The Borrowdale Body, page 14
‘I wish I’d brought a notepad with me,’ sighed Ben. ‘It only really works on paper.’
‘I’ve got one. You know I never go anywhere without it.’
‘Oh joy!’ sighed Ben happily.
The session in the park occupied well over an hour, threaded as it was with irrelevant observations on passing people and their dogs, the prospect of Simmy and Christopher managing another child, and whether Bonnie would ever get herself to the point of learning to drive. The actual brainstorming on the subject of events in Borrowdale remained somewhat thin and frustrating.
‘We don’t know enough,’ Ben complained. ‘It’s all smoke and mirrors.’
‘Shadows and suggestions.’
‘Guesses and ghosts.’
It descended into a silly game for a few minutes, before Ben took up his pen again.
‘Well, we know a man died, probably in the big house and then his body vanished. We know the owner of the house was attacked there. But by then she might not still have been its owner. We don’t know who does own it now. There’s a very distant cousin and a mystery man who found out where Christopher lives and went there to look for him. Presumably. Why else would he be there? He must have thought Lily was part of the family or something. We know Jennifer Reade wanted the sale stopped, to judge by her final words.’
‘We know quite a lot, really. I’m not sure where you got some of this from, though. Did you see Christopher yesterday? Or what? Have you found any of it online?’
Ben realised that he had been deliberately withholding almost everything from Bonnie, on the assumption that she would find it upsetting. Now she was only slowly catching up.
‘Nothing online that I can find. Yes, Christopher came back to the saleroom after he’d been taken off to Penrith and gave us the bare bones of it. And Moxon found Simmy this morning and told her some more.’
‘Yes. I knew that. It’s a very weird story, though. I can’t see any sense in it at all.’
‘Well, I think it looks as if Jennifer killed the man in the cellar and manipulated Christopher into keeping quiet about it. Then some other person attacked her – maybe in revenge because they knew and loved the dead man. Then they’d have to dispose of the body somehow, because it would incriminate them once it was identified. But it wouldn’t matter if they found Jennifer’s body.’ He frowned deeply, snatching at elusive ideas. ‘They must have thought she was dead, and not just badly hurt.’
‘Probably too busy to check,’ commented Bonnie wryly. ‘Lugging a dead man out of a cellar and finding somewhere to dump him – sounds exhausting.’
Ben chuckled. ‘So we’re looking for somebody big and strong.’
‘Or two people,’ said Bonnie.
He gave her an admiring look. ‘I never thought of that,’ he said.
‘Maybe we can call Simmy now,’ Bonnie tried again. ‘She’ll be home, won’t she?’
‘Probably. How about you do it, so she knows you’re okay with it? She can tell you how it went in the shop, at the same time.’
So Bonnie tried, only to be sent to voicemail, both on the landline and Simmy’s mobile. She did not leave any message.
‘Can’t think why anybody still keeps a landline, especially if they don’t answer it,’ she grumbled. ‘And I think her mobile’s turned off.’
‘She probably just wants a bit of peace and quiet after a busy morning.’ Ben found himself feeling a degree of relief at not having his mistake exposed, where Bonnie’s frame of mind was concerned. ‘She’ll be out in the garden or upstairs or something.’
‘It’s only half past three. She might have gone to find Christopher instead of going home. Or could be she’s in Threlkeld. We don’t know for sure that she went home, do we?’
‘We don’t know where anybody is,’ Ben complained. ‘Her or Christopher, at least.’
‘Or Moxon, come to that. It’s such a pity you didn’t let her tell you everything when she phoned you. Now it’s all scattered about, and we’re wasting all this time.’
‘My bad,’ said Ben, knowing this would make her smile. ‘I’m thinking we could just go to a movie and forget the whole darned thing.’
They found their way to the Vue cinema in the wonderfully named Botchergate and chose the least awful film on offer, out of a deeply uninspiring programme.
‘It must be us,’ said Ben with a sigh. ‘We’re freaks because we don’t find superheroes very entertaining.’
‘We ought to try harder,’ said Bonnie. ‘And it’s worth it for the popcorn. I’ve always loved popcorn. When I was fifteen it was about the only thing I would eat.’
‘Come on, then,’ said Ben. ‘And after this I suggest we go over to Hartsop and do things properly. I did tell Simmy we’d call in tomorrow, but she won’t mind if we bring it forward.’
‘Thank goodness for that,’ said Bonnie.
The film was of only moderate length, and the pair were on their way to the Hendersons’ at around half past six, having failed to give advance warning of their intentions.
‘They’ll be glad to see us,’ said Ben with confidence. As they drove the final mile, they realised they were following Christopher’s car.
‘Fancy that!’ said Bonnie. ‘He’s been out all day, by the look of it. Poor Simmy’s been on her own all afternoon.’
‘You don’t know that. He might have just popped out for something.’
‘Bet you.’
‘I hope there’s some food. Popcorn isn’t very filling.’
‘It is to me. We might have to go to the pub for something if you’re hungry. You can’t expect Simmy to feed us. She’s probably putting the baby to bed, and not in the mood for cooking.’
‘I think Christopher can work an oven, if it comes to it.’
‘Why didn’t we come here earlier, instead of wasting money on that dozy film?’
‘Because we were having a day out, and that’s what people do. It’s only seven, or a bit after. We can all sit outside and solve the murder between us. It’s what we’re good at, remember?’
‘We’ll have to park at the end of the road. There’s no space there. He hasn’t noticed us, look.’
Ben pipped the horn as he paused outside the converted barn. Christopher glanced up and took three seconds to register who they were. He smiled warily and performed a little pantomime to ask whether they were planning to come in. Ben opened the car window.
‘Is it all right?’ he asked. ‘We’ll park further up and walk back.’
‘Does Simmy know you’re coming?’
‘No. But she phoned me earlier on, and said she’s got things to tell us. She won’t mind, will she?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ said Christopher Henderson ominously.
‘Not exactly hospitable,’ muttered Ben as he drove to a spot where he could leave the car.
Chapter Fourteen
Simmy was in the kitchen when her husband came in. The dog ran eagerly to greet him, jumping up and grinning.
‘Hi, pooch,’ he said, rubbing her shoulders tightly in a gesture she loved. ‘Had a good day?’ he called through to Simmy, having spotted her by the sink. ‘Ben and Bonnie are here. I gather they haven’t given you any warning.’
She came out, wiping her hands on a tea towel. ‘That’s nice,’ she said and meant it. She gave her husband a close inspection. ‘Was it horrible? Where are the others, then?’
‘Parking the car. It wasn’t horrible at all, actually. The man’s called Price and he’s remarkably human. There have been developments.’
‘So I gather. I saw Moxon.’
Ben and Bonnie arrived then, greeting Cornelia first, as Christopher had done. ‘We went to Carlisle,’ said Bonnie. ‘And saw a rubbish movie.’
‘In this weather? What a waste,’ said Simmy. ‘Do you want food? I could do a pasta thing with chicken. It wouldn’t take long.’
‘Sounds great,’ said Ben.
All four of them herded into the kitchen and formed a team. Christopher cut up meat and onions and started them cooking; Simmy made a cheese sauce, jostling amicably with her husband as they both stood over the hob; Bonnie chopped parsley and Ben laid the table. The pasta was boiled and the whole assemblage finally popped into the oven.
‘Drink!’ said Christopher. ‘We’ve earned it.’
They sat in the central room, variously labelled ‘living room’ or ‘big room’, since it served a number of purposes. The Hendersons drank white wine and the youngsters had ginger beer.
‘We should be outside,’ said Simmy. ‘But there aren’t enough chairs. We don’t get many of these gorgeous summer evenings.’
‘Your roses look good,’ said Bonnie, gazing out of the window at the flowers.
‘Not bad for their first year,’ agreed Simmy modestly.
‘I got it wrong about Bonnie,’ Ben blurted. ‘She’s quite happy to talk about everything that’s been happening. I was being overprotective.’
‘I did wonder,’ said Simmy. ‘When you were so abrupt on the phone.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Christopher’s been in Penrith all afternoon, and I saw Moxon. I’m not sure whether we’ve both been told the same things. This is the first chance we’ve had all day to speak to each other.’
‘You told me there was a cousin suddenly showed up. Should we start with him?’
‘No,’ said Christopher firmly. ‘Because I know who the dead man in the cellar is – was. I think that trumps everything else.’ Everyone gave him all due attention. ‘He’s called Deeping and he’s a printer. He ran the printworks next to our saleroom. I ought to have known him by sight, although I didn’t recognise the picture they showed me. It’s obviously not a coincidence, as the police soon figured out.’
‘You’re lucky they didn’t ask you to identify him,’ said Ben. Then he smacked himself lightly on the hand. ‘Silly me – there’s no body to identify, is there? Unless they’ve found it and we haven’t heard.’
Christopher shook his head. ‘To be honest, I’m overstating it a bit. I don’t think they can ever be completely sure who it is, until they find the body. It’s all circumstantial. But when they showed me a photo I thought it must be the same person. Although I didn’t really look at the body properly.’
‘Overstating it a lot, then,’ said Ben. ‘That’s not evidence, is it?’ He paused to think. ‘And it’s the wrong way round, somehow. The police hear that someone next to you in Keswick has gone missing and they instantly conclude it’s the vanishing body in Borrowdale. That seems quite weird – and it puts you right in the centre of it all. I bet they were pretty heavy about it, weren’t they?’
‘Not at all, actually. I was just telling Simmy they were perfectly pleasant. I only really saw the top man, anyway. DS Price. He seemed to think I was being quite helpful.’
Ben was quiet again, and Bonnie spoke for him. ‘He’s trying to think himself into the minds of the police,’ she explained.
‘They haven’t got much to go on, have they?’ said Simmy. ‘No dead body to identify. Jennifer Reade not having a phone to examine, and coming from somewhere miles and miles away. The only person they’d like to suspect has a cast-iron alibi.’
‘What person?’ demanded Ben.
‘I told you when I phoned. A long-lost cousin has materialised. But he was on a plane when Jennifer was killed, and in India before that – so it can’t have been him, even though he’s the one who stands to benefit. He’s not exactly a cousin. I met him and he explained it.’
‘He could have paid someone to do it,’ said Ben, with raised eyebrows as if to say, Isn’t that obvious?
‘We’re forgetting the nameless man who came here yesterday and accosted Lily,’ said Christopher. ‘I nearly forgot to mention him to the police, which was pretty stupid of me. But my head was so full of the auction and everything, it’s not so surprising.’
Simmy stared at him. ‘But it’s got to be important. I told Ben about it – almost the first thing I said, but he didn’t want to listen to me.’ She was still feeling sore at the way she’d been cut off.
‘I’ve said sorry,’ Ben repeated. ‘I meant well.’ Bonnie patted his arm, both consoling and warning. ‘We all get things wrong,’ Ben added, looking at Christopher.
‘We talked about him this afternoon,’ said Bonnie. ‘Ben wrote down some ideas about it.’ She pulled the notebook from her canvas bag and handed it to Ben, who had his computer on his lap. He put the notebook down beside his leg on the sofa.
In half a minute, they were all intently comparing findings and ideas. It turned out that Simmy had the most to say, reporting her relief in sharing the whole thing with her father and her admiration for his quick understanding. ‘I can’t remember all of it now, but he clarified things for me, at least. I was in a complete muddle until then.’
‘I’m listing the main questions,’ said Ben. ‘First – why did Jennifer want to stop the sale? That’s the big one now, it seems to me. Lots of other bits point to that being crucial. The cousin who’s a counterfeiter and will presumably now inherit the money from the house and all the stuff that was in it. I’m wondering if there’s something amongst the lots that’s worth way more than we realise and is the whole answer to everything.’
Christopher groaned. ‘Don’t say that. We’ve gone to all that trouble to find provenance and current value for just about everything in the sale. Even your precious veilleuse, which I admit to never having heard of before. First edition Hugh Walpoles won’t fetch much. I don’t remember any boxes of old papers or a manky old stamp album. And judging by how it was going yesterday, the hammer prices won’t be anywhere near what we were hoping.’
‘There is a stamp album, actually,’ said Ben. ‘It was Sir John’s in the 1950s. But there isn’t much in it.’
‘No Penny Black?’ said Bonnie.
Ben shook his head.
‘Then there’s the printer,’ said Simmy. ‘If it is him, of course.’
‘Right,’ said Ben uncertainly. ‘I think I do know him slightly. He came to a sale a few months ago, and I think he put something in. Antiquarian books, or something.’ He addressed Christopher. ‘Don’t you remember?’
‘Not really. Did they make much?’
Ben tapped the keyboard of his laptop. ‘Let’s have a look. Yes – back in February. “Three small incunabula.” They were just a few pages each – it’s all coming back to me. We had to look up that word.’
Christopher closed his eyes, racking his memory. ‘Okay. I’m getting glimmers of memory. Wasn’t that the day we sold the vintage tractor, and everyone went mad for it? Everything else got a bit overshadowed. Did they make much?’ he asked Ben again.
‘They did, quite. Some online bidders were fighting for them. Went to five hundred quid or thereabouts. Surely you remember now?’
‘Sort of. It really isn’t my field. I hadn’t twigged that it was the printer man who was the vendor.’
Simmy had followed this with interest. ‘Incunabula?’ she repeated slowly. ‘What a wonderful word! Like something from a Dan Brown story.’
‘It just means a very old piece of printed matter. Quite dull, really. I think Dan Brown does mention them. If he doesn’t, he should.’
‘It’s starting to connect up, though, isn’t it?’ said Bonnie.
‘Who bought them? The incunabula?’ asked Christopher.
Ben scrolled and tapped. ‘Someone called Maurice Phillippson. Two ls and two ps. Lives in Salisbury.’
‘Which isn’t far from Swindon,’ noted Simmy. ‘Where Jennifer Reade lived. Isn’t that significant?’
Ben was still tapping. ‘Found him!’ he announced after thirty seconds. ‘He’s got a shop there, and a bit of an empire, by the look of it. Places in Leeds and Aberystwyth as well. All very specialist and old-fashioned. Pictures of little shops in side streets. Sells stamps, postcards, antiquarian books, early broadsheets, letters, diaries. Probably does most of it online now, in spite of having the shops.’
‘This is really getting somewhere!’ said Bonnie happily. ‘Look at all the connections we’re finding.’
‘Except we might be getting it all wrong,’ cautioned Ben. ‘Let’s leave that a minute and try Question Two. Who was the man who came here and spoke to Lily? And what exactly did he say?’
Simmy and Christopher looked at each other, and then Simmy spoke, ‘Something like, “Tell Mr Henderson, I know he’s trying to find a body”. Nothing else. We just assumed he had to be talking about the man in the cellar. But it’s a funny way to word it. Like he was accusing Christopher of killing the man.’
‘No,’ said Ben slowly. ‘More like he was on the same side – implying they both wanted to find it.’
Simmy thought about that. ‘It’s possible, I suppose. Lily said he wasn’t unfriendly or scary. But it sounds like an accusation to me,’ said Simmy.
‘Maybe he was Maurice Phillippson,’ said Bonnie hopefully.
‘I smell food,’ said Christopher suddenly.
Simmy jumped up in a panic. ‘I knew this would happen,’ she cried. ‘We get so carried away we let the dinner burn. Come on – quick!’
It was not burnt, except for the very edges, and they soon demolished the whole lot, adding more wine and ginger beer, and finishing with some chocolates that Simmy had saved from Easter.
‘I always did make them last,’ she laughed. ‘I have been known to keep some until Christmas.’
They returned to the big room, but the momentum was lost.
‘This is a weird way to spend a Saturday night,’ said Christopher. ‘We should all be down at the pub.’
Nobody had anything to say about that. The fact of a baby asleep upstairs was enough on its own to make the remark unworthy of consideration. A feeling that it was Christopher who, more than all of them, should be pressing for a resolution of the matter in hand kept the three of them quiet. Ben’s laptop had fallen asleep and Bonnie was looking tired.
‘It’s only eight o’clock,’ Christopher went on. ‘And the sun doesn’t set for another hour or more.’
