Rooted in Evil: Read online

‘Anyway,’ Tessa added, ‘I want to know Fred’s all right, and he will be, with Ron.’

  ‘Right, Mrs Briggs, perhaps you’d like to tell us about it from the beginning.’

  Tessa sat upright on a chair beside her solicitor. ‘This is being recorded, like you said?’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘Well, then, there isn’t much to tell you. I came across the car and realised it must be Carl’s.’

  ‘Where and when did you find it?’

  A gleam appeared in Tessa’s eye. ‘Oh, straight away! I found it while you coppers were still blundering about around the body. I’d hoped to get to him before you, after Hattie told me about it. But you know all about that, don’t you? All right, it was a daft idea and it messed about with your investigations. But we were trying to keep Guy Kingsley out of things.

  ‘Anyway, as you know, it didn’t work. I got there only to find you – the police – all over the scene. It shook me pretty badly. I did manage to get a good look at Carl, and I recognised him, even though his face was such a mess. I needed to think it out, calm down, pull myself together. I also knew I had to get to the Old Nunnery before you did. You’d taken my address and then clearly wanted me out from under your feet, so I left. I walked on through the woods with the dog and came out at the service road. The Renault was there, parked up under the trees. That must be Carl’s, I thought.’

  ‘But you didn’t come back and inform the officers at the scene.’

  ‘No,’ said Tessa briefly.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I didn’t know what the hell was going on! As far as I could see, the wretched man had blown himself away. He was always a nuisance. That doesn’t mean I didn’t feel any pity for him. It was sad, of course. Not least because it made problems for everyone else! Don’t forget, I didn’t have time to think it through. I wanted to get to Guy and Hattie before you did, and I didn’t have much time. I didn’t want to waste more, trailing back to where you were and leading you to the car, so I just acted on instinct. People don’t always act sensibly when they’re in shock, do they? Well, I was very shocked, and I thought I’d take a look inside the car, to see if there was anything in there confirming it was Carl’s.’

  ‘It wasn’t locked?’ Jess asked.

  ‘No, if it had been, I couldn’t have taken it. I’m not one of the local tearaways. I don’t know about breaking into locked cars and fiddling about with the wiring.’ She leaned forward slightly. ‘What’s more, it wasn’t just that it was unlocked. The driver’s door was open – ajar. The key was in the ignition. It was as if he’d just got out, walked into the woods, abandoning the car, and killed himself.’

  Tessa heaved a sigh. ‘It helped confirm to me that that’s what must have happened. “Farewell, cruel world! Don’t need the car any more. Just leave it.” Well, that’s what I suspected, then.

  ‘Before I’d thought about it, I’d pushed Fred into the back, got in and driven it on down the track. It peters out when it reaches the farmland, but there’s a gate. I opened it, drove through, and carried on driving across open country until I got to my place. It was all one farm at one time, you see, and there’s an old dirt road the tractors used.

  ‘By then I’d panicked, realising what I’d done. I needed time to work out some plan of action. The disused feed store was the obvious place to hide it, until later. So I drove it in there. Then I went back to the car park at the woods for my own car. I didn’t walk all the way round by the road. I cut across the fields and through the trees. I could hear you all, and more of your vehicles arriving. But I kept clear of that spot and managed to slip into the car park and retrieve my jeep. I drove over to the Old Nunnery to tell Guy and Harriet what had happened to Carl. I didn’t tell them about the Renault, because I hadn’t decided what to do about it. I needed time to think about that, and I wouldn’t have had time, if I’d told Guy Kingsley. He’d have taken over, insisted on phoning you immediately. He did that when I told him I’d recognised the dead man as Carl.

  ‘The reality, of course, was that I was stuck with the wretched Renault. I just left it there in the feed store, where you’ve just found it.’

  ‘Did you attempt to clean it up? Inside, or on the door handles?’

  ‘Yes, of course I did. I started rubbing away to clean off my fingerprints, and I swept out the back where Fred had been. My long-term intention was to come back when you’d all gone and move the car again, wearing gloves, and abandon it somewhere else, put a match to it, possibly. But I didn’t get a chance. You were all over the place. He—’ she pointed.

  Jess said, for the benefit of the recording, ‘The witness has indicated Sergeant Morton.’

  ‘He turned up at the house. I was afraid then he might go poking about the place, in the outbuildings. But he didn’t. He pushed off, and I breathed a sigh of relief – but the relief didn’t last long. I should have owned up there and then, shouldn’t I? I could have taken your Sergeant Morton to the car. But I didn’t, and that made the situation worse.’ Tessa paused, and added quietly, ‘It felt like being stuck in a quagmire. I couldn’t get out, and I was sinking. I was desperate to get rid of the car, but it just seemed too risky to try moving it. Once you’d gone, Sergeant, I relaxed a bit. It gave me some breathing space. I decided to wait a while, until things had calmed down. But they didn’t quieten down. People kept turning up. Even that harpy from London, Natalie Adam, she turned up.’

  ‘She’s still in the neighbourhood?’ asked Morton, startled.

  ‘You bet she is,’ returned Tessa gloomily. ‘She came here, making a fuss. Hal – my ex-husband – was here, as it happens, and sent her packing. She was yelling at us until the last.’

  ‘Was her man companion with her? Fellow with ginger hair?’

  ‘No, she was on her own. She said the chap who was with her before, at the Old Nunnery, had gone back to London. Well, anyway, that’s it.’

  ‘There is nothing else you’d like to add?’

  There was a brief silence. Then Tessa said, ‘In case you’re wondering, I didn’t blow Carl Finch away.’

  ‘Mrs Briggs!’ exclaimed the solicitor in alarm.

  Tessa glanced at him and shrugged. ‘Well, it’s going to be the next question, isn’t it? Did I kill him? I’d felt like doing it often enough over the years.’ She ignored the solicitor’s frantic protests. ‘But it’s like lots of things you fantasise about doing and know you won’t. I didn’t blast Carl away. I can’t give you a logical explanation of why I moved the damn car. I just did it. It just, well, seeing it sitting there with the door open and the keys in the ignition . . . It was a sort of invitation.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Carter grimly later. ‘That’s exactly what it was! An invitation to any youngsters, travellers, any wanderer about the countryside, to take it for a joyride and, with any luck, torch it afterwards. If it had been left in a more frequented spot, that would have happened within an hour or less. But the killer didn’t have time to move it to the side of the main road. The killer needed to get out of there fast, so the car was abandoned to its fate. Unfortunately, Tessa Briggs came along and decided to drive it away. She meant to hide it. What she actually did was preserve it intact. You might say she did us a favour.’

  Jess said thoughtfully, ‘Why do you think she moved it?’

  ‘You don’t accept her explanation that she was in a fog of shock? It led her to act on the spur of the moment?’

  ‘Not really, no.’ Jess took time to marshal her argument, and Carter waited. ‘She had already hatched that plot with Harriet Kingsley to go to the woods and “find” the body. She was thinking clearly enough at that point. That doesn’t mean it wasn’t a daft idea, but she’s got it all worked out, even so. Off she goes to the woods. She knew Carl Finch’s body would be there. Harriet had told her exactly where to find him and had described his injuries. It must still have been a distressing sight for Tessa, but she was prepared for it. And she’s a pretty tough lady! So that wasn’t a shock, either. The o
nly thing she wasn’t prepared for was to find us already on the spot. That was a shock. So, what does she do? Answer: she thinks fast. She immediately tramples the area around the body, under pretence of trying to catch the dog, until she’s ordered away. That took care of any footprints. She then left us to walk on down to the service road – she knew where it was, she walks her dog in those woods all the time – and there’s the car. She doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t doubt for a minute it’s Finch’s car. She gets in and drives it away. She hides it and, despite having the opportunity when Phil called by her house, she doesn’t admit it. She does admit to trying to clean away her own fingerprints, and the dog’s hair. But I’m beginning to wonder if it’s more than just her fingerprints she’s worried about.’

  ‘Go on,’ Carter said quietly when she paused.

  ‘She wanted to hide that car and clean it out because Finch’s blood is in it.’ Jess leaned forward. ‘It’s been a puzzle from the first to know exactly where Finch died. It wasn’t where he was found. The other puzzle was the missing Renault. Doesn’t it make sense that the two puzzles are linked? That’s where he died. In the car.’

  Chapter 15

  Guy Kingsley intercepted them at the front of the house. ‘Now what do you want? And why so many of you?’ He looked past Carter, Jess and Phil Morton towards the figures of Tracy Bennison and Dave Nugent emerging from a second car. ‘Every time you come it’s more bad news! Hattie’s had enough!’

  ‘It’s your wife we’ve come to talk to,’ Carter told him.

  ‘Look, is this absolutely necessary?’ Guy’s face reddened, the muscles around his mouth twitched and his voice rose to a shout.

  ‘Calm down, Captain Kingsley,’ Carter advised him. ‘Losing your temper won’t help, and it won’t prevent us talking to your wife.’

  ‘Not unless I’m there!’ Guy told him hoarsely. ‘The state she’s in, she could crack apart and shatter like a piece of glass. What is it you want to talk to her about?’

  ‘We must see your wife now,’ Jess said. ‘You are impeding us.’

  There was a wild look in Guy’s eyes, and he stood with his back to the front door like an animal at bay. Jess knew that Phil Morton, standing to the rear of the little group, had tensed. Then Guy muttered, ‘All right, but I repeat: not without me!’

  ‘Sorry, can’t be done. We need to speak to her alone. Later, perhaps, you can join us.’ Carter’s tone brooked no opposition. ‘So, if you’d just wait here with Sergeant Morton?’

  ‘I’m phoning our solicitor!’ Guy snarled.

  ‘That might be advisable later, sir, if Mrs Kingsley wishes it. But now, if you please, allow us to see your wife.’

  Harriet was sitting in her father’s former study, now the sitting room, huddled in the Queen Anne chair, her favoured refuge. She looked pale and tired and, when she saw her visitors, very frightened.

  ‘It’s all right, Harriet,’ Jess soothed her. ‘We’ve come to tell you we’ve found Carl’s Renault.’

  Harriet whispered, ‘Where?’

  Jess ignored the question. ‘It will be subject to forensic examination. That will be thorough. People often think they can clean away evidence. But that’s seldom – almost never – possible.’

  Harriet made an almost imperceptible movement of her head, signifying disbelief or refusal.

  ‘We believe we’ll find traces of Carl’s blood, and that he died in the car, where it was originally parked on the service road on the far side of the woods. The car was later moved.’

  Harriet was shaking her head as Jess spoke. ‘No, no! He was in the woods. He was sitting on the ground. His back was against a tree trunk.’ Harriet spoke the words with a dogged resolve. ‘I saw him. Tessa saw him. You all saw him.’

  ‘Because someone dragged his body into that position. Someone who didn’t want us to know he’d died in the car.’

  Harriet was shaking her head. ‘No, no.’ She swallowed and struggled for some composure. ‘I don’t understand. Why wasn’t it – why couldn’t you find it earlier? Someone moved it, you say. Who? How did you find it?’

  ‘Mrs Briggs has owned up to driving it across the fields to a disused building on her land. She also tried to clean the interior.’

  Harriet let out a long, low, almost animal moan. ‘Oh, no! Tessa! Why didn’t she leave it? Why did she do it?’

  ‘She says she had hoped to move the car again at a later date, torch it, possibly. But there was too much going on to do that safely.’ Jess paused. ‘However, Mrs Briggs denies killing Carl.’

  Harriet gripped the arms of the chair and leaned forward, infused with a sudden burst of energy. ‘Of course she didn’t! She wouldn’t kill him!’ The energy drained out of her, and she became as listless as before. She sighed and leaned her head against the chair back. Her gaze drifted past Jess, towards her mother’s portrait on the far wall.

  She’s been sitting here, in that very spot, over many years, looking at that portrait, Jess thought. For all she claimed to be happy for her father when he remarried, had she resented the coming of Nancy – and Nancy’s child? She and her father must have been close after her mother’s death. Or had he been often absent, leaving her to that succession of nannies she spoke of before? Had she hoped that, when he remarried, and Nancy and Carl moved into the house, her father would spend more time at home? Everyone agrees she and Carl were close as children.

  Then something about Harriet’s line of vision struck her. A tingle ran up Jess’s spine. Without turning her head, she mapped the further wall in her head. The bookcases, two with modern volumes in them and one with tightly packed old leather spines. Spines! It was as if a bright light suddenly lit the room. The spines of old volumes did not necessarily mean the books to which they had once been attached were present. Harriet wasn’t looking towards the portrait. She was staring at the bookcase.

  Jess got to her feet and, under Carter’s surprised eyes, walked across the floor to the bookcase. She touched the old leather spines and tapped them. They were hard and ungiving, and there was a faint noise, as if knocking on wood. She turned to Harriet, who was watching her, as if mesmerised.

  ‘It’s false – it’s a door,’ Jess said to Harriet. ‘How does it open?’

  ‘It just swings out,’ Harriet replied in the same low voice. ‘There used to be a catch, but it was broken years ago.’

  Jess put out her hand and pressed the leather spines on the right. Nothing moved. She put her hand on the spines to the left and tried again. Now the wooden door, with its rows of false books, pivoted on a hidden metal pole and swung open, as Harriet had said it would. Carter, behind her, gave an exclamation of surprise.

  Revealed was a recess the thickness of the old wall. It was empty, but marks in the dust on the floor indicated that something had been there until recently.

  Jess returned to Harriet and sat down again before her. ‘You told us your father didn’t have a shotgun,’

  Harriet made no reply.

  ‘Someone in this house did.’

  ‘Guy,’ whispered Harriet. ‘But you’ve seen it.’

  ‘We think there was another gun. Is that where it was kept, in that hidden cupboard?’ Jess prompted. ‘Let me ask you again. Did it belong to your father?’

  Harriet replied in a voice little more than a murmur, ‘No – yes, in a way. It was my grandfather’s.’

  ‘Did your father ever use it? Show you how to use it?’

  ‘When I was little, he sometimes used to go out early and shoot rabbits. They – the rabbits – used to get into our vegetable garden. But he didn’t do that after Nancy came to live here. She didn’t like guns, or any weapons, and she wouldn’t have let him kill anything! She was a vegetarian, and all about nature being sacred, and so on, as I told you. She’d been a peace campaigner, too, at one time, marching with a banner, that sort of thing. So my father hid the gun away.’

  ‘Did your husband know it was there?’

  Animation flooded Harriet’s face. She leaned fo
rward, gripping the arms of the chair. ‘No! No, Guy didn’t know anything about it! I’d almost forgotten it myself! I only remembered it when—’ She broke off.

  ‘Mrs Kingsley,’ Jess asked gently, ‘would you like to come with us and make a statement? You can have a solicitor present, if that is your wish.’

  Before Harriet could reply, they were rudely interrupted. There was a shout from Phil Morton outside. ‘Stop right there!’

  But the door to the room flew open with a crash and, like an avenging angel, Natalie Adam appeared. Her face was white, her eyes huge and staring. She raised a trembling hand and pointed at Harriet, who shrank back into the chair.

  ‘You – you killed him, you cold-blooded, grasping bitch!’

  Morton, almost purple with rage, appeared, panting, with Guy Kingsley on his heels. He grabbed Natalie’s arm and she spun to face him, shrieking, ‘Let me go, you ape!’

  ‘How did she get past you?’ Carter demanded angrily of Morton.

  Morton, wrestling with the furious Natalie, gasped, ‘She came in through the kitchen, sir, at the back of the house. She ran up the corridor from that direction and got this door open before I could get past Kingsley! He was blocking the way.’

  ‘Miss Adam, you are under arrest!’ Carter snapped. ‘Read her her rights, Sergeant!’

  ‘Rights?’ Natalie yelled. ‘Yes, everyone has rights, don’t they? Except poor Carl! She killed him! She killed my brother!’

  There was a stunned silence. Carter found his voice first. ‘What do you mean? Your brother?’

  ‘That’s right! My brother!’ Having succeeded in temporarily silencing them all, the words came tumbling out of her. ‘Nancy, my natural mother, made the decision to put me up for adoption at birth. I don’t blame her. It must have been a tough decision, and she thought she was doing the best thing for me.’

  Harriet, in the chair, was swaying back and forth, muttering, ‘No, no.’

  Natalie carried on. ‘I grew up in a comfortable, middle-class household, and everything was fine, except in one way. There was a gap in my personal history. I’d been told the truth of my origins very early on. My adoptive mother believed it would be less of a shock if I knew pretty well from the start. It didn’t worry me. I was happy. But when I was twenty, my adoptive parents retired to live in Italy, and I decided that I’d like to find my birth mother. By the time I’d traced Nancy – it took quite a while – it was to find out I was too late. She’d died. But a former neighbour told me she remembered Nancy and her little boy, Carl, very well. Carl? I hadn’t known anything about him! I had a brother!’