Death on the Driving Range. Brian Ball

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СКАЧАТЬ balloon glass and departed with a growl of pain and a heavy clumping of his good foot. “Be right back, Phil. Alice!”

      Bliss knew what was in the offing. In a minute or two, he would be out of the action. He probably wouldn’t get as much as a glimpse at the find. Nevertheless, it was turning out to be an excellent day, except, of course, for the luscious Josie’s contemptuous brush-off; but this looked to be the real thing. The Secretary looked to be off-balance, which was how any minor crisis affected him, so he chanced his luck.

      “So we’ve turned up a bit of history, have we, Mr. Church? What is it, a leftover from the fight on the Kop? Yonks back? The Romans and the Ancient Brits, would you say? Mr. Chips would know, Mrs. Godalming. He’s the member to ask, right, sir?”

      “Bliss is right, Alice. And that would be Mr. Jowett to you. Damn it, he was here an hour or two back, said he’d play the front six by himself, his usual when he doesn’t want company—where is the old fossil, Bliss?”

      “Can’t say, sir. Only yourselves around, just now.”

      “Phil, be discreet!”

      He couldn’t. “I’ll find him! He’s the expert. Heard him talking archaeology for hours. Alice, my dear, Josh could have us out of this mess in a minute!”

      “Phil, we’ll catch up with him another time. The police certainly will.”

      “No, this is Club business. Now’s the time! Got to be done. The Major’s right—get things sorted out.” And he was away, in Alice Godalming’s estimation away and rudely, into the great entrance hall, presumably making for the locker-room. “Where’s Josh Jowett?” she heard him calling as he went. “Anybody know?”

      * * * *

      Three of the slow foursome were finishing dressing, Ted Jones almost ready. “Ted? JJ? What do you think? He’s gone, has he?”

      Ted Jones, sleeking down his thick black hair with Brilliantine, thought he might have seen his car making a smooth but swift exit.

      “Didn’t see him in here, Phil. Hared off, has he? Wish I could. Alice into the gin?”

      * * * *

      “Who’s this?” said Gary, trying. Root glanced at his watch. Things didn’t happen immediately in any investigation; but they happened. He was surprised to see that almost half-an-hour had passed since that three-note repeated bellowing had flooded the back six with its mournful intelligence. “The brass?”

      It would not be a member of the more senior ranks of the Criminal Investigation Department. Not for old bones haphazardly discovered.

      “Not the top brass, no. Middling. You’ll be late for tea.”

      Tea was dinner for most in South Yorkshire. A full meal, served usually at six-thirty. Ah, well. Tea would keep. “Gary, you keep out of it. Speak when you’re spoken to, otherwise say nowt.”

      And here came the first, a comfortably built sergeant Root knew well. He waved to Root, who indicated the find. It was the driver he’d glimpsed in the Focus who was unfamiliar to him. Young, slim, and female. She looked a bit like his Beth, he thought.

      “Let,” he said, very quietly, “the wild rumpus begin.”

      * * * *

      “Inspector to see you, Mr. Church,” called Bliss. He couldn’t help adding, “In a hurry too. Can’t see why. Only old Roman bones, isn’t it?”

      Alice Godalming patted the Secretary’s hand. “Here’s the Law.”

      A very tall youngish detective inspector strode into the large, sunlit lounge. He had a confident air about him, which Josie, peeping round the back of the bar, quite approved of. Bit old, though. And he’d be wed. Not an insurmountable problem. Well-spoken, and that made him intriguing. Yorkshire, but smooth, no edges.

      He smiled at Alice as the introductions were concluded.

      Alice said nothing. The DIs now looked far too damned young to her.

      “Good afternoon, ma’am. Sir. I’m fairly new on the force here, so that’s why we won’t have met before,” said the CID officer, with an easy assurance. “I’m Detective-Inspector Richard Tomlinson, from District Headquarters. I’ve been told by my superior, Superintendent Mabbatt, to ascertain what’s known about this unfortunate matter. I’ve already detailed my sergeant to assist Constable Root—one of your members, I believe—”

      “He’s a very nice man,” interjected Alice Godalming. “Very considerate. I wish some of the other young fellas around were as polite.”

      “—ah, quite, ma’am. Sergeant Strapp is aware of his competence, I’m sure. But Constable Root should have back-up just now. Mr. Church, you were saying?”

      Church breathed a sigh. A competent and socially acceptable policeman. Something was going right, for once. “Forgetting myself, Inspector. Now, this lady is Mrs. Godalming—a drink, Inspector?”

      Then they all heard a vast shout: “Summers! Where’s that bloody cart, man! We’ve got to see Arthur Root!”

      The socialising was over. The offered drink was forgotten.

      Tomlinson, an acute observer of humankind, had been forewarned about the plod. Clever, he’d been advised. “And a bit more. Clever for a beat copper, Root. You’ll find out.

      CHAPTER 4

      “So what happens when your mates get here, Arthur?” Gary wanted to know, as two plainclothes officers came at a steady pace along the light rough on the left of the fairway.

      “You say nowt. Do what they teach you in the army. Hold your water.”

      “All I want is to get off home,” said Owen Burroughs.

      So do we all, Root concurred silently as Sergeant Isaac Strapp puffed up the rise to Anglers Kop. The lithe female officer with him looked as if she should be in a gym-slip. When he had outlined the nature of the find, and who had made it, Strapp made sure he had got the details right.

      “And this is, again?”

      “A friend, Gary Brand. He saw and heard no more than I did. And this here’s the driver of the JCB. Not too good yet, are you, Owen?”

      Strapp was examining the remains. “You feeling all right?”

      This was to his fellow-officer. “I’ve seen a corpse before, Sergeant. I’ll do,” she said firmly, moving forward a half-pace.

      “Skin’s just bits of leather,” said Strapp. He turned to the still-trembling finder, but addressed Root. “I just want the basics, Constable. What have we got, for a start?”

      Root indicated the area sloping away from the seventeenth tee, in the direction of the woods below; and then to the newly acquired land.

      “See down there? That’s the practice ground. There’s an extension in hand. This hill’s being levelled. So the earth-moving vehicle’s here. You can see what’s turned up.”

      “Turned СКАЧАТЬ