It was something I would need to address very soon.
John climbed down from his car, swearing and complaining still. He showed the officers a wound on his leg - I have done worse damage shaving mine.
They were asking questions, and insisting John accompany them to the house so they could establish what might have happened.
‘I’ll need your keys, sir,’ said PC Woods, holding out her hand expectantly. ‘I need to move your car so we can unblock the lane outside.’ She twitched her eyes to me. ‘You too, Mrs Philips.’
PC Hardacre held his arms out to his sides to herd John and me inside the house. Over his shoulder, he said, ‘Patience, come and find us once you are done.’
She called back that she wouldn’t be long just before we heard her revving the Range Rover’s engine. John turned around to see what she was doing, his forehead creasing.
‘Is she insured to drive my car?’ he wanted to know, acting as if it were something precious. I had no such concerns about mine; it’s covered in Buster slobber most of the time.
John was also laying it on thick with his leg wound, limping in an exaggerated way as he hobbled toward the house.
I hurried my steps, getting to the house first because I wanted to hear about Derek’s condition. It was quite the tumble from the upper floor of the house, and he didn’t move in the time that I was outside with him.
‘I need to sit down,’ complained John. ‘That rabid dog bit me.’
‘Buster is not rabid!’ I snapped, insulted by the suggestion. I looked down to find Buster had slobbery foam around his chops. ‘He’s just a bit dribbly,’ I tried to defend him. ‘If you hadn’t shoved Derek off his balcony, none of this would have happened.’
John’s face turned instantly red as he raged, ‘I didn’t push him!’
‘You can sit there, sir,’ PC Hardacre pointed to an armchair. We were going through their kitchen at the back of the house. Ahead of us, the patio doors were ajar, cool air drifting in and along with it the voices from outside.
A quick glance was all it took to confirm Derek was still unconscious. A paramedic was heading back toward the house, jogging while awkwardly holding onto the various paraphernalia attached to her uniform.
‘I need the backboard from the ambulance,’ she announced, cruising into the room but pausing to speak with PC Hardacre. ‘Is the lane clear now?’
PC Woods came into the kitchen just as the paramedic asked the question.
‘It sure is. I need you to move the ambulance so I can get my squad car off the road. There is a tractor already waiting.’
PC Hardacre started toward the front of the house. ‘I’ll shift it, Patience. You already put a dent in it this week.’
‘That wasn’t my fault,’ she called after him. She did not, however, attempt to stop him. Instead, she moved around the kitchen. ‘Anyone for tea?’
I guess police officers are used to going into other people’s houses and helping themselves. They must have to deliver notice of death or let people know their loved one has been arrested or been in an accident. Such news might then demand liquid refreshment – everything is better with a cup of tea.
I wasn’t entirely convinced most of her colleagues would also help themselves to the chocolate digestives when they found them, but PC Woods put away three while the kettle boiled.
The paramedic came back through the house with what looked like a stripped-down hospital bed on wheels. On it was what I recognised from TV shows as a backboard – a device onto which a casualty could be strapped so they were immobile in transit.
‘How is he?’ I wanted to know.
I got a noncommittal mumble in reply which I took to be a bad thing.
With PC Hardacre also returning, the two officers got down to the task of finding out what had happened. It felt like a slow response – like they should have got to it sooner, but I guess everyone was calm and they were focused on keeping it that way.
John Ramsey explained who he was and why he was at the house, details I already knew. Then he was quite honest about his verbal altercation with Derek earlier.
‘I stormed from the house,’ he admitted. ‘I got in my car and I went for a long drive. I was very angry.’ To me it sounded like a dangerous emotion to admit but he did so willingly.
‘Where did you go?’ asked PC Hardacre, taking notes again.
‘Allhallows,’ John replied with a shrug. ‘It was just somewhere to go. I went down onto the beach and skimmed stones like I used to when I was a kid. That’s our logo, you know.’ He produced a business card. On it was a black and white image of a child skimming stones across a pond.
PC Hardacre recapped. ‘So you left here angry and skimmed stones. Then what?’
‘I calmed down while I was on the beach. I figured I needed to come back to speak with Derek again. I had gotten angry earlier and I shouted at him. We’ve been friends for fifty years and never exchanged a cross word. I was going to apologise and also try to talk some sense into him. He needs to hand over his role as CEO of the firm and he needs to do it now.’
There was that sense of urgency again. It was as if John felt tomorrow would be too late. Also, why did he want it to go to Tarquin? Wouldn’t John, with all his experience, be the better man to take the helm?
PC Woods skipped to the good bit. ‘How did he come to fall from the balcony?’ There was no inflection in her
