Mrs. Lundy stared at the constable in stunned silence. It was a state so unusual for her that it took Edith a moment to recover and ask the question that instantly came to mind.
“But I remember you saying. ’He went and done it’. You didn’t mean Joe?”
Constable Horn shook his head.
“It’s Will Sutton I was talking about, Miss. We were all in the pub last night. Lily was serving up drinks, with Will at the bar complaining about his father as usual. Well, he got no contradiction from her, and there they were, egging each other on about how much they hated the old man. After a few drinks Will got so angry he stormed out, saying he’d put an end to Sutton’s tyranny. We all heard it.”
“What time was this?” DS Anderson asked sharply.
“About ten o’clock, sir. Me and Joe were there until Lily closed up, by which point the doctor says Sutton was already dead.”
“How did he die?” asked Edith curiously.
“We are not at liberty to say,” said the detective, glaring at the constable.
Edith found herself disliking this keen young man with his sarcastic eyes more and more.
“I suppose he was shot,” she said thoughtfully. “He looked like a big man, so probably hard to take down any other way. But the killer would have to know he’d be in the woods. It would be a routine walk… checking traps, perhaps? I’ve noticed that farmers tend to take their shotguns wherever they go, and when he was checking a trap he’d set it by a tree. Yes,” she concluded. “Shot with his own gun, from behind.”
“By Jove, that’s exactly how it happened!” Constable Horn stared at her admiringly.
“You describe it so exactly, perhaps we should ask for your alibi,” added the detective dryly.
Mrs. Lundy beamed at Edith, then turned sternly to the two men.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” she demanded. “Let’s go talk to Will Sutton.”
“Ma’am, I must protest—” Anderson sputtered, but Mrs. Lundy scooped a handful of coins onto the table and marched out of the cafe before he could finish. Constable Horn trailed obediently behind her.
The confounded look on the detective’s face was infinitely satisfying to Edith.
“I’m new here too,” she told him confidentially. “You’ll get used to it.”
The strange little procession, with Mrs. Lundy in the lead, arrived at the Pig and Porter as the regulars were getting settled for the evening. A tall girl with raven hair and a haughty look was pouring a drink for a young man who was clearly her brother. From across the room, a sallow-faced man stared intently at Lily Sutton.
“That’s Daniel Smith,” whispered Mrs. Lundy. “Moons about here every night, but he’s got no chance with Lily.”
“And the older man, in the corner?”
“Joe Birch himself.”
Constable Horn approached the two siblings. Edith saw the shock on their faces as they were told the news.
“Where did you go after you left the pub?” the constable asked Will.
“I went for a walk, to cool off. I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you mean!”
“But you have no one to vouch for this?” interjected the detective.
Will glared defiantly at the newcomer.
“No,” he said grimly. “I suppose I don’t.”
“That settles it,” pronounced Anderson. Edith quickly put a hand on his arm. He looked down at her sharply.
“You have a theory, I presume?”
“Don’t you think it’s too simple?”
“Real life is not as exciting as detective stories, Miss Langford.”
Edith gave him her sternest teacherly glare.
“I realise that,” she said. “But you should at least talk to Daniel Smith. Constable, what time did he leave last night?”
“Oh, I could tell you that easy,” said Constable Horn. “Daniel left about twenty minutes after Will, only I know he went home. I saw him there myself!”
The detective looked ready to commit a second murder, which Edith was amused to see did not register with the constable whatsoever. After a moment he collected himself.
“Please elaborate, constable.”
“Well it was like this. Daniel here was harassing Lily all evening, and getting drunk too, and eventually he made such a ruckus that I had to take him outside. He lives just down the road, and I saw him home.”
“That’s right, sir,” put in Lily from behind the bar.
“She’s a liar!” exclaimed the sallow-faced Daniel. “She’s been leading me on these four months, with those sultry glances of hers—”
“Be quiet!” growled Will. “You come near my sister, and I’ll—”
Constable Horn restrained him. The detective looked around helplessly, obviously realising that his investigation had turned into a drama involving half the village.
“Daniel could have gone out again after you left him,” he told the constable sternly. “Did you think about that?”
“He was in no state…” muttered the latter defensively.
“Detective, I think you’re missing the point,” said Edith. “It’s not about who left — it’s about who stayed.”
Anderson’s sharp eyes glinted with understanding.
“Joe Birch,” he murmured.
“He could have slipped out while the constable was seeing Daniel home.”
“By Jove…” murmured Constable Horn. He turned to the old farmer, who looked terrified.
“I was here all night!” he exclaimed. “Lily was pottering about in the back, but she can tell you. Can’t you, dear?” He turned helplessly to the girl, who nodded.
“It’s true. I was getting ready to close up, but I did look in on Joe. He was there the whole time.”
The detective looked unconvinced.
“He could have slipped out while she was busy with her work. It’s only a few minutes to the woods from here. So we have three men with motive and the flimsiest alibis I’ve ever heard. Any ideas, Miss Langford?”
With a thrill Edith realised he wasn’t mocking her — he was really asking her opinion.
She thought for a moment, her mind going back to the green boots in the undergrowth, and to the path in the woods.
“People lose buttons all the time, don’t they?” she asked the detective. He looked at her curiously.
“I suppose so. I do at any rate.”
“Men are no good with buttons,” affirmed Mrs. Lundy. “One is always having to sew them on again.”
“But not so much buckles.”
“Belt buckles?” asked Anderson, confused.
“No,” said Edith. “That’s just it. Not belt buckles. Shoe buckles.”
Anderson looked even more confused.
“But the suspects are farmers. They wear boots.”
Edith, however, wasn’t looking at him. She was looking past his shoulder at the girl behind the bar, who had turned deathly pale.
“Women’s shoe buckles,” she murmured. “In the dark, with branches strewn on the path, it would be easy to lose one. Imagine, arranging the entire thing, getting every man to act according to your plan, only to be undone by a shoe buckle.”
It was almost sad, she thought, until one remembered the plan had been murder.
“What on earth do you mean?” asked Anderson.
“Lily Sutton is not only beautiful, she’s very clever,” explained Edith. The girl behind the bar waited, not moving, her eyes fixed on Edith.
“She got Will talking about their father and egged him on. You’ve seen Will’s temper for yourself. It would’ve been easy to get him drunk and angry so that he stormed out vowing vengeance. But she also knew he wouldn’t act on his words. His temper would flare and fizzle out.
“That’s where the next man was useful to her: Daniel Smith. I’m guessing she sent him enough mixed messages to confuse him, and again a liberal supply of drink got him into a state until the constable had to escort him out.
“And then the third man came into play. Joe Birch might not be able to swear exactly that she was there all night. But as a suspect in the murder, and known to hate the victim, he’d be very keen to agree when she gave him an alibi, saying they were both in the pub the whole time.”
Lily Sutton’s dark eyes darted from Edith to the two policemen, then to the door. Edith could see her calculating her chances, but in the end her shoulders sagged. Constable Horn led her away, and she did not resist.
“My word,” exclaimed Mrs. Lundy, “That was brilliant!”
“Quite brilliant.” Anderson’s smile was only half-sarcastic… and half-admiring. Edith blushed.
“But why kill her father?” wondered Mrs. Lundy. “It couldn’t be for the farm, she hated that place. She always said she was meant to be a city girl.”
“Farms can be sold,” pointed out Edith. “If she were the only heir, she could sell up and move to London like she’d always wanted.”
“And she would be the sole heir, once her brother was hanged for murder,” added Anderson.
“All that cleverness, gone to such a terrible purpose,” murmured Mrs. Lundy. “Thank goodness you don’t want to murder anyone, dear. I’m sure you’d get away with it scot-free.” She glanced at the detective. “Not that I mean—”
“That’s alright, Mrs. Lundy,” said Anderson, laughing. “I’m sure she would. Miss Langford is more than a match for the local constabulary.”
Edith smiled at him. And if Mrs. Lundy gave the two of them a knowing look, neither one noticed.
Daria Writes 