Dead Man's Time

shitbag.’
    ‘Oh?’
    ‘Small-time fence. He was one of the first people I ever nicked when I first started on the force. Must be as old as God, I’m surprised he’s still alive.’
    ‘Sounds like he might not be.’
    They turned left on the seafront and headed east, passing the marina, Roedean, and made another left just before St Dunstan’s, the famous home for blind ex-servicemen, and threaded round
uphill, into the village. A short distance on, the satnav told them they had arrived.
    Almost immediately on their left was an imposing Sussex flint farmhouse, with a large paddock behind it. ‘This is it!’ Susi said, reading the name, THE OLD
RECTORY , smartly sign-written.
    He turned the car into the circular drive and pulled up in front of the porch. As they got out, into a strong wind, an extremely attractive woman in her mid-forties, with long, wavy blonde hair,
dressed in jodhpurs, riding boots and a sleeveless puffa, appeared from around the side of the house, leading a horse, which was pulling reluctantly against its reins.
    ‘Henry!’ she remonstrated, in one of those naturally posh voices that Susi secretly envied. Then she saw the police car and the two uniformed officers climbing out of it, pulling on
their hats, raised a hand, turned to the horse again, spoke sternly to it, then waited for the officers. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘He’s in a bit of a strop this
morning, that’s all.’
    ‘Mrs Carol Morgan?’ Susi Holiday asked.
    ‘Yes, that’s me. Thank you for coming. Gosh, you’re jolly prompt. I had visions of you taking a couple of days!’
    ‘We’d hope not,’ Dave Roberts said. ‘We had a report that you are concerned about a tenant.’
    ‘Yes, that’s right.’ She pointed at the side of the house. ‘We have a little cottage at the rear that we’ve rented out for the past five years. He’s a strange
character, very pleasant, nothing bad to say about him, sort of keeps himself to himself.’ She frowned. ‘But last night I heard his van – it has rather a distinctive sound; my
husband, John, thinks it needs a new exhaust – coming home just before midnight. Then this morning, when I woke up, I could hear the engine running. I went out to feed Henry at 7 a.m. The
front door of the house was shut. I rang the bell, but there was no answer. I gave it a few hours, then tried again at midday. That’s when I decided to phone you. I really hope I’m not
wasting your time . . .’
    ‘Not at all,’ Susi Holiday said. ‘You did exactly the right thing.’
    ‘I was worried, you see. I read an article in the
Argus
a couple of weeks ago about the number of false emergency calls made.’
    ‘My colleague’s right, Mrs Morgan,’ PC Roberts said. ‘Your tenant’s name is Lester Stork?’
    The horse pulled, as if impatient, and she gave a sharp tug on the reins. ‘Henry!’ Then she turned to the police officers. ‘That’s right. Lester Stork.’
    ‘Could you show us where the cottage is, please?’ Susi Holiday asked.
    ‘Yes, of course. Let me just tie Henry up, then follow me.’
    She tethered the horse to a wooden rail, then they walked around the side of the house, up a short, steep farm track. It led to a small red-brick cottage, more recently built than the main
house, with a decrepit garage annexed to it. A rusty white Renault van was parked outside, and they could clearly hear the engine idling as they neared it.
    Dave Roberts, holding on to his hat to stop it blowing off in the wind, peered into the driver’s window of the van, then opened the door, which was unlocked, and peered inside. The cab was
empty and apart from a petrol can, a wheelbrace and an old newspaper, the rear was empty, too. As a precaution, in case fingerprints became important, he took out his handkerchief, gloved his hand
inside it, and turned off the ignition.
    Then he entered the porch, rang the doorbell, and moments later, rapped hard on the cheap front door with his knuckles. When there was no response, he knelt, pushed open the letter box and
sniffed. He couldn’t smell anything untoward. To the left of the door there was a window onto a small sitting room, with an elderly television, which was off.
    ‘Midnight, yesterday, he came back, Mrs Morgan?’
    ‘Yes, a bit before.’
    ‘Do you have his phone number?’
    She gave it to him. Susi Holiday dialled and all three of them heard it ringing, until it fell silent and the answerphone kicked in, with a chirpy