“It seems quiet enough,” the older policeman said. He turned round to face Matt. “Where did you say you saw him?”
“Upstairs. In the bedroom.”
“There’s someone here,” the younger one said.
Matt looked out of the window. The policeman was right. A woman had appeared to one side of the house. She was tall and thin with limp grey hair hanging to her shoulders, and he recognized her. She was one of the women he had met in Lesser Malling. She had been pushing a pram. What was her name? Creasey. Or Creevy. Now she was in Tom Burgess’s garden, hanging out a basket of washing. Matt couldn’t understand what was happening. She had been inside the house, so surely she had seen the state of the rooms. Hadn’t she been upstairs?
The policemen got out of the car. Feeling increasingly uneasy, Matt followed them. The woman saw them coming and stopped what she was doing.
“Good morning,” she said. “How can I help you?”
“My name is Sergeant Rivers,” replied the older man. “This is Police Constable Reed. Who are you?”
“I’m Joanna Creevy. I help Tom Burgess with his housework. What’s wrong?” She seemed to notice Matt for the first time. “Matthew? What are you doing here?” She scowled. “You haven’t got yourself into trouble, have you?”
Matt ignored her.
“This is a little difficult,” the sergeant began. “The fact is that we just met this young lad on the road.”
“You left your bicycle here, Matthew,” the woman said. “I thought you must have been visiting.”
“Matthew claims that Mr Burgess might have been involved in some sort of accident,” the sergeant went on.
“It wasn’t an accident,” Matt interrupted. “He’s been killed. Cut to pieces. I saw him…”
The woman stared at Matt, then broke into laughter. “That’s impossible,” she said. “I saw Tom ten minutes ago. You just missed him. He’s gone to see to the sheep in the far paddock.”
The policemen turned to Matt.
“She’s lying,” Matt said. “He didn’t go anywhere ten minutes ago. I was here just now and he was dead.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say,” Miss Creevy muttered. “Tom is fine. And here I am, hanging out his socks!”
“Go and look in the bedroom,” Matt said.
“Yes. You do that.” The woman nodded – and that was when Matt began to worry. She seemed confident – one step ahead of him.
Sergeant Rivers nodded slowly. “We’d better sort this out,” he said.
They went into the house and Matt saw at once. Although it was still untidy, Miss Creevy – or someone – had cleared away most of the evidence. The books and papers had been straightened. The shutters were folded back. And the knife had been taken out of the kitchen cupboard… but the gash it had left was still there. They continued upstairs.
“You’ll have to forgive the mess,” Miss Creevy said. “Tom has been redecorating and I haven’t had a chance to start work yet.”
They reached the landing. The door of the bedroom was closed, just as Matt had left it. He didn’t want to go in. He didn’t think he could bear to look at the body a second time. But he couldn’t back out now.
Sergeant Rivers opened the door.
There was a man working in the room, wearing a pair of white overalls that were flecked with green paint. Everything was different. The sheets and blankets had been removed from the floor and the bed was propped up on its side against the wall. The curtains had been hung up and although one of the windows was still broken, there was no sign of any broken glass. The scattered clothes had disappeared. So had the body of Tom Burgess. The man saw the two policemen and stopped work.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning, sir.” The sergeant took a quick look around. “May I ask who you are?”
“Ken,” the man replied. “Ken Rampton.” He was in his twenties, scrawny with a sly, crumpled face and curly fair hair. He smiled and Matt saw that one of his front teeth had been chipped diagonally in half. “Can I help you?”
“How long have you been here?”
“All morning. I got here about half eight.”
“Do you work for Tom Burgess too?”
“I’m helping him out with the decorating.”
“Have you seen him today?”
“I saw him about a quarter of an hour ago. He looked in to see how I was getting on, then he left… Something to do with his sheep.”
“That’s what I just told you,” Miss Creevy said.
Matt felt the blood rush to his cheeks. “He’s lying,” he insisted. “They both are. I know what I saw.” Suddenly he remembered. “Tom Burgess left a message,” he said.
He swung round and pushed the door shut to reveal the wall behind it. But the wall, which had been off-white before, was now green. And the words that the farmer had painted had gone.
“Be careful,” Ken Rampton warned. “Wet paint…”
Sergeant Rivers came to a decision. “We won’t waste any more of your time, sir,” he said. He grabbed hold of Matt, his hand tightening on his shoulder. “As for you, I think we should have a word outside.”
Miss Creevy followed them back downstairs and out into the yard. Matt wondered if the policemen were going to arrest him. In fact, he suddenly realized, that was exactly what he hoped would happen. If they arrested him, maybe he would be taken back to London. Maybe this sort of behaviour would mean that he could kiss the LEAF Project goodbye. But before anyone could say anything, Miss Creevy stepped forward. “I wonder if I could have a private word with you, officer?”
They spoke for about two minutes. The sergeant glanced his way a couple of times and nodded, while Miss Creevy shrugged and spread her hands. Finally he walked back over to them.
“You ought to know that wasting police time is a very serious business,” he said.
“I’m telling the truth.”
“Let’s not have any more of that, thank you.”
The policeman had made up his mind. Matt could see that. He bit his tongue.
“I understand you’ve been in trouble a few times before,” Sergeant Rivers continued. “You’re with the LEAF Project, is that right? You ought to count yourself lucky. Personally I don’t believe in all this do-good stuff, to tell you the truth. You’re a thief, and the best thing for you would be to be birched and locked up where you can’t do any more harm. But that’s not my decision. The courts have sent you here and if you had any sense, you’d be grateful and stop trying to draw attention to yourself. Now, we’ll say no more about this nonsense. But I don’t want to see or hear from you again.”
Matt watched as the two policemen drove away. Then he turned round. Miss Creevy was smiling at him, her long grey hair flapping in the breeze. There was a movement at the door and Ken Rampton appeared with the paintbrush still clutched in his hand. He said nothing. But he too was smiling.
“Go back to Hive Hall,” Miss Creevy said. “Mrs Deverill is waiting for you.”
“To hell with her!” Matt shouted.
“You can’t escape from us, Matthew. There’s nowhere you can go. Surely you can see that by now.”
Matt ignored her and grabbed the bike.
“There’s nowhere you can go.” The woman echoed the words in a high-pitched voice.
Ken Rampton began to laugh.
Matt pedalled away as fast as he could.
LOCAL AFFAIRS
Greater Malling had once been a small, attractive village but it had grown into a large, unattractive town. There were still a few reminders of what it had once been: a pond, a row of almshouses and a lopsided sixteenth-century pub. But the roads had come, cutting in from every side and joining together at noisy intersections. New houses had elbowed out the old. Offices and car parks had sprung up, joined by cinemas, supermarkets and a clattering bus station. Now it was very ordinary. Somewhere to pass through on the way to somewhere else.
It had taken Matt an hour to cycle here from Glendale Farm. He had been afraid that the road would play another trick on him and deposit him somewhere he didn’t want to be. But he was still wearing the stone talisman that Tom Burgess had given him. Somehow the little golden key had unlocked the maze of country lanes and allowed him to find his way.