The Killings at Badger's Drift by Caroline Graham Read Free Book Online Page B

you to -’
    ‘Just a moment, Chief Inspector. You haven’t said . . . you know . . . anything may be taken down and used in evidence . . . all that . . .’
    ‘This is just a witness statement, Miss Bellringer. It’s not necessary in this case, I assure you.’
    That was the trouble with members of the public, thought Sergeant Troy. Watched a few so-called police dramas on the telly and thought they knew it all. Sitting out of his chief’s line of vision, he allowed his lip a slight curl.
    ‘If you could tell me what happened from when you first arrived.’
    ‘I came into the kitchen -’
    ‘Was the postman with you?’
    ‘No. After he’d spoken to me he went off on his rounds. I opened the back door and hurried in here and found her where I showed you.’
    ‘Did you touch the body at all?’
    ‘Yes. I didn’t move her but I . . . I held her hand for a moment.’
    ‘And did you touch anything else?’
    ‘Not then. Doctor Lessiter arrived and examined her . . . he moved her, of course. Then he rang the mortuary to ask for a car . . . well a van it was actually, to take her away. He explained about the death certificate and asked who would be handling the funeral arrangements. I said I would and while we were waiting for the van to arrive I’m afraid’ - she blushed regretfully at Barnaby - ‘I’m afraid I tidied up a bit.’
    ‘What exactly did that involve?’
    ‘There was a cup of cocoa on the telephone table. And an empty wine glass. Which struck me as a little odd.’
    ‘Why was that?’
    ‘Emily never drank alone. It was one of her foibles. I believe she thought it rather dissolute. But anyone could get her to bring a bottle out. The merest hint would suffice. She made wonderful wine. It was the only thing she was vain about . . .’ She covered her face with her hands for a long moment then said, ‘I’m so sorry . . .’
    ‘Don’t worry. Just carry on when you’re ready.’ Of course if it was murder they were talking about there would be only one glass. The other would have been carefully washed and replaced in the cupboard.
    ‘There was a milk pan in the kitchen,’ continued Miss Bellringer. ‘I washed everything up and put the things away. I knew how she’d feel, you see. Dirty pots and people coming into the living room. She was always most particular. I expect I’ve done the wrong thing.’ Guilt made her sound aggressive. When Barnaby did not reply she carried on, ‘Then I emptied the refrigerator. Some lamb and milk. A few bits and bobs. Half a tin of Benjy’s food. Actually I gave him that. He hadn’t had breakfast, you see.’
    ‘Where is the dog now?’
    ‘Trace’s farm. You must have seen the place. End of the village - pale orange job. They’ve got half a dozen already so one more won’t notice. I’ve been to see him a couple of times but I shan’t go again. It’s too upsetting. He just comes trotting out hoping it’s Emily. She’d had him thirteen years.’
    ‘Didn’t you hear him bark? On the evening of her death?’
    ‘No, but he was very good like that . . . for a Jack Russell. As long as he knew the people, of course. With strangers it was different.’ She smiled at Barnaby, the significance of the last two remarks not registering. ‘And he slept in the kitchen, so with the sitting-room door closed he’d simply think she’d gone to bed.’
    ‘To return to Friday morning . . .’
    ‘That’s about it, really. Once the van had gone I switched off the electricity, took the dog lead from behind the kitchen door, locked up and off we went.’
    ‘I see. I shall have to keep the key now, I’m afraid. I’ll let you have a receipt in due course.’
    ‘Oh.’ He watched questions form in her mind and remain unasked. ‘Very well.’
    ‘You went straight to the farm then?’ continued Barnaby. ‘Not into the garden or shed at all?’
    ‘Well . . . I had to tell the bees.’
    ‘I’m sorry?’
    ‘You have to tell the bees when someone dies. Especially