Written into the Grave

Trevor said in a challenging tone, “Is gardening illegal these days?”

Cash said, “Not that I know of.” He looked at Vicky again. “So what did you call me about?”

Gunhild said in a shriek, “We found a gun in the shed.”

Trevor stepped back from her. “A gun?” he echoed.

Cash said, “Have you touched it? Smeared the prints?”

Vicky shook her head. “It fell to the floor. Nobody touched it. You can get prints off I suppose.”

Trevor inhaled hard.

Cash looked at him. “You know anything about that gun?”

Trevor jerked up his shoulders. “Me? Why me?”

“Well, as gardener you work in the shed, I suppose.”

“Of course. But gardening isn’t done with guns.”

Cash nodded. “Still I’d like you to come to the station with me for a statement.”

“About what?” Trevor asked. His expression was confused, but something flashed in his eyes. Resistance.

“Your little contribution to our morning paper.” Cash leaned back on his heels. With his bulk he obstructed the way to the back door.

Vicky held her breath.

Trevor eyed Cash. “Are you nuts? What’s wrong with writing a piece for the paper?”

He looked at Vicky. “First it’s my gardening that you don’t like, now something else. What’s really up here?”

“We’ll talk about it at the station,” Cash said. “Can I trust you to come quietly or do I need to handcuff you?”

Trevor’s jaw sagged. “What am I, a suspect?”

He glanced at Gunhild. “You don’t think that the gun in the shed is mine, do you?”

“Well, is it?” Cash asked.

Trevor kept his eyes on Gunhild. “Do you think that the gun in the shed is mine?” His voice pitched as if he was desperate for her to deny she thought that.

Gunhild shook her head wearily. “I don’t know, Trevor. I just need to sit quietly.”

“What’s wrong here?” Trevor said. His voice lowered as he repeated the questions, “What’s wrong here? What are you doing to her? Hey?”

He stepped up to Vicky and eyed her with a frown. “Who are you anyway? I’ve never seen you around here before. Have you made Gunhild cry?”

“Calm down,” Cash said, taking Trevor by the wrist.

Without warning the young man swung at him with his free arm, hitting Cash full in the face. He grunted, and blood began to run from his nose.

Gunhild shrieked. She was deadly pale and looked ready to collapse.

Trevor pushed past Cash and was out of the back door in an instant.

Vicky yelled, “Hold him.”

She wanted to go after the guy herself, but having just seen what he had done to Cash, she knew there was little point in it. She would only get hurt.

Outside she heard shouting—and looking out of the kitchen window she saw Trevor and a deputy wrestling in the grass. Trevor was on top of the deputy, and she just wanted to alert Cash, who was nursing his bleeding face, when the deputy made a lightning-fast move and was now on top of Trevor. He managed to pull the gardener’s arms behind his back, and while the young man roared like an injured bull, the deputy handcuffed him.

Cash said, “I need to see that gun.” His voice sounded nasal.

“Is your nose broken?” Vicky asked. She knew this was part of Cash’s job but she felt guilty for having called him without alerting him to the danger Trevor might pose.

“I don’t think so. Still it hurts. Stupid kid.” Cash exhaled hard. “He’s only making it worse for himself. I could charge him for assaulting me. Regardless of what else he might have done.”

He nodded at Gunhild. “Do you mind if Vicky shows me the gun in the shed? You had better stay in here and take it easy for the moment.”

Gunhild didn’t even look up. “Do whatever you want,” she said in a flat tone.

Outside the deputy had dragged Trevor to his feet. His hair stood up, and his T-shirt was almost backwards from the shuffle. He yelled, “Are you all crazy? I did nothing wrong. You’re arresting me for no reason. I did nothing wrong.”

“We’ll talk about that at the station.” Cash gestured at the deputy. “Put him in the car and stay with him. Make sure he can’t pull any tricks.”

“Like I can run away with these on,” Trevor scoffed, moving his hands behind his back so his cuffs clinked. “I’ll file charges against you for police brutality!”

“Be my guest,” Cash said. “I can file against you for assaulting an officer of the law. Obstructing me while I was performing my duty. Do you have any idea what you can get for that? Just for that? Not mentioning the rest.”

“What rest? You tried to attack me, without any reason, and I only defended myself. I’ll get a lawyer who can prove it,” Trevor yelled as he was dragged to the police car.

Cash sighed. He wiped at the bloodstain on his shirt right over his badge. “This is going to be a long day. Now for that gun …”

Vicky showed it to him in the shed where the stark bright electric light was still on.

Cash studied the weapon without picking it up from the floor. “No way of saying whether it could have fired the lethal shots, but ballistics will be able to tell. I’d better call in a team for fingerprints and all. Maybe Trevor also hid other things here?”

Vicky frowned. “It’s hardly hiding when a gun can fall out any time someone happens to tug too hard on that cotton organizer.” She nodded in the direction of the homemade contraption against the wall.

Cash shrugged. “Trevor might not have thought about that or believed he was the only one to come in here.”

“And those?” Vicky gestured at Gunhild’s sculptures on the bench. “Trevor knew she came here to work on those or at least store them. He can hardly have believed this was his little sanctuary.”

“Maybe he reckoned she wouldn’t go near the tools. He was the gardener, right?”

Vicky remained doubtful. “Yes, but most women cut roses and other flowers from their garden for the house. In fact, the thing fell and the gun came out when Gunhild offered to cut me a few of those pink roses that grow just outside the shed. She wanted to get shears for it.”