been hearing rumours that you used to find violence rather useful.”
“I’ve been convicted of nothing,” Henshaw said. “You shouldn’t listen to gossip.”
“Perhaps not,” Ramsay said. “ I have some good news for you. Your story about Saturday night has been confirmed. We know Mrs. Parry was alive when she left you. She was seen in the pub late that night.”
“There you are then,” Henshaw said. “What did I tell you? This business has nothing to do with me.” It seemed to Ramsay that he was too relieved. “Now perhaps you’ll leave me and my wife alone.”
“Of course,” Ramsay said. “ We don’t intend to intrude.” He paused. “Are you sure you didn’t leave your house after Mrs. Parry went to the pub on Saturday night?”
Henshaw was suddenly furious. “ What do you mean?” he cried. “What’s she been saying?”
“Who?” Ramsay asked mildly. “What’s who been saying?”
“Have you been to my house again,” Henshaw demanded, “talking to my wife without my permission?”
“No,” Ramsay said. “ I’ve not been to your home. Do you think Mrs. Henshaw has some information that might be useful?”
“No,” Henshaw said. “ This is all a waste of time.” He turned on Ramsay. “You should have stopped those women from bothering me. This is my land. That’s what we pay you for.”
“Oh,” Ramsay said, “I should have thought you could handle them.” He was about to return to the subject of Henshaw’s movements on Saturday night, but the builder interrupted him.
“And it’s not only them.” He nodded towards the gaggle of women disappearing up the street. “That reporter from the Express phoned me up this morning. Could she come to see me? she asked. She’s doing an article on local businessmen. Like hell you are, I told her. Sod off and bother some other bugger. I’ll get the police on you for harassment.”