Page 23 of The Mistress of Ashmore Castle

‘Yes, I know,’ Holyoak said. ‘Did he say anything to you afterwards about it? About how he got the scratches? Did he ever admit meeting Mr Speen?’

James looked at the floor, the picture of reluctance. ‘No, he never talked about it. But – I have to tell you – he was angry with Speen, because he’d just found out Speen’d been diddling his girlfriend. Mad as fire he was. He rushed out of the house, though it wasn’t his evening off, shouting, “I’ll see to him!” or “I’ll sort him out!” Something like that. I couldn’t swear to the exact words.’

Holyoak nodded impassively. ‘I did speak to Mr Sweeting at the time. But I think I had better have another talk with him.’

‘He’s been very quiet since Speen disappeared,’ James said earnestly. ‘As if he’s got something on his mind. Not his usual self at all.’

Moss went with William to the police station. William was sweating heavily and in a debilitating panic, and it was doubtful he would have made it down the hill without Moss’s steadying support. ‘I didn’t do anything, Mr Moss, I swear it,’ he kept saying. ‘I never saw Mr Speen that night.’

All Moss could say was, ‘If you’re innocent, you’ve got nothing to fear. The scales of justice weigh true.’

‘I’d never murder anyone,’ William cried. ‘My ma’d kill me if I did.’

‘You just tell the truth, my lad, and all will be well. The truth shall set you free.’

That didn’t seem to comfort William as much as it should have done, but it did shut him up. They completed the journey in silence. By the time Moss handed him over to the police sergeant, he was quivering with terror.

‘Now, Mr Sweeting,’ said Holyoak, leafing through his notebook to find the previous interview. William’s eyes followed the movement of every page as it flipped, like the prisoner in Poe’s story watching the pendulum.

‘You’ve told me the truth about that night, have you?’ Holyoak said, not looking up.

William nodded eagerly, then said, ‘Yes.’

‘You’re sure about that?’ Now he looked up. William’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously. ‘You see,’ said Holyoak expansively, almost kindly, ‘there are some anomalies in your story.’ William looked blank. ‘Inconsistencies,’ Holyoak tried. Still blank. ‘Things that don’t make sense – don’t add up.’

‘It’s the truth,’ William whispered.

Holyoak gave a pitying sort of sigh. ‘You’ve just told me you slipped going down the hill and fell into a ditch.’

‘That’s right.’

‘But here in my notes from November, which I wrote down as you were speaking to me, you said you fell into the ditch going up the hill.’

William stared, his mouth open. Holyoak resisted the impulse to feel sorry for him. You needed a certain level of intellect to be a successful liar, and William Sweeting didn’t have it. ‘So which was it? Going up, or going down?’

‘I don’t remember,’ William said helplessly.

‘You will remember. Either here, or in the Crown Court in front of the judge.’

‘Up,’ said William, desperately. ‘I was going up the hill.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Yes. Up. It was dark, very dark, I couldn’t see where I was going. I tripped over something. A stone or something. Fell into the ditch in the dark.’

‘Hm.’ Holyoak appeared to consult another page. ‘Would it surprise you to know that on the night in question, Wednesday, the fourth of November, the moon was just one day past the full. The sky was clear. It was a very bright, moonlit night. Almost as bright as day, according to some witnesses who were out that night.’

William licked his lips. ‘Maybe – it’d gone down by then.’

‘No, you were back at the Castle before moonset.’ He paused and let William sweat. Then, ‘How did you get the scratches on your face and hands?’

It took William a moment to adjust to the new direction of questioning. ‘I – it was— The ditch. It was full of brambles. I got all scratched, trying to get out.’

‘And the black eye?’

‘When I fell in the ditch. I must’ve banged it on something. On a stone.’

‘You banged your eye on a stone?’ Holyoak said disbelievingly. ‘How on earth did you manage that?’