A Crowded Coffin(31)

Sam clucked his tongue in annoyance. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Edith, not you as well? I’ve had Harriet adding two and two and making seventeen on the same topic. And,’ he shot a warning glance at his cousin, ‘I suggest you both keep quiet about your wilder theories. There’s a man missing and the police admit they have some concerns. It’s not a matter for idle speculation.’

Edith blinked and looked anxiously at Harriet, who laughed at her. ‘He’s a clergyman, he has to say things like that. Don’t worry, it goes with the job. If Sam and Rory don’t want to discuss the village goings-on, you’d better drop round for coffee with me tomorrow, Edith. We can sum up the evidence, or lack of it, then.’

Just before midnight Edith jolted awake, a partially formed idea nagging away at the back of her mind. Sleep proved elusive so she scrambled out of bed and looked out at the moonlit farm, silver and black in the shadows. All the anxiety about her grandfather’s health, along with the fairly parlous state of the farm’s finances, clamoured in her head, and she was just about to draw the curtain again when a glint of light caught her eye, two fields away. She squinted and spotted the light for a brief, second time; a torch held downwards, perhaps? It looked as though it was coming from the Burial Field. But that’s not possible, she gasped. You can’t see that far from my window.

About to dial 999 and summon the cavalry, she hesitated as another movement distracted her. This time it was a moving shadow, man-shaped, and it was running swiftly across the garden below her. As the man crossed a patch of moonlight she gasped: it was Rory.

It was enough to galvanize her into action and she dressed quickly. Slipping on jeans and T-shirt and thrusting her feet into trainers, she rootled in a drawer for the torch that always used to be there, found it and ran quietly downstairs. He had been coming from the direction of the study and, guessing that he had left the glass door open for his return, she left the house the same way.

Halfway across the first field she almost blundered into a pile of sawn logs and timber. Of course, Gran had told her about the oak tree. No wonder she could suddenly see out of her window, the tree had been struck by lightning earlier in the year. She caught up with Rory as he hesitated at the field gate, some yards in front of her, then turned aghast at the slight sound she made as her shoe knocked against a stone.

‘For God’s sake, Edith,’ he hissed in outrage. ‘I nearly had a heart attack. Why are you…? Oh, never mind. Here, just get behind this hawthorn hedge so they can’t see us. And keep quiet.’

‘Who is it? How many? I can see two of them, is that all? What are they doing?’ Edith peered through the branches, gently holding back some leaves as she stared indignantly at the distant figures. ‘Bloody treasure-seekers, that’s who they’ll be. I’m calling—’ She patted her back pocket and made a face. ‘My mobile’s on my bedside table. Have you got yours?’

‘No. Stupid, aren’t we?’ He craned his neck to look more closely. ‘I can only see two of them as well. They haven’t got metal detectors, though. Can you see? They’re poking around the base of your old angel stone but they’re not using—’ He broke off abruptly. ‘There’s something peculiar about their heads but I can’t see what it is from here.’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ Edith smothered a giggle. ‘They’re wearing balaclavas!’

‘You’re kidding.’ He squinted the hundred yards or so across the field and shook his head in astonishment. ‘So? Bank robbers? Commandos? What—?’

‘That’s Brendan Whittaker,’ she interrupted, indicating the slighter, shorter man. ‘I’m sure of it. Look, he’s got really sloping shoulders. I reckon he has his suit jackets built up, but I’ve noticed he’s a lot less impressive in casual clothes. Yup, I’m sure that’s Brendan. Now what is he up to? I wonder.’

Rory was still staring at the scene. ‘I know this sounds mad, but surely that’s the vicar? The other guy, I mean.’

The long, angular figure wielding a shovel certainly looked familiar and Edith had just turned towards her companion when, at that moment, the shovel struck a stone with a loud jarring clang, audible to the onlookers. The expletive that ripped from the tall figure was unmistakably transatlantic in tone. Not the vicar after all.

‘Mike Goldstein?’ They strained to listen but the words were inaudible, only the soft but urgent murmur that followed.

‘What are we going to…?’ Edith began, then she caught a glimpse of Rory’s face in the moonlight. He was grey with sudden exhaustion and the story of his imprisonment came flooding back. She felt a pang of sympathy. ‘Come on.’ She tugged at his arm. ‘Let’s get back home. We can’t deal with this on our own. Look, if we keep to the hedgerow we’ll be in shadow.’