Under Orders

‘That’s up to the coroner,’ said Carlisle.

‘I said no talking — please.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Let’s suppose Bill didn’t shoot himself. There was indisputable evidence that he was shot, so someone else must have murdered him. But there was also gunpowder residue on Bill’s hand and sleeve so he did fire a gun, probably the gun that killed him. Now, he could have shot the gun before he was murdered or his dead hand could have been used afterwards so that the residue would appear on his hand. Yes?’

‘Yes,’ said Carlisle, ‘but — ’

‘No buts, not yet, we’re still playing “Let’s suppose”.’

He closed his mouth and crossed his arms over his chest, a typical body-language movement showing displeasure and/or disbelief.

‘Either way, there had to be a second bullet.’

‘And, I suppose, you found it?’ he said.

‘Yes, I did.’

‘Where?’ he asked.

‘I searched the den where Bill was killed,’ I said. ‘I searched every inch of that room and didn’t find anything.’ I took the misshapen lump out of my pocket and put it on the table in front of him. ‘It was in a sand-filled fire bucket in the stable yard.’

Carlisle brought his chair back to earth with a clatter, and he bent forward to look first at the lump of lead and then up at me.

‘What on earth made you look there?’ he said. He picked up the bullet and rolled it around between his fingers. ‘Perhaps Burton had a practice shot into the fire bucket outside in the yard first to make sure the gun was working. Perhaps he didn’t want the thing to misfire when he put it in his mouth.’

‘I thought of that, too,’ I replied, ‘but there are a number of things which don’t add up. Firstly, you’ve proved that it was the same gun that killed both Bill Burton and Huw Walker and since it had fired perfectly well the week before, why did it need testing? Secondly, why would Bill replace the empty case in the gun with a fresh bullet so that there was only one fired cylinder? And, thirdly, there was a trace of sand on the rug in the den which tells us that the bucket had been brought there from the yard, so why would he bother to take the bucket back outside if he was about to make a bloody mess in the den anyway?’

‘Hmm,’ said the Chief Inspector. ‘He might have tested the gun before he went to Cheltenham races. There’s nothing on that bullet to say it was fired the day he died.’

‘True,’ I said, ‘but what about the sand on the rug? Kate Burton told me they have a cleaner who comes in once a week on Mondays. Also, Bill would never have fired a gun in the yard close to the horses. If he’d wanted to test the weapon, he would have walked off into the fields to do it and fired into the ground.’

And, I thought, if he had wanted to shoot himself he would have gone into the same fields to do it.

‘So what do you want me to do about it?’ asked Carlisle.

‘Reopen the case,’ I said. ‘You’re a detective, so detect.’

‘The case isn’t shut.’

‘All but. Order Inspector Johnson to start believing that Bill Burton didn’t kill himself and that he was murdered.’

‘I can’t order him to do anything.’

‘Why not? You’re a chief, he’s an injun.’

‘It doesn’t work like that and you know it. He’s in a different police force. But I will speak with him about this.’ He held up the bullet, then looked at his watch. ‘Now, I must get on. I have a team of over a hundred officers to brief in ten minutes.’

‘Any luck with the little girl?’ I asked.

‘No,’ he said gloomily. ‘Poor little mite would have been eleven tomorrow. Breaks my heart to see the parents in such pain. Wish they’d bring back hanging for child murder. Give me the rope, and I’ll do it.’

‘Good luck,’ I said and we shook hands warmly.

‘I suppose I’ll need it,’ he said and smiled.

He wasn’t a bad chap, for a copper.

I picked up Marina from Lambourn and we drove back to London against the rush-hour traffic.

‘What did the policeman say?’ she asked as soon as we had driven away.

‘I think it’s safe to say he wasn’t wholly convinced by my argument,’ I replied. ‘Poor man is too wound up with this child murder. I think he’ll probably speak with the man from Thames Valley Police but I don’t hold out much hope that they’ll put a team back on the case.’

‘You’ll just have to do it yourself, then,’ said Marina.

‘Did you have a nice afternoon with Kate?’ I asked, changing the subject.

‘Lovely,’ she said. ‘Those children seem very resilient after what has happened. Except William. He’s a little quiet and moody.’

‘How about Kate?’

‘Poor girl. She blames herself. We had a good long chat over tea while the children watched television. She thinks everyone will blame her for Bill’s death.’

‘I expect they will,’ I said, ‘but I doubt that they’ll do it to her face.’

‘She said that she was seduced by Huw Walker, that she made no moves to get him.’

Huw almost certainly saw Kate as a challenge, I thought. ‘I expect she’s trying to shift some blame on to him for her own peace of mind.’

‘It had obviously been going on for a while,’ said Marina.

‘I can’t think how,’ I said. ‘Racehorse trainers are at home lots of the time and, when they are away, they’re at the races where Huw would have been.’

‘Well, clearly they did manage it, and often. Kate implied that Huw was great in bed.’

‘You two really did have a good chat.’

‘Yes, I like her. She also told me that recently Huw had been really worried about something. He wouldn’t tell her what exactly but he’d said that it was all about power and not about money. Does that make sense?’

‘Mmm. Perhaps it does,’ I said. ‘Maybe Huw was fixing races not because he enjoyed the financial rewards but because he felt it gave him even more power over Bill — screw his wife and his business.’

We drove down the Cromwell Road in silence.

‘So what are you going to do now?’ said Marina as we turned into Beauchamp Place.

‘About what?’

‘About the murders, of course.’

‘Take a bell, and go and stand on street corners and shout.’

‘Good boy.’

‘It’s dangerous.’

‘Then we’ll take precautions,’ said Marina. ‘You take me to work, as agreed, and collect me and I’ll be very careful not to talk to strangers.’ She laughed.

‘It’s not a laughing matter.’

‘Yes, it is. If you can’t laugh, you’d go mad.’

We carefully checked every dark shadow in the garage and chuckled nervously at each other as we continually looked round like Secret Service agents guarding a president. However, I was right. It was definitely not a laughing matter.

We made it safely to our flat and locked ourselves in for the night.

In the morning I drove Marina to work. She had woken feeling much better and the ugly bruises to her face were, at last, beginning to recede.

I parked the car outside the London Research Institute in Lincoln’s Inn Fields and we went inside and up to Marina’s lab to see the results of our DNA work on Friday night.