A Death to Record by Rebecca Tope Page A

I suppose.’
    ‘Have you arranged for a solicitor to be with him when he’s questioned?’
    ‘We haven’t really got anybody. Don’t they provide someone, if you ask?’
    Lilah snorted. ‘Only if they’re forced to. We should find somebody who’ll do a good job, not some bored junior from a rota.’
    ‘It’s a bit late …’
    Lilah had another thought. ‘Did they find a weapon? Do they know what was used?’
    ‘I don’t know. They wouldn’t tell me, would they? They seemed interested in Gordon’s gun. They’re still out there now, with horrible bright lights, crawling all over the yard beside the parlour. It’s all very disconcerting, like something you see on telly. I just hope you can manage the morning milking for us? It’s rather a lot to ask, I know. But at least you won’t be all on your own – the recorder’s going to be there, Gordon says.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘The milk recorder. You know – that Watson woman. She was here all afternoon.’
    ‘Was she? Well, that’ll be fun for both of us.’ Lilah tried to swallow the growing sense of dread, fending it off with flippancy. ‘You can stop worrying about the cows, anyway,’ she added. ‘I’ll be there.’
    She wanted to finish the call and close her ears to any more of the dreadful story. But she knew she couldn’t. ‘Gordon didn’t do it, did he?’ she said softly. ‘I mean – it surely must have been somebody else.’
    ‘He was on the spot,’ Claudia repeated. ‘It isn’t looking very good, if you think about it. Basically, it must come down to him or Ted.’
    ‘But—’ Lilah wanted to scream a denial. ‘We can’t let it be him,’ she said desperately.
    ‘We won’t if we can help it,’ Claudia assured her gently.
    Two hours later, just as Lilah was going to bed, Claudia phoned again. ‘One more thing,’ she said in a tone that was unmistakably conspiratorial. ‘Well, two, actually. The first is – I found a solicitor. Somebody Mary used to know. He says he’ll sit with Gordon while they question him.’
    ‘Good,’ said Lilah listlessly. ‘What’s the second thing?’
    ‘Well – they seem to be putting a lot of very flimsy-looking tape across one corner of the yard. I assume they’ve found something they think is evidence there. It really does look very flimsy. You’ll see what I mean in the morning.’
    Lilah felt a surge of affection for the woman. ‘I’m sure I will,’ she said, on a short laugh.
     
    Deirdre Watson’s headlights were visible before she turned off the road, and Lilah followed her progress from the tractor seat. Having made a reasonable job of cleaning out the cowshed, she should have switched off the tractor and got started on preparing the milking parlour for the first cows. Instead, she waited another minute, until the recorder’s car was in the yard. Then, as Deirdre got out of the vehicle, Lilah revved the tractor and reversed it clumsily into the nearest strand of police tape. One or two cows standing close by trotted rapidly out of her way. The tape snapped and the tractor shot forward again, turning in an arc towards the clustered animals.
    As Lilah had hoped, Deirdre appeared at the corner of the barn, peering through the metal-pole fence to see what was going on. It was impossible to speak over the noise of the tractor, but Lilah ventured a loud shout at the cows, designed to sound as if she wanted them to scatter out of her way. Then she brought the vehicle to a sudden shuddering halt, sending it skidding on a slippery patch of muck.
    Bewildered cows did their best to dodge her, several of them crossing the line recently marked out by the now-broken tape. Lilah switched off the engine and jumped down from her seat, one hand to her mouth. ‘Gosh! What have I done?’ she cried in a high-pitched voice. ‘That tractor’sgot a mind of its own. Lucky I didn’t hit one of the cows, just then.’ There was a moment of deep silence, before a cow coughed, and the faint bawl of a