I was a sport among the Wheales. A long line of fox-hunting, pheasant-murdering, yeoman farmers had produced Bob and me. Bob followed the line; he farmed the land well, rode like a madman to hounds, was pretty good in a point-to-point and liked nothing better than a days rough shooting. I was the oddity who didnt like massacring rabbits with an airgun as a boy, still less with a shotgun as a grown man. My parents, when they were alive, looked on me with some perplexity and I must have troubled their uncomplicated minds; I was not a natural boy and got into no mischief instead I developed a most un-Whealeish tendency to book reading and the ability to make figures jump through hoops. There was much doubtful shaking of heads and an inclination to say Whatever will become of the lad?
I lit a cigarette and a plume of smoke drifted away on the crisp morning air, then grinned as I saw no smoke coming from any of the farm chimneys. Bob would be sleeping late, something he did when hed made a night of it at the Kingsbridge Inn or the Cott Inn, his favourite pubs. That was a cheerful practice that might end when he married. I was glad he was getting married at last; Id been a bit worried because Hay Tree Farm without a Wheale would be unthinkable and if Bob died unmarried there was only me left, and I certainly didnt want to take up farming.
I got into the car, drove on a little way, then turned on to the farm road. Bob had had it graded and resurfaced, something hed been talking about for years. I coasted along, past the big oak tree which, family legend said, had been planted by my great-grandfather, and around the corner which led straight into the farmyard.
Then I stamped on the brake pedal hard because someone was lying in the middle of the road.
I got out of the car and looked down at him. He was lying prone with one arm outflung and when I knelt and touched his hand it was stone cold. I went cold, too, as I looked at the back of his head. Carefully I tried to pull his head up but the body was stiff with rigor mortis and I had to roll him right over to see his face. The breath came from me with a sigh as I saw it was a perfect stranger.
He had died hard but quickly. The expression on his face showed that he had died hard; the lips writhed back from the teeth in a tortured grimace and the eyes were open and stared over my shoulder at the morning sky. Underneath him was a great pool of half-dried blood and his chest was covered with it. No one could have lost that much blood slowly it must have gushed out in a sudden burst, bringing a quick death.
I stood up and looked around. Everything was very quiet and all I heard was the fluting of an unseasonable blackbird and the grating of gravel as I shifted my feet sounded unnaturally loud. From the house came the mournful howl of a dog and then a shriller barking from close by, and a young sheepdog flung round the corner of the house and yapped at me excitedly. He was not very old, not more than nine months, and I reckoned he was one of old Jesss pups.
I held out my hand and snapped my fingers. The aggressive barking changed to a delighted yelp and the young dog wagged his tail vehemently and came forward in an ingratiating sideways trot. From the house another dog howled and the sound made the hairs on my neck prickle.
I walked into the farmyard and saw immediately that the kitchen door was ajar. Gently, I pushed it open, and called, Bob!
The curtains were drawn at the windows and the light was off, so the room was gloomy. There was a stir of movement and the sound of an ugly growl. I pushed the door open wide to let in the light and saw old Jess stalking towards me with her teeth bared in a snarl. All right, Jess, I said softly. Its all right, old girl.
She stopped dead and looked at me consideringly, then let her lips cover her teeth. I slapped the side of my leg. Come here, Jess.
But she wouldnt come. Instead, she whined disconsolately and turned away to vanish behind the big kitchen table. I followed her and found her standing drooping over the body of Bob.
His hand was cold, but not dead cold, and there was a faint flutter of a pulse beat at his wrist. Fresh blood oozed from the ugly wound in his chest and soaked the front of his shirt. I knew enough about serious injuries not to attempt to move him; instead, I ran upstairs, stripped the blankets from his bed and brought them down to cover him and keep him warm.
Then I went to the telephone and dialled 999. This is Jemmy Wheale of Hay Tree Farm. Theres been a shooting on the farm; one man dead and another seriously wounded. I want a doctor, an ambulance and the police in that order.
II
An hour later I was talking to Dave Goosan. The doctor and the ambulance had come and gone, and Bob was in hospital. He was in a bad way and Dr Grierson had dissuaded me from going with him. Its no use, Jemmy. Youd only get in the way and make a nuisance of yourself. You know well do the best we can.
I nodded. What are his chances? I asked.
Grierson shook his head. Not good. But Ill be able to tell better when Ive had a closer look at him.
So I was talking to Dave Goosan who was a policeman. The last time I had met him he was a detective sergeant; now he was a detective inspector. I went to school with his young brother, Harry, who was also in the force. Police work was the Goosans family business.
This is bad, Jemmy, he said. Its too much for me. Theyre sending over a superintendent from Newton Abbot. I havent the rank to handle a murder case.
I stared at him. Who has been murdered?
He flung out his arm to indicate the farmyard, then became confused. Im sorry, he said. I didnt mean to say your brother had murdered anyone. But theres been a killing, anyway.
We were in the living-room and through the window I could see the activity in the yard. The body was still there, though covered with a plastic sheet. There were a dozen coppers, some in plain clothes and others in uniform, a few seemed to be doing nothing but chat, but the others were giving the yard a thorough going over.
I said, Who was he, Dave?
We dont know. He frowned. Now, tell me the story all over again right from the beginning. Weve got to get this right, Jemmy, or the super will blow hell out of me. This is the first killing Ive worked on. He looked worried.
So I told my story again, how I had come to the farm, found the dead man and then Bob. When I had finished Dave said, You just rolled the body over no more than that?
I thought it was Bob, I said. The build was the same and so was the haircut.
Ill tell you one thing, said Dave. He might be an American. His clothes are American, anyway. Does that mean anything to you?
Nothing.
He sighed. Ah, well, well find out all about him sooner or later. He was killed by a blast from a shotgun at close range. Grierson says he thinks the aorta was cut through thats why he bled like that. Your brothers shotgun had both barrels fired.
So Bob shot him, I said. That doesnt make it murder.
Of course it doesnt. Weve reconstructed pretty well what happened and it seems to be a case of self defence. The man was a thief; we know that much.
I looked up. What did he steal?
Dave jerked his head. Come with me and Ill show you. But just walk where I walk and dont go straying about.
I followed him out into the yard, keeping close to his heels as he made a circuitous approach to the wall of the kitchen. He stopped and said, Have you ever seen that before?
I looked to where he indicated and saw the tray that had always stood on the top shelf of the dresser in the kitchen ever since I can remember. My mother used to take it down and polish it once in a while, but it was only really used on highdays and feast days. At Christmas it used to be put in the middle of the dining-table and was heaped with fruit.
Do you mean to tell me he got killed trying to pinch a brass tray? That he nearly killed Bob because of that thing?
I bent down to pick it up and Dave grabbed me hastily. Dont touch it. He looked at me thoughtfully. Maybe you wouldnt know. Thats not brass, Jemmy; its gold!
I gaped at him, then closed my mouth before the flies got in.
But its always been a brass tray, I said inanely.
So Bob thought, agreed Dave. It happened this way. The museum in Totnes was putting on a special show of local bygones and Bob was asked if hed lend the tray. I believe its been in the family for a long time.
I nodded. I can remember my grandfather telling me that his grandfather had mentioned it.
Well, thats going back a while. Anyway, Bob lent it to the museum and it was put on show with the other stuff. Then someone said it was gold, and by God, it was! The people at the museum got worried about it and asked Dave to take it back. It wasnt insured, you see, and there was a flap on about it might be stolen. It had been reported in the papers complete with photographs, and any wide boy could open the Totnes museum with a hairpin.
I didnt see the newspaper reports.
It didnt make the national press, said Dave. Just the local papers. Anyway, Bob took it back. Tell me, did he know you were coming down this weekend?
I nodded. I phoned him on Thursday. Id worked out a scheme for the farm that I thought he might be interested in.
That might explain it. This discovery only happened about ten days ago. He might have wanted to surprise you with it.
I looked down at the tray. He did, I said bitterly.
It must be very valuable just for the gold in it, said Dave. Well worth the attention of a thief. And the experts say theres something special about it to add to the value, but Im no antiquarian so I cant tell you what it is. He rubbed the back of his head. Theres one thing about all this that really worries me, though. Come and look at this and dont touch it.
He led me across the yard to the other side of the body where a piece of opaque plastic cloth covered something lumpy on the ground. This is what did the damage to your brother.
He lifted the plastic and I saw a weapon an antique horse pistol. Whod want to use a thing like that? I said.
Nasty, isnt it?
I bent down and looked closer and found I was wrong. It wasnt a horse pistol but a shotgun with the barrels cut very short and the butt cut off to leave only the hand grip. Dave said, What thief in his right mind would go on a job carrying a weapon like that? Just to be found in possession would send him inside for a year. Another thing there were two of them.
Guns?
No men. Two, at least. There was a car parked up the farm road. We found tracks in the mud and oil droppings. From what the weathers been doing we know the car turned in the road after ten oclock last night. Grierson reckons that this man was shot before midnight, so its a hundred quid to a pinch of snuff that the car and the man are connected. It cant have driven itself away, so that brings another man into the picture.
Or a woman, I said.
Could be, said Dave.
A thought struck me. Where were the Edgecombes last night? Jack Edgecombe was Bobs chief factotum on the farm, and his wife, Madge, did Bobs housekeeping. They had a small flat in the farmhouse itself; all the other farm workers lived in their own cottages.
I checked on that, said Dave. Theyre over in Jersey on their annual holiday. Your brother was living by himself.
A uniformed policeman came from the house. Inspector, youre wanted on the blower.
Dave excused himself and went away, and I stood and watched what was going on. I wasnt thinking much of anything; my mind was numbed and small, inconsequential thoughts chased round and round. Dave wasnt away long and when he came back his face was serious. I knew what he was going to say before he said it. Bobs dead, I said flatly.
He nodded gravely. Ten minutes ago.
For Gods sake! I said. I wasted half an hour outside Honiton; it could have made all the difference.
Dont blame yourself, whatever you do. It would have made no difference at all, even if you had found him two hours earlier. He was too far gone. There was a sudden snap to his voice. Its a murder case now, Jemmy; and weve got a man to look for. Weve found an abandoned car the other side of Newton Abbot. It may not be the right one, but a check on the tyres will tell us.
Does Elizabeth Horton know of this yet?
Dave frowned. Whos she?
Bobs fiancée.
Oh, God! He was getting married, wasnt he? No, she knows nothing yet.
Id better tell her, I said.
All right, he said. Youve got a farm to run now, and cows dont milk themselves. Things can run down fast if there isnt a firm hand on the reins. My advice is to get Jack Edgecombe back here. But dont you worry about that; Ill find out where he is and send a telegram.
Thanks, Dave, I said. But isnt that over and above the call of duty?
All part of the service, he said with an attempt at lightness. We look after our own. I liked Bob very much, you know. He paused. Who was his solicitor?
Old Mount has handled the family affairs ever since I can remember.
Youd better see him as soon as possible, advised Dave. Therell be a will and other legal stuff to be handled. He looked at his watch. Look, if youre here when the superintendent arrives you might be kept hanging around for hours. Youd better pop off now and do whatever you have to. Ill give your statement to the super and if he wants to see you he can do it later. But do me a favour and phone in in a couple of hours to let us know where you are.
III
As I drove into Totnes I looked at my watch and saw with astonishment that it was not yet nine oclock. The day that ordinary people live was only just beginning, but I felt Id lived a lifetime in the past three hours. I hadnt really started to think properly, but somewhere deep inside me I felt the first stirring of rage tentatively growing beneath the grief. That a man could be shot to death in his own home with such a barbarous weapon was a monstrous, almost inconceivable, perversion of normal life. In the quiet Devon countryside a veil had been briefly twitched aside to reveal another world, a more primitive world in which sudden death was a shocking commonplace. I felt outraged that such a world should intrude on me and mine.
My meeting with Elizabeth was difficult. When I told her she became suddenly still and motionless with a frozen face. At first, I thought she was that type of Englishwoman to whom the exhibition of any emotion is the utmost in bad taste, but after five minutes she broke down in a paroxysm of tears and was led away by her mother. I felt very sorry for her. Both she and Bob were late starters in the Marriage Stakes and now the race had been scratched. I didnt know her very well but enough to know that she would have made Bob a fine wife.