Almost Eden, page 37
‘Alright, Roger.’
‘Your … lorry?’
‘Mate’s.’
‘I see. So … what have you got?’
‘More potatoes, asparagus.’ He studied me. ‘Do you need any … cattle feed?’
I slowly shook my head.
‘Sheep dip?’
Again I shook my head.
‘Rotary cultivator? Good petrol engine one?’
‘Not today. Thanks.’
‘Concrete?’
‘Always useful.’
‘Gravel?’
‘Again, always useful – if it’s a good price.’
‘Plastic piping, like guttering?’
‘Yes, need to fix the house guttering, and given the water wheels we have – it may come in handy.’
‘Wood?’
‘Wood is always useful.’
‘I got nails and stuff.’
The pilfered items started to be unloaded and stacked up as the wind buffeted us, Ben and Robby lending a hand, most of the goodies being placed in the cellar. Still, none of the items exhibited a manufacturers’ stamp or bar code, there was no indelible ink with a postcode on the potatoes, so I was not too concerned.
The wood looked useful, for some future venture yet to be dreamt up, and I grabbed dozens of large plastic bags, not yet sure what use I would put them to – but plastic bags were always useful. Unloading heavy plastic bags full of gravel, I cut them at one end, soon pouring out the contents onto the rock groyne that we had started, my hope being that someday I would fish off it. Six bags had filled many of the gaps between the base rocks, and I could now almost stand level on the groyne.
Twelve feet or more of mud had been penetrated, a platform created, and I stomped down the gravel as goods were unloaded from the lorry, or from the back of Marcus’s Land Rover. Paying Marcus, I told him that I had enough bits and pieces for now, and not to bring anything else unless I asked him to. Paid, he sloped off to claim his bed after a dark night’s pilfering. Captain Norton would have been proud of him.
As I carried the last of the items towards the house, Ben and Robby set out, Ben driving. I was concerned, but Robby was there, and not even riotous mobs would bother our Robby. They returned just half an hour later, as I was considering what to do next with my fishing platform.
Smirking, Ben walked around to the rear of the Land Rover as I ambled across, emerging with a large rifle. My face dropped.
‘It’s an air rifle, Dad. Pellets. Relax.’
‘They still kill people, Ben.’ I composed myself. ‘Where did you get it?’
‘Fishing tackle shop in Kingsbridge.’ He bent the long barrel, grimacing as he did so, loaded a pellet, took aim on the mud and fired as I turned. A poor unsuspecting seagull flopped onto its back.
I clasped my hands behind my back. ‘Ben, if you’re going to kill a seagull, make sure you do it where we can collect the bird – and eat it.’
‘Errr,’ he let out.
‘They’s alright,’ Robby insisted, also holding a large air rifle. ‘Like duck.’
‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,’ I quipped.
Robby loaded, aimed and fired, causing the poor dead seagull to roll over.
‘Ben,’ I called, maintaining a firm stare. ‘Teenagers die all the time from those. Within ten yards you can kill someone if you hit the right spot.’
‘Anyone who comes bothering us.’
I raised a pointed finger. ‘We would ask them to go, shout a warning, fire in the air.’
‘Dad, you sleep with a loaded shotgun under your pillow, and you’re getting all pissy about this. Bloody hell, Dad. Chill.’
He had a point. ‘Just … be careful. It’s not a toy.’
‘I ‘ad one when I wuz young,’ Robby announced. ‘Good for rabbits.’
‘Yes?’ I queried, a thought occurring to me. We could go out and hunt rabbits.
Secretly, I wasn’t that unhappy about the air rifles, not that I would admit to it; I still had to be dad. If someone broke in, or appeared on the land, Ben could scare them off – or wound them, meaning that I would be in court for the rest of my life and very poor.
Think of hunting rabbits, I stood on the rock groyne and wondered what more I could do with my sorry-looking fishing platform. I was tempted to use breeze blocks, but the council could order the structure removed. Easing off my jacket, I wandered ten yards down the coastal path and lifted a large rock, struggling back with it, dumping it down at the end of the groyne.
Hell, there was nothing for it but some blood, sweat and tears, and in this cool breeze I would not overheat. Half an hour of earnest labour and I was sweating, despite the wind. Ben helped out for a while, before getting bored of the manual labour, and Sophie stood watching for a while. I had made some progress before I figured I’d need new skin on my hands, and I quit for a nice cup of tea.
‘Where are the rifles?’ I asked Ben.
‘I have one in my room, Sophie has one.’
I blinked. ‘Ben, we’re not under siege.’
‘People were murdered up the road. Someone comes here we - can defend ourselves.’ He shrugged.
‘Sophie has one?’ I puzzled.
‘Yeah, and she’ll use it,’ Ben insisted.
I took a moment and sipped my tea. ‘Is she … do you think she’s coping?’
‘Bad experience like that would affect anyone.’
‘She seems better, and the two of you seem to joke with each other.’
‘She’s better off here with us than … somewhere else. She has the laptop, Max, and the rabbit.’
‘They … often recommend counselling after something like this.’
‘Ah, rubbish, they always say that, but she just needs to be with family for a while.’
‘She talks to you more, so … let me know if there’s anything I should know.’
He made a face and shrugged. ‘Couple of weeks here and she’ll be fine.’
I hid my delight at the idea of them both staying for weeks on end, and I had been lying to myself about how I might feel when they finally left. When that day came it would be just me and Robby, and he would be busy during the day, in his cottage at night. It would just be me, but for now I was working very hard at not considering that day.
Back outside, I noticed Robby with a wheelbarrow full of rocks. He dumped them at the end of my rock groyne.
‘You needs a barrow,’ he said. ‘Around woods is place with rocks.’ And off he sloped. I repositioned some of the rocks before he returned, a second large load dumped, and he had more than doubled what small progress I had made.
An hour later, and my groyne was twenty feet long, or more. I grabbed bags of gravel from the cellar and filled the cracks between the rocks as best I could. It was not a smooth surface to stand on, but you would not break an ankle either.
‘Have to let it settle,’ Robby suggested. ‘Couple of days or more.’ He pointed. ‘It’ll sink some.’
‘You think it will be good for fishing?’
‘Aye, cast out a bit further. Know what’s best?’ I waited. ‘Small garden rake, on rope. You chucks it out when tide is out, and drags it back before tide.’
‘Exposing things that a hungry fish might eat,’ I said with a nod. ‘We have two or three rakes.’
After lunch, I grabbed the scythe and sharpened the apparently useless tool. Outside, on the coastal path, I swung at weeds against a stiff breeze, soon chopping them down, all the while wondering if I should write to the council and ask that they maintain the path – and trim it now and then. Figuring I’d get a rude reply – and not wanting anyone official to find Robby’s diesel, I hacked at weeds all the way along, planning on leaving them to dry out for a few days before burning them.
At the end of the path I stopped for a rest, hold my scythe like Death himself, taking in the estuary as the tide came in. Noticing something in the mud, I stepped across the sand – the scythe being used like a walking stick, the wind now blowing a fine layer of sand from right to left - and making it appear as if the sand was fast flowing water. An observer on the headland might have been forgiven for stopping and staring as the strange sight.
At the edge of the sand I stopped, horrified to see what I thought was a body in the mud. I glanced towards the house, seeing Robby on the slope. Turning back to the estuary, my heart racing, I studied the lifeless form, part of a face and hand clear.
I might not have seen it, I told myself. No law against bad eyesight, I might not have seen it. The boats in the middle of the estuary were quickly scanned, no one visible; no one else had seen it either. The tide was coming in, it would be washed away. No, it may end up on the sand, or … or it may stay where it is. It may wash up in front of the damn house!
Callum would be back. No, I couldn’t face him. I closed my eyes and cursed at length whichever god I had so offended as to be tormented like this. Turning, I walked quickly back to the house, ironic scythe in hand.
I had not seen it, no one can prove that. I had not seen it.
In the kitchen I made myself a tea, and sat by myself. I had not seen it, I repeated in my mind. Closing my eyes, and pinching my nose, I was startled by Max nipping my leg. I let down a hand, and he gently nibbled on it, wanting someone to play with.
Ben came in, a biscuit pinched. ‘You alright, Dad?’
‘Sit. Please.’ As he sat, I heaved a sigh. ‘There’s … a problem.’
He was immediately worried. ‘What, Dad?’
Breathing in and out in a controlled manner, I tried to calm myself. ‘There’s a body, washed up in the mud.’
‘A body? Well … call the police.’ He waited. ‘What is it, Dad?’
‘The police have questioned Robby before now, and … with the murders up the road they’ve question me about Robby several times.’
‘You don’t think Robby killed someone, do you?’
I shook my head. ‘No. But that’s not the point. If the police come back … it all looks suspicious, so many deaths centred around this place. They … they may just take Robby on a balance of probabilities.’
‘Fit him up, you mean,’ Ben angrily complained.
‘Sometimes … fitting the evidence to someone is easier than fitting them to the crime.’
‘Fucking police just want a result, they don’t care if he’s guilty or not!’
‘I can … just forget what I saw, and for all we know it was someone out fishing, or they fell off their boat. That happens all the time around here. But … but it may wash up on the sand, or close to the house, and your sister…’
‘Then we watch where it goes, or we nudge it back out.’
‘Ben, it’s a crime not to report it, a serious one, and nudging it back out is also crime.’
‘If they see us! Weather is shit today, Dad, no one on their boats, and we don’t see walkers around here. And it looks like rain. Be no one about.’
Rubbing my face, I thought through the consequences, Sophie stepping in. She stood waiting, taking in the faces; she could tell something was wrong.
Ben lifted his face to her. ‘Dad’s found a body on the mud.’
‘A body?’
‘It’s not our bloody problem,’ Ben told me. ‘Could be someone who fell off their damn boat.’ He paused, lifting his face to Sophie. ‘But the police are sniffing around Robby because of the other murders. Dad thinks they may fit him up.’
‘Do you know who it is?’ Sophie asked me, a logical question.
‘I couldn’t see the face.’
‘It could be anyone,’ Ben insisted. ‘Could have floated down from Plymouth for all we know.’
‘What’ll you do?’ Sophie asked.
‘One option,’ I began, ‘would be to just let the tide take it somewhere else.’
‘That could be someone’s father or brother,’ Sophie pointed out. Ben and I both let our heads drop.
When Ben lifted his head, he quietly said, ‘They’re already dead, listed as missing, and we’re not to blame. Nothing changes if we don’t call the police.’ He held his hands wide. ‘Body is found a day later, but not here, no harm done.’
Sophie sat. ‘Well, I suppose.’ She made eye contact with me. ‘You think it’s connected to the other murders?’
‘Knowing my luck, yes.’
‘There are people fighting over fuel in Kinsgbridge,’ Ben pointed out. ‘Could be something completely unrelated, or a fishing accident.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed, trying to put on a brave face. I took in their faces. ‘I’ll not ignore it … if it upsets you, I’ll call the police.’
‘Leave it,’ Ben encouraged. He turned to Sophie. ‘We don’t need the police fitting-up Robby.’
‘You should do what you think is best, Dad,’ Sophie told me.
‘By doing that … I’m implicating you.’
‘Rubbish,’ Ben said. ‘Body, what body, I never saw a body. Did you see a body, Soph?’
She stood. ‘No, I never saw a body,’ she said as she left the room.
I eased up, offering Ben a weak smile, and joined Robby on the slope, a misty rain coming in sideways. ‘Robby, there’s a problem,’ I called. ‘Come with me, please.’
He followed me, drawing level as we walked down the coastal path, both of us getting damp from the light rain now hitting us front on. I led him to the edge of the sand, our faces now wet and glistening.
I pointed. ‘See it.’
He took a moment. ‘Body.’
‘If we call the police … well, they think you might have done the other murders, Robby.’
‘They think I dunnit?’
I nodded, squinting as the rain started to hit me in the eyes. ‘If they come back and find this body, they might want to take you.’
‘I never dunnit,’ he protested, his hair now soaked, dark clouds racing by, the trees on the headland bending.
‘The police don’t care, they just want to look good for the newspapers.’ He stared back at me, and appeared genuinely fearful. ‘We can leave the body there, it’s not our problem, or we move it and let the tide take it.’
‘Let the tide take it,’ he suggested. ‘Aint not our problem.’
‘The tide might just bring it higher, and leave it on the sand.’
‘When the tide comes, I’ll drag it over to rocks by headland. When the tide goes, there be a current there.’
I reluctantly nodded. ‘Thankfully, the weather is terrible, no one around.’
Back at the house, I made it inside before a hell of a storm descended, thunder and lighting somewhere in the distance, day turning to night, rain soon lashing the windows. In my room, I could not make out where the body was, so any casual observer stood nearby would have the same problem. Praying that Callum would have no reason to call in today, I busied myself painting, a few places still in need of white paint.
An hour later, I could see that it was high tide, and I stood in my room, watching Robby walk down the beach through sheets of grey rain. It was perfect weather for hiding a body. I lost sight of him, and I quietly hoped he was alright, and not being washed out to sea.
Half an hour later I was worried, and I put my coat on, venturing outside. I fought my way along the coastal path, leaning forwards against the wind, my face and trousers soaked in seconds, only mad men being out in this weather. At the farthest reach of the sand I noticed movement, a large dark figure moving over the rocks as waves crashed ashore. Robby stepped up to me a few minutes later.
‘Has it gone?’ I shouted.
‘I reckon so.’
‘Did you see the face?’ I shouted against the storm, the day so dark that I could hardly make out his features.
‘Aye, it was that man you know.’
‘What! Who!’
‘Man who came here before.’
I moved closer to him. ‘What man?’
‘Dunno his name.’
‘What did he do?’
‘Legal man.’
I was shocked rigid. ‘Legal man? Young man, came here with the new neighbour from the farm up above?’ I shouted.
Robby shook his head. ‘Old man.’
‘Old man?’
I lead Robby back, wondering just who the hell he meant. In the kitchen, we peeled off the wet layers, the floor soaked and muddied in an instant.
‘Christ, Dad, you’re soaked,’ Sophie complained.
‘I’ll change now, hot shower.’ I faced Robby as he took off his oilskins. ‘What old man was it?’
Ben and Sophie were all ears.
‘Old man who done stuff for Betty.’
‘Pugh? Mark Pugh’s father, in Kingsbridge?’
‘Aye. Place on corner.’
‘Who is he?’ Sophie asked.
‘My original solicitor, the father of Mark Pugh – who was killed in Plymouth.’
‘That killing was nothing to do with anything,’ Ben insisted. ‘It wasn’t linked.’
I confirmed that with a look and a nod, grabbing a towel and drying my face and head.
‘He may have fallen off a boat,’ Sophie suggested. ‘Might be nothing suspicious.’
I lifted my phone and selected the number I had for Pugh’s solicitors, holding up a palm to silence everyone. ‘Hello, it’s Roger Bannister … yes, that man … I was after Mister Pugh Senior. Yes, I’ll wait. Hello? You are … Susan Tailor. I had some questions about the original will…’
After listening for a minute, I thanked the lady and hung up, a kitchen full of expectant faces, the windows steamed up. ‘Pugh senior hit the bottle after his son’s death, been off work for ten days, and … he had a breakdown.’
‘He killed himself,’ Ben firmly stated. ‘It’s unrelated, just … frigging bad luck him washing up here.’
‘Well, given where he lived and worked, it was fifty-fifty that he’d wash up here or on the Salcombe side – if he jumped in up stream.’
‘Won’t be problem with police?’ Robby asked, dripping all over the floor. Sophie handed him a towel.
I shook my head and smiled. ‘No. Get dried off, get a warm drink. And don’t worry about it.’
‘What if it washes up again?’ Sophie asked.
