Chapter 17
Julia phoned Jim McEnroe.
Without so much as a moment of small talk, she cut to the chase. ‘I was wondering about the photo that was in the paper last week – the one of the colonel’s study?’
‘Yes… What about it?’
‘When did you take it?’
‘It was after the colonel’s body had been taken away, when the police had moved off the scene. Why?’
Julia ignored his question and asked one of her own: ‘Do you perhaps have a clearer picture? I want to check something, and it’s hard to see detail on the newsprint.’
‘I have the original photograph,’ he said. ‘It is clearer than it appears on the newsprint.’
‘Could you send it to me?’
There was a short silence before Jim spoke again. ‘Come, come, now, Julia Bird. You know that’s not how these things work. I can tell by your voice that you’re onto something.’ She could hear the grin in his voice. ‘What happened to quid pro quo? Give and take? Sharing of information?’
‘I don’t have information. It’s more like… a hunch.’
‘I know your hunches, Julia, and I’d like to hear this one. To tell you the truth, there’s not much new information on this case, and my editor is breathing down my neck for a follow-up story. Share your hunch and I’ll share my pic.’
Julia considered the offer. Her hunch was of no use without evidence. Besides, it was a long shot, and might well come to nothing.
‘Tell you what,’ said Jim, not waiting for her answer. ‘I’ll pop over with the original of the photograph, and a nice clear print, and you can tell me your hunch. We’ll put our heads together and see if we can make some headway on this investigation. Does that sound fair?’
‘Okay Jim, sounds fair.’
‘Put the kettle on, I’m on my way!’
Fifteen minutes later, Jim arrived with Moxy, his little black schnauzer-poodle cross. ‘Hope you don’t mind that I brought her,’ he said. ‘She turned those big brown eyes on me when I picked up my car keys, and I couldn’t leave her.’
‘Of course not; Jake will be delighted to see her,’ said Julia.
Julia hadn’t put the kettle on. In honour of the warm weather, she had mixed a jug of home-made lemonade and put it on a tray, along with two glasses.
She put the tray on the outside table, and picked a sprig of mint from the garden.
Crushing it lightly between her fingers to release its fresh, summery scent, she dropped it into the lemonade.
Then she poured the drinks, and they sat for a moment, enjoying the gentle breeze that had come up, and the slight cooling of the late afternoon.
The garden was lush and fragrant with its overblown roses, and, of course, its tomatoes.
From where they sat, Julia and Jim could keep an eye on the dogs romping on the lawn. As always, Jake was sweet and gentle with the little schnoodle, rolling on his back and letting her clamber over him and bite his tail.
Chaplin, still smarting from the unenthusiastic response to his hunting trophy, and then its subsequent confiscation, could hardly believe this fresh injustice.
A dog? A small, yappy dog in his back yard?
He quickly jumped up onto the outside table where he was safely out of reach of the dog but could keep a furious eye on it.
After a bit of chit-chat about the weather, the dogs and the undeniable delights of a cold lemonade on a hot day, Jim cut to the chase. He reached into his satchel and extracted three glossy photographs of the colonel’s study, which he handed to Julia.
Julia pushed her glasses up her nose and held the first photograph close to her face. She scanned the picture intently, frowning.
‘Hmm,’ she said, sitting up.
‘Go on then, spit it out,’ Jim said, eagerly. ‘What are you looking for?’
‘I’m looking for the murder weapon,’ she said. ‘The police haven’t found it, and in fact they don’t know what it is. But we do know that the colonel was hit by something hard and heavy.’
‘Right. Like the lamp, which was found right there on the floor next to him. I thought the coppers were looking at that for the weapon?’
‘It was a possibility, but never strong. And now it looks completely impossible.’
‘And why is that?’
‘Because while the lamp could conceivably have accounted for the colonel’s injuries, it doesn’t account for Ian’s.’
‘Carry on,’ said Jim, and Julia could feel him itching to take notes.
‘Jim, Ian also died from a blow to the head… Between us, and I mean seriously off the record.’ Julia looked at him sternly.
Jim nodded.
‘This time, from what I saw of the wound, and heard from Bob Jones, the wound was more distinct. And more bloody. Ian was killed by something long, narrow, hard and heavy… At first they thought it might have been some sort of garden implement, a rake or something, but there was nothing nearby that was heavy and hard enough. It made me wonder if the two victims might have been killed with the same implement.’
‘Right. Such as…?’
‘A poker,’ said Julia, pointing triumphantly at the photo. ‘See here? The set of fire tools? There’s a little shovel, and those pincers for picking up the coals, and there’s a rake, but the poker is missing from the set.’
She felt a thrill at being right, at working it out.
‘You think the poker was used to kill the colonel?’
‘Exactly, Jim. What I’m thinking is, the killer picked the poker up on impulse, perhaps in the course of a confrontation, and killed the colonel with it. Then, for whatever reason, the killer took it with them.’
‘Perhaps he was worried about DNA evidence,’ Jim said, warming to Julia’s theory. ‘Or maybe it was such a handy weapon, he thought he’d hang on to it.’
‘Because you never know when you might need a murder weapon… Best hang on to that poker, just in case,’ said Julia, grimly.
‘You’re right: unlikely. I guess he could also have taken it without thinking.’
‘Maybe,’ she said, unconvinced. ‘Or perhaps he knew his fingerprints were on it, and didn’t want to leave it at the scene.’
‘That makes sense,’ said Jim, nodding slowly.
‘And then he had it on hand when another murder was necessary. But even if this scenario is true, and one person killed both victims with the same weapon, who was it and why?’ she said. ‘Who on earth would want to kill the colonel and the gardener?’
‘It’s very strange, isn’t it? What do the two men have in common?’
‘Well, of course, Ian worked for the colonel at Greystone Manor. They saw each other every day. But how that results in them both being killed… Honestly, Jim, I can’t see the connection.’
‘Different age, different social class, different interests.’
‘Exactly.’ Julia sighed with frustration.
She lifted her feet as the dogs ran past, almost knocking into her. Jake loped along slowly enough to give Moxy a chance to keep up and snap at his heels and his tail.
Julia couldn’t help but smile. ‘Well, Jim, I’ll get in touch with DI Hayley Gibson and tell her what I know and what I suspect, and she can work it out.’
Jim looked dissatisfied at this outcome.
‘It’s a big story for me, Julia. Two murders one after another in a quiet Cotswolds village.
People can’t get enough of it, and my editor is pressuring me for a good follow-up.
Our coverage has been picked up by other regional papers, and there’s even interest from national press.
Have to say, it doesn’t hurt that Ian was such a good-looking fellow – we used his picture over half the front page!
Ordinarily, with the weather what it is, my editor would have me doing the usual “Berrywick boils!” story. ’
‘Oh, I know those ones,’ Julia smiled. ‘There’s usually a “Stow sizzles”, too.’
‘Every year! And “Cotswolds cooks”. With this big story on the go, I’m hoping I might avoid having to write articles to remind people to wear a hat and give their dogs plenty of water.’
‘Jim, you can’t go public with this hunch of mine about the poker until I’ve had a chance to tell Hayley what I know.’
Jim didn’t say anything, just squinted thoughtfully into the distance.
‘I can hold off for a day, Julia, but not much longer. I’ve got to keep on top of this story.’
‘I understand, but it could compromise the investigation if this gets out. The murderer will dispose of the poker.’
‘I’ll wait, but like I said, I can’t wait for long.
Get hold of her and let me know what’s up.
I have a favour to ask in return.’ He gave her a boyish grin, tinged with apology: ‘What I really need is an exclusive interview with Hayley Gibson, with a proper update. She’s not returning my calls.
Will you make sure she knows that I played my part, that I gave you the photograph that helped you figure out the poker?
Put in a good word for me for the interview? ’
‘I’ll tell her when I speak to her, Jim. I don’t know what difference it’ll make, but I’ll tell her.’
As Julia watched Jim and Moxy set off down the lane, she wondered if perhaps she had finally discovered something that was going to be useful to the police.