Under Orders

CHAPTER 8

I stared at Juliet in disbelief.

‘He can’t have,’ I said stupidly.

‘Well, he has,’ said Juliet. ‘He’s blown his brains out.’

‘What? When?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I found him in the den about half an hour ago and called the police. He usually comes into the yard to see me at a quarter to six. When he failed to turn up, I thought he might have overslept after all the excitement of the last two days.’

I didn’t exactly think that getting arrested constituted ‘excitement’.

‘I went up to his room but he wasn’t there and the bed was still made. So I looked for him in the office and then in the den.’ She shook her head. ‘Pretty bad. I could see straight away that he was dead. The back of his head is missing.’

Her matter-of-fact description made me feel quite queasy but Juliet seemed perfectly fine and she had actually seen the carnage. Shock affects people in different ways and I suspected that Juliet was currently shutting out the trauma. In time, she might need help to cope but not yet.

I took her arm and sat her down in the passenger seat of my car. Then I went to the back door of the house. A young uniformed policeman politely informed me that no one was allowed in. He said that his superiors were on their way, together with the Scene of Crime Officer, and nobody, not even his superiors, could enter the house before the SOCO arrived.

‘Ah,’ I said, ‘is it a crime scene then?’

‘Maybe,’ said the policeman. ‘All suspicious deaths are treated as if they are crimes until we know otherwise.’

‘Very wise,’ I said and retraced my steps to my car. I sat down in the driver’s seat.

‘Juliet,’ I asked, ‘is Bill still in the den?’

‘Yes, I suppose so. That policeman was here pretty quickly but no one else has arrived. I mean, there’s been no ambulance or anything.’

‘I expect the policeman will have called one.’

‘Suppose so.’ She appeared to be going into shock, staring straight ahead and hardly listening to what I said.

‘Juliet!’ I called loudly to her and she slowly turned her head. ‘Stay here in the car and I’ll be back in a minute and take you home.’ She nodded slightly.

I picked up my camera from the glove box, jumped out of the car and, avoiding the policeman by the back door, made my way round the house to one of the windows of the den and looked in.

Bill was indeed still there although I couldn’t see him very well as he was sitting in an armchair with its back towards the corner of the room between the two windows. I could, however, see his right hand hanging limply down. In the hand was a black revolver, now pointed harmlessly at the floor. I took some pictures.

I shifted round to the next window but it didn’t give me a much better view of Bill. However, it did allow me to see and photograph a large red stain on the wall above and behind his chair. The room was well lit by the early morning sunshine and I could see that the stain was dry and there were no shiny droplets in the rivulets running down the cream paint. Bill had killed himself some time ago.

But why? Why would he kill himself after all that he had said to me yesterday? He had seemed then to be so positive and determined. Had he been rejected by Kate? Did that tip him over the edge?

And where did he get the gun?

I went right round the outside of the house looking in all the ground-floor windows. Nothing seemed to be out of place or any different from what I remembered. Except, of course, everything in this house would now be different, the disaster in the den would see to that.

I stopped by the policeman standing guard at the back door and told him that I was taking Juliet Burns home and that his superiors could find her there.

‘Don’t know about that, sir,’ he said rather hesitantly. ‘I think she should stay here until the others arrive.’

‘Well, I don’t,’ I said. ‘She’s going into shock and needs a hot drink and a warmer place than sitting in my car. And since you won’t let us into the house, I’m taking her home.’

He thought for a moment and clearly decided that it was better to let her go home than into Bill’s house. But he wasn’t keen.

‘All right, sir,’ he said at last. ‘But I need your name and a telephone number where Miss Burns can be reached.’

I gave him my name and my mobile number and drove away. Just in time, too. As we went down the road, a convoy of police cars passed us going the other way. Violent death had roused a posse from their beds.

Juliet’s home was one of four identical little cottages standing in a line right up against the Baydon road on the south-western edge of Lambourn.

‘Number 2,’ she mumbled.

‘Give me your key,’ I said.

‘It’s under a stone in the window box,’ she said. ‘No pockets in my jodhpurs so I leave it there when I go to work.’

‘You should put it on a string round your neck,’ I said.

‘Tried that but I still lost it. String broke.’

Use stronger string, dear Liza, dear Liza. But I didn’t say so.

I helped her out of the car, found the key, and took her in.

Juliet went upstairs to lie down while I made her a strong sweet cup of tea in her tiny kitchen. I took it up and sat on the edge of her bed as she drank it. She seemed to have recovered somewhat and the tea helped further.

‘Why would he do such a thing?’ she asked. ‘Now I suppose I’ll need a new job. Oh my God, the job!’ She sat up with a jerk and started to get off the bed.

‘Juliet,’ I said, ‘lie down. You don’t have to be at work today.’

‘But who will look after the horses?’

‘I’m sure Fred will work out that the horses need to be fed and watered but they won’t be going out this morning. They’ll survive without you for a while. You are staying here and that’s an order.’

I picked up her jacket from where she had dropped it on the floor and went to hang it in the wardrobe.

‘That’s OK,’ she said. ‘Leave it on the bed, I’ll do it.’

‘It’s no problem.’

I opened the wardrobe and found some space for the jacket. Juliet always gave such an impression of being an out-and-out tom-boy that I was surprised to find that she had a row of dresses hanging there, many in their designer-named plastic covers. There was also a line of fancy shoes with colours to match the dresses. In a funny sort of way, I was pleased to glimpse her feminine side. I closed the wardrobe without comment and sat down on the bed.

‘Juliet,’ I said, ‘I’ll go back to the yard and sort out any problems that Fred has with the horses. I think you should rest here as long as you can. The police will be down to see you soon enough.’

‘Thanks, Sid.’

I drove back to Bill’s place, not to the main drive but round the back, to the far end of the stables. I hopped out and went into the yard to find Fred. He was there looking slightly agitated, checking his watch. It was already ten minutes after the allotted time for the horses to go out and there was still no sign of Bill or Juliet.

‘Fred, hello,’ I called to him.

‘Oh, Mr Halley, good morning,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry but Mr Burton and Miss Juliet aren’t here yet. I can’t understand it — they should have been here about half an hour ago, at least.’

‘They won’t be coming, Fred,’ I replied. ‘The horses aren’t going out this morning. Tell the lads to remove the tack and leave them in their boxes. Give them some hay and water.’

‘But surely — ’

‘Just do it, Fred, please.’

He wasn’t sure and kept glancing towards the gate through which he still expected Bill to appear at any second.

‘There’s been a bit of a disaster,’ I went on. ‘Death in the family. The police are in the house with Mr Burton. Just tell the lads that the horses are not going out this morning. No need to tell them why.’

They would know soon enough. It wasn’t only Juliet who would need to find a new job.

‘Right,’ he said.

I left him to it and went back to my car. There was a task I had to perform before I went into the house to see the police, and it was something I was not looking forward to.

I drove out of Lambourn on the Wantage road and turned into the drive of Kate’s parents’ house. They had moved here five years ago when Kate’s father had retired and Bill had taken over the stables. But Arthur Rogers had enjoyed his retirement for only a few weeks before being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and he had survived for barely two months after that. Daphne, his widow, now lived here alone and was one of the grandes dames of the racing world.

I stopped in front of the house and wondered if anyone would be up yet. I pushed the bell and heard a reassuring faint ringing somewhere deep inside. Daphne was indeed up but still in her dressing gown as she opened the door.

‘Good morning, Sid,’ she said with a smile. ‘What brings you here this early?’

‘Morning, Daphne,’ I said, returning the smile. ‘Is Kate here?’

‘Why?’ The smile disappeared.

‘I have to see her.’

‘Did Bill send you?’ she asked. ‘I always said that Kate shouldn’t have married that man. He’s brought disgrace on this family. Race fixing, indeed!’

Murder, it seemed, was acceptable.

‘Is she here?’ I asked again.

‘Maybe she is, and maybe she isn’t. Why do you have to see her?’

‘Look, Daphne, it’s important. Something’s happened to Bill.’

‘Something else? What’s he done now?’

‘Is Kate here?’ I asked again in a more forceful tone.

‘She’s asleep. In the spare room.’

‘Are the children with her?’ I asked.

‘No. They’re in the attic rooms,’ she said. ‘Shall I go and wake them?’

‘No,’ I said, ‘leave the children. Let me go and wake Kate.’

She looked at me quizzically but made no objection as I went past her into the house and up the stairs.

‘It’s the room at the front,’ she called after me, ‘over the front door.’

I knocked gently on the door and opened it a little.

‘Is that you, Mum?’ said Kate sleepily from inside. ‘Who was that at the door?’

‘Kate,’ I said, speaking through the crack. ‘It’s Sid Halley. Can I come in?’

‘Sid! What are you doing here? Did Bill send you?’

‘Yes, Bill sent me. Can I come in?’

‘Just a minute.’ I heard her get up and open the wardrobe door. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Come in.’

She was wearing a tweed overcoat and pink slippers.

‘Sorry,’ she said with a laugh, ‘I haven’t got a dressing gown with me.’ She looked tired and her eyes were red from too much crying. ‘Where’s Bill?’ she asked.

‘At home.’

‘What are you doing here, then? I told Bill I’d be back by ten.’

‘When?’

‘When what?’

‘When did you tell Bill you’d be back by ten?’

‘Last night. Look, Sid, what’s all this about?’ She was beginning to be alarmed. ‘Is Bill all right?’

‘No, Kate,’ I said, ‘I’m afraid he’s not.’

‘Oh my God! What’s happened? Where is he?’

‘Kate, I’m afraid Bill’s dead.’ There was no easy way.

‘Dead? He can’t be. He was here last night.’

‘I’m so so sorry.’

She sat down heavily on the bed, her overcoat swinging open to reveal a pink nightdress with little blue and yellow flowers embroidered around the top.

‘He can’t be dead,’ she whispered. ‘Everything was all right last night. He came round about eight o’clock and we talked for a couple of hours. He wanted me to go home with him then but the children were asleep so I said that I’d be home this morning.’

She looked at me. ‘Was it a car accident?’

I nodded. Better, I thought, to have only one shock at a time.

A tear rolled down her cheek and fell on to her coat. A second followed and soon she was sobbing uncontrollably. She lay down on the bed and I put a pillow under her head and covered her with the duvet.

‘I’ll go and get you a cup of tea,’ I said, and went downstairs to find that Daphne was still where I had left her.

‘Is Bill dead?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Thought so. Why else would you be here and so determined to see Kate. How?’

‘Let’s get some tea.’

She led the way to the kitchen and put the kettle on.

‘How?’ she asked again.

‘I’m not really sure. He was shot.’

‘Shot! I thought it must have been an accident.’

‘No, I’m afraid not. He was shot in the head. It looks like suicide — but I’m not so sure it was.’

It was Daphne’s turn to sit down. ‘You mean it might be murder? It can’t be. He was here last night.’

‘How did he seem?’ I asked.

‘Oh, the usual… bloody-minded.’ It was no secret that Bill and his mother-in-law did not get on, and that was putting it mildly. As she had rightly said, she had not approved of the marriage and thought that Bill was nowhere near good enough for her daughter.

‘He came round here and begged Kate to go back to him. I thought she was better off without him and I told her so.’

Daphne could be a very stupid woman at times, I thought. The fact that it had been Kate who had cheated on Bill seemed to have passed her by.

‘Grannie, why is Mummy crying?’ Young William was standing in the kitchen doorway. How do you tell an eleven-year-old that his father’s brains are all over the sitting room wall?

His carefree, little-boy days had ended. Today, as the eldest of the four, he would have to carry his share of responsibility for his brothers and his sister. Today, he would become a man. A challenging task for one so young.

I made the tea for us all and took one up to the spare room.

Kate was lying on her side, curled up like a foetus. She wasn’t actually crying now. She was staring with unseeing eyes at the pillow next to her head.

I sat down beside her and laid my feeling, right hand on her shoulder. ‘Kate, I’m so sorry.’ It seemed to be an inadequate starting point.

She rolled on to her back and looked at me. ‘Where was the crash?’ she asked. ‘Was it last night? I must go and see him.’

She started to get up but I held up my hand.

‘Kate,’ I said, ‘you must not go and see him. You must remember him as he was and not as he is now.’

‘Oh God!’ she wailed and the tears flowed again. There would be many tears in the days ahead. She sat up and clung to me, her head on my shoulder. I could feel the wet warmth of her tears on my neck.

And I cried with her. I cried in grief for my lost friend.

‘Please tell me what happened,’ she said when at last the sobs eased.

If I had not been there, she would have learned the grisly details soon enough. Just as soon as some caring but clumsy policeman, detailed to inform the next of kin, had arrived to notify her that her husband had put a.38 revolver in his mouth and blown off the back of his head. I had no doubt that the gun in question was the same gun that Chief Inspector Carlisle had been looking for two days ago, the same one that was used to make the holes in Huw Walker’s chest.

‘Kate, my love, I’m afraid Bill didn’t die in a car crash. It seems that he may have shot himself.’ I tried not to make it sound as dreadful as it was.

‘You mean — he committed suicide?’ She had leaned back to look at my face.

‘It appears that he might have.’

‘Oh, my darling. Why?’ Her voice was a-quiver as a fresh round of sobbing sent a shudder through her body.

‘Here, drink your tea.’

She drank the hot sweet liquid. Best cure for shock there is.

‘Why?’ she said again. ‘Why would he? It’s my fault. I should have gone with him last night. Oh God, why didn’t I go with him?’

‘Kate, you mustn’t blame yourself.’ But I could see that she would. ‘You need to be strong for the children.’

‘Oh my God, how will I tell the children?’

‘You’ll find a way,’ I said.

There was a gentle knock at the door and Daphne came in with all four of them, little three-year-old Alice in her arms.

I told Daphne to contact me on my mobile if she needed anything and left them to it. This was a family-only task.

I let myself out of the front door and was walking over to the Audi just as a police car swept up the drive and the same young policeman as before climbed out.

‘Ah, Mr Halley,’ he said, ‘we’ve been wondering where you’d got to.’

‘You only had to call,’ I said, holding up my phone.

‘My inspector’s not pleased with me for letting you and Miss Burns leave the scene.’

‘Tough.’

‘I’ve been sent to inform the next of kin of Mr Burton’s death.’ Punishment for his failing, I thought. ‘Is Mrs Burton here?’

‘Yes, she is. But I’ve saved you the trouble. I told her myself, gently.’

‘Oh.’ He seemed relieved. ‘But I need to make it official so that I can report back.’

‘She’s telling her children now. So don’t interrupt her.’

‘Right,’ he said rather indecisively. ‘I’ll just wait here for a while. I’m expecting a female officer any minute. Please will you go back to Mr Burton’s house to see Inspector Johnson right now.’

‘OK,’ I said, and drove away.

The posse had made themselves at home in Bill’s kitchen. Four men sat at the table. One of them stood up as I walked in through the back door.

‘Yes, sir,’ he said, ‘can I help you?’

‘I’m Sid Halley,’ I replied.

‘Ah, we’ve been looking for you.’

‘You’ve found me, then.’

‘I’m Inspector Johnson, Thames Valley Police,’ he said. ‘Where is Miss Juliet Burns?’

‘At home in bed.’

At their request, I gave them both Juliet’s address and my own, together with my date of birth. Strange how the police always want to know how old everyone is. They said I was free to go but I should expect to be contacted in due course by the coroner.

‘Don’t you want to interview me?’ I asked.

‘Why should I?’ said Inspector Johnson. ‘Looks like a pretty straightforward suicide. Done us a favour if you ask me.’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

‘Couldn’t bear the thought of going to prison for murder. Saved us all the time and money.’

‘Are you sure it’s suicide?’

‘Forensics will find out. We’re waiting for them now.’

‘Just make sure they check that he did fire the gun,’ I said. ‘Residue on the hands and all that.’

‘Everyone’s a bloody detective these days,’ he said. ‘You’ve been watching too much television, sir.’

‘Ask them to check all the same.’

‘I’m sure they will.’

He had made up his mind that Bill had killed himself and I wasn’t going to convince him otherwise at the moment. I hoped forensics might do so in due course.

I went to see Chief Inspector Carlisle in Cheltenham. I had phoned first to see if he would be there and he met me in the police station reception.

‘Morning, Mr Halley.’ It felt like afternoon but my watch showed that it was still only nine thirty.

‘Morning, Chief Inspector,’ I replied. ‘Can I borrow some of your time?’

‘As long as it’s not a waste.’ He smiled. ‘Wasting police time is an offence, you know. Shall we go through to an interview room?’

‘I’d rather go out for a coffee,’ I said. ‘I’ve haven’t had breakfast yet.’

He appeared to consult his inner self and decided that it would be acceptable for him to have coffee with a ‘public’ and agreed to let me drive us the short distance down to the Queen’s Hotel in my car. The previous week, this hotel would have been heaving with the masses from across the Irish Sea, here for the racing festival. Now it was tranquil and calm. We found a quiet corner of the restaurant and ordered not only coffee, but toast and marmalade as well.

‘Now, what do you want to see me about?’

‘You are aware, I presume, that Bill Burton was discovered dead this morning.’

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘Thames Valley rang me.’ He made Thames Valley sound like a person not a police force. ‘But how do you know that he’s dead?’

‘I arrived at the house just after he had been found by Juliet Burns.’

‘You’re making a bit of a habit of being around at critical moments.’

‘Coincidence,’ I said, and remembered that Bill had been told he could go down for coincidence. ‘Do you think Bill Burton killed himself?’

‘Why do you ask?’ he said.

‘Because I don’t.’

‘Ah,’ he said, ‘the loyal friend who believes his pal is innocent of all charges in spite of a load of evidence to the contrary.’

‘Don’t mock me.’

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘You’re the last person I should mock. You’ve probably solved more cases than I have.’

I raised a quizzical eyebrow.

‘Word gets round, you know. Never mind a criminal records check, most employers these days would like their staff passed by you. “Okayed by Halley” has become slang for reliable and honest.’

‘Well then, don’t mock me when I say that I don’t believe that Bill Burton killed himself.’

We waited in silence as a waiter put the coffee and toast down on the table.

‘Tell me why you don’t believe he killed himself.’

‘He had no reason to do so. When I spoke to him last night he was positive and determined. Suicide was the last thing on his mind. He was hardly likely to ask me to come and ride out this morning if he was contemplating doing himself in.’

‘Maybe something happened overnight,’ he said.

‘It did. His wife agreed to return home.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I’ve spoken to her. I went to tell her that Bill was dead. I thought it was better coming from a friend. I told her mother, too. They can both confirm that Kate was going to go home this morning. So he had every reason to live.’

‘You’re telling me he was murdered?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who by?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Almost certainly the same person who murdered Huw Walker.’

‘But why? What’s the motive?’

‘To stop the police hunt for the real killer. If the police’s prime suspect is found with his head blown off, with the same gun as that used for the first murder grasped in his hand, the obvious conclusion is that he had been overcome with guilt for his actions and done the honourable thing.’

‘Seems a reasonable conclusion to me,’ he said.

‘Bit too convenient, don’t you think? And where was the gun? You failed to find it when you searched his house?’ I was guessing, but it had to be so.

‘True,’ he said, ‘but we didn’t take the whole place apart brick by brick, and it may have been somewhere in the stables.’

‘Nevertheless, I’m convinced he didn’t kill himself — and, even if he did, he wouldn’t have done it in the house for his wife to find — or, for heaven’s sake, his children.’

‘He might have done if he wanted his revenge on her for talking to the police about Huw Walker.’

The waiter came over and politely asked that, as breakfast was now finished, did we mind moving to the lounge so he could set up for lunch.

‘I have something for you to listen to,’ I said. ‘Can we go out to my car instead?’

We went and sat in my car in the hotel car park.

I slotted the tape from my answering machine into the car tape player and let it run to the end of Huw’s second message. Carlisle pushed the rewind button and listened to it all through again.

‘You should have given this to me sooner,’ he said.

‘I only found it this morning.’ He looked at me in disbelief, which I suppose was fair enough.

‘Funny,’ he said, ‘I’d forgotten that he was Welsh. Makes him more of a man rather than just a body, if you know what I mean.’

I nodded.

Carlisle pushed the rewind button a second time and played the tape once more. I didn’t need to hear Huw’s voice. By now, I knew those messages by heart.

‘Hi, Sid. Bugger! I wish you were there. Anyway, I need to talk to you. I’m in a bit of trouble and I… I know this sounds daft but I’m frightened. Actually, Sid, no kidding, I’m really frightened. Someone called me on the phone and threatened to kill me. I thought they were bloody joking so I told them to eff off and put the phone down. But they rang back and it’s given me the willies. I thought it was all a bit of a lark but now I find that it ain’t. I need your bloody help this time, mate, and no mistake. Call me back. Please call me back.’

And the second one

‘Where are you when I need you, you bugger? Come on, pick up the bloody phone, you bastard! Can’t you tell when a mate’s in trouble? Just a few losers, they says, for a few hundred in readies, they says. OK, I says, but make it a few grand. Do as we tell you, they says, or the only grand you’ll see is the drop from the top of the effing grandstand. Should have bloody listened, shouldn’t I?’

‘When did he leave these messages?’ asked Carlisle.

‘I’m not absolutely sure,’ I said.

‘Didn’t your answering machine tell you?’ he asked.

‘No, it came out of the ark,’ I said, ‘but, as you heard, there was another message between the two from Huw. I found out from that caller that he telephoned just before eight in the evening the day before Huw died. So one of Huw’s calls was before eight p.m. and the other after.’

‘So you didn’t just find them this morning,’ he said.

‘Well, no, not exactly,’ I said, suitably chastised.

Carlisle ejected the tape and put it in his pocket. ‘I’ll take this, if you don’t mind,’ he said.

I was sure he would take it even if I did mind.

‘I’ll give you a receipt for it when we get back to the station.’

‘Doesn’t sound like someone frightened of being killed by a jilted husband,’ I said. ‘More to do with fixing races.’

‘Burton was arrested for that, too, remember.’

‘Do you have an answer for everything?’ I said.

‘You pays your money and makes your choice.’

I drove back to the police station and pulled up in front of the entrance.

‘Will you do me a favour?’ I asked.

‘Maybe,’ he said.

‘I asked the police inspector at Bill’s house this morning to make sure that his forensic team check whether Bill had actually fired the gun or not — you know, residue on the hands. He seemed convinced that it was suicide and… well, could you check that the test is done?’

He nodded. ‘Standard practice but I will ask.’

‘And will you tell me the result?’

‘Don’t push your luck, Mr Halley.’

Pushing my luck is what I was about to discover I needed.