Land Rites (Detective Ford) by Andy Maslen (best ereader for manga TXT) 📕

being withheld, which would have cost him a lot of money.’

‘OK, go and talk to him. But Henry . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘Be nice. The gamekeeper looks good for it, but you’ve nothing on Lord B. I don’t want you getting a reputation as some sort of officially sanctioned class warrior.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said, tugging his forelock. ‘Absolutely, Your Grace. Ever so ’umble I’ll be, oh my goodness, yes. What wiv me bein’ a lowly DI and ’im wot lives in that there big ’ouse being a lord an’ ev’ryfing.’

She grinned. ‘Get out of my sight, you horrible little wretch, and bring me results!’

Ford went to find Hannah, who was hunched over her keyboard.

‘Can I drag you away from your desk for a while?’ he asked. ‘I’m going out to see Lord Baverstock and I’d like you to do your FBI voodoo.’ Seeing the beginnings of a frown, he anticipated her question. ‘By which I mean, just size him up. I think he may have been involved in one or both of the murders.’

‘How exactly?’

Ford hesitated. How could he tell Hannah he needed to arrest Hibberd fast to fend off JJ and Rye Bolter, even though he had his doubts about the man’s guilt? He told himself it didn’t matter. If Hibberd was innocent, Ford would find evidence pointing to the true killer. If he wasn’t, the problem disappeared.

‘I’m not sure. Call it a feeling,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a little surprise up my sleeve that might unsettle him. If it works, and he loses his temper, stay calm and just listen more carefully, OK?’

She nodded. ‘Stay calm. Listen carefully. Sacrifice a black cockerel and sprinkle its blood over a photograph of Lord B.’

Ford grinned. ‘Was that a joke, Wix?’

She smiled broadly. ‘It was. Was it any good?’

‘Not bad.’

On the drive over, they discussed other possibilities that would explain the ballistics while letting Hibberd off the hook.

‘What if, for some reason, Hibberd didn’t use his own rifle to shoot the rabbit?’ Hannah asked.

‘Then it must have been an Alverchalke gun.’

‘Which means anyone with access could be the murderer.’

‘Let’s hope it’s a small list, then,’ Ford said.

He pointed to the sign ahead. It bore the simple phrase:

Alverchalke Manor ½ mile

CHAPTER THIRTY

At the manor house, a maid directed them to the rose garden, where Lord Baverstock was tending to his blooms. The garden was a five-minute walk from the main building, behind a wall of old red bricks punctuated halfway along by a wrought-iron gate. Ford pushed the gate open and walked into a sun-drenched square of colour: reds, pinks, oranges, deep plums and creamy whites.

Some ancestor of Lord Baverstock had laid out formal beds in a geometric pattern, divided by raked gravel paths. Pervading the whole garden was the heady scent of ripe peaches and a zingy smell that reminded Ford of lemon sherbet. The air vibrated with the low hum of thousands of bees going about their business.

Lord Baverstock stood beside a galvanised zinc wheelbarrow, about fifty feet away, a pair of secateurs in his right hand. A battered Panama hat shaded his eyes from the bright sunlight, casting the upper half of his face in deep shadow. As Ford and Hannah crunched towards him down the path, the sound alerted him and he looked up.

Seeing them, his face broke into a smile. ‘Inspector! And Wix! Come to help me deadhead the roses?’

‘They’re beautiful,’ Ford said. ‘Mine are only just coming into flower.’

Lord Baverstock pointed at the brickwork behind Ford and Hannah.

‘Walled gardens create their own microclimate. That, and the early spring created perfect conditions this year. But I assume you didn’t come all the way out here to discuss horticulture, Inspector.’

‘I’d like to ask you a few more questions, if that’s all right?’

‘Do you mind if I keep working?’ Lord Baverstock indicated the spread of roses with an extended arm. He wore tan leather gardening gloves.

‘Not at all.’

‘Good. Ask away, then,’ he said, resuming his clipping and snipping, and dropping the spent blossoms into the barrow.

‘Can you tell me what sort of firearms you have in your gun safe?’

‘Oh, the usual. Shotguns, rifles.’

‘Can you be more specific?’

‘Of course. Shotguns first, eh? Four Beretta 12-gauges. Two Purdey 20-gauges. Rifles: couple of Remington .22s, a Sako .243 and my old Springfield Arms .30-06.’

‘That’s it?’

Lord Baverstock stopped pruning and looked upwards for a moment. ‘Yes, of course. I have a couple of little four-tens from when the children were little. Little more than popguns, really. Stephen and Lucy had one each. Brownings.’

‘No others?’

Ford watched Lord Baverstock. If he didn’t own up to the Parker-Hale, Ford would take great pleasure in reminding him.

Lord Baverstock sucked air in over his teeth. ‘Yes, I did forget one. A .308.’

‘That’s a rifle, isn’t it?’ Ford asked in an innocent tone.

Lord Baverstock smiled indulgently. ‘Last time I checked, yes.’

‘What make would that be?’

‘A Parker-Hale Safari Deluxe.’

‘Accurate?’

‘Very. It’s a fine gun.’

‘You said the other day that Lucy and Stephen have had access to the gun safe since they were young. Who else has access?’

‘Well, this might be where I get a little lecture from you, Inspector.’

‘Why?’

‘I keep the key in a box in the main house. Obviously, the rest of my family know where it is and use it whenever they like. Apart from Coco. Poor thing couldn’t hit a barn door with a blunderbuss. Then there’s Joe, of course,’ he said. ‘And my estate manager and his deputy. I’m afraid so many people want a shotgun or a vermin rifle that it’s easier just to make sure they all know where the key is.’

Ford smiled, though he could see his carefully constructed theory fraying. ‘It’s not my place to lecture responsible members of the public about their gun safety. Though that does sound a little risky.’

‘Life is full of risks. I feel that’s one I can manage.’

‘Roughly how many people have access to the gun safe, would you say?’

Lord Baverstock looked upwards and Ford watched his lips moving. Jesus! How long a list was it?

He looked back