The Killings at Badger's Drift(64)

He said, ‘I got the impression when we met in the kitchen that you were depressed about something.’

‘Me? You must be joking. I never get depressed.’ He stared at Barnaby aggressively. ‘Doctor Jameson cures all ills.’ He lifted his glass then tipped it back. The sort of man, thought the chief inspector, who would use the loss of his son as a sympathy-producing counter in the game with women but who would never admit to fatherly affection in front of a member of his own sex.

Barnaby continued, ‘And after you’d taken the harvester?’

‘I drove back to Tye House in the Land-Rover, picked up that pathetic Jack Russell and took it to the vet. Katherine didn’t want them to come to the house. It should’ve been done before now in my opinion but she kept trying to feed it. After that -’

‘A moment, Mr Whiteley. Were Miss Lacey and Mr Trace at home when you picked up the dog?’

‘Yes.’

‘What time would you say this was?’

‘Some time between half four and five, I suppose. I only caught a glimpse of Katherine. She ran upstairs when I came in - so as not to see me take him, I suppose. After I’d handed the dog over I drove back here, poured myself a drink and you turned up.’

‘He’s got the strength and build for it,’ said Troy moments later as they crossed the road, making for Tye House. ‘And with an estate the size of Trace’s who’s to know where he is half the time? I thought that actually, sir, when we questioned him about the first murder . . . you know, the couple in the woods.’ Encouraged by Barnaby’s silence he continued, ‘I mean what’s to stop him taking half an hour off for a quick screw when he’s miles from anywhere? And take today . . . he could have left the hopper for a while. Or turned the combine into the nearest field instead of taking it to Gessler Tye, doubled back and done for Mrs Rainbird. Pity we’ve no idea of the motive.’

Barnaby, who had a very good idea of the murderer’s motive, arrived again at the apricot-coloured farmhouse. Katherine Lacey opened the door. She looked very pale and, even if Barnaby had not witnessed the earlier scene at Holly Cottage, he would have known that she had recently been crying. Distress did not mar her remarkable beauty. Her violet eyes looked very large with tears as yet unshed. She was wearing a white dress of spotless linen and flat sandals. She gazed at them unsmiling and said, ‘We’re in the kitchen.’

Henry turned his chair around as the chief inspector entered, and wheeled it across the floor. ‘What has really happened, Barnaby? Surely it can’t be true that the Rainbird boy has attacked his mother?’

‘Mrs Rainbird has certainly been killed, sir. In a very violent and unpleasant manner.’

Henry turned a stunned face to his fiancée. ‘You see, darling.’ She sounded gentle but firm. ‘We can’t . . . now . . .we’ll just have to wait.’

‘Katherine thinks we should cancel the wedding. It’s ridiculous. A hundred invitations accepted. The catering organized. The marquee’s being put up tomorrow. The house is bulging with presents -’

‘I only meant for a week or two. Until all this awful business is sorted out. And perhaps by then Michael will have come round.’

‘Since when has your brother -’ He broke off. He was not the sort of man, Barnaby judged, to even admit to familial discord much less display it in front of complete strangers. He appeared older today. There were liver-coloured rings beneath his eyes and he looked distrait. ‘I simply won’t hear of it, Katherine. It’s out of the question. After all, this is nothing to do with us.’

‘Could I ask you both what you did this afternoon, Mr Trace?’

‘Us? Well, we’ve been organizing for Saturday,’ said Henry. ‘I didn’t go over to the office today. Katherine and I spent the morning arranging the wedding presents in the main dining room, then we had lunch, finally decided on the placing for the marquee, then Katherine went mushrooming -’

‘Mushrooming?’ Barnaby remembered the little pile on the doorstep of the bungalow.

‘Yes. There are some flat open ones not far from Holly Cottage,’ said the girl. ‘And some girolles. They taste wonderful. Not like those awful things you buy in the shops. I wanted to do an omelette for supper.’

‘There were some on Mrs Rainbird’s step.’

‘Yes - I was coming to that. The last time I saw her -’

‘When was that?’

‘Yesterday at the Parish Council meeting. She gave me a recipe for mushroom and anchovy ketchup and I said next time I gathered some I’d let her have a few. So I went round and knocked but no one answered so I just left them on the step and came away. Now I can’t stop thinking about it . . . he must have been in there . . . perhaps even . . . but it was so quiet . . . I thought she’d gone out, you see.’ She repeated the words, her voice suddenly jangled and shrill. ‘I thought she’d gone out.’