The Tides Of Memory - The Tides Of Memory Part 32
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The Tides Of Memory Part 32

Marjorie Pilcher slipped off her quilted Husky jacket as she cleared the brow of the hill that led down onto the Kingsmere Manor estate. As so often on her afternoon walks, Marjorie reflected on the beauty of the West Oxfordshire countryside and how privileged she was to live here. As chairwoman of the Kingsmere and Cotterill Women's Initiative, Marjorie Pilcher liked to think of herself as a pivotal figure in the local community. It was Marjorie who had persuaded Teddy De Vere, the biggest local landowner, to allow "respectful" walkers through his land, even though there was no official right of way on the manor estate. Watching her springer spaniel, Freckles, lollop down the hillside now, with the De Veres' idyllic house on her right and the ancient woodlands stretching out in front of her like a Narnian forest, Marjorie Pilcher enjoyed a warm sensation of triumph. Even the vicar, Reverend Gray, had been impressed by the way Marjorie had talked Teddy De Vere around.

"I can't think how you managed to charm him, Mrs. Pilcher," Reverend Gray had told Marjorie over a large plate of buttered scones at the vicarage. "But thank heavens you did. Generations of villagers will be in your debt, dear lady."

Marjorie Pilcher liked the idea of generations of villagers being in her debt. And to think her late husband, Frank (the bastard), thought she'd never amount to anything.

Oh Lord. What is that ridiculous dog doing now?

"Freckles! Here, boy. Come away."

Teddy De Vere's one stipulation had been that walkers and their animals must stick to the path through the parkland and woods and not stray into the private Kingsmere gardens. And now here was Marjorie Pilcher's own unruly animal rolling under the fence in clear violation of this sacrosanct rule, worrying away at the ground that had been cemented over for the proposed new pagoda.

"Freckles!"

Ignoring his mistress utterly, the springer spaniel continued to dig, his brown-and-white-flecked tail wagging excitedly as he worked.

"Freckles! Come here at once!"

Gingerly, Marjorie Pilcher picked her way over the nettles and through the thorny briars that formed a natural boundary between the parkland and the formal landscaped grounds of the manor house. Like most local people, Marjorie had deplored the idea of a pagoda on the Kingsmere estate, considering it "flash" and vulgar. But she hadn't objected formally for fear of irritating Teddy De Vere and losing her hard-won walkers' rights. As it turned out, it was the right decision. The ghastly thing had yet to be built and probably never would be now, what with the De Veres' son having that dreadful motorcycle accident, and now Mrs. De Vere being shot by a deranged taxi driver. Awful business. All that remained of Teddy's grand plans was an ugly concrete-filled hole, but that would soon be grown over. Although not soon enough for the errant Freckles. Marjorie Pilcher watched despairingly as the dog scrabbled around the perimeter of the slab, digging with a desperation she'd never seen in him before.

"What are you doing, you stupid dog?" Ripping one of her favorite tweed skirts as she hiked first one leg, then the other, over the dilapidated barbed-wire fence, Marjorie eased herself down into the estate gardens. She'd never hear the end of it at the WI if one of the Kingsmere groundsmen caught her trespassing, albeit in a good cause.

Oh God. She sighed. He's got something in his mouth.

That was all Marjorie needed, some half-dead stoat or weasel that she'd have to finish off with a spade or the heel of her boot. Truth be told, there wasn't much that Marjorie missed about the dearly departed Frank Pilcher, her husband of almost fifty years. She mostly remembered Frank for his phlegmy cough that used to set her teeth on edge and his irritating habit of asking her questions in the middle of her favorite radio show, Gardeners' Question Time. Beneath the muted disguise of her mourning clothes, Marjorie Pilcher had embraced widowhood with all the enthusiasm of a young girl in the flush of her first affair. But Frank had been handy when it came to killing animals. It might be a kindness, but Marjorie could never get used to the idea of walloping a living creature over the head. It just didn't feel right, especially when their bones made that dreadful cracking, crunching sound . . .

The dog came bounding toward her, its "gift" clamped between its jaws.

"Ugh, Freckles." Marjorie's lip curled. "What disgusting offering have you brought me this time?"

Tail still wagging, the springer leaped up at his mistress.

Marjorie Pilcher's scream could be heard all the way back in the village.

Hanging grotesquely from the dog's drooling mouth was a decomposing human hand.

Reporters were swarming over the De Vere estate like vermin. The police, also at Kingsmere in force, seemed powerless to control them.

"This is ridiculous," Teddy grumbled as his Bentley swept through the gates, past the flashing cameras and thrust-out microphones. "Haven't they anything better to do?"

Alexia, straight-backed and rigid-jawed in the passenger seat, said nothing. Beneath her crisp white shirt, her entire left side was swathed in bandages. The doctors had prescribed Percocet for the pain, but the pills made her feel groggy, so she'd stopped taking them. As a result she winced every time the car turned a corner. The speed bumps were pure agony.

Worse than the physical pain was the anxiety she felt oozing back into her chest like water into a leaky ship.

That's what I am-a leaky ship.

A sinking ship.

After the shooting and her reconciliation with Roxanne, Alexia had finally capitulated and agreed to take an extended leave of absence. The prime minister was delighted, as was Kevin Lomax, Alexia's archrival over at Trade and Industry, whom Henry Whitman had named acting home secretary in her absence.

Henry's statement made it sound like a temporary arrangement, a break in which the home secretary would recover physically and mentally from the attempt on her life. But Alexia knew that the party would never take her back now, not with a dead body unearthed on her private grounds. Mrs. Marjorie Pilcher's gruesome discovery was one scandal too many, even for a fighter like Alexia De Vere. Politically, she was finished, and she knew it.

"Mum, Dad. Thank God."

Roxie's relief was palpable. She'd returned to Oxfordshire alone a couple of days earlier, after Alexia was discharged from hospital, and was the only family member actually at Kingsmere when the severed hand was found.

"The police keep asking me questions but I don't know anything. I'm sure they think I'm hiding something."

"If anyone's been pressuring or bullying you, I want their names," Alexia said forcefully. In the last week, all her protective, motherly instincts toward Roxie had come surging back. She was in full lioness mode now, defending her cub.

A short, fat plain-clothed policeman with closely cropped gray hair walked confidently up to Alexia and Teddy and extended a hand.

"Chief Inspector Gary Wilmott, Oxford CID. We've been asking Miss De Vere a few routine questions, that's all. No one's been bullying anyone."

"You've clearly frightened her." Teddy looked at the forensic teams and tracking dogs invading his home with distaste. "Is this circus really necessary?"

Chief Inspector Gary Wilmott stiffened. "A man's been found dead in your garden, Mr. De Vere. We tend to take murder fairly seriously."

"That's over-egging the pudding a bit, isn't it? How do you know he was murdered?"

"Well, he was a bloody clever suicide if he managed to shoot himself in the chest and then bury himself afterward."

One of the forensic team giggled, earning herself an icy glare from her boss.

The fat detective looked from Teddy to Alexia. "Where can we talk, privately?"

"In my study. This way." Turning to Roxie, Alexia added, "You go and get some rest, my darling. Daddy and I will help the chief inspector with his inquiries."

"Thanks, Mummy."

"Actually, I'm afraid I'll need all three of you."

"What the hell for?" Teddy bristled. "Roxie's told you what she knows."

Chief Inspector Gary Wilmott was beginning to lose his temper. Bloody aristos. Think the rules don't apply to them. Don't they care that a young man's been shot and left to rot in their garden?

"Because you all live here, Mr. De Vere. It isn't rocket science."

Once in the study, Alexia took charge.

"Naturally we'll help you in any way we can, Chief Inspector," she said, wincing and clutching her side as she sat down. "But I wonder if I might also ask a few questions of you. You say it was a man's body that was found?"

"That's right. We don't know much at this stage. As you can see, my men are still excavating the site. Not easy, what with all the newly poured concrete."

Roxie said defensively, "I already told you, Chief Inspector. Daddy was throwing a party. My brother, Michael, was in charge of constructing a pagoda, but he . . . he never got a chance to finish it."

"I'm sure you're aware of what happened, Chief Inspector," said Alexia. "My son was in a motorcycle accident."

"Yes, ma'am. I understand it's been a difficult time for your family. Can I get you anything? A glass of water perhaps?"

Alexia shook her head. "I'm fine. What my daughter says is correct. The concrete was supposed to form the base of a pagoda that we were building as part of the tricentenary celebrations. Michael was managing the project. After his crash, it got forgotten about. None of us were in the mood to build follies."

"So it was your son who dug the hole out there?"

"My son and his workmen, yes."

"And your son who filled it with concrete?"

"Yes."

Teddy spluttered, "I hope you're not suggesting that Michael had anything to do with this body business?"

"I'm not suggesting anything, Mr. De Vere."

"Good. Because the boy's on a bloody life support machine. He can't defend himself from your insinuations, but I sure as hell will."

Alexia put a hand on Teddy's arm, but he shrugged it off. She'd never seen him like this. Teddy was always the calm one. She was the hothead in the marriage.

"Chief Inspector," she asked, "do you know how long ago this man was killed? Or how long he may have been buried on our land?"

"Not yet, no. Although judging by the degree of decomposition and the damage to the skeletal remains we've unearthed so far, animal bites and whatnot, I would guess we're talking several years."

"There you are, then." Teddy looked at him triumphantly. "It couldn't have been anything to do with Michael, or the stupid pagoda. I only thought of the thing six or seven months ago and we didn't start work on it till June, long after your chappie was bumped off."

He pronounced it "orf." Pretentious bloody snob. For a moment Chief Inspector Gary Wilmott's professional mask slipped and he stared at Teddy De Vere with naked loathing. Thankfully he was interrupted by one of his team before he said something he might have regretted.

"Sir? You'd better come out here a minute."

Chief Inspector Wilmott left the room. Alexia, Teddy, and Roxie all looked at one another, shell-shocked. Roxie broke the silence.

"Do you think Michael knew?"

"Knew what?" asked Teddy.

"About the body."

Both parents looked at her as if she were mad.

Alexia said, "Of course not. Why on earth would you think something like that?"

"For the same reason the police think it," said Roxie. "That Pilcher woman's dog found the hand right on the edge of the pagoda site. Michael could have seen something when they were excavating."

"He could have. But obviously he didn't."

"Why is that obvious?"

"Because if he'd seen anything, he'd have told the police, wouldn't he? Or us. If he'd unearthed a dead body, he'd hardly put it back and say nothing about it."

"Unless he had a reason for keeping it hidden," Roxie mused. "Summer Meyer was asking me a couple of weeks ago about a secret. What if this was it?"

Alexia's tone hardened. She badly wanted not to upset the applecart with Roxie. But she couldn't allow these unfounded suspicions of poor Michael to stand unchallenged. "Summer's a sweet enough girl, and I daresay she's well meaning. But she really ought to mind her own business and stop banging on about secrets and conspiracies. It's all nonsense."

"I agree," said Teddy. He'd told Alexia yesterday about Summer's latest investigations into Michael's Ducati and its frayed brake pads. Alexia was not amused. "If your brother had found a body, he would have told somebody."

But Roxie wouldn't be deflected. "Unless he was the one who buried it," she said defiantly.

Teddy's eyes widened. "You aren't serious? You think Michael killed a man?"

"I'm not saying he did. I'm just saying, it's possible. We all sometimes do things in anger, or self-defense, or accidentally, in the heat of the moment. I love Michael. But I mean, we're all capable of murder, aren't we? In the right circumstances."

"Are we?" said Teddy.

"Of course we are, darling." Alexia had been watching Roxie while she spoke, wondering if there was a deeper message beneath her words, something more that she was trying to tell them. "There but for the grace of God go all of us."

"Well, I'm sorry," said Teddy, "but I still don't believe that Michael-"

Chief Inspector Gary Willmot marched back in without knocking. He looked grim-faced. "The dogs found some clothes buried separately, about sixty yards from where the bones were scattered. This was with them." He threw an old Swatch sports watch down on Teddy's desk. "I suppose it's too much to hope that any of you might recognize it?"

Teddy snapped, "Of course we don't recognize it. Why would we? Other than being unfortunate enough to have had someone decide to bury a body on our land, my family and I have nothing whatsoever to do with this."

Teddy ranted on, but Chief Inspector Wilmott was no longer listening. Roxie De Vere had begun making a strange noise, a sort of high, keening howl, like an animal caught in a trap. It was getting louder.

"Miss De Vere?" Chief Inspector Wilmott looked at her quizzically.

"Roxie, darling." Teddy was all concern. "Are you all right?"

"Miss De Vere, do you recognize this watch? Do you know who it belongs to?"

With a wild shriek, Roxie swiveled her chair around. Teddy watched in horror as she used her forearms to propel herself out of the chair and onto Alexia, knocking her mother off her feet.

Now it was Alexia who screamed, as the pain shot through her chest like a lightning bolt. With Roxanne slumped on top of her, she couldn't move. Instead she squirmed in helpless agony as Roxie gripped her neck like a vise, choking her and crushing her windpipe. Instinctively, Alexia kicked out in panic. She felt the breath leave her body and was sure she was about to pass out. Why was nobody helping her?

"Roxanne!" Teddy shouted. "For God's sake."

"You killed him!" Roxie screamed, shaking Alexia like a terrier with a rat between its teeth. "All this time you let me believe he left me. But you killed him! Shot him in cold blood like an animal and buried him here. Murderer!"

Belatedly, Chief Inspector Wilmott pulled the girl off, scooping her up into his arms. She weighed next to nothing. After the exertion of the attack on her mother, Roxanne sobbed weakly against his chest, as limp and fragile as a rag doll.

Meanwhile Alexia De Vere lay on the floor, clutching her throat and gasping for breath like a newly landed fish.

Placing Roxie gently back into her wheelchair, Chief Inspector Wilmott knelt down so that his eyes were level with hers.

"You recognize the watch?"

Roxie's voice was a whisper. "It belonged to my fiance. Andrew."

With that, Roxie De Vere's eyes rolled back in her head and a great spasm swept through her broken body. Soon she was foaming at the mouth, seizing wildly.

"Do something! Help her!" Teddy sounded panicked. Alexia merely stared, too stunned and in too much pain herself to do anything for her daughter. Roxie looked as though she were being electrocuted, dancing in anguish before her parents' eyes.